For some reason, Veld had not expected to find Nero alone and unattended. Shalua was elsewhere, Vincent some few minutes behind Veld, and Nero… Nero floated in the dark mako, senseless as he had not been since Vincent had found him near death in the ruins of Deepground. Asleep or comatose, it was hard to tell which. Veld let the door close behind him, shutting out the chatter and clatter of busy hospital halls. Only the gentle bubbling of the mako, the soft hissing of Nero's mask, and the steady, almost subliminal beeping of monitors remained.
Seeing the boy like this, without distractions, struck Veld like a bullet to the heart. Suspended in mako like a specimen preserved for study, Nero's body seemed fragile, his translucent skin washed with dusky purple shadows. Gods, when had he gotten so thin? The white curves and angles of ribs and hip-bones stood out in sharp relief. Nutrients delivered by IV did nothing for muscle tone; he looked half-starved.
He was breathing, but hardly more than Vincent did in stasis; his chest barely moved. Veld's own breath caught for a long, gut-twisting moment, until he saw the thin line of bubbles escaping Nero's respirator, and knew he still lived.
Veld's breath burst out of him on a stream of searing curses. Damn all the gods, he'd seen this too many times already - Felicia, Vincent, the dead at Kalm - how many times more did he have to face it? Why such waste of youth and potential, while he, an old man with a black heart and bloodied hands, lived on?
If there were any gods left in the world, they held no promises for him, no miracles for Nero - or for Vincent. To be human was to be weak, powerless, weaponless against the dark - and there was no darkness greater than despair and grief. Nero had to want to live, and for all Vincent's love, or Shalua's skill, that could not be forced.
Veld's eyes burned, blurred, helpless fury shaking him from the inside out, until gradually, the storm passed, and he blinked away the sting of tears.
Truth was, he'd grown fond of the kid. Vincent's nonsense, calling him Veld's stepson, had wound its way into his heart, left him open to this crippling rage. 'Grandfather' might be a better role, supposing that Nero lived. Veld would not object, though he'd never admit it aloud.
Foolish old man. Suppose Nero woke while he stood here swearing and scowling? The poor kid was already afraid of him. Vincent would kill him, or Shalua would have him committed. Veld shook his head, muttering, turning his anger inward where it wouldn't hurt anyone else. He turned, going to the door, and glanced back once at Nero.
"Get well, kid," he said, voice like sandpaper. "That's an order."
"He's hanging on," Shalua told Vincent and Veld when they both stood in Nero's room. Max was there as well, hovering by the door, sullenly waiting to be admitted and giving the nurses dirty looks.
"She can see him," Vincent allowed. "Give her a wristband or a key card or something. Shelke too, if she wants." Nero didn't have much family left, but he did have some informal relatives still standing. It was important he know there were people on the surface who cared about him every bit as much as his Deepground family.
Shalua quirked a tired smile at that. "I'll make sure the staff knows."
"Any change?" Vincent asked urgently.
She shook her head. "Not yet. That's actually not a bad thing. The materia...well, it's hard to tell, really. All bets are off when you infuse someone with a guardian spirit. He seems...quieter since receiving it. As if he were asleep instead of unconscious."
Vincent nodded, accepting this as good news.
"It's going to take time," Shalua warned him. "Days...weeks...I honestly have no idea. We'll alert you immediately if there's the slightest change."
"You're gonna have to actually start using that PHS," Veld teased, gently poking him in the ribs. Despite himself, Vincent smiled a little.
In the end it was Veld who set up the voice mail for Vincent's PHS. Vincent only had the vaguest idea as to how to use the thing outside of its function as a telephone. He knew how to read texts, but sending them was still a work in progress. He'd have to get better at it if he was going to send Veld status updates on Nero.
"Stay with your son," Veld told him, as if Vincent was going to do anything else. "Reeve will understand."
