Chapter 5

I woke the next morning feeling refreshed. I stretched sleepily, which still felt amazing to do, even if I couldn't flex my toes anymore. I lay there for a few minutes, waking up and trying to remember the dream I'd just had. A pointless exercise, just like it usually was. Every moment I spent awake I lost more and more of it. I gave one last yawn that threatened to put a knot in the side of my throat before calling out, "I'm up!"

It was only a minute before the door cracked open. "Morning," I said, smiling.

"Afternoon, more like," he said, but smiled back. It seemed that, at least for the moment, the discomfort and ordeals of yesterday were...maybe not forgotten, but at least pushed to the side. Trying to maintain that atmosphere, I pointed a finger at him and, with an expression of mock-seriousness, said, "You think you can dress me and..."

"...and not be weird about it?" he cut me off, with a half-smile, "I think I can manage that."

I nodded, "Good."

"You want something of yours, or...?" He left the question open.

"Whatever," I said, shrugging, "shorts and t-shirt?"

"Erm..." He picked a pair of undies out of my bag between two fingers like it was radio-active. It was a question, I saw.

I sighed, "Duh." My enthusiasm had slipped just a tad. I tried to get it back. "Look...just...Okay, here's how it is. Things need to be done, and I can't do them all. You know that, and I'm...realizing it. Let's just be adults about it, please, and not make a big deal out of it, okay?"

He hesitated. "Sorry, you just...normally I wouldn't even give it a second thought. I've been in your..." he stopped suddenly, looking like he'd just been about to confess to murder. He quickly tried to cover it up, "...you're not the first patient I've worked with. Yesterday just threw me off, you know. I didn't want you to think I was being disrespectful," he paused again, "...or lewd."

I had definitely caught that little hitch, but decided to let it go for now. Actually I was glad he said what he did. So he is a Doctor...of sorts...I think. Well, that didn't help much. I still felt a little more relaxed, regardless. "I understand. You're a perfect gentleman." He smiled at that, so I said, "Who steals women from hospitals." The smile disappeared, and I laughed to show him I was messing with him.

"Now come on," I said, holding my arm straight up like a kid. "I'm hungry, too."

I'm proud to say that neither of us blushed as he dressed me this time, even though he definitely got glimpses of everything, and I knew it. Perfectly clinical. Then why is my heart beating so fast? That done, he carried me into the kitchen and set me in a bar-stool. From that counter I could see the entire kitchen and, if I turned to the right, the living room.

"What do you feel like?" he asked.

I thought about it for a second. "French toast?"

He cocked an eyebrow at me, then started getting the ingredients together. I propped myself up on my elbow and watched him. "For a guy, you're pretty confident in the kitchen, you know." I told him, meaning it.

He glanced at me briefly and shrugged, "It's not like it's rocket science."

"Hey...there are some complicated dishes out there. Some people can even make snails look edible." That got a laugh out of us both.

With the mood sufficiently heightened, I ventured a question that had been on my mind before I had gone to bed. "So, I don't know if it's still too soon, but...when can we get started on...you know?" I looked down at my stumps for emphasis.

He caught my meaning easily enough, "I was hoping to take measurements today, actually. In a few days, we can probably start you on something temporary while I begin working on the final ones."

I was confused. "How long will that take? I was under the impression you had already built them."

"I've made some...oh, I see what you mean. You have to realize that all prosthetics have to be built specifically for each person. There's no such thing as a one-size-fits-all, unfortunately."

"Oh," I said, a little disappointed. I hadn't known, though in hindsight, I should have. I mentally chided myself for once again missing the obvious.

"As for how long it will take..." he drew his brows together in thought, "a couple weeks, at least, maybe three." He gave me a stern look that caught me off guard. "Even so...I'm pushing it. You really shouldn't be carrying weight on your legs until you're completely healed. Understand that I won't hesitate to take you off them if there's a problem. Your health is the priority, not your mobility, understand?"

