33 Apocalypse Ave, Tuesday Afternoon

Two duffle bags hit the floor. Then the door slammed shut. Kaidan parked the back of his shiny new uniform against that door and let out a sigh.

He stayed there for a minute or so, taking in the silence, the quiet in his own head. Then he peeled himself away from the door and walked the seven paces required to get to the sofa. He sat down, leaned forward, and dropped his face into his hands.

Quiet. Jesus.

He wasn't sure what to do next. Watch a movie? No, not in the mood. The news? ... No. Make a sandwich? Not hungry.

Okay, he was lying: he knew what he wanted to do. A stupid thing. A useless thing. Something he didn't actually have the words for yet, but he wanted to do anyway. So he slid his fingers over the activation switch of his omni-tool and called up the text processer program, waiting for it to finish loading up before he shut it down again. Repeated the action. Shut it down again.

He muttered a curse under his breath and got up to grab a datapad from his bag. Maybe that'd go better. Or maybe he should just call his therapist.

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