"Thank you," Vincent told him. Not for allowing him to stay- rabid behemoths could not have moved him- but for understanding that his place was with his son.
He did not have to ask for a chair or a cot, both articles of furniture simply appeared. A second chair materialized when Max stopped by after classes. After some persuading, Vincent consented to go home for a few hours while Max sat with Nero and did her homework. Vincent returned to find her reading text books to him.
Deciding Max might be onto something, Vincent began to read to Nero as well. Shalua approved of this, stating that even if Nero did not see them, he could hear their voices and know he was surrounded by people who loved him. When Vincent's voice began to dry up, Veld brought a stack of audio books. Max hooked her phone to a small set of speakers and drove Vincent crazy with an assortment of playlists. He forgave her when she began interspersing her noise with music from his day. At least Nero wouldn't be subjected to nothing but rubbish.
Ned also took up vigil, frequently curling up inside the tank itself. Shalua had been distressed that this might cause the mako pod to malfunction, or that it might affect Nero's recovery. No one could stop Ned from phasing through the glass, and as he left the various wires and tubes alone, he came and went as he pleased.
All the while that Nero slept in his mako pod, someone kept watch over him. Max switched off with Vincent, Veld came in when he could. Shalua and an endless parade of mako specialists and doctors made regular checks on his condition.
Max stayed out of their way, never going farther than the restroom or the hospital coffee shop. Someone had brought in a cot for Vincent, a kind but unnecessary gesture; he rarely slept, so Max caught a nap now and then. The bubbling of the pod and the steady beep-beep-beep of monitors created a soothing white noise, buffering the constant hum of activity in the halls outside of Nero's room.
It was easy enough to keep up with classes through real-time cam from the classroom, or recorded lectures, and reading her textbooks aloud to Nero helped Max stay awake and study at the same time. When studying grew dull, she described the weather and current events, or read him the get-well messages from the SOLDIERs, Turks and other WRO personnel.
Vincent prowled in and out, standing watch overnight and closely observing everything the medical team did. Veld would come in the evenings, persuade Vincent to sit for a while or go for coffee, calming Vincent with his presence and his level, practical manner. Max thought of it as "helping Vincent worry," but she kept that to herself.
She wasn't worried. Nero would wake when he was ready.
For all the concern about his physical condition, there was little talk about his emotional state. He was grieving; anyone could see it. His eyes were closed, but Max could see their movement beneath lids translucent-gray in a well of shadow; deep lines scored his face, crinkling his brow and drawing his mouth into a tight line. Now and then a tear slid down his cheek, and dissolved into the indigo wash of dark mako.
Whatever he dreamed, it hurt. Trying to kill himself had not ended his pain, nor had the medical treatment, however expert. Physically, he improved a little each day, but implanting the summon could not take away sorrow or loneliness. Max mourned for his lost family in her own way, wishing she'd known Rosso and Weiss, Azul and Argento. Someday, when Nero had regained his strength, and the need to talk became too urgent to ignore, he would tell her about them. Until then, she'd be his friend, as Vincent and Veld were his new family.
He was an odd creature, but sweet and kind. Deadly in battle, yet innocent in the ways of ordinary life outside of Deepground. An eager, yet gentle lover, and so literal-minded that most jokes went right over his head. In short, adorable.
She had so many things to share with him: Vintage movies, ice cream, Beggar's Night (despite being a bit too old for it). Trade shows at the Armory. The WRO Yule party, street festivals, bonfires. Motorcycle rides. Watching the stars on a clear summer night.
What had he done for fun in Deepground? Had he ever even been allowed to have fun, to just relax and do nothing? Had he ever been let loose to just make a mess and enjoy himself, to explore a new place, or create something just because? She didn't think so.
He had a lot of things to learn, and a lot of carefree childhood to catch up on, had Nero Sable. Max watched him, his body buoyed up by mako, his spirit off wandering among sad memories.
"Wake soon," she told him. "There's a whole world out here, waiting just for you."