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“Careful, you don’t want to poke too deep…” 25 could not hide a smile as he counted the gauze pads in a sterile tray to make sure none were left inside the patient. 8 hooked the suturing needle into the skin, focused like he would have to disassemble a rocket, while 65 oversaw the youngest segment stitching up the surgery wound. “...good…now you tie a knot…”
“How long are you going to play house over there?,” 18 groaned with annoyance, leaning back on the chair next to Feofan’s head. “Hurry up, I’m tired, I’m hungry and I need to pee.”
“You wanted to take over anesthesia and you will not leave your post until the surgery is concluded,” 25 answered, sorting the used bloody metal tools for sterilization. “How are the specimen’s vitals?” A tongue click from behind the sterile sheet. “Don’t tell me you have not been paying attention to—”
“Geez, just shut it, of course I have been paying attention to the vitals, duh. They’re good.” 18 gently put some strains of black hair from Feofan’s forehead. The beautiful purple eyes were taped shut with plaster strips, the endotracheal tube was secured to the right corner of those soft lips, dampening after every click of the ventilation system as it pushed air into the lungs and pulled it out again. The lines of the vitals danced over the screen next to him, recording the rhythms that kept the body alive, right next to the IVs sending the anesthetics into the vein on the lower arm. “Blood pressure is a bit low, however still in range. But nobody told me the baby is going to stitch him up for another hour!”
“I’m not a baby!,” 8 screeched back over the sterile sheet.
With a shush 65 calmed him and caught his attention. “Focus on your stitches, you don’t want to cause bleeding now. You want him to have a clean and thin scar. Tie the knot like this…” He took 8’s gloved hands and guided them with his own, finishing the stitch with him. “...you want to try the next one?”
25 prepared the bandages, while looking towards the vital monitoring. The low blood pressure was something he needed to keep an eye on, maybe it was just temporary due to the anesthetic drugs. However, knowing Feofan’s medical history, that was highly unlikely. “Are you finally done over there?,” 18 asked again when 8 had finished two more stitches, both looking a bit awkward and not surgically precise, but still doing the job.
“Let me do the last one and you can cut the suture,” 65 said and took the tools from 8’s hands. 25 handed the child the scissors while the eldest finished the last stitch – much faster and more accurate – and tied the suture to keep the wound closed. Like snipping the gift ribbon on a long awaited present, 8 smiled as he cut the material and 25 took all the tools back onto the sterile tray. “All right, well done,” 65 praised the child and took the antiseptic soaked gauzes from the second tray. He covered the fresh wound and wrapped the thick bandages around the torso while 25 lifted the body slightly from the surgical table. “You have to apply some pressure to the wound to prevent bleeding,” the eldest explained to 8 while adding some more dry gauze to increase pressure. “Might be a bit uncomfortable at first, but helps in the long run.” With a groan, 25 put the torso down again and 65 tied the bandages. “Are you taking over?”
25 gave a nod and 65 stepped back, taking off his bloody gloves. 8 jumped down from the stool he had been standing on to reach the table’s height and followed the example of the eldest, taking off both gloves and the surgical gown. “You can wake him,” 25 addressed 18 and switched off the bright surgical lights above.
“Finally…” 18 clamped one of the IV lines and slowly closed the roller clamp on another, slowly diminishing the flow of narcotic drugs entering the system while opening the one with painkillers a bit more. On a side table he turned a sand timer, signaling the time when he could take the anesthetics completely off. In the meantime, 25 cleared the sterile field, removing all covers from the body and disposing of them. He took a moment of selfish desire, admiring the naked body and the scars that told a story of his work before covering it with a blanket for something trivial like dignity.
The twitch in the specimen’s fingers was the first sign of resurfacing from anesthesia. 18 disconnected the ventilation, holding the breathing tube in place, while 25 exchanged his gloves to help him. “Feofan…time to wake…” With a thin suction tube, 18 cleared the back of the man’s throat. An act that was followed by the man bending his neck, fighting against the intrusion of the medical devices in his throat. “...just breathe, relax…we’re here…”
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“...diiiik…”
Zandik looked up from his research notes as the hoarse, pleading voice reached his ears. Feofan turned his head on the pillow, the eyes barely open while he was still under the influence of anesthesia. “...where are you…diiiiiiiiik? I…m cooooold…”
Zandik came to his side and took a penlight, checking the pupils’ reactions. “Seems 18 dosed you quite high today,” he sighed as the eyes fell shut almost immediately again.
A hum sounded from Feofan’s throat as he adjusted the breathing mask so the man would get enough oxygen. “I wanna cigarette…”
“Absolutely not.”
