Bruce couldn't sleep. He hadn't slept in two days, maybe three. He couldn't think of anything but work, research, of being elbow deep in Tom's guts, of seeing his friend in a heap at the bottom of the stairs. There was too much to worry about, he was scared that he'd forget the one thing he never should and the Other Guy had growled at his mind consistently for the last 24 hours, only abating with food and sleep.
He was working on a new mass spectrometer, shirt untucked and with pens in his hair when there was a knock at the door. Bruce thought it was probably someone looking for help again, or there was something he needed to do at the clinic or the hospital and his time alone was over. Bruce was surprised to see Steve at the door with a package. "Hey, Steve... what's going on? Something wrong at the hospital?" he asked, knowing Steve was a porter part time.