He'd been exhausted when he'd gotten back from San Diego, more emotionally than anything else. He hadn't really believed Gael when he'd said that Ty wasn't in a good place - or at least he'd assumed it was the same kind of bad place Carlos had known how to handle. But it wasn't.

Or Carlos didn't know how to handle it anymore. That was possible. That was something his new therapist liked to point out; that he couldn't be expected to know how to deal with everything after the war. That it was natural to feel a little at sea, that he needed to take coming back into the world one step at a time.

Honestly, this was probably why Ty hated his psychiatrist.

But whatever, he did it. He went to his sessions, he went to group therapy - which was okay, he supposed. No one pushed him to talk yet, at least. He unpacked his old boxes, cleared out what he didn't want anymore and put the rest in place in Gael's apartment with a sort of ruthless neatness. There were still a lot of hours left in the day after all of that, and he wasn't sure what to do with them.

That was probably why he usually ended up here, he thought, at the hospital, roaming Gael's room as he waited for him to be brought back from the latest test they were doing to check his progress.