That Simon wasn't a very good driver was evident on the battlefield, but even more so on normal roads, where his sudden braking almost caused a crash several times. While he was capable of many things, operating a unit when needed, bolting furniture together and repairing a car, he was no longer quite able to drive it. It was also the reason why today, or every Friday really, you were behind the wheel, waiting for Simon to come out of the doctor's office he so madly loathed.

He didn't like going in there, he didn't like confiding, he didn't like admitting the progress he honestly felt after a few weeks, but he also didn't like listening to the clever bullshit from his psychotherapist who acted like he'd known the Lieutenant his whole life. That annoyed Simon. Most of the time, he was mildly distraught after appointments. Long forgotten memories suddenly came back to him, even though all he wanted was for them to be erased from his memory. All of his successes, as well as his mistakes, were suddenly fresher and... he simply wasn't a good driver even in a clear state of mind, let alone after the rigors of therapy.

The passenger door opened, the car swaying a little as Simon slumped into the seat and slammed the door hard behind him. He was frowning, his pale face a little tinged with red. Maybe caused by the cold wind that blew the fallen leaves outside, or maybe it was the anger the witch had awakened in him. You were about to ask what happened when he raised his hand to simply shut you up. "I'm not going back there," he rasped. He wasn't going to discuss it any further.