Sylvia Chapter 9 (WIP)
The conviction that she was badly late for something drove Sylvia relentlessly toward consciousness.
She struggled resolutely against layer after layer of enfolding and confusing dreams, thinking herself awake time and again only to realize yet again that she had still not attained that state. No, no, no. I have to go to school. Wait, no. The mall! I'm supposed to go to the mall! I'm late. Esther and Hannah will wonder where I am. And what if other kids decide to make fun of them, or... What if someone decides that it's illegal for Archaists to go to the mall, and they get arrested??
The thought led to a dream of running down an escalator, in which she leaped over the last four steps only to find herself falling through the glass floor at the bottom.
"Ahh!" She flailed herself awake, then groaned and gasped as her whole body seemed to conspire to hack up both lungs, and the rest of her inner organs.
"Shhhh," said an unfamiliar alto voice softly, as a hand rested against her chest. "Easy, Sylvia. Shhh. I'm here. Try to relax."
"What??" she gasped after the convulsion had passed, her eyes blinking blearily against weakness and the dimness of their surroundings. "Who?"
"I am a friend," said the alto voice as an arm shifted behind her neck and she realized that she was being held by someone about the size of an average adult human, but whose body and arms didn't have the yielding quality of a human's frame. A cup was held to her mouth, and she forgot confusion to drink thirstily, her senses settling somewhat as she focused on the slightly sweet, cinnamon flavour of the liquid.
She sighed as the cup was taken away again, and then listened to the faint tap of it being set down. A moment's rest told her that she was wrapped in her sleeping sheet (it was the only one with the cut work scalloped edge); that everything felt very uncomfortable, from temperature to her actual physical structure, and there was a small, black-painted woman of Grandfather's people sitting and holding her.
Sylvia blinked up at the stranger's gentle blue eyes, her brows drawn together into a hazy frown that was deepened by her attempt to get her own eyes to focus. "Who...?"
"I am a friend," said the woman gently. "You may call me 'Aunty', if you like."
"Aunty..." Sylvia shook her head slightly as something from her memory insisted to her that that was the wrong word. "No. Oma... Grand... fath...er... where?"
"He is resting there in his chair." Careful hands pulled the blanket up around her shoulders, and then checked something cold that was strapped to her chest, moving something soft that tickled her face slightly in the process. "Shhhh. See? Do not wake him."
Sylvia squinted as she absently tried to snuggle the doll that Stephan had made her, then sighed weary relief as she made out the slumbering hulk of her Grandfather in his big recliner. "Wor... ried..."
"Only keeping an eye on you." The doll was tucked into a better position against her cheek. "But you're going to be alright. The fever should break soon."
"Soon..." Sylvia groaned in protest as she felt herself sinking toward unconsciousness. "Mall."
"Do not worry. Your friends know that you could not go on your trip. They are waiting till you are well enough," Oma assured her.
"Oh..." She sighed with massive relief, then closed her eyes and settled back to sleep.
* * *
Grandfather was holding her when she woke next. She could tell by the familiar beat of his fuel pump and the soft rumble of his sleeping systems. Frowning slightly, she closed her hand more firmly around her doll, and then squirmed unhappily as a slight trickle of sweat ran down her back.
Grandfather woke instantly, the blurry lantern of his eye winking to life above her in the darkness. "Shhh. Sylvia. I have you. You are safe."
"Too... hot," she murmured, closing her eyes with a sigh.
"...So you are." He sounded surprised and pleased. "The fever has broken. Do you desire a drink?"
"Ewwwwww." She blinked, cross-eyed, at what was strapped to her right wrist, which lay close to her face. "Neeeedle."
"It was necessary to keep your internal fluid rates at their needed levels." Grandfather lowered the temperature of his body surface and let a hint of coolness brush her cheek and imbue her wrapping.
"Feh." She slowly turned her face away from the intravenous needle, then sighed again. "Drink?"
"Here." The end of a straw gently poked at her mouth, and she drank eagerly, the flavour of the liquid recalling an earlier waking. "Oma?"
"What?" He sounded surprised.
Sylvia blinked up at him, frowning slightly. "Oma. Where?"
"I... do not understand, Sylvia. Of whom are you speaking?" His own confused frown answered hers.
