Work Text:
“Jean?” Barbara calls, wringing her hands together as she stands outside the door to her office. “Are you there?”
She’d heard from Lisa that she had been feeling under the weather recently, and she’d recommended checking up on her in her free time, since Lisa had, in her own words, doubted that she’d take enough of a break to visit the Cathedral even if she was half-dead. Normally, she didn’t tend to make personal visits, but she’d decided to make an exception this time.
After a while of getting no response, she raises her hand to rap lightly on the door, which immediately gives way under her light touch.
Her eyebrows jump– it isn’t normal for Jean to just leave her door unlocked and open during work hours.
“Big sister,” she says again, louder. “Are you alright?"
Still nothing. Frowning, Barbara pushes the door all the way open, worry pooling in the pit of her stomach.
She’s greeted by the sight of her sister half-collapsed on her desk, only the faint hints of her breathing keeping her from outright panic. Taking breaks was rare enough for Jean, and required a great deal of convincing, but naps? Completely unthinkable. There was no way she’d purposely decided to do that.
Jean stirs as she rushes to her side, sluggishly lifting her head from the table. She only manages to rest her chin on her elbow, barely keeping herself balanced enough to look her in the eye.
"Barbara?" she slowly asks. "What are you doing here?"
"Lisa mentioned that you weren't feeling well," she says. And Lisa had obviously been very, very right. She’d have to thank her later for providing her with the tip.
“I’m fine,” Jean says, and it somehow comes off as sincere despite being a bald-faced lie. “Just… a little tired today.”
She frowns, leaning down and gently resting her hand across Jean’s forehead. The skin under her palm is warm to the touch and slick with sweat. No wonder she was ‘a little tired’, there was no way that she had anything less than a high fever, likely made worse by her own lack of treatment.
“You should have visited the Cathedral before it got this bad,” Barbara reprimands lightly, concern filling her voice. “What would you have done if I didn’t visit?”
Jean moves to speak, but it’s muffled by a loud yawn. “I would have gone eventually,” she finally says.
“Eventually?” She sighs. “Most people visit the Cathedral for coughs and colds, you know. You should have come the second you started feeling sick.”
“Mm,” Jean says, then promptly collapses again.
“Your medicine’s ready,” Barbara chirps, opening the door to the room in the Cathedral where Jean was temporarily staying, because otherwise she'd just continue to overwork herself.
It’s a simple remedy for colds, crushed Red Wolfhook and stewed Calla Lily mixed together and then boiled, though the taste leaves much to be desired. She usually adds a bit of sugar to it, for the younger and pickier children, because she herself can’t stand the bitterness on its own. Usually, that and the promise of future Mint Jelly are enough to get them to agree to take the medicine.
“Ah,” Jean says. She somehow manages to look serious, even tucked in to her mid-waist by a soft cotton blanket. “Thank you.”
“It’s no problem, really.” Barbara passes her the bowl, settling into a chair at the side of the bed.
Jean swiftly downs the entire thing in a single gulp. Her face twitches into a mild grimace, nose wrinkling. Honestly, she can’t blame her; the taste is the majority of the reason she tries as much as possible to avoid getting sick.
“Here,” she says. She leans to the side, unwrapping the package of Mint Jelly she’d picked up from Good Hunter on the way, taking the bowl and replacing it with the dessert. “To… wash out the taste,” she elaborates at her confused look. “I didn’t want to dilute the medicine with sugar, so it probably tastes worse than usual. This should at least help cleanse your palate a little.”
She stares at it for a moment, seemingly puzzled, before nodding. “Thank you,” she repeats.
Barbara smiles. “I told you, no need to thank me! It’s my job, after all, and even if it wasn’t, I’d still want to help you out.”
“Still, you didn’t have to,” Jean says. She takes a slow bite of the Mint Jelly, closing her eyes. “Oh. This is…”
“I asked them to add extra sugar,” she offers. Normally, she’d be worried by the lack of reaction, but when it came to things like sweets, she knew her silence was more likely due to enjoyment than dislike. “I remembered that when we were kids, Mother would take us out for pizza after your lessons were over, and you’d always ask for dessert to be extra-sweet.”
That’s something that hasn’t changed at least, as far as she can tell.
