The galley of the Cape Rouge, Thursday evening

[betterthanaplan]

Duke had had some time since his last therapist appointment to start slowly processing what his therapist had said. Specifically what the man had said about what he believed was the foundation of Duke's issues. A diagnosis if you will.

Which Duke had finally made time to look up and read about after getting home from the diner. And mull over over a cup of tea.

Sure, it wasn't the first time someone had suggested that he had PTSD. He'd kind of just assumed he had that, by now. But C-PTSD. The complex version. The one most associated with survivors of hostage situations or child abuse.

He sipped his tea and stared into space. And wished it didn't make as much sense to him as it did. Wished he didn't check off quite as many of the usual symptoms as he did.

"Fuck."

[for the partners if they wanna]

Comments

[my_own_advocate]

"Fuck?" Lucifer called, inquisitively, as he slipped back out of his closet-room and into the hallway.

[okteiviakom]

Octavia had been out. Not in the woods, not when it was already evening and she couldn't feel entirely in control of what she was touching at any given moment. Instead, she'd walked along the beaches, staying near the water.

And now she was back. Shrugging off her jacket as soon as she was in, then kicking off her boots, calling oput a general, "I'm home!" as she did.