14
Another morning, another injection. Ido and Gerhad have both commented that the drug Ido cooked up for me seems to be doing some good these last couple of days. Considering how much better I've been feeling, they may be right. But as with every medication I've ever taken in my life, only time will tell if it's really the meds helping, or if it's just my illness easing up for a bit. That trip out to the circle of trees, saying a final goodbye to my old life, seems like it may have helped bring some kind of closure.
At this moment, Gerhad is taking care of an early arrival in the examination area, freeing up Ido to deal with my daily dose of his custom-designed anti-depressant. Alita sits next to him, watching. It's a bit odd to me that she seems to take such an interest in Ido's treatments of my illness, but I write it off as mere idle curiosity.
I'm only peripherally aware of the needle going into my arm, as I'm so wrapped up in making some adjustments to my HEAT round and putting the finishing touches on a specialized firing chamber for it. While the medication slips into my blood stream, I gently tap away with the edge of my residual arm's implant at the interface of the data pad sitting on my lap. I find that I've been using my residual limbs a lot more. Yet another change, along with so much else changing in my life these days.
Taking the needle out while simultaneously swabbing the point of injection, Ido asks me, "Has that program been helping with your depression?"
Taking my arm back, I look up at him and he nods towards the data pad I've been using. Picking up the pad, I reply, "I think so, yeah. It's been really nice to have something to do in my spare time, keep myself occupied." From my own experience, boredom is fertile ground for depression to grow in.
Ido nods approvingly, "Good to hear. Considering your options for entertainment are rather limited, I'd hoped that might help."
"You seem to be working on that thing a lot," Alita comments. "What exactly having you been doing?"
Feeling a little embarrassed at the attention toward something I'm not ready to show off, I consider dodging the question. I'd wanted this to be sort of a surprise and it's still far from ready. However, no excuses come to mind, so, "Well, I wanted to do something to try and repay Ido for everything he's done, but obviously I don't really have much of anything. So, I thought I might try to come up with something that could help with his bounty-hunting." Suddenly, I find my heart racing as my anxiety levels climb. I take a deep breath to try to even myself out.
Ido's eyebrows descend over his eyes as he looks down at the data pad in my hands. His expression isn't angry, or upset, just… not pleased. This sends my anxiety spiking. 'Did I just screw up, somehow?' I wonder to myself.
Holding out a hand towards me, Ido asks, "May I?" He gestures towards the pad.
My good mood crashes headlong into a sudden mountain of guilt. 'Yeah, I screwed up.' Expecting an angry lecture to stay the hell out of his business, at the very least, I hand over the data pad.
Tapping out commands on the interface, Ido looks over my project, with Alita leaning close to him to get a look as well. He swipes a finger across the screen as he flips through the files I'd put together; the HEAT round, a magazine that could hold a half dozen such rounds, and a modified front end that could be snapped into place instead of the spike that the rocket hammer currently has. It's all very rough outlines, and compared to what I've seen in Ido's unfinished files that he allowed me to access, all very amateurish-looking.
While Alita continues watching in curiosity just off his shoulder, Ido places a HEAT round into the firing chamber and runs the virtual simulation.
As I look on, I begin feeling increasingly dejected, my warped thoughts already coming to the conclusion that I've made a terrible mistake and crossed a boundary that I should have stayed well away from. 'Guess that medication may not be working quite as well as we'd hoped.' I suppress an impulse to shake my head in an attempt to physically shake off the thought, instead rubbing my hand over my forehead, as if massaging away a headache.
Ido watches the screen without expression as the simulation runs it's course. Then he runs the simulation a second time, and his eyebrows come up as he and Alita both look over at me. "You came up with this yourself?" he asks.
"Uh, no, not exactly. It's a modification of one of your old solid-fuel rockets."
"Really?" Ido's expression becomes one of surprise. "You made quite a few changes then. I don't recognize much of my old design in that."
"Well, I had to change the slow-burning fuel into something that would detonate more like a conventional explosive. Aside from that, all I did was take an old weapon that I had a lot of familiarity with and adjust it. It's a miniature version of a projectile that was developed some time around World War Two, I think it was. It's a High Explosive Anti-Tank round, designed to defeat heavy armor. This one's not meant to be fired out of a gun, for obvious reasons." Under Ido's suddenly-intimidating gaze, I say to him, "Like I said, I was just trying to make something that might help you take down a target more easily, and in turn maybe make it a bit safer for you." Dropping my gaze to the data pad in Ido's hand, I shrug uncertainly, "Probably a stupid idea."
"I don't know about that," Alita says encouragingly. She shifts her attention to Ido, "The simulation looks promising."
Ido frowns thoughtfully, "While I do appreciate the thought, I'm afraid it's not something I'd be able to use." Gesturing at the display on the pad, he elaborates, "Even if I employed the lightest material that could stand up to this kind of punishment, the weight of the assembly plus the ammunition would make it far too unweildy to use properly."
I shrug lightly and try to hide my disappointment, "Yeah, guess I shoulda figured."
Ido continues on, "That being said, even if I can't use it, that doesn't mean I can't make use of it."
Casting an undoubtedly confused look at him, I ask, "How so?"
