Summary: In the aftermath of Cal's death, Ethan struggles to cope. (A continuation of 31x33 Reap the Whirlwind Part Two).

WC: 982

Rating: PG-13 (Mentioned, obvious, character death).

I haven't written anything creative in over a year, but following on from Saturday's Casualty I just… had to. Absolutely had to.

This can stand alone but I'm going to attempt to make this chaptered!

It's also cross-posted on AO3 where you can find me under the same username.

The room was dark; the only interruption to the shadows being the thin strip of sunlight that escaped from the gap in the top of the curtains, splaying itself cheerfully against the ceiling and the wall, highlighting the tiny patterned grooves in the wall plaster that he had never taken any notice of before.

He had no interest in it really but it was something safe. Safer than succumbing to the sleep that his eyes and his body begged him for, or than succumbing to the screaming voices in his mind.

So he counted again and again and again. About two finger spaces tilting up and two finger spaces tilting down, meeting at a vertex. Three millimetres deep he reckoned, and each line on a wall holding about fifteen patterns maybe more. He wasn't sure. He had to be sure. So he counted again.

"Ethan?"

He lost count. His eyes slowly tracked the wall to the start of the line and with a furrowed brow he started again.

One finger space up, two finger space up…

"Ethan."

Vertex, one finger space down, two finger space down…

The bed dipped and a warm, soft hand rested on his cheek. He stopped counting, lethargically leaning into the touch, and met Alicia's concerned gaze. Her face was pale and make-up free, her long hair hanging limply to her shoulders and her eyes highlighted by deep purple bags that indicated a number of sleepless nights.

Ethan figured he looked worse.

"Have you slept?"

They both knew he hadn't. He shrugged.

"Ethan, you need to sleep."

Her voice was calm but he could hear her unspoken plea.

'It's been three days Ethan, you're not sleeping or eating and you're only hurting yourself! Please, he wouldn't want you to do this.'

Something inside him clenched painfully and he tore his eyes from where he was looking just slightly over Alicia's left shoulder back to the grooves in the wall.

Deep breaths. One finger space up…

"At least come and have something to eat, when was the last time you ate?"

They both knew that too.

"I can't," he whispered, voice barely audible through chapped and sore lips. He swallowed. "I just, can't."

He was numb. And tired. So so tired, so tired his body screamed at him and his bones ached and his breath felt heavy and he could barely think about moving but he couldn't, just couldn't sleep or even think about eating when he brother was-

"Ethan," Alicia's hand encased his. He closed his eyes against the damp that rapidly welled in the corner of his lids and sucked in a slow breath. "Ethan, I know, I know."

"You can't know," he choked, desperately wanting to pull his hand away but not able to muster the energy to do so. "You can't know how it feels. How I feel."

How he felt after seeing the most important person in his entire universe lying lifeless before him, the sheets that covered an unmoving chest were blood-stained and his face was pale, so pale. With his eyes closed he had looked like he was only sleeping, so peaceful.

But the tube that should have been delivering life-saving oxygen to his lungs was connected to nothing. There was no life to save.

A sob escaped before he could stop it. Deep and wrenching from where it had been buried within him with a sound he barely recognised as coming from his own mouth, and despite his best efforts to stop them he felt the tears escape. They tasted salty on his tongue but he barely noticed.

Alicia tenderly pulled him from his seated position and Ethan wrapped his arms around her.

"Let it out," she whispered into his ear, running a hand soothingly through his unkempt, greasy hair. When did he shower last?

Why did he even bother asking himself when he already knew the answer?

"I'm sorry," he sobbed, dimly aware that he was clutching the rough fabric of Alicia's shirt maybe a bit too tight and that the patch of shoulder he had buried his face into was rapidly growing damp. "I just don't know what to do."

Alicia gently moved back and lifted his chin. Through blurry eyes Ethan could see the glistening tracks that marred her own cheeks and it fascinated him as he moved his hand to catch a droplet on his finger. Someone so beautiful shouldn't cry.

"You have nothing to be sorry for," she breathed; an underlying harsh quality to her voice that Ethan knew was more directed at his words than he himself.

"I can't sleep, I can't eat, I can't…" His eyes struggled to hold her gaze and knew he sounded pathetic. "...can't believe he's gone."

His brother should be here, waking him up ridiculously early by singing loud, obnoxious pop songs in the shower and leaving dirty mugs on every conceivable surface imaginable in their apartment.

Ethan was pretty sure there was a load of his laundry still sat in the dryer.

"I know," her hand was back in his. He gently squeezed it and the corners of her lips twitched up in an attempt at a smile. "But we'll get through this. You're not alone, we're all in this together."

"I know." She squeezed back.

"Come on," she began, slipping off the bed, their hands still clasped. "Duffy's come over, she says she's not leaving until you have some lunch. And then you're going to have a nap before we go and speak to the police."

He eased himself off the bed, bare feet touching the carpet and legs protesting at the movement, and drew himself up. "We'll find whoever did this." He spoke it with more conviction he'd felt since his brother's death.

He would make Cal proud.

Together he and Alicia stepped into the bright light of the living room, all thoughts of counting slipping away.