I nodded, a little intimidated. His expression softened, and he said, in a milder tone, "Still, I know you're anxious. I'll accommodate you as much as possible, I promise. We should be able to move at a quicker pace than you would otherwise be able to."

"Why?"

"Because," he hesitated, and looked a little unsure, "you're here, instead of in a hospital. I can be more...attentive to your progress and condition." He seemed to be concentrating very hard on the frying pan as he said that.

I snorted and smiled, finding myself enjoying his being flustered. He wants to be encouraging, and justify why I'm here, without upsetting me. I appreciated that, despite myself. Maybe...just maybe, I overreacted a little. Yes, it was really arrogant and presumptuous of him, but...I did practically accuse him of kidnapping, which was maybe a little unfair.

I actually started feeling a little bad, and decided to say something. "Hey, for what it's worth...I'm...sorry about the way I acted yesterday, and the day before. I shouldn't have been so quick to..."

"Stop...just..." he was shaking his head. "You had...you have every right to be angry with me. What I did was inexcusable. If I could go back and do things differently, I would. In fact...I don't think I ever would have visited you in the first place. I had no right to barge into your life like that."

My feelings were mixed, hearing that. On one hand, it was nice to hear the admission of guilt. It meant I was right in feeling manipulated, but...on the other hand...He looks so angry with himself. It's sad...it's making me sad to see him like that. Why?

"You're right...you had no right," I said, and he nodded automatically, eyes still fixated firmly on what he was doing, avoiding looking at me. "But," I continued, which made him pause, "I'm not angry with you anymore...and I did overreact...and for that, I'm sorry. Now that I've had a chance to calm down and think about it...I'm okay with being here. I'm...kind of glad you 'barged in'."

He looked up at me warily, distrust written across his face. "Really?"

I smiled, "Really. I don't think you should make it a habit or anything," I laughed, and got a hesitant smile out of him, "but I'm glad you found me."

He nodded, "Thank you. I...needed to hear that."

Further conversation was cut short as breakfast was served. To his credit, I found it delicious, and asked for seconds. My excuse was that I hadn't eaten much in the last couple days. He didn't complain. If every morning can be like this...I don't think I'll mind at all. I caught myself smiling at his back and stopped myself before he could see. Alright now...don't get carried away with yourself, Elly.

After giving me a short bathroom break and leaving me on the couch to contemplate my happy stomach, he disappeared for a while. When he came back, he asked if I was ready to be measured. I nodded my assent and once again, he picked me up, something I was starting to get used to, and took me to heretofore unopened door in the hallway. He looked at me briefly, our faces only inches apart, and said, "Ready to see the dungeon?" He should have deadpanned it, since his smirk gave it away. I gave him a light smack to the side of the head.

Turned out he wasn't far wrong. As soon as the door opened, we were greeted by a dizzying flight of stairs, at least twenty feet deep before it hit a landing and, presumably, continued. I admit I was a little nervous about him losing his footing and dropping me, but he descended them with confidence and sure footing. By the time we got to the bottom, I was sure that we were nearly three stories below the ground floor of the house, and barely restrained myself from asking why.

The level we found ourselves on seemed to be compartmentalized into rooms, with the natural stone of the mountain running around the outside, but with interior walls that wouldn't be out of place in an office building. He carried me swiftly through the first room, but not so fast that my eyes couldn't take in the massive computer console set against the wall. A single chair sat empty before a desk-sized bank of keyboards, microphones, toggle-switches, and other peripherals I couldn't place. Above was a bracketed array of screens, with a single, massive screen in the center, surrounded by smaller ones, all angled inwards like a fractured shell. It was off, at the moment, so it was left to my imagination what he might do with something like that.

