Aftershock

The Toast

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Tony

Hospital staff try so hard to distract you from the fact that other people have been sick in the same bed as you. They scrub all the surfaces until they sparkle, only to achieve an overwhelming stench of cleaning products, yet this room still isn't my own. The walls are too bare, and there's never anything good on daytime television. Steve's visits help, but they're monitored and limited, and the staff keep saying things like 'you need to rest'. If I never nap again, it'd be too soon.

Nurse Debby is in and out often, checking my vitals, checking my chart, talking my ear off about important things I wish I could tune out of...it's all just noise, anyway. It doesn't help that the painkillers they've been giving me make me too groggy to form coherent thoughts. All I can do is dissociate and stew in my irritation.

I'm daydreaming about assembling the prototype for my new prosthetic when the nurse returns once more, this time with more to offer than aftercare instructions: she comes bearing a wheelchair and a warm smile. "Are you ready, Mr. Stark?"

"I've been ready," I say, flinging back the covers. I accept her help into the seat. I want to propel myself out of here, but this chair isn't built for that, so I just tap my fingers against the armrests as she sets a leisurely pace down the hallways.

She wheels me into the waiting area, at which point Steve pops up from the couch and melts my heart with one of his...heart melting...smiles. I dunno, my brain too sludgy from my extended bed-riddance to think of anything more poetic. He's poetry in motion, anyway, so it's hard to improve on that.

"He's all yours," Nurse Debby chirps.

"Hell yeah I am."

"Thank you," Steve says, pointedly ignoring my previous statement— though his smirk gives him away. "Have a great day."

Steve hands me a pair of crutches, which I'm eager to accept. Even hobbling feels so freeing. He hovers by my side and lends a hand for support when I need it, and I pretend that I don't until I get to the stairs. Then I'm appreciative of his chivalry.

The California sun is so bright, and so hopeful.

He turns to me once we're both settled in the car. "How do you feel?"

"Like a burger. Can we stop at McDonalds?"

"Tony, if I could buy you the whole franchise, I would."

"I'll settle for a burger."

Steve's nose scrunches when he laughs. "A burger it is, then."

"It's our last night in the west coast, we should do something tonight," I say.

"Yeah? Any requests?"

"Hey, I already suggested McDonalds. You can take the helm from there, darling."

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We end up at the beach on a cheap picnic blanket that crinkles every time we shift our weight, squinting against the setting sun. Steve's fingers are laced with mine. His shoulder is under my temple. "This feels very stereotypical," I say.

"Hm." Steve digs into the paper bag that he's been holding between his knees and produces a packet of fries and a hamburger. He passes the burger to me, which I snatch eagerly, and pops a fry into his mouth. "Is that bad?"

"Nah, I just feel like we need to ride off into the sunset or something to really top it off."

"Damn, if only I had a horse."