Finding a way back to her!

Becky had always known Freen as an enigma wrapped in precision, never allowing a hair out of place or a moment wasted on anything “inefficient.” But these past two days had shattered every expectation she had. Freen had vanished—no visits, no contact, nothing. It wasn’t just unusual; it was downright alarming. Freen’s consistency was practically a guarantee in life, much like gravity or Becky’s tendency to trip over air.

Even Ben had noticed. He clutched his stuffed dinosaur tightly and said, “Maybe Dr. Serious got lost! Do you think she’s wandering around the hospital?”

Becky snorted softly, trying to mask her growing concern. “I don’t think she’d let herself get lost, Ben. She’d probably give the hospital directions if it tried to confuse her.”

“But she’s not here,” Ben said, his voice smaller now. “I miss her…”

Becky’s heart clenched as she ruffled his hair. “Me too, buddy. Me too.”

---

Her concerns deepened as she asked around the hospital, but no one seemed to have seen Freen since her last visit. When she asked Nam, the nurse seemed oddly relaxed about it.

“She said she needed rest,” Nam said casually, leaning on the counter.

“Rest?” Becky repeated, her eyebrows shooting up. “Freen? Are we talking about the same person?”

Nam smirked. “I was shocked too. But hey, even robots need to recharge, right?”

Becky crossed her arms, her suspicion growing. “She never asks for time off. Something’s wrong.”

“Well, if you’re that worried,” Nam said with a shrug, “she lives in that big building right next to the hospital.”

Becky blinked. “She lives there? Of course she lives there. Why didn’t I think of the giant building two steps away?”

Nam’s grin widened. “It’s Freen. Minimal commute. Maximum efficiency.”

“And if she doesn’t answer the door?” Becky asked, narrowing her eyes.

“Spare key under the potted plant outside,” Nam replied smoothly. “Very Freen, yet weirdly human.”

Becky muttered a quick thank you and hurried off, her concern mounting with every step. Something wasn’t adding up, and Becky was determined to figure it out.

---

The building was eerily quiet when Becky entered, its polished floors and sleek decor seeming far too pristine. The silence felt unnatural, a stark contrast to the lively chaos of the hospital. She made her way to Freen’s floor, her footsteps echoing faintly in the corridor.

She reached Freen’s door and knocked firmly. “Freen? It’s me, Becky!”

No response.

She knocked again, louder this time. “Freen, are you in there?”

Still nothing.

Becky groaned in frustration, her fingers curling into fists. Remembering Nam’s advice, she crouched down and lifted the potted plant beside the door. Sure enough, the spare key was nestled underneath. “Practical as ever,” Becky muttered, slipping the key into the lock.

What greeted her inside was chaos—a far cry from the perfectly organized image she had of Freen. Papers were scattered across the coffee table, an overflowing laundry basket sat in the corner, and a half-empty tea mug teetered dangerously on the edge of the counter.

Becky gawked, her jaw dropping. “What in the world happened here? Did Freen get mugged by her own efficiency?”

She stepped over a pile of medical journals and moved deeper into the apartment, the mess growing more alarming with each step. Then, a faint voice reached her ears. “Nam? Is that you?”

Becky froze. The voice was weak, unrecognizable as the sharp, precise tone she was used to hearing from Freen. She followed the sound to the bedroom and pushed the door open carefully.

“Freen?” she called softly.

Inside, she found Freen lying in bed, her hair unkempt, her cheeks flushed, and her glasses sitting crooked on the nightstand. Becky rushed to her side, pressing a hand to Freen’s forehead and recoiling slightly at the heat. “You’re burning up!”

Freen squinted up at her, her movements sluggish. “Becky? Why are you in my house?”

“Because you’re clearly falling apart,” Becky retorted, whipping out her phone to call Nam. “You’re sick.”

“I am not falling apart,” Freen mumbled, her voice weak and slurred. “I’m… efficient…”

Becky rolled her eyes, her tone softening as she spoke into the phone. “Nam, it’s Freen. She’s burning up. Can you check on Ben for me? I need to stay here.”

Nam agreed quickly, and Becky hung up, turning back to Freen, who was staring at her with glassy eyes. “You need rest. And fluids. And probably a crash course on how to be human.”

“Humans are unnecessary,” Freen muttered, attempting—and failing—to sit up. “Why are you so loud?”

Becky couldn’t suppress a laugh, shaking her head as she moved toward the kitchen. “Stay put, Dr. Efficiency. I’m making you soup.”

---

The kitchen was surprisingly well-stocked, though it was obvious Freen hadn’t used it much. Becky managed to whip up a simple chicken soup, the comforting aroma filling the apartment. When she brought the bowl to Freen’s bedside, she found the doctor pouting faintly at the ceiling.

“Soup?” Freen asked, her voice hoarse and pitiful.

“Yes, soup,” Becky replied, setting the bowl on the nightstand. “And if you complain, I’ll make it salty on purpose.”

Freen’s lips twitched into a faint smile as she tried to sit up. “You’re… bossy…”

“And you’re clingy,” Becky shot back, helping her sit upright. “Is this what happens when the mighty Freen gets sick?”

“I am not clingy,” Freen mumbled, leaning slightly against Becky for support. “I am… practical…”

“Sure,” Becky said with a snort, holding the spoon out. “Open up, Dr. Practical.”

Freen hesitated, her pride battling against her exhaustion. But she eventually opened her mouth, letting Becky feed her spoonful after spoonful. “This is tolerable,” Freen admitted reluctantly.

Becky laughed, shaking her head. “High praise. I’ll take it.”

For the next hour, Becky stayed by Freen’s side, alternating between keeping her hydrated and adjusting her blankets. Freen, in her feverish state, muttered half-coherent comments about efficiency, dinosaurs, and Becky’s “overly loud” presence.

At one point, Freen tugged weakly at Becky’s sleeve and whispered, “Don’t leave. You’re annoyingly… helpful.”

Becky rolled her eyes but smiled fondly. “You’re welcome, clingy.”

When Freen finally drifted off to sleep, Becky sat back in the chair beside the bed, her gaze softening as she watched the usually stoic doctor rest. “Even you need someone to lean on sometimes,” she murmured, brushing a stray strand of hair from Freen’s face.