Her face loosens into something almost like relaxation. “Yes… I remember. They haven’t changed the recipe since then, I think. It still tastes the exact same.”
“I’m glad you like it,” Barbara says. Seeing her sister happy is– it’s enough of a reward for her.
Though their circumstances have vastly changed, she thinks that she’ll never get tired of spending time with her sister. Sure, they weren’t little girls who could spend the whole day making dandelion crowns and playing knight and princess anymore, but this is something that she thinks she can treasure just as much.
“…do you want some as well?” Jean opens her eyes the slightest bit, smiling at her. “I also remember that a certain little girl used to steal half of my dessert right off my plate.”
She huffs, but can’t hide her own answering grin. “Well, Mother always said that sharing is caring. But no, it’s fine. This is your reward for taking all your medicine without complaining!”
“I insist,” she says. “Think of this as your reward for taking care of me. I doubt I can finish the rest, anyways.”
“Let’s split it, then.” Barbara takes a spoon from a nearby table, cutting the remaining jelly into neat halves. The motion brings back memories of them doing the same as children, when they were too small to finish a serving on their own. They’d thought it was unfair then, but now that she looks back on it, they really couldn’t have.
When they finish, Barbara stands to bring the dishes to the kitchen. Jean’s eyes are drooping as she blinks tiredly, looking as if she’s about to fall asleep at any moment. Good, she needs the sleep.
“Get some rest, alright?” she reminds her before she leaves. “This is time for you to relax.”
By the time Jean wakes up, Barbara’s putting the finishing touches on her soup.
The other nuns had been oddly concerned about her cooking by herself, but Barbara had insisted on handling it alone. She does wonder whether or not the star-shaped carrots are too childish for her sister though; she’d ended up cutting them that way on instinct. Other than that, she’d made a few adjustments to the recipe, minor things like extra chili and a bit more salt.
Jean fully stirs at the sound of the door opening, tilting her head.
“Is… that for me?” she asks, voice raspy. “You didn’t have to–”
“Soup is good for the soul!” she interrupts. She places the tray on the bedside table, angling it so she can reach it without having to move too much. “And you haven’t had lunch, have you? I figured you might be hungry.”
“Are those stars carrots?” Jean straightens, lifting herself up to a sitting position and peering down at the bowl. “…they’re very cute. Thank you.”
“Oh,” she says. Relief rushes through her; she’d liked them. “Yes! Most children refuse to eat vegetables unless they look pretty or cute, so I guess I got into the habit. I thought it would– maybe you’d like it too. Because you’re sick. Not because you’re a child.”
“It looks good.” Jean clears her throat. “I think your cooking has improved.”
“You really think?” she asks, brightening. For some reason, she’s usually only relegated to prep work when the Cathedral hosts food drives or gives out donations, so she doesn’t get to practice often.
“Yes,” she says. Her mouth curls into a soft smile. “Though it’s been a while since I’ve tried anything you’ve made…”
Barbara can’t help but return her grin, beaming at her. It had been quite a while, the two of them busy with their respective duties. “Well, you can now! There’s more in the kitchen if you want, I made… some extra just in case you were hungry, so don’t hold back.”
A whole pot extra, but she didn’t need to know that. She’d gotten very into the cooking process.
“I won’t.” Jean lifts the spoon to her mouth as she watches excitedly. Her expression flickers for a second, then her nose twitches. After a moment, she says, “This has quite a bit of spice in it.”
“Yeah!” She’d put more than usual, figuring that it would help enhance the flavor. A bit more Jueyun Chili always improved anything. “Spicy food always makes me feel better when I’m under the weather, so I thought it would help you too. I would have given you some of my Chilibrew with it, but I just ran out…”
“No need,” she interjects. The tips of her ears and nose are bright red. “Err, can you get me some more water? Not that I don’t like it,” she hastily adds, “but I’m feeling a little parched.”
She nods. “Alright, just wait here!”
Barbara hurries to the kitchen to grab a pitcher of water. She isn’t sure how much she wants, so she brings the whole thing just in case. On her way back, she sees Rosaria walking down the hallway to the back exit, carrying the trash out in a large bag hefted over her shoulder.
