Medicine had always been there for him to turn to, immersing himself in figuring out tricky diagnoses or finding new ways to treat patients. That had kept him connected to humanity, his own and the rest of the worlds.

Now he felt untethered.

Thered been a rush when hed thought hed found the person who killed Lexa and Michelle and Brianna. Each time he thought hed come up with the answer, hed gotten that surge, some heady combination of adrenaline and endorphins and serotonin and oxytocin.

Hed been mistaken, though. Morgan hated to face that. Hed really thought hed found the answer with Fugate. Just as he had with Dolan and Connor. It had been like making a diagnosis. He could see all the different pieces and theyd fallen into place to make a definable picture.

Except the picture had been wrong.

He should be relieved that he was wrong about Fugate. If hed been right, it would have meant that hed set in motion the series of events that had led to all those deaths. How would he have been able to live with himself? He could barely stand to live with himself now.

While he had a better than decent track record with his diagnoses, there were times when his first hypotheses proved to not be correct. Hed run a test and end up with a different outcome than he expected. Oftentimes it gave him more information that led him to the correct answer, a trail of breadcrumbs that led him away from the witch and out of the forest.

Why was this so different?

He felt more defeated now than he ever had when having to start over in making a difficult diagnosis. He got off at his Metro stop and trudged to his apartment building. Standing outside, he couldnt bring himself to go in to brave the stale corridors and his sterile apartment. There was nothing there for him.

There was nothing anywhere for him.

He had no family left. His marriage was over. Hed put his job in jeopardy. Where could he turn?

He cast back through his life for someone, anyone, that he could turn to in a time of trouble. Someone that could guide him through his jumbled thought process. It had been so long since hed needed that kind of guidance, he could barely remember.

He froze on the sidewalk next to his car. Monte Flint. That was someone he could go to. The man who had put him on the path to the doctor he had become.

Flint had been an attending physician when Morgan had been a lowly resident himself, still trying to figure out what his specialty should be, still trying to figure out what kind of doctor he should be, still trying to figure out what kind of man he should be. Monte Flint had taken Morgan under his wing and had helped him find all those answers.