He relaxed in the next room. It appeared to be our destination. This was, I think, all the proof I needed to decide then and there that he wasn't bullshitting me. It certainly looked like a cross between a medical lab and a machine-shop. I wasn't sure, but one of the machines looked suspiciously like an MRI. The one he headed for however, was simply a flat table. Connected to the sides via a sliding track were two thin metal arms on either side, connected by a similar bar at the top, about two feet above the table-top.

"What is it?" I asked, as he sat me down on the edge.

"Laser scanner," he said distractedly as he brought the thing to life, messing with a small panel at the foot of the table and simultaneously booting up a laptop which sat on a nearby rolling cart. Suddenly the table beneath me lit up like a photocopier, while the moving bars slid on their electric track to the very head of the bed.

He looked up at me. "I'll...need to remove your clothes to be...accurate."

I nodded, and again, we went through the undressing procedure. At least my panties got to stay on, a small blessing. He helped position me in the center of the bed, and I sucked in a sharp breath as my back pressed against the cool glass. I took a few deep breaths while I adjusted, painfully aware of the way my bared breasts rose and fell with each breath. I glanced over at him, but he wasn't paying attention, instead doing something with the laptop. He looked briefly over his shoulder, "Can you move your limbs apart just a little?" I did as he asked and he went back to studying the computer. After a second he came back to the table's control panel and pressed something that caused the thing to hum to greater life.

"Fair warning," he said, as the bar started moving towards my head, "it'll get a little warm. Try not to flinch."

I closed my eyes as the mechanism passed over me. It did indeed get warm. Hot, in fact. It felt like laying on the beach, naked to the July sun. It wasn't too bad except on the ends of my remnants, where it transformed into a fiery burn. I gritted my teeth and held on, wishing it would go faster. As it passed the last few inches of my right stump, I sighed, but got a stern warning not to move yet. "One more pass, hold on," he said.

I clenched my eyes shut and suffered through a second round. When it was finally finished, I felt like I had a mild sunburn all over my body. He moved hastily to re-dress me, probably for my sake, before sitting back down in front of his computer. I peered over his shoulder from my position on the table, and saw that he had in front of him a remarkably accurate model of my body. Lovely...now he can ogle me in the privacy of his basement. I shooed that thought away before it could find a foothold, and waited.

I couldn't see everything he was doing, but I did see the edges of multiple windows popping up and shrinking in rapid succession, making me wonder whether it was part of a program or whether he was actually that proficient at using it. A sound from the other side of the room startled me. I looked over at the machine that had suddenly come to life...two of them, in fact. I watched with some fascination as some kind of metal tool was lowered down until it rested just above a pool of opaque liquid. A moment later it started moving across the surface of the liquid, seemingly at random, and so fast it became a blur. Once they had started, Gil closed the lid of his computer and swiveled around in his chair to face me, sighing contentedly.

I nodded my head towards the two machines that were now zipping about in their housings. "What's going on over there."

He smiled and gazed over at them, almost affectionately, I thought. "Those," he said, "Are soon going to be your new legs." He turned back to me and chuckled at the puzzled face I was wearing. "The temporary ones, obviously. They're 3D printers. I'll just have to clean them up and add the hardware once they're finished."

I looked back over at them, watching them go about their business. "You can't do that with the other ones?" I asked, still transfixed by the sight. I thought I could just barely see the tip of something emerging from the surface of the liquid.

"No. The ones I'm building for you are going to be mostly metal, with some other bits. Those will need to be hand-crafted."

I just shook my head at him in disbelief. This was...not what I was expecting, at all. I think I've been severely underestimating him. This is all so incredible...He's...I looked at him, watching his machines with something like pride. I couldn't help but smile at his expression. He caught me looking.

"What?" he asked.

I grinned, "Nothing. Just thinking you have the same look I've seen on some of the Army engineers after they bring a busted up tank or TC back from the dead. Like it's their kid or something."

He laughed, and cast a pleased eye around the entirety of the room. "Sometimes it feels like that. More often than not, I prefer to be around machines rather than people. They're...easier to figure out."

