My gf's mother passed away today. Doesn't look like I'll be going down there to be with her in the next few days (she needs time with her family) but this whole nightmare has honestly revived some not-very-old demons for me so it may be a day or three before I'm up to threading again. I've made notes of the threads and posts I have owing and promise to get them addressed as soon as I've regained my emotional footing.

As always, if you need anything of me (as an flister or as a comod) in the meantime, PM me at this LJ or at kat_rowe and I will get back to you somewhere between ASAP and pronto. I will be around, just not necessarily creative enough to get in Will's headspace for a bit. I'm here and I'm available if anyone needs anything.

Here's a list of what I have noted as owing in terms of threads and posts. If I owe you a tag/thread/post and it's not here, please do PM me to let me know.

Ashley (2 tags)
Scully (1 tag)
Zack (1 post)
Morgana (1 tag, 1 post reply)
Watson & Declan (1 tag)

Am I missing anyone? I could have sworn I owed a Druitt tag, too, and one other to someone but I'm not seeing either in my inbox...

Okay, so first off I owe everyone an apology for the slow tagging. A lot's been going on in RL. My gf's mother is dying of cancer and, since I've been there and done that recently, it's been hard to get and stay in character. I'll try to be better about tagging but, that said, I may have to fly out there to be with her, which means I may be completely out of touch for awhile. Just wanted to give everyone a heads up as to that possibility. I will do my best to keep active in-game and, as always, if anyone has any problems, concerns, suggestions, questions, etc. feel free to drop me a PM here or at kat_rowe and I'll get them addressed for you.

Having finally finished reviewing the results of Zack's blood-work and imaging, Will drops a copy of the final report into Magnus' Inbox and then heads to Zack's room, knocking on the door.

(ooc: Sorry it took me awhile to get this up. RL was being RL)

Will works through lunch, wanting to refresh himself on the aftermath of kidnappings. Most of the rest of the issues that are likely to arise in the coming weeks are familiar territory to him. For that matter, kidnapping is, too, but he wants to be able to approach this on a professional level rather than a personal one. The last thing he needs is to reflect his own hangups back onto her.

He's rearranged his schedule so he actually has several hours free to work with her, just in case things get too fraught. First sessions aren't always difficult but they can be and he doubts Ashley's had much practice at this type of thing. Better safe. Glancing at his clock when it chimes softly that it's almost that time, he grabs a few of the books with more disturbing titles and tucks them out of sight. He doesn't actually know what specific abuses Ashley might have been subjected to by her father and he doesn't want to put those ideas into her head if she wasn't. (ooc: if you're more comfortable with the past tense, feel free to use that :)

Will's getting sick of tap-dancing around things with Magnus but, even if he were happy with the awkward (and painful) status quo, he's got a job to do and he's not going to let personal considerations interfere with that. With a possible lead on the Scarabs, he needs to talk to her.

He has a tray of tea, cookies, and scones assembled before he even realizes what he's doing. She hasn't been eating and he knows that. If the light meal looks like an apology attempt... well, he owes her an apology. His concerns were founded but his reaction was out of line. Late or not, he heads for her office rather than her room, knowing her well enough to know he'll find her there. Balancing the tray, he taps on the door with his free hand.

"Magnus?" he calls. "Got a minute? Morgana dug something up that we need to discuss."

but Will's well past the point where he was years ago where alcohol makes him belligerent. Which is why anyone who happens across him and his half-empty bottle of cheap scotch in the lounge will find him playing the guitar and singing a rather tearful rendition of My Sweet Lord as opposed to spoiling for a fight. His playing is actually quite good, inebriated state aside, and his singing only slightly slurred.

Will taps on the door frame before entering Magnus' office. "Hey, I have those evaluations you wanted. Sorry I didn't get them to you last night as promised but something came up with a patient," he tells her, walking over to her desk and sitting down across from her. "Which reminds me that we're running low on atropine." He looks over the contents of her desk: memos, reports, and briefs. "Looks like I'm not the only one who has things backing up?"

