Chapter 6: Recovery

It was sunset before the door opened again. A man with a thin face that bordered on gaunt which made him look nearly a decade older than his natural age of thirty-two entered with a pleasant, yet almost forced greeting in shaky English, "Good evening, I see you're doing much better!"

He was clad in medical scrubs, near identical to that of the other staff including the same solitary difference of his name tag. The name tag told the bedridden boy that his name was Doctor Benedicto. Brian had been expecting him, although not specifically, ever since his last conversation with the staff. However, a mouthful of lukewarm soup kept him from an immediate response.

The nurse who found him awake had told him that one of the doctors would come to evaluate his status personally once more pressing fares were resolved. While that news gave him relief at the time, his real comfort came when the nurse was authorized to help ease his weariness with a medicine he could not hope to pronounce the name of. Having recovered enough to just barely sit up, his only other request was for a morsel of food, something simple and filling to ease his continued weariness, while he waited for the doctor's arrival. As he finally managed to shred through a large piece of chicken, a surprisingly difficult task in his still severely weakened state, he answered in concise, but strangely accented Spanish, "Yeah."

"Well...Glad to hear it!" the doctor replied in his native language, not expecting the American to be so casual for a man back from death. "I'm Doctor Benedicto, the Neuropsychologist here at Hernandez General, and I'm here to evaluate your condition. I'd like to start with a few questions before we move on to the examination if that's alright with you."

Brian let the question hang. He considered asking a few of his own, starting with the most innocuous one, "Alright...can I finishing eating while you do 'em?"

"Oh, uh, certainly! Actually, while we're on that topic, can I ask how it tastes to you? Do any of the ingredients taste even slightly different than they did before?"

"Yeah, I've been getting this weird aftertaste. Can't really explain how it tastes, other than bad, but it's been there ever since I started on this. And I'm not sure if it's just the brand or whatever, but chicken has a lot less flavor than it used too."

"Believe it or not, that's very good news! Most people who suffer brain trauma as severe as yours have lost their sense of taste anywhere from months to the rest of their lives. You are a very lucky young man, but then again, us talking at all is proof of that."

With a forced cough to clear his throat, the doctor continued,

"Now, let's start from the top: Can you remember your name?"

"Yeah, Brian."

"And your last name?"

"...Does it matter?"

Benedicto paused, swiftly calculating what had just been said for a half second before responding with a foreboding,

"...I'll take that as a no."

Brian was not so blind as to miss this pause and the weight of the Benedicto's response. He had no interest in speaking of his past, more out of pride than pain, even if the doctor was just trying to help him. Attempting to communicate this in an indirect, but entirely unsubtle way, he replies,

"No, I remember and all, but I don't really see why you guys need to know that."

Utterly failing to dispel suspicion, the neurologist raised an eyebrow reflexively. The neurologist opted to move on to his next question, not wanting to run into a conversational roadblock this early on with the boy.

"...I see...Well, let's just move on then: What can you remember before waking up? What is your last memory?"

"Getting shot in the head and it hurting like all hell."

"A very blunt way of putting it, but it's good to hear your short-term memory seems to be working just fine."

With this memory, Brian interjected with a question of his own.

"Hey, I'm here, so we won, right?"

Benedicto paused again, but his response was far quicker and sounded of legitimate confusion.

"'We?'"

"Yeah, she's how I got here, right? That girl who got stabbed in the leg by those guys? She made it out, right?"

The subtle tells of the emotion in Brian's words seemed to the set the doctor at the closest thing to ease since he had walked through the door.

"Oh, yes, she is perfectly fine now. I was just under the impression that you did not know each other before the incident."

"We don't, but I'm here, so she must have done something to beat that guy with the gun."

"Well, according to the police report, that seems to be the case, but I'm sure she'd prefer to tell you about it personally."

"She's here now?"

"Oh no, but I could arrange for someone to call her mother once we are done here."

"No…It's fine, don't bother."

