Chapter Text
The city was quieter in the summertime. This part of the country was relatively temperate during the early summer. In fact, it was nothing next to the oppressive heat of their stay in Peijing. Granted, they had been too anxious to notice, anticipating their supposed impending doom. Now that all the pressing danger was past, there was a rhythm to each passing day.
The city woke up with the sunrise. Businessmen, still clad in austere dark suits, commuted in from far-off suburbs, talking into their cellphones as they crowded every train, bus, and sidewalk. The children emerged not long after, enjoying their newfound freedom from schoolwork at the playgrounds, parks and ice cream stands.
Knuckle awoke, again, to the dull thudding of something on the wall against his head. Despite the homey environment the nurses attempted to cultivate, the hospital was no place for an extended stay. The armchair that had served as Knuckle's bed for the past four weeks had lost nearly all of its padding, leaving only an indistinguishable lump of what used to be suede remaining in its place. The blue fleece blanket, shredded and pilled from extensive use, was all that made the chair bed-like. If Knuckle propped up carefully on his left arm, he could balance perfectly, nearly comfortable in the small space. He usually slept peacefully - at least, until the incessant knocking disturbed his slumber. The same time, every morning.
He rolled towards the left armrest, groaning softly. In a moment he was on his feet, trying to make minimal noise as he extricated himself from his makeshift bed. Shut up, he thought towards the wall, devoid of any real animosity. He couldn't bring himself to bump a fist against it as he had many other mornings; the nurses were only doing their jobs, after all. Besides, the unwelcome knocking was only another facet of that daily rhythm, the cycle that repeated with every passing dawn. He stepped to the window, tugging on the blinds' cord to reveal the view of the skyline. The hospital was not an enormous building, but Shoot's room was still high enough to assure them an impressive view. The rising sun gave a rosy pink hue to the soft clouds, reflecting in the shiny windows of the nearby buildings.
Knuckle glanced towards the proper bed in the room, assured that Shoot was still asleep. The man's chest rose and fell softly under the thin white sheet, his expression placid. He was still critically injured, that was certain. The thick bandages wrapped around his limbs, lumpy underneath the covers, were evidence enough. They kept him trapped in this sterile space, visited by an endless litany of doctors.
Morel, discharged from his own room a week ago, came each afternoon to visit. The head physician often spoke with him about Shoot's progress, their quiet tones hushed but audible in the hallway. The prognosis was good, of course, but it would take time. There was nothing Knuckle could do to help but wait and watch, offering Shoot whatever care he needed.
Knuckle slipped into his jacket, leaving it unbuttoned over the grey t-shirt and sweatpants he had adopted since they moved into the hospital. Morel had brought them to him, telling him, "You'll want to be more comfortable," Knuckle had known from the tone in his mentor's voice that day that he and Shoot would be stuck there for a while.
Now, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror hanging on the wall. From an acquaintance's perspective, he was probably near unrecognizable. His skin was wan, the lines in his face deeper and tighter than ever. He sighed, running a hand through his hair, noting how it was overgrown and frizzy. His lost muscle mass, more noticeable than Shoot's on his shorter frame, made him look weak, almost sickly. In all honesty, he looked terrible.
But Knuckle turned away, his own vanity dormant. He had more important things to worry about for the time being.
-x-x-x-
Palm was not the same person she had been before the "accident," as they referred to it, stripped her (technically) of her humanity. Her arms and legs, scaly and blue, were unsettling to the touch. The obtrusive purple orb, half-emerged from her forehead, was more than an eyesore; Morel had observed a strange chill in the room whenever she was present. Knuckle tried to tell him it was only his imagination, that a dark cloud had always followed Palm Siberia.
In the essentials, she was much the same as she had always been. She came to the hospital frequently, bringing little presents, food or other niceties to keep Morel's students entertained. Knuckle suspected that Knov requested this from her, as a favor for Morel - either that, or she was just lonely in the city. Still, he found a respite in her visits, a friendly face to break the monotony and the silence.
