For Curtis, dated 10/27

Even as they walk away from that horrible, sterile place that Grey vows never to go back to, he's flexing his left wrist, moving it, twisting both hands, because he can. The cast is finally off and he has both hands back. The nurse had made some sound when she'd cut it, about how dirty it was, about the dried blood perhaps, but he doesn't care. He flexes his hands, splaying his fingers. Finally, he can climb again, fully and truly and he gives Curtis one look before he dashes ahead, grabbing on to a post with a light on top and spinning himself around just because he can.

It hurts, twinges, really, but he's not supposed to do that, he's sure. But he doesn't care. The cast is gone and he has his sweat-jacket-sleeve pulled down to hide the pasty gray of the skin underneath the cast.

He lands on his feet and faces Curtis, his face almost lighting up. They can spar now, if Curtis wants, they can train. He can join that gym that Tris is at, if Curtis will help him. He's just that little bit more free than he was an hour ago.