Convalescence Part 3

Sleep, though dreamless, provides a welcome reprieve.

You awaken to the warmth of the early morning sun, shining gold through an open balcony door. Feeling an inexplicable rush of bravery, you slide your legs off the surgical bed with due care and rise to your feet, straining to keep your ravaged upper body as stable as possible. The pain is still immense, but robbed of its sharpness by Ido's drug cocktail.

You take a cautious step forward. Satisfied your legs are, in fact, working properly, you take another, then another, and before long you've made your way to the middle of the room where the cool dawn breeze is strongest. Though tempted to take a deep, invigorating breath, you think better of it.

A few steps further now, towards the balcony and away from the damned medical instruments. Eyes still adjusting to the glare of a brilliant Iron City sunrise, a figure begins to take shape near the rusted parapet. Moving with absolute precision through the practice forms of Panzer Kunst, she is unmistakable.

You once learned the hard way not to approach Alita from behind without first announcing yourself; the last thing you need right now is another broken appendage.

"I hope you got a little sleep, at least."

She remains silent for a spell as her hands glide between stances, cutting the dawn. The realization strikes you a moment too late: this particular exercise isn't martial, it's meditative — and your presence isn't helping. Her voice, unlike her body, is weak and unsteady.

"You should be in bed."

Strength fading slightly and feeling a bit guilty yourself, you nevertheless make your way out onto the balcony proper as Alita does her best to avoid eye contact. The din of the market won't rise for another hour or so, and you take the time to appreciate the haunting melody of the Badlands wind whistling through Iron City. It's a peaceful scene you revel in for as long as you can.

Alita continues working through the forms next to you, and you can't help but notice her intensity rise as her precision falls. Crisp punches become wild flails and spry steps become furious stomps that leave cracks in the tiling. Grunts of exertion accompany every violent motion.

"That's enough. Look at me."

At last she does, face full to bursting with raw misery. You manage a tired smile and hope like hell you look better than you feel.

"If I'm going to get this body back in working order, I'm going to need your help more than ever before. And breaking this balcony out from underneath us would be a terrible way to start."

Somehow, that was all it took. With pressed lips and a resolute nod her guilt dies, snuffed out by a deeper instinct — and nothing more need be said.

The two of you enjoy the sounds of the waking city for a good while longer before gnawing fatigue sets you swaying and Alita insists on a return to bed. Catching you by surprise back inside is the omnipresent Doctor Ido, sitting cross-legged near the medical instruments with a half-eaten apple in hand. How long has he been there? You brace yourself for a scolding, but he simply motions to a breakfast tray nearby while taking another bite. Among all the sensations there isn't much room for appetite, but Vela never let you forget the importance of proper nutrition. Surely that goes double with a shattered everything.

You gingerly crawl back into bed and prop yourself up at an angle as Alita fetches the tray. You reach out with you good arm to receive it, but she just shakes her head.

"Alita. I can feed myself."

Scarcely does the last word escape your mouth when she softly presses a finger to your lips and leans in close.

"These hands are yours."

Under any other circumstance it would have been sensual, but these were words of comfort and security more so than romance. Nevertheless, it's enough to elicit a raised eyebrow from Ido; he quickly finishes his apple before making some flimsy excuse to leave. He turns at the door and you swear there's a hint of a smile breaking through.

"There's nothing left to do but to let the healing process take its course. In this, Alita will be of much more use to you than I."

You wave him off just as a spoon appears beneath your nose, laden with a sickly-colored soup that smells only faintly edible. Ido wasn't a terrible cook by any means, so you convince yourself of the soup's nutritional value and open wide. Unsurprisingly, it tastes every bit as miserable as it looks; you twist your face so severely in disgust that the wounded skin upon your nose cries out in painful reprimand. Alita gives you an apologetic look and sets the spoon back on the tray.

"That bad, huh?"

"Worse."

A flash of inspiration alights in her eyes, and she suddenly takes off for the balcony.

"I'll be right back, okay?"

She vaults over the parapet and disappears from view before you can even choke down the first rotten spoonful.

For the first time since the accident, you are alone, and before you know it the black dread once again grips your heart firm. With a quaking hand you shovel a heap of vile soup down your throat and try like hell to convince yourself that's what's digging the pit in your stomach, but you know the truth. Solitude has a way of exposing the soul's vulnerabilities.

Panic encroaches as the walls do. Another dose of soup sets you retching but does little to break the episode. So you do the only thing that makes sense at the moment and picture Alita, scampering wild through the morning market in search of something to cheer you up. Weaving in and out of, and sometimes even over, the dense crowd, she wears a look of steely determination, stopping only once at a confectioner's stall to grab a bar of chocolate for herself, of course.

It's a cheap trick that works beautifully, and you've calmed yourself almost entirely by the time Alita touches back down on the balcony. She tries to hold a striking pose, but particulates kicked up from the damaged tiling forces an adorable sneeze. You can't help but laugh, even through the pain it causes.

She glides across the room to your bedside with two great big somethings tucked beneath either arm.

"Uh oh. What've you brought me?"

Plastic wrapping crinkles as she removes an enormous glazed loaf from its packaging. With an impish grin, she holds it out before you.

"Honeybread! I told the shopkeep what happened, and he gave me the second one for free!"

"Honeybread, huh...well, with a name like that..."

Again you reach out, and again Alita denies you, pulling the loaf back beyond your grasp. Her eyes chide.

"Alright, alright, I got it. Your hands are mine."

A grin of a different color crosses her face now, and her voice drops to a near-whisper.

"That's better."

She breaks off a piece of honeybread rind and slowly places it in your mouth, hand lingering.

You swear you've never tasted anything sweeter.