"And about to begin, for those of you watching the State Finals at home, is our final performance of the night! Captured live, of course, so you never miss a moment of the action! So, the last performance, but most certainly not the least! Isn't that right, Brenda?"
"That most certainly is right, Bobby, our last competitor tonight is the very promising Jack Ferguson, better known to you as Jack Frost! This must have been our most anticipated performance tonight, and in a moment you're about to see why!"
"Isn't he the youngest competitor in his class tonight, Brenda?"
"At the tender age of seventeen he most certainly is, Bobby, but Jack Frost proves quite spectacularly that age isn't everything when it comes to athletics! For those of you who might be new to figure skating and not in the know about this young prodigy, Jack Ferguson is an up-and-coming professional skater who's taken out the top title for the past three years. In fact, the word on the street is that Jack will be competing in Olympics tryouts later this year, and I know I'm excited to see him in the red, white and blue for the Winter Olympics!"
"And it's easy to see why he's taken the trophy for the past three years – look, there he goes!"
"Oh, isn't he marvellous to watch?"
"Wearing the trademark blue, of course – true to form, his costume tonight appears distinctly winter-themed. He's completely bleached his hair, too, very mythic-looking."
"Oh yes, this one might be my favourite yet. Fantastic puffy-sleeved white shirt, with a navy vest – is that silver trim on the vest? Yes it is, silver-trimmed vest, blue pants with what appears to be more silver trim, a.. is that silver? A silver cummerbund? Interesting detail there, the metallic fabric is quite dazzling. And – oh, I like the touch with the long blue scarf! I always love Jack Frost's costumes, they're so different from what you usually see in men's figure skating, it's refreshing."
"A bit risky with the scarf though! Are they even allowed? I'd be afraid of getting tangled up in that thing."

"Yes, the scarf is a bit risky, but Jack has always been one to push the limits! Oh gosh, did you see that leap? Watching him can be a bit frightening, he's always taking these incredible jumps."
"Yes, he's known for being quite the daredevil. He pulls it off though – and it gets him the trophies, in the end!"

"I wouldn't like to be his mother watching this."
"Neither would I, Brenda – I wonder how they're faring! They must be pretty nervous! You can see the coach waiting by the gate, what's his name?"
"Edmund, the Australian coach! Apparently he's known for being pretty tough, just look at the tattoos. You almost wouldn't believe he once skated for Australia, he was quite the leaper too – nicknamed 'The Bunny', he was, for his trademark jumps. Apparently he was pretty tough-looking then too, but retirement from the sport seems to have only intensified it. He certainly looks menacing there!"
"Yes, no doubt hoping Jack doesn't slip up! Oh wow, he's about to take a really risky jump here, do you think he'll make it? Look at the speed he's going – up he goes – and oh dear, that looked a bit – shit!"
"Christ, Bobby, did you see that?!"
"Oh Christ, that was a bad fall."
"Oh Bobby! It looks like he hit his head!"
"His leg too – they'll be blurring it out on your t.v's, folks, but.. he's broken his leg, shit. You might have heard the crack. That looks like a clean break, that's bad."
"Oh my god, he's bleeding."
"Where the hell are the medics?"
"There's the coach – oh god, he looks upset."
"There's the medics, with the stretchers – there's the family too, oh god, the poor parents..."
"What the hell happened there?"
"God, I think it might have been the scarf. It was flapping about his face when he jumped, it might have distracted him."
"Shit, now that's why you don't wear loose items of clothing in sports, no matter how good it looks. There goes the title, poor Jack-"

Fzzzttt.

Jack jammed the pause button fiercely, frowning at the screen. The frozen image seemed foreign to him; he just didn't remember much of the performance.
He certainly didn't remember anything involving the tiny limp figure on the screen, the wiry creature with snowy hair, white skin tinged blue from make-up and shock. He didn't remember the crowd of people surrounding the figure – the medics and doctors motionless in their task of strapping the boy's sickeningly crooked leg.

Jack glanced down at the leg. It was wrapped in a white shell that extended from his thigh to his toes, even encasing the better part of his foot. His toes stuck out pathetically. Apparently the break had been that bad that he'd needed nearly the whole leg put in a cast.
He'd broken the tibia cleanly, and suffered minor fractures to the ribs. There was apparently a hairline fracture on his skull too. He'd hit the ice very hard.
Concussion, minor contusions to the brain, hairline fracture on the skull, two minor fractures to the ribs, and a clean break to the tibia, Jack recited in his head. Shit. He was never wearing a scarf on the ice again.

