KAREN TOLD THE DOCTOR 2/2
(Autistic author)
Karen guided him back to their living quarters. Plankton followed her, his steps slow and measured. Each word she spoke was met with an echo. "Home," she said as they entered, and "Home," he repeated, his eye darting around the room, trying to make sense of his surroundings. The space was cluttered with his inventions, a stark contrast to the neatness that Karen had always strived for. It was a mess, but to him, it was a comforting chaos. "Bed," she pointed, indicating where he should rest. He nodded, his gaze lingering on the familiar object. "Bed," he echoed, a hint of understanding in his tone. Together, they moved through the space, each step a gentle reintroduction to a life that had changed so dramatically. Karen felt like she was walking on eggshells, afraid to say the wrong thing, to push him too far. Plankton's gaze flitted from object to object, his voice a soft whisper of repetition. "Chair, chair," he mumbled, fixating. She watched as he touched the material, his fingertips tracing the seams, his mind racing with sensory input. "Yes, Plankton, that's a chair," she said, her voice a gentle reminder of the world around them. "You sit on it to rest." Plankton nodded, the concept of rest still elusive. "Rest," he repeated, his voice a shadow of hers. Karen guided him to the chair, his body stiff with uncertainty. He sat down slowly. "Rest," he murmured, his body finally relaxing. As they sat together in the cluttered room, Karen realized that their life was going to be a series of tiny moments like these, each one a delicate dance of patience and understanding. "Love you," she said, her voice thick with emotion. Plankton's eye flitted to hers, his expression a puzzled mixture of feelings. "Love you," he echoed, his voice a mirror of her own. Karen swallowed a lump in her throat. "I know it's confusing, Plankton. But I'm here for you," she whispered, her hand squeezing his. Plankton nodded, his gaze flitting around the room, his mind a whirlwind of sounds and sensations. "Here," he echoed, his voice barely above a murmur. Karen led him to their bed, his steps unsure and sluggish. He had never been so reliant on her. "Bed," she said, pointing to the soft, inviting mattress. Plankton stared at it, the word bouncing around in his head like a pinball. "Bed," he echoed, his voice barely audible. With Karen's guidance, Plankton lay down, his body finally surrendering to exhaustion. The fabric of the sheets was a cool caress against his skin, a sensation he found oddly comforting. The ceiling fan spun above, casting shadows that danced in a hypnotic pattern. "Goodnight, Plankton," Karen said, her voice a soothing lullaby in the quiet room. Plankton's eye was closed now, his breaths slow and deep. The world outside had faded away, leaving only the rhythmic whirring of the fan and the gentle lapping of the waves against the window. Karen stood by the bed, watching his chest rise and fall. In the quiet, she noticed the way his antennas twitched, as if he was dreaming of the sea's mysteries. Or perhaps he was dreaming of the Krabby Patty formula, the elusive prize that had consumed his mind for so long. Karen's smile was bittersweet. He had always been so driven, so obsessed with outsmarting Mr. Krabs. Now, the dreams he chased were more innocent, more pure. The room was bathed in a soft blue light from the moon, casting a peaceful glow over Plankton's sleeping form. Karen leaned over and kissed his forehead, his skin cool and clammy. "Rest well, my love," she whispered, her voice a gentle caress in the silent room. As the night stretched on, Plankton's sleep remained deep and untroubled. Karen sat by his side, her mind racing with thoughts of the future. How would they manage the Chum Bucket? What about his schemes against Mr. Krabs? Would he still be able to cook, to innovate, to live the life they had built together? Karen woke up first the next day, her eyes gently adjusting to the dim light of dawn. Plankton was still asleep beside her, his body curled into a tight ball. The ceiling fan had stopped spinning hours ago, leaving the room in a comforting silence. She studied his face, her heart heavy with love and worry. The lines of tension had softened with sleep, and for a moment, he almost looked like the Plankton she knew before the fall. She kissed his forehead, her lips lingering for a moment longer than necessary. His skin was cool to the touch, and she couldn't help but wonder what dreams played out behind his closed eye. Dreams of a world that made sense, or a world filled with the sensory overload that now consumed his waking hours? The morning light grew stronger, casting long shadows across the cluttered room. Karen knew she had to start the day, to face the challenges that awaited them. But she couldn't bear to leave his side, not yet. Plankton's snores grew softer, his body slowly unfurling from its