"Almost there," Will tells Watson, pulling off the highway and onto the airport access road. Glancing at the clock on the dashboard, he adds, "We made good time. Should be there in plenty of time to meet Doctor Macrae's plane.

Will sits at the kitchen table, typing away on his laptop and mumbling absently to himself opium poppies and crown jewels because, if you've already got revise over 2 millions words worth of fanfiction for character, you might as well tighten up the plots, too. He stops from time to time to savor the smell coming from the oven, compounded of nuts and spices and pastry and more butter than a person should consume in a year. This is definitely one of the good days to Will's way of thinking.

Will sits in his office on a Sunday morning when everyone else is off relaxing, wanting to get some last-minute paperwork sorted so he can enjoy the rest of the day. Next stop after here is definitely the kitchen. Sighing, he reaches around to rub his stiff neck and shoulders.

Will hates airports. Too many people, not enough exits. But he promised to pick Dana up and he even remembered to bring an umbrella for her even though the sky's only slightly overcast. He finds a wall to lean against where he can see what's going on around him and waits for her, rubbing the back of his neck and absently shifting his leg until he feels his gun shift in his ankle-holster. The weight's comforting even if he wouldn't dream of actually using or even drawing the thing in this public a venue.

Will walks into one of the Sanctuary's many lounges, carrying a tray containing cocoa, cookies fresh from the oven, and a battered copy of The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, intent on an evening's relaxation after a long several days of work. He almost drops the tray when he sees the room's newest occupant.

"Hello, gorgeous..."

He puts down the tray, smiling. The piano's still there, along with a few guitars leaned in the corner, but now there's a drum set, too. Rubbing his hands together, Will approaches it, shaking his head. This is no 'I need a drum set for my fifteen year old who says he wants to learn but'll probably lose interest in six months so I'd better get something cheap' set of drums. This is a 'my group just cracked the Top 40 and I'm buying this baby to celebrate' drum set. He runs one fingertip along the edge of the hi-hat, then pings it with his fingernail, smiling at the tone. Peering out the lounge door to make sure the halls are empty, he sits down and grabs the drumsticks, reacquainting himself with the location of each piece and with how much force is needed to elicit the desired sound and volume, a smile slowly spreading as he realizes that, even though it's been almost ten years, he still remembers how to play.

But what to play? He taps absent on the snare as he considers, then breaks into a grin. There's one he'll never forget to play, unhappily apropos but still a lot of fun and, unlike a lot of what he knows, not entirely unrecognizable without two or three other kinds of instruments contributing. He muffles the snare and starts rapping away, unable to resist the urge to sing along and quickly getting more enthusiastic than he's been in a long time.

That's great, it starts with an earthquake
birds and snakes, an aeroplane
Lenny Bruce is not afraid
Eye of a hurricane, listen to yourself churn
world serves its own needs, regardless of your own needs
Feed it up a knock speed
grunt no, strength no
Ladder structure clatter with fear of height, down height
Wire in a fire, represent the seven games in a government for hire
and a combat site
Left her, wasn't coming in a hurry with the furies breathing
down your neck

(ooc: on the extremely off chance that you've never heard this song: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Bmxyj6iInMc)

...which is why Will has abandoned his patient records and case reports and profiles for a little while.

He's on his couch now, nursing a can of Sprite and a packet of peanut M&Ms. He has a book in one hand, a pen in the other, and a notepad resting on his knee. He has his feet on the coffee table and is humming along to the music from his computer as he works.

He stops humming and mumbles, "wisdom, sincerity, benevolence, courage," as he scribbles on the pad in shorthand.

Will glances at the clock on his desk, sighing when he sees that it's pushing three in the morning. Going over this list of Magnus' friends, contacts, and connections is eating more and more of his time. And very little of that work feels any kind of nice. It's too easy to look at a list of the woman's oldest friends and announce 'yeah, you can't trust x, y, or z.' Sighing, he climbs to his feet and opens the office window, deciding that he needs a break. He can spend a few minutes just enjoying the view before he gets back to work. For a guy who harasses Magnus about Mental Health Days, he could use one himself.