The crowbar has been a trusted, helpful friend for the past six months. Don't blame Moira if she hasn't had the time to clean it off, considering she was killing infected islanders with it.

"Okay?" She asks doubtfully. While she isn't exactly an expert in Psychology, or anything related to telling if someone really is okay, just looking at Chris means she can tell that -- well, he doesn't really look okay. This might be a case of judging a book by its cover, but when it comes to Chris's line of work and what she has experienced... Well, she would like to think that she can tell, somewhat.

She tries to smile at him, especially as he puts down the painkillers, but after six months of pent up sadness, anger and fear, it doesn't really work out very well. "Uh," she looks herself over, because at some point the injuries just became redundant, especially when she couldn't find a herb. "no, I think I'm alright. Got most of 'em covered. Might need to find some new clothes, though."