Chapter Text
Metal shrieked against metal. The scent of burning wood and what might’ve been smoke clogged up the little workshop– well, guest-room-turned-workstation–, sunlight filtering in through a cracked open, foggy window.
Despite the acrid smell burning through the air and the sparks popping against her goggles, Martlet could confidently say that she was the happiest she had been in a while.
For as long as she could remember, the Underground had been home. She’d lived in Snowdin since the day she could open her eyes. She’d wanted nothing more than to join the Royal Guard since the day she learned how to properly spread her wings, and each step towards her goal was a step closer to satisfaction.
She had friends. She had family. She had dreams, aspirations that maybe, just maybe, she would be monsterkind’s savior. She would bring them justice in the form of the second to last human soul.
And then she’d actually met a human.
Clover. Sweet, little Clover, with their warm eyes and cute little accent and their… less than optimal clothes. Martlet was proud to say that she’d picked up the fact that they weren’t a monster immediately (well, almost, anyway), and even prouder to say that she’d made them into a friend!
Maybe the other Royal Guard members hadn’t been the happiest about that, but that was completely besides the point.
She’d been taught to fear humans. By Undyne, by her parents– by her very own friend. Man, if Chujin could see her now… what would he say? What would he think, seeing her living on the Surface? What would he think, now that the barrier was broken? Would his mind have changed.
She always thought he would’ve liked the Surface if he’d just opened his mind a little more. Chujin had always cut conversations like that short, but with every day that passed, Martlet learned something new. Isn’t that what all scientists wanted to do? Learn?
Well, she sure wasn’t a scientist, but learning was a one-way ticket to growth, and she’d never turn down an opportunity like that!
Which brought her to her newest addition in a long, long list of projects. For experience, of course.
It was much simpler than some of her other inventions. Just a thick wooden board with some support beams to keep it upright, and a plethora of scrap wood chunks sanded down into smooth slopes… and sure, none of the wood matched, and sure, there were some nails sticking out…
But Clover had been asking for a marble track (or not-so-subtly talking her ear off about the one they saw many, many Christmas’s ago– human holidays, so fun!) for a while, so it was going to have to do for now.
I hope, Martlet thought, smile turning a little more nervous.
“Chin up, Martlet!” she whispered to herself. “Practice is practice, whether they like the result or not!”
…Clover liking the result was just a bonus she was aiming for.
Ding!
A loud, grating bell rang in her ears, snapping her attention towards the door.
The doorbell. That was totally the doorbell. Was she meant to be getting visitors? Oh god, had she invited someone over? Had she forgotten? No, no, if she was going to be hosting, then she would’ve put in a much better effort! She would’ve done the whole nine yards, with drinks and a meal prepped, and oh god the house wasn’t clean–
Wait, what day was it?
She twisted. Looked at the calendar, hanging above her desk.
Not Thursday, not Friday, not–
Martlet gasped loudly, throwing herself away from her blueprints to dive for the door. “Coming!”
She rushed out into the hall, flying (literally) down the steps and coming to a hard stop at the door. She took a moment to breathe, pushing her goggles up onto her head and smoothing out her feathers.
Breathe, Martlet!
Putting on the biggest smile she could, she threw the door open.
“Clover!” Martlet chirped, before turning a crinkled-eyed gaze on the vampire with his cloak around their shoulders. “Dalv! You’re here!”
“Hi, Martlet,” Dalv said, his voice quiet and soft in that way it always was, like he was too awkward to know what to say despite knowing her for…
A long time, probably. She didn’t know. She’d stopped keeping track.
“Hi, Dalv!” Martlet said again. She turned on Clover with a smile. “And Clover! You’re here! I’ve been prepping all week, and I think I’ve finally figured out that– new…”
Her words tapered off into a quiet mumble, confusion pulling at her tone.
Clover looked bad, to put it plainly. Their eyes were dark, and dull, and sad in a way that she didn’t recognize. They looked tired. Their skin was paler than it should’ve been, and their body sagged against Dalv like they didn’t know how to hold their own weight.
Clover’s eyes flicked up, their lips pressing into a thin line. They offered a small, one-handed wave.
