for bill

[make_creation]

Things weren't so bad. He was waiting on a story from Lyra and he'd been spending time with Tosh. A lot of time. Today, though, he'd woken up in his own hut and stared at the ceiling for a minute before he got up and headed for the compound. He'd liked the rain and the cold, but it was too warm for the jacket and shirt he'd layered over his other

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[red_ponytail]

Bill was reluctant to leave the clinic and Roger's side, but he knew others needed to be told, Brian and Mark especially. He stuck his head into the kitchen and scanned the faces within, going inside when he spotted Mark at a table.

"Mark," he said by way of greeting as he approached, and he was sure he looked far from thrilled. in his usual blunt way, he forewent a preamble. "I'm glad I found you. Roger's in the clinic."

[make_creation]

The three words he hated to hear the most crashed into him and it took a second to decide he'd heard Bill correctly.

"In the clinic?" he repeated, the blood draining from his already pale complexion. Never good words for someone like Roger. Someone like Mimi. Someone like Angel who had spent the whole of October in the hospital.

The words echoed in his head, voice over, reverb carrying the last L out like a bell ringing.

"...Roger."

[red_ponytail]

"Yeah," Bill confirmed with a nod. "He's all right...well, he's not all right, but he's alive, and conscious, and talking."

He ran a hand over his face, suddenly exhausted, his back a little sore from having to carry Roger. "He - he stopped breathing after I'd got him to the clinic, but Doctor House was able to fix it, get him breathing again. He called it...anaphylaxis? And said Roger has a bad upper respiratory infection."

[make_creation]

Mark blinked rapidly, focusing on Bill's eyes. He'd never taken the time to notice how blue they were. It was surprising what drew his focus at times like this. The bad dye job on the nurse who had been so fuckin' mean to Collins. The way Mimi's hands had looked. The necklace Maureen had been wearing when she'd told Mark about Joanne.

Just how blue another man's eyes were. The line of his mouth and the strength of his jaw. The angle wasn't right though. He shouldn't be looking up.

Finding the strength to stand, Mark swallowed hard and tried to ignore just how dry his mouth was. Stopped breathing. Anaphylaxis. Infection. Disease.

"Shit," he whispered. One virus was a death sentence, but it was everything else in the world that was what Mark feared. He could keep everything together, running smoothly, in working order, but he was helpless in the face of this fucking plague.

"He's...is he..."

Close on Mark's paralyzing terror.