I thought I detected a hint of sadness in his voice during that last part. I wondered if he actually felt that way. If he did, I wonder if he wished he didn't.

He slapped his palms on his knees dramatically, heaving a sigh of disappointment. "Well, that's as much playing as I get to do today, I think. I need to draw up a therapy regimen for you as well. Want to head back up?"

I nodded, and we started our trek back up the stairs. As we reached the top, once again I was amazed that he didn't show even the least sign of exertion. I almost wanted to mention it, but wasn't sure how to bring something like that up...or if I even should. I decided it was yet another thing to save for a later time.

We spent the afternoon and evening in the living room. He sat engrossed in scheduling my physical therapy and a dietary plan, once again showing his proficiency in these matters. I spent most of my time pretending to be interested in the tv, while I watched him out of the edge of my vision, sneaking glances when I was sure he was too busy to notice. I wasn't really sure why I was doing it, but for some reason he fascinated me far more than the talking heads.

I was starting to doze off when I heard him exhale loudly. He flipped his clipboard and pen onto the table and flopped backwards with a groan. With an effort, he raised his head and looked over at me. Seeing that I was looking back, he flashed a tired half-smile.

"Done?" I asked.

He nodded, then shrugged, as if he couldn't decide. "I guess. I started rushing towards the end. I'll have to double-check. Just not now." He glanced at the clock sitting atop the bookshelves, and stood up. He disappeared into the hallway for a minute, before returning with the small bucket he used to wash my remnants. After filling it with steaming water, he came over and sat down near me.

"That time again, huh?" I said, trying to keep a smile from my face.

"A necessity, I'm afraid."

I laid back on the couch and made my legs available. As he began, he said offhandedly, "You could probably start doing this yourself, you know."

I frowned, but quickly erased it. A tiny moment of panic had caused a hitch in my breath when he said that. When I was in the hospital, I would have been relieved to do it myself, rather than the orderlies, but once again since meeting this man, I found this was one of those small things that I enjoyed. His gentle movements, the feel of his hands. The feel of him touching me. My eyes widened and my heart beat faster as that particular thought formed. It scared me...because it was true. When did I start thinking of him like that?

"I...I can, if you want."

As he looked up, I averted my gaze. Knowing I must be blushing, but desperately not wanting him to see it in my eyes, I said out loud the thought that I'd only realized a moment ago, "But...I like the way you do it." I could feel my cheeks burning, as if I were back in the scanning machine. "It's...like a massage, almost." Good save, Elly. He'll never suspect now. I mentally rolled my eyes.

"I don't mind." he said gently.

Now that I had said it, I found it hard to relax and enjoy it. I could feel my muscles tensing up as I began to imagine it from his point of view. Having to handle a lumpy, bruised, scarred knob of flesh. To run his hands over it, over the cuts that were only now losing their scabs and turning to tougher, pink scars. Having to not only handle one, but three, every day. Unknowingly, I slowly started to pull away from him, to hide. Aside from that very first day in the hospital, he had never made me feel self-conscious, at least not about my lack of limbs. All of a sudden, I felt positively hideous. Because all of a sudden, I care what he thinks. All of a sudden I realize what a wreck I must be in his eyes.

Before I know it, I'm half-curled and trembling, paralyzed with shame. He startles me when he lays a concerned hand on my hip. I turn my gaze to him slowly, afraid of what I'll see, knowing in my gut it will be thinly veiled disgust, just underneath a facade of nonchalance. Instead I see genuine concern.

"Everything okay?" he asked, "You're not getting shy on me now, are you?"

I shake my head minimally. His eyes narrow as I do. He leans forward, putting out his hand, hesitating briefly before touching my cheek. His finger comes away wet.

"Oh...Elly." he whispers. "Come on, now."