Today was the first day he'd felt lucid enough to get up and watch the video of the accident. His sister had been taping it at home, apparently wanting to capture the moment he won his fourth title. Ironically, it had instead become the documentation of his worst skating injury yet. The doctors had found it very useful in working out how he'd managed to injure himself so spectacularly badly.

The two days before, he'd been unable to move. He'd spent the hours slipping in and out of sleep, staring dumbly at nurses as they checked his drip, shoved needles in his arms, pumped out blood, pumped in drugs.

His first memory after the accident was of waking up and having a pounding, constant ache in his head. His whole body hurt – his muscles ached, his chest hurt and it felt painful to breathe, and for some reason his right leg ached horribly. His head was the worst though - the pain was a severe, slow, throbbing ache.
He felt the side of his face was wet, and realised he'd been drooling. He tried to close his mouth and swallow, but was horrified that he couldn't. He tried to move his arms and legs, but it was as if he was swimming in molasses – he couldn't move a thing. He pathetically slapped his arm over his hip before giving up.
He'd felt so panicked – he thought he was paralysed. He couldn't remember anything of the performance at that stage; his last memory was of warming up the afternoon before the competition at the old rink in town. He'd looked around the hospital ward, staring wildly as far around as his eyes could see, since he couldn't move his head, trying to work out why he was in hospital and unable to move.

He saw a figure move in front of his vision – a green-blue knitted sweater over denim jeans. A small, light touch on his shoulder.
"Jack Ferguson, are you awake?"
He'd tried to talk – I'm awake but I can't move. All that left his lips was a string of garbled mumbling.
A delicate laugh. "Sorry," the voice said. "Don't worry, it's not permanent. Otherwise I wouldn't be laughing."
The figure shifted, and suddenly Jack was staring into a face.

The face was small and heart-shaped, with a pointed chin and wide, large bright eyes. Her skin was a warm caramel hue, and her eyes were an interesting violet colour. They were made up in shimmery pink that glowed against the warm colour of her skin. Her eyelashes were very long. Stray strands of dyed turquoise, blue, violet and yellow hair floated about her temples. She smiled at him with small pink lips and perfect, bright white teeth.
Jack couldn't help but feel embarrassed. Great. The one time I meet a cute girl and it's while I'm paralysed and drooling on my own face.

"Hi, Jack," the girl said. "I'm Tooth. I know it's a funny name – my real name is Uma, but I've been called Tooth since I was nine, and even my grandmother calls me that now, so you can call me Tooth too. It's nice to meet you."
Her face took on a more serious tone, her teeth disappearing. "Do you remember anything about what happened?"
Jack managed to shake his head.
"Alright," the girl said. "You were in a competition, remember that? You were in the State finals."
Jack nodded. He remembered that.

"Do you remember actually competing? Your performance?"
He shook his head again.
"You had an accident during your performance," Tooth explained. "You were kept under sedation the night of the accident, and you were taken off the next day, but you slept right through til today. So you're been out of it a whole day. Anyway, the accident. You attempted a risky leap, and it went wrong. You landed badly and hurt yourself. You hit your head pretty hard and got a hairline fracture, so I'm not surprised you don't remember. Don't be alarmed though, a hairline fracture sounds scary but it's relatively minor. No permanent brain damage, you're fine there. You probably have a headache, and you can't move – that's because you got pretty concussed. You have a few contusions – they're like bruises, but on the brain. Nothing permanent, once the bruising goes down you'll regain normal mobility, that'll take a couple days at most. You also fractured a couple ribs – again nothing major, they'll heal up fine. And, um. You broke your leg. Badly."
Jack frowned. How badly?
"You snapped your right tibia," Tooth continued. "A clean break right through the bone. The good news is that clean breaks are easy to set and heal, since there isn't so much tissue damage. It's a simple matter of immobilising the leg until it heals. The bad news is, it'll still take a long time to set. You'll have to have the cast on for at least three weeks, and after that you'll be out of action for another four months. Even then, you'll still have to be careful for another few months."
Four months.

Christ.
He was definitely going to miss the Olympics.

After that, Tooth had left. He didn't see her again – from then on, he was attended by the regular nurses in uniforms. A day or so later, once he could talk, he'd asked about her – apparently she was a volunteer who came by every few days to give out food and chat to the patients.
He'd remained almost motionless the whole day, drifting in and out of sleep. His parents had visited; Jack wouldn't forget the look of shock in his mother's eyes when they'd seen him drooling on the bed like a paralytic.

