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It was certainly the most vile coincidence that the hospital room was painted in blue. Every time Gregor opened his eyes, he saw it – the colour of the summer midday, that was supposed to bring some hope to the patients. Although it brought him only endless nightmares, nothing more. The reason for his hospital leave didn't help, either.
He begged the Manager and swore that he feels fine, that the clock was able to cure his injuries, that he can go into battle any minute, just- just don't let him stay in that blue room, alone, surrounded by the smell of medicine and chlorine; but nothing helped. Dante insisted on this mandatory isolation, and maybe, it was for the better, since Gregor wasn't able to look into eyes of his dearest comrades. Not anymore. And he thought that his arm is finally calming down..
Days seemed longer and longer with each day he spend in this blue room. Wake up, take your pills, wait for the daily check-up, eat, sleep, have a nightmare where he kills the LCB crew once again, rinse and repeat. The first nights made him hopeless. He tried to slam the door open on the day he arrived, and on the next day he almost broke the glass window, but the nurse managed to stop him with the sleeping gas. After that he didn't try anymore, as even the thought of harming anybody made him nauseous. He almost didn't leave his bed anymore – there was no need for that, since smoking wasn't allowed and he wasn't visiting the canteen either. The only thing that was left to entertain him was staring at the same blue ceiling and trying to find cracks in it.
Sometimes he walked to the wall and hit it with his left hand as hard as he could. He didn't even know why exactly he did this, but somehow, it helped. It gave him the feeling of doing something, at least. Looking at the cracked paint that mixed with the blood that dripped from his knuckles, at the tattooed word that reminded him of that day, he felt light-headed. Possibly, it was also a result of daily medication. Actually, he was signed up for counselling, but he didn't attend it – how could a normal person understand what he's going through? No amount of words and hope to become a better person would replace his wretched arm.
Gregor still didn't know what to say to his comrades when this imprisonment will be over. What should he say to people who had to glimpse into this horror? «I'm sorry for turning into an eldritch being, I didn't want to hurt you»? They already know this, and this made things worse. No shit he was sorry. He didn't want any special treatment, nor he wanted to be pitied – well, maybe he wanted, but not in a "poor baby" way; he's a grown man, after all. He desired to be heard, to scream «It's not my fault! I didn't want that!»; but what difference could it make?
Gregor wouldn't dare even wish to forget that day, when his inner nature suddenly revealed itself. He would never forget the shock, the pain and the struggle; the sound of thousands, millions insects, gathered around his controlled body. Once again, stripped of his own authority; devoid of his own will. He just wished everything would stay the same, but it simply wasn't possible. Not anymore. There wasn't anything that could make them forget this Smoke War monster. Created to destroy, to propagate, to kill. Nobody will wipe those memories from his comrades' heads, of course. Because it's useful – to know who is sitting beside you on the bus. A monster.
Those thoughts never left, but today they were more present than ever. Because a week of this torture passed and he was allowed to have visitors now. Gregor didn't doubt for a second that someone from the LCB would visit him, but he wasn't looking forward to this meeting. He still hasn't came up with a proper apology, and he surely wasn't ready to see their worried faces. So he got up and once again, walked to the same wall crack he had been tormenting for a week, and once again he had hit it as hard as he could. And again. And again, and again, until the crack opened even further, and so the wound on his knuckles, until the wall paint turned red. That's more like it. No more of that blue-ish colour. No sooner had he stopped, the door opened and let a visitor inside. And it wasn't someone he had expected to see at all.
"Good morrow!! How hath thou been, my dearest ally?!" The door blasted open and creaked hopelessly. He could recognise this voice in the loudest crowd he could ever thought of, despite his owner being the smallest one in their group.
"D-Don Quixote?! I, uhh.. didn't expect to see you, of all people. No offence, though." Gregor quickly hid his hands behind his back and walked to her. She was desperately looking for something in her pockets and, it seemed, paid zero attention to the crack and the injury. He sat on the bed and slid his bruised hand under the blanket. Why she, of all people? He thought that it would be Dante, as they were his manager, or perhaps, Vergilius, since Gregor considered himself a danger to an ordinary person. To some Sinners, for sure.
"'Tis alright, thou haven't been informed, I see." Gregor hasn't noticed how she got closer to his ears and whispered, effortlessly invading his personal space. "I hath brought thou a small present, but thou shan't tell 'tis to the nurses." Something landed on his leg and almost fell down this instant, but he quickly grabbed it, exposing his bruises. It was a pack of cigarettes and a lighter.
"Oh, this is my favourite brand. Thank you, Don Quixote." He immediately brought one to his mouth and tried to lit it, but failed. Donqui took the lighter out of his hand, and he hissed from pain, hiding the hand again. The cig fell on his lap. Only then had he realised how he looked at the moment. There wasn't any mirrors in his room, he was in the hospital for a week, so naturally he was unkempt, unshaven and those robes he was provided with didn't help either. And on top of that there was his injured hand that probably made him a cripple in the eyes of his colleague. "I'm sorry, I.. I'll just smoke later. I don't want you to inhale it, that is." Liar. Blood flushed to his ears, as it did always when he lied, and it most certainly made him feel even more embarrassed.
