He sat in a cave. Hands clasped to the armrests and overlooking the sea. Kilian gripped his shoulder as they watched the disappearing drones together.

Lance shrugged. "No, Walter, no! I will do anything! I'm sorry, alright? Do you hear me? Anything! Do not hurt him. Don't, don't do this. Please no! Please!!!"

Drones hit the target.

"NOOOOOO!"

The world turned gray. The sea froze.

His breath was ragged. His heart was pounding in his ears. He was... sitting on the bed. As he looked around, he saw a room. Home.

He cursed and wiped his face. The same thing over and over again. Every fucking night.

Lance swallowed and threw his legs over the edge of the bed. For a moment, he sat there with head in hands and then stood up. Exhausted, he dragged himself into the kitchen. Four in the morning. The coffee maker beeped as it started making his dose, and Lance grabbed a half-empty bottle of rum from the counter. Three gulps. He closed his eyes and focused only on the heat spreading through his chest. Then he put the bottle back. He'll be sober again before work.

As he took the first coffee of the day and had another one made right away, he watched the video from Walter again. A kitten and a budgie played together.

An ad for parachuting started playing.

"It's okay, Lance. You can't do this alone. It's alright. Let me go."

The empty cup clicked on the counter. His hands were shaking. He clenched them into fists. Took a deep breath. Resisted the urge to drink again. Must not be drunk at work. No more mistakes.

He shoved the rum under the sink and put two slices of gluten-free bread in the toaster. The window opened easily.

He sucked in the cool summer air.

Something has to be done.

Maybe the agency shrink would help?

But what if they suspend him?

They can't.

He has to watch Walter's back.

They are a team.

They are Team Weird.