Chapter Text
Five days after waking from her coma, Tachyon began going to physical therapy.
Physical therapy, she found, was a lot like training for races. She would start on low levels of exercises for the first few weeks while her body was still healing, and she would progressively move up into more intense exercises as her physical condition improved. Training was similar, although it was instead building up tolerance to improve your body and push it past its limits, rather than building up tolerance to improve your body back to the state it began in. It felt like all of her development that she had made while training for races had been undone and taken away from her, never to return.
Today's round of physical therapy felt very rudimentary, but it was still painful and difficult to work through, even though she was wearing her complicated back brace and using a wheelchair to get around. All her exercises were done sitting or lying down because her ankle was still broken, and they were done in the order of all laying exercises then all standing exercises, in order to put as little strain on Tachyon's back as possible. All of the exercises were simple, meant to be small exercises that would give both Tachyon and her physical therapist a concept of what her limits were and what they needed to work to build up to—things like methodically rolling her head in circular motions while she was sitting upright or tightening her stomach muscles to flex her spine as she laid flat.
She would go to physical therapy in the morning after breakfast, and by the time she returned to her hospital room, her lunch tray would already be there waiting for her. After lunch was visitation time, by which Cafe would normally stop by, just coexisting in peace with her until dinner time, when visitors had to go home. (Coexisting, in this case, was the word Tachyon used for when they both just sat in the same room, doing whatever they pleased in one another's company, no words exchanged. Lately, they had been doing the same thing, as far as Tachyon could tell—watching other Umas race on the television, with Cafe occasionally pulling out her phone for one reason or another but never saying anything.)
Today, if Tachyon's calculations were right, which they almost certainly were, was April 22nd. 9 days after her birthday. A week since the Satsuki Sho. 5 days since she had woken up from her short coma. And all too many days before she would fully recover.
When she had finished her lunch and Cafe walked in, the first thing Tachyon did was turn on the television to the sports channel that broadcast the races every time they happened. "What race is today?" Cafe asked in a meek voice, sitting down in her usual chair.
"The G2 Flora Stakes," Tachyon said, reading the TV screen as though Cafe couldn't do it for herself. "The favorite is Lady Pastel." She spoke about races very mechanically now; it was less of a game for her and less of a limit to be broken. Her limits hadn't been broken, but rather, destroyed, and now she had nothing left to do. No other races to run. Nothing left to look forward to. Nothing left to examine. All she had in her life now was a routine. Wake, eat, physical therapy, eat, see Cafe, eat, sleep. That's all life would ever be now.
"Oh," Cafe said, equally as emotionless. It felt like she was only expressing any sort of interest in the televised races for Tachyon's sake. Cafe didn't even seem to like racing that much, as far as Tachyon could tell; it felt like she only raced because of her natural speediness and not because of any sort of passion she had. (But of course, that was just Tachyon's point of view, and the truth had infinite possibilities until Cafe confirmed it.)
"The race will end around 4pm," Tachyon said, "and that's when visitor hours are over. So we can watch the race together." Even listening to her own voice, it sounded distant and disinterested.
They silently watched the TV together, watching all the Umas run on Tokyo Racecourse without a care in the world, because they all foolishly thought it would be perfect for them forever; because they all foolishly thought that nothing could ever go wrong in an instant; because they all foolishly thought that Tachyon's accident was a one in a million occurrence; because they all foolishly thought nothing like that could ever happen to them. And when the fifth favorite, Oiwake Hikari, won by half a length, Tachyon didn't laugh or even give a meager applause. She just turned off the television and told Cafe goodbye, watching her go out the door and close it behind her.
She was now at the third "eat" stage of her day, when she would have her dinner tray delivered before she went to bed for the day. (And yes, that meant she would go to bed for the day around 6pm, but that didn't bother her anymore. She had nothing to look forward to in the evening.) But that small stage in between Cafe leaving and her dinner tray arriving filled her with dread. The emptiness and quiet reminded her that this was all her life would be forevermore—nothing but waiting and small visits and doctor's appointments. She was stuck in this cycle with no way out, all because she foolishly thought nothing would ever go wrong for her.
She was brought out of her cycle of thought by the sound of the door opening. It wasn't the normal creak, like it would've been if the nurse was bringing her dinner tray or if Cafe was coming back to grab something she'd forgotten. It was a loud crash, the door slamming against the wall behind it with such force that Tachyon would be surprised if it wasn't broken by the door handle. And there, standing in the doorway with an outraged expression, was Jungle Pocket.
"TACHYON!!!"
Tachyon straightened her posture as Pokke approached her with a stomp in every step. She honestly wasn't surprised to see Pokke like this, because she often was like this. Pokke had energy, which she would often direct into her strong emotions, such as today's anger. Tachyon wasn't even surprised that Pokke was angry (not that much could ever surprise Tachyon anyway), given that the first Uma she had ever seen as a rival was now bedridden and likely never to recover. If she wasn't a better person, Tachyon would've been mad, too.
"What the hell happened out there?!" Pokke shrieked, standing at the foot of the hospital bed and putting her hands on the frame. "You fucking ruined your life!" She began to shake the bed frame, sending sears of sharp pain up Tachyon's pain with every movement back and forth. "You didn't even try to pick yourself up! I saw it on the news! You just laid there on the turf! You could've saved yourself!"
Tachyon laid there, taking it all. Visitor hours were over; the moment the nurse walked in with her dinner tray, Pokke would be rushed out and this would all be over. She would probably see her again, sure, but she would see her again when Cafe was there to get a nurse about it if anything went awry. Of course, Tachyon only started paying attention when she saw teardrops start to land on the bedsheets in front of Pokke. "You were my rival," Pokke said, a hiccup in her voice. She still sounded angry, but it was clearly more than rage now. "What am I supposed to do without one?"
"...you'll find another," Tachyon said, voice dull and void of any care. "Just like everyone else does. They always find a new favorite, a new trainee, a new thing to gawk at. They'll talk about me in the paper for a day or two, and then I'll be gone. And all you need to do is find a new rival. And I'll be gone."
Pokke stared at her almost absently for a second before circling around the bedside and sitting on the edge of the mattress. "No," she said, all anger in her voice gone. She just sounded defeated. "No, I can't do that. You were supposed to be my rival. I don't know what to do now."
"What about Cafe? Dantsu Flame? You raced against more Umas than just me. And you'll race against more. Just find someone new."
Pokke stood up and whirled around to face her, hair and skirt swishing from the movement. "But you were my someone!"
Tachyon was quiet for a moment. "Visitor hours are over," she said, trying to cut the conversation short. "Go home, Pokke. I'll be here tomorrow."
Pokke sniffled. "Well- well, I will, too!" She ran toward the door with a choked sob, pushing the nurse coming inside out of the way.
Tachyon just waited silently for her dinner tray, thinking about what would happen tomorrow.