Martlet blinked owlishly. Her gaze swept to Dalv. “What’s wrong with them?”
Ruby eyes widened. “What?” Dalv spluttered. “Nothing– nothing’s wrong with them–”
“Well, I know that!” Martlet said hurriedly. “I just mean– what’s wrong? Did something happen? Are they–” She stopped abruptly, whirling on Clover. “Are you okay?”
Honey-brown eyes looked anywhere but her face, fidgeting with the cuffs of their sleeves. Clover nodded meekly, shuffling on their feet.
“I think… um.” Dalv shifted his cloak, peeking down at them. “I think they’re just tired. They’ve had quite the week.”
“Well, then I’d better hear all about it!” Martlet said. Then, softer, “But that can wait. Clover, why don’t you go to your room, buddy? I can meet you there in a few minutes. How about that?”
“Okay,” Clover mumbled. They shuffled a step forward. Glanced back at Dalv, like they weren’t quite sure they wanted to go.
Dalv’s eyebrows furrowed like he didn’t want them to, either.
“Bye, Clover,” Dalv said softly, offering an awkward little wave. “I’ll see you in a few weeks.”
“Bye, Dalv,” Clover whispered. They shot him one final, fleeting glance, before ducking around Martlet’s side. She watched their retreating form as they trudged up the stairs, waiting for their jacket to disappear from view before she turned.
“What was that?” Martlet demanded.
Dalv’s eyes widened. “Wh- what?”
“What,” Martlet repeated, “was that? I haven’t seen them that sad since– since ever!”
Dalv shifted. Hesitated. He pulled nervously at the ends of his cloak, his arms curling around himself. “I don’t… know,” he admitted. “They’ve been having a really rough couple of weeks.”
“Weeks?” Martlet squawked. Then, in a hushed whisper, “Since when? How long?”
“Since… I believe since Starlo’s,” Dalv said. “They’ve been feeling very down lately. Ceroba said they were having nightmares, and I think they were feeling a bit under the weather the week before they stayed with her.”
“Oh,” Martlet said. “...So they’re sick?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well, that sounds pretty sick to me,” Martlet said. She looked over her shoulder. “But that’s okay! Nothing a bit of medicine and soup can’t fix, right?”
Dalv hesitated. “I don’t think–”
“Right!” Martlet answered for him, beaming. “Then I’ll handle it! Thank you for letting me know, Dalv!”
“Martlet…”
Martlet tilted her head. “Hm?”
Dalv opened his mouth to speak. Hesitated. And, sure, he was just a nervous person in general, but it was really starting to concern her a little just how much he was dancing around the topic.
“Is… something else wrong?” Martlet asked slowly.
“No,” Dalv said, tentative. Then, a little firmer, “They’ve just, been… ah. I don’t… know how to put this. Upset?”
“Upset?” Martlet repeated. “About what?”
“I don’t know,” Dalv said. “None of us know. They won’t– well, I don’t think they want to talk to me, and they do seem… ill.”
“Then I’ll take care of them! No problem for me,” Martlet said brightly. Then, a little more serious, “Is there anything else I should know about? Anything specific?”
“I wouldn’t know where to begin,” Dalv said softly. “I think you are better off talking to Ceroba or Starlo.”
“I’ll give them a ring, then,” Martlet said. “Thanks for getting Clover here! I think I should go check on them, now.”
“Of course,” Dalv said. “Of course.”
Martlet waited. When the vampire had nothing else to say, she bumped the door shut, dusting off her wings with a satisfying whoosh.
So Clover was feeling a little down in the dumps. Not ideal, but not the worst thing it could be. She was very good at cheering people up! And if they were sick? No sweat, she had plenty of recipes she’d been looking to try, and now was as good of a time as any.
Just another problem to locate, identify, and fix. Nothing she hadn’t done a thousand times before.
“Alright, Clover,” Martlet said, head bobbing with a determined nod. “Let’s see what we’re working with.”
Martlet, after a single conversation with Clover and a quiet goodnight as they settled down for a midday nap, could confidently say that she had no clue what she was working with.