I can feel my lip start to tremble, and press my mouth shut to try and control it. Don't do it...don't you dare start bawling like a little girl. You're a goddamn soldier, what the hell's wrong with you! Right on the tail of that thought, I lose the little self control I had left. I cover my eyes with my hand so I don't have to risk seeing his face, while he sits there and watches as I make a fool of myself.

I feel his hands slide underneath my back as he lifts me upright and pulls me against him. My tears stop almost immediately, the unexpectedness of the action temporarily overwhelming me. This isn't like when he moves me, or helps me dress. It isn't an action born of necessity, but of kindness. My arm moves to wrap around his neck. The next thing...What do I want to do? Just do it. Stop second-guessing yourself. I bury my face into his neck, hard enough to flatten my nose. The sobs return, but this time, half of them are born of relief. Relieved of forced inhibition. Relieved, temporarily, of the wall I've put between us because I was too scared to admit to the attraction that was growing inside me.

He doesn't shy away. He just keeps holding me, rocking gently, letting me literally cry on his shoulder. Saying nothing, not even shushing me like some people would. Just letting me get it out of my system. It takes a few minutes, and even then I don't want to let go immediately. When I feel his arms start to loosen, I tighten my own. His hands move back tighter than before, one hand on my shoulder, one cupping the side of my stomach. His head dips forward and to the side to press his cheek against my temple.

We stay like that for a long time before I'm willing to let it end. As we separate, I can't bring myself to look him in the eyes. I'm the one that's been trying to keep him at arm's length, and he's been more than obliging. The only things I could fault him for, I've already forgiven. There's no more reason for me to deny anything, but still...I can't bring myself to even look at him, much less admit to the seemingly idle thoughts that plague me when I look at him in moments of calm. Now...the thought that pushes it's way to the forefront of my mind is, Does he think the same thoughts about me?

His hands cup my cheeks as he wipes the remainder of my tears away with his thumbs. Leaving one hand cradling my face, the other reaches up to stroke the top of my head. I can see him trying to catch my eyes, and I finally meet his gaze. He's smiling softly, but there's still worry evident in his brows.

"We good?" he asks quietly.

I just nod, trying to smile. "Yeah," I manage, shakily. I briefly consider apologizing, but I don't. It would be pointless...because I'm not sorry. At all.

The water's gone cold. He doesn't bother refilling it. We just sit there, both of us trying to think of something, anything, to say to break the silence.

"I hope," he says finally, "that doesn't count as 'trying something'."

I can't help but laugh. I shake my head, "If it does, I'll take the blame for that one," I say, while rubbing my eyes with the heel of my palm.

I can't help it, "So...what do we do now?"

He takes a deep breath, as unsure as I am, apparently. He looks out of the window, and his face lights up briefly. "Why don't...we step outside and enjoy the sunset?"

I laugh again. Simple question, simple answer, even if it's not quite what I meant. I'm sure he knows that, but it's better than sitting here with nothing but our thoughts.

He picks me up. This time it seems...gentler. Closer, somehow. I don't hesitate to lean my head against his shoulder as he takes us out of the front door, and into the little garden in front of the house. A small wooden bench sits on the edge of the pond, facing the endless vista. He sets me down, and my arm leaves his neck reluctantly. I expect him to sit down next to me, but he walks back towards the house. I have some idea why, so I take a moment to try and settle my nerves. The sky is just beginning to turn, and the koi in the pond are growing active, their tails breaking the surface and sending rippling patterns to the edges and back again.

Shortly he returns, my suspicions confirmed when he hands me a small glass of scotch, his drink of choice, and as of today, mine as well. We sit and sip at our drinks all through the sunset, and then, well into twilight. By this time, we're pressed against each other. His arm around my shoulder, my hand holding his. I try not to think about the why, and tell myself to just appreciate it. Nevermind how it happened, just be glad it did. For the first time since the accident, walking on my own two legs is the furthest thought from my mind. As I turn my head up to his, lips slightly parted, feeling his soft breath against my face, I think, I'd rather be carried.