"Oma..." She rooted through hazy brains to find the explanation of who she was asking about, then startled slightly. "Oma's... dead. But... held me. Gave... drink."
Grandfather started as well, but then lifted his head and sternly addressed the darkness around them. "I know what you have done. She remembers."
His voice softened. "Thank you."
Sylvia looked up at him, watching and listening for a reply. But only silence answered her senses, and she sighed and closed her eyes again. "Gone... now."
"Yes. For now. But I have no doubt that she will return if she feels that her presence is required." Grandfather gently adjusted her blanket, and then smoothed her damp hair with a finger.
"Bath," she murmured, hiding her face against him.
"Soon. Save your strength for now, and let it contribute toward your healing." He rumbled softly.
"Stinky."
"I do not think so," he disagreed, gentle humour flavoring his deep voice. "You bear an odour of medical ointment and the cinnamon syrup that the mainframe's avatar accidentally dropped on you. Those are not disagreeable scents."
"Cinna...!" She was distracted.
"You desire another drink?"
"...Do."
The straw once more brought the faintly sweet, cool tea to her, and she sighed and drank deeply. Then she grumbled softly and snuggled close as she settled back to sleep.
* * *
"I hate baths."
Oma blinked from where she was sitting on the side of the tub and turned her head to give Sylvia a look of surprise. "Is that the opening for an exhibition of humor?"
"No." Sylvia sighed and moved slightly on the sling that held her in the warm water. "I guess I don't hate baths. But I hate how they make me feel sleepy. I have enough things making me sleepy right now. Including breathing."
"Complaining is a sign of returning strength." Oma's eyes twinkled.
Sylvia laughed softly, pleased by the idea. But then she groaned as as the chuckle started up a determined stream of dry coughs.
"Here." Oma leaned to take something from a tin on the counter, and then held it where Sylvia could see it easily. "Have a lemon lozenge. It will help to moisten your throat, and the medicinal ingredients will prevent further constrictions of your bronchial passages."
"Mmm. Thank you." Not wanting to make a sticky mess, and giving in to child-like logic, Sylvia leaned forward slightly and took the candy with her mouth, then settled back and enjoyed the tangy flavour.
"Hmm. I guess I should say 'a lemon balm lozenge'. I see that there is no actual lemon in them." Oma studied the ingredient list on the tin curiously.
Sylvia shook her head. "No. The refugees didn't take very many kinds of trees with them. We have apples because people had had them stored where the radiation couldn't reach them." Then she lifted her hands to see if she could get them to obey her properly and was pleased when she managed to catch hold of the bobbing toy who shared the bath with her.
"You captured your duck." Oma smiled.
"No." Sylvia grinned and tucked her lozenge into her cheek. "Grandfather's duck."
Oma paused and considered her words, then looked down at her quizzically. "Do you mean to say that your grandfather shares his baths with the duck?"
Sylvia nodded, gently petting the old toy's head as she looked at its big eyes and happy grin. "It's a copy of the duck Grandmother gave him."
"Ahhhh." Oma smiled and chuckled. "I see. Your Grandfather is still a highly sentimental individual."
"Yup. It's fun." The duck was freed to bob away into the wake of one of the water jets.
"It is," agreed Oma softly, her smile going small and gentle as she focused on memories.
Then it turned back to kindly concern and desire to help. "Would you like me to wash your hair for you?"
"Oh. Yeah. Hair." Sylvia frowned slightly and poked at it, but knew that her still weak and uncoordinated muscles would be yelling if she tried to clean the tired mess. "Yes, please. Do you know how?"
"I do." Oma gently lowered the sling till Sylvia's hair was mostly submerged, and then cleaned it gently and thoroughly, adding a little cleaning powder when the soft cleansers in the bath water failed to remove enough residue to let the strands squeak between her fingers. "There. Is there a conditioning substance that you use?"
"No." Her granddaughter by acquisition blinked, and then shifted slightly as the sling brought her back to a reclining position. "I don't need it. It's kind of a blah colour, but it's not hard to take care of. I'm glad. I think having to do some of the things I heard the girls at school mention when they talked about cleaning their hair would have frustrated me and made me cut it all off."
"I see nothing wrong with this colour, despite what popular fashion currently states," said Oma firmly. "It is no worse, and no better, than any other colour that human hair comes in."