“Why’re you so meeeeeeean…Zandik…”
“I am not mean, I only care for your health.”
“I don’t wanna health, I wanna cigarette…please, I’ll be a good boy…”
Zandik sighed at the plea and sat down on the chair next to Feofan. His old bones just did not like standing for too long by now. “Then be a good boy and don’t ask for one.”
Like he had just explained the most obscure of Teyvat’s secrets, Feofan thought about it. The eyes moving from left to right while seemingly drifting off into a state of half sleep every now and then. “Feofan?,” Zandik took his attention again to not let him drift off again.
Like a schoolboy being called, the eyes shot up and looked at him. “Zandik?...It’s been so long…I missed you…” The hand reached out for him, slightly uncoordinated until he took it and hooked his fingers into Feofan’s. “I missed you so much…” The shiver in the voice was accompanied by tears gathering in the eyes. “...I thought you left me and never come back…and I…”
“Shhhhh, sh, sh, sh…I’m here.” With his thumb, Zandik caressed the other man’s. “Do you know where you are?” It took all of Zandik’s strength not to laugh at Feofan looking around, half asleep, yet completely fascinated by his surroundings. He had seen hundreds of people resurfacing from anesthesia in his life. Yet these special interactions that would be wiped from Feofan’s memory as soon as the drugs were out of his system, they felt special. Like they were only meant for him. “You are in my labs, waking up from anesthesia.”
“Whoaaaaa…” The head rolled to the side, another sleep attack rolling over him.
Zandik looked at the vitals on the monitor. 25 had told him about the low blood pressure during surgery although there had been barely any blood loss. And even now, the readings were not much better. With a groan he got up and made his way over to the medicine cabinet. “Zandiiiiik…can humans be Padisarah Pudding?”
“I don’t think they can,” he answered and looked through the vials, looking for a vasopressor.
“Y’know…I feel like Padisarah Pudding right now. Like…wobbly, wobbly, wobbly…”
From the back he took one of the ampoules and checked the label. “I am quite sure you are not a pudding, trust me.” Confirming the medication, he fetched a new IV bottle of neutral fluid. “And even if you were, I would not care.”
“Awwwwww…I wouldn’t care if you were pudding, too…let’s be…let’s be pudding together.” Zandik mixed the ampoule’s contents with the fluid in the bottle and prepared the IV line when there was a knock at the door. 65 came in, in his hand the inflammation preventing injections. “Something wrong?,” he asked Zandik, looking at the preparations through his red tinted mask glasses.
“The blood pressure is still low and he is falling back to sleep again and again.” He handed the segment the IV bottle as a silent command to hook Feofan up to it. Zandik could hear the quiet whispers of his name as he sat back down next to the bed, muttered from a state of half-sleep. “Feofan? Can you look at me?”
No reaction, just a hum. “M tired, Zandik…maybe later…”
“I know you are. But I need you to stay awake. Can you do that?”
“Miss you…”
“I am right next to you, Feofan, just open your eyes.”
65 walked up to the other side of the bed and prepared the new IV before injecting the meds into the already existing line. Yet the moment he took Feofan’s arm where the vein access was placed, the purple eyes opened a bit. A giggle emerged from the depth of the man’s lungs as the segment connected the new line and opened the roller clamp. “Birdie…” Feofan reached up and tipped the beak of the mask with another giggle. “...boop.”
It took all of Zandik’s willpower not to burst into laughter. 65 stared at Feofan for a second, the man still high from all the drugs and breaking into another giggle, repeating the booping of the beak. “If you need me, call me,” the segment almost spit and rushed out of the room. Zandik took Feofan’s hand again, taking his attention. “Do you still feel tired?”
“Mhm.” A nod. “I’m a tired pudding.”
“A tired pudding, underst—”
“Zandik? Why’re…” For a moment he hesitated, probably his brain looking for the words he wanted to speak. “...why’re…” Silence again.
“You know, maybe you should not think too much right now. I’m here and you are just out of surgery.”
“I…I am? And you’re…my gift for that?” Zandik felt the hand move out of his own and towards his face. The fingers ran over his wrinkles and stopped on his lips. “...you’re a very pretty gift.” A smile. “I wanna kiss you.”
With a sigh he leaned over and removed the face mask for a moment, giving Feofan the requested kiss. “Happy now?”
The smile stayed on Feofan’s lips as he put the mask back on. “The pretty man really kissed me…I want another…”
“Maybe later, my Sumerian Rose. Maybe later. First, you wake up.”