ch.4: chamomile, for patience in adversity

                                    

                                          
You wake up to a screaming argument coming from one of the rooms on the balcony. Shaking the sleep from your eyes, you try to eavesdrop, but you can only make out the fervor of the screaming. It sounded BAD . You were under a clean quilt, curled up on the floor in front of the fireplace. They must have moved Tommy to one of the rooms upstairs. You grabbed a few potions, still a bit groggy, and tried to tiptoe upstairs as quietly as you could. 
                          
You slip into the first room, the one you had been hurrying home to investigate, and pause for a second to take it in as the door clicks shut. A family of folded paper bees were hung delicately from the ceiling, circling toward the bed in the corner. The furniture is slightly disheveled, as if it's been jumped on one too many times. And there, tucked into bed, is Tommy. You leave a healing potion by the bedside, check his temperature to make sure the fever's broken, and slip back out into the hallway. The argument hasn't stopped. If anything they've just gotten louder. You can hear Techno and Phil both straining their voices, trying to yell over each other. 
                          
"-three days! I tried for three days!" Techno screams. 
                          
"Techno, it's-" Phil starts, and then he says that word again. The same one from yesterday. And in an instant you're driven to your knees, holding your ears because there's so much pressure in your head that it feels like your brain is going to flow out of them. 
                          
"Stop!" you call out, hoping beyond hope that one of them hears you. You hear things get quiet, a door creaks open. In an instant, you're helped up by a strong set of arms, half carried into your room- huh. You think of it as your room now. That was probably something you'd have to work through later. The arms set you down on top of a fresh set of quilts, but they don't leave. Instead, they sit with you and rub small circles into your back as your vision clears, as the pain miasma begins to slip away. 
                          
"I'm sorry," you apologize, blinking at the bright lights. 
                          
"No worries." You'd thought it was Techno, but to your surprise, it was Phil sitting with you, comforting you. He seems to realize that and chuckles to himself. "Techno's out blowing off some steam. We got into an..."
                          
"Argument. I heard," you finish for him and he chuckles again, this time much more uncomfortably. 
                          
"Right. My turn to apologize, then. I'm sorry our family spat hurt you."
                          
"I'm alright. It happens sometimes. Maybe I'm allergic to bird hybrids," you joke, and he laughs as if the joke was much funnier than you'd intended. 
                          
"Right. Bird hybrids," he follows up with a grin. "My wings are fine, by the way. Figure I'd save you the time of a whole exam. Techno told me about your concern this morning and he checked on it before we...well, before we fought. So when he comes back you can ask him to confirm."
                          
"I believe you," you say, holding up your hands in surrender. "I just want everyone to be healthy, y'know?" He nods, and you nod back. "Have you seen Tommy yet?"
                          
"He's looking much better. Almost ruddy again," Phil confirms, and the conversation stalls for a moment before he clears his throat to speak again. "You...you reminded me of someone we once knew," he says, low and quiet, as if he's afraid to invoke their name. "I mistook you for her. In the...panic, I guess." 
                          
"It's alright. The amnesia is strange and hard to deal with, I understand. I'm sorry for...for acting like someone you've lost?" The apology bubbles up before you can catch it, and as you look to Phil, confused, he draws you into a hug so solid and comforting that you almost burst into tears. The two of you stay there for a moment before he pulls back, gives you a pat on the shoulder. 
                          
"You saved my son's life," he starts, and you shake your head vehemently. 
                          
"Techno brewed the potions, I just administered them," you argue, and he just beams back at you. 
                          
"Well, however the percentages shake out, Tommy's alive because of your help. I owe you. And I don't take my debts lightly." 
                          
"He's still gotta wake up," you argue again, with a put-on smile that doesn't quite reach your eyes. You get up and move toward the door with purpose, pockets jingling with potions. "Then I'll rest on the laurels." 
                          
                              
                          
The two of you watched over Tommy for hours. You made breakfast, Phil made dinner. You ate in quiet silence on the floor of Tommy's room, the paper bees flickering in the light above you. The only interruptions to your vigil besides meals were your trips to the window to search the ice and snow around the cabin for any sign of Techno returning. You took these trips with increasing frequency as the sun began to set, and he still hadn't returned. 
                          
"He does this," Phil tries to reassure, as you return to Tommy's room, sitting on the plush red carpet beside the bed. Phil was sitting on the edge of the bed, holding a cold towel to Tommy's forehead, trying to even his temperature out. He'd been twitching the past couple hours, showing signs of maybe waking up. "He doesn't like to be around people when he's upset. Something about the piglin side 'waking up'," he speaks low and soft as he dabs at his son's forehead. "I tried to raise him to love his hybrid half, but..." he trails off, wistful smile dissolving in an instant, "the world was more cruel than I was kind, I suppose." 
                          
"He's still a good man," you nod to Phil, even though he's not looking at you. "You raised him well." He snorts and looks down at you, your wrists rested on your knees as you leaned back against Tommy's end table. 
                          
"Hope you haven't told him that," he jokes, and looks back towards Tommy as he squirms in his sleep again. "He tries his best. Does what he thinks is right. That's all you can ask from your kids, really." He thinks for a moment and then turns back to you. "You should get some sleep. I'll wake you up early to take over watching the kiddo." You think it over for only a moment before shaking your head. 
                          
"I can't...I can't sleep without knowing..." you search for a valid explanation, a reason to stay awake, until Phil turns that parental gaze toward you and you crumble back against the table as you continue. "It's different this time. He was equipped last time, he had his cloak, his sword, everything." You stand up, shaking off the chill that crosses your spine when you think about the travelling cloak still hanging by the front door. "I can't sleep until I know he's safe." 
                          
"There's nothing you can do to change that from here," Phil points out, immediately backtracking as you move to get up. "Whoa, whoa. That didn't mean 'rush off into the night after him'." He sighs, cracking his shoulders and fluffing his wings. "God, I never thought I'd have to have this talk...I know you've only seen Techno's good side, but he's...he's a tough guy. A lot tougher than you know."
                          
"I've trained with him, I know he's tough," you point out, and Phil smiles, genuinely this time, and shakes his head. 
                          
"Then you know he'll be alright," he says, and you have to admit; he might have talked you into believing him. "Go get a couple hours of sleep. I'll wake you up at dawn, how's that sound?"
                          
"Thanks, Phil."
                          
"You're welcome, kiddo," he replies as you stand up and stretch, taking one last long look from the window for any signs of life. Nothing out there besides the wind. "Pick out a name for yourself!" he calls out in a whisper-yell to the hall after you. "I need something to tell Tommy when he wakes up." You peek your head back into the room, giving it a moment of thought. "If I pass the naming option off to him, you'll end up as like...Woman. As a name." He sounds genuine, but something about the joke rings so empty that its toll sticks in your head. 
                          
"That might be fine. Maybe with a preposition. THE Woman."
                          
"Fine. You'll be The Woman until you pick something else. Anything else." You laugh and wave good night to him, retiring to your room and falling asleep as soon as your head hits the pillow.