Alita's face lights up with a look of understanding. "Are you thinking of Roman?" she asks Ido.
"Roman?" I echo, my confusion only deepening.
"One of Alita's teammates," Ido clarifies.
My confusion vanishes. "Oh, the big guy, looks like a cross between a Gundam and a main battle tank," this garners only confused looks from both of them, "with the olive drab paint job?"
"What's a 'Gundam'?" Alita asks.
I give a quick sigh, "Never mind. I think I know who you're talkin' about." I remember the rather imposing figure from watching the game with Gerhad.
"Yes, well, anyway," Ido goes on, "Roman has been wanting a new weapon, something a little out of the ordinary, so I decided to build him a version of my rocket hammer. I might be able to incorporate this, since his Motorball body can easily handle the weight of the additional mechanisms and ammunition." Handing the pad back to me, he rubs his chin, "I'll have to work on it a bit, refine what you have, but I think you've given me an excellent starting point. Thank you, Jason."
Before I can utter an automatic 'you're welcome', I do a mental double-take, "Explosive weapons are allowed in Motorball?"
"Oh, yes," Ido says. "They just can't be ranged weapons, and as a result they're not often used. Even incendiary weapons like flamethrowers are permitted, though those are limited to a two-meter range. Aside from that, all weapons have to be either hand-to-hand or attached to the wielder in some way."
With a grunt, I nod at his explanation. I find myself with deep misgivings about him giving this thing over to a Motorball paladin. It was intended to make Ido a bit safer by helping him take down targets more quickly. Seeing as he's not augmented, I figured it couldn't hurt if he had some extra hitting power for a dangerous fight. Knowing that it might get used in some barbaric blood sport makes me regret ever having brought it up. Anger at my seeming stupidity surges, causing my jaw to tighten and my lips to press together.
Surprised at my own reaction, I attempt to hide it. Deciding I'd best be elsewhere, I say somewhat tersely, "Alright, well, I'd better let you get back to work." I wheel the chair around a little more roughly than intended, narrowly missing knocking over one of Ido's little rolling tables.
Before I can get more than a couple meters, I hear Ido behind me, "Jason?"
Gaining a more firm grip on my sudden surge in temper, I turn back to him. He's still sitting on his stool, his eyes narrowed slightly as he looks at me slightly askance. Alita's still standing next him, her head cocked a little to one side, her expression puzzled. I just look at him, my eyebrows slightly raised.
Fixing me with a piercing gaze, he asks firmly, "What's wrong?"
Not wanting to sound insulting to something that Alita puts so much time and energy into, something that seems so important to them, I cast about for some kind of answer. I find none. "I just… it's nothing."
Alita glances at Ido, then presses me, "Something's obviously bothering you."
Feeling suddenly tired, I respond calmly, "It's not important. I was just-"
"That was a pretty sudden change in mood for something 'not important," Alita observes.
"It was after I brought up Motorball," Ido says suddenly. "Does it bother you that I was going to use this device of yours in the games?"
My mouth moves a little as I try to answer, but several possible responses try to come out at once, and so nothing comes out. Clamping my jaw shut, I can only shake my head. My thoughts simply refuse to be articulated, and it's frustrating and angering me further.
Alita's puzzled expression becomes more confused, "That's it, isn't it? Why does that bother you so much?"
"It's because of where you're from, isn't it?" Ido asks quietly. "You aren't used to something that violent." In an understanding voice he says, "I know how you feel."
I can only blink in surprise. Considering how involved he is in the sport, such a comment is the last thing I expected.
He seems faintly amused at my expression, but the look in his eyes remains serious, "Is it really that surprising? I fix people, try to make them better. Seeing them tear each other apart engenders certain mixed feelings."
Alita shows no outward reaction to his expressed feelings on the matter.
The only response I seem capable of, is an ever-articulate, "Huh."
Ido glances in the direction of Gerhad and the patient she's dealing with. "Let's talk in the kitchen," he suggests.
Frustrated that they want to continue discussing a subject I'd just as soon drop, I shake my head but relent and follow them.
We settle in at the kitchen table, with Alita remaining standing, leaning back against the counter close by.
I turn to Ido, "Look, you're right, I don't like the idea of that weapon being used in some barbaric blood sport." Faint alarm at the slip causes me to shoot a glance at Alita, "No offense." Unperturbed, she merely shrugs. Turning back to Ido, I ask, "Besides, does it really matter what I think? I made it for you to use so, do whatever you want with it."
"I think it matters," Ido says. He gestures with the data pad he still holds, "You gave this to me in good faith, hoping it might help me with my hunting," adding with a wry glance at Alita, "as little as I do of that lately." He lays the pad on the table, "If the idea of it being used in Motorball bothers you that much, I'll respect your wishes and put the file away."
Alita shifts her position slightly, her expression making it plain that she doesn't necessarily agree with Ido.
Having expected him to simply use it regardless, I sit silently for a moment, processing his offer.
Alita directs an intense look at me, "I'm curious, why do you care if that weapon is used on a bunch of cyborgs in Motorball? Considering how you feel about the sport, and your reactions to cyborgs, why would it matter to you if this thing's used on the players?"
