Kal'tsit sighed as she entered her office, her sharp green eyes catching the faintest glimpse of yellow fluttering in the corner of her desk. She didn't need to get closer to know what it was—a sticky note.
Again.
The Lynx woman suppressed a groan, but a small smile tugged at her lips. She approached the desk, her eyes narrowing at the crude drawing of a cat wearing a monocle and holding a cup of tea. Below it was the scribbled caption:
"Fancy Cat-t'sit, watching over all of Rhodes with elegance."
"Really, Doctor?" Kal'tsit murmured, but her voice lacked the usual edge. She carefully peeled the note off and placed it in her desk drawer—where dozens more were neatly stacked. It was a quiet ritual she had kept over the years, even when she tried convincing herself it was foolish sentimentality.
--
The habit wasn't new, not by any stretch. The Doctor—her Doctor—had been leaving her notes for as long as she could remember. Even back in Babel, during the early, chaotic days, the child who would become the Doctor had always been full of surprises. He was brilliant, of course, but also mischievous. His doodles were a small way of breaking the tension in an environment that thrived on pressure.
Back then, the notes had been a mix of childish scrawls and surprisingly accurate caricatures of the Babel staff. They often came with messages like:
"Don't skip lunch!"
"You looked tired, Kal. Sleep more, okay?"
"Amiya wants ice cream later. Permission granted, right?"
Despite her stern exterior, Kal'tsit had never been able to scold him for the notes. Not once.
Now, though, things were different. Or at least, they should have been. The Doctor didn't remember Babel. He didn't remember being raised by her, the countless times she had stayed awake tending to his wounds, or how she had taught him about strategy, survival, and compassion. All of that had been erased—no, taken—when the Sarcophagus had remade him into what he was now.
Kal'tsit's grip tightened around the sticky note in her hand. Her baby boy was gone, replaced by the enigmatic strategist who now led Rhodes Island. But sometimes, moments like these—when she saw those silly doodles—made her wonder if he was still in there somewhere.
--
"Kal'tsit?"
She snapped out of her thoughts to see Amiya standing at the doorway, her large ears twitching as she hesitated to step inside.
"Come in, Amiya," Kal'tsit said, gesturing for the young Cautus to approach.
Amiya did so, her gaze lingering on the sticky note in Kal'tsit's hand. Her expression softened. "He's still doing it, huh?"
Kal'tsit gave a noncommittal hum and set the note aside. "It's an old habit of his. I suppose some things are difficult to erase, even after all he's been through."
Amiya's smile was bittersweet. "I think... I think he remembers more than we realize. Not consciously, maybe, but in little ways. Like this."
Kal'tsit regarded the young girl silently. Amiya had been just as devastated as she was when the Doctor had lost his memories. He had been a brother to her, a mentor and protector who had always been there during Babel's darkest days. Now, Amiya had to guide him instead of the other way around.
"You still see him as family," Kal'tsit said softly.
Amiya nodded. "I can't help it. Even if he doesn't remember, I do. And..." She hesitated, her voice dropping to a near whisper. "And I think he feels it too. Sometimes, when we're talking, he looks at me like he wants to say something, but doesn't know how."
Kal'tsit leaned back in her chair, her expression unreadable. "The Sarcophagus did more than erase his memories. It altered him fundamentally. Even if fragments of his old self remain, the person he was... that person is gone."
"But he's still him, isn't he?" Amiya's voice was firmer now, her ears standing tall. "He still cares about Rhodes Island, about us. He's still leaving you sticky notes, Kal'tsit. That has to mean something!"
Kal'tsit didn't respond immediately. Instead, she opened her desk drawer and pulled out a small stack of sticky notes, each one meticulously preserved. She handed them to Amiya, who flipped through them with wide eyes.
"You kept all of these?"
"I couldn't throw them away," Kal'tsit admitted, her voice quieter than usual. "Not when they're all I have left of him."
--
Later that evening, the Doctor was pacing the hallway outside Kal'tsit's office, looking unusually nervous. He had one hand on his hip, the other clutching a sticky note. It was another doodle—this one of a Lynx in full battle armor, labeled "Kal'tsit the Conqueror."
He wasn't sure why he kept doing this. It felt... right, somehow. Like it was something he'd always done, even though he couldn't remember why.
Before he could overthink it, the door opened, and Kal'tsit stepped out, her sharp gaze immediately landing on him.
"Doctor," she said evenly, crossing her arms.
"Kal'tsit," he replied, his tone overly casual. "Just... passing by."
Her eyes flicked to the sticky note in his hand. He froze.
"Another one?" she asked, arching an eyebrow.
He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "Uh, yeah. I thought... maybe you could use a laugh?"
Kal'tsit held out her hand, and he reluctantly handed her the note. She stared at the doodle for a long moment before a soft chuckle escaped her lips.
"You really haven't changed," she murmured, almost too quietly for him to hear.
The Doctor tilted his head. "What do you mean?"
Kal'tsit shook her head and handed the note back to him. "Nothing. Thank you, Doctor. You should get some rest. Tomorrow's mission will be challenging."
He hesitated, sensing something unspoken in her words, but ultimately nodded. "Yeah, you too, Kal."
As he walked away, Kal'tsit watched him go, her hand lingering on the edge of the doorway.