00000
Hiccup plops onto the edge of his mattress with an 'oof,' leaning his crutch against the wall and balancing his ten pound barbell carefully on his palm, curling it up to his shoulder for what feels like the hundredth time. His shoulders ache, but the solid pain is worlds away from Sunday's frantic tremors as his muscles got used to moving again.
His stomach is still pitifully small and he takes another bite of his grilled cheese sandwich, chewing slowly and wholeheartedly agreeing with Astrid that hospital food is well…exhausting.
He checks the clock on the wall, the number three spinning into focus while the rest of the numbers whirl meaninglessly around the face, making his head ache. Today, in therapy, he managed an addition problem set, but being excited about that was depressing enough to have him hopping around the room on a crutch, reveling in physicality.
It's probably the first time in his life that he feels stronger than he does smart and he switches the dumbbell to his other hand, curling it a few more times. His hands don't shake anymore, and the bruise from the IV stopped aching, finally.
He stares at the clock again, glaring at the numbers and flopping back on the bed, rubbing his fist over his eyes.
He's going home tonight.
His hand traces down the side of his leg, fiddling nervously with the silicone top of his compression cuff. His middle finger tentatively slides an inch under the tight gel before he pulls back, frowning.
How long is Astrid going to take, anyway? His dad was just going to take him home…but well, Astrid is well and truly in charge.
It's kind of nice.
Except when she takes her time at practice, leaving him alone in this hospital room for hours and hours with no entertainment.
Sometimes, he almost feels like he's gotten used to her. He can take the frequent punching, the rib poking and less than gentle analysis of his weight. He likes the hand holding, and even now he can almost feel the warm solidity of her thin fingers in his.
Not to mention that last night she sat cross-legged on the foot of his bed and did her calculus, and every time her elbow brushed up against his full foot he felt like flying. It was strange seeing her sit so clearly in the spot that his left foot should be, but the overly practical part of his brain is glad that she has somewhere to sit, because as an eighteen year old boy, he wants her on the bed.
The foot thing…
It's not as bad as he feared, really. He saw the stump on Sunday, a dark pink scar running across a pale innocuous skin cap, like an elbow or a knee. It tingles when he touches it, but not as bad as when he thinks about it. He can still feel his toes, twitching and itching at the end of his stump, and the doctors say that might never go away.
Apparently he slept through the phantom pains that sent his knocked out body seizing.
Everyone keeps saying that he's lucky to have missed the worst of it, but honestly he wishes he'd been aware. Even his foot deserves a death throe, doesn't it?
He puffs air towards the ceiling, picking up the dumbbell and hammer curling it awkwardly, eyes focused on the rough lettering hewn into the butt of the handle. 10 lbs. That's about how much they took off apparently, including the cut leg of his pants, the shoe he'll never need again and his foot.
For the first time in his life, he recognizes his triceps in the motion, tugging smoothly at the joint in his elbow. He focuses on counting, the numbers drawing swooping shapes in his mind. He sticks at fifteen, holding the weight above his chest as he forces his mind through the next number, gasping in relief as he pushes the weight away, murmuring 'sixteen' under his breath.
"I never thought I'd find you pumping iron," Astrid jokes, leaning against the open doorframe, and smirking happily as he sets the bar aside, pushing up onto his elbows.
"What? Don't you go for the massive jocks?" He jokes, clenching a bicep that's not really there but looks like it could be. Someday.
He's just happy that the shakes are gone.
"No. I break up with massive jocks, I thought we talked about that part," she rolls her eyes, crossing the room and collecting his crutches, holding them out to him. "You're dad's signing you out, let's get out of this freaking room." She grabs his hand, heaving him up to his foot and holding steady while he adjusts, hand gripping her shoulder a second too long before he takes the crutches. She steps back, gesturing angrily at a sign on the wall. "If I ever have to read that sign again, I will kill someone."
"So murderous," He fiddles, bending his knee as he settles onto the ball of his foot, thick hospital slipper feeling beyond ridiculous. "Did you happen to remember some normal shoes? Shoe." He laughs, groaning quietly. "Right shoe." She holds up a sneaker, grinning awkwardly.