"You look well, kid," his dad had said, but the sentiment was half-hearted. Jack raised an eyebrow. His dad laughed. "Alright, well, you haven't lost your sense of humour," he said. "Fine, I'll be honest. You look awful. I'm glad we didn't bring Emma, now."
"She wanted to see you so badly," his mother had said. His father pulled two chairs over, and they sat down next to Jack. "She wanted to make sure you were okay. But the doctor called, he said you weren't going to look good, so we made her stay at home. You wouldn't believe the tantrum she chucked over that."
Jack managed a smile. He could imagine his little sister. She was every bit as stubborn as he was, and deeply attached to her older brother. A warm feeling of affection glowed in his stomach.
"To be honest, you're not as bad as we were afraid you might be," his dad said. "I was expecting full-on vegetable. But you're actually pretty lucid."
"I didn't expect you to look so pale," his mom admitted. "Then again, I'm still not used to your hair."
His parents hadn't been happy about the hair. It was Edmund's idea – the white hair would be a great trademark for his Jack Frost persona. And it had looked awesome with the costume. He looked a bit funny outside of the rink in normal clothes, but his bleached white hair had been received well by the media. Emma had loved it. Jack preferred it to his natural brown hair.

"I'll be glad when you're talking again," his dad said. "It's a bit weird talking to you without you retorting back with clever commentary every five seconds."
"The doctor said you should be speaking tomorrow," his mom said. "Apparently that's quite good for contusions. It sounds like they weren't too serious."
"Have you had to use a bed-pan yet?" his dad asked. Jack groaned, and his mother giggled and swatted her husband's arm. "Honey! What kind of a question is that?!"
"It's a fair question, I'm just curious!"
Jack smirked and shook his head. There was no way in hell that he'd be made to use a bedpan – he'd drag himself, paralytic and all, to the bathroom himself, if it meant not using a bedpan. He was very sure of that.

Before long, his parents were preparing to leave. "We'd better get back to Em and put on dinner," his mom said apologetically, kissing his cheek and hugging him tightly. "We'll be back tomorrow to see you, we promise."

"Emma should have calmed down by now," his dad said, smoothing his unruly hair in an uncommon affectionate gesture. He half-smiled. "You take care, alright? No antics while we're gone. Behave around the nurses and all that."
Jack smiled at the joke, and nodded. His parents reluctantly walked to the door. "Goodnight, hon!" his mother said. "Sleep well, we love you!"

The night was a strange, surreal blur. He'd sleep deeply, only to be disturbed by the night-shift nurse – a large woman with kind eyes but a no-nonsense attitude – who apologetically said that she had to check him every hour. She would check his drip, shine a torch in his eyes to see how his pupils dilated, hold his hands up, ask him to try to hold them up, let go and watch them fall pathetically to his lap. No matter how he tried, he couldn't hold them up. He wasn't sure if it was the contusions or the sleepiness.

Then she'd leave, and he'd drift off.
Then she'd return, and he'd be roused for more tests.
At one stage, he'd woken up absolutely bursting to go to the bathroom. He'd held on stubbornly all day and night, unwilling to use a bedpan, but now he knew he couldn't hold on much longer.
He attempted to speak – this time it was easier.
"Bathroom," he mumbled as the nurse stood to leave. "I need... bathroom."
"I'll bring back a bedpan," the woman said.
"No, nononono!" Jack said frantically. The woman stared at him. "Bathroom!" Jack repeated insistently.
The nurse sighed. "You want me to take you to the bathroom because you don't want to use the bedpan, is that right?"
Jack nodded, staring earnestly at her. The nurse shook her head. "Kids," she muttered defeatedly. "Alright, I'll take you to the bathroom."
The bathroom was an ensuite in the ward – the door was just beyond the bed. For Jack, it might as well have been a five-mile trek.

The nurse helped him sit up, and gingerly helped him out of bed. As the sheets slipped away, Jack saw the heavy white cast completely surrounding his leg for the first time, the leg of his track pants folded up at the top. It thunked to the floor. Jack felt a slight twinge, but the force of the impact was absorbed by the plaster. His other leg shook with the effort of staying upright. He clung tightly to the nurse's neck.
"We're gonna take it one step at a time, okay?" the nurse said. "Well.. hop. You can't put any weight on that leg. We'll take it nice and slow. Can you take a hop for me, Jack?"
Jack managed an awkward hop. He didn't get far; he overbalanced, falling into the nurse, who grunted under the weight of the teenager.
"Okay, very good," the nurse said. "One more, okay?"
Another hop. This one was a bit more successful; he got a bit further. He still couldn't balance well enough though, and again the nurse had to hold up his entire weight.
This process stretched out painfully, and even when they reached the door the nurse still had to help him to the toilet. Finally, he was gripping the bars on the wall next to the toilet, leaning against the wall – without the nurse, he felt he would just fall over.
"I'll leave, and you give me a yell when you're done," the nurse said. "Okay?"
Jack nodded, and the nurse left, closing the door.
He was in no shape to try to aim standing up. He swallowed his pride and levered himself down onto the seat.

