He still sometimes sleeps, but it's getting gradually more infrequent. A common enough occurrence not to be a shock, infrequent enough that his body drinks it in like a dying plant does rain. Desperately pulling out every scrap it can get, leaving him bleary, confused, and disoriented for a while after he wakes up. It's no different now, he thinks, except maybe it's one of the worst mornings so far. He still feels tired. His body aches.
He opens his eyes, and his room looks different. Insanely, nonsensically, his first theory is that someone redecorated while he was out — until recognition kicks into place. Rails on the bed. Curtains, sterile white. He's very familiar with hospital rooms, he's been in and out of them growing up, and with increasing frequency lately. Usually he's not in a bed, though.
The second thing he notices is the sound of shuffling cards — by now incredibly familiar. He can almost tell which of the women of 300 Fox Way it is by the unique way they each shuffle and place. Maura's snap with much more intention than Calla's, usually — or at least that's the word he'd use to describe it.
Relief unfurls small and feeble, like a sidewalk flower. It's completely unfair to Harriet to say that Maura's felt more like a mother to him; Harriet's been caring and kind, supporting and constant and stable. But she's also always had an abundance of kids. kids before him, kids after, attention split evenly across ten different directions. Each one might be unique, each one might be special, but if everyone's special, nobody is.
Maura's got fewer wards under her purview. It feels different.
Also, probably incredibly weird of him to think of her that way while dating her daughter, but all of them are weird. Everything about each of them is weird. At a certain point, you stop questioning the ones that aren't hurting anything. The ones that feel right.
Nothing feels right, right now.
"Hi," he says — or tries to say. His throat is drier than the fucking Sahara, and his tongue feels like Velcro on the roof of his mouth. The sound that comes out is more a raspy grumble, a friction-y paper-thin noise. His brain's still foggy, cotton-stuffed, probably from medication, maybe from a concussion. It means his question comes out a completely eloquent, "Why... this?"
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He opens his eyes, and his room looks different. Insanely, nonsensically, his first theory is that someone redecorated while he was out — until recognition kicks into place. Rails on the bed. Curtains, sterile white. He's very familiar with hospital rooms, he's been in and out of them growing up, and with increasing frequency lately. Usually he's not in a bed, though.
The second thing he notices is the sound of shuffling cards — by now incredibly familiar. He can almost tell which of the women of 300 Fox Way it is by the unique way they each shuffle and place. Maura's snap with much more intention than Calla's, usually — or at least that's the word he'd use to describe it.
Relief unfurls small and feeble, like a sidewalk flower. It's completely unfair to Harriet to say that Maura's felt more like a mother to him; Harriet's been caring and kind, supporting and constant and stable. But she's also always had an abundance of kids. kids before him, kids after, attention split evenly across ten different directions. Each one might be unique, each one might be special, but if everyone's special, nobody is.
Maura's got fewer wards under her purview. It feels different.
Also, probably incredibly weird of him to think of her that way while dating her daughter, but all of them are weird. Everything about each of them is weird. At a certain point, you stop questioning the ones that aren't hurting anything. The ones that feel right.
Nothing feels right, right now.
"Hi," he says — or tries to say. His throat is drier than the fucking Sahara, and his tongue feels like Velcro on the roof of his mouth. The sound that comes out is more a raspy grumble, a friction-y paper-thin noise. His brain's still foggy, cotton-stuffed, probably from medication, maybe from a concussion. It means his question comes out a completely eloquent, "Why... this?"