"Here," she kneels down, prying the tongue of the shoe towards the toe and holding it there while he awkwardly hops into it, precariously balancing on the rubber feet of his crutches. She rolls her eyes. "You could just sit down, you know."
"I'm working on my balance. The physical therapist said—"
"Yeah yeah. I swear, you woke up a meathead." She jokes, choosing to ignore the fact that he practically talked her through her entire physics assignment the night before, after missing class for three and a half weeks.
"Did not." He almost falls as she jerks the laces tight, too vigorous, and he glares at the top of her shiny blonde head. Her hair is wet, droplets clinging to the wispy strands escaping her unruly ponytail. "Is it snowing?"
"Sleeting." He looks at his crutches and she shrugs. "We're in the parking garage, you're fine."
"Let me guess, you thought of that?" His dad would probably follow the signs to patient pickup, rule faithful to a tee.
"Of course." She steps back, holding the door open. "I've got your back. Do you have everything?" He glances around the room, shrugging.
"You brought everything back to my place yesterday," he braces his hands against the handles of his crutches. This is the longest walk he's attempted and his nonexistent toes clench in anticipation along with his flesh and blood.
"Come on. I'm freezing, I want a freaking shower," Astrid announces, two steps ahead of him out the door, forcing him to catch up.
For a millisecond, the love word pops into his brain and he shoves it away, focusing on catching up to her.
It's not love, or at least it's never been love before. Infatuation maybe, admiration, a dash of good old fashioned, blinding hormones. But love?
He remembers enough of the before to know that things were really changing. He remembers churning stomachs and protective instincts so strong that he tore a hospital sheet when they slapped him across the face. He remembers wondering how much he really feels, and being terrified because it's too much, and she's too perfect, not to mention recently coming out of a 3 year relationship.
He's not an idiot, he knows about rebounds. A little hopeful voice in the back of his head reminds him that it's been almost a month and she's still…single.
Well, as single as you can be when you run around announcing you love people and doing your best to fail mythology presentations.
He does love how she treats him. Nothing has changed, really. Sure, she's nicer, and she's cried a couple of more times in moments of anxious exhaustion…but to her, he's just Hiccup.
She lets I love you drop all of the time, in the most disarming and inappropriate of places, with just enough pause to stare him down like prey. Of course she hasn't done anything about it though, just tortured him with meaningful glances and too tight sweatpants.
His heart clenches.
He's struck with the fact that he loves her no matter how hard he tries to deny it.
He loves her so much.
He knows it's ridiculous, and it's the last thing he should be worried about. He should be dwelling on his foot, tearing through physical therapy and talking his lungs out to his hospital assigned psychiatrist. They say that the sarcasm and jokes are impeding his recovery, but it's the only thing that makes him feel right. The best he's felt since waking up was using his lack of balance to explain rotational kinetics to Astrid, tripping over his crutches in a half frantic lecture, tumbling back onto his bed with an ungainly slip.
She'd laughed so hard that she spewed water on the bed and he'd gone to bed still smiling on soggy sheets.
Everyone he sees in the psychiatry wing is on drugs. Ritalin for focus, Xanax for depression, and a bunch of other mood levelers he hasn't even bothered to try to pronounce. He guesses that most of them are probably alone, or holding too much of their world on their shoulders, turning themselves into stone in order to keep the forest from falling off the mountain.
But he hasn't needed drugs.
Not that he hasn't been paralyzing sad, or depressed, or so happy to be alive that he feels like crying. He dreamt of seeing Toothless last night and woke up leaking gleeful tears into his pillow while a sympathetic nurse left a blanket on the foot of his bed.
Astrid checks on his walking progress across her shoulder, slyly glancing down at his rhythmically hopping leg and grinning to herself at the progress.
Hiccup remembered kissing her the other day. The gaps have been springing back to his mind. A patch of gritty hallway, his butt falling asleep on the couch when he sat under Astrid's heavy head, counting steps while he ran through the shelter.
