Fuck. It hurt. Everything hurt. He was so sick of feeling like this. Weak, wrung out.

“Looks good,” the doctor said, making notes. “Go ahead and go back to the top.”

He walked the bars, up and back, again and again, pausing here and there to make slight adjustments to the metal and plastic that was supposed to be a part of his body now.

“Lieutenant, let’s try it without the bars,” Dr. Steers said, peering over the tops of his glasses.

Aldo dropped his hands to his sides and put a little saunter into his stride as he walked slowly toward Annalise. It took every ounce of effort to keep his face impassive. But beneath the surface anxiety, exhaustion, and a fleeting spark of hope all danced a two-step.

“That’s perfect,” the doctor said with an approving nod. “Your gait looks great.”

Again and again, they put him through the paces without walking aids. But this was where he thrived, going up against the wall and finding those last pockets of energy or perseverance. It was like finding a piece of the old Aldo. And fucking hell, it felt good.

His t-shirt was soaked fast to him with sweat, his quads were trembling from walking. But he was pushing hard. And that’s where he was most comfortable.

“Let’s take a quick water break, and then we’ll move on to some of the balance exercises,” the doc suggested.

Aldo tried to play it cool but dropped into the chair next to Harper like a stone.

Annalise directed Harper to a refrigerator with water, and she returned with two. Aldo drained half of his with the desperation of a desert wanderer.

The doctor piped up again while Aldo wondered if he could talk Harper out of her water. “I know the energy expenditure is frustrating. Typically, mobility with a below-the-knee amputation consumes up to forty percent more energy than what you’re used to. That’s why you feel like you just finished a marathon. It might only seem like a few steps to you, but to your body, it feels like almost double that.”

“I’m fine,” Aldo insisted. “I can do more.” At this point, he wasn’t sure if it was a lie or sheer stubbornness.

“Lieutenant, you live up to the hype,” Annalise said, readjusting the bar height, which thank the fucking gods meant he was definitely done with them. “You’re a beast.”

“When can I start running?” He dared them to tell him he couldn’t. That he “might never.” That’s what the last two doctors said. Managing expectations.

Dr. Steers gave him a long look. “I’m going to make a promise that in most cases I don’t get to make. Soon. In fact, I think you’d be a great candidate for a carbon fiber running blade.”