"...Can I ask why?"

"Cause she's fine and I'm fine enough, so there's nothing to be said."

"Not even a thank you?"

"Don't need one."

"I meant you giving her one."

"...I don't like being that personal."

Still needing to know more of Brian's medical issues, Benedicto avoided pressing him on his apparent social ones. The questions of his memories, cognitive abilities, and ability to reason continued for well over half an hour. The majority of that time was spent on lengthy phycological tests, namely one of word association and a Rorschach, both of which were familiar to Brian and the results were near identical. Eventually, the doctor was satisfied and moved on to his physical condition.

"Can you tell me, in general, how you feel?"

"Like my bones are rock and my muscles are rubber."

"Even with the medication? From what the nurse described and the charts indicated, you were doing surprisingly well after it was administered."

"I'm fine. Just because it's hard doesn't mean I can't do it."

"But that doesn't mean you should do it either. You still haven't fully recovered, you even being awake is well beyond what we expected."

Brian sat in silence for some time, considering the implications of that statement, before asking in a somber tone,

"...How long have I been out anyway?"

"Oh, not long, it's been just under twenty-four hours since you arrived. I know that may not sound very dramatic, but people are rarely comatose for longer than a week with injuries like yours. In fact, we were expecting you to be unconscious for at least three days."

His mind could not form many words in the face of this news, save for a simple astonished,

"Oh."

"That's part of why we're doing this. Now, let's move on to the actual examination."

The next few minutes were a barrage of simple tests to assess his condition. Prodding and poking at skin and muscle to find even the slightest of errors revealed little out of order, save for a slight decrease in his pain receptors. An eye test revealed a minor loss of nearsighted vision, but it was nothing that could not be fixed and an examination of his other organs showed no new problems.

"According to the results, we should be able to fix everything with a few treatments over the next few days."

"A few days?"

"Oh, you don't have to worry about any more surgeries, it's just about waiting for the right conditions for further medication. Your current dose is still taking effect and it could be dangerous if the next isn't administered at the right time."

"Ok, fine, whatever, but when will I be able to walk again?"

"Well, based on how well you're doing as of now, two days. Maybe one if your luck keeps holding out."

Luck was not a word Brian associated himself with very often, but it was one he applied to the most precious of his effects.

"Hmm. Speaking of, what did you guys do with my stuff?"

Confused by this seeming non-sequitur, the doctor answered regardless.

"We have them in storage right now, we'll get them to you as soon as we can. We took the liberty of washing the clothes you had on during your incident. It wouldn't look very good for us to have someone walking out the doors covered in a blood-stained hoodie after all."

His weak jest did not move the young man's features by so much as a twitch.

"And my bike?"

"Of course, I'm told we have it locked up outside, but we moved all the pouches in with the rest. And don't worry, it's not damaged, at least not seriously."

A near silent sigh of relief escaped the courier's mouth.

"Good."

"Quite...but I hope you're not planning on riding it out of here once you're fit enough to leave. I don't have to tell you how taxing riding is physically, but trying to do so after your injuries could be dangerous, even fatal if it's that far out of town."

Brian caught his choice of words, ignoring the kindness within them.

"Why did you say 'that far'? What makes you think I would even be leaving the city?"

Benedicto was unsurprisingly taken aback by this accusation and the haste of his changing features spoke of treachery.

"Oh, w-well, I just assumed since you're so well traveled you would want to move on as soon as possible."

While certainly a correct assumption of the courier, it was not one easily seen in a hospital bed. There was one way they could have known his occupation and it was not one that was legal in his home state of California. Even if the laws did not apply across the border, Brian's offense at it did.

"...You dug through my stuff didn't you?"

The doctor's face resigned in defeat in guilt as he revealed the truth.

"Not personally, no, but the surgeons needed to know who you were so we could find your medical history, just to be perfectly sure how to medicate you. The brain is a delicate thing, and biotics can have adverse reactions in certain people, you being one of them as it turns out. We had no choice, it would have meant your life if we did not."

