Stripping off yet another surgical tunic, he rounded the corner into his office. The repairs he had had to make had taken hours, and left him exhausted. He wished there had been more to do: There was also the body of a crewman for whom it had been too late.
Now there was paperwork to do. Paperwork.
He was too damned tired to even rail against the injustice, or the futility.
Drawing up one foot, he leaned against the wall, just inside, where Chapel wouldn't immediately see him. He rested his head back, and closed his eyes. Closing his eyes was a mistake.
He raised one hand to scrub his forehead. Noted, in his semi-detachment, that it was likely to start shaking soon, when the adrenaline wore off…
So he pushed off of the wall, and headed to his desk chair. Stopped. Went instead to the cabinet. Sometimes, he was grateful that it didn't open automatically for him. Sometimes, the fact that he had to slide the panel aside was enough to make him think twice about it.
Not this time.