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Hugo was slow to wake. His body felt heavy and his mind fuzzy. A bright light was burning at his eyes past closed lids, causing him to wince. A sound – a voice? – pulled him closer to awareness. Grudgingly, he opened his eyes to identify what, or who, had finally woken him.
Immediately, panic cut through the haze in his mind and gripped him by the heart. He was lying in a sterile room. A needle was lodged in the back of his right hand, connected to a bag of unidentified fluid. On his left hand, a finger was encased in some sort of plastic clamp that glowed an eerie red. All at once Hugo knew where he was; He was back in the lab. Dr. Emilia must have caught him. She would run her experiments and then cure him as she had the other mutes. He had to get out.
He shot upright, desperate to tear the IV from his hand before more of the fluid could be pumped into him, and regretted it instantly. Pain shot through his left side, strong enough that he almost slipped back into unconsciousness.
“Easy there, Hugo.” A familiar voice. Lio? “It’s okay. It’s just saline.” He turned to the voice and opened his eyes again. Through the low railing of the hospital bed – not a lab then, a hospital room – he saw Lio sit back down in one of two chairs next to the bed while Song stood from the other to check his IV. Both wore tired yet soft expressions.
Memories started to come back. Emilia had turned herself into a mega and attacked Prahm. Kipo had fought her as the mega jaguar but couldn’t bring her down. He had flown in to distract her, to give Kipo time to recover, and been knocked out of the sky.
“Kipo,” he said weakly. Breathing caused the throbbing ache in his side to flare sharply, and speaking was even worse. “Where is Kipo?” He would worry about the pain after he knew she was safe.
“Right here.” Turning to his left, he saw Kipo lean onto the bedrail, carefully so as not to jostle him. She still wore her Prahm dress and the beginnings of dark circles under her eyes made it clear it had been a while since she’d rested. Still, she was smiling brightly, and as she gently rested her hand upon his, Hugo couldn’t help but smile back.
“She never left your side,” Song informed him as she took the chair next to Lio. She’d stayed? Had they all stayed?
“What happened?” The pain in his side was becoming more intense, but he needed answers. Though his mind was slowly getting less foggy, there were still gaps in his memory. Kipo must have won the day. It was the only reason for him to still be alive and uncured. But how? Had she killed Dr. Emilia? And what had happened between then and now? How had he gotten here after the crash? Where was here? Why was it so hard to think straight?
Song fielded the question. “The crash fractured two of your ribs and bruised another three.” That explained the pain in his side. “After you lost consciousness, we brought you here, to the back-up burrow, for treatment.” How fortunate for him that breaking in all those months ago had apparently left the hospital intact.
“And Emil-,” His question was cut off by a strained grunt as the pain in his ribcage went from throbbing to pounding.
“Trapped with Fun Gus in the old burrow,” Kipo explained. As she did, Song got up from her chair and walked over to a cabinet. Hugo was too focused on Kipo – and his now searing pain – to see what she removed. “I don’t know if she’s…,” Kipo clearly didn’t want to finish the thought. “But she won’t be hurting anyone ever again!” Even after everything that horrid doctor had done, Kipo still didn’t wish death on her. It was almost as endearing as it was frustrating.
A glint of light reflected from Song’s direction brought Hugo’s attention to the object in her hand. His eyes went wide. It was a syringe. His breathing quickened and his heart raced as he tried to push himself away from the needle. His efforts were rewarded with yet more pain, but the fear was more powerful. He continued to scramble.
“It’s just to reduce pain,” Song said in her most gentle voice. “You can’t heal if your body is under stress.” The reasoning may have been sound, but Hugo heard none of it. His mind was racing with words and images from his childhood spent as a test subject. To Greta, Zane, and that monster Emilia. To formula after formula after formula. To horrible sicknesses and side effects.
Hugo felt a hand on his own. It broke him from the flood of memories, and he looked over to see who the hand belonged to. Kipo. Of course it was Kipo. Her hand was tiny in his, but it was reassuring nonetheless. “Look at me,” she told him. Her other hand went to his cheek to gently hold his head in place. “I’m here. Everything’s okay.” He believed her. “Breathe in for four,” – he did – “and out for eight.”
She repeated herself, and again he followed along. He lost the pattern when the needle pierced his skin, but Kipo’s presence and the soothing rhythm of her instructions prevented Hugo from slipping back into panic.
“There. All done,” Song said as she removed the syringe and placed it outside Hugo’s field of view. Even as she said it, he could feel the pain begin to ebb and his mind start to fog over again. Kipo kept her hand in his even as his grip loosened. He was glad for it. Song smiled at her children, “Now we just need to get some food and liquids into you, and we can take out that IV.”
As if summoned, Wolf came through the door with a tray carrying a covered plate and glass of water. According to Song, Wolf had gone to fetch the food shortly before he awoke when Kipo had noticed him stirring. Song and Lio seemed to think this was an attempt by Wolf to be considerate and give the family some privacy. Hugo, even through his medicated haze, suspected it was more to do with a desire to avoid being in the room when he woke.
