attitude | although he would not tell you why initially

Lately, I've been measuring life in weeks, dictated by the volumes that I pull off of the bookshelf, slowly feeling myself fall into greater unease as they pass and my footfalls grow heavier. Sometimes, it feels as though all I ever do is wander towards the rec room, impressed by the fact that I only have so many weeks to try and learn what it means to be a caretaker, a guardian, a parent. A few weeks ago, I finally came to accept that as my greatest priority, one that I didn't want to think of with any amount of fear or trepidation. Parenting's hard enough without living in fear of it.

Mostly, I've managed. I know what I should be eating, I know how much to sleep, I know what changes to expect from my body for the next month, almost down to the day. Before I lost everything, studying was never a problem, and I guess some things never change.

It's the rest that I feel passing me in a blur. Hiding while the island forgot itself. Warily watching as people find themselves seized by fear at various points in the day. I haven't decided how to tackle any of that just yet. I find myself avoiding the very thought of it, running away as I always do, spending a couple hours swimming every day instead, enjoying the way the water buoys me up, almost lets me forget.

My feet sink awkwardly into the sand, balance still imperfect as I head to shore after my swim today, hair dripping all over the place and a towel hastily wrapped around my middle.

It's just another day, I tell myself.

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The beach is a high traffic area. I'm not surprised to hear someone not too far up ahead, though between the wind and the surf, their identity eludes me for now. There's too much conflicting information, the smell of salt heavy in the air, each wave crashing wiping the soundscape clean. Not knowing whether I'm about to come across a friend or stranger, I lift a hand -- a gesture intended entirely for my company, since it means nothing to me -- and call out, "Nice day."

It's almost always a nice day, of course. But a neutral starting point seems best, given the circumstances.

"For all you know, there could be clouds gathering for a sudden downpour," I call out in return. Not the most sensitive of statements, true, but sometimes being a little left of center is both the most honest and the most appropriate for a situation. Or maybe I'm giving myself an excuse— the point is, seeing Matt Murdock wave and talk about the weather is the sort of thing that could make a person laugh. Too boy next door for a man that's anything but.

I try my best to squeeze the water out of my hair, which normally hands down to my shoulder blades. Still haven't brought myself to cut it yet.

"But for now, I guess there isn't a cloud in the sky. And if there is, you know who you're talking to. Someone who doesn't care too much about weather, since she can't sunbathe too often anymore."

"If there were clouds gathering for a sudden downpour, I'd be able to feel it," I tell her, truthfully. A shift in humidity, a drop in temperature. Even sun showers have their indicators, though they're less obvious to me now. I like it when it rains. The picture it paints is less clear these days, granted, muddled in the translation from sound to imagined landscape, but the white noise is welcome all the same.

"I wasn't aware sun exposure was a problem during pregnancy, Faye."

I decide not to bring too much more up about what he might or might not be able to do, but the information seems useful. I file it away, even if as my luck would probably have it, part of me doubts I'll ever see a good use to call on Matt Murdock and his ability to feel rain coming from miles away. Instead, I sigh at the second remark he has to give.

"Everything's more of a problem during pregnancy," I tell him honestly. "A bit of sun might not hurt, but between dehydration and a greater tendency to burn, sometimes it just doesn't seem worth the trouble."

"When are you due?"

I should know this, but time moves strangely here in my experience, days and weeks and months not holding the same meaning as they did at home. Maybe because I sleep more here. I fill my hours with training and teaching, spending time with Ellen, and working on ways to improve my existence here. It's easier to fit rest around that kind of schedule than it was when I was busy cleaning up Hell's Kitchen from the scum of the earth that had infected it for far too long. If I remember my time here when I return, I wonder how long it'll take until I'm tired again.

"Mid-November," I reply, not caring to give the exact date— probably because it makes me unreasonably nervous. I don't like planning much. I never really did after I woke up in that chamber, just going all out while knowing that there was a high price on my head. That there was only so much time I'd have before someone caught up with me. The island doesn't do much to change that line of thought.

"You don't know it, but I'm already starting to look like I'm carrying a basketball with me wherever I go."

"Do you go around telling everyone what they don't know?" I ask, not sharp enough to be chiding, even if I do have to wonder given the turn of conversation so far. My eyebrows pull upwards, brushing up against my frames in a way that's not all together comfortable.

At least for this much, she has a point. I've only seen her the once, and she herself was a child at the time, not carrying one. I relax as much as I'm able.

"November isn't so far away."

Though if what they're saying about Halloween is true...

"Actually..." I reply, raising a brow with a soft snort. Jet would've been quick to say that Matt nailed it right on the head. I've never been quiet about lording information over people whenever I feel it's appropriate. Of course, there are layers upon layers of ways in which my statement just now might offend, but... as far as offenses go, I don't know that I plan on offering an apology.

Instead, I turn a gaze up at the sky, and let the conversation change path.

Like water.

"After October, though," I murmur quietly.

"After October," I'm forced to agree, thoughts having already taken a similar turn. I'm not yet convinced I'm one of the affected, those moments of self-doubt I've experienced these past few months easily explained through other means than mass hallucinations.

"The people here have survived this long," I offer after a moment's silence. It's a small comfort. "You won't be left to fend for yourself, if what they're saying proves true."

I'll see to it personally.

"You mean that they're going to try their best not to leave me to fend for myself," I counter, a shrug added for my own benefit, as though I might be able to dispel my nerves through physical means alone. Biting down on my lip, I guess my only comfort is the fact that I haven't experienced any hallucinations personally yet.

Which doesn't say anything for what could happen between now and October. Affected parties have been staggered, there's no question of that.

"I guess I just don't place a ton of weight in the idea of being looked after by the greater population. One or two people I've wrapped around my finger? Maybe."

"Do you know anyone affected?" I ask, wondering if I don't already know the answer to my own question. It's not that I haven't been susceptible to this place's tricks in the past (I don't think of myself as invulnerable), but the nature of what's looming over us rubs me the wrong way. My senses aren't what they used to be. I've spent over a year maligning this fact. But to have them toyed with like this... It calls to mind enemies I thought I'd long left behind.

"I'm not close to anyone who's outright told me that they're experiencing nightmares," I tell him, glancing up at the sky with a smile. "But with the kind of people I keep with, that really doesn't mean much. I know that... Dean has regular nightmares. I know that things have been hard on him these few months, that I haven't made them any easier. How am I to know if they're nightmares being brought by the island?" Licking my lower lip, I look back his way.

"You?"

I have to wonder if everyone who gets stuck here long enough goes through a period of cabin fever. I know that magic exists. I've been victim to the supernatural as often as I have the scientific, yet my mind always searches for the more rational explanation -- even now when the evidence all but leads to the mystical.

"I'm not sure," I say, which as close to the truth as I'm willing to get. "Do you know what his nightmares are about?"

"Demons, I guess," I say quietly, a small gasp slipping from my lips as the baby starts to shift around in my belly, pressing down somewhere close to my bladder. Not the most comfortable move in the world. "Settle down," I breathe quietly, smoothing a hand over my belly and letting it drag in a large circle as I pull focus.

"His mother was killed when he was really young, and he's been... chasing and chased alike by those demons and monsters. I don't ask him for too many of the details," I muse. "Seems like it'd create more trouble than it'd help."

although he would not tell you why initially

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