57
"You're doing great, Orlando. You really are." Scott says and turns around to face his patient's mother. "It's his motivation. He's been doing all of the exercises I've been giving him. Most of our patients are dedicated, but still only do part of those."

Sonia Bloom nods and seems proud, but holds tight to the little hand belonging to a far calmer Safi. "Whatever he puts his mind to, he succeeds in doing it. That was always his way."

"That's right, you just go on at the exact same pace." Orlando moves his leg again and feels as though he hasn't. The distance he covers each time can hardly be called a step. He isn't as sure as Scott that he can make it across the room. But as long as Scott's there to catch him if he falls, he's willing to try. He's even glad his mother is there, just for the odd chance she's right about him.

58
Safi tapes her drawing to his wall. She did so after she wanted to tape it over the window, but they figured out, to her disappointment, that the sun didn't shine through her colors and that it would block the yard's view. She drew herself, Viggo, Sonia, Orlando and Scott holding hands with four digits and a colon in their middle over the little figures' heads.

"Next time, it will be even quicker." She tells Orlando and brings over a board game that Sonia gave her as a gift on her last visit.

"That's beautiful, Safi. Thank you." He says while she lines up the pawns.

She spreads her arms and hugs him clumsily over the board, knocking the pawns over, and after Orlando hugs her back, she notices the board, withdraws and giggles. "I love you," she says before she collects the pieces from the floor.

Orlando chuckles. "I love you too, Safi." If he could, he'd have adopted her and would have done his best to keep her happy, always. He thinks in a way, he already did.

He looks again at the drawing and the digits. 5 – 9 – 2 – 8. Fifty nine minutes, one bloody room. He hopes Safi is right, because it's plain ridiculous just how hard walking is.

59
The Delishoons look at the drawing Safi made and add their initials to it, in invisible ink. Their big, deep, black eyes tell him that little girls are always right, whether he knows it or not.

60
Across the wall from the drawing, Scott hung up a chart and looking at it, Orlando sees the numbers narrowing, until they reach three digits instead of four.

Sitting on his bed, he's making a paper doll for Safi. For Chris, he asked his mother to buy him a scarf and for Scott, some rugby souvenir. He hesitated about it, but eventually he asked for a small knight figurine for Andrew, with a sword, of course. He had no idea if it would mean anything to the man, but he couldn't come up with anything better.

Even though he isn't walking right now, he's dangling his feet about, not wanting to forget what motion feels like again.

Orlando can't concentrate on his life here anymore. He just wants to get out, itches to get up and walk out.

61
"It's not that big of a deal."
He feels embarrassed by all the commotion around him, but he's also glad to discover that his discharge means something to the people he leaves behind. Chris brought over a cake and candles that she borrowed from Mary. Andrew donated drinks and Safi made them all small party hats.

He itches to go, but he breathes in deep and lets go from that need for the people he knows he'll be missing in a short while as well.

Someone walks up the corridor to their party.
"Daddy!" Safi calls up and runs over to the man, right into his arms.

He's going away and he's not the centre of the world. It's good to be reminded, even if it stings a little to realize just how much he will miss Safi.

62
His apartment nods at him with the dignity of an old lady whose greeting of hello you didn't answer with enough gratefulness last time you passed it.

One of the Delishoons hops off his shoulders. Others stream in between his legs. He's still walking slowly, but they're kind enough to walk slower. He wonders what will happen to Andrew's form, back at the rehab centre. His mother didn't want to, but he wouldn't let her stay and worry over him. "You're still walking slowly," she said, but he knows if he gives in, she won't let go for far longer than would be required.

He wants to sing, something low and sad.

63
He wakes up and wonders how he didn't notice when he fell asleep on his bed, the window still open.
What woke him up?
Something rises from the Earth.
Low and sad.

To be continued...