Work Text:
He has his first case as a prosecutor in an hour, and Godot fancies a coffee beforehand. However, fetching a coffee will require a trip to the cafeteria, a place he is somewhat reluctant to set foot in. Still, it has been years since… he was last there, and Godot doubts it looks the same. And, besides, just because his last trip to the cafeteria ended so badly doesn’t mean he’s scared to go there.
At least, that’s what he tells himself as he walks the hallways of the courthouse, refusing to drag his feet. And then, he arrives. Holding his breath, Godot walks through the doorway…
And freezes.
His throat burning, he chokes, the cup clattering to the table. He heaves for breath, vision blurring, head pounding, and coughs up shocking red blood all over his hands.
Godot stands still, his muscles tense, his posture rigid. The room looks different after all these years, and yet…
He squeezes his eyes shut behind his visor, breaths shallow and his heart drumming against his ribs. And he knows it isn’t real, yet Godot tastes iron on his tongue.
His vision fading, he stares at the woman sat opposite him. She stares back, flashing a malicious smile. And then she runs off, slipping away as people crowd the man heaving up blood in the middle of the room, too breathless to point at the woman who did this to him.
He tries to move, but Godot’s body stays rooted to the spot. Tense muscles trembling, he swallows hard, trying to force down the pathetic panic.
Approaching footsteps snap him out of it, wobbling down the corridor before anyone can see him like this.
Fuck the cafeteria. He’ll just get somebody to fetch his coffee for him.
Anything to avoid those horrible memories.