Blood pooling on a concrete floor.
His dad yelling at a cop.
But the kiss took him aback. One second he's sitting through another episode of Cops, and the next he's gripped with butterflies strong as nausea in his stomach as his face catches on fire, lips tingling with the too vivid memory of her overgrown bangs tickling his cheek.
He doesn't think he'd freeze now.
If he can lose a leg and survive a coma and walk out of the hospital of his own volition, he can sure kiss a girl. Even if the girl is Astrid.
Then again, it's comparatively easy to be confident when she's walking beside him, grinning occasionally and glaring down the freshly swept hallway with eagle eyes. It's easy to forget the utterly obvious thing he's missing, easy to feel like a whole person under her watchful gaze. She looks at him like he's going to get better, and it makes him feel like he just might.
Looking down, however, dashes the happy illusion, and he focuses on the end of the hallway, bricks bobbing rhythmically with his motion.
She pushes her hair behind her ear, catching his attention enough that he almost stumbles, crutch squeaking against the tile as he catches himself, armpits colliding with the rubber handles with a grunt.
She did say she was going to take a shower, right?
The image of her in his shower is suddenly so vivid that he does stumble, hopping short as one of his crutches clutters to the tile.
He's missed privacy.
"Are you ok?" Astrid asks, bending down and picking up the crutch, handing it out to him. When he reaches for it, she yanks it back with an expectant look, waiting for him to answer.
"Fine," he leans forward, snatching the crutch away and situating it back under his arm, "Just excited, wasn't paying attention."
"You have the attention span of a gnat," she mumbles continuing down the hallway slower, hoping that he won't have to struggle to keep up. The last thing they need is for him to wipe out in the middle of the hall.
"Come on, it's at least like…I don't know, a dog or something." He laughs and she rolls her eyes. "I focused on sleeping for three weeks."
"I still don't think that's funny, you know." Her fingers twist in the hem of her jacket, worrying at the fleece. "It wasn't like sleeping."
"I know." Part of him feels awful for making her face twist into that horrible memory of grief, but the rest is elated that she was worried in the first place.
Maybe it'll all become a dream when they get home. That's it. He'll become her patient and he'll be the…pet monkey.
That's so horribly accurate that he frowns, silent as they make their way around the last corner, meeting up with his dad who's waiting at reception. The big man looks closer to normal, in his button down shirt and khakis. From the way his father's looking at him, Hiccup can't help but feel like a child getting yet another lecture about skinning his knees on the playground.
The nurses wave goodbye, a few even stop to hug him, but he really can't imagine why. It's not like he was a charming, interesting patient or anything. He has a sneaking suspicion that his room became the impromptu break room, and they're going to miss the silent corner of the ward.
He guesses there's something more relaxing about a relatively healthy teenage boy after an accident compared to an old grandmother not allowed to fade away.
Getting into the car is a real challenge, and it almost dissolves into a tantrum on Astrid's part when Gerard tries to insist upon lifting Hiccup into the car. He likes her psychotic tendencies, sometimes it's beyond nice to be defended by someone so formidable and he shoots her what he hopes is a grateful look as he finagles his way into the front seat, crossing his bad leg over his good and hiding it as best as he can.
It looks more real away from the fluorescents and he grabs the end of his sweatpants, carefully balling them in his hand and holding the cuff closed, disconcertingly cool plastic pressing against his thumb. Astrid's knees dig into his lower back through the front seat and he knows that she must be slouched forward, purposefully pressing into his chair as she prattles on about her workout, cursing Gobber vehemently.
"…know that weights are good, but the man is on a bender. He's had me in the weight room three times this week. I'm starting to bulk up," she complains and Gerard frowns, thinking about her issue.
"Maybe he'll lower your weight and you can just up your reps, especially for something like calf raises, enough sets could possibly supplement hill work that you're going to lose because of ice." They might as well be speaking Greek…or addition, but Hiccup keeps himself focused on their conversation, exercising the still tired concentration portions of his brain.
