Darvish couldn't sleep. He felt sick. He needed a drink. Mohinder didn't understand. He jutted his jaw stubbornly. After all he'd been through, he deserved a drink. He slid out of bed as quietly as he could. There had to be wine somewhere.
He walked down the hall, his steps unsteady, one hand on the wall. He felt so godsdamned weak. Now, where
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