Sooo, Tadashi's finally woken! How does he feel...
"Tadashi?" The nurse tried for an excited grin this time. "Tadashi?"
Tadashi didn't respond. He stared at the cup of coffee sitting next to him on the bedside table, then shifted his gaze to his lap.
Eighteen months. He'd lost eighteen months of his life. He'd also lost his left leg from the knee down. His body was riddled with scars which would never leave him, serving forever as a memory of what had ruined him. And his hands – his mangled hands. He looked at them now. His right hand was missing its pinkie and its middle finger – he could still hold a pen. His left hand was missing those two fingers and the index finger to boot. What a joke.
"I'll never be able to work on robotics again," he murmured.
The nurse looked uncomfortable. "There are plenty of other things you can do," she offered. "There's a world of possibility out there."
Tadashi continued staring at his hands. "Not with these hands."
There was another pause, and then the nurse bravely continued.
"Your family called again – they're wondering if they can see you. Do you feel ready?"
Tadashi's family. They'd called again. Even now, with this numbness, Tadashi wanted to see them – see his brother, his aunt. He wanted to see them and hug them and never leave them again. Tadashi loved his family deeply. What had happened to them in the eighteen months since the fire?
And how could he let them see him like this?
He'd always be a burden to them. He couldn't work, he couldn't do anything. He'd never be of use to them. How could he be that to them?
He shook his head. "No, I don't feel ready."
"Tadashi, you're going to have to see them eventually."
"But not today," Tadashi insisted. "I can't see them. Not today."
The nurse gave up. "Would you at least like to try walking?" She gestured to a pair of crutches by the hospital bed. "You've made such excellent progress these past few days."
Tadashi knew she was lying. He hadn't made excellent progress. He'd barely been trying. He could walk across the room and across the corridor with his crutches, but his heart wasn't in it.
He sighed and kicked back the blankets. "Okay."
"Good, good," the nurse said, relieved, and she came forward to help Tadashi to the floor.
Tadashi's single foot touched the ground, and he wobbled uncertainly. He lurched for the crutches, and grabbed hold of them. The nurse's hands went out uncertainly.
Slowly, Tadashi positioned himself until he was leaning on both crutches. His right foot balanced on the floor. His left leg – no, sorry, his left stump – dangled helplessly. Tadashi waved the stump backward and forward. Pathetic, what he'd been reduced to.
Gingerly, Tadashi moved the crutches forward. He leaned on them, and then moved his foot forward. Thus, it continued. He made very slow progress out of the room and into the corridor, the nurse following on her two healthy feet.
Outside, the doctors and nurses gave him a wide berth as he struggled down the corridor. He couldn't stand the sympathetic looks many of them gave him. He was an object of pity now. He hated it.
Tadashi's world had shrunk. It had shrunk to this corridor and his room. He would eventually reach the end of the corridor. Then he would turn back and hobble his way back to his room. Once he was back, he would refuse his nurse's help and pull his way back into his bed. That was it. That was the extent of what he could do. He'd been reduced to this meaningless life.
One of his crutches slipped, and Tadashi braced himself as he crashed to the ground. The sudden pain that flared up across his face and chest as he struck the floor was nothing compared to the pain he felt inside.
His nurse let out a startled cry, and he heard footsteps as medical staff came running to help him up. He closed his eyes.
Leave me alone, he begged them silently. Leave me alone.
They helped him up and escorted him to his room. Tadashi's nurse excused herself, and left him alone. Tadashi curled up in his bed.
All the happiness, all the hopes and dreams and optimism that he'd had before the fire – that had all evaporated. All that was left inside him was despair. He didn't have a future anymore. He didn't have anything anymore.
As tears began to course down Tadashi's cheeks, he suddenly recalled a conversation he'd had with Hiro years before, when he was eleven and Hiro was seven. Hiro had been crying from nightmares, and Tadashi had come to comfort him.
"Big boys don't cry," Tadashi tells Hiro, trying to think of something to say to comfort Hiro.
"Yes they do," Hiro replies, wiping his eyes. "They cry when they're very scared. They cry when there's something very scary happening and they don't know what to do."
How right Hiro had been. Tadashi thought about that as he wept silently, and drifted off to a miserable sleep.
Reviews please!