A/N Yeah Garret, keep telling yourself something and it'll be true. Right...if you spotted the signs with Abby, you probably can spot the signs of well, the spiral in him too...

Hold me in your thoughts
Take me to your dream
Touch me as I fall into view
And when the winter comes
Keep the fires lit
And I will be right next to you

Warren Zevon-Keep Me In Your Heart

He stared at the bottle, not drinking any, leaving the liquid safely ensconced in the glass. He didn't want to pour any. He had told Stiles he would cut back, that he wouldn't drink as much. And he wasn't going to. He was stronger than that, he had a backbone, he didn't need the booze. He didn't. He kept telling himself that, that he didn't need to drink, it may have become a habit, but he didn't need it.

He could get by without it. He didn't need it. He could put up with the nightmares. He put the bottle away, into the cabinet above the sink. He could to this. It was a night. Eight hours, he wasn't an alcoholic, eight hours was nothing, he wasn't hooked on the stuff, he didn't need it.

It just made the night easier. He had brought home a huge stack of paperwork simply for this reason. He leaned back against the couch and got to work on it, going through everything, being anal, making sure every single t was crossed and i was dotted. Nothing would be amiss.

Renee had commented on it, the way that he had kicked the morgue back into the same shape it had been in with Slokum only without the staff complaining. That's because the rest of the staff was doing next to nothing. It was all on him, he was the one that was making sure that everything was getting done, and if it wasn't, doing it himself. Immersing himself in work so that he wouldn't drink on the job.

The same thing should work here, right? Immersing himself at work as to not drink here. He had gotten halfway through the stack when he noticed the faint tremor in his hand. He was tired, stressed. Sleep would fix it. He retreated back to the bedroom and laid between the sheets.

But sleep wouldn't come to him. Every time he closed his eyes, he would see her, she would taunt him. Before he even really fell asleep. And he would wake back up and stare at the ceiling for a long few minutes before trying it again. Every time he tried to, she would show up and mock him, keeping him away from sleep.

And the trembling had moved up his arm. Had it been that long since he had a good night's sleep? He never got the shakes except for when he went for days at a time on mere hours of sleep. He had slept though, just in that alcohol induced slumber, not in a real, refreshing sleep.

He rolled over, trying to get comfortable, trying to find a position that would block her out of his mind. But no matter what he did, she kept coming back, kept teasing him, preventing him from sleeping. He needed something, just a sip, a glass, not even, just to erase her from his mind.

He wasn't drinking to get drunk. Just to get rid of her from his mind. It wasn't the sign of an alcoholic, he knew full well how much he was drinking, he was limiting himself, he was cutting back. Usually by this point he was pouring his third or fourth glass. It took him that much to get tipsy.

But no, this was one glass, one small glass. He poured a slight measure into the bottom of a tumbler and sipped it. See, He could sip it. He didn't need to gulp it down, he could still just sit there, sip it, enjoy the long slow burn down. It took him a good twenty minutes to finish the glass and he sat back down on his bed, laying there.

She was still there, still taunting him, but she was somewhat weaker, he was able to tell her off, tell her that he did love her, that she should at least get him some sleep to deal with her better in the morning. And she agreed, leaving him alone, at least somewhat, to sleep, for once.