The finch was asleep, Henrik decided. The little bird lay peacefully breathing now he'd managed to get fluids into it.
Henrik gazed at it, blinking behind his glasses. It was a marvel to look at, vivid feathers that graduated to a greenish-gold underside. A perfect tiny life, a heart so small and fragile but to him, no less important than any other patient.
He resisted the temptation to stroke the bird's head, it was probably better he did not become too familar. If the time came to release the bird, it would need to retain its wild nature to survive and he did not want it to become so content in his company that it would lose its fear.
He glanced at his paperwork and decided five minutes to cut up a little more bread would not set him back too badly. Grasping the scissors, he carried out the task and found it was soothing to do something repetitive and simple for a time. No pressure, no one threatening to undermine or hamper his efforts, no one clamouring for his time or his attention.
He pushed his glasses onto the bridge of his nose just as the phone rang and sighed, placing down the scissors. He picked up the reciever, steeling himself to do battle with a hospital that would not take its own medicine. "Henrik Hanssen..."
Several turbulent days later for Henrik, the bird's eyes were now open and it was eating solidly. He'd found a cage with an emerald green satin cover - somewhat lurid for his tastes - but the black cage was large enough and comfortable enough to keep his patient safely contained while recovering.
The finch did not make a sound when he picked it up carefully and gently from the drawer and placed it inside the cage, he closed the cage door and watched patiently for a long moment. The bird stretched and quietly hopped up onto the perch. Henrik sensed the acceptance of a being that was still too weak to argue. "Perfectly understandable..." He murmered, thinking of the bird in comparison with the hospital's situation and wryly wishing others would have the good sense not to argue too.
His attention turned to a newspaper article on his desk about Michael Spence and the plastics debacle, glowering at the text before him as he read it.
Finally his efforts had started the chain of events that would lead to recovery, Henrik thought. He sat at his desk, again in deep contemplation about the past fortnight. Wanting to remove it from his thoughts for a moment, he reached down for where his recovering patient's cage was and lifted it up on the desk, removing the cover.
The finch was awake and sitting on its perch, looking at Henrik curiously with bright eyes. Henrik studied the bird admiringly. Then, something happened to bring the first genuine happiness Henrik had felt in two stressful weeks of worry, the finch started to sing. Soft chirps erupted from the tiny creature as it hopped about on its perch and explored its cage.
A gentle smile curved his lips as he gazed at his singing patient in fascination. If only they could all sing for him, it would make life a lot more pleasant.
It was all the thanks he needed.