[While Ethan's mind is a throbbing, overthinking mess, Mal's reached a point where he can settle down and turn to much simpler thoughts: God I'm tired. Wow, that's a nasty cut. I wish Luna were here instead of what's-his-face. I want to be held. All the pleasantly inconsequential worries that feel light as a feather after his earlier paranoia and suspicions. A nice bit of respite before his fears crept up on him once again as he slept and began the cycle anew.

He reappears in the doorway and drops the damp, pinkened washcloth on Ethan's head as he passes him.]

Hate to disappoint you, but I've got bigger problems than crying over some stranger's death. Especially when it doesn't even last.

[As he speaks those words it does strike him that it's just a little messed up that he means them. Wasn't there a time when even hearing about unnecessary deaths of innocent people ate away at him for days, weeks? How many did he have to witness before he started growing numb to it? So much for letting his mind drift to the simple things.

He frowns a little to himself as he starts unrolling his futon. Forget this whole "being awake" thing. He is so ready to leave the waking world for a while.]