When he was done, he pulled himself up, flushed, and called out, "Done!"
The nurse came back in, and the long hike back to the bed commenced. It was as tedious as the previous walk. Jack was beginning to get painfully frustrated with his inability to move in the way he was used to.
Finally, the nurse was lifting him back into bed. She looked thoroughly worn out from the ordeal.
"I think I'll leave you alone for a couple of hours," she said. "You're doing really well for someone two days into a hairline fracture, so I think I can let you sleep."
Jack nodded, and with a sigh, the nurse left. He drifted off again.

The next day, his head still felt achey and fuzzy and he was tired from having had little sleep the night before. He was speaking better, though. That was the day the doctor visited.

The doctor was a quiet, middle-aged man with bright eyes and a friendly smile. He entered the room softly, careful not to let the door slam behind him. He walked up to the bedside, pulled over a chair and sat down.
"Hi, Jack," the doctor said. "I'm Dr. Luna, you can call me Manny. How are you feeling?"
"I've had better," Jack said, and Manny chuckled. "I'm sure you have," he said. "Has someone told you about the accident already?"
Jack nodded.
"Oh, good. So you know the details? About the contusions and rib fractures?"
Jack nodded again.
"Excellent. Obviously, the contusions aren't too serious and are already clearing up. You'll be back to normal by tomorrow, I should think. That skull fracture will heal fine, but you'll have to be careful for the next twelve months until it's fully healed. No vigorous exercise for at least six months, I'm afraid. And of course the broken leg will set you back too – you'll have the cast on for another three weeks, and under normal circumstances you'd have to avoid heavy exercise for four months. However, taking your skull injury into consideration, we have to extend that to six months."
He looked genuinely sad. "I'm really sorry, Jack. I was looking forward to seeing you in the Olympics this year."
Jack chewed his lip and blinked hard, swallowing the lump that had risen in his throat. So there really was no way he could make the Olympics. A sick, empty disappointment settled in his chest. He would not cry.

Manny coughed. "Not to mention the rib fractures. Those will be fine too; just take it easy for the next couple of months and they'll heal up."
He sat back and sighed. "So it's a long road to recovery for you, I'm afraid," Manny said. "How are you handling everything?"
Jack chewed his lip. "I want to be back on the ice," he said. "As soon as possible."
Manny looked solemn. "That's not going to happen for months, Jack," he said gently. "Even then, you can't be doing anything more than skating in circles. No flying leaps for you for at least twelve months."
No more skating for twelve months. Shit, would he even make the next Olympics?
"Well, then I want to be in the best shape possible to bounce back and get back into gear when I do get back on the ice," Jack said. "I need to... stay in shape somehow. So I don't waste time building up my skills all over again. Can I do that?"
"We can try to do that," Manny said. "We can put you on a strict diet, so you don't gain too much weight. Plenty of protein, to maintain your muscles, but no carbs – with you sedentary like this, the carbs will just convert to fat. And we can organise a rehab program for you. You won't be able to go into rehab until the cast comes off, but we'll set up a program that'll work you harder than most patients, so you can get back into shape. We'll work with your trainer on organising everything. We could also assist in setting up a training routine once you do get back on the ice – we'll have to monitor when you start training anyway, to make sure you don't do anything too strenuous."
Jack smiled. "Eddy's gonna hate you," he said, eliciting a wry grin from Manny.
"I actually met Edmund yesterday," he said. "Funny guy. He's quite worried about you, actually. He wants to see you as soon as you're fully lucid."
"I'm lucid now," Jack said.
"We'll see," Manny said, picking up a torch.

The tests were repeated. This time, Jack had a little more control over his hands, so they slowly sank to the sheets, rather than flopping pathetically.

