Greta smoothes out her skirts as Jay gets himself a glass of water. Perhaps she should have thought of that herself, but it's probably just as well that he's taking care of himself a little. She lets him lead the way into the bedroom, and briefly rests her hand against his back before approaching the bed.

Tim is stretched out on top of the covers, senseless and still, like something out of a fairy tale (she swallows the brief, moderately hysterical impulse to ask if anyone's tried kissing him, yet). He doesn't respond when she perches on the edge of the mattress, feels his forehead for fever, or checks his pulse. There are no signs of illness. She didn't really expect any - the cause of his condition isn't a mystery - but if his body is still here and alive, there's nothing to stop it from falling ill, is there? It can't hurt to check, and it makes her feel as if she's doing something of use.

"Has he done anything since this happened?" she asks, looking back at Jay. "Anything at all?"