Brian squinted in anger as his tone grew darker.

"...Did you tell anyone there about it?"

"No, there was no need, once we knew your name and narrowed down what hospital had your records, everything was there on their system."

Relaxing ever so slightly, the boy responded,

"Good, then we don't have a problem."

Brian was entirely sincere in his reply and that raised only further questions for the doctor.

"...I see."

Not so blind as to not see how suspicious he appeared, Brian answered the unspoken question in his own vague way.

"It's got nothing to do with the law if that's what you're thinking. But I'm not going back."

Again, Benedicto paused and considered pressing the boy on the clear trauma he was refusing to directly acknowledge, only deciding against it once he had taken a glance at the current time.

"...Alright then, I imagine that's not something you're willing to talk about, so let's try to move on. Well, with all that finished, I think it's safe to say you're well on the road to recovery, all things considered. We're going to have to do some additional tests later, mostly physical ones, but the preliminary results are very promising. Outside of some minor nerve damage, everything important seems to be working just fine and we should have you back on your feet in two days, maybe even one if your luck continues as it has. And speaking of, your next round of medication starts in a few minutes. We're going to have to render you unconscious before that, so did you have any questions or comments before we do?"

"Yeah, what happened to those thugs? They in jail yet?"

"Don't worry, I doubt they'll ever be on the other side of a cell again. Two counts of attempted murder aren't something that's easily bribed away, even for someone in Los Muertos."

"And the guy who shot me? How'd she deal with him?"

"Well, according to what she told the people at the administrations desk, she managed to knock the gun out of his hands by throwing a wrench, grabbed the gun in the confusion and shot him in the bladder."

The would-be hero was silent for a time before responding with a monotone, but clearly impressed,

"...Wow."

The doctor had caught on to that small tell in the young man's voice, Though he intended on pressing him tomorrow once he had more time to recover, Benedicto thought it best not to waste this opportunity.

"Are you sure you don't want to speak with her? You're going to be here for some time until you fully recover, a week at the very least, and she was very concerned about you when you both arrived. You may not have a choice in the matter."

"...Great," Brian said in a frustrated, yet almost guilt-ridden tone.

"Is talking to her that really that unappealing to you?"

"I don't like being that personal and I don't like staying in one place for too long."

"Hmm...Maybe that's something we can work on while you're here."

"I don't plan on staying long enough for that. Soon as I can walk, I'm going back to work."

"At Navarro?"

"Mostly, yeah."

Lips pursed in mild frustration, Benedicto replied in a firm timbre,

"I'll need to reiterate that it could be weeks before your body can even handle riding down the street, much less across the city. You barely survived as is, you shouldn't push yourself like that."

Desperate to change the subject, Brian attempted an appeal to the doctor's pride.

"...Oh hang on, that reminds me: Thanks."

"Excuse me?"

"I never thanked you for pulling that bullet out of my head."

With mixed feelings given the boy's obvious evasiveness and his seemingly legitimate thanks, Benedicto decided it best to stay the course for the time being. The American would be confined to the hospital regardless of how he answered his questions either way, there was no need for the doctor to rush this delicate process.

"Well, you're welcome, but I'm afraid I can't take your thanks. I'm a neuropsychologist, not a neurosurgeon, but I can understand the confusion."

"Oh...Well, are they still here so I can do this right?"

"She's not in right now, sadly, she had to head right back home after we were sure your condition was stable since we woke her up in the middle of the night to come in. Your condition was severe and she was the only member of the staff skilled enough to save you. Extracting a bullet from an area as sensitive as the human brain is no simple thing, even among neurosurgeons. Normally, the surgeons would do their own follow up with you, but I'm not exaggerating when I say she needed to go back home. There's only so much caffeine can do, after all. It's probably for the best anyway, she's not exactly known for her bedside manner."

The young man wasn't exactly sure how to feel given all this information, so he settled with focusing on his gratitude for his unknown savior.

