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Eishia doesn't mind keeping indoors; she prefers it actually. The chances are meeting — or causing — something catastrophic are significantly reduced by staying inside. However, it seems that life will always find a way to challenge her, because now she is sitting in the staff lounge in Cleaner HQ, only herself and the sleeping child in her lap.
When Bro had asked her to watch over Dear while he went to provide assistance for a highly sudden and highly dangerous mission, she hadn't had much time to voice her many concerns and present her previously prepared essay about why she is severely under-qualified for such a task and should never be given such great responsibility, but of course, she hadn't had the time — or the strength — to say any of this and accepted.
Now she's here. In the lounge. Dear's head on her lap as he sleeps.
Eishia has remained absolutely still since Dear collapsed onto her, drowsy from the arrival of night, drifting off at the minute of his assigned bedtime automatically. She had taken out his pigtails and tied back his hair in a loose ponytail, and that was that. Like a machine, he had powered off. Unfortunately, she hadn't moved in time and now she is the pillow she had prepared for this moment, still in Dear's room because she had been too foolish not to retrieve it earlier.
Eishia is not sure what to do at this point. She cannot move, because that could wake Dear up, and Dear is known for having a terrible temper, and she wouldn't want to be the cause of his stress, something that he does not deserve to suffer through at such an early age. But she could be doing other things, like restocking the infirmary, or checking reports, or something other than sitting here being useless.
She tries to send a telepathic message to her brother for the fiftieth time, but as she should have guessed, she has no such powers and even if she did, her brother probably wouldn't be able to hear her over his music.
She looks at Dear again, then realizes that he's not breathing. Wait—
His back moves from an inhale. She hears the exhale leave him. Then again.
Okay. Never mind. Crisis averted.
The door to the lounge suddenly opens, and her heart stops, despite being an answer to her prayers, it seems. Then it restarts much faster at the sight of Zanka in the doorway.
He doesn't see her, not at first, looking both ways to scan the room. Finally his eyes land on her, and she feels her face heat as he takes in the scene. Should she say hello? Wouldn't that wake up Dear? Can she use her voice? How does one talk again? Has she missed the moment to greet him, nothing but awkward silence swallowing up the room now—
Zanka nods in her direction, then moves. Into the lounge. He shuts the door softly and makes his way over to Eishia. Luckily, there is space for him on the couch that she and Dear are situated, her smack in the middle of it with Dear's legs curled up to her right. Zanka takes a seat on her left, all grace and elegance, suave silence that flies under Dear's detection.
He meets her eyes. Her face is still warm.
"Hey," Zanka says quietly, expression calm.
"Hello," Eishia tries just as quiet, and if he hadn't been sitting so close, he probably wouldn't have heard her. "How is—"
"It's fine," he slides in, already knowing what she was going to ask. It is not a hard guess, considering it is usually the first thing she will ask him these days. "Thanks to you."
Eishia feels a bit fluttery at that statement, but she tries to refocus on Dear, hoping her hair blocks Zanka's view of her too-warm face.
"Got stuck with babysitting duty, huh?" Zanka asks, indicating Dear with a slight jut of his chin. She nods. "You okay with that?" he continues, and she's not sure how to take that, or she wouldn't be sure, if it came from anyone other than Zanka.
That's because she has never felt like she has to guess with Zanka. Something about him has always felt serene and relaxing to Eishia, despite witnessing incidents that point towards the opposite. In Team Akuta, everyone is a go-getter except her, packed to the brim with grit and determination. Enjin is blunt, Riyo is wild, her brother is loud, and now Rudo is just as fiery as the rest of them.
Zanka has that fire too, but it burns more quietly, but no less intensely, of course. Eishia has felt it since the day she met him. He had been shorter then, no long earrings and a certain wariness deep in his eyes that she could sympathize with. But he had zoomed miles ahead of her in no time, wielding his jinki in an oddly fashionable way. She would know; her brother said so.
His fire produces a stable warmth, one that soothes her faster than the others. She finds herself trying to relax in that comfort now, despite her bones frozen solid with supporting Dear like a sentinel statue.
His staff isn't here right now, and it's clear Zanka can feel its absence, arm laid on the armrest of the couch but his fingers still moving, as if he's eager to hold something. She flits her eyes down briefly to his abdomen, where she had bandaged the area yet again that morning. Her anxieties feel like such trivial things in the face of Zanka and his injury and the unhidden desire to be back out there, proving himself to the world.
"It's fine," Eishia murmurs, still making a conscious effort to remain extremely still, as if one slight twitch will jolt Dear awake and rain living hell upon everyone in the vicinity.
Zanka doesn't say anything to contradict her, but she feels his eyes watching her. She chances a look in return and wills herself not to start sweating.
"Don't worry," Zanka finally says. "You're good at this kinda thing. Takin' care of others."
"No..." The word is already out of Eishia's mouth, a reflex born out of some strange demon that lurks in her brain. "I'm just... doing what I can. Anyone can do it."
"Not anyone, and you know that." Zanka may be scoffing, but his reprimand is gentle. Eishia just shrugs.
"I didn't do much."
"Dear didn't throw a tantrum. That's a job well done, I'd say."
