Black throbbing pain ricochets through his skull as he sits huddled in his dark apartment. The curtains are closed tightly, staunching the blinding flow of sunlight that threatens to magnify tenfold the bass thrumming in his brain. A whimper claws its way up his throat, as his shaking hands press against his ears to block out the deafening thumping of his heart. "Morgan . . .Someone," He whispers, silent tears squeezing through his clenched eyelids.

Slowly, he braces his hand against the wall and pulls himself upright. 'I have to get to work.' The thought tugs him into action, stumbling across the almost completely dark room, tripping over pile after pile of books and case files. His shin catches on the low-sitting coffee table and he cries out, immediately regretting it. The loud noise brought on yet another onslaught of shattering pain and he slams his eyes shut, dropping to the floor in the fetal position. 'I have to get to work.' There it was, that thought again. Carefully, painfully, he staggers to his feet and practically falls into his bedroom.

Situating himself on his unmade bed, he begins to take deep breaths, and ever so slowly the pain in his head starts to die down. He manages to pull on his clothes and grab his bag, before beginning the agonizing trip to the front door. Extending his hand for the doorknob, he takes a deep breath, slides his sunglasses on, and begins what will be a long and painful day.