"Well, fair enough I guess, just leave a note or something then. Actually, how did I even survive? I thought the point of bullets was that they have more punch than pulse."

"That's part of why I've been calling you lucky. The bullet was a hollow point, meaning that it was designed to 'mushroom' on impact to make the bullet, and therefore the wound, larger as it enters the body. But this one had the slightest of errors, the serrations in the tip were uneven, causing it to not expand properly. That, coupled with the natural loss of penetration power, let you avoid what would otherwise be instant death. It's a one in a million chance for a mistake that to happen when they're manufactured. That's not to say it still wasn't a close call, however, the bullet still reached as far as your Parietal Lobe, which is why the chicken tasted so different to you. To put that in perspective, that's almost all the way to the back of your head," Benedicto explained with weary knowledge.

Brian sat in silence for several awkward moments after learning just how close he had come to death. He wondered then if the vague memories between his fall and rise had some bearing of truth and were not just some strange dream. No clear memory of what he had seen remained, not a single image, only a bizarre feeling remained that he hadn't the words to describe; something between terror, awe, and revelation. For a time, he wished to ask Benedicto about his unearthly experience, but he forced himself to stop. If the doctor believed him even madder than he surely already thought him to be, his stay could be all the longer. In place of his outlandish question, he instead told a truth that was considerably further down on his list of relevant topics.

"Wow, no wonder I can still feel it then.", he said as he ran a hand across the bandaging stretched across his forehead.

"Actually, on that note, it's right about time for your next biotics treatment. We'll have to sedate you before we administer it, so do you have any more questions before we put you under?"

"I thought you said that stuff doesn't work on me."

"Oh no, quite the opposite in fact. To put it in inaccurate, but simple terms, you have what is essentially a reverse-allergy to biotics. It's by a factor of less than three percent, but you regrow more tissue than most other people do when exposed to biotics. The reason why it was so dangerous to administer the normal concentration during your operation was that growing even a tiny section of extra brain matter could have been absolutely devastating. It would essentially be a tumor. Even if the growth isn't instantly fatal, the effects it could have on your body could be catastrophic, especially with your heart condition."

It was an unpleasant memory for Brian to recall and one that sired a very miffed question from the young man.

"What? I thought that was under control."

"Don't worry. It is for now. We ran a full body scan and there were no problems, but that large of a change to the makeup of your brain could have easily changed that. The straw that broke the camel's back, as it were."

Brian's eyelids tightened once again.

"Not helping."

"...You're right, I'm sorry, that was a poor choice of words. Well, in any case, if there's nothing else I'll get out the anesthesia so we can get started. It's only a simple injection, but it would be much safer if you were unconscious during it. On that note, it would be for the best if you stayed asleep until tomorrow while the medication takes effect."

"Fine, great, whatever. I got nothing better to do anyway," the young man let his anger slip.

"Excellent," the doctor followed suit.

Wasting no time, Benedicto detaches the overbed table and empty soup bowl with it. Resting the plastic board aside, he opens a nearby closet to reveal a small tank on rickety wheels. Placing the face mask on the young man, Benedicto spoke one last sentence as he reached for the valve.

"We'll start your physical therapy once you wake up tomorrow."

"Whatever gets me out faster."

With a twist of the doctor's wrist, the gas flowed through the mask and filled the little air within it. With no reason to fight it, Brian closed his eyes and breathed deeply.

...

It was a quarter past four when Alejandra walked into his room. There was little Brian could say, ill-prepared as he was having just gotten back from his first therapy session and in the process of redressing himself in more familiar attire. He counted himself lucky that he had put on his shirt and pants in time. They were not difficult or tiring exercises, but he felt sore and fatigued all the same. It was the same lingering ache he had felt upon waking up, staying with him almost like some supernatural curse. It was not as if he had much to say, but strangely she too remained voiceless. She seemed locked in place, wide-eyed and breathless. He didn't like the implication, not at all. As the time spent in silence came close to reaching double digits, he broke it with a simple, "Hey."

