Derek had not paid much attention to the time, in all honesty. There'd been visitors, there'd been friends, there'd been family--there'd been a lot of people who had made it clear just how much they had him in their thoughts, although if you asked him to name them, he'd have only the vaguest idea of where to start and who to name. Thus when the bleak Saturday sun rose, peaked, and slowly began its descent into dark, Derek had no clue.

He had a forcibly-instated time off, which his superiors insisted was crucial for maintaining Derek's mental health. No, he tried to protest, no, he most emphatically did not need time off, but it was to no avail. He couldn't honestly remember how he had spent the past two weeks, only that he went from Frank's house to his own flat somewhere in the middle. This was no state of blank catatonia, which he would have regarded as pure bliss, however, as Derek's mind was working overtime, trying to make sense out of everything that had happened, what he was supposed to do with his life right now, and how he was supposed to do it. This particular day, when a knock sounded at his door, his thoughts were a bit less than gracious. Believing it to be Delana, or Rachel, or some other well-meaning female who wanted nothing more than to--well, at least there were people who cared about him. That was what he needed to repeat to himself.

Rubbing a hand over his unshaven face, he took a moment to brace himself and try to put on his best face. After taking a deep breath, Derek grasped the doorknob and pulled--the face leaving him too stunned to bother trying to look even remotely all right.

"What--"