Cragen remembers comments on soulless children the way he remembers the taste of bourbon, syrup and burn. He remembers the way Elliot used to smell of determination, but now reeks of desperation. He remembers the acidity of Munch and the squalor of Fin, and he remembers everything about Olivia. He supposes its because she's lying in a bed at Mercy. He was her next of Kin. He signed for her.
"Don?"
"Sorry Doc"
The man is looking at him with a mix of concern and inquisition. Classic shrink expression.
"I didn't think she could bleed like that"
And George just looks at him, and he doesn't meet George's eye because he's afraid he will see sympathy, or pity, or one of those emotions that he drank himself into blindness to avoid.
"Don, tell me what happened"
"You know what happened"
"I know what happened to her, what happened to you?"
"What do you think George? I watched one of my detectives get shot and then I killed a man while she bled all over the concrete."
They were silent. The sun was coming in through closed curtains and Don thought it looked a little too ephemeral, a little to surreal for the circumstance, as if it were supposed to rain for an eternity, or at least until Olivia woke up.
"Elliot tried to punch me"
"I assumed he would"
"Will she wake up?"
"And if she doesn't"
"I asked a question"
"We both know I don't have an answer Don."
"Why not" He stood in his chair, electricity in his veins and under his skin, he couldn't sit still, he couldn't swallow. George sat, perfectly composed, but it occurred to Don in the seconds that followed that Huang was hurting too. "I would turn in my badge."