Today, she was in the lobby, spread out across one of the waiting room tables. Her long fingernails clicked across the keys of her laptop, a gift from Knov years ago. Her other possessions surrounded her workspace like a halo: a half-empty coffee mug, a water bottle with glittery dolphin stickers pasted on the plastic, an empty candy bar wrapper, a sticky note with a half-dozen scribbled lines. Knuckle approached the table silently, but his footsteps, heavy with sleep, gave him away. Palm looked up, her piercing eyes focused on his face instantly.
"Hey," she said. "Good morning,"
"Good morning," Knuckle replied, clearing his throat after hearing his own gravelly voice. "How long've you been out here?"
"About three hours," Palm told him, looking back to her laptop screen. "You know I can't sleep well there,"
There was Knov's apartment. Staying with her own teacher during his time in the city was the logical choice, Knuckle knew. Morel was sleeping there too, set up on the living room sofa. The place had seemed nice enough, clean and well-organized, just like Knov himself. Knuckle had gone there for dinner a handful of evenings; it was a welcome change from eating hospital food. Unfortunately, he was afraid to leave Shoot alone too long, so his visits had been brief. Still, he couldn't help but wonder why Palm hated it there so much. Knowing her feelings towards Knov made the whole issue rather puzzling.
"I do," he replied. He settled into the chair opposite her, the stiff plastic rather punishing at this time of the morning.
Palm looked back to him, giving him a once-over. "You look like hell," she told him matter-of-factly.
"What's new?" Knuckle sniped. "I'm sleeping in a chair," Spying the half-empty mug, he asked, "Coffee?"
Palm pushed the cup in his direction, an idle, casual gesture. "Have some. It's still warm,"
In past circumstances, Knuckle would have rejected the sugary drink. However, the thought of free caffeine was appealing. He picked up the cup and pressed the rim to his lips, cringing as he tasted the sucrose.
"Gah, how do you stand that?" he said, reaching for her water bottle in an attempt to banish the unwanted sweetness.
"It's sweet, huh?" Palm laughed in her throat. "Just like me,"
"No," Knuckle teased her. "The opposite of you! You're in denial,"
Palm pushed a strand of frizzy hair behind her ear. "Hey, you wanna go out later?" she asked. "Get some dinner. Or at least some fresh air. It might perk you up,"
Knuckle shook his head. "Shoot's having physical therapy this afternoon. He'll need me here,"
"Bummer," Palm frowned. "Maybe I'll just bring you something. You deserve it,"
Knuckle shrugged. "Suit yourself. Y'know I'd be grateful,"
"The cafeteria here sucks. I'm surprised it doesn't give the patients food poisoning,"
"The meatloaf's not bad,"
The lobby was empty aside from the two of them. Having Hunters checked into this hospital was a common occurrence. The proximity to the Association HQ combined with the relatively modern medical equipment made it a popular choice, especially for for long-term treatment. Still, the place was not immune to excitement; while Gon was undergoing treatment, it was in an uproar. Now Shoot was the last remaining patient from the Chimera Ant mission, and even he didn't have long left to stay. As such, much of the hospital's everyday routine had been restored. The nurses rotated in and out like clockwork, attending to their duties day and night. The patients (and Knuckle) were the only ones to stay full-time.
"When you two get out of here," Palm said, picking up her own mug and drinking from it unceremoniously, "we're going to celebrate big time,"
Knuckle grinned. "You know Morel will accept nothing less. Thing is, I'm not sure how long we'll be stuck here,"
"Shoot checks out in just two weeks," Palm pointed out. "At least that's for certain,"
"I wonder when Morel's planning to leave town," Knuckle wondered aloud. "He'll still have business for a while, y'know, with the post-election and everything,"
"Shoot may not want to leave right away, but I'd imagine you could, if you wanted to," The last part of her sentence hangs in the air, a touch uncertain.
