Resurgence of the Fallen Commander

Episode 15

Having a pet dog hadn't dramatically changed Blake's routine. Sure, it added a bit of excitement when returning home, but life still revolved around the mundane cycle of eat, sleep, work, repeat.

However, the living room and bathroom seemed unusually spotless lately.

Though Blake usually did a quick tidy-up, it never reached the level of being completely pristine. Now, the bathroom remained dry and tidy, without a hint of water stains or stray hairs. Even the little household robot seemed to have fewer malfunctions lately, a stark difference from the previous frequent sparks and electrocutions. It had even managed to carve carrot flowers correctly.

The robot credited these changes to a new chip. Yet, it was during dinner when Blake noticed something off—the absence of the usual burnt taste in the meal bordered on eerie.

With a serious expression, Blake clamped the robot's head between his hands. “Confess. Did you secretly update your system? The repairman warned updating could crash your system due to your limited memory space.”

The robot blinked its electronic eyes, lagging behind before responding, “No, I haven't.”

Doubtful, Blake opened its casing for a thorough check, looking for melted or damaged components inside. He found none, reluctantly putting suspicion aside. “...So why didn't today's dinner taste burnt?”

Nearby, Andy sat quietly, methodically stirring his bowl of food and eating rapidly in silence.

“Did you repair it?” Blake turned to Andy, catching him off guard. Andy paused, hesitated for a split second, but then nodded, complying with the unspoken rule against deceit and hiding the truth.

Blake’s laughter nearly bubbled over but, seeing Andy’s pursed lips and silent demeanor, he realized Andy wouldn’t listen without a reason.

“I wanted to find something useful to do. It seems unreasonable to idle around like some useless burden, right?” Andy's voice was rough, the admission tinged with pride.

His self-respect didn't allow him to simply lie down and accept everything without contributing.

Blake hesitated; he had never considered this perspective before. Despite the vision issue being a significant hurdle, Andy needed to feel useful and contribute somehow.

Blake contemplated for a moment, then walked to the balcony.

When Blake returned inside, the chill of his sweater stark against the warm interior, he unraveled what he had carried back.

Unbeknownst to him, Andy's expression had a hint of panic, his hands clenched into fists on the table.

“Sorry, I won’t do it again...”

“What?” Blake asked casually, handing the bundle over. “Here, take this.”

Andy stopped mid-apology, staring at the object with a startled, unsure look. He gingerly brushed a finger over it, treating it as though it were dangerous.

“It was a complimentary gift when I shopped the other day. The store owner claimed it grows easily, even in winter. Yet, within days, it's almost dead under my care.” Blake admitted with a slight remorse, gazing at the small potted plant whose once vibrant green had withered.

“Would you mind loosening the soil and watering it daily? Who knows, it might revive.”

Andy paused, lifting his gaze in Blake’s direction. His vision was blurred, seeing only a vague silhouette.

His fingers hesitated yet gently wrapped around the plant, the cool clay pot a tangible presence in his grasp. His reply was a soft, “...Okay,” as if whispering to a butterfly perched on his lashes.

*

The plant, known as Rubellite Vine, could grow robustly with a reddish hue akin to gems, but was treacherously easy to overwater and kill for beginners.

Despite his impaired vision, Andy seemed to possess a knack for nurturing plants. He approached the task with hesitant yet heartfelt diligence.

Occasionally passing through the living room, Blake would find Andy meticulously tending to the Rubellite Vine, his brow furrowed in intense concentration, as if solving a complex puzzle rather than caring for a houseplant.

One day, after examining the plant for progress, Blake remarked with feigned indifference, “Doesn't seem much changed.”

In truth, the little plant had shown signs of recovery, inching upward and gaining a new leaf.

Andy averted his gaze and quietly countered, although reluctantly, “There is some change—a half-inch growth, a new leaf, and the stem has become smoother in texture.”

The defiant silence he'd once clung to was nearly forgotten, as he spoke about the plant's development with mechanical precision and earnest dedication.

Watching with his chin propped in his hands, Blake chuckled silently. He gently nudged the tender new leaf, humming playfully, “Let’s hope you appreciate the effort and flourish quickly.”

Though the chastising tone stopped Andy in his tracks momentarily, realizing Blake addressed the vine, he relaxed. The admonishment imbued with light-hearted affection felt like a cat's soft paw brushing against his heart, inciting a pleasant, ticklish warmth.

Blake turned to Andy, his voice dropping to a softer pitch, “And you should focus on recovering too.”

Andy's fingers trembled almost imperceptibly. The cold, serious air replaced with a touch of vulnerability, responded hesitantly, “...Yes... Okay…”

“Though mind over matter doesn’t apply here,” Blake concluded with a sleepy yawn, returning to his feet. “Let me renew your bandages more diligently, we can hope for a fresh start by year’s end.”

