Rating: PG

It was Christmas morning and Myers somehow managed to find the only bar open on the planet. “What can I get you?” The bartender asked.

Myers sat there, numb, unsure of what to say. “I don’t care.” And it was the honest truth. He just needed alcohol like yesterday.

The bartender said something that Myers didn’t catch. He was lost in a sea of numbing gel or something. It would sink in, eventually, he knew that but right now it didn’t seem real.

“Bad day?” Myers blinked and turned to find a man had taken the stool one over from him. He sipped a whiskey, neat, and had on a suite that looked like it’d seen better days or at least a dry cleaner.

“You could say that.” His voice didn’t sound like him at all. This voice was deep and scratchy laced with exhaustion. Just how long had he been up anyway?

“Whatever it is,” the stranger said, “I’m sure it’ll get better.” He lifted his glass and took a sip in honor of what he said.

“Don’t think so.” A beer appeared in front of him. Myers frowned. He was hoping for something stronger but he did say he didn’t care. Maybe next time he’d care? That day seemed far if not impossible to reach.

The man scoffed almost like a strangled chuckle. “Hey, no one died, right?” This time he did laugh, it was a smooth sound but Myers couldn’t appreciate it.

Myers stared into the green bottle in front of him. A drop slid down the surface to collect on the wooden bar’s surface. “Someone did.” He said to no one and anyone.

Warmth heated his side. He looked to find the man now sat next to him, his gaze now softer.

“I’m so sorry.”

Myers shrugged. “Not your fault.”

The man didn’t say anything for a moment. He turned to find the man looking at him strangely like he was trying to trudge up a long forgotten memory locked away in a vault. Recognition dawned in those eyes. “You don’t recognize me, do you?” The man finally said.

Myers frowned and truly looked at the man. He was handsome in a rugged, worn-out sort of way. Gentle brown eyes looked at him with sympathy. “No, sorry.” He wasn’t sorry, not in the least.

There wasn’t enough energy in him to be sorry.

The other swallowed as if about to say something important. He fidgeted in his seat and began twirling his glass. “I was your sister’s surgeon. So I guess in a way, it is my fault.”

Myers blinked a few times. “Doctor Magic?”

“Just Magic… Kind of a lie, isn’t?”

There was a sadness to his voice as if he truly believed it was his fault Myers’. sister, Melinda, had died last night. “She had a tear in her aorta, there was nothing you could’ve done.” Why was he trying to comfort Magic?

From the look on Magic’s face he was wondering the same thing. Magic didn’t say anything which he expected. After all, what was left to say?