"No way," Knuckle shook his head quickly. "I won't leave Shoot by himself,"
Palm looked at him, perhaps examining him for some clue to the root of his newfound dedication. Even Knuckle wasn't sure of its cause. He and Shoot had been little more than acquaintances, fellow students under Morel's tutelage. A year ago, he couldn't have imagined staying in the city just to be beside Shoot day and night. Now, as images of their mission together flashed behind his eyes, Knuckle couldn't imagine being any less loyal. Maybe it was just his sentimental side.
-x-x-x-
Before too long, Knuckle bid Palm goodbye. She returned to her work, squinting at her screen as the sunlight continued to filter in. The maze of hallways, painted a variety of chipper pastels, had become navigable over the past weeks. As he returned to Shoot's room, Knuckle contemplated Palm's words. When Shoot was released, what then? Would Morel expect his students to resume their former duties? Knuckle knew he wasn't physically - or emotionally - fit to continue his own training right away. Besides, Morel was unimaginably busy. His adventures in East Gorteau had cast him into the Association's limelight. Knuckle wanted his teacher to be there, to support him and Shoot, but he could expect nothing so selfish.
When he arrived at Shoot's room, the door was already propped open. Golden sunlight shone through the open blinds, casting weird, warm waves of color across the boring linoleum. Shoot was sitting up in bed, propped up on a mountain of pillows by one of the attending nurses. There was a soft glow about him as he held a book up with a single Nen hand. His eyes were keenly focused on the words in front of him, but they were tired and ringed with dark circles.
"Good morning," Knuckle echoed the greeting he had shared with Palm. Walking over, he sat at the foot of the bed. "How're you feeling?"
"Better," Shoot replied. His voice was still weak. The book-holding hand floated aside, as elegant as ever. "Not as sore. Maybe this will be a good day,"
"Definitely," Knuckle forced a smile to his face. Seeing how slow Shoot's progress had been was painful sometimes. He had been nearly comatose for a week, unable to sit up for a week after that. The physical therapy helped him exercise his damaged muscles. He patted gently at the bandaged leg through the covers. Shoot didn't even wince - a good sign.
"I had breakfast," Shoot averted his eyes. "I assumed you already ate,"
" 'S fine," Knuckle assured him. The Nen hand floated near again, holding a half-full glass of water. Shoot held it to his own mouth, taking the smallest of sips. Knuckle knew that Shoot liked being able to summon that ability with minimal energy expenditure - it made him more self-sufficient. "I'm glad to see you're awake,"
"It's hard to sleep here," This time it was Shoot to echo Palm's words. "I'll be glad when we can go home,"
The last words were nearly too quiet to hear, but their impact was undeniable. Home. Again, Knuckle was plagued with the uncertainty that bubbled up in his chest, drowning out the steady rhythm they had found over the past weeks. Still, it was a nice thought - home with Shoot - and he found himself murmuring something soft in response.
Soon the nurse came back and it was back to a usual day. Knuckle tried to help wherever he could - folding towels, fetching equipment, making Shoot comfortable. Physical therapy was a nice word for a painful proposition. Knuckle usually left the room while the physical therapist met with Shoot. If the pained noises coming from behind the closed door were any indication, it was not an enjoyable affair. Shoot always moved more stiffly afterwards, his bruises appearing darker against his pale skin. Was it helping him? Knuckle wasn't a doctor, so he just propped up Shoot's limbs delicately, trying not to cause any more pain.
"There? Is that okay?" he asked Shoot as he bolstered his leg with a particularly solid cushion.
"Mmph... yeah," Shoot sighed, closing his eyes. The smaller scratches across his body had nearly healed now, leaving only the deep gashes, which had scabbed over and no longer caused pain with every movement. Knuckle was thankful for this - in the early days, he could barely touch Shoot at all without inducing wincing and whimpering. It had wrung his heart out.
