At nine o'clock, Dave's eyes are burning with exhaustion and his mind is starting to feel fuzzy. He's used to it, of course—he's spent many nights awake, hiding from various unsavoury folks—but he can't say he enjoys it. He stays very still, head bowed slightly, slouching against the arm of the couch. He doesn't want to move, to scare any of the occupants. Every action must be slow and deliberate and nonthreatening.

But right now, he doesn't even need to move, because no one is near and therefore he has no reason to. So he sits and stares and he listens to the kitchen clock, tick-tock, tick-tock.

Socked feet padding down the stairs, the creak of floorboards and the draw of breath.

"…Dave?" Rose asks faintly. "Are you dead?"

"What," says Dave. "No." Then, "I don't anticipate dying in this house, unless, I guess, your mom shoots me or something."

"You are barely moving at all. Are you even breathing?" He hears her come closer. She's near now, but he won't turn around. He won't startle her.

"Just trying to make it clear I'm not going to do anything to you guys or your house," he replies.

There is silence for a few moments as Rose considers him. "Did you sleep?"

"Did you," he replies.

She sighs and the rustle of fabric indicates she's shaken her head. "You avoided the question. I'll take that as a no."

Dave performs a rather skilful slow-motion shrug. "Yeah."

More silence.

Then, action. There's a hand on his shoulder, just barely, fingertips resting lightly against him. He's the one to be surprised now, and before he can stop himself, he flinches away. Rose draws her hand back and he curses himself in his thoughts.

"If it helps, I do believe you, Dave. After careful thought, I am going to trust you are not a killer."

"…thanks," Dave replies, not fully trusting his voice. "I'm glad."

"You're welcome," she says. "Now go to sleep."

"I'm alright."

Rose leans back, watching him carefully. "…Are you certain?"

"Yeah." Dave nods slightly, but knows the gesture won't be lost on her. "I don't sleep much. There are conditions that need to be met, I guess."

"I guess so," she agrees uncertainly. "Do you want food?"

Dave considers this for a moment. It's been so long since he's eaten, but…he probably can't. Or he just doesn't need to. His stomach is neither full nor empty because really, all he feels is sick. "…nah, it's ok. You eat, chickie."

"I am offering to make you something as I prepare my own meal."

"I know," says Dave. "I'm ok."

"When was the last time you ate?"

It takes Dave a minute to remember. "Uh. Tuesday." The newspaper had said Tuesday so it was a Tuesday, but he doesn't remember which Tuesday and he definitely can't remember what day it is now. He wonders why she even bothered to ask, her time is different than his time and he's not really sure how it accomplishes what she wants, which is to get him to eat.

But Rose is just watching him and, when he turns to glance at her, he sees that her brows are knit together in a look of concern. "…Do you want toast?"

"I…" Dave almost argues but he succumbs. He doesn't want to worry her and he knows that skipping meals will scare her, whether she says it or not. "Yeah, sure. Fine."

"Good."

"Thanks."

"It is not a problem." Rose turns and sweeps out of the room. Dave just sits on the couch, feeling very awkward and not very sure of what to do. Normally, he would have followed her into the kitchen, but that's not an option today. So he sits and waits and feels like a useless asshole.

Rose returns shortly with a plate of buttered toast. "Here." She offers it to him and he takes it, looking down at the food he didn't really want but now has to eat.

"Thanks." He nibbles on the corner of one of the slices, figuring an effort is better than nothing. His throat isn't really working right and it's a fight just to swallow, but Rose seems to be worrying a little less.

"You're welcome."

When he's done a quarter of a piece, he sets it down on the plate and looks up. "You ate, right, chickie?"

"Mm," says Rose.

Now it's Dave's turn to be concerned and his eyes narrow slightly. "Did you?" he repeats.

"Yes."

"Good." Dave isn't really sure whether he believes her, but today is not his day to push her on it. He just hunches over the plate, trying to force the food down into his complaining stomach. Rose disappears for a few minutes and returns with a glass of milk, which he downs eagerly to try and push the last of the toast down. He sets it on the coffee table with a satisfying clink and wipes his mouth.

Rose is still watching him, judging his actions. It's uncomfortable to be under this sort of scrutiny, but he wants her to be okay with him around. The more innocent he makes himself, the faster it will go.

"I am going out for a while," Rose announces suddenly. "Don't go anywhere, hm?"

Dave opens his mouth to speak, but she brushes her fingertips across his hair as she leaves the room and he's too distracted to remember what he was going to say. He just pulls his knees to his chest and waits for the resounding thunk and click of the front door closing and locking, then rests his cheek against his crossed arms.

It takes a while, but sleep finally catches up with him.