Who: Sam and Jimmy [Apollo and Taliesin] What: Sam comes in from his long shift and tries to take root on the sofa. Jim tries to revive him with pizza. Where: Starting at their apartment. When: After this.
Still dressed in a worn pair of scrubs, Sam stumbled through the front door of the flat like a zombie, chucking his bag down on the floor with a 'thwump' and dragging himself over to the couch. Once he reached that perfect, blissful piece of furniture he allowed himself to fall onto it, face-first, making a noise that sounded a bit like 'mmmnnneeeergh'.
There should be a law against working these kind of hours. He'd left the apartment at 9 O clock last night, and now it was just after seven on Thursday evening. His brain had turned into some kind of sludge just before lunchtime - around the same time as he'd managed to throw a hasty 'hi' in Jim's direction - and although he'd tried to catch a few hours of rest in the on-call room, sleep in there just never seemed refreshing. Not bothering to lift his head up from where it was buried in the cushions, Sam dug around in his pocket and pulled out his pager, which he shoved unceremoniously down the back of the seat.
There was a noise that he supposed announced the arrival of his Hospital-escapee roommate. Or it could be someone coming to rob them. Quite frankly, Sam didn't care any more. Even Apollo was tired, silent and unresisting in the back of his head, which was a rare instance that Sam couldn't even find the energy to appreciate. There was another noise, and finally the blonde turned his head, peeling his face from the dark comfort of the cushions and blinked across the room at his friend.
"Guess how many bodily secretions I have on this top?" he asked. Then, without waiting for an answer. "Four. Four. And none are mine."