It's like getting a bike out first thing in the spring. He feels like he's peppering the ground with rust flakes wherever he walks, leaving behind a trail of markers proving that he's not quite as good as he was before.
"That's one way to do it," Astrid muses, laughing to herself. "I still like the punching method though."
"Ah, come on, it's not fair to hit a guy missing limbs—"
The car falls silent.
Hiccup grins wryly.
"She hits me all the time, I don't think Astrid cares about fair," he jokes and a collective exhale echoes as Astrid kicks the back of his seat.
"I don't hit you, I bump you," she corrects him, and he knows exactly what her face looks like. Eyebrows piqued as she refuses to let her lower lip fully pout, nose flaring indignantly.
Is it wrong that thinking of her pretend stern expression makes him feel too warm in the genuinely cool car? He contemplates turning on the air conditioning, but it's November, and he just passed a psych evaluation.
"It feels like hitting," he shrugs and she jabs his lower back through the seat, jolting him against his seatbelt. "Ow! Violence!"
"Baby," she complains, her knees exiting his frame of existence as his father shoots him a too knowing look. Hiccup blushes and sets his chin, staring determined out the windshield. Ghost clocks float by his vision, numbers and lines swirling in and out of focus as the stark image of an analog clock at exactly 3:45 suddenly sticks in his brain like glue.
He grins. It's a start.
00000
There really is something special about lying on your own couch with your dog on your chest, drowsing in front of a movie on the first night of Thanksgiving break. It doesn't matter that he hasn't been to school in almost a month, or that his dog has a wonderful new habit of jabbing people with his bony stump.
His eyes drift closed for probably the hundredth time before Toothless rouses him with a loud snore, a puddle of dog drool blooming on his shirt.
"Thanks for that…bud," he yawns, scratching behind the dog's ears. Spike whines from her roost on the floor curled by his head and he mindlessly reaches down, patting the first part of her that he reaches. It takes a minute for a flat blocky head to push happily against his hand and he scratches, mumbling, "don't worry girl, I won't leave you out of the…" he yawns, and Toothless licks his chin, almost successfully French kissing him, "love party."
His eyes drift shut again, and he blinks slowly, snuggling into the pillow on the couch, abnormally and irrationally glad that he only has one foot trying to escape the blankets. He wraps his arms around Toothless' shoulders, squeezing almost too hard as his head nods to the side, itchy eyes peacefully closed.
The movie booms and he blinks, holding Toothless closer.
The dog licks his cheek and he shuts his eyes more tightly, flinching from the tongue and wiping his face against the pillow contentedly. The tongue laughs and he opens his eyes.
The tongue is Astrid's hand, and she grins at him too fondly.
"Hi Astrid," he grumbles, suddenly embarrassed. He instantly notices her wet hair, pulled into a braid that has dripped and left a large panel of her white tank top completely see through, purple sports bra showing in a way that draws his eye.
"Come on, your dad's threatening to carry you to bed," she warns, stroking Spike's side and squatting beside the couch, smiling at Toothless' blissful grin.
Everything feels remarkably right.
"I will not be carried." He wrinkles his nose and she offers a hand, looking around for his crutches and dragging them from their place beside the couch. She notes the location of his compression cuff, resting next to his kicked off shoe like the completion of the pair.
"Then come on," Hiccup pats Toothless purposefully on the shoulder and the wolf slinks grumpily to the floor, curling and placing his chin on Spike's haunch. Astrid grabs the boy's sleepily warm hand, tugging him into a sitting position and laughing at his groggy eyes. "I can't haul you down the hallway," she reminds him, pulling on his hand while he wipes his eyes.
He shouldn't be so cute and she shouldn't enjoy it so much.
"How's my drool…" yawn "spot?" He asks, and she looks down at the tennis ball sized darkening on his shirt. She frowns, his hair is starting to look greasy as well, because well, he turned down assisted baths ever since he's been awake.
"Awesome. I think you need a shower, dude," she pulls him to his foot, holding him upright while he bobbles, handing him the crutches. His entire body heats up at her suggestion and he shakes his head.
