Phoenix hadn't been able to sleep after talking to Jaclyn. She could have said more, she could have said worse, but what stuck with him more than anything else was her claim that she wished she'd had what happened to him. Why did she think he had PTSD in the first place? And that stupid EDN-- whatever it was called-- did she want that, too? Did she want to remember the smell of brain matter? Was that better than the smell of sweat, in her opinion? Did she want to toss and turn for two hours, because sometimes the bed still felt too soft to sleep on? Did she want to have to rush in a panic through every shower for fear the water would get cold? Did she want to hear a doctor say she had nerve damage in her back because of how hard she'd been hit? She had no idea what that place had done to the rest of his life. He had stared at the photos for as long as he could before he had gone to the window and watched the sun rise, slowly. Finally, he decided that finding Jason was the best-- really, the only-- thing to do. He'd wandered around, avoiding staff for another hour before he finally found Ace's door and knocked softly.