"You sound like Hannah and Esther's mothers." Sylvia looked at her curiously.
"Have they spoken to you about your hair colour?" Oma tilted her head quizzically.
"No. I think they'd think it was bad manners to do that. But I've heard them lecturing their kids just like that."
"Oh. Well. I was a mother once, too. Though I spent less time with my children than I desired." Oma once more looked at memory.
"I don't think you can stop being a mother." Sylvia lay back, studying the projection. "Even dying doesn't stop people from being family. It just makes them live really far from one another till everyone else gets there too."
Then she voiced a question as it occurred to her. "Does Grandfather know that you're here?"
"Er. I suspect that he does." Oma looked up, and then blinked. "Ah. He didn't, and has been trying to think of how to offer you assistance without breaching manners."
Sylvia face palmed. "He's so silly. He changed my diapers."
"Yes. But you are approaching adulthood now." Oma sprinkled a little more scented powder into the bath water. "And he wishes to behave with propriety."
"Give me my swim suit, please." Sylvia nodded toward the simple garment, then tried determinedly to wriggle into it. "Oh. Thank you."
"You are quite welcome." Oma made certain that the straps were properly adjusted and untwisted. "Is this comfortable?"
"Yes." Sylvia smiled at her shyly. "Will you come in now too? And call Grandfather? He likes to sit in the bath."
"Yes." Oma chuckled and ordered the larger section of the tub to fill. "He does. He always has."
Then she slipped into the water by Sylvia's feet with barely a ripple. "Will he be able to enter the bath without pain?"
"There's a lift in his seat, and stairs there by the railing." Sylvia fanned at the water with her hands, then looked up and up as the bathing room door opened and her grandfather peeked inside. "Come sit in the water, Grandfather. I bet you haven't had a bath in a while."
"You win your wager." His eye twinkled as he entered, leaning heavily on his cane. "How do you feel?"
"Tired, but not sleepy." She snuggled down into the sling as she watched him carefully close the door and then move slowly over to where the railing waited to assist him down into the water. "...We should put glitter in your bath."
He started and gave her a look of surprise, then rumbled a chuckle and shook his head. "My days of sparkling are long over, Sylvia."
"Why?" She grinned at him. "I think it would look nice."
"So do I." Oma leaned her arms on the partition between the small part of the bath and the large one and smiled as well, her eyes bright with laughter.
"Hrrumph." Grandfather shook his head at them, though he was chuckling as the lift lowered him gently to where he could sit comfortably submerged up to his neck. "Ahhhhhh."
Sylvia winced at the level of relief that she could hear in that sigh. "You weren't taking care of yourself."
"Do not be concerned," he replied somnolently. "Your Oma fulfilled that duty for me."
Sylvia quirked a brow and looked from his contented face to that of the projection of the woman who had been his first wife, then grinned to herself slightly and blushed with the pleased feeling that came with the realization that Grandfather once more had someone other than herself to love him.
"Would you like me to scrub your back?" offered Oma.
"Not yet, love," he replied absently. "I am currently too comfortable to wish to move."
Oma chuckled and sent small waves toward him that were lost in the eddies from the jets, then turned and looked toward Sylvia, who grinned her shy grin and pointed to the duck.
"Oh yes. We must not forget that." The somber hued woman kicked off from the side of the tub and swam over to intercept the toy, then tossed it over the barrier and watched it bob toward its owner.
"Hmmm?" Grandfather peeked to see what she was doing, then snorted softly and sank more deeply into the water.
"It will be good to be able to swim again," said Sylvia wistfully, as she turned her head to watch the duck float around and bounce gently off Grandfather's chin. "The little tub isn't as much fun."
Oma turned and gave her a look of amazed concern. "You go into the deep water?"
"Yes. Grandfather taught me to swim before I could walk. I never use the little tub."
"But... the danger." Oma turned back to Grandfather, frowning now.
"It was to alleviate that danger that I did so," he rumbled quietly. "Sylvia can not only handle herself in heavy currents or surf, but she can, when in good health, even spend short periods of rest safely in a large amount of water. She and I have spent many pleasant evenings enjoying the comfort of a bath of still water."
"Sleeping in the tub." Sylvia chuckled softly. "But I know you always have your sensors trained on me when we do that."