"You've improved really well over the past few hours," Manny said, "but you're still not 100% yet. I'll give you another couple of days before I'll let you talk to Eddy. Now, I'll leave you to get some rest, but I'll be back tomorrow to see how you're doing."
He stood up to leave, but then paused. He turned and pulled a DVD case out of his pocket.
"This is a recording of the competition," he said. "Apparently they were filming live. Your sister was taping your performance, by the sounds of it, and she taped the whole accident. The footage isn't too graphic, obviously, since it's been edited for t.v, but it's still a bit shocking. I'll leave it here if you feel up to watching it later, but I warn you, it might be upsetting."
He set it down on the bedside table. "Call one of the nurses in if you decide to watch it, they'll set up the television for you," he said. "But don't watch it now; I want you to get some rest."
He smiled and headed for the door. "See you tomorrow, Jack," he said, and left.

The rest of the day was another blur of slipping in and out of sleep. The night was much the same as the previous one; although this time Jack was able to drag himself to the bathroom on his own, without the nurse.

Which brought Jack back to the third day in hospital. He'd felt much better – his head was clear, and he could move properly. He still struggled to hop to the bathroom, but he wasn't sure if that was the contusions or the cast. Either way, he'd felt good enough that he'd decided he could watch the footage of the accident.

Bad idea.

He felt sick, now. He still couldn't recall the accident, but he was beginning to remember the competition more clearly. He'd been so confident... he'd stopped getting nervous a long time ago, and he just remembered anticipating the rush of adrenaline as he flew over the ice. While other competitors worried and fretted over their moves, he was simply anxious to get on the ice and fly. It was an indescribable feeling, and he always loved it.
So what had gone wrong?
He muted the television – if he heard bloody Brenda's voice cooing over his costume one more time he'd chuck the remote – and rewound the DVD back to the moment before the jump. Then he hit play.

The lead-up had been perfect. He'd hit just the right speed, and there – up he went. Jack's eyebrows knitted together as he stared at the footage.
There. He'd performed a double twist, and the action had sent one end of the scarf slapping into his face. That was where it had gone wrong – the scarf had distracted him, and he'd lost focus.
He watched the figure – was he really so lanky? – crash into the ground. First he'd landed awkwardly on his right leg. Jack winced at the sight of the leg suddenly giving way, the unnatural angle. He heard the crack loudly in his head – too clear, clearer than the way the t.v had made it sound. So he remembered something, then. Then the momentum had slammed his body onto the ice. Crack, thump, thump. Leg, ribs, head. It all slammed into the ice and went completely limp.
Then the chaos erupted, and Jack paused the footage again.

He flopped back into the pillows and sighed. But they'd practiced with the scarf so often! The scarf had been his idea, and Eddy had been initially adamant that Jack wasn't to wear it. The risk of it getting in the way just wasn't worth it, Eddy had said. But Jack had insisted that he could wear the scarf – he was good enough, he could pull it off.
He'd practiced and practiced and practiced. He'd taken the scarf to every session leading up to the finals. He must have performed that routine fifty times with the scarf – it wasn't as if he was attempting something new that night.
Yet, that had been the one night that something had gone wrong. That had been the one night that the scarf had spontaneously flown up in his face. It frustrated Jack immensely that the one time it had gone wrong was the one time it had really mattered. And oh, how badly it had gone wrong. He couldn't have just fallen on his butt, he couldn't have missed the title but walked out on his own feet, no, he had to fail spectacularly badly and break his leg.

And now I can't even try out for the Olympics, Jack thought bitterly. I'll be lucky if I can make the next Olympic tryouts, even.

The door opened. Jack turned, and his mouth fell open – it was Tooth.

She was carrying a big tray with a cover on it, and wore her blue sweater and her big smile. From the bed, Jack could see that her turquoise hair was short, swept back and spiked up. It should have looked punk, but on the beaming girl it just looked sweet and quirky. Gold bangles dangled off her tiny wrists, and she was wearing big gold earrings.
She danced over to the bed. "Hi, Jack," she said. "How are you feeling? You look loads better!"
"I feel loads better," Jack said.

Tooth beamed. "It's good to hear your voice this time," she said. "So your speech is back to normal?"
"Pretty much," Jack said. "The doc said I'm not 100% yet, but I feel pretty much back to my old self."
"That's really good," Tooth said. "Your contusions are obviously healing pretty quickly."

