Title: Physical Therapy
Fandom: The Defenders (Marvel Television Universe)
Rating: G
Length: 800 wds
Content notes: n/a
Author notes: n/a
Summary: Claire suggests a novel kind of physical therapy for Misty.


"You think I should learn to what?"

"Knit," Claire said, leaning forward with her hands clasped between her knees. "It's very good for practicing fine motor control, and it's also soothing. I often recommend it to my patients."

Misty laughed. "Claire, look at me. I'm a cop, not someone's grandma."

"You think cops don't knit? I used to teach adult education fibercraft classes for prison inmates, sister --"

"Wait, you did?"

"-- and let me tell you, once you've seen a bunch of big scarred guys with yarn all tangled around their hands, you won't give me any dumbass backtalk about how you're too tough for it."

Misty heaved a sigh. "Fine. Show me how. I'm not saying I'll do it, mind you. But it's got to be better than these stupid exercises my PT gave me with a rubber bouncy ball."


*


It was possibly the most frustrating thing she'd ever tried to learn how to do. Worse than trying shoot hoops when she was barely bigger than the ball. Worse than that cooking class she took in high school, taught by Mrs. Mustafi, who the kids called Mrs. Mussolini behind her back, that had convinced her beyond any reasonable doubt that she wasn't cut out for a life as Suzie Homemaker.

The prosthetic hand, high-tech as it was, simply didn't have the coordination. It was complicated enough trying to get her normal hand, the hand she'd had all her life, to go through the complex dance of needles and yarn that Claire kept obstinately trying to each her. Doing it with the prosthetic felt like trying to pick up a marble with two-by-fours.

"Look, before you give up, let's try this a few different ways," Claire suggested. "If you can learn to knit left-handed, all your right hand needs to do is feed the yarn and hold the second needle."

"I'm not a leftie, Claire."

"No, but you're getting pretty good at it, aren't you?"

"Because I have to," Misty muttered. She didn't want to do something with her fucking free time that frustrated her so badly it reduced her to tears.

But she also didn't like losing, and she wasn't going to lose to a goddamn ball of yarn.


*


She thought it probably surprised Claire as much as anyone when she finally started getting the hang of it and stopped complaining about it. And it was worth it for the look on the Rand technician's face when he complimented her on the fine motor control she'd developed with the arm, and she demonstrated what she'd been doing with it.

"I've seen people knit with traditional upper-limb prostheses," he said, which surprised her in turn. "But you're actually manipulating both needles as fast as a typical two-handed knitter -- can I film you doing that?"

She agreed as long as her face wasn't in the video. And then of course she got nervous and fumbled the needle on her first try, but then she got into the swing of it again. The tech said he was going to use the video to fine-tune the next generation of prostheses and also as a training demonstration for physical therapists.

"Cool," Misty said, and made a mental note to tell Claire the next time she got a long-distance call from Puerto Rico.


*


She got in the habit of doing it around the station: in meetings, at her desk, on stakeouts. She got a few peanut-gallery comments at first. She never really minded -- cops gave each other shit; it was just something they did -- but in retaliation she embarked on a project to knit a scarf for every single person working for her (look, she had to make something, and scarves were the simplest thing) and then gave them pointed looks if they didn't wear them.

When Claire came back to New York in the depths of winter, Misty cheerfully presented her with a neatly wrapped package. Claire opened it and grinned as she shook out a scarf in soft, variegated yarn, gently blending shades of red and purple and gold.

"It's all I know how to make, so you better like it."

"It's gorgeous." Claire tossed it around her shoulders and rubbed the wool against her cheek. "Just out of curiosity, have you thought about learning to make something other than scarves?"

"Are you kidding? You should see my weekly yarn bill already. I blame you."

Claire laughed.


*


The next day Misty found a pattern for gloves on her desk, along with a ball of red yarn. No one would 'fess up. She groaned, shoved it into her desk, and resigned herself to a new learning curve just as she'd gotten the hang of the other one. Well, it was medicinal, after all.