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Hrvalye awakened, sitting up in a bed with his left arm in a sling, a cold pack on his left shoulder, and an automated subdermal drug dispenser wrapped around his right arm. His shoulder ached, but far less intensely than before. He leaned back heavily into the profusion of pillows supporting him and sighed with relief as he closed his eyes.

Oh shit, what about that horn thing? He opened his eyes wide as his stomach dropped. He was pretty sure that was real. He didn't remember what he said exactly, but he remembered the look on Cecina's face before she walked away. No, please... He started to tear up and sniffled in an attempt to control himself.

Hrvalye didn't have many friends. Yes, he was about to embark on a new life for a few years anyway, but many Interfacers live a lonely existence on Earth, and he would be glad for the company of fellow lerians when he got back. He also secretly hoped he could couple-off with Cecina. It would change their relationship, sure, maybe even ruin it, but he didn't want to be alone in there.

But that definitely won't happen now, and Cecina might never trust him again. She would have every right not to. Complimenting someone's horns isn't as egregious as talking about their genitals, but horns have a special place in many lerian cultures, and particularly Arvanya. You can obliquely compliment someone's breshelye or bresh (basically a lerian's body from collarbones and up) if they have a nice hairdo that frames their horns or they put on makeup that complements the coloration, but that's pretty much the extent of it. "You have nice horns" is about as vulgar as "you have nice breasts", if a little less offensive.

He reached up to his eye and carefully dabbed at a precarious tear with his index finger to absorb it into his fur. He. Would. Not. Cry. He wasn't in a private room for his convalescence--thankfully, it seemed his injury was minor enough that he could leave soon--and he could not bear to be seen or heard crying. He could not bear to have another reminder of how pitifully sorry he felt for himself.

A tall gentleman in a lab coat walked by, but stopped short when he noticed that Hrvalye was awake. He turned and walked toward the bed with a warm smile on his face. "Good afternoon, Mr. Hederian. It's good to see that you're awake. It seems your friend dosed you with quite a lot of morphine before you arrived--the drug dispenser hasn't even needed to activate. I am Doctor Trvencha." He extended his arm to Hrvalye.

Hrvalye returned the smile weakly, but was able to muster a stronger showing to grip Dr. Trvencha's forearm for a salute. Trvencha's hair was short, brown, and coarse, though the underside of his forearm was much softer.

Most lerians had Trvencha's sort of coarse hair. In truth, all lerians had the same kind of hair, or fur, or whatever you want to call it, but furs like Hrvalye and Cecina were distinguished from shorthairs like Dr. Trvencha because theirs grew to be much longer and softer. Historically, in most places the nobles and landowners were furs; they controlled the levers of power, and they were viewed resentfully as overlord dilettantes by the majority shorthairs. Class consciousness in many countries grew up largely around this division. In today's more egalitarian atmosphere, furs still possessed significant privilege by dint of their historical advantages, but at least on paper the laws of all nations of Kyeta guaranteed equal rights--except Zid, but everyone hates Zid.

There used to be very few shorthair doctors. Now there are... some more. Hrvalye was more aware of the distinction than he wanted to be, but he was glad that things were trending in the right direction, albeit slowly. Trvencha's forearm salutation was a sign of this; it used to be a ridiculous taboo for a shorthair to initiate it with a fur, as that generally implied a sense of social seniority or equality. Most young people cringe at that concept, but there are many older furred patients with whom Trvencha wouldn't have been so bold.

"So, how bad is it, doctor?" Hrvalye and his cohort were getting to the point where they needed to minimize and soon eliminate their use of Arvanyan, but there were only two English-speaking doctors on the whole of Kyeta, and they were probably dealing with more important matters. Besides, he already let Dravori have an Arvanyan conversation with him just this morning.

