A/N: So this was just supposed to be a one-shot, but a guest reviewer suggested I write something about how the others handle Milt's suicidal move, so I wrote this, and I decided to just make a series of one-shots detailing the recovery. I don't know if I'll keep them in chronological order, but if they aren't I'll make a note of it. It'll stay marked as complete because I'll only be writing these when the inspiration hits; summaries will be at the beginning of each one-shot.

Summary: Russ takes a look in Milt's desk drawer and demands answers. (Warning for mentions of self-harm.)

"Not really happy, if you look in my desk drawer."

Russ walked into the precinct, holding his torso rigid to avoid exacerbating his cracked rib. In his hand, he held a crumpled paper bag. He glanced around, hoping he had come too early for anyone to be there; he didn't know exactly what he would find, but Milt wanted it kept secret, and Russ wasn't in the mood to be the one to reveal it. Milt, fast asleep in his hospital bed, didn't even know he was here.

He paused outside the door to Milt's fancy office to glance around one more time. Then he opened it just wide enough for him to slip inside. He eased the door shut behind him and made his way to the massive (by Battle Creek standards, at least) desk. He sank stiffly into the chair.

If I were FBI Special Agent Milton Chamberlain and I wanted to hide something, which drawer would I stuff it in?

Not a bottom drawer; leaning down would draw attention if anyone looked through the windows. And if he had used his right hand, it would be easier for people to assume he was putting away something interesting or important, because why trust your non-dominant hand with something like that? So Russ pulled open the top left drawer.

What the hell?

Phone fragments? Russ picked up a motherboard, noticing the chips and jagged edges. Picking up other fragments revealed drops of dried blood on some – never more than a few, but it still meant Milt was hurting himself, however slightly, however accidentally. But this time, he'd taken a bullet. He'd nearly killed himself.

He wanted to die.

Hurriedly, Russ scraped everything into the bag. Moving as fast as he dared, he exited the office and strode towards the exit – he needed to talk to his partner.

"Russ! Fancy meeting you here," Niblet exclaimed.

Great.

He turned around. "Hey, Niblet."

"What are you doing here?"

He blurted the first thing that came to mind. "Uh, just getting something from Milt's office."

"What would that something be?"

Russ tucked the bag behind his back. "Nothing you need to be concerned about. I need to get back to the hospital now…"

Niblet blinked. "Oh. Ok, then. Bye." Then, "Wait, how's Milt?"

"As fine as he can be," Russ replied smoothly.

Before Niblet could press for further answers, Russ rushed from the precinct. He shoved the bag into his car's glovebox before driving to the hospital. He sat in the parking lot for a moment, taking deep breaths, Holly's voice in his head slowly instructing him to inhale and exhale. Once he had control of the urge to shoot Milt for doing this to himself, he got out and went to his hospital room.

The sight of his partner gave him pause. Milt slept, his expression a mask of pain. Once, Russ would have attributed this to the bullet hole in his shoulder. Now, though, Milt's tiny, shaking voice as he poured out everything in preparation to die wove through his mind. An image of bloody phone parts flashed in front of him, and the urgency came flooding back. Mentally shaking himself, he grabbed a chair.

"Milt."

Milt's eyelids fluttered. "What?" he mumbled.

"Wakey wakey, sunshine."

Sluggishly, Milt lifted his free arm and rubbed his eyes. "Aren't you supposed to let the injured man sleep?"

"Well, I was going to let myself sleep, but then I decided to check in your desk drawer."

The words acted like a bucket of ice water. Milt jerked awake, his back lifting a few inches off the bed before he stopped with a groan. He sank back down, stammering, "I-I have no idea-"

"Milt, stop trying to hide," Russ snapped. The younger man flinched away from his harsh tone, and Russ made a conscious effort to control it.

"Look, Milt, I know now. Your exercising, your apparent self-loathing and suicidal tendencies, your anger… And something's gotta change. This probably isn't the smartest thing, but no one else has to know. But – and I know how backwards this is about to sound – you have to trust me."

Milt stared at him, his eyes gleaming with a silent plea. His legs bent and his free arm wrapped around his torso like he wanted to curl up in a ball. Russ didn't let his gaze waver as he forced himself to patiently wait for Milt to start talking on his own. Milt finally lowered his gaze to the bed, suddenly finding the plain white sheet very interesting.

"I'm thirsty," he mumbled.

"Milt-"

"Please."

Russ sighed, admitting that he heard a slight rasp in Milt's voice. "I'll be right back," he conceded, standing up to fetch the requested drink. It only took a minute, but when he returned, Milt had relaxed slightly. He still found the sheet intriguing, but was stronger, somehow.

"Thanks," Milt murmured, taking a few sips. As he did that, his gaze grew distant.

"I never mean to cut myself when… when I'm destroying phones. I just… I just get so angry when something goes wrong, ever since… you know. And it's easy enough to pretend nothing happened and hide it, because who notices when I replace it with an identical one? No one." Milt's voice gradually dipped until Russ had to lean in to hear. "It kind of adds to the feeling of being utterly alone since…"

"Wait, why-"

"Because she left me. I told you once that I have been in love, and it was her. My partner and I… We were dating for a couple years, but the shooting destroyed us. She wanted to pull the kid out from the beginning, but I convinced her not to. She didn't talk to me for a couple days after we watched him get shot, and when she did… She called it off. She transferred the next week, and after that, no one ever saw… I guess it's the real me. The only see Milt Perfect Everything," he finished in the bitterest voice Russ had never expected to hear come out of Milt.

Russ floundered for something to say. "Um, family?"

Milt started yanking at a stray thread on his sheet. "My sister is one of the busiest people I've ever met and my mom… It's complicated."

Russ pulled the thread from Milt's fingers. "I know complicated. It sucks, but it's survivable."

Milt tucked his hand underneath his side, his eyes locking onto the floor. In his silence, Russ heard just how much pain he had been hiding; he had been silent for so long that he couldn't speak up anymore.

Russ leaned back in his chair. "Heal. Then I'll bug you about healing."

Milt's gaze flicked to Russ, apprehension darkening the brown irises, but relief flickering in those murky depths like shining minnows. "Ok."

Russ stood and clapped Milt on his uninjured shoulder. "Now, I don't know about you, but I'm hungry. Do you want chicken or chicken?"

"Chicken," Milt replied, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"Excellent," Russ praised his decision. "I'll be right back."

Milt rolled back onto his back and watched his partner head off to fetch some food. For the first time in six years, hope glimmered in his heart. For the first time in six years, he knew that someone cared about him.

A/N: I don't know if I'm necessarily happy with that ending cause it seemed a bit abrupt to me...

Remember, reviews are like rays of sunshine on my day, and suggestions for other one-shots are always welcome.