With his customary head ruffle, Blake departed, leaving Andy with his thoughts.

...

New York had been blessed with delightful weather, a string of sunlit days piercing through the canopy of clouds to illuminate the snow-swept cityscape with a brilliant glow.

The Rubellite Vine responded eagerly, stretching its leaves as if soaking in the rare warmth.

Andy’s wounds, too, began to show signs of healing—particularly the extensive tears across his back, the excruciating endurance needed beyond verbal description.

The shifting bandage process was a delicate dance of pain—its fabric often clung fiercely to the healing flesh, pulling away was akin to torture, each pause claiming and offering moments of reprieve devoid of movement.

Whenever Blake finished, his body was drenched in a nervous sweat, muscles aching from the tension, while Andy lay tense as melting sugar in a pot.

Handing over the aftermath to the robot, Blake stood to stretch away the stiffness, while Andy donned his coat to fend off the lingering chill.

“Thank you.”

The hoarse words drifted toward Blake, turning him back to see Andy’s tentative hope. “I feel as if I’m healing, the scars might finally scab over soon.”

Andy acknowledged quietly, lost amid the unsaid, not knowing how to bridge the canyon of unspoken issues that lay in the silence between them. Did their uneasy truce suffice?

He couldn’t yet decipher Blake's intentions—whether the vine or bandage, was it merely a part of his personal game? Similar to irrigating and fertilizing a plant until it bore ripe fruits?

The living room's heat fought valiantly against the cold, enough to nip Adam’s unheeded thoughts. Swallowed whole by his mind, he missed the perspiration matting his hair, chilling his lips with its sweep of pallor.

A towel landed softly atop his head, blocking the troubling train of thought.

“Dry off, don’t catch cold,” came Blake’s familiar voice, offering warmth amid frigid musings. “Have the robot get you some warm milk, sleep early tonight.”

Andy shivered slightly, content to follow this moment, fragile yet soothing.

...

Itching during healing was an insidious enemy, battling sleep's embrace despite weary eyelids.

To avoid scratching, Andy lay eyes-clenched tight, the meticulous rhythm of his breath merely a whisper slipping through the silent hall, echoing past Blake's room.

Blake, lying in the dark, absorbed the ceiling's pattern, drawn into sleep accompanied by Andy’s muffled lull.

Eventually, one evening Blake returned home with an unusual purchase.

The robot protested vigorously as the tail of a plush body pillow was dangled before Andy's eyes. “Touch it?”

“What is it…”

Andy hesitated, fingers brushing the soft coat, almost retracting with skepticism. He tilted his head to question, “Is it alive?”

Blake’s laughter spilled like warm liquid, pressing the pillow into Andy’s reluctant arms with a warm chuckle. “Use it as your cuddle buddy. Curling up isn't good for your legs; hugging it will be more comfortable.”

Back pain hindered lying flat, while curling added strain to his legs and front injuries.

Blake had realized this issue that morning when he sipped water in the living room.

Andy tentatively caressed the plush surface, rough fingertips meeting a contrasting downy tenderness.

“...Thank you.”

He remained shy against the backdrop of Blake’s soft-tonal offering and the silky bundle in his grasp.

Against his instincts, Andy thought he could stay guarded against deceit and masked façades. Surely, hostility was often unveiled, sincerity and kindness impossible to feign.

Yet those moments—sprinkled with sugar-coated barbs—penetrated his defenses, careful yet persistent.

As a stone submerged in honey, even the hardened outer shell melted with time.

“Perhaps we could plan a follow-up check soon, and…” Blake mused, unaware of Andy’s turbulent contemplation, calculating the timings for a trip back to the doctor.

“I’m soon due for annual leave, about two weeks off. We should prepare for the upcoming celebration too.”

Pointing out their thinning supply of essential grains and flour, Blake’s robot eagerly proposed, “Let’s try baking pastries! I downloaded new recipes recently!”

Blake knocked the robot's head playfully, grinning, “Just steer clear of blowing up the kitchen.”

Such colloquial conversations permeated their daily exchanges—mundane and intimate, sharing trivialities and humorous banter like any ordinary household.

It was a life Andy had rarely experienced. Seemingly trivial and inconsequential, it held the richness of a fine wine—each drop enveloping him in warmth, loosening the tension from every nerve.

Andy's fingers brushed the vine's curling tip.

Once near demise, the resilient vine's revival mirrored the pulse of life itself.

Though life bore its burdens, its tenacity inspired relentless hope.

For the first time, hope fluttered gently in Andy's heart.