defensive ball. He mumbled something unintelligible, his eye twitching beneath his eyelid. Was he dreaming of the ocean? Of Krabby Patties? Or was it something entirely different, a world only he could see? The morning light grew brighter, painting the room in shades of pink and orange. Karen sat by the window, watching the sun rise over the Bikini Bottom skyline. The usual symphony of sounds from outside seemed muted today, as if the world knew something important had shifted. Plankton stirred in his sleep, his antennas twitching with the first whispers of the new day. Karen's heart skipped a beat as she watched him, wondering what thoughts swam in his head. Would he wake up and be the same Plankton she knew, or was he lost in a world of his own, navigating a sea of sensory overwhelm? The sun creeped through the cracks in the curtains, casting warm beams of light across the room. The shadows grew shorter, the darkness receding with each passing moment. Karen took a deep breath, preparing herself for whatever the day might bring. Plankton stirred again, his single eye fluttering open. "Morning," he said, his voice still slightly mechanical. Karen turned to him with a smile, the worry in her eyes masked by her determination. "Good morning, honey," she replied, her voice cheerful despite the heaviness. He sat up, the sheets sliding off his slender frame. Plankton took a deep breath, his eye finding Karen's. "Good morning," he echoed, his voice a little more steady. Karen smiled with hope. "How did you sleep?" Plankton nodded, his gaze flitting to the ceiling. "Bed, good," he said, his voice a soft echo of her own. Despite his new challenges, Plankton was still trying to make sense of the world. He stood up, his legs shaky and unsure. Karen watched him with a mix of anxiety and admiration. He was trying so hard, his body and mind fighting to find a balance in this new reality. "Let's go to the kitchen," she suggested, her voice filled with optimism. Plankton nodded, his movements cautious. In the kitchen, the smell of the sea was strong, mingling with the scents of grease and salt. His antennas quivered as he took in the sensory assault. Karen guided him to the stove. "Would you like to make chum?" she asked, her voice soft and encouraging. Plankton's gaze darted to the bubbling pot, his eye lighting up. "Chum," he murmured, his voice a comforting echo. He nodded, his enthusiasm genuine despite his confusion. Karen smiled, her heart lifting at the familiar spark in his eye. "Yes, honey. Let's make some chum together," she said, guiding him through the process step by step. Plankton's hands hovered over the ingredients, his gaze flitting from Karen to the various containers. "Chum," he whispered, as if reciting a sacred incantation. Karen handed him a spatula, his favorite tool for cooking. His hand closed around it with a determination she hadn't seen since before the accident. "Stir," she instructed, her voice calm and steady. Plankton focused on the task, his eye fixed on the swirling mixture. The motion was soothing, a familiar rhythm that his brain could latch onto. "Stir," he echoed, his voice a comforting metronome. Karen watched him, her heart beating a little faster. Would he remember how to cook, how to make the chum that had kept their restaurant afloat for so long? She held her breath as he tentatively began to move the spatula in circles. The chum sizzled and popped, the sounds echoing around the kitchen. Plankton's eye grew wide. "Sound," he said, his voice reverting to a soft echo. Karen nodded, her gaze encouraging. "Yes, it's the sound of chum cooking," she said, smiling despite the lump in her throat. Plankton nodded, his movements becoming more confident as he continued to stir. The chum began to thicken, the aroma filling the kitchen. Karen felt a glimmer of hope. Maybe, just maybe, this was a part of Plankton that was unchanged, a piece of his old self that had survived the fall. Plankton continued to stir, his eye focused on the chum. It was a task he knew well, a comforting routine in a world that now felt like an alien landscape. Karen watched him, her heart in her throat. As he worked, his movements grew more fluid, his body remembering the motions that had been engrained in his muscles for years. "Look, honey, you're doing it," she said, her voice filled with pride. Plankton's eye darted to her, then back to the pot. "Doing it," he echoed, his voice a soft affirmation. The chum began to simmer, the smell filling the room with a comforting warmth. It was a small victory, but one that filled Karen with a renewed sense of optimism. As they stood side by side, cooking the chum, Karen realized that this was their new normal. The man she knew was still there, hidden beneath the layers of echoes and repetition. Her role had shifted from partner in crime to guide and support. But she was ready to face it, to help Plankton navigate his new reality.