Her question brings me up short. There's a sting of reproach at her comment on me and cyborgs. It's obvious I've failed to hide my reactions to being around the heavily augmented, including her. This leads me to realize that I've never actually apologized to her for misjudging her the way I have.
Her question also makes me think about my reasons for not wanting this weapon used in Motorball. I know exactly why it bothers me, but I never thought enough about it to bother articulating it. For me, it never needed articulating. I glance over at Ido and he gives me a slight shrug and a look that seems to indicate that he's a little curious about that himself. Taking a deep breath, I lean back in my wheelchair and slowly let it out.
With a look at Ido, I say to him, "Before I answer that, I'd like to ask you a quick question, if you don't mind." He nods for me to proceed. "Why are you involved in Motorball if you're bothered by it?"
Glancing down at the data pad, he let's out a quiet sigh, "I have something of a love/hate relationship with the game. While I do hate the more brutal aspects of it, I also find myself drawn to the excitement of it. The challenge of overcoming problems that the players under my care may face." His gaze drifts upwards towards Alita, "As well as other reasons."
Getting the hint, I nod, "Alright." Turning back to Alita, "When I first saw a Motorball game, I actually enjoyed it. But then, I also thought the players were all remotely operated drones of some sort. I quickly realized those were people out there, ripping each other apart, and so I started feeling differently." I'm unable to suppress a glower as I go on, "Doesn't matter how I feel about the players on that track, I don't care for seeing human beings mutilate each other as some sort of entertainment." I let contempt seep into 'entertainment'.
Memories drift back to me, of one bit of footage Loretta had shown me. It was before Alita started showing up in the sport. In this footage, a paladin got torn to shreds coming out of a turn. Blue cyber-blood and some small parts got splattered over the clear protective barrier and onto the crowd. On some obscure impulse, I focused my attention on the fans, screaming and howling in the stands.
Among the mass of people, there was one young woman in particular, who got cyber-blood all over her face and upper body. As she reached up to wipe at it, she had this look on her face, like she was exulting in it. It was almost as if she was aroused by what had just happened. The people around her seemed to be nearly as ecstatic by that paladin's destruction.
I found it disturbing, even sickening.
Alita watches me for a few seconds, her expression thoughtful. "The bodies we use are meant to be subjected to that kind of punishment. They're designed so that parts can be easily swapped out. No one's really being hurt."
"Yeah, I'd gathered that," I respond stiffly.
I don't bother saying anything about how such violence leaves it's mark on the human psyche. How it can damage people in ways not immediately obvious. A short stint of volunteering in the VA, seeing first-hand the kinds of damage that soldiers suffer on the battlefield has taught me that. To say nothing of the twenty-plus veterans a day who committed suicide after coming back, because they couldn't deal with what they saw over there, or had done. Because a part of themselves never left that battlefield.
But I don't bother saying anything, because I really doubt she'd understand, or care. Of everyone in this city, I think Ido might be the only one who would, honestly. There is, of course, the possibility that I'm completely wrong.
"Besides," I say with a quick shrug, "this is all assuming that thing works at all. The simulations have only been against plain steel. There's no telling if it'll even work against the kinds of composites that're probably available these days."
Ido gently taps the data pad, "If it does, though, it could really help Alita get to Zalem."
Confused, my brows lower over my eyes as I turn to look at Ido, "Zalem? Motorball's gonna get her to Zalem?"
"Attaining Final Champion will, yes," Ido says. One corner of his mouth turns up slightly in a half-smile, "Something Loretta might have gone on about that you missed?"
Looking back and forth between the two of them, I respond absently, "Yeah, suppose so."
Alita nods towards the data pad, "Something like that could help my team be more effective, which would get us to First League faster. Which gets me to Zalem that much quicker."
Turning to her, I start to ask, "Why the hell would you wanna go to-"
I'd meant to ask why she'd want to go to some place that practices 'genetic purity'. Where there's the kinds of people that would let Iron City languish in despair while they live in luxury, sucking the life out of the residents of the city they lord over.
Instead, I'm brought to a halt as my mind forms connections. The stories of Alita's heroics, at least as far as the people here are concerned. Her attack on the Factory and killing Vector. The fact that this Nova bastard is responsible for so much suffering in this city, as well as in her own life, no doubt.
My eyes narrow slightly as I ask her, "Are you gonna try to take on the leadership of Zalem?"
"Yes," she answers simply. Her face and voice are calm, but a storm thunders behind her eyes.
An involuntary bark of laughter almost escapes me. Raising my eyebrows at her, I ask, "So, you're going to try and do what the might of the Martian military couldn't?"
The sci-fi geek in me takes a moment to marvel at the fact that I just uttered the phrase 'might of the Martian military' in serious conversation and no one bats an eye.
Her features harden noticeably, an intense determination burning in her eyes, "I am." The fierceness of her countenance, the unwavering resolve visible on her features in that moment convinces me that she just might have a serious chance of succeeding.
A feeling runs up my back, an electrifying sensation washing over me at the thought of what she claims to be attempting. A part of me is immediately drawn to this idea. The part of me that was always drawn to so-called defenders of the people. Heroic knights, the sheriffs of the old west, those who would stand up to tyranny, who would defend the powerless. The part of me that is still idealistic enough to believe that things like compassion and justice matter in the world.