Suddenly regaining sentient thought, she fumbled her own greeting back to him, "H-Hi."

Brian winced near invisibly at the sound of her flustered stutter. He was aware of his appearance and knew just how infatuated a person could be with their savior, but he had no desire to exploit the situation, especially with a girl who looked barely a day into her teens. His social awkwardness and lack of experience aside, he dreaded the idea of relationships with anyone. As far as he was concerned, it was nothing but a distraction for what he considered truly important even while his continuing puberty was desperate to convince him otherwise. Impressed as he was with her apparent dispatching of the gun-toting bandit that had nearly ended his life, he did not intend to stray from his path no matter what he might gain for it. "The world has enough people who think you beat life just by getting some ass, I gotta be better than that," he bluntly surmised within his mind.

Haggard by the continued lack of sound from either of them, he broke the dead air once again. "Okay look, I'm just gonna be straight with you, I don't need a thank you or a reward, I just want to get back on the road. Thanks for saving me, you did a good job and all, but I really don't need anything. You've done enough for me." Taken aback, confused, yet not showing any obvious signs of offense; Alejandra remained wordless. It was evident to Brian that his charm and interpersonal skills remained very much the same and that oddly enough was a good sign given the circumstances.

More collected than before, Alejandra calmly spoke her piece as if she were trying to reason with him, "I just needed to see that you were fine. I needed to know the fight wasn't for nothing."

A twinge of guilt ran through him, but Brian wouldn't allow himself to back down, "It's fine, you're fine, everything's fine. I just don't like staying in one place for long."

"Well, I guess that makes sense…" Alejandra replied, attempting to soothe his blatant discomfort before her next push, "but where are you gonna go after this? And why did you come here in the first place?"

Brian's back muscles tightened and his next words did little to mask his defensiveness, "Look, does it really matter?"

"Well, I just wanted to know why you came to save me."

"Why wouldn't I? You needed help and they need a punch in the teeth, so it just seemed the right thing to do," Brian answered as if the question was somehow nonsensical.

"Guess that makes sense too...It's the heroic thing to do after all."

Those last few words stuck out in his mind as being far too direct to be a coincidence. "Yeah, I guess so, but why would you phrase it like that?"

"Huh?"

"You said it would make sense for me to do the heroic thing, why'd you think that about me?"

Alejandra left a pregnant pause as she thought of an answer. Very briefly, she considered trying to craft another lie, but she quickly decided against it. It was not a decision made based on her previous failure in the dubious art of weaving deceit, but simple human decency. Brian quite obviously had no desire to talk of his past, but she herself had no desire to hide her knowledge of it from the young man who had helped save her in more ways than one.

"Because I know who you are, Brian. I thought a boy in a blue hoodie jumping in to save the day sounded familiar, so I looked up an old news story after I knew you were fine here. And... well, this is probably a bad thing to say and it won't make much sense either, but thanks for showing me how to be a hero. It's...a good feeling, you know?"

Another sting of guilt daggered at Brian's heart. While she was hardly a master wordsmith, he could tell Alejandra had spoken in earnest and with no hidden feelings. Most surprising to him was the girl's choice of words, showing her how to be a hero. He didn't even bother to even consider asking her what she meant, he already knew. They were the same strange and simple feelings that drove him to take the Doomfist those many months ago. While his position was still set in stone, something as simple as her tone of voice made him reconsider his own.

"Well...that's nice to hear, thanks."

Slipping his hoodie on, he felt centered for the first time since rising up from near-death. He had never gone a day since the events at the museum without wearing it, even in the heat of summer. It was fortunate for Brian that his charm was not well designed for its actual purpose of keeping people warm, but then again, that was only fitting given he only continued to wear it due to a bizarre turn of luck. Reinvigorated, he asked a question of his own, "Alejandra, right?"

"Huh?"

