Birthday

You find yourself jolted from blissful imagining when your next footfall lands awkwardly on the edge of shattered masonry, twisting your ankle and very nearly sending you tumbling off the side of the spiraling stairwell, four stories to ground and with little more than crossbeams and cobwebs to break your fall. For a moment, you hang over the precipice, teetering, before the cybernetic grip around your hand tightens, reminding you that you were never in any danger at all. With unnatural ease, Alita hoists you bodily back to safety beside her, stark expression of worry painted bold across her face.

"Are you okay?! You didn't hurt yourself, did you?"

You did indeed, but you wouldn't dare let her know it — not today, at least. With a sporting tap of the foot and a pained wink to sell the deception, you do your best to set her at ease.

"Must have been distracted by the view from below."

It was cheesy, horribly so, not to mention out of character, but that glint of relief in her eyes tells you it had done the trick. Alita smiles and gives your shoulder a sheepish punch, making just the slightest contact. You recall that very fist turning a murderous cyborg's brain into paste not more than a week ago; the degree of her restraint makes you feel oddly warm.

"Teasing like that on my birthday? You're horrible!"

You continue on, hand in hand, up the stairwell, this time taking a bit more care of your surrounding. The centuries-old flak tower looks every bit its age: titanic vines studded with ruby-red buds weave in and out of the superstructure as they please, robbing the stonework of its once-formidable integrity. Dazzling neon plantlife unlike any you've seen in the city protrude from every spare crack, craning in curiosity at the two lovebirds in ascent.

Alita arrives on the roof first with a skip, pulling you along into a twirling embrace that nearly sweeps you off your feet; the floral scent of her hair brushing across your face completes what her arms had started, and you feel absolutely weightless. The afternoon sun is out and the birds sound their early-spring report: the perfect day to laze away with your favorite cybergirl.

After a short forever, Alita sets you down and takes a seat near the main flak cannon, a pre-Fall armament scavenged half to nothing but still an impressive sight to behold. Silhouetted across the sky, the colossal barrel lays a cool shadow down upon much of the roof. You can't imagine what it would be like to see it fired. Alita smiles and pats the space next to her when it occurs to you that she likely can.

It was her idea to come here, of course; it always was. Her boundless curiosity had taken you seemingly everywhere within and without Iron City in the short time you had known each other, often rousing you at odd hours in the morning with just enough of an adventurous twinkle in her eye to win you over, sleep be damned. You had thought that on her birthday of all days she would let you take the lead, but that just wasn't Alita. Perhaps one day you'll learn to insist.

You prop your rucksack against a nearby jut of stone before setting down beside her. Without hesitating, she flings an arm around your shoulder and pulls herself close. Her voice rises barely above a whisper, but you can still feel her breath kissing your neck as she speaks.

"So what do you think? Pretty cool, huh? All this, made to take down URM Gunships on their way to Zalem."

"I don't doubt it; few more of these and you might be able to take down Zalem itself."

"Ha! You just might!"

Hours always seem to pass like minutes with her, and so it is today. The topic turns from Zalem to the Fall, from the Fall to the Hunter Warriors, and from there a turn into trivial matters the two of you discuss with equal vigor. Soon enough the sky is awash with the dying glow of sundown, and you both decide to begin the birthday festivities, though nothing so grandiose. From your rucksack you retrieve a small chocolate cupcake wrapped in protective plastic. It's been squished a bit in transit, but Alita is the last girl on Earth to mind.

She laughs as you fumble with the solitary candle, representing the year that had passed since Dr. Ido recovered her body from the iron miasma beneath Zalem. On this thought you pause, envisioning the most beautiful person you've ever known broken to pieces and discarded as scrap. Feeling a knot begin to form in your throat, you quickly pull yourself back to the present.

Just as you plant the candle into the cupcake, Alita raises her hand and, with a playful flourish, sets a brilliant blue flame dancing on her fingertip. A broad smile crosses her face as her eyes meet yours, and everything seems to stop — the gusting of the wind, the chirping of the cicadas, the breath from your lungs; all of it, save for the rapid quickening of your heart. Alita places her spare hand beneath your own, helping you hold the cupcake aloft as she touches her flame to the candle's wick. In an instant, the last light of day fades, leaving little more than the cool glow of plasma to illuminate this moment you wish could last forever.

"What do I do now?"

You stifle a laugh. It seems you forgot to explain this part.

"It's simple: you make a wish, blow out the candle, and, well...if your belief is strong enough, that wish might just come true."

Her eyes widen, two fires burning bright within.

"Really?!"

"Really."

At this, she gives you one last look of unmistakable desire before closing her eyes. A silent moment passes, and the flickering light upon her soft features proves just luminous enough to reveal a twitching at the mouth's corners, a blissful imagining of her own taking place. A sharp breath later, and the light is extinguished.

Alita opens her eyes, now wet with tears that shimmer in the pale moonlight. You, too, find yourself beginning to break, and your voice nearly cracks when you next speak.

"What did you wish for?"

For a moment she averts her gaze, eyes fluttering as she struggles to find the words. Not one for indecision, she soon does.

"That--"

She guides your hand aside and moves closer. Much closer.

"—would be telling."