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[Fitz had intended to send this as a private message to Dr. Foster, but a sudden onset of dizziness and blurred vision meant a text message was out of the question. Video would have to do. He'd remembered to set the privacy settings, hadn't he? Probably.

He addresses the network with a bleary expression, glassy eyes rolling up into his head until he blinks to train them back into place. His skin is an unhealthy pallor, ghastly white with a rash of dark splotches tainting the deep bags under his eyes.]

Doctor Foster... I, ah... The samples from the tunnels? I've been performing analyses, and I've reason to suspect that they aren't quite safe... They react terribly to human DNA samples. It's... I'm not a strong enough biologist to reach a proper conclusion, but some sort of degeneration appears to be taking place.

I also think it might be in our best interests to quarantine off the remaining sediment. The dust has been... It's...

[He grimaces and clenches his jaw, bowing his head for a long moment. He doesn't finish his thought, jumping over to a different one instead.]

Would advise against further reconnaissance trips to the tunnels. At least until we've had more time to study.

[He clumsily gropes along the keyboard next. One of those button presses probably manages to post it. Probably.]

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[Those who thought the darkness was limited to the subterranean levels of Wonderland might be dismayed by a certain scientist's decision to bring a cursed object onto a higher level. Fitz, believing fully that "cursed objects" were silly superstitions, saw nothing wrong with the idea of bringing it topside for testing and discovery. That was before the illness struck. Now, there's just pain. Pain and... some kind of faint melody. It's too distant to make out yet, a soft buzzing at the edge of his thoughts.

After leaving his message, he abandons the lab entirely, with the intent to return to his room on the fourth floor and sleep until the illness breaks on its own. He's underestimated the frequent onsets of mystical pain, though. He'll most likely be a huddled lump of a person curled against a hallway wall, shivering despite a critically high fever.

He'll still argue any "taint" or "curse" talk, though. It's probably nothing that antibiotics can't cure.]

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You'll need someone to assist you.

( She's not going to ask or state the obvious )

Yes. Blood will spread it, as will inanimate objects that have been blighted.

[He takes in a sharp breath when she mentions spreading it.]

You're right. I oughtn't be trusted.

Given the nature of this infection, it might not be prudent. I'll keep it isolated to myself until some advancements present themselves.

Is there anyone in the mansion you trust to look after you?

There are a few. I'd normally hate to trouble them when I'm certain they're busy, but... It sounds as if it might be relaxing to spread it.

I don't... think that's right.

No. It's not.

[ she sighs and, though he can't see it, pinches the bridge of her nose. ]

I would offer my services, but I am currently in the Deep Roads and can't come back to the surface in a timely manner.

I understand. I certainly don't wish to create a commotion.

I can abstain from indulging it. I-- thank you for the early warnings.

You're welcome. I wish you luck.

Likewise. Safe travels while you're trapped down there.

Wow, thanks, Fitz. I-if I ever get around to thinking that, I'll let you know.

[ But the surefire way to have an acquaintance not actively realize he's dumb is to talk about academic stuff as little as possible. Morty will have to review his options. ]

In the meantime, y-you just go ahead and take a step back from those samples and all, you know? People don't stay dead here or anything, but I think dying is a pretty huge setback no matter how you put it.

It's most definitely related. It's the taint in your body gaining ground.

_{[And it continues to do so every second they spend talking about it, faster than any normal disease or plague, which this man can't get through his fever-wracked head fast enough. There's nothing to study or attempt to cure that's worth the delay.

Thank the Maker Fitz is either too bleary to know what he's saying or too wrung-out to keep resisting Anders--he catches a room number in that fragmented mumble. Success! Now here's hoping Fitz had given him the right one.]}

Findings can wait. _{[Doctor Anders is in the house and using his authoritative doctor voice.]} I'll be seeing you soon so don't go getting any funny ideas, okay?

I'll be fine... You don't have to.

[He repeats it with less firmness than before, attention wandering further. What were they talking about again?]

...sample. I was...

[Whenever Anders finds him, he'll be marginally less coherent than before. He'll have taken that long to reach for a proper syringe and gather a petrie dish, but the pain spiked in tandem. He's slumped in the same chair he'd been, arms heavy at his sides. He's humming faintly, as if that might drive off the ache.]