"It's a nice day outside," Knuckle remarked as he settled onto the foot of the bed. The mid-afternoon sun was high, casting its heat down onto the city below. There were ripples of heat rising from the concrete rooftop adjacent to the hospital, flickering like tiny mirages.
"Yeah," Shoot said. "Would be a nice day for a walk,"
"You're right," Knuckle agreed. He thought of Palm and her kind offer. "Maybe a little hot, if we're being fair,"
"You can go," Shoot's voice was soft, his eyes averted as Knuckle turned to look at his face. "I'm fine. You should go enjoy yourself for a little while,"
Knuckle didn't know what to say for a moment. He laid the gentlest hand on Shoot's leg through the blankets, a solid weight against the thick bandages. Shoot met his eyes then. The injured man's expression seemed much more vulnerable than usual, the barest trembling visible in his lower lip. Knuckle spent a lot of time thinking about how to ease his stay in the hospital. Often it seemed as though Shoot worried just as much about Knuckle - worried that perhaps he felt trapped in this sterile cage, trapped in duties he wanted no part of.
"I'm fine," Knuckle replied. He gently patted Shoot's leg, clearly watching for any signs that the touch might be unwelcome. However, his leg was not in such bad shape. Shoot sniffed.
"I'm just making sure,"
"I know," Knuckle said. He cast his eyes down to the blanket. It was white basketweave, equally worn as Knuckle's own blue fleece. "Thanks for thinking of me,"
"No," Shoot sat up a little taller. "No, it's not just that,"
Knuckle met his eyes. They were round as saucers, heavy with concern. "What's wrong?"
"I just..." Shoot paused, looking away again. Knuckle leaned forward, furrowing his brow. "I just don't want you to... feel like you need to stay,"
Knuckle was silent for a moment as he looked over Shoot's face. He understood - Shoot didn't want to be a burden. How can I help him understand that couldn't be farther from the truth? Slowly, he slid his hand forward until it met Shoot's, lying slack against his side. He insinuated his own fingers underneath the others, holding them within his grasp. Shoot looked up, surprise evident across his features.
"Shoot," Knuckle began, feeling the name catch in his throat as soon as he spoke. He decided to stick with something simple. "I wanted to stay with you, y'know?"
Shoot's face relaxed marginally. "I know," he conceded, his voice quiet even in the silent room. "But... you stayed a long time... much longer than you had to,"
Knuckle scoffed, squeezing Shoot's hand lightly. He thought he could see the touch of a blush on Shoot's cheeks, but he dismissed the thought before it had time to take hold. "I wanted to," he insisted.
Shoot sighed. "Okay," he relented. Then he added, quickly, "I'm sorry,"
"Don't be sorry," Knuckle looked down to their hands.
Even after his extended stay in the hospital, Shoot's hands were nice and soft. It probably had something to do with the variety of lotions Palm had brought to his bedside table over the weeks. Knuckle had always abused his own hands, ignoring the dry skin and callused fingertips. With his hand in Shoot's, fingers intertwining, he wondered if maybe it was time to start paying better attention to them.
A few moments passed in silence, Shoot not saying anything. Knuckle just stayed there. He wanted to say something else, to assure Shoot that he meant what he said, but he couldn't find the words to.
"It's what Morel expects of his students," Shoot remarked suddenly. His voice held a strange tone that was hard to place.
"What?"
"To stick together," Knuckle looked up from their hands to meet Shoot's gaze. Shoot looked serious, almost determined. "He expects us to stick together,"
Knuckle's mouth opened and closed before protesting. "Sure, Morel expects us to stay near him, so we can continue our training. But I don't---"
"He asked you to look after me," Shoot said. It wasn't a question. Knuckle couldn't deny that Morel had made the request of him.
"Stay with Shoot, at least for a little while," his teacher had said. Even dressed in a hospital gown, he was an imposing presence. Knuckle had looked up to meet Morel's gaze head-on.
