She's dead.

He's alive.

It should be him lying there. Not her.

But it isn't.

She's dead.

He's alive.

He should feel guilty.

He does.

He feels guilty for not feeling guilty.

He feels guilty for being alive.

He feels guilty for not being dead.

He feels guilty for not being able to stop it.

He doesn't feel guilty for it being her and not him. And he should.

He knows he should.

But he doesn't.

Maybe he will tomorrow.

Maybe he will next week.

Maybe he will next month

Maybe he will next year.

Maybe he never will.

She was doing her job.

She was protecting him.

She knew the risks.

She knew what was involved.

She knew what could happen.

She's dead.

He's alive.

She's dead.

There's only one thing that'll work for him now.

The one thing that always does.

He doesn't want to go to Ducky.

He doesn’t want to use his oldest friend and lover that way.

But he will.

Because to go anywhere else would be wrong.

To go anywhere else would hurt Ducky.

And he can't do that.

He hurts him enough already.

Ducky wouldn't understand. For once, Ducky would not understand.

And he couldn't live with the guilt of doing that to Ducky.

She's dead.

He's alive.

So he'll go to Ducky and he'll fuck him.

That's all it'll be â€" for him.

Fucking.

That's why it shouldn't be Ducky he goes to.

That's why he should find a nameless, faceless man to fuck.

But he won't.

He'll go to Ducky and he'll fuck him.

And then . . .

And then he'll make love to him.

Make love to assuage the guilt he feels for fucking him.

And then guilt will come.

The guilt that it was her and not him.

She's dead.

He's alive.