No fever. No tears. So they weren’t sick, and they didn’t seem particularly upset. As far as she could tell, they really did just seem tired, but she didn’t want to make up her mind without calling to check in on the other two. Either way, she figured that a warm, home cooked meal might make them feel better, regardless of the problem.
Martlet hummed to herself as she bounced around the kitchen, a rickety stove that she’d crafted by hand smoking somewhere behind her as she flipped through a recipe book.
It was… honestly really nice, being able to cook. Maybe a little weird, since Clover always liked to help (and when they weren’t helping, they were at least somewhere in the room), but they clearly needed their rest, and who was she to interrupt?
She was mindful of her wings as she finished up, painstakingly pouring out some stew and separating it into two bowls, leaving the rest to cool for leftovers later. She set everything out on a fancy tray, paired with a warm cup of tea and some honey in a bottle, their silverware set out in the way Clover had always done themself.
Martlet didn’t know how to do this whole parenting thing, but looking down at the meal, she thought that she was getting pretty darn good at it.
She had a bounce in her step as she made her way up the staircase, stumbling around the table she always forgot was there as she made her way to Clover’s room. She bumped the door with her foot, a quick knock-knock-knock rattling the frame.
She waited. Hummed.
No response.
No problem, Martlet thought, shifting her hold on the tray to wiggle the doorknob.
Locked.
… Huh?
“Um, Clover?” Martlet called, thumping the corner of the tray gently against the door. “I’ve got your dinner! Can you come get the door for me?”
The silence stretched out for a few seconds, long enough to become awkward. Were they not awake? Did they not want to eat?
Martlet didn’t get to sit with her thoughts long, perking up at the sound of shuffling from inside. There was the flurry of fabric moving, the soft padding of footsteps across the room, before the doorknob rattled. The lock clicked.
The door creaked open, wide, bleary eyes peeking out.
“Hiya, Clover!” Martlet said, softening her voice but with no less cheer. “You think you’re up for some dinner? I made soup!”
Big, big brown eyes looked up at her. Clover’s grip tightened on the door, knuckles whitening.
A soft, confused laugh warbled Martlet’s words. “...Clover?”
“Um.” Clover’s fingers twitched. Their gaze drifted. “S– yeah, sure.”
Martlet relaxed her posture, relieved, but she was no less confused as Clover pulled their door open. She padded over to their bed, pushing the lamp back to set their tray down.
“I figured you can just eat in here, since you’re so tired,” Martlet said earnestly. She glanced back, watching as Clover hovered by the doorway, curled against it like they were using it to keep them upright. Or like a shield. “You know, I heard from Dalv that you were having a bit of a rough week. Anything you want to talk about? I’m a great listener!”
Clover’s eyes flicked up to her face. Usually, that was the point where they’d crack a smile. Their walls would break and they’d say whatever was bothering them, whatever issue they were having, but none of that happened.
Instead, they looked back down at the floor. Shrugged.
So they weren’t keen on talking, then. But that was fine! She’d always liked a good problem.
“Well, that’s fine,” Martlet said brightly, sweeping past them to pat them on the head with a wing. “You can just rest up as much as you need! My door’s always open in case you need anything!”
“Thank you,” Clover mumbled.
Martlet beamed. “Of course!” she chirped, shuffling back into the hall to give them some space.
She waited for the door to close, her shoulders lowering with a huff.
“Sheesh,” she murmured under her breath, trudging towards the staircase. She knew that… well.
Something was wrong. That much was clear, but there was nothing setting off any alarm bells. Yet. If there was something important enough that she should be worrying about it, then she was sure Dalv would’ve called her. And sure, she could call Starlo or Ceroba, but she’d bet all she had that they would’ve called her in an instant if they thought something was seriously wrong with Clover.
But that was fine! She had a week to make them smile. A whole entire week to figure out what was wrong and maybe take their mind off of it, or get to the bottom of whatever it was.
Martlet nodded to herself, determined. She could make them extra good meals, and check in on them just the right amount (but not too much, she was learning how much was enough), and everything would be under control.
Besides, how bad could Clover really be feeling?