"Oh, that's not what I mean." Sunny told him plainly. "You're an adult, how you take care of yourself is not anything I can control." If they were really going to go there, the obvious conversation someone had to have with this man was about whether he was going to destroy his lungs or his liver first. But obviously he knew about that and didn't care.

This point was different.

"You are, however, already making yourself a shittier doctor overall. I'm sure Butters has already reamed you over the effects of secondhand smoke at some point, so, y'know, thanks. But this space," she waved a hand to indicate the room, the disorder, the madness that was clearly settling in, "is supposed to be a safe space for patients whether you have any or not and it is most definitely not that in this state. Someone who needs help is probably either going to avoid coming into this room or be afraid while they're here. Afraid of you for making it. And you, you're making leaps in logic to statistically improbable things on slivers of evidence when you know that's not and is never how this works."

She sighed and flicked some of her braids over her shoulder. "You remember the first time I needed your help? I was embarrassed enough that I wanted to just fall right through the floor. But you were, in a way, kind about it. And I needed that as much if not more than the medication. You're in no state to give anybody that right now."