Eishia doesn't have a good enough response to that. It's nice to be complimented, but most of the time, she feels like a fraud receiving such praise. Although the facts are clear as crystal laid out before her, she can't bring herself to wholly accept it, trying to give credit to every piece involved in the puzzle.
This is further reinforced by the way everyone assumes that despite Eishia being the younger sibling, she's the one always taking care of August, just because she checks on him almost hourly and makes sure he eats and bathes and rests his eyes every once in a while, but it's barely a fraction of what her brother does for her. No one seems to really see just how important August is in the Stilza family dynamic. Eishia is just a plant in the background in comparison.
"I'm just... doing what I was taught," Eishia explains softly, voice trembling a bit. Dear takes a particularly loud breath, and she feels tempted to stroke his head, but it probably isn't a good idea.
Her words bring her grandmother to mind, how harsh she would be in getting Eishia to understand, memorize, inhale and exhale medical knowledge. She wonders if she'll ever be as great as Grandma Alice, or as unforgettable as August. "If it wasn't for Grandma Alice, or Auggie, I'd probably be even more useless."
"You're not useless at all. Did the hole in my chest just heal on its own?" Zanka's tone is chiding, but he's looking at her with something she may mistake for fondness.
"Well, no, but—"
"No 'buts'. Ya healed it. Take the credit."
Eishia's mouth opens but no sound comes out at first. She manages to force out, "I didn't do it for credit. I just mean..." Eishia doesn't know how to say it. From the past few times she's voiced any doubts, it always seemed to come out wrong, or different than how it had been coded in her head. (Or perhaps she is just too afraid to say the uncensored truth.)
"People have taken care of you so long that you don't think you'll ever live up to it?"
Eishia whips her head to look at Zanka. He still looks as calm as ever, but there's something in his eyes that looks a little like... understanding? Slowly, she nods.
"It's just... I can only do this because that's what I learned from my family, and I just feel like... a fragment of them?" It is technically truthful, but maybe a little watered down; Eishia sometimes feels like nothing compared to her family members. It doesn't help when the whole world treats her like that too.
"I guess that happens when you're born last. You've gotta do so much more to prove yourself, 'cause ya got those superstars before ya." Zanka is staring off, head tilted back to study the ceiling of the lounge. He seems to remember himself after a moment, blinking away whatever cloud he had been on and glances her way. "I'm not really one to talk, but it's best not to dwell on it too much, or else you miss a lot."
A part of her immediately questions that, thinks What is there to miss? But Eishia bats it aside.
"I know it's easier said than done, obviously, so don't worry if it doesn't go away soon, or ever." Zanka rises from the couch, but he doesn't leave; instead, he moves to stand in front of her. It seems like a really dramatic send-off before going, but Eishia is somewhat used to such theatrics by everyone in Cleaner HQ by now. "But just remember," he continues. "Even if you think you don't deserve any recognition, there's someone here who does recognize you, okay?"
Eishia tries to ignore the warring feelings in her chest: the desire for the praise and the dark tendrils of doubt. "He's my brother," she mumbles. "That's just how he is."
Zanka frowns then, possibly confused. Then he makes a sound of understanding, then breathes out a bashful laugh, avoiding eye contact with Eishia. "I meant me, but uh... Yeah, of course!"
Eishia feels the world tilt under her feet, and she wishes the ground would just burst open and swallow her whole. "Oh!" she squeaks, and it's louder than she intended. Her hands fly up to her mouth and she quickly looks at Dear, but he's still asleep, thank goodness. "I'm sorry," she tries more quietly. "I'm sorry. I thought you meant— But I wouldn't want to assume, of course, so— Oh, I'm sorry—"
"It's fine, it's fine," assures Zanka. He reaches down and gently slips his hand under Dear's head. He lifts him up inch by inch off her lap, delicately and slowly. With Zanka no longer sitting beside her, there is space for her to scoot and stand up, but surely that's not why he's—
His other hand comes to support Dear against Dear's arm, until Dear is almost sitting up but still asleep, pacifier twitching. There is probably only a few meager seconds before he wakes up and starts growling, but Eishia doesn't know if she should move. She looks at Zanka, and Zanka tilts his head to the side once, telling her to move. She hesitates, then carefully maneuvers her way to standing. Her legs feels strange at finally moving again, the phantom feeling of the couch stuck to her back.
To Eishia's further shock, she turns to see Zanka settling on the couch once more in the spot she had been sitting in, letting Dear rest against his arm. Dear is still asleep thanks to Zanka's deft movements. She tries to silently protest with a shake of her head and gesturing, but Zanka waves a hand.
"What, is the doctor going to tell me I'm too injured to babysit now?" he whispers at her, but the twitch in his mouth gives away his teasing. "Just go and eat something, or whatever you want to do. I'll watch him, don't worry."
Eishia feels like insisting again, because it doesn't exactly seem fair, right? She thinks of saying as much, that she doesn't want to trouble him, or anyone, but Zanka has a will of steel, and she knows he will shut down any doubts thrown his way.
"Do you want anything?" asks Eishia, not moving away just yet.
"No. Thank you."
"Okay then... But I'm coming back, if that's fine?"
Zanka smiles. "Yeah, of course that's fine."