Page 57 of Manner of Death

No. No, he was not.

So it was time to get to fucking work and—

Someone started entering a code at the front entrance.

Bashir’s head snapped up. Who the hell? During the day, people could come and go through the front, but after hours, a code was required.

The door opened. “Bashir?”

Sawyer. Oh shit.

Bashir bit back some curses, then called out, “Just a minute!” as he grabbed a sheet to pull over McKay. The last thing Sawyer needed was to see his partner, deathly white and naked, laid out on a table. Maybe it was just as well Bashir hadn’t started cutting.

With McKay covered, Bashir took off his gloves, mask, and the protective gear he’d been wearing over his scrubs, and went to meet Sawyer.

He was waiting by the front desk, and he was almost as pale as the man on Bashir’s table. His eyes were red, which wasn’t a surprise.

When he met Bashir’s gaze, he said, “I tried to call, but it went straight to voicemail. And then I saw your car out front when I came to the precinct, and…” He deflated, shaking his head. “I’m sorry. I just… needed to see you.”

Bashir stepped closer. “It’s okay. Come here.”

Sawyer didn’t even flinch at stepping into Bashir’s embrace. In fact, he almost collapsed into it, leaning hard on him as he buried his face against Bashir’s neck.

Bashir held on to him, trying to be careful of the places he knew Sawyer had been bruised in that bar incident. God, had that really been this same week? No wonder he was flagging.

“I’m sorry,” Sawyer murmured. “You’re probably busy, and—” He suddenly jerked out of Bashir’s arms and stared at him. “Oh, fuck. If you’re here this late—were you… is he…” His eyes flicked toward the doorway Bashir had come through, and he seemed to get even paler.

“Relax.” Bashir put a hand on Sawyer’s chest. “I just came in to get some paperwork done. I wasn’t—autopsies are first thing in the morning.” He flinched internally over lying to Sawyer, but he decided the lie was kinder than the truth. Sawyer was threadbare enough without knowing his partner—his friend—was just around the corner on a table beside a bunch of surgical instruments.

Fortunately, the white lie seemed to calm Sawyer down a little. He sighed and leaned against the reception desk. “I’m interrupting your paperwork, too. I’m sorry. I’m… God, I am such a fucking wreck right now.”

“Of course you are.” Bashir ran a hand through Sawyer’s hair. “Anyone would be. But… why are you at the precinct? You should be with his widow. Or at home.”

“I know.” Sawyer’s voice sounded hollow. “I came to… I don’t know. I thought I could get some work done, but…” He shook his head.

“What about your partner’s wife?”

Sawyer rubbed the back of his neck. “I stayed with her for a while, but she needed to rest. She’s…” His shoulders dropped farther. “I think me being there was upsetting her even more, and she doesn’t need that right now.”

“What do you need?”

Sawyer looked up at him, confusion written all over his face. “What?”

Bashir touched Sawyer’s cheek. “You just lost someone close to you. What do you need?”

For a few seconds, Sawyer still seemed confused, as if he couldn’t comprehend that he even had needs, let alone that anyone might care enough to meet them. Slowly, though, his focus sharpened. He wiped a hand over his face and blew out a breath. “What I need? Honestly?”

Bashir nodded. “Yeah.”

Sawyer swallowed. “I just want to shut everything off for a while.”

Concern rose in Bashir’s chest. “You’re not going to go get shit-faced, are you?”

The ghost of a laugh escaped Sawyer’s lips. “No, no. Nothing like that. Because then I’ll just be sick tomorrow. What I want…” He avoided Bashir’s gaze as some color rose in his otherwise pale cheeks.

“What you want…?” Bashir prompted gently.

Sawyer lifted his head, and Bashir wasn’t ready for the sudden heat in those beautiful eyes.