Don Quixote said nothing. She smiled, grabbed the fallen cigarette, lit it and handed it to Gregor. He bit into its end, but Don didn't pull her hand away; instead, she was waiting until he inhaled. "I'll be thy hand today, sir Gregor." said she, he exhaled and the smoke filled the room. They sat in a complete silence, and only the sounds of smoking and their breath sometimes interrupted it. For some reason, Don Quixote was unwilling to speak, and that was unusual for a chatter like her; instead she just watched as he smoked with those shining eyes of hers. Gregor was surprised, but felt strangely at ease. Suddenly all the problems he was facing vanished, like they didn't exist at all. He wasn't being ridiculed, nor he was accused of everything that had happened. He was being taken care of, even if that care was simply taking the cig out of his mouth when he needed to exhale and putting it back in.
Finally, the cigarette was finished. He put the remains on the night-table and deeply sighed. The excuse for staying silent was over, and now he felt that he had to said something, anything. But Don Quixote stayed silent. She reached for his injured hand and took a couple of bandages from her pockets. Wound after wound, she placed them onto Gregor's skin, until it was all covered in colours – it was some sort of kids brand, perhaps, as all bandages were painted in the Fixers' colour schemes with emblems. "I hath bought them just in case," said she, and it was also a lie, as every member of the bus knew that anything connected to the Fixers is going to end up in her hands. "No use in them when thou have our Manager, but I sometimes slap them on my skin just.. because. Everybody needth some colour here and there from time to time."
Gregor noticed how unnaturally cold her hands were. Right, she's.. He wondered whether had she resorted to the option of taking off Rocinante when they were in the House of Spiders. She had a degree of control, at least. He wished he had the same option.
"Don Quixote.." called he, and she raised her head to look at him again. "How did you accept that you could harm others.. even if you didn't want this in the first place?" Gregor immediately regretted this question. He didn't want others to think that he was worried. This incident shouldn't happen anymore, and he shouldn't reminded her of the reason why he was in the hospital in the first place. Donqui closed her eyes and opened them again after a minute. Her expression changed to a solemn and distant one. Although she was looking at Gregor, she wasn't looking at him directly.
"I didn't. I never did." was all that she said.
"At least you have Rocinante.." Gregor muttered to the side. It wasn't a place to be competitive, but he wished to have a glimpse of what Donqui had. To be able to tame this beast inside. To lock it in a cage and eat the key.
"It doesn't help much. Not anymore, after I hath gained my memories back." She shook her head. "I'm still deeply grateful for its' service, but now it feeleth like a restraint. As if.. thou arm wasn't here, but thoust instincts remained."
Gregor was taken aback by this revelation. He wasn't aware of how Rocinante worked anymore. "You're saying that.. you still feel what Bloodfiends feel and all? Uh, sorry if that's not appropriate to-"
"Doth thou know, why I stared at you while you smoked?" Don Quixote asked suddenly, but this question wasn't meant to be answered. "I can smell the blood from miles afar. I tried my best not to be taken by my instinct."
"So you're.. living because of sheer will.. control?.. What if one day.. Shit, I'm sorry. Forget it, okay?" He didn't dare to say more. Right, he said enough and he shouldn't have said it at all.
There was a certain sadness in her eyes. Perhaps, she had remembered that check-up incident. Or the Lamanchaland experience. Or the Warp Train. The usual glistening happiness seemed to have vanished. There's nothing worse to see how the most cheerful person out of all your friends lose their hopeful attitude.
"One day it will happen, for sure. I might harm you, or Rodya, or even Manager Dante.. but I know one thing for sure." Don Quixote looked at him again, and he saw how the light in her eyes appears word by word. How she starts smiling more and more with each sentence. How her cheeks slightly blush with light pink. "I'm sure that my friends won't abandon me. That they'll do everything to help me snap out of it. That they won't judge me for who I am, but for whom I aspire to be. That is why I'm sure that one day I'll be able to dismount Rocinante once and forevermore."
Gregor was silent for a minute or two. This wasn't the approach he thought of. This was the approach that he had never even considered.
"With that mindset of yours.. one day, you will." He smiled and giggled a little, only to notice that Donqui was smiling as well. As bright as the brightest star in the whole universe.
"Worry not, dear Gregor!" she suddenly jumped and hugged him tightly. "I'm certain that thou willst also break thoust cage!" For a second he wasn't sure how to react, and then embraced her as well, feeling how her cold body shivered from an unexpected wave of warmth. And how come she hasn't said anything about the hospital temperature? Greg sometimes found himself trembling in the mornings; how does she feel it then? And his embrace became even tighter.
"Thank you, Donqui. I.. I really needed to hear it."
Before Don left, she also gave Gregor a package with everything that sinners prepared for him. There was a lot of food from Rodya, a book from Yi Sang and other things that they deemed necessary for a monthly hospital stay. And a huge letter from everyone, which brought a huge smile to his face.
"Well, it seems, that the visitors time hath come to an end.." said Don Quixote when somebody knocked on the door. "I sincerely hope that it hath brought thou to thoust senses, sir Gregor."
"One more thing, Donqui." Gregor took her hand and held it in his, looking at her fingers – her nails started to turn purple-ish. He thought for a second and then pressed his lips against her skin, kissing her slightly trembling hand. The heat of his breath brought some degree of warmth, at least. «That's more like it», thought he. "Thank you, valiant knight Don Quixote."
Her cheeks became red as a tomato. Certainly, she wasn't freezing anymore.
"T-that's..! As a knight, I..!" She grabbed his bandaged hand and kissed every bandage in response. "A-as a knight I had to return thou favour!! That's more like it!" She got up and left abruptly, as the knocking from the other side became frantic.
Gregor looked at the bandages again. The blue room now was filled with colours, and all of them – right here, on his hand. "Next time I should tell her that you don't lit a cigarette from the filter side."