"The fiercest anger of all, the most incurable,
Is that which rages in the place of dearest love." - Euripides

Martha watched, concern etched upon her face, as Kate poured herself a large measure of scotch. Leaving the bottle uncapped Beckett tilted and swirled the glass unleashing the aroma from the 50 year old liquid, simultaneously harsh and mellow. She brought the vessel up closer, relishing the acrid alcohol burn on inhalation of the already evaporating spirit; 'The angels' share'

Without further ado Kate knocked back the glass in one violent gulp, then slammed it back to the wood of the table top. She immediately reached for the bottle.

"Katherine..." Martha said a note of shock, pleading and warning in just that single word.

She need not have worried. Kate had already snatched the stopper and jammed it back in the neck angrily.

No more was necessary, the fire burning in her core was more fierce than any quantity of alcohol could produce. She set the bottle aside then stood. Her legs steady once more, made strong, powerful with rage.

"Katherine, darling, where are you going?"

Leaving no room for uncertainty Kate replied with molten steel, "I'm going to find him Martha."