"Indeed." His deep chuckle sent small shivers through the water.
Then he sighed again. "I think that I will rest now. Do you wish to be removed from the water before I do, Sylvia?"
"No." She stretched a little, then yawned and frowned about it. "I can sleep here too."
"I could make a bed from some of your grandfather's towels and put it where you could see him easily," offered Oma, who was once more hanging over the partition between the two parts of the tub.
"Now you've done it," murmured Grandfather, chuckling again.
"What?" Oma looked up at him, then over at the quietly gleeful expression on their granddaughter's face.
"Sylvia has been inordinately fond of those towels since she became old enough for me to wrap her in them without fear of losing her. They were the material of her childhood construction endeavours. Did you not note the material that her old doll is constructed from?"
"I... had not." Oma chuckled herself, and then got out of the bath to grow to her normal size and fetch one of the massive fluffy white rectangles of material from the cupboard. "But I am not surprised. Our children too were fond of towels."
"When you're little soft and warm is a great thing," said Sylvia, grinning as she watched the swift folding of said item.
"Even when you are large and old soft and warm can be a great thing," Oma told her, glancing knowingly toward Grandfather, whose rumbling had dropped to the low and peaceful tone that told of his resting state.
He smiled back at her drowsily, then closed his eye.
Oma grinned and gently lifted Sylvia from the water, then tucked her carefully under the top most layer of towel so that she was propped slightly and could easily see her Grandfather. This done, she slipped into the larger side of the tub and settled next to the old man with her head against his chest.
Grandfather stirred slightly, and then slowly lifted one arm to wrap it around Oma's back, his engine taking on an even more peaceful and relaxed note as he settled more deeply into rest mode.
Sylvia grinned, then peeked at Zeta Zelda as the green mechadrone came tiptoeing into the room.
"Shhh," she said softly. "Grandfather is resting."
"Hug hug." Zeta Zelda laughed softly, then pretended to yawn before curling beside Sylvia on the towel bed. "Sleep sleeps too."
"Good sleep, Zeta Zelda." The mock yawn triggered a real one from the girl, which was followed by a slightly frustrated grumble. But frustration and desire to stay awake very quickly lost, and Sylvia soon followed her grandfather and friend into slumber.
She struggled resolutely against layer after layer of enfolding and confusing dreams, thinking herself awake time and again only to realize yet again that she had still not attained that state. No, no, no. I have to go to school. Wait, no. The mall! I'm supposed to go to the mall! I'm late. Esther and Hannah will wonder where I am. And what if other kids decide to make fun of them, or... What if someone decides that it's illegal for Archaists to go to the mall, and they get arrested??
The thought led to a dream of running down an escalator, in which she leaped over the last four steps only to find herself falling through the glass floor at the bottom.
"Ahh!" She flailed herself awake, then groaned and gasped as her whole body seemed to conspire to hack up both lungs, and the rest of her inner organs.
"Shhhh," said an unfamiliar alto voice softly, as a hand rested against her chest. "Easy, Sylvia. Shhh. I'm here. Try to relax."
"What??" she gasped after the convulsion had passed, her eyes blinking blearily against weakness and the dimness of their surroundings. "Who?"
"I am a friend," said the alto voice as an arm shifted behind her neck and she realized that she was being held by someone about the size of an average adult human, but whose body and arms didn't have the yielding quality of a human's frame. A cup was held to her mouth, and she forgot confusion to drink thirstily, her senses settling somewhat as she focused on the slightly sweet, cinnamon flavour of the liquid.
She sighed as the cup was taken away again, and then listened to the faint tap of it being set down. A moment's rest told her that she was wrapped in her sleeping sheet (it was the only one with the cut work scalloped edge); that everything felt very uncomfortable, from temperature to her actual physical structure, and there was a small, black-painted woman of Grandfather's people sitting and holding her.
Sylvia blinked up at the stranger's gentle blue eyes, her brows drawn together into a hazy frown that was deepened by her attempt to get her own eyes to focus. "Who...?"
"I am a friend," said the woman gently. "You may call me 'Aunty', if you like."
"Aunty..." Sylvia shook her head slightly as something from her memory insisted to her that that was the wrong word. "No. Oma... Grand... fath...er... where?"
