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Within the first hour of returning to her room, Mimsy had become very aware of the fact that the substance which came from the stomach of the Titan stained. The sludge itself was easily removed, but the six haphazard dots beneath her eyes remained, as well as something that looked like half of an imprint of lips, accompanied by splotches in her hair and down her sides from uninitiated hugs and other close contact. It had not been the most intelligent of actions when she chose to smear it on her own face like war paint, but she was also becoming very aware that participating in friendship did not necessarily lead to anything intelligent at all. Not by her standards, at least.

Not wanting to be a bothersome human-sized nightlight, she left her room again, notebook in tow, and sought out a building that still had power. Most others were sleeping or working on more detrimental tasks at this hour, so it wasn't too difficult to find an unoccupied space. All she needed was light, her work, a quiet area, and her thoughts, and she would be fine.

Presumably.

Seven hours later, she paused her progress on her work - a general overview, theory, and timeline corresponding with the last significant event and the rift it caused, including a formula approaching the inevitability of multiple colliding universes - to address the fact that she definitely did not feel fine.

Coffee would help, she reasoned. It was late, and they had expended a great deal of energy in their efforts to repel the attack. She fetched another terrible cup of terrible coffee and returned to the formula, which had now spread to the nearest whiteboard she could claim as her own.

Coffee didn't help, but fixating on numbers and connecting temporal dots with straight lines did serve as a sufficient distraction for the most part. She wrote until her hand hurt too much to hold the pen, then switched it to her right, hoping that pretending to be ambidextrous would somehow make her ambidextrous. It didn't, unsurprisingly.

Attempting to rest just caused her to feel decidedly not-'fine' again, and trying to sleep with a light source directly beneath her eyes was more than a little bit troublesome, so she gave up and returned to work, encountering the problem of the aching left hand again. Sighing, she held the pen in her right hand again and determined that she would just teach herself how to write with it right now.

An indeterminate amount of time later, she found herself in the middle of another coffee run that she had no recollection of, both tremendously aching hands curled tightly around two full cups of coffee. She considered setting one down before returning, but her fingers tensed in protest. Her body just wanted the warmth, she reasoned, walking back towards the small room she'd stolen for her own use.

She opened her eyes in a room that did not have her notes or her work that looked very much like the infirmary - largely because it was. Her tired stare was focused on the second cup with a look of faint concern. This was unusual. This was nothing close to 'fine'.

The oddity of the second cup of coffee had almost driven Mimsy to a panic until she heard Robert's voice. With a short, exhaled 'oh', she determined that he must have requested it, or that Lucky intended to bring some to him and she had to do it first, or...no, no. Those were the only reasons that made sense. She decided that she would just try to address both possibilities and hope one worked.

"Hello," she quietly greeted him, looking past his arm and into the infirmary. "Are you on break? I think that this is for you."

When the cup was offered towards him, her fingers felt a little more relaxed, leading her to believe that the warmth probably had helped. If she were more sensible, she might have asked for something to aid it further, but she was certain that she could care for herself.

"No. I am fine, thank you. I am only here to offer coffee. To you. Specifically. I think?" Was that a normal thing to do here? The other interns often brought coffee to share among themselves, but Deus life was much different than physics life, so it was always so hard to tell.

An annoyingly familiar voice, meanwhile, repeatedly accused her of lying until she grew so frustrated that she blurted out a fraction of the truth.

"My hands hurt." Well, it was something. She slowly took a sip of her own coffee and tried to make that sound less strange. "I am concerned that the digestive substance is somehow toxic. I have felt unwell since the middle of that battle and cannot find any other reason. How are you feeling?"

Her stomach suddenly reminded her of its queasiness, which she tried to combat with more coffee. That was a poor decision. It was probably just necessity, a drive to return to what her thoughts wanted to be focused on. That would not be abnormal, so that was surely the case.

"Er, sorry; I am not unwell now, of course, and I need to return to my work, so I will just." As she dissolved into awkward mumbling, she stood and pointed towards the door, flashing a smile.

Either one of the two options was correct, or Robert needed caffeine so badly that he didn't notice. As long as he wasn't questioning the actions that she knew she had no answers or explanations for, Mimsy was comfortable not knowing the answer, just this once.

A request for a favor that was followed by a hug was an unfair tactic, as far as she was concerned, because it meant being caught off guard. To combat this, she tried to think about anything other than the hug, which managed to cause her to think only about the hug, which became wholly confusing. She watched him with hyper-focused, unblinking eyes, and fought to absorb the request in its entirety.

Because obvious signals were not so obvious to her, her immediate response was meant to be a firm 'no'. She wanted to get back to her work, and he had caffeine now, so he could get back to his. It was balanced.

But she stopped herself with the reminder that favors were a friendly thing, then paired it with an extra nudge of competition. She felt a little better now, anyway - or different, really, less pressured with urgency somehow. She couldn't place it.

"Yes," she agreed with resignation. "I will wait. I hope that you consider your reason in the meantime, however. I will not do anything without a reason."