If it continues acting as rapidly there may not be any advancements before the inevitable occurs.

_{[Just gonna ignore that protest. He needs to save his energy to resist wearily rolling his eyes, anyway. This event is a literal living, breathing nightmare, and if he didn't live there, he'd hate Thedas right about now.

... Actually, no, he does hate Thedas. At least the subterranean parts of it where darkspawn and the Old Gods live.]}

Stay still.

_{[It would be just his luck for the guy to crawl off before he gets there, so he makes a point to hurry. The others will have to hold down the fort in the knock-off Deep Roads while he deals with this as best he can. How he's going to deal with it is something he hasn't quite figured out yet by the time he comes to a stop outside of Fitz's door. It's a work in progress.]}

You're not going down easy, that's for sure.

_{[He pushes open the door. The humming--eerily reminiscent of that black and tainted thrum permanently lodged in the back of his mind--is indication Fitz hasn't keeled over yet. Stubborn bastard, this one.]}

[Anders might consider the song to be black and tainted, but it's something that's become comforting. It's beautiful. He's come to understand it for what it is: a love song.

And it's a love song that's asking him for something in return. Who is he to deny it?

As his visitor approaches, he finally picks up the needle, but there's nothing scientific in his method. He jams it into his inner elbow, but not in a place that would result in a controlled collection. He just needs to be bleeding. The song wants him to be bleeding.]

Hi, it's me. Anders. Inviting myself in because... neither of us seem capable of leaving well enough alone. And you're probably not even listening to me, but that's all right. I'll let it go this time.

_{[This string of muttering, half-directed at Fitz and half-directed at himself, marks his first step across the threshold. He glances around at the same time, taking in the sterile set-up of the lab, so unfamiliar from what he's used to. He'll need to do something about those samples Fitz mentioned. He'll--

Light glints off something small and metal and before he knows it, the man slouched in the chair is stabbing himself in the arm.]}

Whoa, whoa--Maker's breath, stop that, would you.

_{[Anders lunges across the distance to grab the offending hand before he can do something worse like stab himself in the eye or wherever else his fever-brain thinks makes reasonable sense in his state.]}

[Fitz whines lightly when his wrist is grasped. It's too soon.. He's not bleeding enough. But he's not terribly strong on a good day, and there's substantially less power in his groggy, unfocused movements.

Is someone here...? Why...?]

It wants to spread...

_{[Gross. You're lucky he's used to having blood and taint smeared on him. Also, note to self: get a new day job because all this blood and taint is seriously not hygienic, why does he do this to himself?

Oh right, that whole... noble Warden sense of duty. Bummer.]}

I know.

_{[This comes out softer and steadier than he would've thought--he does know. He'd started to forget, being nightmare-free for so long, but it'd all come rushing back to him that first night thrashing in tangled sheets. Fire in his blood. A song aching in the very roots of his teeth. Yeah, he knows.]}

But sorry, I'm not into blood play, you'll have to safe that for another day.

_{[Taking the syringe out of Fitz's grasp, he moves to put his arms around him and haul him to his feet from behind to get him to a bed. The nearest vertical piece of furniture will do, too, so long as it's out of reach of sharp things.]}

[He doesn't fight the change in elevation, but he squirms terribly. If he's on his feet, he should be in motion...]

You're going to bring me back to the tunnels...?

[That must be it. That was the help he'd mentioned before. It'll be so much easier if he can travel with support.

The closest thing to a bed would be a couch settled near a minifridge. But Fitz will be actively opposed to settling anywhere. Out. They need to be going out into the hall...]

_{[He's most certainly not delivering him to the darkspawn's doorstep. They'd only tear him apart or worse, and Anders couldn't blame any mansion residents if they came across him and felt the need to put him out of his misery as expediently as possible.

No, it's better if they deal with this quietly here. That doesn't mean he's going to say that.]}

Soon. _{[The tone he uses is the kind one would you on a particularly fussy baby.]} Everything will be fine soon. Just try to relax before I drop you.

_{[Anders says that, but the reality of his grip tells a different story. It's firm, securely holding Fitz's arms at bay as much to keep him from flailing out of his grasp as it is to steady Fitz on his feet. Once Anders gets a look at his options and spots the couch, off they go in that direction. If he has to drag you, Fitz, so help him he will.]}

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