The hall was drafty, like many open, empty spaces within the prison, which probably actually made it a good place for a drunk to be. Cold, refreshing, but not as cold as the air was outdoors. Leah could understand the appeal, although Zach’s words hinted that, wherever he’d been headed, this was as far as he’d gotten.
“You’re right, I could have. And if you’d been any other useless layabout, I would have, but since you’re one of the better medics, I consider it my responsibility to make sure you’re not doing anything stupid.” They had too few medics as it was and couldn’t risk losing any of the good ones. “Last thing we need is for people to start believing all our medics are alcoholics.”
Wasted. That had been obvious before he looked up at her, but the bloodshot eyes were just another physical sign. She wondered if he’d even remember this conversation.
The question made her laugh, though not humorously. “Because most people around here don’t sit in empty hallways for no reason. That and judging by the redness in your eyes, I’m guessing I’m looking a little fuzzy around the edges, yeah?”
She let out a small breath of relief when Zach said nobody had died. Although the rudeness of the drunk medic didn’t help matters. He had every right to be less than nice; after all, she was the one encroaching on his moment of solitude. Her posture stiffened. “At least you’re not one of the ones who cry over every patient they lose.”
“Good. Keep it that way. I wouldn’t want to be given a reason not to trust you and the rest of your staff.”