ataraxionlogs | 02 ▒ EVENT: STASIS SICKNESS ▒ MEDBAY

It isn't like Murphy has never feared and fretted over a sick person. Charlie had come down with a serious case of influenza on more than one occasion, leaving Murphy to worry and fuss over his son's bedside. Never had it been anything life-threatening or beyond his control (for a rare change), but that didn't mean it didn't require tending to.

This, however, was not influenza. Hell, it wasn't like anything Murphy had ever seen before, or ever cared to witness. He wanted to help, though if it was one thing he knew in his very narrow knowledge of first-aid, it was that you had to let seizures and fits just run their course. Painful as it was to watch -- especially now, in an odd way, because it was Heather of all people -- Murphy did all he could do.

And yet, in spite of what was going on around him, he was fine. No fevers or coughing fits.

Powerless. Again.

He had marked the more finer details in his map. Murphy figured he could always backtrack to where he'd last been in the maze, if he wanted to play catchup. And he did. He didn't want to stress or blame her, but bringing Heather here did take out a huge chunk of time it would've taken to get to... wherever the hell they were supposed to go, if they wanted to live.

If Heather wants to live.

For now, his priorities were here, at Heather's bedside. It wasn't much, but a cool cloth was all he had -- to treat the fever. No medicine, no cure, just a little home remedy to at least ease some of the discomfort. He just had his doubts...

"Y'know, that was really stupid, what you did." No, Murphy wasn't, in fact, masking his feelings with scolding, fatherly tones. Whether Heather could actually hear him or not made no difference to him at all. He was used to not being heard, anyway.

"I know."

She knows, and she feels like crap about having derailed his search, especially with him fussing over her. It might not be fancy future medicine, but the cloth at her forehead is cool and comforting, helps her enough to listen to him, even if her answering speech is slurry and slow.

"Didn't really expect to run into anybody. 'm sorry you had to come back."

He couldn't get angry. Even when his mannerisms slightly suggested it, he really wasn't. No matter how this turned out, that just wasn't what he wanted to leave on Heather's mind before he left.

Murphy couldn't blame her, because he'd have probably done exactly what she just did.

Reckless.

"Well, you're... you're damned lucky you did." He didn't want to think about what'd happen if Heather had a fit in those hallways, alone, with no one to bring her back. Better Murphy than no one at all, leaving her there to die. "Just take it easy. I'll... deal with the rest."

"Can you catch up? Bad idea to go alone." Yeah, she's shooting for humor, here. Sue her. The concern it real, though. If Murphy hauled ass to get her to safety and then got hurt because everyone was too far ahead by the time he could venture back in... well, one thing she's starting to learn is there's always room for a little more guilt. She swipes at her tickling nose with the back of a hand, makes a face when it comes away bloody.

"Ugh. So gross."

"Whatever. I'll manage." Sure, it was a bad idea. Bad ideas, however, had never stopped Murphy before. No reason to turn over a new leaf about it now.

He frowned a little when the blood started to come from Heather's nose. He glanced over to the stand by the bed, before pulling one of the dry napkins from it and wiping the blood from her face.

"Here. Keep your head tipped back -- maybe it won't bleed as much." This was better than simply agreeing with her. It was pretty gross.

Heather tipped her face away with minimal effect when Murphy started wiping at her face. A little bit of fussing was nice, but that was kind weird. She followed his advice and tilted her head back, figuring that feeling gross was inevitable but she could at least avoid laying around covered in any more blood than her clothes had already collected.

"'f you die, who's gonna keep me from doing more stup-" her attempt at sass cut off abruptly as she gagged. Turned out tipping your head back to stop a blood nose leaking all over your face just sent it down your throat. Awesome.

It was weird, but at the core of it, that was also who Murphy was. And having someone to give a shit about, who he could place a hand over their head to silently let them know that it was going to be okay, was part of that.

He froze as Heather began gagging, not knowing what to do for a few moments. He didn't think to immediately call over one of the medics that couldn't stop what was happening. Only make the transition hurt a little less...

This wasn't going to happen.

"Don't worry 'bout me. I'm not the sick one, here." That's right. You put on that reassuring front, man. Better she hear that than what he truly felt about this whole fucked up mess.

Funnily enough, it wasn't the first time she'd heard that. Maybe the first time in that context, though. She grabbed the napkin from him and spat blood into it.

"I know what's gonna happen to me. If there's no cure. You might have a shot." She pressed a hand over her mouth, breathing deeply in an attempt to quell the wave of nausea that passed over her - half the sickness, half the taste of blood. "Don't fuck it up, okay?"

Murphy didn't want to make any promises right then. He didn't want to tell her that he's going to save her, or make things sound all so certain when there's no real certainty to any of it. Because the truth was, he didn't know. He didn't know anything. Everything he did, he did out of impulse. But at the end of it, there was also the fact that he would never be able to forgive himself if he just let these people die, knowing that others were out in that maze, looking for the solution.

"Won't be gone long, I swear. We'll figure somethin' out." It hurt. She was young... not as young... but, still. He didn't want to have to bury her, too. It wouldn't be right. "Hey. Look alive for me, alright?"

He meant it, part in the symbolic sense, but literally as well. Wouldn't want her dying on him this soon.

" 'm way too stubborn to die without a fight." And maybe looking alive would be a stretch, with her unnatural hue and the traces of blood smearing her face, but she'd be a smartass as long as she could draw breath. Which was why she lifted one hand and threw him the horns.

"But you die and I'll kick it just out of spite, I swear to God. Haunt you." If ghosts could haunt ghosts. Whatever.

"Wouldn't have pegged you for bein' anything different." After all, he knew that she'd survived, just like he had -- somehow. That at least had to account for something, didn't it?

