Stupid nightmares. They weren't as plentiful as they had been back when Jack had first moved here, but sometimes they still caught him by surprise in the middle of the night. Death and bombs and Meetra vanishing into the night-- all the hits.

So it was morning, and he was curled up on the floor with his back against the only wall that wasn't covered in shelves full of records, a cup of coffee in one hand and his head bent over his knees.

Ugggh.