She pulled out the fold-up table attached to the bedside and swung it over Jack's lap. "I brought some lunch for you today," she said. "Manny said you were on a diet, but you obviously haven't tried my mom's chicken curry. Minimal carbs, plenty of protein." She giggled. "Well, except for the rice, of course."
She lifted the lid on the tray, and Jack was hit by an incredible scent of spices. His mouth watered.
"I guess I can risk the rice," Jack said, picking up a fork. "This looks incredible, Tooth."
"Grandma's recipe," Tooth said with a wink. "Just like in India. Well, without all the oil. And the spiciness. Gosh, the original recipe is insanely hot, you take one bite and you're sprinting to the water jug! I guess this is the healthier, edible version, heh."
Jack started eating. Despite what Tooth said, the curry still burned his tongue and made his mouth numb. He coughed and gulped some water, not used to the sensation.
Despite the spiciness, however, the curry was delicious. Jack wolfed it down, suddenly ravenous – when was the last time he'd even eaten? He couldn't remember. Even if he'd eaten recently, though, he was sure he'd have gobbled the curry down anyway, it was fantastic.

"My compliments to the chef," Jack declared when he'd finished, and Tooth giggled. "I'm glad to see you liked it!" she said. "Many people find it too hot."
"They're missing out," Jack said. "So you're from India?"
"My mom is," Tooth said. "My dad's from Thailand. They're both as American as they come, though – they were both raised in the U.S."

She cocked her head. "What about you?" she asked. "You look pretty northern-European."
Jack shrugged. "I think we come from the Netherlands," he said. "So yeah, north-western Europe. Hence the name, 'Ferguson'. And uh, the paleness."
Tooth chuckled. "That makes sense."
"Where exactly did 'Tooth' come from?" Jack asked. "Sorry if that seemed out of the blue, it just.. I've been wondering about that."
"I want to be a dentist," Tooth said simply. "I've wanted to be one ever since I was little. I always used to pretend to be one, I'd inspect my friends' teeth in recess and stuff."
"Seriously?" Jack asked.

Tooth laughed and nodded. "Yeah! And I was always asking about teeth, and as soon as I found any cool information about teeth, I'd be spouting it for days." She shook her head. "It didn't take long for my friends to nickname me 'Tooth'. I liked it, so I made my parents call me 'Tooth' as well. I guess it must have suited me, because everyone's called me 'Tooth' ever since, and I wouldn't want to be called anything else."
She shrugged. "Nothing major," she said with a grin. "I just really like teeth!"
"Well now I know who to call if I need a dentist," Jack said, and she chuckled.
She glanced up at the television, and her smile disappeared. "Oh, you shouldn't be watching that," she sighed. "That's just depressing. I didn't even like watching it."
"You saw it?" Jack asked.
"Yeah, I was watching it the night it happened," Tooth said. "My mom is a huge fan of yours, so of course we had it on the t.v. We all sat down to watch your performance... we were all really upset."
She shook her head. "I don't think that other guy, that Pitch guy, should have won. He wasn't nearly as good as you, even with the accident cutting yours short."

Jack remembered Pitch. He'd been an asshole. He was cold and unsociable, which wasn't uncommon in a competitive atmosphere, but Pitch wasn't just guarded or quiet – he was cruel. He was a bully. Jack remembered him trying to freak out a couple of nervous contestants, making them scared so they'd either quit or do badly on the ice. He was good at scaring off the competition.
Jack shrugged. "Well, there's nothing we do about it now," he said gruffly, turning the t.v off. "I've just got to focus on getting better. So I can get back on that ice again, and show Pitch who's the real champ."
Tooth nodded. "Of course," she said. She smiled again. "And you will," she added. "You'll be flying again in no time."
"I hope so," Jack said. "Manny didn't sound too positive about it. Apparently I won't be back in full form for at least twelve months."
"Doctors will tell you that," Tooth said. "But you know, that's because they don't want to get your hopes up. It might take you ten months, but they say twelve months in case the recovery doesn't go as well as they want it to. And if you're really good, and you follow their orders to the letter and you're really self-disciplined about your exercises and rehab, it might take even less time. So don't get too disheartened, okay?" She smiled.
Jack smiled back. Ten months wasn't much shorter than twelve, but he felt a little better. Tooth radiated positivity, and it seemed to be contagious.

"Anyway, I better go and feed the other patients," Tooth said with a wry giggle. "Can't let them go hungry!"
She picked up the tray and plonked the cover back on it, heading for the door. "I'll see you in a couple days, okay?" she said. She smiled as she opened the door. "It's good to see you, Jack."
"I'll see you around," Jack said, returning the smile. "It's good to see you too."
And then she was gone. Jack lay back on the bed again.
Well, I guess there is one tiny silver lining to this giant stormcloud, he mused.

I actually finally seem to have made a friend.