A thousand thoughts speed through my mind as I consider this little revelation.
Finally I look at the two of them and say quietly, "Alright then. It's all yours."
"You're sure?" Ido asks.
"Yeah, I am." I look to Alita, "I don't know if this thing is really gonna be all that useful to you, but if it helps you get the chance to take a shot at whatever leadership is up there? Well, can't say I'm opposed to that."
The fierce determination is subsumed by the now-familiar warmth, as a faint smile forms on her lips. "Thanks," is all she says, but the effect it has on me is surprisingly uplifting.
"Well, alright then," Ido says as he stands up. "I'll get to work on this and see what I can do with it." He focuses on me, "In the meantime, we should get back out there. I believe you still have some supply cabinets to stock?"
"Yeah." I turn to Alita, feeling the need to deal with something more immediate, "First though, I think I owe you a personal apology."
She gives me a puzzled look, "What for?"
Drawing in a quick breath, I nervously glance between her and Ido, "When I first got here, I had a very… unflattering image of you, of the kind of person you are." Swallowing apprehensively, I glance down at the controls of my wheelchair as I fiddle with the control stick, "I misjudged you, badly, I think. I'm sorry about that."
"Oh," she says, seemingly taken aback. Then one side of her mouth comes up in a half-smile, "Well, apology accepted."
Relieved, I nod, feeling as if a weight has been lifted off me. Ido gives me an appreciative pat on the shoulder as he heads out, and I fall in behind him.
Alita leaves a little later and the day wears on. In general, it goes smoothly enough. Despite that, there's still the buzz of anxiety, as I struggle against a helpless fear in the presence of all these cyborgs that come through Ido's clinic. However, giving Alita a long over-due apology seems to have helped my state of mind immensely. I hadn't realized how heavily that was weighing on me.
Around about midday, I happen to observe that the waiting area has filled up a bit more than I'm used to seeing. Catching glimpses of the various patients sitting, weary and bored in the mismatched chairs in the lobby/waiting area, an idea occurs to me. With Ido being extraordinarily busy throughout the day, I bring it up with Gerhad when she's preparing some tools for Ido's later use.
Pausing in her task, she turns to me, "You want to do what, exactly?"
"I was thinking we could serve coffee, or tea or something in the waiting room." Shrugging off-handedly, I add, "You know, try to make the patient's wait a little more comfortable."
She raises an eyebrow at me before asking in a low voice, "Was this something doctors did back in your day?"
"Most of the ones I ever visited, yeah. If you think it's a bad idea-"
"Not necessarily." Gerhad looks over her shoulder towards the door to the waiting room. "Have you considered all the possible problems that might crop up?"
"I've tried to."
Gerhad points out the most obvious, "Like how much it would cost, for starters?"
With a nod, I reply, "First thing I considered. I know you guys ain't exactly bursting with cash, so I figured on using my own money."
She seems taken aback by my offering my own cash, "That's kind of you, but are you sure you're up to this? We can see how much trouble you've had dealing with the more heavily augmented patients that come through here."
"True," I concede. This constant battle against my anxiety often leaves me drained, mentally and physically. "But, I'd be willing to at least give it a shot." With a faint shrug, I attempt a smile, "I'm gonna have to at some point, right?"
Though I manage to keep a calm exterior, my heart is pounding at the thought. If I'm going to be stuck living in this city, then this is just the first of many things I'm going to have to face. Can't say I'm looking forward to any of it.
Gerhad looks back down at the instruments she's busy laying out for future use, and takes a deep breath. "I can't promise you anything, but I'll bring it up with Ido when we have a spare moment, okay?"
"Sure thing. Thanks," I say with a faint smile, before rolling off to tend to other little chores.
The next morning comes early, as I awaken from another nightmare in a panic. Blood-soaked images fade away as I lay there cursing silently to myself. Wiping my hand over my face, a familiar, and unwelcome pain greets me. A stiffness in my fingers, the onset of arthritis returning. It would appear that chronic problems are only temporarily fixed by all those speed-healing drugs and fancy medical tech they used on me.
A glance out the window shows that it's still dark out. Letting out a long, slow breath, I try to fall back to sleep. But even as weary as I am, sleep refuses to come. So, I drag myself out of bed, fumble through getting dressed and climb into my wheelchair. I head to the bathroom and go through morning routines. I make an attempt at shaving, but the stiffness and pain in my hand make it difficult to manipulate the bladed razor. I decide to put it off for now, hoping the pain will die down enough later.
The elevator is quiet enough that I'm not really worried about waking Ido. Alita, on the other hand? She seems to be a rather light sleeper. But it's either the elevator, or I try and tackle the stairs in a wheelchair. Or start bouncing off the walls of a room that I was beginning to feel trapped in.
Once I'm down, I stop for a moment to try and catch the sound of the others stirring on the floor above. When I'm satisfied that I didn't disturb the others' sleep, I go about slowly and carefully putting some coffee on. I even think to heat some water in case Alita wants tea, seeing as she's not much of a coffee-drinker. After that, I settle in at the table and wait, mulling over what I'll likely be doing for the day. Yesterday, after closing, Ido had let me know that he was fine with me serving drinks in the waiting room. It's such a little thing, but it's my thing.