“Sister Rosaria,” she greets with a smile, though they don’t talk much. “Are you going to be joining us for prayer today–”
“No,” she says, walking past her.
Honestly, she isn’t too disheartened by the swift rejection. Rosaria rarely joins any of their daily activities, even when she personally asks. As she passes, her nose picks up the faint scent of chili trailing behind her, nearly identical to the heavy smell of spice in the kitchen.
Barbara perks up, eager to get feedback. There was no way Jean wouldn’t try to sugarcoat her opinion, but Rosaria would no doubt be brutally honest. “Did you try my soup? Was it good?”
She stops mid-step, then says, “I stopped by to visit the Acting Grandmaster, yes.”
“Oh, she let you have some?” As expected of Jean to share with others, though Barbara wishes that she’d eaten it all herself, even if it’s wishful thinking. She really didn’t eat enough most of the time. Who knew how many meals she’d missed because of her hyperfocus on work?
“In… a manner of speaking,” she says. “Anyways. You should be getting back to taking care of her, don’t you think?”
Eyes widening, she says, “Right, I should! Have a good day, Sister Rosaria!”
When she returns, Jean’s finished eating, not a single drop of soup or chunk of carrot left in the bowl.
“You’re done?” She tilts her head. It had been full when she’d left, and only a few minutes had passed since then. If she was that hungry, then… “Do you want more? There’s still extra in the kitchen–”
“I appreciate the thought,” Jean says, coughing, “but no thank you. That was already… more than enough.”
“If you’re sure, then.” Barbara places the pitcher of water onto a nearby table, turning to look at her. “Do you still want the water?”
She shakes her head, wiping at her mouth with a napkin and letting out a quiet exhale that sounds almost relieved. The tissue comes back clean, strangely enough. “No… I think that it’s fine now. But please extend my gratitude to Sister Rosaria when you next see her. I owe her a great debt.”
By the time night falls, Barbara is exhausted from a day full of Deaconess work.
She had checked in once or twice on Jean throughout the afternoon, reminding her to take her medicine and confiscating the work she'd somehow managed to sneak into the room, how did she even get it in there-
Well. At least she was mostly sure that she hadn't overexerted herself again.
Before she goes to her own room to sleep, she decides on a whim to visit her. Just for her own peace of mind.
"Are you feeling any better?" she asks. She crosses and uncrosses her legs, letting them dangle in front of her as she sits at Jean’s bedside. It won’t take long for her to get back in full form, given that she’s been taking her medicine and getting more sleep than she’s probably had in weeks.
"Thanks to your care, yes." Jean turns her head to smile at her. "I feel considerably better than I did this morning."
"That's good," Barbara says, relieved, "but next time, please just come visit the Cathedral whenever you think you've caught something, alright? You don't know how scared I was when I saw you like... that. I almost had a heart attack, and all the other Knights have been worried sick."
She frowns. "I apologize. I'll... try not to repeat this in the future."
They stay in silence for a while, comfortable. It’s late enough that Barbara feels her eyes start to droop.
She hazards a glance at Jean, who seems to still be wide awake despite the time. It isn’t surprising, since she’s spent almost the whole day fast asleep, but staying up too late won’t be good for her condition. “Can’t get to sleep?”
Jean looks over at her. “…somewhat.”
Barbara thinks for a while, then gets up. She opens a cabinet on the other side of the room, reaching up on the very tips of her toes to reach a book on the topmost shelf. After a while of struggling, she manages to retrieve it.
“What’s that?” Jean asks, eyebrows furrowed.
When she reaches her bed again, she tilts her grip to show her the cover. It’s an old book of Mondstadt fairytales that almost every child in the city can recite by heart, one that they’d especially loved, though their original copy had probably already been either donated or thrown away.
“Maybe this will help you relax,” she says, settling back into her seat and flipping open the book to the first page.
This brings a strange sense of nostalgia; in the past, it would have been Jean reading this to her childhood self before their curfew. Not that she’s in any way unhappy about this turn of events, however. It’s nice that she’s able to repay the favor, even several years later.
“Once upon a time, in a land far, far away,” she starts.
Jean’s eyes gently flutter closed as she continues narrating, only stopping when she herself can’t stay awake any longer, and she drifts to sleep at her side.