Page 123 of Even Robots Die
Now I’m basically running on fumes though, because I have to double check all my protocols for Brice’s surgery and I feel like I can’t see straight anymore. I took one of those anti-sleeping pills this morning—the ones that could keep an elephant awake for twenty-four hours straight—because I knew I would have to work well into the night, and yes, I feel super energized, but my body is still exhausted and my eyes are burning from the very little sleep I’ve gotten the past two nights.
So, yes, my mind is ready to work, but my body is starting to realize it’s well past my bedtime.
Or that I need sleep.
Brice has been helping even if he doesn’t have a single clue what he is doing, and that’s saved me way more time than I care to admit. I’m not sure we could have made it on time to send the blueprints this morning if he hadn’t helped, because like always, I’m awful with the deadlines I force myself to meet.
If I’m being honest, I would have taken that anti-sleeping pill a day earlier if it was only me, and I would feel worse than a zombie now because I would have taken a second by now.
Brice didn’t take any. He says he doesn’t need as much sleep as I do, but I can see it in the way he strained when he scooped me up this morning before flying. Not sleeping is taking a toll on him, too.
At least he’ll be forced to sleep very soon. I won’t have that luxury yet.
When we land in Blois, Charles is already here with a woman I only recognize because I’m the one who listed the surgeons who are competent for Brice’s surgery. There were only three names on that list who weren’t either bird shifters or notoriously working for them, and only two of them live close enough to Blois to be here on short notice.
Marie Carpentier is human and from what I read about her, she’s fifty-two and has a reputation for being the best neurosurgeon of her generation, and right now, she definitely looks the part.
Her blue scrubs look immaculate and not a single hair—that I know to be black—pokes out of her cap. Her dark skin looks to be devoid of any makeup and her lips are stretched into a tight smile.
She’s been warned ahead of time about what this surgery pertains to and I’m glad to see that she’s taking it very seriously.
She and Charles greet us quickly and then we’re on our way to the room I’ve called my office for a few weeks.
We’ve barely been out of town for three days, and yet it’s been completely remastered in the meantime. The part of the room with my holo-puter and chair hasn’t changed, but everything else looks brand new and straight out of the most advanced hospital. I don’t know what half of the things are used for and I’m too tired to decipher it. It’ll probably be something that will wake me up in a couple nights and I’ll have to search everything just to understand, but right now, I can thank the anti-sleeping pill because it’s giving me focus that I’m not sure I would have otherwise.
The room is also full of people I don’t know. Some part of my brain tells me they’re Marie’s team and that I probably saw their names at some point when I listed the surgeons, but at the moment I’m coming up blank.
It might also be because I can’t see them properly through the sterilization screen that is now adorning the room’s entrance.
That or I’m too tired to see correctly with how tired I am.
Which isn’t good. I still have to be in the room and type the commands at the right moment. At least I’m not the one who will insert the metal probes inside Brice’s brain. I would be too scared to mess things up and do more damage than good with his mind.
“Breathe,” Brice tells me as he grabs my hand and presses it against his chest.
I didn’t even realize I was panicking. My mind was spiraling, that I noticed, but I didn’t think anyone could see it.
Except Brice seems to see everything when it comes to me.
I sync my breathing with the ups and downs of his chest, and slowly, I relax.
“I feel like an idiot,” I say out loud.
“Why is that?” Brice asks softly as he tucks me close to him.
He hasn’t left my side ever since he came out of the bathroom a couple days ago. He’s made sure I was highly aware that he was here, always an arm’s length away at worst, as if the mere idea of being separated from me was torture to him, and I don’t know what to think of it.
I’m not used to having anyone doting on me and asking me if I’m alright, if I’m able to do things not because they need me to finish something, but because they want to make sure I’m not overexerting myself. I’m not used to people asking if I’m okay for any other reason than politeness.
Brice’s behavior is so out of the norm for me that I don’t know how to react.
“I should be the one reassuring you,” I answer. “I mean, you’re the one about to be cracked open a second time, and I’m the one on the verge of panicking. It doesn’t feel right. What if I programmed something wrong? What if I’m making everything worse? I shouldn’t even ask you that. I’m going to freak you out. Sorry.”
He turns me in his arms so I’m facing him and tips my face up so I can’t avoid his eyes.
“Don’t apologize. I don’t need reassurance,” he says softly as he tugs one of my curls behind my ear. “I trust you. I’ve seen you work and I know you already double checked or even triple checked everything before we even left three days ago. I know you and I know the value you put into your work, so no, I don’t need reassurance, but even if I did, your feelings are valid, too. You are allowed to panic, to cry, or tocrumble without it overshadowing me or my feelings. It’s okay to not feel okay. You don’t have to hide it with me.”
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