Threats aside, Murphy still did what he could to clean the blood off of Heather's face. Inevitable as it might be, because it would just keep coming, but he still wanted to. Something about dignity, maybe...

A slight, stiff smile fleetingly formed. "Wow, thanks. I'll be sure to keep that in mind."

Too much. It was too much. The fever and the pain and the ringing in her ears, loud enough that she couldn't make out what Murphy had said. Not that it would have mattered especially anyway, because her attention was less on that than the careful way he wiped at her face. Her eyes started to stream, and she closed them. Couldn't tell if it was blood or tears.

Blood, she hoped. Grosser, but less embarrassing.

Fuck.

He knew that she wasn't feeling okay. For all Murphy knew, he could only be hurting her more. And with how far down she was, how close she'd become, even if he left now -- he had no idea if he'd be able to save her, or Alayne, or anyone in his entire piss-waste of a life.

But he had to at least try.

Words were beyond meaning. Which was why Murphy moved his hand to Heather's shoulder, firmly offering just the simple fact that he was still there, even if he had to leave soon. He was too afraid to do or say much else than that...

Her ears popped just as Murphy's hand moved to her shoulder, plunging her into silence. Unwilling to give up two senses, she opened her eyes. She could see clearly - tears, then. Ugh.

She placed her own hand over Murphy's, gave it a squeeze.

"I'll be fine," she said, and the sound of her voice was thick and muddled to her, like hearing underwater. "It just sucks."

When the tears came, he wished he could give her some sort of promise. But, given his track record with those, they always flew back in his face in the end. Might as well just damn her and be done with it.

He didn't want that.

"Yeah." His hand slipped reluctantly from under hers, dropping it back at his side. "I'm not gonna give up on you, alright?"

Whether Heather could actually hear him say that or not, he didn't know. Maybe she could read his lips, or see the solidity of it in him when he spoke to her. As tired and weak as he was, he didn't have the luxury of giving up now.

His words didn't make it through to her. Soft-spoken at the best of times, Murphy was far too quiet in the sombre atmosphere of the medbay for her to even hope to hear him. All she could do was watch his face, and it wasn't telling an especially happy story. Murphy looked tired, worn-out, and she found herself perversely wishing he'd get just a little sick too. Just enough to keep him back while somebody else found the cure. She thought she recognized the look on his face. The look of somebody running on fumes but still willing to run themselves into the ground to do what was right.

Her dad had worn that look.

"You're gonna go back no matter what I say, aren't you?"

Murphy was always tired. Part of him also really wished that he was the one sick and bloody and dying -- not them.

Slowly, he nodded then. If nothing else, hopefully Heather would be able to understand that much. "I have to. It... wouldn't be right, if I stay."

Simply because he couldn't. He couldn't stay behind, watching the people around him suffer this way. It hurt worse than anything tearing into his own skin. The least he could do was fight for them... Much like how he gave it his all to look for his son when he didn't come home when he should have, or had been overwhelmed with that terrible feeling. It seemed that, despite the hopelessness of it, Murphy had no other choice but to fall prey his own whims.

The nod cemented it. She could guess at the rest. Not that she needed to.

She nodded back, resigned. She knew the feeling, the need to so something because it felt like the only right thing to do. Still, with everything that had happened - little girls who tell the future, hallways that shifted and changed, everything that had happened with Hotspur - she was starting to get a little superstitious.

With shaking hands she pulled the long chain of her locket over her head. Held it in her palm for a moment, silver that had sat over her heart surprisingly warm in hands that were getting ever colder, and then held it out to him.

"Kept me safe when I needed it," she said. "Plus it's the last thing I have that my dad gave to me, and now you know that you'll feel way too guilty not to bring it back. Don't bother arguing with me, I can't hear you."

He didn't say anything -- not that any of it was necessary. If Heather was telling the truth and not just saying that just to get out of any quarrels, there was no point in arguing.

Murphy felt his shoulders slump, staring at the trinket that was offered to him. Loathe as he was to accept anything from her right now, he reluctantly took it in one hand. His other briefly took Heather's into his own, as more of a reassuring gesture that he would make do.

"Thanks. I'll... I'll bring it back." Whether Heather heard or understood it meant nothing, as it was more of a promise Murphy made to himself than anything. There was no use in putting much stock in his own confidence, simply because there wasn't much there to begin with. Even now, the fact that Heather was putting faith into him felt more like a death sentence than anything else. With so many patterns added to his failures and losses, it was only natural for Murphy to feel a little superstitious.

Maybe it was just that he'd always been cursed. For that, he was afraid, even if he tried so hard to keep it all buried under the mess.

People who believed in him did not seem to last very long...

No, Murphy, don't do - ugh. Seriously, she'd just managed to fight off the I'm-gonna-cry. She turned her head for a moment, faced away from him, and stuffed the feeling down. He'd go, that much was obvious - but the longer he lingered the more she'd want to ask him to stay and that wouldn't be fair to anyone.

Emotional overflow contained for the moment, she turned back to him, face carefully arranged into a stern scowl.

"Let everybody else die first, okay? No hero stuff."

Like that was going to happen.

Murphy froze. He wasn't even going to answer that at first, because... What the hell was he supposed to say to that? Let everybody else die first? It already felt like he was a bit late for that.

People were going to die anyway, if he didn't do anything.

Tucking the locket away in his pocket, Murphy nodded, and stepped away from Heather's bedside.

"Don't you dare go dyin' on me first, either. I'll get one of those ghost-savvy people and give you Hell, if you do." Whether she could actually hear him or not meant nothing.

...Actually, he kind of hoped that she didn't hear him say that.

02 ▒ EVENT: STASIS SICKNESS ▒ MEDBAY

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