"Sleeping In"

A short Honaki: Star Rail story

That day, the snow had settled peacefully, a warm blanket instead of a storm.

It had started a month ago. A cough, simple and amenable. A little medicine, a little rest, he thought. She'd been sick before. He could remember every time she'd been sick, how long it lasted, and what the symptoms were. He could remember everything. And every time, it was okay. She agreed. "It'll be over in no time." She said.

A week later, the cough had gotten worse. Her breath was hoarse and ragged, and she burned with fever. More than a little cold, then. But not to worry. He knew everything ever catalogued about medicine. Just scan his files, match the symptoms, find the treatment. Until then, it was bedrest and soup. She still had her wits about her, after all. She wasn't worried. Her biggest concern was not getting to play with Hook that week.

"You don't think she'll be angry with me, do you, Mr. Svarog?"
"Analyzing…analysis complete. I indicate only a 9.3% chance of anger, Clara."
"Yeah…I'm sure it'll be okay."

One more week passed. She was getting worse. It was harder to keep the food down; she wasn't hungry. The fever continued. Dark lesions had claimed her once smooth skin along with all the rest of her energy. But the blood…the blood was what worried him. It had come up with her cough this time. It was such a distinct symptom. He looked into every disease it could be. Yellow fever. Plague. Radiation poisoning. And he gave her every possible treatment in turn. She didn't get better. But it had only been a week. Some of these treatments weren't immediate. So she would get better, and everything would be alright. He knew that, because he knew everything. Until then, he would stay by her side, and she was still happy. He would read her favorite stories from memory, and recorded each and every smile, like every other smile.

"Mr. Svarog, I think I'm going to sleep in a little longer tomorrow."
"Yes, Clara, that's a good idea. It is imperative you get as much rest as possible."
"Mm…"
"…I remember the day of your explanation, Clara. You had spent all night repairing heaters in the Robot Settlement. You had until that point always liked to be woken promptly at 8:00 am. But on January 8th, year 696 AF, you had told me you needed to sleep in."
"Mm…" A bit of redness returned to her face. A mix of embarrassment and nostalgia, perhaps.
"Mr. Svarog, can you do me a favor?"
"Affirmative."
"Could you sleep with me tonight? It'd make me feel better to have you by my side right now."
"…understood, Clara. I will remain by your side."
He remained with her that night. And when morning came, he decided he would sleep in, too.

But another week passed. Every cure, every treatment, they all failed. She couldn't eat anything anymore; it would come back up as bile and blood. Her eyes remained a constant flutter as she struggled to keep them open. She was fighting as best she could, but she wasn't strong enough. She needed him. But he didn't have the answers this time. But that was okay. He knew everything, even about things he didn't know. He sought out the opinions of every doctor, in both the Overworld and Underworld. He spoke to Doctor Natasha. He sent drones to seek out the elusive Doctor Vache. He even asked Stelle to pass a message along to Herta of the Genius Society. But every doctor either had no solutions, or didn't give a reply. But that was okay. The answers would come. And he was still searching. He hadn't given up. If he could manage her symptoms for a little longer, he could get her a cure. So he gave her an IV drip. When he couldn't be there himself, a robot drone gave her medical care; she was never alone. This would pass. He knew that.

That night, he listened to her heartbeat. It was still strong enough. It was actually stronger than the night before. She was going to be okay.

She woke up suddenly, the most movement she had displayed all day. "Aaah..! W…wher-*cough*"
He leaned over her, softly dabbing the blood with a handkerchief. "Clara, are you alright?"
"Oh…Mr….Svarog…" A weak smile. "Just a nightmare…that's all. You remember what…I told you about...*cough*…nightmares, right?"
"Of course, Clara. November 2nd, year 693 AF. You woke up suddenly, and seemed to be in pain. Analysis of your vitals and condition showed no damage, so I asked what was wrong. You then explained the human concept of 'nightmares' to me. A bad dream comprising a scenario that instills fear in the observer."
Suddenly, her eyes shifted. They seemed serious for her. "And…a-*cough*"
He patted her clean of the blood again. "Please talk slowly, Clara."
She regained focus. Her eyes…they were filled with purpose. He had only seen her with eyes like that 27 times in her life. "And…what did I say was...most important…about nightmares, Mr. Svarog?"
"Quote: 'The most important thing about nightmares is that they pass.'"
Finally, her soft smile returned to her. She closed her eyes, relaxing in her bed. "Yeah. They pass, Mr. Svarog…"
After a few minutes, she fell back asleep. And he stayed with her that night too.

Now, it was today. She needed a respirator to breathe. She hardly spoke for the last week. She struggled to even look him in the eye anymore. Her skin was flaking off in places, and patches of her soft, white hair had fallen out. The lesions had grown worse. The fever was higher than she had ever had before. He no longer left her side. Natasha was there too, but she didn't tell him her thoughts. He didn't know why. Hook waited outside the room. Stelle was outside, too. So was March, and Dan Heng, and Seele, and Luka, and Gepard, and Serval, and Pela, and Lynx. They would come in one at a time, they would cry, they would tell Clara to get well soon. They would leave, and wait outside once again. Some of them had to go back to their duties, like Gepard and Pela. But some of them remained there all day that day, like Hook and Stelle. He wasn't worried. He knew everything. Her condition might have been worsening, but Stelle would have the information from Herta any moment now. And all of her friends were here to support her. She was going to be okay. He knew that. He had to know that.

But her heartbeat flutters. Her vitals stagger and drop. He looks to her. Her breath ceases. A second passes. Natasha acts quickly. She gives Clara a dose of epinephrine. A second passes. Then another.

Clara's vitals return. He feels something wash over him. Relief. But Natasha…she cannot hold back her tears. She's cries, quietly, turned away. Natasha is trying to hide the fact she's crying from him. He asks her why. Natasha looks to him, with a deeper pain than he had ever seen in her eyes before, and cannot answer immediately. But she puts on a strong face. "Because this is the end." She says. He shakes his head. He knew Clara would be okay, because he knew everything. He gave a prediction, one that positively favored her survival. 70.5%, he said. It didn't matter what variables he was excluding from that calculation, because he knew calculations better than anyone, so it must have been right.

He asked Stelle about that answer from Herta. Stelle began to cry. She didn't have one.

That night, late in the night, he remained watching over her. Still as a statue, he would not move from her side. She was going to be okay. Her friends were still here. Hook and Stelle slept right outside. Natasha had just left to get more IV fluids. So she was going to be okay.

She wakes. Her eyes flutter open gently, and she turns to smile at him.
"Mr. Svarog…"
"I'm right here, Clara."
There was a long pause before she spoke again. "I had a good dream, Mr. Svarog."
"Tell me about the dream, Clara." He wasn't normally so insistent. He had to know.
"We…were in a field of flowers…and we were happy…."
She paused for quite a while, coughing slightly. "It…sounds like a good dream, Clara." She nodded.
"Mr. Svarog…thank you…"
"For what, Clara?"
"For being…my family…for…every…thing…"

Suddenly, her vitals dropped again. Natasha came running in. Another pump of epinephrine. A second passes. Another. Another. Another. She doesn't wake. He reaches out his hand. Natasha begins chest compressions. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, breath. A second passes. Nothing.

"Clara…"

Again. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, breath. A second passes.

"Clara…!"

A third time. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, breath. A second passes.

"Don't leave me….

As Natasha began compressions for a fourth time, he searched his database for an answer. He had to have one. He knew everything.

Except how to live without her.

The next day, the snow had settled peacefully, a warm blanket instead of a storm.

He decided to sleep in.