"He's only desatting when I turn him now!" Which she had to half-ass on her own at noon, or else it was literally never going to happen; you just can't ask other nurses to put on full isolation gear and trap themselves in the end-of-the-hall room when the unit looks like it does today. "He opens his eyes to pain. And, uh, not in response to me talking to him but to loud noises, sometimes." 

(Specifically, the 'loud noise' in question was Marian getting up from trying to re-plug in an IV pump on the other side of the bed, failing to see the bedside table, and knocking it literally over onto the floor. She was slightly surprised that the whole unit didn't hear it. It was one of the more embarrassing moments of her week and the most she can console herself with is that no one but Ma'ar witnessed it, and even if he was actually processing anything, he's probably on way too much midazolam to remember it later.) 

"Still not following commands, though?" 

"I mean, no, but he doesn't speak English, so it could just mean he's too out of it to do the mindreading?" Shrug. "S'what I'm hoping, anyway." 

"Yeah. It's kind of too soon to know one way or another." 

"Yeah." Marian winces. "He did some scary blood pressure stuff at like...eleven-thirty? I think that was when? Although Dr Agarwal thought it was mostly that phenylephrine was doing fuck-all because this is looking a lot more like cardiogenic shock than sepsis and he's already peripherally vasoconstricted pretty much as hard as he can be. So we swapped it for epi, which was amazing, and then Dr Zee ordered a constant-rate dobutamine drip, and now he's off epi and down to almost a reasonable amount of norepi and I should probably sneak it down a bit further." Ma'ar's blood pressure is hanging out at a beautiful 118/69, which is technically normal but also significantly higher than they strictly need to be aiming for. 

"Mmm. That's good." 

They sit together in companionable silence for a minute or so, Amélie shoulder-surfing Marian's computer as she skims through labs and fluid input/output and vital signs flowcharts. Until something starts vibrating. 

Amélie jumps a little. "Is that me?" 

"Uh, I think that's me?" Marian's personal cell phone is shoved into her pocket. 

She pulls it out. The caller ID reads 'Mom'. 

"....Oh god. I - are we in the news? I bet we're in the news. I - should really take this..." 

Which means she needs to think of how the heck to explain to her MOTHER that her patient is an alien wizard and the unit is quarantined and she might have been exposed to alien smallpox. Great. Perfect. Just exactly the addition that her day needs.