This means that there'll likely be a shopping trip so I can buy supplies. I shove the anxiety-ridden misgivings aside by focusing on drawing up a shopping list. Anxiety aside, there's also a twinge of excitement to be getting out of the clinic again.
Of course, now that I'm up and awake, weariness and lack of sleep catch up to me and I nod off.
I snap awake at the sound of Ido's voice, "Trouble sleeping again?"
Tipping my glasses up, I rub at my eyes, peripherally enjoying the feel of that second eye. "Yeah, something like that."
"Well, on the upside, it means someone's up early enough to make me coffee," he says pleasantly.
Resettling my glasses, I say back, "Yeah, figured I may as well try to make myself useful."
After getting a cup of coffee, Ido goes about starting breakfast.
Setting a pan on a burner to heat, he tosses over his shoulder, "I hope you realize that you have done that." Turning more towards me, he adds somewhat cheerfully, "Gerhad and I have appreciated your help around here."
With a touch of dubiousness, I ask him, "Really? Even with all the screw-ups?" There's just no way he's that pleased with my performance.
"You haven't done that badly, I think," he says encouragingly, while pulling out ingredients for breakfast. "Especially considering."
Leaning back in my wheelchair, I let out a slow breath, "Yeah, well, I'm aware of the fact that I haven't been doin' all that great, either."
To that, Ido merely grunts thoughtfully as he prepares the food. When it's done, he dishes up three plates. One, he sets aside for Alita, for whenever she comes down. He sets the second one in front of me.
After a couple moments of eating in silence, he glances up and mentions, "Decided to grow your beard out?"
"Hm?" I look up at him in momentary confusion, before putting my fork down and running my hand over my chin and jawline, feeling the unshaven stubble. "Oh, no. I was gonna shave but," I flex my fingers, "been feelin' a bit of that arthritis again. Guess it's decided to come back."
His features settling into a thoughtful expression, Ido considers my hand. "Hm. Normally, if arthritis gets too bad-"
"The limb gets replaced?"
He nods, "Typically, yes. I'm afraid the drugs we used before are simply too expensive to keep giving you for something like this. Let me know if it gets too bad, though. I can at least get you something for the pain." A pause as we each take a couple more bites of food, then he adds, "You could see about getting an electric razor that'll work, when you go out later today."
Pausing in my eating, I look up at him, "Yeah, guess I oughta do that."
"Alita will know some places you can shop around at."
"What, Alita's taking me out?"
"Yes. That's not a problem, is it?"
Feeling in a suddenly playful mood, I suppress a smirk as I respond, "No, I was just wondering what she did wrong."
I'm awarded with a little chuckle from him, "Since there's nothing Gerhad or I need to go out for, she volunteered so that we could better focus on the clinic."
Alita, as it turns out, sleeps in this morning. Around about mid-morning she finally comes down, looking to be in a surprisingly good mood. She approaches me just as I'm finishing up with stocking some shelves.
"Ready to go?" she asks brightly.
After putting the last item away, I turn to her with a shallow sigh and answer with forced cheerfulness, "No. I'll grab my jacket."
"Come on," she says reassuringly, "It'll be fine. You have your money on you?"
"Oh, no. I'll have to head up and grab some."
She waits while I retrieve some cash from my footlocker. Based on previous experience, I measure out an amount I figure I'll need, then add a few more coins, just in case. I also double-check to make sure I have my ID on me. When I come back down, she helps me into my jacket and we head for the door with a quick 'good-bye' to the others.
She heads through the door first. Right as I get to it, my hand comes off the control stick. It's as if my brain just says, 'nope, ain't doin' it'. I just sit there in the doorway, staring blankly out into the street as people go by. I will my hand to move back to the controls, but it's as if there's some disconnect.
"Jason?" Alita asks from the other side of the door. "You coming?"
This gets my brain reengaged. "Yeah," I say, finally getting my hand back on the controls. Pushing the little control stick forward, I join her outside.
We make our way down the sidewalk, with Alita occasionally pointing out some shop or landmark of interest. In between that, there's the occasional pause as she's stopped by a fan or three looking to meet their hero or grab a quick picture with her. None of them pay me any attention, which is both a relief and an annoyance. A relief because the attention would just exacerbate my anxiety. An annoyance because they act as if I don't exist when I'm sitting right next to her.
It's also evident that some of them make a concerted effort not to notice the legless guy in a wheelchair. The annoyance smolders into a background noise of anger that mixes with the anxiety. Not having any other options, I work to push it down.
Something that jumps out at me, is the unexpected discovery that Alita seems ill-at-ease with all the attention. However, she takes it in stride, visibly brightening whenever one of her fans approaches.
As we go and she tells me a bit about the neighborhood, I do my best to pay attention to her, but the swirling chaos of people and movement pulls at my senses. This quickly begins causing me to strain to keep track of everything around me. The effort begins making me light-headed. Just a little at first, but it quickly ramps up. It soon gets to the point that I'm forced to pull off to the side without thinking, out of the way of foot traffic. Then I sit as I try to collect my scattering senses.