"That's your name, right? It's what the doctor said."

"Oh, yeah, that's my name. You can call me Alé if you want."

"Yeah sure, but do you mind if I ask why those guys were attacking you?"

"Oh, not at all, but it's a long story and I can't say my part in it was all that interesting. I only heard about the good bits through hearsay."

"I still wanna hear it. Only fair since you already know my story."

While Alejandra's tale was a short one, it opened a floodgate of conversation with the would-be hero that lasted well over half an hour. The normally terse boy lit up over the story's course, commenting on Los Muertos seeming difference in authority at the time, attempting to boost the girl's self-confidence when she put herself down for her lack of action at that time, and even bouncing off her wild theories of Soldier 76's true identity. "Look, I know he was tough and all, even with all that gene sh-stuff, but come on…They couldn't find him after that crap went down and that was them at their best back then. Besides, even if he was still alive, wouldn't he be working with Overwatch now that they're back?", he had said. "I know what I saw," she had retorted, "and this was like almost a year ago, so he might be for all we know. I mean, a lot of the news you hear about him is stuff like breaking into old Watchpoints and things like that. And hey, with all the crazy crap that happens these days, it's not out of the question." This talk transitioned smoothly into one about Brian's own time of peril and glory at the museum, one more about his own thoughts and feelings during and after it all rather than the events themselves. Though dodging the finer details about the aftermath of that day and some of the more personal questions, most notably those of his family, his evasive speech raised the eyebrow of the baker's daughter, who opted to hold her follow up questions for later out of respect. Not wanting to pressure him further, Alejandra instead noted a small rip in the arm of his hoodie to move the conversation elsewhere.

"That cut, you got that in the fight?"

"Yeah, against the one with the weird lookin' neck. I was gonna get it patched up once I got out of here."

"Well, I could do it for you. My mom taught me how to stitch things. I'm not all that good at it if I'm honest, but it's the least I could do."

"...Actually, could you teach me how to do it?"

"Oh uh, I guess, why?"

"Just to know how to do it. The whole reason I came down this far is to learn useful stuff."

"Oh, sure then, but I don't think I'll make much of a teacher."

"It's fine. It's still more than I know."

"Well, in any case, I don't have the tools for it, so we'll have to wait until later tonight for it."

In the back of Brian's mind throughout their entire conversation was a plot to escape his current situation. To him, staying and the hospital and feeding the girl's growing affection for him was a rock and a hard place. However, as they spoke the idea of spending more time with her became less and less of an unpleasant prospect to him.

"Oh. Can't I just come with you then, just to save time?"

"O-Oh, uh...I thought you said you were gonna leave as soon as you could?"

"...Well, to be honest, they said I wouldn't be able to bike out of the town. Said I'd pass out after a mile or two. I still want to leave, just 'cause I'm going stir crazy in here, but I don't think they'd let me out since I got nowhere to really go and they probably think I'm nuts or something."

"Oh, well I'm sure Mom would be fine with you staying, but we don't have any other rooms…"

Desperate to avoid the hackneyed suggestion he could feel her about to make, Brian offered his one of own naught but a half second after her words had begun to trail.

"I can sleep on the floor and pay rent for it if she wants."

"Oh no, you don't need to pay or anything, you've earned a place to stay after what you've done for me."

"It'd feel better to earn my keep…I could teach you how to fight better too if you want."

"Oh, really, you mean it? I don't think mom would like that, but I guess I wouldn't be much of a hero if I couldn't fight for it."

A nurse opened the door, ceasing all conversation as he explained himself.

"Sorry to bother you two, but it's time for your midday medication and lunch."

With a reserved look on his face, Brian turns back to Alejandra, "Well, guess that's a good place to cut it. Let's pick this up later, soon as we're able."

She smiled warmly, "I'd like that. I'll ask my Mom about having you over once I get back home."

"Sounds good, see you later"

Alejandra left the room, not seeing the slight smile Brian had failed to hold back.