When he voiced his dissatisfaction concerning mobility and restlessness, Dr. Rojas had permitted Ian use of a wheelchair – so long as he kept his left leg elevated and straight. It made him look a little like a battering ram, but the perpetual movements of his arms spinning the wheels had relaxed him. Being able to roll from one place to another unassisted was incredibly liberating. Nevertheless, a persistent bitter attitude had leached to him, and it showed.
With the immigration difficulties and Tim's recurring heart murmurs, the children were still hospitalized and visited him often – Tim asking after more magic tricks, and Lex refreshingly asking for Ian's opinions on his non-linear systems. Their visits served to lighten his mood and bring a little bit of joy to him in the way his own kids did. Additionally, Ian could never refuse to flap his own mouth off about applied mathematics.
The kids took turns pushing him down the hallway, much to the chagrin of the staff, they stared at him while he ate his meals, and it wouldn't have shocked Ian if he found out they watched him while he slept. Strange attractions, he had laughed to himself in private.
Ian liked talking to them, and they seemed to like talking to him. The conversation would always turn into the park – despite Ian's best efforts to steer it elsewhere. Lex did most of the talking, and Tim sat motionless beside her most of the time, legs crossed and head resting in his hands almost conveying boredom.
Another favourite spot the kids would push him back and forth from was the rehabilitation gymnasium. It was more of an indoor playground for preschoolers it seemed to Ian. They would coax him to try his hand at the parallel bars, to that Ian vehemently declined. Trying not to move his club leg in his sleep was pain enough, and the thought of willingly bending and putting weight on it made his stomach do backflips.
Not surprisingly, the presses had also made their arrival at the hospital as well, but were kept barred from entering. From his window, Ian could survey the news trucks bearing logos from all around the world, and the tiny photographers in the parking lot snapping photos of the hospital. Personally, Ian wouldn't have minded a camera to speak to. Having a global audience would have given him the chance to expose Hammond's offenses that he had so nicely looked after.
It had only been a day since receiving the precious wheeled chair, and already Malcolm was the ever-present pest in the hospital. People generally adjusted their paths when they saw him obstinately wheeling down the hallway. It was on one of these wheel-abouts that Dr. Rojas caught up with him.
"Hello Ian."
"What's up doc?"
"Well … the staff is most happy to offer our accommodations to you and your … fellows while your papers are cleared but …"
Ian stopped wheeling and met Rojas' eyes. His own stare matched Rojas' in tenacity.
"We er … well we just don't want to … disturb the other patients." He added quickly.
Ian tipped backwards on his wheelchair, causing Rojas to start and emit a small concerned sound a bird would most likely make. And with that Ian rolled away.
"Oh and Mrs. Malcolm has arrived."
The wheels of the chair practically screeched to a halt. He swiveled to face Rojas.
"Excuse me?"
"Mrs. Malcolm … is … waiting for you … by your room."
"Uh, which one?"
Rojas could do nothing but grasp for words that weren't there, moving his arms as if he were physically trying to summon them.
"Nevermind. God knows I need more surprises." Ian murmured. He fixed his course towards his lodgings.
Ian had resigned himself to the fact that he would be taking some braising from whomever awaited him in his room – a lecture, a flick on the head, a criticism of his intellectual abilities, the usual abuse that he had so often made a joke of to the faces of his past "other halves." It was his never serious attitude that had made his relationships ripe for the splitting.
Debarking the elevator, Ian wasted no time in wheeling to his room. From down the hall, he could see there the definite shape of a person with the curves of a female sitting hunched over some paper. As he drew closer and closer, her identity got further and further from him. She was nobody he knew.
"Excuse me." He announced his presence before she could get a look at him approaching like the cripple he had become.
The woman looked up, giving him a face full of freckles and a head full of red hair.
Strange attractions indeed.