I close my eyes, trying to slow my breathing, trying to will my heartbeat to calm. My body tenses up, muscles trembling from the strain as I hug my arm to myself. I quickly open my eyes again as fear of an impending attack hits me. A slight numbness creeps over me as my skin prickles and goes cold.
Alita, noticing my absence, comes over to stand next to me at my left. "You doing okay?"
"Yeah," I lie through gritted teeth, "I just need a minute." Though I try not to think about it, her standing on the side where I don't have an arm to defend myself with further sets my nerves on edge.
Without saying a word, she lowers herself down to perch on the balls of her feet, resting her hand on the armrest of my wheelchair.
"Sorry," I hiss out quietly between clenched teeth. Fear, embarrassment and self-loathing swirl around in my mind. I feel my mouth twist into a sneer at my own inability to handle such a simple outing.
"Don't be," she responds calmly. "Just breathe."
Embarrassment makes me unable to look at her, but I give a little nod and let out a shaky breath. Closing my eyes, I straighten up and sit, head slightly bowed as I focus inward. The rush of sensation, the noise, the chaos starts to slow. Strangely, it's as if they're waves breaking against the stalwart presence at my side. As if the force of her presence pushes away all of that.
Quietly, she assures me there's no rush. So I sit for some minutes, possibly several, regaining control of myself.
Finally, I let out a relieved breath and open my eyes. Glancing over at her, I say with false cheer, "Well then, that's about enough of that, I think." My senses are finally able to focus on my surroundings without flooding from the myriad input.
Raising her eyebrows slightly, she asks, "All good?"
With a nod, I gesture in the direction we were traveling, "After you."
From then on, the noise and rush of movement around me becomes a bit more bearable. Whenever it begins feeling overwhelming, I focus on the powerful presence next to me, and it seems to fade to manageable levels. It takes me a bit to realize it but at some point I've become accustomed to her being around, instead of threatened by her.
We stop in at a little market she's familiar with and thread our way through the other customers. Fortunately, it's not particularly busy at this hour and we're able to peruse the shelves with little hassle.
As we pick over the rows of coffee tins decorated with garish labels, I hear a commotion near the front of the store. Something about what I hear prompts me to maneuver near the end of the isle so I can peek around the corner and see what's going on. As I peer out at the commotion, I sense Alita's presence close behind me, as if she is also taking a look at the disturbance.
An older woman in well-worn clothing looks to be having a bit of an argument with the cashier at the register.
The cashier, another woman with a rather stone-faced expression, tells the older lady with growing hostility, "Look, if you can't pay, you gotta move. You're holding up the line."
"Please, just give me a minute," begs the older woman. "I must have enough here somewhere." She's digging through a handbag as well as her pockets repeatedly, desperately trying to find the money she needs. From tremor in her voice, she's close to tears. Events in her life must have been grinding her down quite a bit, for someone who's lived their life in a place like this to let that sort of thing show. Waiting next to her, is a young boy no older than twelve or so, shuffling a bit nervously.
The cashier's hostility makes me narrow my eyes and grind my teeth, but my temper never flares beyond annoyance as past experience leads me to consider the kind of day the woman behind the counter has likely had.
"Poor woman," Alita says quietly from just behind me. "Life can be unforgiving in this place. And with a child..." She trails off. There's a clear note of sympathy in her voice for the older woman.
Being the newcomer from a bygone age that I am, I imagine her remark is meant to point out how bad everyday life can be here.
With a quiet snort of derision at the comment, I lean back in my seat and dig around under me for the coins I've been sitting on. 'Yeah, no shit, life can be unforgiving,' I think coldly. I have the opportunity, and the means, so I have a duty.
Having retrieved the money, I make a quick check of the denominations. Figuring it's likely enough, I then turn to my companion, "Alita? Would you do something for me right quick?"
She gives me a puzzled look, "I suppose so. What do you need?"
Holding the coins out to her as covertly as possible, I quietly tell her, "Take these up to that woman with the kid. Tell her you found them and you think they belong to her. She'll probably be more willing to take them if they come from you."
Alita blinks at me as if momentarily unsure of what I'm asking, but it passes in a flash and she nods agreement, taking the coins. She makes her way over to the growing scene at the checkout counter and gently gets the older woman's attention. With the cashier waiting off to the side with a sour expression, Alita holds out the coins to the older woman, saying something so quietly that I can't quite catch it.
The older woman reacts with surprise, momentarily covering her mouth with her hands before giving Alita a quick hug and saying something to her in a mix of Spanish and English, obviously happy. Alita accepts the hug somewhat awkwardly, smiling back at the woman as they part ways.
Alita makes her way back over to me, the smile fading slowly. She comes to a stop next to me, but I continue watching as the older woman gathers the now-paid-for food and supplies. She heads for the door, child in tow. As they exit the store, I watch their progress without expression.
"That was kind of you," Alita comments.
With a quiet grunt, I shrug off the compliment. I can't help thinking, 'Yeah, great. And what are they supposed to do tomorrow? Or the day after?' I already know the answer. But for now, today, they have what they need. There's nothing more I can do.