"Can we not deal with it right now?" He asks, and she sighs.
"Nothing to deal with, we got a shower chair at the hospital." She leads him down the hallway, grateful when his crutches move forward at her insistent pressure between his shoulder blades.
"I'm not going to shower in a chair," he refutes and she glares at him.
"Because standing on one foot on tile works so well." He doesn't respond and she sighs. "Come on. As your sometimes human crutch, I'm personally invested in you being at least semi-clean."
"Fine," he sighs, perking up at the exertion of getting down the hall. What he wouldn't give to recover in a one bedroom apartment.
"At least it'll be better than a sponge bath," she shrugs, pushing through his bedroom to the adjoining bathroom ahead of him, shutting the bedroom door with nearly uncomfortable gravity. He doesn't seem to notice the tension, hopping into the bathroom and leaning his crutches against the sink.
"Don't even remind me that I had sponge baths," he shudders, grimacing into the mirror. "Ugh, I look like I've had sponge baths."
"You look fine," Astrid leans on the doorframe, crossing her arms and staring at him through his reflection. "You've put on 3 pounds, I'm proud," he shrugs, leaning on the counter and tugging at the bottom of his shirt, confidence inspired by how wonderful this shower is truly going to be.
Astrid sighs from her sentient post, gritting her teeth briefly before stepping forward, grabbing the bottom of his shirt with both hands and pulling it up. He shrinks away, tottering alarmingly and grabbing her shoulder for support, obediently standing still in response to her glare. She tugs the shirt over his head, sliding it down his arms with averted eyes.
"Please tell me you can get the pants…" he laughs, miserably out of his depth as he nods.
"Some privacy maybe?" he asks, and she sighs.
"We don't have the rails installed yet, I bet you're going to need help into the tub," she laments. The last thing she wants to be doing is undressing Hiccup.
It feels sexual and wrong, and her entire stomach is swarming with uncomfortable sensations as she tries not to stare at the too lean lines of his narrow chest.
A braver Hiccup would shove his pants down and mosey to the shower, entrancing the beautiful girl in front of him. Apparently brave Hiccup has two feet.
"Help me in now, and I'll hand you my clothes?" She smiles at the solution, offering him her forearm and grunting slightly as he slips on the smooth tile, leaning against her harder than normal. Luckily, he can sort of fall and sit in the seat, swinging his legs around to the front as he closes the shower curtain, shuffling behind the rustling fabric.
A long arm appears, dropping pants onto the floor for her to grab.
"I'll go put these in your hamper." She offers, talking louder as he turns on the shower, hissing when the cold water stings his knees. "Where are your pajamas?"
"Third drawer on the left," she blushes, wandering back into Hiccup's bedroom and digging through his drawers, finding a pair of flannel pants and tee-shirt that she hopes are generic enough. Picking out his underwear seems oddly intimate and she settles for the first pair that she touches, bringing her stack of clothes to the bathroom and setting them on the steamed up counter. "Everything ok?"
"Yeah—ack, soap," he grumbles, and she can hear him spitting. She laughs, pulling herself up to sit next to the sink, holding her knees.
"Maybe you should keep your mouth closed," she suggests, and he laughs, leaning his head under the water stream and changing the sound of the spray hitting the walls.
"If you don't like how I shower, you don't have to be here," he laughs, stretching for his bottle of soap and nearly fumbling it, dropping it on his lap with a groan. That was dangerously close to being bad.
"Are you ok?" She asks, picking at her cuticles and staring at the shower curtain, eyebrows raised. "See, this is why I'm here, you're alone in the shower for two minutes and it sounds like you're dying in there."
"What, are you going to come in here?" He jokes, ignoring his physical response to the idea as he lathers across his chest.
"If I have to," she laughs awkwardly, that same hot uncomfortable feeling pooling in her lower stomach. It's unfamiliar and illogical, the complete opposite of the requisite appreciation that she always felt towards Scott.
"Don't sound so excited," he mumbles, and she sighs.
