Energy to Spare
By Laura Schiller
Based on: Tokyo Mew Mew
Copyright: Reiko Yoshida, Mia Ikumi
"Who in the world is that," asked Nurse Tanaka, suppressing a giggle, "And why isn't he locked up yet?"
The subject of her question was a lanky young man in a crumpled business suit, his hair standing up in all directions, performing jumping jacks on the opposite side of the glass barrier of Daikan Hospital's Neonatal Intensive Care Ward.
"That's just Momomiya-san," Nurse Honda reassured her, with a smiling bow in the man's direction. "He's this one's father," gesturing to one in a long row of incubators in which a tiny baby girl was kept. "He drops by like this almost every day, says it's to give her energy. He visits his wife, too. Good for them."
Like the other sick or premature infants in the ward, Momomiya's daughter was hooked up to several cables providing her with fluid and oxygen which, though necessary, had the disturbing effect of making her look like part of the machinery. Judging by the comfortable way she slept, however, it did not seem to inconvenience her at all.
"Looks like she'll be ready to go home soon," Tanaka said, with a contented smile at the readings from the machines and the baby's rosy, chubby appearance. "Home to Papa and Mama, eh? Bet you'll like that. This one, on the other hand … "
As if on cue, the occupant of the next incubator in the row woke up and let out a thin, hoarse wail, barely louder than the muted beeping of the machines keeping him alive. This child, in contrast to his neighbor, was as wrinkled, bony and ill-tempered as an old man, with a head too big for its body and an enormous pair of bloodshot eyes that seemed to stare at everything with an eerie, unchildlike focus.
Sometimes, Tanaka could have sworn that she saw those eyes flash from brown to neon-blue, and back again. It must be fatigue, she decided. Those double shifts really took it out of you.
"I know," Honda confided sotto voce in her colleague. "He gives me the creeps, too. I'm not sure if he's even gonna make it."
The boy's odds were stacked against him: not only was he premature, but his mother had died giving birth to him, and no other relatives had been found. If he lived, which was by no means certain, he would grow up in the local orphanage, or perhaps be placed with a foster-family.
One thing was certain, though: there would be no cheerleaders for him.
Tanaka glanced from the boy to Momomiya, who had finished his jumping jacks and pressed one hand to the glass, out of breath, his manic grin slowly fading into a gentle, wistful smile. He whispered something, inaudible through the barrier, which might have been 'Hang in there, Ichigo-chan. Not much longer now.'
If that crazy man really did release some positive energy into the ward, she thought, Who knows? Maybe there's enough to spare.
She checked the label on the chart attached to the sickly boy's incubator. As his mother had died without naming him, only her surname was written there.
"Hang in there, Aoyama-kun," Tanaka whispered, before turning away to continue her rounds.