Lio reached for a small overbed table and rolled it to the bedside so the tabletop sat just above Hugo’s lap. Wolf placed the tray onto the table and lifted the cover. Hugo watched her as she did so, as wary as he could be with the fresh dose of drugs clouding his mind, but saw no malice in her eyes. While the looks she gave him had until now been hard and openly mistrusting, there was none of that now. There was unease, but he couldn’t tell if it was continued suspicion, concern, or some mix of the two. The possibility of the latter options unnerved him in a way he couldn’t quite put to words.
Hugo turned his attention to the plate in front of him. Brown rice, apple slices, and a mix of unsalted nuts. Not exactly a meal fit for a king. Seeing the look in Hugo’s eye as he appraised the meal, Lio explained “Those painkillers can cause nausea and that’s the last thing you need right now.” True enough. It was better than pancakes, at least.
At Lio’s suggestion, Hugo ate slowly. As he did, the family continued to catch him up on the events following Prahm. He had been unconscious for almost seven hours by the time he began to stir, and Song confirmed that they had all stayed with him throughout. Well, all except Wolf, her having left to get his dinner. Hugo wasn’t particularly bothered at that; he was all but certain she had only stayed for Kipo’s sake.
Shortly after he had finished his meal, Hugo heard Kipo give a loud, long yawn. Looking at his family, he saw the exhaustion in their faces. Despite her valiant struggle, Kipo was losing the battle to remain awake. Hardly surprising given the day she’d had. At that Lio commented “Looks like it’s time for someone to go to bed.”
“But dad-” Kipo began to argue before being interrupted by another yawn.
Song shook her head. “Hugo’s not the only one who got hurt today. You need rest, too.”
Kipo shot Hugo a look equal parts apologetic and pleading. “Go,” he said. “I could use some more sleep myself.” She gave his hand one last squeeze before she relented to follow Song and Wolf out of the room. Lio stayed seated, his expression silently asking whether he should stay. Whether Hugo even wanted him to.
As much as Hugo hated the idea of being alone in the hospital room, he wasn’t quite ready to have Lio be the one at his bedside. They had made progress, but the wounds were still raw. “You should go, too,” he finally said. Lio’s face fell a bit at that. “You need the rest. You look like hell.”
Recognizing the somewhat caustic humor for an attempt at reassurance, Lio smiled. “Goodnight, Hugo.” He stood and placed a hand on Hugo’s shoulder. The gesture both warmed Hugo and made him feel somewhat uneasy. “Song and I’ll be checking on you regularly, and we’ll all be here first thing in the morning.” Then he walked to the door, flipped out the light, gave one last fond glance, and left.
The hospital room was dark, lit only by the glow of the oxygen meter on Hugo’s finger and a screen displaying his vitals. The various pieces of equipment hummed slightly too loudly and quietly beeped at a somewhat jarringly irregular interval. Despite the painkillers dulling his senses and weighing down his limbs, Hugo knew it would be a long time before he managed to fall asleep.
He wasn’t sure how much time had passed alone in the darkness when he heard a gentle knocking. “Come in,” he called. The door opened a crack, light spilling in from the hall. Kipo poked her head through the opening and gave a small wave. “I thought you were supposed to be going to bed,” Hugo said in a tone of feigned chastisement. In truth, he had no intention of sending her away.
“About that,” Kipo started. “I was thinking I might bunk here for the night?” As she said it, she moved further into the room and pulled a rolled up sleeping bag from underneath her arm. It took Hugo a moment to respond. Did she really want to stay here? Spending the night in a sleeping bag on the floor instead of a soft bed? With him rather than their parents? Finally, not sure what to say, he gestured vaguely at the tile floor.
Kipo recognized the assent and set to work unrolling her sleeping bag alongside his bed. As she moved into the dim light of the vitals screen, Hugo saw she had changed into pajamas and let down her hair. She looked so young. It was a painful reminder that she really was still a child; barely older than he was when he was thrown into the turbulent world of the surface.
As Kipo settled in for the night, she flashed him a grin that gave no hint of the hardship these past months had inflicted upon her. “Goodnight, Hugo,” she half-yawned.
Hugo smiled warmly at her. “Goodnight, Kipo,” he replied. She was asleep before he said her name. He didn’t mind. Her mere presence had already caused the darkness to seem less oppressive. As he closed his eyes, the sounds of the hospital seemed to fade until only one sound remained. Kipo’s gentle breathing maintained the ‘in for four, out for eight’ pattern she had coached him through earlier. Losing himself to exhaustion and the gentle rhythm of Kipo’s breath, he too fell asleep.
Hugo’s slumber that night was restful. For the first time in as long as he could remember there were no nightmares; no tossing and turning; no waking up in a cold sweat, heart racing and adrenaline pumping. He slept deeply and when he dreamed, he dreamed of more nights like this one. Of more nights spent side-by-side with Kipo.