Trvencha closed the forearm salute with a quick squeeze and released Hrvalye's arm, smiling again, "Not bad. You partially dislocated your shoulder. We've fixed that, and we bandaged and braced the wound on your foot. For the shoulder, you need to wear the sling for the next few days, then see your personal physician. In all likelihood, you won't be able to use it much for at least the next few weeks, but we'll know more once the swelling reduces. For the foot," his off-hand held a clipboard that he raised up and started scribbling on, "I prescribe that you re-bandage it daily and leave it bare except for the brace for the next two weeks. No snow boots, no socks. Those things are already stressful enough on your feet when you don't have a hoofbed injury." He tore off a sheet of paper from the clipboard and handed it to Hrvalye, "Here, this is an order for you to receive door-to-door transport wherever you need to go for two weeks. I'll also upload the directive to your public profile, with your permission."

"Yes, thank you," Hrvalye nodded, returning Trvencha's smile with another pale facsimile. It didn't seem like the doctor was aware of his pitiful weeping in the locker room earlier, or he was gracious enough not to hint that he did. "Would I be able to leave soon? I have some important business to take care of back at the Earth Labs."

Trvencha took a step towards the wall behind Hrvalye and read his vital signs. After a few moments, he nodded, and turned to remove the drug dispenser from Hrvalye's arm. "You are free to go. Obviously, do not use your arm to carry anything while it's in the sling. Light objects in your hand are okay for short periods, but that's it. Cycle that cold pack on and off every few hours to help keep swelling down, be careful with your foot, and otherwise you're in good shape! Just make sure to check out with the receptionist at the front. Oh, and you've still got a fair bit of morphine in your system; do not use or operate heavy machinery for the rest of the day, or for that matter do anything where you need sound judgment or you'd be in trouble if you suddenly felt sleepy." Trvencha finished removing the dispenser and offered his arm again.

Hrvalye pressed the top of his forearm against Trvencha's with gratitude, "I appreciate it." He started to remove the bedcovers. "Oh, by the way, did anyone inquire after me while I was here? I imagine my friend took care of everything for me, but I wanted to make sure."

Trvencha shook his head, "Nothing I'm aware of."

"Great!" at least there probably wasn't some sort of outrage being expressed at work. Probably. Hrvalye slowly swung his legs off the bed as Trvencha gave a quick head nod and took his leave, closing the privacy curtain behind him. Hrvalye's legs dangled for a little while before he set first his good foot, then his bad, on the floor and slowly stood.

Hm. Not bad! Barely any discomfort from the brace, and minimal pain now that the wound has been re-dressed. He checked to make sure he wasn't missing anything, only then realizing that he was wearing only his underwear and a hospital gown, with his pants, long johns, undershirt, and mid-sleeve sweater folded neatly on a chair next to the bed. Unfortunately, he didn't come in with any shoes, so he would have to walk with a completely bare left foot, but that should be fine until he could get back to the locker room at the lab.

He started putting his clothes back on. He was impressed that they somehow removed his shirt and sweater without destroying them, but did they really have to remove his pants to get to his foot? Ah, well. Everything took a little longer with one good arm, but he managed. He had to leave the left sleeves of his shirt and sweater empty, which made him giggle a little inwardly--he felt like a mischievous kid doing something silly that would get him scolded.

As he pulled on his pants, he realized his phone was still in his pocket. He hurriedly pulled it out to see that there were no new messages. Phew. Okay, he can own this. He can manage this. He opened the curtain and walked over to the receptionist where he checked out, and ambled out into the glorious central tunnel that his drugged self was so excited about.

It was certainly interesting. In the past few years it had turned into a major underground city street. Shops and apartments lined the road, but none of the buildings had the grandeur of the city up above, and it was claustrophobic to see only one set of short buildings, knowing that they extended backwards for only a few dozen feet before they met a solid wall of earth and rock. There were plenty of cross-streets and side-streets, sure, but they might as well not have existed as he stood there, trying to figure out which direction he was supposed to go.

People were hustling and bustling in all directions, and the urban din was there, but it was different. It was all smaller. And what few people and things there were felt wrong, like the earth around them was stealing their energy as the air filtration systems droned in the background and the dim, pathetic ceiling lights cast everything in a muted pallor.

Behold, the magnificent city of Koris, reduced to an insipid shadow of itself! Most people still lived aboveground--Hrvalye was one of them--but it was more isolated up there. The museums, libraries, theaters were all there, and all operational for now, but no one went outdoors unless they really wanted to, and using the tunnel system was usually too much of a hassle. It had the eerie feel of a ghost town. He wasn't sure how much longer society could survive like that.