Gesturing with my head to the aisle behind us, I say to her, "Come on, let's finish up here."
I pick out a can of what looks to be cheap, but decent coffee and we head for the register. I'm careful to be particularly polite and patient with the cashier, who looks to be a little less tense. My politeness draws a few odd looks from the few other customers in line, but it seems to calm the cashier's nerves. No doubt I'm overdoing it a bit compared to the norm around here.
As we leave, I say over my shoulder, "Thanks. You have a good one." The cashier actually responds with a "You too," her mood seemingly further improved. I almost smile at that, and my own spirits are lifted.
Once we're a ways down the sidewalk, Alita turns to me, "That was a good thing you did, but I'm kinda curious about something."
"Oh, what's that?" I reply, carefully steering around a group of loud teenagers gawking up at one of the screens overhead, showing footage of Alita's last match. None of them notice Alita herself walking right past them, and Alita does nothing to alert them.
"Well, that was a sizable bit of money you just gave away, back there," she says quietly. "Do you still have enough for that razor you were supposed to buy?"
"No, I don't," I say with an embarrassed sigh, coming to a stop to make it easier to converse. "We should probably just head back- to the clinic." I'd almost said 'back home', but 'home' stuck in my throat. I don't have a home anymore.
She snorts softly and shakes her head at me, though she doesn't seem in the least displeased with my decision. "Alright then. I don't know about you, but I'm hungry. How 'bout we grab some food. I know a little place not far from the clinic."
"Well, I can't exactly pay, you know." Her mention of food makes my stomach rumble.
"I don't usually carry any money, if I'm just out like this," she says with a shrug, "but I've earned the owner's trust enough that they let me keep a tab." With a wry smirk, she adds, "Especially now that I'm famous."
"Oh, well, okay." I trail after her, thinking to myself, 'Can't say 'no' to free food.' This thought brings back that day, seemingly years ago now, in which I said that very thing to Loretta. Not long after that, I was brutally ground into the pavement. A wave of vertigo hits me, but passes swiftly.
It doesn't actually take us long to get to the place she was referring to. It's a little restaurant that sells, among other things, these rather well-put-together burritos. They're wrapped up well enough, in fact, that I can handle mine with my remaining hand.
"Well, how do you like it?" Alita asks, seated across from me at the little table.
Placing the burrito on my plate to get a drink of water, I nod enthusiastically, "Really good." I take a quick drink to wash down the tasty, if spicy food. "Thank you."
"You're welcome." She takes another bite, then watches me wolf down the remainder of mine in the time it takes her to take another three bites. "Wow, guess you really were hungry."
Sitting back, I look out over the pedestrian traffic, "Yeah, had more of an appetite that I'd realized, I guess." Certainly an improvement over how little I've eaten in recent days.
We sit in silence for a moment as she works on her own food, then she sets it down and looks over at me.
"I know how you feel about this city," she says suddenly. "So I have to wonder, why do you try so hard to help the people in it?"
Looking over at her, I feel my eyebrows go up a little as I'm caught off-guard by her question. Then I shrug vaguely, "Because they need it."
She doesn't seem satisfied with that answer. "Anyone else around here would have gone to extra lengths to mind their own business, especially after going through what you have." Leaning forward, she crosses her arms and rests them on the table, gently pushing her plate forward slightly. "And when I ask you about it, you get evasive. Is it really that hard to talk about this?"
After staring at her for a couple of heartbeats, I let out a long sigh as I turn my gaze out over the crowds passing by. I don't really know what to say, nor how to articulate my thoughts.
But she sits there expecting an answer out of me, so I say the first thing that comes to mind. "When I see someone in trouble, it's often easy for me to see myself in their place," I say with a little shrug.
She fixes me with an appraising look. "But, there's more to it than that."
Looking her right back in the eyes, I ask, "Why is it important?"
"It was important enough that you risked your life for a stranger," she shoots back. "And it was important enough for you to give money to someone else you didn't even know, anonymously I might add. You weren't looking for thanks, or repayment." She holds up two fingers, "That's twice you've done something that no one else in this city would likely ever do, except maybe Ido." She puts her hand down, "You're staying in my home, I'd like to understand why you do these things. What makes you so different?"
We sit there for a bit, staring at each other. My stubbornness making me unwilling to answer, and unsure why it matters so much to her. And her, with her scrutinizing gaze boring into me.
It doesn't take long for her to win our impromptu staring contest, as my defenses whither under the force of her stare.
Unable to help it, I shake my head and roll my eyes in exasperation at her persistence. "Much of it is my religion, if it means that much to you." Unwilling to meet her gaze again, I look back out over the street beside us. "It's a very important part of my life, helped me get through a lot. It teaches me that I am my brother's keeper. If there's someone in need of help, I am to give it, if I have the capacity. It teaches that human life is precious, and valuable." I pause waiting for her reaction, halfway expecting her to laugh.
Instead, she quietly asks, "And you never ask for anything in return for giving this help?"
Turning to her, I look her in the eyes and say evenly, "No. Nothing is expected."
"And what if someone tries to take advantage of you?" she asks, her tone becoming slightly challenging. "Do you just let them?"
