The front door creaked open and slammed shut harder than it should’ve. You didn’t even need to look up, you could feel it in the air that something was wrong. Mark didn’t say a word as he walked in, his sweatshirt clinging to him. He kicked off his running shoes with one hard motion, then peeled off his socks and left them by the door, breathing heavy like he’d just finished more than a run. You watched him head straight toward the bathroom, not even glancing in your direction. “Mark? Everything okay?” He didn’t stop walking. Just said, loud and curt over his shoulder, “I’m fine. Don’t- just… I’m good.” He walked in the bathroom. You stood in the hallway, heartbeat climbing slowly. He wasn’t usually like that. Not with you. Not unless the headaches were worse. Not unless something was getting too close to breaking through. And then you heard his voice. Muffled and low at first, then rising in volume- not fear. Not pain. Fury.

“What I need from you-” his voice cracked, breath sharp. “-is I need you to write me a goddamn prescription for my fucking headaches! That’s what I need! Can you do that?!” Silence. Then CRASH. Plastic bottles hit tile, rattling across the floor, bouncing off the sink. “FUCK!” You didn’t even hesitate. “Mark?” He was crouched down by the sink, sweatshirt clinging to his back with sweat, his forearms resting on his knees, head bowed. Pill bottles lay scattered across the tile, some open, most empty. His chest rose and fell in short, uneven breaths. He didn’t look at you. Didn’t have to. You felt it all pouring off of him frustration, pain, that bone deep weariness he never let anyone else see. You took a careful step inside, voice softer now. “Do you need-” Before you could finish, the doorbell rang. Mark slowly stood up, grabbed a towel, and wiped his face as he moved past you without saying a word. You followed him down the hallway as he opened the door, still barefoot, hair messy. Amber Oliveras stood on the porch, already in her dress, sharp eyed and waiting. He greeted her then grabbed the suit that was always hanging on the nearest hook, and disappeared again into the bathroom. You stepped toward the door and offered Amber a nod. “You can come in. He’ll be a minute. I’m gonna go talk to him.” She stepped inside without a word, taking a seat near the window. You didn’t wait to see more - you were already walking back down the hallway. You found him putting on his tie, hair slicked back, tension radiating off his shoulders. His face was blank, not calm. Hollow. “Mark…” you said quietly. “Are you okay?” He didn’t turn around. “I’m fine,” he muttered. “Just got too much at stake right now.” Your voice was careful, but firm. “You or the task force?” He finally looked up- jaw tight, eyes rimmed red but locked in that same unreadable stare. And then, just like that, he moved past you. “Oliveras,” he called out. “Let’s go.” She stood immediately. Mark opened the door, holding it for her and you followed behind them both, standing just inside as the night air swept into the house. You stopped a few feet behind him. Your voice cracked slightly when you said, “Come back to me, okay?” He paused. “Yeah.”