Sunday.

"Hiccup!" Stoick's growl was followed by a swear and the sound of a smack landing on the back of his son's head. "If you break that thing, I'll sell your other leg to pay for repairs!"

"It's my leg," the young man muttered, not looking up. In one hand he gripped the ankle of his new prosthesis, and in the other was a miniature screwdriver. His mouth was set in a scowl.

"Don't break the expensive prosthetic," Astrid sighed from the loveseat. Elbow deep in the Haddocks' laundry, she pulled the sleeve of one of Hiccup's button-downs straight and used her chin to hold the shirt to her chest.

"I'm not breaking it," he grumbled. "I'm loosening it."

She flicked her eyes to his face. For a twenty-one year-old suddenly adjusting to one-leggedness, Hiccup had been accepting his amputation with surprising optimism and humor. Ever since that morning, though, when he and his father had gone to the doctor to receive his new prosthesis, his mood had been dark. He'd batted Toothless away from him every time the cat got close, and he'd hardly looked up when Astrid arrived.

They were on a rotation schedule. Stoick came down to Hiccup's apartment on the weekends, and then Astrid stayed from Monday through Thurday. On Fridays, Fishlegs came to keep him company until his dad got there Saturday afternoon. He didn't make his feelings about the arrangement anything less than obvious, and if any of them hovered too much, he got irritable. It was an adjustment period, one that was difficult for all of them.

"Dr. Imoji said it looked like a perfect fit," Stoick grumbled as he crossed back through the living room. He plucked a couple of things from the pile of clothes and stuffed them into the duffel bag he carried.

"Well, since it's digging into my stump and not Dr. Imoji's, I'm making an executive decision."

There was a little acid in the way Hiccup said stump. His father gave Astrid a withering glance and then looked to the ceiling with a shake of his head.

"I'm heading out. I'll be back at the end of the week." Stoick gave Toothless a grudging pat as the cat climbed the back of the loveseat to wish him goodbye. It was an amusing picture, since the burly man could have picked up the little feline with one hand. "Don't break that thing. Astrid, call me if you need anything."

"We'll be fine," she smiled, giving Stoick a wave.

He patted Hiccup's shoulder roughly as he passed the couch, the only physical affection usually exchanged between the two. The younger man only nodded absently, like the touch had been words he needed to respond to. Then his father was slinging his bag over his shoulder and ducking out the front door.

"You wanna go see a movie or something?" Astrid asked after he'd gone, setting aside a nicer shirt to be placed on a hanger. "You still owe me a cheeseburger, y'know."

"Not tonight." His answer was low and disinterested. The prosthesis gave a creaking noise that made her nervous, and his brows furrowed as he lifted the false leg to inspect the damage. After a moment and a shrug, he went back to attacking the thing.

"Okay," she replied slowly. Her attentions went back to the last few articles of clothing, and then she pushed away from her seat and crossed the room. Falling onto the couch, she leaned over Hiccup to steal the remote. He stiffened, but she pretended not to notice, bringing the television to life with a click. "Pay-per-view?"

He frowned, finally glancing away from his prosthesis to give her an unamused look. There was no answer, though, and so she pretended not to see. Pressing down the irritation beginning to simmer, she chose a movie she wasn't really interested in but hadn't seen yet. Perhaps by simply appearing to be engrossed, she could subconsciously will Hiccup into watching the bawdy comedy.

Astrid had read all the "How to Help Your Loved One" pamphlets that the doctors had shoved at Stoick. They were filled with unhelpful little phrases like let your loved one grieve and help your loved one keep realistic expectations. She had thought that with all the smiling and joking Hiccup had been doing in the past month, there would be no need to make sense of the pamphlets. But the way he was glaring at the flesh-toned foot, her heart was sinking.

"You are going to break that thing if you keep at it," she informed him. "You're a mechanic, not a prosthetis. It's not as durable as your bike."

His snort was sardonic. "Let's throw it at a semi and find out."

Astrid sighed. She set aside the remote and rubbed at her eyes with the heels of her palms. "Just say it. You hate it."

"I hate it," he promptly echoed.

Twisting, she pulled her legs up so she could cross them under her and stretched her arm over the back of the couch. After staring at him for a long moment, she took a deep breath. "I found an article about how you can switch the pedals and stuff on your motorcycle. You can still ride."

Hiccup looked up. With a blank expression, he held up the prosthesis and gave it a little shake in her direction. "Y'know what the guy said when he put it on me for the first time?" After a pause, he straightened and adopted an accent. "'Looks good as new.'"