"He is resting there in his chair." Careful hands pulled the blanket up around her shoulders, and then checked something cold that was strapped to her chest, moving something soft that tickled her face slightly in the process. "Shhhh. See? Do not wake him."
Sylvia squinted as she absently tried to snuggle the doll that Stephan had made her, then sighed weary relief as she made out the slumbering hulk of her Grandfather in his big recliner. "Wor... ried..."
"Only keeping an eye on you." The doll was tucked into a better position against her cheek. "But you're going to be alright. The fever should break soon."
"Soon..." Sylvia groaned in protest as she felt herself sinking toward unconsciousness. "Mall."
"Do not worry. Your friends know that you could not go on your trip. They are waiting till you are well enough," Oma assured her.
"Oh..." She sighed with massive relief, then closed her eyes and settled back to sleep.
* * *
Grandfather was holding her when she woke next. She could tell by the familiar beat of his fuel pump and the soft rumble of his sleeping systems. Frowning slightly, she closed her hand more firmly around her doll, and then squirmed unhappily as a slight trickle of sweat ran down her back.
Grandfather woke instantly, the blurry lantern of his eye winking to life above her in the darkness. "Shhh. Sylvia. I have you. You are safe."
"Too... hot," she murmured, closing her eyes with a sigh.
"...So you are." He sounded surprised and pleased. "The fever has broken. Do you desire a drink?"
"Ewwwwww." She blinked, cross-eyed, at what was strapped to her right wrist, which lay close to her face. "Neeeedle."
"It was necessary to keep your internal fluid rates at their needed levels." Grandfather lowered the temperature of his body surface and let a hint of coolness brush her cheek and imbue her wrapping.
"Feh." She slowly turned her face away from the intravenous needle, then sighed again. "Drink?"
"Here." The end of a straw gently poked at her mouth, and she drank eagerly, the flavour of the liquid recalling an earlier waking. "Oma?"
"What?" He sounded surprised.
Sylvia blinked up at him, frowning slightly. "Oma. Where?"
"I... do not understand, Sylvia. Of whom are you speaking?" His own confused frown answered hers.
"Oma..." She rooted through hazy brains to find the explanation of who she was asking about, then startled slightly. "Oma's... dead. But... held me. Gave... drink."
Grandfather started as well, but then lifted his head and sternly addressed the darkness around them. "I know what you have done. She remembers."
His voice softened. "Thank you."
Sylvia looked up at him, watching and listening for a reply. But only silence answered her senses, and she sighed and closed her eyes again. "Gone... now."
"Yes. For now. But I have no doubt that she will return if she feels that her presence is required." Grandfather gently adjusted her blanket, and then smoothed her damp hair with a finger.
"Bath," she murmured, hiding her face against him.
"Soon. Save your strength for now, and let it contribute toward your healing." He rumbled softly.
"Stinky."
"I do not think so," he disagreed, gentle humour flavoring his deep voice. "You bear an odour of medical ointment and the cinnamon syrup that the mainframe's avatar accidentally dropped on you. Those are not disagreeable scents."
"Cinna...!" She was distracted.
"You desire another drink?"
"...Do."
The straw once more brought the faintly sweet, cool tea to her, and she sighed and drank deeply. Then she grumbled softly and snuggled close as she settled back to sleep.
* * *
"I hate baths."
Oma blinked from where she was sitting on the side of the tub and turned her head to give Sylvia a look of surprise. "Is that the opening for an exhibition of humor?"
"No." Sylvia sighed and moved slightly on the sling that held her in the warm water. "I guess I don't hate baths. But I hate how they make me feel sleepy. I have enough things making me sleepy right now. Including breathing."
"Complaining is a sign of returning strength." Oma's eyes twinkled.
Sylvia laughed softly, pleased by the idea. But then she groaned as as the chuckle started up a determined stream of dry coughs.
"Here." Oma leaned to take something from a tin on the counter, and then held it where Sylvia could see it easily. "Have a lemon lozenge. It will help to moisten your throat, and the medicinal ingredients will prevent further constrictions of your bronchial passages."
"Mmm. Thank you." Not wanting to make a sticky mess, and giving in to child-like logic, Sylvia leaned forward slightly and took the candy with her mouth, then settled back and enjoyed the tangy flavour.