With both hands now wrapped around the coffee cup, she settled in to wait, scouring her mind for something interesting that might help keep her awake if the coffee happened to fail. Falling asleep in the infirmary was dangerous. She couldn't let that happen.

Waiting with nothing to occupy her time was more difficult than Mimsy anticipated. She tried to return to her problem in her head, but couldn't recall where she left off, and mentally reciting digits of pi or other memorized numbers were good ways to help her fall asleep.

Eventually, she'd settled on leaning forward to put her chin in one hand, casually sipping the coffee as she listened to the pained screams of the patients. They were unpredictable and entertaining, and she wore half a smile as she tried to guess what kind of noise would come next.

Time passed much more quickly after that, and it wasn't long before he returned and informed the nurse of his break. She watched the nurse with narrow-eyed suspicion after catching her reaction, stare lingering just slightly past the point that he spoke to her.

"Okay." After another sip, she pushed herself out of the chair and walked through the door, managing several steps down the hallway before pausing to quizzically address him. "Wait. 'Go' where?"

Brows raised, she reached to tap him on the arm.

"And why? I hope you did not forget to decide upon your reason." To be fair, she'd forgotten she insisted upon that until she found herself asking where they were going, but she wasn't going to let him get out of it so easily. Not like the two 'what's she still didn't know the answer to.

How unexpected. Again! These new developments were so delightful that Mimsy had to fight against smiling at his glare, or praising him for the tone he used when he spoke about reasons. Being picked up had been a little too unanticipated, however, because she dropped her coffee to clutch the back of his coat, teeth clenched against dizziness and what felt like a vaguely feverish sensation.

It only got worse when he set her down and nearly demanded her hands, and though her sleepy eyes were struggling to focus, she didn't take them off of him. It was simple, at least. Just look at the glow that wasn't her glow.

She didn't understand why he was reacting in such a way, especially after he'd been so thankful for the coffee. This was something to replicate and reward, another desirable reaction she hadn't seen before, and she would just purposely attempt to push buttons until something kind of made sense. There had to be something to go off of, something useful for later.

"Oh. You are requesting my hands after leading me to a dark room," she said slowly, reaching towards him. Several of her luminous fingertips brushed against his, but didn't linger there; she leaned forward until she could press her palms against his chest, and gave him a fascinated (and slightly tired) smile.

"I feel as if the reason can be safely assumed."

Moving her hands had been an anticipated reaction, but she hadn't expected him to be so calm. Where did that spark go? Why had her actions led to this, of all things? Mimsy realized with deep regret that she understood this 'unexpected' side even less than she initially assumed.

Well. She would find it, even if it took a lot of time and extensive observations and encouragement and coaxing.

In the meantime, she was only confused and a bit disappointed, too tired to be properly angry. This game was only fun if he played too. She turned her hand just enough to slide her fingers between his, curling them as tightly as the stiff joints would allow, and momentarily considered telling him the truth. She was only partially successful.

"No, it is focused mainly around the joints of my fingers, especially the index, middle, and thumb of each hand. The only other pain I experience is here..." She tugged the hand she was holding up towards her throat, just above the sternum. "And here." Then down to the center of her chest, where she let it remain.

"It is occasionally difficult to breathe or speak, and occasionally a strange sensation on my skin, and occasionally something like a fever, and I am almost certain that I have somehow become infected."

Now that the honesty was over, she could try to play again. The sickness surged again. It was annoyingly persistent.

"Yes. I have been tirelessly doing the same thing with my hands, repeatedly, for..." What day was it? "...every moment we have been apart."

Good enough.

If Robert was using some kind of medical technique by trying to replicate something with her fingers, Mimsy didn't know what it was. Granted, she wasn't very familiar with that sort of thing, so it was not impossible, but it still seemed strange. And even stranger when he left her hands alone with the claim that he didn't know what was wrong with them. Had he noticed something in her list of other symptoms? Was she dying?

He touched her chin, then her throat, and it all got worse. Then a kiss, and a whisper, and it was almost unbearable. Wait, why? Why did it increase in situations when...

She recognized at once that she was not dying, and almost wished she was. That would have been easier.

He wasn't supposed to have turned the tables on her that easily. She wasn't sure again what she'd been expecting, wasn't sure what she was ever expecting when she tried those sorts of clumsily planned tactics, but she had hoped it might be something in her favor.

"Y...yes." Difficulty speaking again. She might have groaned with a miserable (partial) understanding, if she felt like she could have. After clearing her throat - twice - she hoarsely began again. "Uh, fascinating! Your kisses are an incredible scientific and medical anomaly that will require further study over an extended period of time. Possibly a date at some point in the future - probably not today, for obvious reasons, but...I..."

Breathe. Breathe. As soon as Svensyl discovered that she was trying to calm herself, he tried to provoke her again, but nothing quite reached the level of the kiss. Thankfully.

She closed her eyes, almost lost her balance as her body attempted to get her to instantly go to sleep on the floor, and cautiously began to pet his hair.

"My professional opinion is that you should first determine the cause of the problem with my hands. I think that it is the more serious of the two. Definitely not an infection after all. Go on, Doctor Morris. Use the problem-solving skills that you have sharpened within the infirmary."