"So maybe not the most tactful thing he could've said," she allowed with a wince. "But-"

"And then the nurse told dad, 'Careful. That girlfriend won't be able to keep her hands off of it.'" His expression was flat, and Astrid blushed under his even gaze.

Her eyes dropped to the side. It must have been the pregnant, red-headed nurse from last time, the one who'd winked at Astrid while rolling up Hiccup's sweatpants to measure his still-healing leg. She'd been sweet. They'd laughed afterwards about how she probably got the wrong impression. It seemed they were right.

"I can handle this," he said, gesturing at his legs. They were hidden beneath a fuzzy blanket Astrid had bought not long after Hiccup got out of the hospital, but the shape of his left knee was clearly visible beneath. It tapered just a few inches and then rounded off into a nub that she was still learning not to shy away from. He rested his hand on his thigh, and his long fingers flexed as if reaching for the lost flesh before settling. "But the fake cheeriness, the way people tiptoe around their pity- it sucks."

She started to say that nobody pitied him. But then she thought better of it and let the words die. "It'll get better," she murmured instead. "They're just trying to be sensitive to your feelings."

Hiccup scoffed. He pointed the prosthesis at her. "Well? Can you keep your hands off of it? Does this hollow, shiny plastic leg inspire an insatiable desire to ravish me?" Though his words were sarcastic and bordering on a little mean, there was a grief behind his eyes.

"Don't tease me," she commanded softly, swallowing the urge to do just that simply for the sake of disproving him. Her hand went to her hair in an irrepressible wave of self-consciousness. Before everything happened, before the accident and Hiccup's amputation, they'd been getting closer. She'd been getting braver. Every time she saw him, she'd had to keep herself from blurting out her true feelings. There were Fridays where she almost did.

It took more than his leg. It took her courage too.

"I'm not teasing you," he argued, his brow creased with irritation. "I'm asking you- does this fake thing make it easier to pretend I'm not crippled? Does it freak you out more or less than a mishapen stump?"

Astrid Hofferson did not do self pity. The pamphlets would probably discourage her ire. She felt her frown deepen into something angrier, and her hand ripped the prosthesis from his grip. Pushing off of the couch, she crossed the room and leaned the false leg by the doorway. Then she snatched the shirts to be hung off of the loveseat.

"I'm going to bed," she informed him. "This movie sucks."

To her surprise, he gripped the arm of the couch and slid to his foot. Toothless meowed in excitement and rubbed himself against Hiccup's shin as he leaned against the furniture.

"I want to know, Astrid." There was a desperation in his demand. "Does the prosthesis make it all better? Does it make the ugliness disappear?" He licked his lips, his eyes searching her frustrated expression, and then he added, "Or am I too disfigured now?"

She folded her arms over her chest and pressed her mouth into a thin line. Before she could stop herself, her feet carried her back to the couch. "You lost your leg," she began lowly. "It's gone, and I'm sorry about that. Some people are going to pity you. Some are going to stare." Astrid dropped his shirts and detached his clawed hands from the cushion so she could bring them to her shoulders. Hiccup wobbled for a moment, trying to steady himself, and then regained his balance. "But I don't care if you've got a foot, a stump, or a monster truck wheel. I don't think you're ugly or disfigured."

"You're my friend," he whispered, and she watched as almost four weeks of smiles and laughter gave way to the realization of a loss. "You have to say that."

"I'm not just your friend." She resisted the urge to clench her jaw, her fingers gently curling around his wrists. "I'm a woman, Hiccup. Whether or not you see me that way. And whether you use the prosthesis or not, I will still be attracted to you. Bone or plastic, a leg won't change that for me."

He blinked and grimaced, his features torn between wonder and confusion. It made her heart stutter a little haphazardly. Her words were vague enough- he could take from them what he wanted. But they'd been best friends long enough that he would know she'd never lie to him. She wouldn't pretend to make him feel better.

"I bet you say that to all your amputee friends," he breathed, and the sound of a joke coming from his lips eased the tension between them just a little.

"Just the ones I have an insatiable desire to ravish," she countered. Astrid gave him a small smile, and then she forced herself to step out of his reach. He lowered himself back onto the cushions, but didn't tear his gaze from her as she picked up his button-downs and backed up. "I am going to bed." She hoped her cheeks didn't look as warm as they felt. "You know where I'll be if you need me."

Hiccup nodded. He watched her like maybe she'd sprouted a tail or grown gills. Toothless hopped onto his lap, and he absently raked his fingers through the cat's black fur. "Were you ever planning on telling me?"

"I just did," she answered, moving to place her hand on the bedroom door. It took a little nerve to toss him a smirk. "You're pretty dumb for a smart guy."