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[lightconductor]

If you have a message for me, Dr. John Watson, please leave it here. I shall certainly get back to you as soon as I can.
- JW

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In person, Infirmary

[serialskiller]

One morning, Watson comes down to the infirmary to see Murderbot doing inventory on the drugs in stock. It's quiet, head down.

This is, ultimately, an unnecessary task. Nothing's run out yet, nothing ever will. But it's restless and needs to feel like something is being accomplished. Call it anxious.

[lightconductor]

"Oh, Rin."

He's surprised, but not displeased. Watson sets his cup of coffee down on a counter, and makes his way over. "Good morning. What brings you down here today? Everything is all right, I hope?"

[serialskiller]

"Everything is fine. Quiet. It's been quiet for a while. Is it weird if I'd feel better if something would just go wrong? I'm anticipating it. I can't stop anticipating it."

There's a pause, like it could say more, but it doesn't, instead counting the bottles of Motrin again, to be sure.

[lightconductor]

"That's a terrible feeling," Watson says. "I know precisely what you mean."

It has been quiet. This business with water has been almost anticlimactic, with no real crisis. Not that that's a bad thing, but it leaves his nerves on edge. Apparently he's not the only one.

"Is there anything I can do?"

[serialskiller]

The question startles it, visibly.

"You don't need to do anything because I'm uncomfortable."

[lightconductor]

Watson sighs, a sort of long-suffering sound. "You are my friend. You're uncomfortable. Therefore, I would like to ease your discomfort, if I can. This is, you see, how humans like to relate to people they care about."

His deadpan dryness does not make what he's saying any less true.

"I realise it's very foolish of me, but I am prone to these sorts of sympathetic flights of fancy."

[serialskiller]

"I'm your friend." While it doesn't make this sound surprised or like a question, there's still something a little uncertain about it, as it turns from the bottles toward Watson. "I'm still not entirely certain what that means, 'friend'."

[lightconductor]

"It means I care about you," Watson says, patiently. "That I want you to be happy and well, or at least as happy and well as it's possible to be in a place like this, and that I will take action to keep you happy and well if I feel that I can."

See? Simple and logical. He leans against the counter, arms folded loosely.

[serialskiller]

Again, it's getting hung up on words. 'Happy' is a null signal, it wouldn't recognize happy if it was hit on the top of the head with a birthday party.

So it doesn't respond to that aloud, instead pulling over a chair so Watson can sit down, if he wants to.

[lightconductor]

He'll take that invitation. Watson retrieves his coffee from where he's left it, in its paper to-go cup, and sits down, leaning his cane nearby. He takes a sip, waiting to see if there's an answer forthcoming. Apparently not.

"What is it, Rin?"

[serialskiller]

It actually goes back to counting bottles, processing its way to an answer with the rest of its mind, finishing a shelf before shrugging. It doesn't face Watson when it does speak.

"I don't know if I have ever been happy. So trying to ensure that I am seems like an impossible task. Not worth the effort. It's a nice idea, but probably something you should give up on."

[lightconductor]

"The other part of friendship," Watson says over his coffee cup, "is that when your friend is unhappy, you offer company and comfort and a listening ear, if needed."

For a moment he's quiet, looking at Murderbot fiddle with bottles. "If you have truly never been happy, my friend, then I'm very sorry indeed, but I shan't give up."