Book IV: Avi Dragon

What Could Be

Someone from Occupational Therapy came in shortly after, to put her through a few paces. They wanted her arms and legs to be able to hold her upright before they let her walk the halls.
   "So how long 'til I get the catheter out?" she asked, voice even more ragged from the exercises. She'd always said that OT and PT were tasks that sounded simple enough, until you had to do them.
   "You already know the answer to that. Not until you can use the bathroom on your own."
   Angel frowned. "Yes, but that doesn't tell me in days, just milestones. When am I going to be up and about?"
   The man shrugged. "Get used to hearing us say 'when you're ready', 'cause that's the answer."
   She groaned and flopped back against the pillows.
   "Look, you're not going to undo 5 months of inactivity in a day. We did what we could to stave off atrophy, but it's still not going to be quick, or easy. Just be patient, follow doctor's orders, and you'll get there."
   When he left, she was too tired to change her daughter's diaper, so she had to let Avi do it.
   "You'd think it'd be a good thing, but it's just another reminder of my limits," she growled.
   "I'm sure she'll make plenty of dirty diapers when you're all healed up. No rush, right?"
   He exaggerated the process to try and make her feel better. It was only successful because he was so darned adorable, but she wouldn't say so.
   "So... everyone else is in Portugal, huh?"
   "Mm hmm." His mouth was occupied by a tiny fist, which he was pretending to chew. She wished her phone were handy, so she could remember how his beard curled around those tiny fingers. She was tempted to try to draw it later.
   He angled his buttocks toward her without a word, so she couldn't be blamed for missing the phone sticking out of the rear pocket. He had to prompt her via telepathy before she caught on.
   "Oh! Right! Uh..."
   She gingerly poked two fingers into the tight pocket and slid the phone out. He didn't seem outwardly disturbed by the process, but she knew better.
   He told her how to unlock the phone, where the camera was, all while nibbling on chubby baby fingers.
   Her hands shook so badly, she couldn't be sure any of the photos would turn out. She called the technique "spray and pray": take lots of pictures and hope something worked. She also recorded video footage as a backup. She could never be sure how long anything would last, so she documented every precious memory. Some of the photos had been lost before the digital age, but these would be hers forever.
   As long as he remembers to send them to me, that is.
   He glanced at her, his expression unreadable. :Or you could send them now. You've got my phone, and you know your email, or however you want them sent.:
   She sat straighter. :As you say, it's your phone. I would never presume...:
   :What?: He sat the baby in his lap and faced her. :You think it would be weird for me to have your email? Your phone number?: He clapped Menolly's feet together to emphasize how silly that sounded. He was holding their child in his lap. :Most people exchange phone numbers before...: Suddenly shy, he stared at their daughter's downy head.
   The absurdity of it struck her, then. Neither of them felt comfortable talking about anything intimate, yet the evidence of past intimacy sat drooling on her father's arm.
   She couldn't help but giggle.
   He hadn't caught the drift of her thoughts. He looked up, confused and adorable. His hair hadn't been brushed since he was yanked out of bed. Dark shadows emphasized the red, puffy eyes that blinked down at her. The worst part was, he had the temerity to look wonderful, despite the carrot puree in his beard.
   Her eyes watered with mirth. She clutched her tender ribcage with one arm while the other was occupied by the blood pressure cuff. She knew she was supposed to be quiet and still for it, but the giggles had her in their clutches.
   This, of course, resulted in a higher reading, which meant a visit from the nurse.
   "As long as you're up, you may as well drink some more broth. It's good to see you happy." She clapped Avi on the back as she left, having concluded that he was to thank for her patient's good humor.
   When she left, he asked what was so funny.
   "Everything," she signed. Laughter might be the best medicine for most things, but not a sore throat. "You have food in your beard, BTW." She didn't think "BTW" was proper sign language, but she was tired.
   He nabbed a tissue and dabbed at his beard blindly. A glob of orange nestled firmly under his chin, where he couldn't find it without a mirror.
   Angel plucked it from his hand, shaking her head and smiling. She was an old hand at removing food from a man's beard. She gently teased it out of the depths, having learned not to grab and pull. It took several tissues, but she got most of it out.
   The nurse brought her broth while she was occupied, and left with a maternal smile.
   "Most gone. You need wash face," she signed.
   Her gentle touch had an effect on him. It wasn't a sensual caress, yet his heart stuttered. Wives dabbed at their husband's faces every day without a thought. They did the same for their children, as Angel was doing now. She wiped their daughter's face and hands with a baby wipe, and quite naturally swabbed his hands where Menolly had "shared" some of her food. She left the nail beds to him. A wet wipe wasn't up to the task.
   :Can you find a change of clothes for her after you wash up?: She was blotting the orange stains on the pink footed onesie, but it was a lost cause.
   When he didn't respond, or move, she looked up. While she couldn't quite read his face, or untangle the feelings wafting along the link, they made her nervous. He looked like a man who was peeking through a window into a life he wanted.