18. Food

The two brown paper bags crinkled loudly in the silence as Andren set them down on the small, spotless counter. He thought about pulling out the milk and cheese to put in the fridge unit but decided against it. Phoenix could barely walk, but she wasn't helpless, and he felt like he knew her just well enough to know that she wouldn't want him arranging her things for her. So he left the food still packed in the bags and walked back out the apartment's door, leaving it open.

Phoenix and Hannah stood in the hallway, pointedly not speaking; the nurse stood several feet away, eyes on her patient, part worry, part dislike. The last week had not been easy for either of the two, and Andren had watched Hannah's sweet patience grow more threadbare by the day.

For her part, the patient watched it all with narrow, hostile eyes, a scowl on her thin face. She was slumped over the crutch keeping her upright, but she straightened as he approached, holding out her good hand for the keycard he dropped into it.

"This is the only one, so don't lose it," he told her, stepping further away as soon as she had the card in her hand. Even the foot of distance eased some of the tension in her shoulders. "You can program the lock for a fingerprint ID, too, and the alarm system has a number already. I haven't activated it yet. Will you need anything else?"

"Both a you gone'll do me sparkshine."

Out of the corner of his eye, Andren saw Hannah stiffen, her temper ready to snap. Before the nurse could say anything, he nodded, honestly uncertain what Phoenix would do if Hannah tried for a confrontation. "Okay then. Call if you need anything; the hospital's close by, and I'm staying just a few streets over. Hannah will swing by to pick you up every day at two for PT. If you decide it'd be easier to just have the therapist come here, call the hospital. Okay?"

She nodded, one curt jerk of her head, and sidled to the side to let the two adults pass her by. Hannah glanced back as they went, and Andren could hear the expression on her face in the snap of her voice as she said, "You're welcome."

The girl didn't answer.

----

Phoenix watched them go, good hand clenched white-knuckled around the bar of the crutch. The elevator door slid closed with a soft beep, and she stood alone in the hallway, staring down a long hall of green linoleum floors and closed metal doors, silence pressing down on her. She wondered who was behind those doors. If anyone was. How many people could afford hospital apartments?

How many people needed to?

With a slow breath, she finally turned and made her way into the apartment, pausing to program the lock to her fingerprint. The door slid closed behind her, and she turned to activate the alarm system, memorizing the number in a few heartbeats. Some of the scowl drained away from her face as she tipped her head to study the door and the lock system it had. Better than a rusted padlock. Not as good as a gun.

Then she turned and let her eyes travel over her new…place. Limping, she walked to a chair in the living room and, hesitant, ran a finger over its cream-colored fabric. Did the same over the surface of the small, dark fakewood coffee table, then picked up a maroon pillow from the couch. Put it down again and poked the cushion behind it. Made her way over to the counter in the small kitchen, ran fingers over that surface too. She opened and shut the door to the microwave, and then of the oven, then the fridge unit.  Flicked the lights on, then off, then on again. Ignoring the growing pain in her leg, she shuffled into the bathroom and turned the faucet on. She watched the water run for a few heartbeats before shutting it off. Trailing a finger over the toilet's lid, she studied the shower stall. There was a timer mounted on the water handle. It was reassuring, she decided as she hobbled to the bedroom. Good to know that water was scarce here, too.

The bedroom was just big enough for a bed and a dresser beside it, with a closet recessed in the wall. She let her gaze slide over it all. Same dark fakewood furniture, same cream carpet; the bedspread was teal. She poked it, then pressed her palm full down, swallowing. Looked at the arranged pillows. There were five.

Shaking her head, Phoenix went back to the kitchen. Swallowing again, she pulled everything out of the paper bags that the Captain had brought, piling it all on the counter so she could look, eyebrows drawn close together. After a minute she opened the fridge and transferred everything inside. And then stood for a long time just staring at it all, one hand holding the fridge door open, lips turned down.

When she moved at long last, there was color on her cheeks that hadn't been there before, bright against the pallor of her skin, and confusion darkened the green of her eyes.

Reaching inside, Phoenix picked up a box of crackers and tossed it to the counter. It took her another minute to decide on the cheese, which she put beside the crackers. She closed the fridge and settled onto one of the stools at the counter and proceeded to her lunch, glancing every so often over at the door and the small, blinking light of the activated alarm system.

The pain meds made her stomach lurch, and after barely half the box she had to admit defeat. Putting away the crackers and cheese, she retraced her steps to the bedroom, moving more slowly than before. Rhythmic pain throbbed all down her leg and in her arm. With a soft sound, she dropped her shoulderbag, with the new laptop inside, onto one side of the bed, then sat down on the other. The mattress sank beneath her weight, shifting as she leaned over to drop her crutch and tug off her shoes, and as she stretched out she tugged one of the pillows down for her head.

She couldn't remember the last time she'd slept on a mattress. The thought made her frown, but sleep soon banished thought, and the expression eased after a moment.