2

Awake

Nearly two weeks had passed.

Legato's anxiety was reaching remarkable levels; for someone usually so composed and dignified about, well, everything, he was growing amazingly frantic. His pacing about the room had become his favorite pastime, and he hadn't been able to eat more than a few bites in days. He barely noticed his hunger; if Knives didn't wake up, his starving to death would be meaningless anyway. The possibilities of what he would do if his lord passed on hadn't been brought up by his mind in at least a week; it seemed that he was loosing too much of his collected calm to consider anything logically. If he let himself entertain the thought that Knives' death was a possibility at all, he might simply go completely insane.

Of course, on the surface, Legato would always appear smooth, elegant, and quite calm. He woke up, set about his duties, and loyally waited. It was only those who had spent any considerable amount of time around him that could point out the symptoms of his frenzy. The pacing, for one, or the way he went about the same task again and again, letting his quirks get the better of him as he became absolutely dedicated to keeping Knives' blanket absolutely and perfectly smooth, or the room free of any dust, and the great and revered Master, whom he would never dream of touching were Knives awake or even if the minion were just about his wits, perfectly groomed. And of course, there was always the fact that his food intake had decreased so dramatically, always a major indicator that something was very wrong with Legato.

Perhaps it was their knowledge of his usual behavior – and Midvalley's lack of an issue with speaking to his superiors in a way Legato considered to be highly inappropriate – that had led the blue-haired man to restrict the Gung-Ho Guns to their rooms towards the end of the first week.

Since the action had been taken, the deafening silence of the room had grown even more dramatic; at least before it, footsteps could sometimes be heard in the corridors, occasionally a voice or two. If Legato left to eat what meager rations he'd subsist off of for the day, he might run into them. But now, the only sounds in the room were Knives' soft breathing and the ones that he produced himself when going about his duties. The only sound in the hallways were his own resounding footsteps, though sometimes a few muffled sounds issued forth from the Guns' rooms.

The days had been counted carefully, the hours noted as they passed; it was the thirteenth day after Knives had been returned to the complex, and it began like any other. Legato woke up with the first sliver of the first sun and began checking on his master's progress, cleaning any of the remaining wounds, and then wiping any dirt from the plant's face with the care of an artist restoring a priceless sculpture. He then combed Knives' hair into its customary style with the same ginger care and attention, and replaced the blanket about his master, smoothing it carefully. He then began to clean the room, thoroughly and, in many places, repeatedly, for several hours. When that was done, he set about his day's pacing.

It must have been on his seventy-second or seventy-third round trip back and forth across the room that the dense silence was broken by a sound other than his own; a small, barely audible groan. He wasn't even certain that he had heard anything at first, so he slowed his motions, listening for it again… it came.

And then he froze.

His last, half-finished step was mere inches from the wall opposite the bed, which he was facing. He spun on his heels and gaped as he saw Knives begin to stir, shifting around in bed as much as his (largely healed, thanks to his species' gifts) injuries allowed him to. Legato darted toward the bed, leaning over at a respectful distance, and watched with more relief and unabashed worship than one would think possible as two cerulean blue eyes slowly opened and focused on him.

Knives blinked up at Legato, looking completely disoriented and almost… afraid. Though, obviously, it couldn't have really been fear in the eyes of the powerful plant, not when faced with a human, let alone his own obedient, willing slave. The disorientation, Legato could easily write off as the fact that Knives was not accustomed to being injured, and the fact that he'd been unconscious for the past fifteen days, when you counted the days before he was found.

"Sir… how are you feeling?" Legato asked, cautiously and with more concern than he knew he should show; after all, there was nothing Knives hated like sentimentalism. Yet… he didn't seem to be ill-received.

"Well… I'm in a lot of pain, if that's what you're referring to," Knives was still looking at Legato strangely, and the human couldn't quite figure out why. It wasn't the usual anger or extreme disgust, but rather the disorientation growing more and more potent.

Legato blinked, until he came to a tentative conclusion. "You… don't know who I am, do you?"

Almost guiltily, Knives shook his head. The expression was remarkably unsuited to him.

The human's heart dropped. At least when Knives had known who he was, he'd managed to earn an impressive amount of disdain. It was better than being an absolute nonentity. Unless…

"Do you… know who you are?" Legato asked, dreading the answer.

"Well…" Knives' brow furrowed, and he frowned in concentration for a few fragments of eternity before finally answering, "…now that you mention it, no, I don't."

Legato's heart plunged the rest of the way down into the darkest pits of despair… it hadn't happened exactly as he'd feared, but what he had been dreading had come true. His master had left him, though his body still lived… not that it mattered, really. As long as Knives was alive… his memories could come back. His memories absolutely would come back. All Legato had to do was take care of him until he was fully healed, physically, and then start trying to prompt them. It would be no big deal, and in no time, his master would be back to normal.

"Well… for now, your name is Knives, and I am Legato. I'm going to take care of you until you're completely healed, and then we'll try to see if we can get you to remember anything."

"Okay. … Thank you."

Legato blinked, raising an eyebrow, completely taken aback. He certainly had a long way to go.