Papers scatter like leaves across carpeted flooring and rest upon the files nestled amongst empty takeaway containers that have been roughly pushed to one side. The back of Joe's head throbs like someone has lodged an icepick into it and blue eyes squint against both the pain and that annoying scratch meant to remind a man that he hasn't slept in two or three days. He napped yesterday though, didn't he? In the quiet of his office .. or was it the day before? Fingers of one hand twitch, curling and stretching as if he's trying to relax cramped muscles instead of fighting the urge to stifle a yawn.. and he thinks of George, fast asleep in her makeshift room down the hall...thinks about how lucky she is to not know what a bloody case report even is, let alone not having to go through them. He imagines her curled up in her blankets like she had curled against him earlier, insistent babbles as chubby fingers fought for a taste of his food fading into silent huffs of warm breath that tickled his cheek. She doesn't know what he keeps coming 'round for, has no idea the threat looming over her future, that faceless shadow watching from the corners ... His heart thumps at the idea that this is a battle he may yet lose, jaw setting against the mere chance of it.

Salvation - James' salvation- lies somewhere in the myriad of facts splayed out before them, some hidden gem placed amidst useless facts. He reaches for a particular file, scans the dates and photographs of evidence until his eyelids begin to close, fluttering in a useless attempt to stay open. There's a book that his nephew has (sitting on some shelf in the corner now, probably gathering dust) ... Where's Wally? An exciting page turner that had often led to Wes falling asleep and his detective inspector uncle hyper-focusing on each individual page, unable to close the cover until the mystery had been solved. Maybe this is another such book, an endless game of find the culprit... the shadowy figure hidden in the midst of illustrated cribs and cars and universities. Maybe there's a connection there ...

@gentlemanstarkey : are you asleep on me?

James' voice, when it reaches his ears, is a quiet blend of amusement and confusion... and Joe is slammed back into the moment with a speed which would almost be impressive had he not already been half dead of embarrassment. There's the feeling of warm skin against his own (oh god, oh god, oh god) and the smell of soap that tickles the inside of his nose while he tries to come up with a way to discreetly find out if he'd been snorting. No...nope. Don't even think of the possibility for that. When he speaks, words tumble over one another in an apology almost as frantic as his widened eyes and the staccato rhythm against his ribs, weight shifting despite the instinct to stay exactly where he is.

"I'm sorry. I've been .. Balancing has been a bit hard at the moment, that's all. I'm fine, I am...I'm just not used to feeling quite so .. stuck." The other man is all patience and warm understanding and the detective forces himself to look anywhere other than those dark blue eyes that he would willingly drown himself in. He's about to apologize again, about to make his excuses and run for the door, when an image once again tickles the barest edge of his thoughts.

Where's Wally?

"James, did you ... at your university, while teaching ... things were bad with Sarah, you've mentioned that. Did they .. how bad? Was there anyone who ... Christ, did you have an affair?"