"Hmm. I guess I should say 'a lemon balm lozenge'. I see that there is no actual lemon in them." Oma studied the ingredient list on the tin curiously.
Sylvia shook her head. "No. The refugees didn't take very many kinds of trees with them. We have apples because people had had them stored where the radiation couldn't reach them." Then she lifted her hands to see if she could get them to obey her properly and was pleased when she managed to catch hold of the bobbing toy who shared the bath with her.
"You captured your duck." Oma smiled.
"No." Sylvia grinned and tucked her lozenge into her cheek. "Grandfather's duck."
Oma paused and considered her words, then looked down at her quizzically. "Do you mean to say that your grandfather shares his baths with the duck?"
Sylvia nodded, gently petting the old toy's head as she looked at its big eyes and happy grin. "It's a copy of the duck Grandmother gave him."
"Ahhhh." Oma smiled and chuckled. "I see. Your Grandfather is still a highly sentimental individual."
"Yup. It's fun." The duck was freed to bob away into the wake of one of the water jets.
"It is," agreed Oma softly, her smile going small and gentle as she focused on memories.
Then it turned back to kindly concern and desire to help. "Would you like me to wash your hair for you?"
"Oh. Yeah. Hair." Sylvia frowned slightly and poked at it, but knew that her still weak and uncoordinated muscles would be yelling if she tried to clean the tired mess. "Yes, please. Do you know how?"
"I do." Oma gently lowered the sling till Sylvia's hair was mostly submerged, and then cleaned it gently and thoroughly, adding a little cleaning powder when the soft cleansers in the bath water failed to remove enough residue to let the strands squeak between her fingers. "There. Is there a conditioning substance that you use?"
"No." Her granddaughter by acquisition blinked, and then shifted slightly as the sling brought her back to a reclining position. "I don't need it. It's kind of a blah colour, but it's not hard to take care of. I'm glad. I think having to do some of the things I heard the girls at school mention when they talked about cleaning their hair would have frustrated me and made me cut it all off."
"I see nothing wrong with this colour, despite what popular fashion currently states," said Oma firmly. "It is no worse, and no better, than any other colour that human hair comes in."
"You sound like Hannah and Esther's mothers." Sylvia looked at her curiously.
"Have they spoken to you about your hair colour?" Oma tilted her head quizzically.
"No. I think they'd think it was bad manners to do that. But I've heard them lecturing their kids just like that."
"Oh. Well. I was a mother once, too. Though I spent less time with my children than I desired." Oma once more looked at memory.
"I don't think you can stop being a mother." Sylvia lay back, studying the projection. "Even dying doesn't stop people from being family. It just makes them live really far from one another till everyone else gets there too."
Then she voiced a question as it occurred to her. "Does Grandfather know that you're here?"
"Er. I suspect that he does." Oma looked up, and then blinked. "Ah. He didn't, and has been trying to think of how to offer you assistance without breaching manners."
Sylvia face palmed. "He's so silly. He changed my diapers."
"Yes. But you are approaching adulthood now." Oma sprinkled a little more scented powder into the bath water. "And he wishes to behave with propriety."
"Give me my swim suit, please." Sylvia nodded toward the simple garment, then tried determinedly to wriggle into it. "Oh. Thank you."
"You are quite welcome." Oma made certain that the straps were properly adjusted and untwisted. "Is this comfortable?"
"Yes." Sylvia smiled at her shyly. "Will you come in now too? And call Grandfather? He likes to sit in the bath."
"Yes." Oma chuckled and ordered the larger section of the tub to fill. "He does. He always has."
Then she slipped into the water by Sylvia's feet with barely a ripple. "Will he be able to enter the bath without pain?"
"There's a lift in his seat, and stairs there by the railing." Sylvia fanned at the water with her hands, then looked up and up as the bathing room door opened and her grandfather peeked inside. "Come sit in the water, Grandfather. I bet you haven't had a bath in a while."
"You win your wager." His eye twinkled as he entered, leaning heavily on his cane. "How do you feel?"
"Tired, but not sleepy." She snuggled down into the sling as she watched him carefully close the door and then move slowly over to where the railing waited to assist him down into the water. "...We should put glitter in your bath."
He started and gave her a look of surprise, then rumbled a chuckle and shook his head. "My days of sparkling are long over, Sylvia."
"Why?" She grinned at him. "I think it would look nice."
