Marjoram slept for nearly sixteen hours, and he felt like he’d gotten maybe five.

Staring into the mirror, at his exhausted face, Marjoram looked like death warmed over. His eyes were sunken into their sockets, red-rimmed and surrounded by dark circles. On top of the fact his eyes looked like they belonged on a corpse, no wonder nopony wanted to meet his gaze recently. The light, the life, behind them was gone. His eyes were flat and hollow, lifeless.

A knock on the bathroom door, “Um? I have to go!” Spike’s voice broke, speaking volumes of his urgency.

Jolting to his feet, nearly toppling over into the sink, Marjoram found his way to the door while the room was still spinning, “Sorry.”

Spike darted in, shutting the door, “It’s okay!”

Marjoram stood on the landing on uncertain, shaky legs. Thankfully, the world had decided to stop rotating around him, so he could see. Getting downstairs was painstaking, but well-worth it.

Twilight waited for something in the oven, humming a tune under her breath. She looked tired as well, but not terminally so like Marjoram. She half turned, and spotted Marjoram, and a strained smile bloomed.

“Hello, Sleeping Beauty! What have I done to earn your appearance?”

Marjoram snorted, an echo of amusement, “Something smells good.” The words felt strange on his tongue, as nothing had appealed to him in weeks.

Twilight’s smile blossomed into something closer to the real thing, “Spike and I are making some garlic bread to go with the soup Spike made last night. Would you like some? I know it’s not exactly breakfast material-”

“It sounds perfect,” Marjoram interrupted, seating himself on a stool. As he did, joints in his back cracked. He was stiff all over from sleeping for so long.

“I’m glad!” Twilight beamed at him.

Is she purposefully trying to be cheerful? Remembering the harsh tone he’d used with Spike the day before, Marjoram decided he could probably learn from Twilight.

The timer dinged and Twilight used her magic to levitate a tray of steaming, cheesey garlic buns out of the oven. Marjoram raised an eyebrow; they looked like Shores’s.

“She gave me the recipe when we moved here,” Twilight explained, “and this is the first time I thought to make them! Spike helped, speaking of,” Twilight went to the bottom of the stairs, “Dinner’s ready!”

“They smell amazing, they really do.”

“Here you are, I know you use the soup more like a sauce anyway. I’ve got plenty here, so if you want more, you can have some more!”

Marjoram stared at the little bowl of soup accompanied by the three buns. His mouth watered, and he couldn’t help but start to eat. For what seemed like the first time in a long time, Marjoram felt hungry.

Marjoram ate everything, finishing before everypony else. Even with a headstart, that was a rarity.

“Thank you both,” Marjoram got to his hooves slowly, wincing at the uncomfortable fullness in his stomach.

“No’ a pr’blm!” Spike said around a mouthful of food. Twilight shot him a glare, but nodded in agreement.

Marjoram offered a small smile, and wandered into the living room. Yawning, he slumped onto the couch. All he’d done was sleep, have a shower, and eat. He felt like he’d been doing things all day; tired and sore.

Shutting his burning eyes, Marjoram tried to bring his thoughts into some semblance of order. A dim hope that someday soon would be somewhat productive. His thoughts were muddled and tangled, and trying to find a single one that would lead to something productive was beyond difficult.

Sighing, and trying again, Marjoram managed to shift through some of the fog in his brain. Fragments, half-thoughts floated idly by. No autopsies needed to be done, and Marjoram had really stopped his research the second he’d set hoof in Ponyville.

Marjoram hated to admit it, but even after sixteen hours he’d be willing to go back to bed in a heartbeat. Something, though, was holding him back. He knew it wasn’t right to feel that way, and he felt determined to do something else before going back to bed.

He lacked the focus for reading or drawing or even planning Spike’s lessons.

A gentle hoof touched his shoulder, and Marjoram started violently, nearly making himself sick at the hard coughs that shook his frame.

Twilight tentatively rubbed a few circles along his back, waiting and ready to fetch his tea. Shakily, Marjoram caught his breath again.

“I was wondering if you would like to come grocery shopping with Spike and I. I understand if you don’t want to-”

“I’ll come,” Marjoram rasped, “I should do something productive today.”

Twilight offered a reassuring smile, “You chatted with us and ate something. Both productive things, even if they’re small.”

Marjoram blinked slowly, “I...suppose so.”

“Now, c’mon. Let’s go, Spike wants to try making lasagna this week so we might need to get more garlic than usual.”

“Maker help us all,” Marjoram returned wryly.

Twilight smiled brightly, almost too brightly, but Marjoram felt himself returning a genuine smile. For a moment, the fog lifted.

Before they left, the fog had returned in all it’s passivity.

Author's Note

I don't know where these are coming from honestly