"That little girl really took a shine to you," Dr. Murdoch observed as he ushered Marty back out into the hospital hallway. His lips were drawn up into that familiar fatherly smile which made all the little lines near his too-bright eyes suddenly more sharp and noticeable.

"Well, I am irresistible," Marty noted, tossing one last absurdly affectionate glance to the child who lay curled up under the flannel sheet, already drowsing, as they began to walk back towards the nurses station.

Dr. Murdoch laughed, a bright and genuine sound. "More like incorrigible," he said instinctively and the words won a grin from Marty. He added as an afterthought, "Do, help me with the boxes."

There were two large white cardboard boxes labeled 'Fragile' piled before the desk where Joy had again busied herself with some notes – notes which had to be written in code because even when he was close enough to see the words Marty would be damned if he knew what she was scrawling. She seemed to be making a vain effort to ignore the two of them as they neared her.

"Just, uh, let me clarify something," Marty said in a very analytical tone. "By, 'help you with the boxes', you mean that I am to carry them all out by myself, right?"

"That was the general plan, yes," Murdoch smiled. In spite of knowing, on some level at least, what the creature standing before him was capable of he felt an curious wave of fondness for him, a feeling which could really only be described as the warm and sudden tenderness one might experience while looking down at a sleeping baby or a kitten.

It struck him then how odd it was to think of Marty in such terms.

"Right," Marty laughed, "Just checking."

He closed the rest of the distance between himself and the nurse's station, glancing only briefly at girl dressed in the candy-cane-colored clothing before he hunkered down to pick up the boxes. The packages were awkward in his arms and as he stood he adjusted their position, allowing them to lean securely against his chest.

"I'm sorry, I could have gotten you a hand-dolly or something...I didn't even think," Joy apologized vehemently and stood up as though ready to dash off immediately and get one should it be requested. "I could still..."

"Nah, I've got it, thank you," he grinned that devil-may-care-grin, which only he and children caught with their hands in the cookie jar could truly master, as he peered at her over the top of the boxes. "Maybe you could help me out with something though."

"What?" she looked somewhat perplexed.

"Could you tell me what's wrong with the little girl, Sara, in that room over there?" he cocked his head in the general direction.

"I'm not really sup–"

"Please?"

Joy seemed to consider, then sighed, "Well I suppose it couldn't hurt just to tell you that her prognosis isn't good."

Marty stared at her for a moment. "You mean to say..." his voice trailed off, choked into silence by an unsure and painful tightening in his throat. Joy averted her gaze, suddenly looking everywhere but at him...at one point even becoming intensely interested in her shoe, the toe of which she was grinding against the floor like a youngster who has just been scolded.

"Marty, we have to go," Murdoch touched his shoulder, rousing him from the numb aftermath of shock.

"Yeah...okay..."