Progress indeed. Last time someone had ruffled Heather's hair on the ship, she'd ducked away so hard she walked into a doorframe. What Murphy got was the kind of scrunched up face that was supposed to mean Da~ad, you're embarrassing me and didn't make a very good job of covering up the fact that actually? She kinda liked it.

"I think so," she said, making an essentially useless effort at settling her hair into some kind of order. God, she needed to do something about it soon. "Sometimes it doesn't really matter how bad your options are, the important thing's that you can choose. Not that I've ever had to deal with that the same way you have, but..." she shrugged. "Well, I don't think the psychiatric help around here is too fancy, anyways."