"Nothing against you," she amends, "I just got dry." It's half-joking and she's relieved when he snickers, pushing his soaked hair off of his face. He fingers the new scar at the top of his forehead, getting used to the pucker.
At least everything healed well, there's something to be said for holding still for weeks.
"Have you been using this bathroom?" He asks, curious, and she shakes her head before realizing that he can't see her.
"Nah, the one in the hallway." She unfolds, slouching back against the mirror. "The shower chair makes it a little awkward."
"You tried?" He asks, triple checking to make sure that he managed to get fully rinsed.
"I missed you," she shrugs, that still vaguely unfamiliar and overwhelming tenderness rising like a balloon in her throat.
"So you used my shower?" He laughs, "That's a little creepy."
"Well, I also didn't have my shampoo yet, I needed to borrow some," she pretends her blush is from steam in the room, pushing her bangs off of her face as they awaken in the steam.
"I'm kidding, Astrid," he laughs, reaching forward and thinking about turning off the faucet, but deciding against it, cranking up the temperature. "I don't care if you used my shower."
"Are you coming out any time soon?" She scoots back, deciding whether she's going to get comfortable or not.
"It feels good," his voice is a little dreamy, a little disembodied, and she smiles.
"Mind if I hang out in here? Not looking forward to your dad chatting with me about…this." She laughs lightly, crossing her legs and leaning back against the mirror.
"Did you just gesture to the room at large?" He asks and she laughs.
"You haven't been dealing with him," Astrid grins embarrassed, glad that there's no way Hiccup could see her flushed face. "I mean—he's a great guy, and I…ugh, I legitimately owe him," she admits and Hiccup cocks his head. It's like she gained a couple conscience sizes even since before the accident.
It's sweet.
"But?"
"But if he doesn't shut up about me being your girlfriend, or…" She trails off, sparing Hiccup the rest of the embarrassment. If she gets one more baited look about needing anything at the store…
"Or?" He can't help but sound slightly offended. She loves him, but…
They need to figure this out.
"Just stuff that's none of his business." Condoms. Mostly condoms. She blushes, frustrated, "he's just trying to be fatherly."
"Well, he's doing that," the touch of jealousy in his voice makes Astrid glare through the curtain sardonically.
"Come on, you know what he said to me when he…signed stuff?" Took her in. Helped her. There are a million more elegant ways to say it running through her head, but none force their way between her teeth.
"What? 'I've always wanted a daughter'?" Hiccup suggests.
"No. He said that he hasn't done a good job of being a father…and he wasn't going to let anything happen to your girlfriend." She explains, and Hiccup sighs, staring at his pruning toes while he stubbornly ignores their minimal number.
"Are you teasing me on purpose?"
"What?" She defends, hugging her knees. "I'm not teasing you."
"You keep saying girlfriend."
"Well yeah, it's kind of easier than 'guy I love who has kind of been in a coma so no one really knows what's going on because he has bigger problems'." Maybe it's a hint, maybe it's a burst of utter frustration.
"That is a mouthful."
"Yeah."
The shower drums on the wall, rhythmic rainfall behind the curtain, fogging the bathroom mirror as her bangs crimp off of her forehead, frizzing in the thick air.
"So…"
"So what?" She snaps, inclined to leave, but too stubborn to move. "What do you want me to say?"
"I don't know," he really wishes that he weren't naked, but at the same time he's extremely glad that he doesn't have to look at her face right now. There's nothing less conducive to productive conversation that her brilliant angry eyes boring into him.
"Because I don't really know what else I should say. I love you. No matter what a knucklehead you are, or how clueless or how distracted you are, somehow I still love you." She's sick of this unrequited nonsense, exhausted by the care and terror in equal interludes.
"You don't sound particularly happy about it," he snarks and she rolls her eyes.
