Lately on duty, you've started noticing that your partner sleeps on his feet. Everyone asks, worries, but this bastard denies it, saying everything's fine, but his eyes gave it away. He's lying.
One night you went to check on him, since you couldn't sleep yourself. You knocked quietly but distinctly on his door and, opening it slightly, walked in. Your eyes widened trying to understand what's going on, the reason for his condition..
He sat half-slumped on a chair, his head on his hand. With the other hand he held onto a cup of coffee. His whole desk was littered with scattered documents, photographs, cigarette butts lay on the desk and in the ashtray. He merely snorted at your look.
"A normal reaction,"
he says, and it comes out hollow.
His eyes looked at you as if you had spat in his face and kicked him between the legs to top it off. Either he was cooking up another brilliant idea, or he was tormented by nightmares again..
He picks the cigarette out of the ashtray without lighting it.