Moema allowed frequent visits from Moira to Atlas who was beginning to show signs of consciousness in the way his body moved when Moira and Patrick made noise around him. To make herself feel better, Moema was dancing around with Patrick in her arms, causing fits of giggling from the almost 1-year-old. She made sure to cradle his head when she dipped Patrick before popping back up to do twirls with the babe. He loved it and his joy brought joy to Moema. Moira stepped out and shut the door to the guest room before grinning widely at Moema and Patrick. "Ah've never seen y'so lively, Doctor Suera."
A small chuckle came from the young woman, "It's your son's doing, I assure you."
A prideful grin crossed Moira's features, "Per'aps I c'n cook fer you... After all yeh've done fer us..."
Moema slowed down to an easy sway and looked towards Moira, "If you really feel obligated and if it will help you in any way, you are more than welcome to use what I have."
Smiling, Moira approached and pecked her son's cheek. "How d'yuh know it'll help me?"
Moema offered a soft smile, "It's how my mother dealt with things... It's how many women deal with things. I've dealt with my fair share of upset mothers and wives and sisters to understand the way simple chores can help ease stress."
Moira got teary eyed and nodded, trying to maintain her level head. "Thank you..." she then cleared her throat, "I 'eard tha' some men 'ave been using ADAM to heal their ills."
A grimace crossed Moema's features, "I don't like using ADAM as much as others. It's not a miracle. It's a cancerous toxin that we barely know enough about... I have healed many men from gunshot wounds, Moira. Please, have faith in my abilities..."
"But wha' if it is God's Miracle?"
"It isn't." Moema states, "One of my colleagues has done a fair amount of testing on ADAM, which comes from these... Slugs. And she found that not only is it a highly addictive substance, if the users body is without it, it destroys the body... I will never approve of using it as a cure-all until it is refined and has - at the very least - a less severe fine print."
"But what about your work? Don't you use it for them Cosmetic Surgeries?"
Moema sighs, "I really wish I didn't have to. It's so ridiculously dangerous... I wouldn't want to risk it." she shifts Patrick to her hip, "Say I were to use ADAM on Atlas... While doing so, yes, it would heal his wounds a lot faster, but, he would need more and more and more until his body solely depended on the ADAM. When he awoke after such abuse, all he would care about would be the ADAM. This stuff even does terrible things to the mind... There is one man that I know of who used to work in the Fisheries... From what I understand, he was fairly intelligent, but he took ADAM when his leg broke... He isn't even the same person anymore. He looks crooked and he speaks in a strange fashion... He doesn't even remember who he is! Is that what you want for Atlas? For yourself? For your son? That would be terrible and I refuse to be the one responsible for such a tragedy."
Moira ducked her head and covered her mouth. "What if he never wakes up?"
"Have you forgotten already?" asks Moema, voice soothing and sympathetic. "When you first came here to see Atlas, he was completely unresponsive... But, just earlier today, his hand squeezed yours. Is that not something to give hope? He's coming back... Albeit slowly. You must give him time. He will survive." A slow nod came from Moira before she slowly trudged to the kitchen area to familiarize herself with it.
A sharp inhale drew a curious look from Moema over to Atlas. He blinked rapidly while staring at the - no-doubt better - ceiling above him. Leaning over to get a better look at him, Moema offers a faint smile, "Welcome back to the land of the living, Atlas..."
His eyes seem to glance over her face in slow recognition before he smiles charmingly back. "Why, thankee." he croaks out. "I'd think I was in 'eaven if I 'adn't met y'before."
Chuckling slightly, Moema clears her throat and holds up her finger, "Can you follow my finger with just your eyes?" His eyes strain to focus on her finger before following the movement in a delayed fashion. She nods, "How are you feeling?" her hand dropping to help guide her to sit beside Atlas. She plucks up his wrist and searches for his pulse, keeping an eye on her watch.
"Like I've been run over..." He states, "'Ow long 'ave I been 'ere?"
There is a pause before she sets down his wrist and looks at him, "Well... About three months."
"Three months!?" he cries out, alarmed.
"Yes." Nods Moema, rather calm. "Frank Fontaine and a few others brought you to my door at one in the morning. I've kept you here so as to keep you alive and keep your family from completely starving."
"Oh, Lord!" his hand came up to cradle his forehead, "Moira... Patrick..."
"They are quite well, Atlas. They've visited every day for a long time now. I've employed your wife to make meals and tend to you so that you stay clean and without sores... She likes it here. And, she loves you."
"Why not 'ave her stay 'ere then?" Atlas asks.