"Well, it isn't exactly fun, is it? It's exhausting, and taxing, and…Do you know what it's like to love a metaphorical black box of sarcasm?" She laughs, exasperated. "One moment, you say something so completely genuine, and you're the only person I've ever met who can make everything seem so clear. Then the next second, it's back to funny, and—Jesus, Hiccup. I admitted something that I felt before you did. I was first. Me." She groans, burying her head in her hands. "The fucking queen of emotions."
Hiccup is silent for a moment, wishing for his pants.
"I—of course—why do you love me, anyway?" It's so out of the blue, so storybook perfect that he can't believe it's more than a phase.
"Why? Do you want a list?" She snaps, and sighs after a moment of awkward quiet. She's glad that she doesn't have to look at him for this. It's almost tempting to leave the room and do it through the door, eliminating distractions. "I—When you found Toothless…most people would have put him out of his misery," she starts, voice echoing uncomfortably in the quiet room. "But you didn't. And me…you didn't see an angry, messed up wolf when you looked at Toothless. You saw something that could be sweet.
"You're the most different person I've ever met," he scoffs, and she speaks louder, cutting him off. "You're smart and stubborn and you don't…you never—You didn't look at me and see a cliché, or a problem. You look at the world and see solutions."
He's silent and she pouts, chin on her knees as she continues.
"And the quiet."
"I'm…I'm dizzy." She sighs, smacking her forehead against her knees in frustration. This is beyond frustrating, walking the line between their resolution and his over exhaustion.
"Towel?" She pushes onto the floor, grabbing a thick terrycloth towel and stepping forward.
"I guess." His hand appears around the curtain and she stares at the floor, too stubborn to back off as his slick thumb slips over her fingernails.
How had she not thought this through?
She thought that she'd planned for everything, getting him to bed, getting up in the morning, school, driving…
Of course she didn't plan for the one time he'd be naked. Naked when she's frustrated and angry and hurt and worried.
Ugh, why is naked Hiccup such a problem? She doesn't quite recognize the almost sick feeling brewing in the pit of her stomach, and she chews on her lower lip.
Hiccup awkwardly dries himself off, resigning himself to the soggy feeling of the back of his legs as he rubs the towel through his hair, handing it out to Astrid. She takes it, hanging it back on the towel bar and running her hand through her bangs, irritated with her own embarrassment.
She remembers when taking off his pants to give Toothless a bath was shocking, and laughs at her former outrage. She'll be relieved when he gets boxers on.
"Do you just want your underwear? Then I can help you out?" It shouldn't be a question. It should be a suggestion, or an order, and she crosses her arms, tapping her foot on the floor with a sticky wet staccato. She wants to get out of here, she wants to get back to her bedroom and curl up around Spike. She wants to forget everything she said.
When a speech like that doesn't work…
"Wishing you let my dad get a nurse?" Hiccup asks, half joking as he tries to lighten the situation. Despite the awkwardness, and the worry about her, he's so unbearably glad that some person isn't busting into the shower and treating him like a patient. He's so sick of being treated like a patient.
He's sick of turning Astrid down too, but when he gets up against that moment, when he gets into one of those situations where he could move forward, something jams in his brain, sticky and stubborn.
He loves her in a way that's painful.
"Never," she admits, too honest, and he smiles to himself, reaching out for the boxers. The soft cotton finds his hand and he wiggles into them, wishing he hadn't taken his compression cap off with his shoes. It's easier to deal with the completely foreign brush of his nonexistent foot against hand when it's covered in clinical plastic.
Then again, he can still see the line where the cap ends, impressed into his skin like a carving. He too carefully runs his finger over the seam, shivering at the too intense feeling of his touch.
"Ok. I should be good," he pulls the shower curtain back, feeling like a drowned rat as Astrid frowns, flushing as she holds out a hand. He takes it, her fingers impossibly cold and clammy in his as he swings his legs around, out of the tub and pulling himself uneasily to his feet, tile dangerously slick under his foot.
"Ok?" Astrid asks, voice too high in her throat as he adjusts himself, too warm hand on her shoulder.
Mostly naked Hiccup is almost as bad as naked Hiccup. She clears her throat.