"I'll stay here until he's well enough to take care of himself," he had told him.
"Hmph. You can stay until you're ready to go. That's all I'm asking,"
Now, Knuckle's gaze flickered back to the joined hands. Shoot hadn't tried to pull away, so he assumed this was fine. "Yeah, he did. But only until you were feeling better,"
"You don't want to leave," Shoot said, as if confirming it to himself.
Knuckle sighed. "We'll go home together, Shoot," he told him. "I'm not leaving. I don't want to. I... have a duty to fulfill. To myself, okay? Not to Morel,"
Shoot's eyes softened. "Okay," he said, and then imperceptibly, "okay," He laid his head back on the pillows behind him, eyelids fluttering closed.
Knuckle ran his thumb along the side of Shoot's hand in what he hoped was a comforting gesture. Before this, he had only felt responsible for his dogs... never other humans. Dogs were sources of unconditional love; he was never afraid of making mistakes. Now, the weight and the worry was enough to smother his heart with trepidation. Shoot's hand in Knuckle's was nice and soft. Knuckle didn't want to be afraid, so he sat there for a while, watching Shoot drift off to sleep.
-x-x-x-
As the sun began to set behind the horizon, Palm showed up with takeout boxes. She and Knuckle settled in the chairs in the corner of the room, eating hungrily.
"Hey, there's a circus in town," Palm told him.
"Really?"
"Yeah. And I saw two guys playing chess in the park. They were good, really good,"
"That's cool,"
"The kids with kites were back out again today too,"
Knuckle raised his eyes from his box. "Why are you telling me this?" he asked, his tone quizzical.
"I don't know," Palm speared a piece of broccoli with her fork. "Just bringing a little of the outside world to you. You haven't had much of a chance to explore,"
Casting his eyes to the sleeping man in the bed, Knuckle said, "I don't need to, really,"
Palm followed his gaze, eyes resting on Shoot as well. She looked back at Knuckle. "You're so in love," she whispered.
Knuckle sputtered, coughing on his rice. "Oh," he said. He wasn't sure what to make of the idea, except that it caused a twisting in his throat that he couldn't really explain.
"It's okay," Palm told him. There was a teasing smile playing across her lips. "I won't tell,"
Before long, the sun sunk below the horizon, blocked out by tall skyscrapers. The city lit up with a pale blue glow, artificial lights turning on in every building. Now the sidewalks were quieter - the children had all gone home hours ago as the businessmen prepared for their nightly commutes. Morel, released late from his meetings with the Association leadership, walked over to the hospital. Even that building was quiet now, the late-shift staff performing their duties with a more somber mood. After waving a hello to a familiar face at the nurse's kiosk, Morel pushed open the door to Shoot's room.
The room was dark inside, the only light in the room filtering in from the city outside. Shoot was sound asleep, his slender chest rising and falling with each careful breath. The doctors were impressed with his ability to heal so quickly. Morel had assured them his student was tougher than he first appeared, but he privately admitted there was a different explanation.
Indeed, the entire room was straightened up, the trash thrown out and the clutter picked up and put away. There was a new vase of flowers on the bedside table, no doubt Palm's work. Clean towels were neatly folded and hanging on the back of the bathroom door. It almost felt homey, even if it was just a hospital room. Morel smiled as he saw this, thinking fondly of his pupils.
Knuckle was curled up in the chair he called his bed. Still dressed in his grey t-shirt, he slept with a peaceful expression. Morel walked over, grabbing the blue fleece blanket from the foot of Shoot's bed and laying it over his student. "Good job," he whispered, almost too quiet to hear. Knuckle didn't hear him either way - he was a heavy sleeper. Morel shut the door behind him and began his walk back to Knov's apartment.
My boys, he thought. Knuckle takes good care of Shoot. No... they take care of each other, don't they? The big man chuckled to himself as he made his way down the sidewalk. And the lulling night sounds of the city were dark and dense, closing in behind him.