Looking away, I heave another sigh and recite, "Cast not your pearls before swine."
"What does that mean?"
Looking her in the eyes again, I say evenly, "It generally means, if I catch someone trying to take advantage of me, then my efforts are likely better spent elsewhere. On someone who genuinely needs the help."
Softly exhaling through her nose, she leans back in her seat. Her gaze softens, though her voice retains a hard edge, "I admire you wanting to help people, but that sort of thing can get you into a lot of trouble in this city if you're not careful."
The 'Smart-Ass' switch in my brain flips on. Giving her my best innocent look, I say to her casually, "Boy, am I glad you said something." I conspicuously scratch the side of my head with the implant on the end of my residual arm, "Why, if you hadn't given me a heads-up, who knows what could have happened." Then I just stare at her with an expression of innocent gratitude.
Pressing her mouth into a thin line, a number of emotions play over her features as she stares back at me. Irritated amusement seems to be the one that sticks. It's as if some unnoticed tension eases, and the mood at the table lightens considerably.
Though she tries to suppress it, she cracks a smile, "Nobody likes a smart-ass."
Driven by some twisted impulse, I look off into the distance and blink a couple times as if thinking. "Huh," I say distantly. "That might be why I don't have any friends."
She quietly chuckles with a shake of her head, "Are you ready to head home?"
Finding myself riding high on this good mood, and unburdened by depression, I point to her unfinished burrito and ask, "Are you gonna eat that?"
Clearly feigning a scowl, she asks in a lightly teasing tone, "Are you tired of having that hand?"
Putting said hand up in surrender, I assure her, "I was just asking. For a friend."
Narrowing her eyes at me as she gathers up her leftovers, she shoots back playfully, "I thought you didn't have any friends."
I shrug dismissively, "Ido's got plenty of parts. I'm sure I could make a new friend if I put my mind to it."
Looking down at me with a somewhat bewildered half-smile, she asks, "Are you always like this when you're not depressed?"
Feigning ignorance, I stare back at her blankly, "Like what?"
With a shake of her head and a sigh, she heads out, beckoning me with a "Come on."
By the time we get to the clinic, which really was close by, anxiety begins whispering at me that I may have annoyed her far more than intended. Despite how much better I've been doing around her, there still seems to be this nebulous fear.
I call out to her to wait up.
She stops and turns to me with a questioning look, holding the door halfway open.
I roll to a stop next to her. "Sorry, if I was a little overboard back there."
She lets out a sharp sigh. "You weren't too bad, but it was a little much."
"Yeah," I say in agreement, glancing downward. Then, with more emotion than I'd intended, "It's just… it feels so good when my depression isn't dragging me down." An awkward, helpless shrug, "It's almost like being a different person, a better person. I guess there are times when it's just, well- sometimes the brakes come off."
"It's alright," she assures me. There's a sly gleam in her eyes, "Besides, I've heard that when you start getting on towards six-hundred, the mind is the first thing to go."
Wincing dramatically, I put my hand over my heart as if struck. "Oof. No respect for your elders, young lady?"
She directs a mischievous smirk in my direction as she stands aside to allow me in.
After dropping off the can of coffee in the kitchen, I thank Alita for lunch and am about to head back into the clinic to get to work, when she moves to stand in my way.
"Haven't you forgotten something?" she asks.
"Uh," I glance to the sides, confused, "maybe?"
Crossing her arms over her chest, she looks at me meaningfully.
Realizing what she's on about, the 'Smart-Ass' switch in my head gets tripped yet again. "Good lord, you're right!" I say in an overly dramatic voice. "The electric razor! We can't let it fall into the wrong hands!" I look up earnestly into a face whose expression is somewhere between bored, and annoyed, "Iron City could suffer it's closest shave yet!" I punctuated it by lightly slamming my fist on the arm of my wheelchair.
She let's out a quiet, long-suffering sigh, though I can tell she's trying not to smile, "I'm serious-"
"So am I," I respond. Waving my hand dismissively, "It's a razor. I'll get it tomorrow, it's not the end of the world."
She gestures at the coffee I just bought, sitting on the counter, "Aren't you going to be a little busy tomorrow? Besides, you did really well out there. If you wait to do it later, it just might make it that much harder."
Hanging my head, I let out a loud sigh. Thinking about it, I know she's right. Relief at being safely back in the clinic is hitting me, draining away the tension and anxiety that had been piling up, leaving me feeling a little shaky and sickly. Putting it off will likely make me just want to keep putting it off. Better to get it over with now, I suppose.
"Come on, I'll even help you out. I'll buy."
Unwilling to simply give in, I throw my head back and utter a highly-put-upon, "Uuugh! Fine."
With a satisfied nod, she turns to leave and I fall in behind her, following her out. When she turns down the hallway towards the side door, Alita dryly observes, "For someone who was afraid of me not too long ago, you've gotten pretty bold."
Outwardly, I shrug, "Yeah, I guess so."
Inwardly, I can barely suppress a smile at the realization that she's right. For the moment at least, I'm free of much of the anxiety and fear that's been hounding me. The world feels somehow brighter and more open. It feels great.