"So do I." Oma leaned her arms on the partition between the small part of the bath and the large one and smiled as well, her eyes bright with laughter.
"Hrrumph." Grandfather shook his head at them, though he was chuckling as the lift lowered him gently to where he could sit comfortably submerged up to his neck. "Ahhhhhh."
Sylvia winced at the level of relief that she could hear in that sigh. "You weren't taking care of yourself."
"Do not be concerned," he replied somnolently. "Your Oma fulfilled that duty for me."
Sylvia quirked a brow and looked from his contented face to that of the projection of the woman who had been his first wife, then grinned to herself slightly and blushed with the pleased feeling that came with the realization that Grandfather once more had someone other than herself to love him.
"Would you like me to scrub your back?" offered Oma.
"Not yet, love," he replied absently. "I am currently too comfortable to wish to move."
Oma chuckled and sent small waves toward him that were lost in the eddies from the jets, then turned and looked toward Sylvia, who grinned her shy grin and pointed to the duck.
"Oh yes. We must not forget that." The somber hued woman kicked off from the side of the tub and swam over to intercept the toy, then tossed it over the barrier and watched it bob toward its owner.
"Hmmm?" Grandfather peeked to see what she was doing, then snorted softly and sank more deeply into the water.
"It will be good to be able to swim again," said Sylvia wistfully, as she turned her head to watch the duck float around and bounce gently off Grandfather's chin. "The little tub isn't as much fun."
Oma turned and gave her a look of amazed concern. "You go into the deep water?"
"Yes. Grandfather taught me to swim before I could walk. I never use the little tub."
"But... the danger." Oma turned back to Grandfather, frowning now.
"It was to alleviate that danger that I did so," he rumbled quietly. "Sylvia can not only handle herself in heavy currents or surf, but she can, when in good health, even spend short periods of rest safely in a large amount of water. She and I have spent many pleasant evenings enjoying the comfort of a bath of still water."
"Sleeping in the tub." Sylvia chuckled softly. "But I know you always have your sensors trained on me when we do that."
"Indeed." His deep chuckle sent small shivers through the water.
Then he sighed again. "I think that I will rest now. Do you wish to be removed from the water before I do, Sylvia?"
"No." She stretched a little, then yawned and frowned about it. "I can sleep here too."
"I could make a bed from some of your grandfather's towels and put it where you could see him easily," offered Oma, who was once more hanging over the partition between the two parts of the tub.
"Now you've done it," murmured Grandfather, chuckling again.
"What?" Oma looked up at him, then over at the quietly gleeful expression on their granddaughter's face.
"Sylvia has been inordinately fond of those towels since she became old enough for me to wrap her in them without fear of losing her. They were the material of her childhood construction endeavours. Did you not note the material that her old doll is constructed from?"
"I... had not." Oma chuckled herself, and then got out of the bath to grow to her normal size and fetch one of the massive fluffy white rectangles of material from the cupboard. "But I am not surprised. Our children too were fond of towels."
"When you're little soft and warm is a great thing," said Sylvia, grinning as she watched the swift folding of said item.
"Even when you are large and old soft and warm can be a great thing," Oma told her, glancing knowingly toward Grandfather, whose rumbling had dropped to the low and peaceful tone that told of his resting state.
He smiled back at her drowsily, then closed his eye.
Oma grinned and gently lifted Sylvia from the water, then tucked her carefully under the top most layer of towel so that she was propped slightly and could easily see her Grandfather. This done, she slipped into the larger side of the tub and settled next to the old man with her head against his chest.
Grandfather stirred slightly, and then slowly lifted one arm to wrap it around Oma's back, his engine taking on an even more peaceful and relaxed note as he settled more deeply into rest mode.
Sylvia grinned, then peeked at Zeta Zelda as the green mechadrone came tiptoeing into the room.
"Shhh," she said softly. "Grandfather is resting."
"Hug hug." Zeta Zelda laughed softly, then pretended to yawn before curling beside Sylvia on the towel bed. "Sleep sleeps too."
"Good sleep, Zeta Zelda." The mock yawn triggered a real one from the girl, which was followed by a slightly frustrated grumble. But frustration and desire to stay awake very quickly lost, and Sylvia soon followed her grandfather and friend into slumber.