"As you may not know, I have no child. My home is ill equipped for harboring children." chuckles out Moema before she pats his hand. "They'll be by tomorrow morning, I promise." She sighs, "Would you like some time to rest?"
"I think 'ah've rested too long..." Atlas says, attempting to push himself into a sitting position. He hisses in pain but pushes through it to sit straight up. "Good Lord Almighty."
Moema shook her head lightly before propping some pillows behind him. "Lean back." He wasn't one who'd question that advice! "You need to take it easy for a while. Alright, Atlas?"
He pants lightly and nods, "A'course." his hand drifts to the wound under his ribs. "What 'appened?"
A surprised look crosses Moema's features, "You don't recall?" When Atlas looks to Moema and shakes his head, she frowns. "Well... The wound resembled a nearly point blank shot from behind. I am unsure who exactly found you or even saw anything - I'm no detective! - but you could have - would have died had you not made it to a professional in time."
Atlas seemed to think about that a long moment, "Who brought me 'ere?"
"A group of Fisheries men and Fontaine himself. He helped me work on you." she offered a faint smile, "He would make an excellent nurse... You know... If he lost the attitude." There was a very small chuckle from Atlas causing Moema to figure she shouldn't tell jokes. Clearly, they weren't her strong suit. "Peach Wilkins, Craig Gilmore, Berney Richards, and Kelly Graceland carried you. They ask about your wellbeing every check-up." That was a partial lie. None had asked about Atlas this month. They couldn't even really recall what Atlas looked like, or recall where they remembered the wound to be! But, she figured it'd be better to feel like other people actually cared.
Atlas smiled and nodded, "Tha's awful nice of 'em."
A silence settles over the two, "Would you like a book, or I can drag in my radio... I don't have a television."
Atlas offered a roguish grin, "I dun think I'm smart enough fer yer type o'books, Doctor Suero."
"You don't have to be so formal with me, right now, Atlas." Moema states, "You might enjoy The Diary of Adam and Eve by Mark Twain..."
A brow quirked on Atlas' face, "Ain't biblical reference books banned?"
"To be honest with you, yes. But, I believe it isn't the book that creates madness, but that madness is already blooming and the book just gives directions on ideals and methods." she sighs, "People tend to read things, interpret things differently each time. People decide select books with select notions best fit their mindset and take it several steps further... It happens. Humans want purpose. We want answers because we think answers will sooth our fears. They don't... Not all the time." Atlas seemed to be absorbing this information slowly so Moema shook her head, "I apologize. If you don't wish to read that, I have a few other Mark Twain books. His writing tends to appeal to quite a few different types of people."
"Nah, I'll read what ye said. I just did'n think ye one fer breakin' rules... Though, I s'pose I should've." At the tilt in Moema's head, Atlas quickly attempted to elaborate, "Wha' I mean is that... You're 'elpin' us - the poor - while you live a wealthier life! Shit... Not that I dislike you or nuthin' fer makin' it... I don't- Eh- What I mean is-"
Moema laughed lightly, "It's alright, Atlas. I understand." she stood and straightened out the creases in her long yellow skirt, which happened to be her favorite color and skirt at the moment. "I'll go and get that book and some tea." A grin crossed her face, "Take a moment to breathe."
His eyes widened ever-so-slightly at the blatant teasing joke before he blushed and laughed at himself and the situation he was in. He watched her walk out of the door and thought fleetingly of what it might be like to pursue a woman like Moema. After a moment, he came to the conclusion that, despite her having been in a possibly worse situation before Rapture, she was now one of the 'Elite'. She was too intelligent and too wealthy to consider him equal, and he wasn't sure his ego could tolerate that. She had the advantage over him and he was rather jealous of her journey so far... But he could tell that that very journey made her what she is, who she is, and the confidence she had when she spoke... As if she never thought herself wrong! It was almost intoxicating... And she as always rather calm... Even when clearly agitated, she seemed thoughtful and calm.
That brought him to the memory of meeting her at Kashmir... The way she interacted with Fontaine... Had the two some form of history? Wait! Hadn't he seen Moema before that? He could swear he had... Oh yes! At the Market with... That one woman who resembled Moema... Maya? Maira? Mary? Maiara... Yes. Maiara. The odd name... They often spoke in a dialect Atlas didn't know.
His attention was brought to Moema as she walked in with two cups of tea and a book tucked neatly under her arm. "Here we are." she states, setting down the two cups very carefully before standing straight and handing the obviously read book to Atlas. "I'm sure you'll enjoy it." He held the book in a way that made it seem like he'd never held one before as she sat down and picked up what she'd been reading before.
He clutched the book before opening and beginning to read. Every so often, he would look towards Moema. He couldn't focus on the reading...