"She wobbled, steadying herself against the pale blue walls. "You've been going out alone?" "Yes." He reached out for her arm, but she tore it away from him. "Beth--" She yanked open the door. "Don't touch me." The thing clapped shut behind her. Rage at himself had Wrath spinning toward his desk, and the instant he saw all the papers, all the requests, all the complaints, all the problems, it was like someone hooked jumper cables up to his shoulder blades and hit him with a charge. He shot forward, swept his arms across the top, and sent the shit flying everywhere. As papers fluttered down like snow, he took off his sunglasses and rubbed his eyes, a headache spearing into his frontal lobe. Robbed of breath, he stumbled around, finding his chair by feel and collapsing into the damn thing. With a ragged grunt, he let his head fall back. These stress headaches were becoming a daily occurrence lately, wiping him out and lingering like a flu that refused to be cured. Beth. His Beth... When he heard a knock, he gave the f-word a workout. The knock came again. "What," he barked. Rhage put his head around the jamb, then froze. "Ah..." "What." "Yeah, well...Ah, going by the door slamming--and, wow, the stiff wind that clearly just blew by your desk--do you still want to meet with us?" -Beth, Wrath, & Rhage"