Derevko was early to work the following morning. He grumbled under his breath as he filled out the incident paperwork in the office he shared with Dullahan and Fletcher. Around him, the smell of lemons lingered in the air. He supposed on some level, he was lucky that he hadn't been seriously burned by the soup of broken down human tissue and whatever the fuck that caustic crap had been. He knew that one of the HazMat team had told him what they thought it was, but he'd been marginally distracted.
No, that wasn't really right. He'd been wrestling with his temper. The fact that he'd screwed up so badly, the fact that he'd just wanted to cave Donaldson's face in. It would have been satisfying. Talking about that wouldn't have been a fucking good idea though. He was on edge, and it boiled underneath the surface, making him want to smash the shit out of something. Or someone. His fingers flexed as he tried to concentrate on the Goddamn writing.
When the other two got there, they'd be able to check the fucking perp out, but until then, he wasn't going to trust himself talking to Donaldson.
The scarred agent thought there was a very real possibility that he'd lose his cool. And when he lost his cool, things got really, really fucked up.
Well, at least after the corpse juice yesterday, nothing could make this fucking week worse.