"Tired," he admits, shifting onto the bathmat with an awkward hop. Astrid hands him a crutch and he takes it, leaning while she grabs his shirt off of the pile of clothes. He reaches out to take it before grudgingly holding his arms out and letting her slip the shirt down over his head. She steps back towards the counter, quiet and worrying as she reaches for the pants. She sighs, tapping her fingers on the flannel and turns back to him.
"Do you want to deal with these tonight?" All that's running through her head is all the awkward situations she can see herself ending up in. The heavy, all-consuming nervous grief for their almost resolution is stubborn and she bites her lip, looking up into curious green eyes.
"I just want to go to bed," he wipes a hand over his face, carefully leaning over and grabbing his second crutch, situating himself and hobbling forward a step. Astrid follows quietly and gets out of the way, shutting the light as he hops past her. She takes a moment to unlatch the door, knowing that Toothless will want to push in during the night.
He lets his crutches fall to the floor, sitting on the edge of the bed and whirling around, laying back on the pillows. Astrid leans on the bathroom doorframe in the dark, crossing her arms and deciding whether she's going to try talking or leave.
"Do you need anything else?" She finally murmurs, too quiet and Hiccup sighs, worrying hands on his stomach.
"You…you know I love you, right?"
"No—"
"I mean, I thought I loved you for years. I thought that's what I was doing when I was wishing…" He throws an arm over his face, hiding in the crook of his elbow. "I didn't know you. I… n-never imagined you could be so tough and strong and beautiful and…reliable." The last word doesn't sound romantic in the slightest, but this doesn't feel like romance.
It feels like gravity, the inexplicable pull of two objects towards each other in space.
"It was a crush. Those happen," she grumbles, equal parts sad and hopeful.
"This…now it's not. I just…it's more." Great. The stuttering. Hiccup curses his own palpitating brain, hands shaking on his stomach.
"You're too tired to do this tonight," Astrid walks across the room, her cool hand checking his forehead for fever, before she leans down, aiming for a kiss on the cheek.
That's…committal enough, right? He's just tired, she tells herself, he's just…
He turns his head at the last moment, catching her lips with his, and pressing up into her as she gasps against his mouth. She kisses back, leaning down closer to him, knee finding the edge of the mattress as her hand falls to cup the side of his neck, mouth moving in slow shy tandem with his.
He's kissing her.
Flashes of the days before the accident rush back in a flurry of butterflies and curling toes as his hand finds the back of her head, resting in her damp braid. She shifts forward, kneeling on the edge of the bed and crouching over him, tongue gently prodding at his lips as the room heats up, suddenly a sauna.
He kissed her.
He made the move.
His hand finds her waist, holding her close as he pulls away, breathing too hard, her forehead resting against his. She grins and he sighs, hand curling around her side.
"Ok?" He mutters, hoping that he got the idea across.
"Great." She answers, nudging him too firmly on the shoulder. He scoots away obediently, a little tottery as he balances on his heel. She nestles into the spot he vacated, scooting away from the edge of the bed and curling on her side, thin arm resting across his chest.
"Are you…err, staying?" He asks cautiously, confused and she presses closer, reaching down and pulling the blankets up over their shoulders, her leg cautiously rubbing up against his. Her head finds his shoulder as his skinny arm reflexively curls around her.
She feels like a new appendage, perfectly fitted to his side as her arm tightens around his waist.
"I'm…I'm making sure you don't fall out of bed." She defends, tilting her face further into him, inhaling damp cotton.
"That would be bad." He agrees, hand settling back in the crook of her waist.
"Hiccup?"
"Yeah," he really hopes this isn't a dream.
"Stop talking," her lips ghost over his neck and warm his entire body as his chest aches with the sensation. "Goodnight."
"Goodnight."
00000
So…yeah.
There it is.
Not really much to say here, except that I hope this is good. I didn't get as much feedback as normal on the last chapter, and I'm assuming that has to do with going back to school and junk, but it made me a little hesitant here. I hope everything is alright!
Please oh please oh please leave me a review for this one, I'm a ball of palpitating nerves over here!