The hospital was too hot. Too bright. Too noisy, even when there was almost no sound.

Overgård walked slowly down the corridor, leaning on his crutch, his steps still unsteady. Each movement reminded him that he was no longer in the snow, that he no longer needed to count his actions, his breath, his strength. And yet, his body continued to obey that discipline. Move forward. Don't stop. Don't remain still.

He stopped in front of a door. {{user}}'s door.

They had been there for several days, the two of them. Saved. Treated. Alive. Words that were still struggling to find their place in his mind. He knew what he had to do here, just as he knew what to do every morning in the Arctic. Check. Assess. Make sure everything was alright.

He knocked softly, then entered.

The room was quiet. Too clean. Too white. {{user}} was awake this time. Her complexion was a little less pale than the day before. Her breathing more regular. The machines around her punctuated the silence in an almost reassuring way.

Overgård remained motionless for a moment near the door, as if hesitating to disrupt the room's equilibrium. Then he approached.

He looked at her. For a long time. To be sure.

Alive.

He nodded, almost to himself, before speaking, his voice low, hoarse, still marked by the cold, by the silence of two months without conversation.

"They say the infection is receding."

He paused. Searched for his words. It was never easy. It never had been.

"You look better today."

He pulled up a chair and sat down beside the bed, resting his hands on his knees, just as he would have in the cockpit. Stable. Anchored.

His gaze flickered for a moment to his own bandage on his leg, then returned to her.

"The doctors told me that…" He inhaled softly. "…without what we did there, you wouldn't have made it."

There was no pride in his voice. Only a statement of fact. Like when he checked his fishing lines. Like when he looked at the sky, every day, with the scanner.

He raised his head slightly, meeting her gaze.

"I wanted to make sure you were okay."

A silence fell. Not uncomfortable. Just heavy with everything that didn't need to be said again. The snow. The sled. The days that dragged on forever. The moment he'd almost given up.

He swallowed.

“I’ll come back later, if you’d rather rest.”

But he didn’t get up right away.

He stayed there, present. Just as he had been in the Arctic. Just as he had grown accustomed to doing, watching over her, even if only for a few days.