Nobody was sure. And you could feel that dark apprehension in the air.

Eventually Hrvalye got his bearings and hailed a taxi going back towards the lab. Once he'd settled in, he called his team lead, Piran. It was nearly the end of the day and he was exhausted, but he needed to face this situation with Cecina now, whatever that meant.

Piran picked up after a couple of rings, "Hrvalye, my main man!" Piran spoke very good English, but it was rather idiosyncratic. That made sense, given that he had to be conversant in a much broader array of languages in his position, but American English is his primary, so Hrvalye figured he'd be more polished with it. This would be Piran's third cycle on Earth, and he seemed to be stuck with weird or outdated vernacular. Or maybe it was British? Hrvalye would normally enjoy one of these sojourns into Piran's past, but his anxiety was driving his heart to thunder in his chest, and he was starting to sweat in places he didn't usually sweat.

"Hey, Piran!" he tried to sound chill, but his voice was quavering and it squeaked a little bit on the last syllable. He coughed to clear his throat, "Have you happened to talk to Cecina today, after I went to the hospital?"

"Not really, why?"

Hrvalye scratched nervously at the side of his neck. "I'll explain later. I'm on my way back to the lab now, and I'd like to sit down to chat in, say, twenty minutes?" After a brief pause, he blurted, "It's important." Very helpful, Hrvalye, nice work.

"Sure." Beat. "Hey, is everything all right?" There was genuine concern in his voice.

Hrvalye knew what Piran was asking, but sidestepped, "Yeah, just a dislocated shoulder, thank goodness. Gotta run! I'll see you in twenty!" He immediately hung up the phone and slid it back into his pocket; he sure handled that well. Hrvalye covered his eyes with his hand. After a second, he pressed it into his face and slowly slid it down, grotesquely contorting the skin around his eyes. Once his hand flattened on the bridge of his snout, he quickly wicked it forward past his nose, accidentally banging it on the headrest of the seat in front of him. "Haha," he said without actually laughing, shrugging to the driver eyeing him in the rearview mirror as he shook out his hand, "Sorry about that. My hand... slipped." The driver said nothing, then turned her eyes back to the road.

Hrvalye massaged the skin that he'd just brutalized. The concern in Piran's voice unnerved him. All of the Interfacers were responsible for each others' mental health, and that's what seemed to drive Piran to ask if Hrvalye was all right the way he did. If someone was having trouble they needed to report it--or be reported on by one of their colleagues--and then receive a psychological evaluation. Depending on how that went, they'd either be under surveillance or scrubbed from the mission.

Right now, Hrvalye needed to navigate the fallout of what he said to Cecina. Complicating things by making his boss worry about his health would only make it worse. Not to mention that he had no idea how to deal with a situation like this in general_--wait, of course! The web!_ He hurriedly pulled his phone out again and opened a private browser window, mumbling to himself as he typed a search query, "What... to... do... if... you... say... something... offensive... at... work."

The results were not quite what he was looking for. He wanted to take responsibility, whatever that meant, but the advice he found mostly encouraged deflection. He was about to shift to 'something offensive to a friend' when the taxi pulled up to the lab's underground entrance. He checked the time. Shit, it had been 25 minutes since he spoke to Piran.

Hrvalye paid the cabbie and fast-walked to the entrance with a slight hitch (he was wearing uneven footwear, after all). Up the elevator, through the hall, and he stood in front of Piran's office.

He inhaled slowly. Just keep calm, Hrvalye. Take responsibility, and--oh no. He just realized that Cecina might not want Hrvalye to say anything; that would turn this into a workplace matter and blow everything up. _Even if she hated me, she had her privacy and career to protect. I might be making things worse. How could I be such an idiot? How could I only realize this now? _

Hrvalye exhaled, looked down and forcefully shook his head, relaxing his jowls so that they shook and bounced freely. A little bit of saliva somehow flew up and landed on the top of his snout. He wiped it off and inhaled deeply once more. I can wing it. I'm good at that. Priority number one is to protect Cecina... whatever that means.

Knock-knock, beckon from Piran, and through the door.