Murphy and Me VI

I guess it was a fitting end to the day. Really, it was.

With no idea what else to do, I sat cross-legged on the floor in front of my door, the erasable whiteboard now in my lap. There was no phone on my floor (because of the no lounge thingy) and at the moment I had no energy to get up. Did not want to get up and move.

Did not want to accidentally run into Murphy.

Because I was afraid of what he would do because A) He liked me B) He'd want to help me and C) There was the startling possibility that I'd let him do both of those previous things.

I took a deep breath and stood. Stuck the whiteboard back on my door. Headed for the stairs. Tried to ignore the way I smelled. I really needed a shower.

After picking up the phone and dialing security, I listened to it ring...and ring...and ring...and ring...Frustrated, I slammed the receiver down with more force than necessary. Freakin' phone lines.

"Olivia?"

I looked over - Murphy and Devan, still in work out gear, were paused by the lounge and looked at me. At least Murphy was. Devan gave me a pat on the shoulder as if sensing I was heading for a break down of monumental proportions and was deciding to leave me to Murphy.

"You okay?"

It was a simple question. People asked it to one another every day. Most tried to answer at least a little honestly; some flat-out lied. I liked to be in the middle ground. I worked in understatements.

"I've had a rough day."

Murphy looked at the phone - it was hanging crookedly in its cradle. "Looks like it."

Didn't even have the energy to blush.

"Do you want to sit down?"

I wanted a shower, that's what I really wanted. And a healthy dose of the boys from Supernatural. And to sleep. And maybe to be snuggled into Murphy's furnace-like warmth again, but that would be icing on the cake. The cake that was attempting to be scraped off the floor, proverbially. Hope it was vanilla.

"I locked my keys in my room."

Murphy looked a little relieved that he'd gotten somewhere. He went to the phone. "We'll just," he picked up the receiver, "call security," he dialed the number, "and they'll..."

He must have been getting the ringing.

"Fix it," he finished lamely. He hung up the phone far more gently than I had. Then he dropped a damn bombshell. "You looked pretty out of it at Mac's."

This time I did blush. It had been so hard to tell Sasha that I had issues. Telling Murphy...I'm not sure if I could tell him. I'm not sure I could tell him that I took half a pharmacy every day and I had lost it today because I had spent the night in the third floor lounge with burly football men. And didn't do my pill box. He'd blame himself, and really, it was nobody's fault. It was just my dumb luck.

Or lack thereof.

"I was pretty out of it," I admitted. Why I was having issues keeping it together? I just wanted to curl up and nap. Sleep until dinner and then eat more wheat. Lots more wheat. So much wheat that I'd turn into wheat.

"I just want a nap," I said softly.

Murphy smiled thinly and led me, not toward the lounge, but toward the Fishbowl. I balked instantly. I couldn't - Was he - Oh, Sasha was going to have a field day.

"You're not sleeping on a couch, or on the floor," he said, gently but firmly. "Devan won't care, and all you're going to do is sleep. When you wake up, we'll try calling security."

I looked tat him. Did I trust him this much?

"Trust me."

And deep inside, I think I did. I'd already slept next to him once, for God's sake. If I didn't trust him then, when was I ever going to? Not to mention he already had a hand on the door handle. And I was tired.

"Okay."

He opened the door and stuck his head in - presumably to make sure Devan wasn't naked or something - and ushered me in. It was relatively clean, and set up not with the dividing line in the middle, but sort of sideways. Murphy's bed was by the window, across from the dresser and desk. There was a DMB poster on the wall; the comforter was a dark red plaid. It was not what I expected.

Then it hit me that I hadn't showered. Now I wasn't sure I wanted to crawl into his bed as disgusting as I was. But I didn't know how to tell him that.

Murphy, he was good. He handed me a pair of shorts and a t-shirt, grabbed Devan, and vacated the room.

He was a big man. Stood to reason his clothes would be, too. I think I rolled the shorts three times. There was no help with the shirt - one of his high school football ones that all guys seemed to have.

"Olivia?" Murphy and Devan had cracked the door, both looking nervous about entering their own room.

I waved.

"I'm gonna chill out here," Devan said.

"Oh, no, you don't - "

"It's fine, really. Sleep." Devan closed the door.

Murphy helped my short frame into his semi-lofted bed and quite literally tucked me in. If my brain thought anything wrong with sleeping in someone else's bed - and a boy's at that - it was too bogged down with exhaustion to really care, let alone think straight. And when I examined the feeling in my abdomen, I found it was hunger.

I curled around what felt like a stuffed dragon and decided that when I got up, I wanted a whole pound of wheat pasta. Then maybe my room key.