A/N: Alright, we got some POV switcheroos happening but don't worry, I've got them distinguished. (This might happen again in the future, just fyi)

This chapter's got it all: angst, fluff, giggles. You'll like it.

I'm pretty excited about this new plot device, so I hope you enjoy it!

Reviews are cherished!

-Justin

Chapter Seven: Misconstrue

December 16, 2014

(Phil)

When I'd first opened my eyes, I wasn't that disappointed to see that Dan wasn't in the room. After all, it'd only been a few hours- or so I'd thought- since he'd appeared in the makeshift doorway and looked at me with those chocolate eyes that he hated sometimes. It'd only been a few hours since I'd wrapped an arm around him awkwardly, the best I could do in the situation we'd gotten ourselves in. They'd mentioned something about memory loss, about how I shouldn't feel bad if I couldn't remember him right off the bat, but I just laughed because there was no way I'd ever be able to forget him.

Of course, that was before reality sunk in like a rusty knife in my chest.

The first thing I was aware of was his absence. Immediately after, I became aware of a presence in my throat that was making these horrible noises and practically gagging me. My hands went to grab at the thing, but right as I had a grip on the tube that was sticking out of my mouth in a way that made me look scary, I caught sight of Louise standing at the foot of my bed, one hand clamped over her mouth, and a very frightened Darcy clinging to her hip.

She'd fled the room then, and came back with two more people. I recognized the man as Dr. Spencer, who came over to me and started checking things all over, while the woman next to him began tapping things out on a screen attached to the wall. I couldn't really hear what they were saying to each other because my ears were ringing so loudly. After a few minutes, though, both of them came to stand on either side of me, and suddenly the god-awful tubing was gone, but now there was fire in my throat and I didn't think I'd ever be able to talk again.

Nobody had said anything at first, but then Dr. Spencer was leaning over the bed with a clipboard in one hand and asking if I knew where I was.

"Whittington," I'd whispered (that was as loud as my voice was going to go), and his eyes widened. "Was the surgery okay?" I hadn't had the chance to ask while I was in recovery. I'd been so exhausted. They went on to ask me who I was, what year it was, and all kinds of other things that seemed unnecessary to me. I was answering in simple terms, so I hadn't yet learned the true severity of what was going on.

"There's no easy way to say this, Mr. Lester," he began, "so I'll just say it. You've been in a coma for two months."

It's funny how the first thing that came to mind was Dan. My mind immediately went to a dark place, creating a scenario in which Dan wasn't here because he couldn't handle the stress. Of course, I couldn't blame him if he'd decided he needed to move on, but the thought of not seeing him again- or worse, seeing him- made my heart seize up, and suddenly the machine behind me was going haywire. The nurse to my right jerked her head up and twisted around to press buttons while Louise stepped forward to touch my arm. Darcy clung to her, but watched me with wide eyes.

"Da-n." His name slipped out before I could stop it, and I felt the colour flooding my cheeks. They probably thought it was hilarious that he was the first thing I thought of.

To my surprise, though, Louise's eyes lit up and she smiled so widely that her forehead crinkled. "He's out getting some air," she told me, already reaching for her phone. He was here? He hadn't left me? My brain didn't know what to do with that, so I just laid there and nodded while she left the room to call him (I assumed). Darcy went with her, one tiny fist wrapped in the fabric of Louise's skirt.

I could remember the talk about memory loss. I was still thinking about it when Louise came back into the room with a grin on her face. "He's coming," she announced, walking over to the window and sitting in the chair that someone had put there.

My eyes settled on the door frame, and I waited.

Five minutes later, he burst into the room, chest heaving and breathless. His eyes met mine for the first time in what felt like forever, and then he was moving toward me with his hands outstretched, slow steps bringing him closer until he was pressing right up against the side of the bed, and then he fell to his knees.

His hands reached out to touch my face, palms cradling my cheeks, and then moving them along to my hands where he squeezed my fingers and I squeezed back. I wanted more contact, though, so I raised my arm up to wrap around his neck in the best attempt at a hug I had to offer. He only hesitated a moment before returning the embrace, and I could barely feel how much it hurt to hold my arm in the air like that.

"Dan, I," I croaked out, hating the way my voice cracked after only one word. He needed to know that I hadn't forgotten him, that he was still the most important one in my life. The words were so clear in my head, and I almost thought I was already saying them out loud, but he hadn't reacted at all, so I couldn't have. I tried again. "I... you." That wasn't right at all. The most important word had been left out completely! I opened my mouth to try a third time, but his hands on my face once more stopped me. He was gazing at me with an intensity I'd almost forgotten about, but he didn't make a move. I didn't want to wait.

It was extremely frustrating to not have any strength left, but it was especially maddening that I couldn't even support myself long enough to properly kiss him. I fell back to the pillow with a sigh. "I love you," he said. His smiled was wide enough to show his dimple and put wrinkles around his eyes.

"Ye-…s," I responded, but I hadn't even meant to say anything. Why was it so hard to get words out of my mouth? Everything was fine in my head, but I couldn't get my brain to cooperate with my lips, and everything was sounding wrong. I knew what I wanted to say to him, but I was starting to think none of it would come out the way I intended. Still, I would keep trying. At least I knew he wouldn't make fun of me for it. "Lo-ove," I rasped, wincing internally at the demon-like quality of my tone. "Y-ou." I was almost tempted to make heart hands in order to get my point across, and I would have done it if he hadn't suddenly grinned and leaned down to kiss me again. His lips were softer than I'd remembered, and it was nicer because I didn't have to lift my head.

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December 17, 2014

(Dan)

He had expressive aphasia. I had no idea what the fuck it meant, but Dr. Spencer had explained it to us the best he could. Apparently, the lack of oxygen to Phil's brain had messed up some of the wires, specifically in the part that processed language. That meant he could think up a sentence, but he couldn't say it out loud, because the connection required to combine the two actions was faulty now. It explained why he'd had so much trouble talking to me last night after he'd woken up, but honestly I couldn't have cared if the brain trauma had paralyzed him- I was just happen to drown in his eyes again.

"Is 't per…mnent?" Phil asked, watching Dr. Spencer with wide eyes. He was currently sat in a chair across from us (I was sitting in the bed with him and I didn't give a shit who saw), asking more questions about the world. He said it was to figure out the extent of the damage, but I thought it was pretty obvious since Phil couldn't even talk anymore. The worst part about it was that Dr. Spencer apparently had little experience with aphasia patients, so he couldn't understand what Phil was saying half the time, and he'd end up looking to me for explanation. Right now seemed to be no different. I tried to ignore the expression of hurt on Phil's face as I took his hand in mine and repeated what he'd said.

"We're not sure," Dr. Spencer admitted, but his frown said something different. "However, most people we've seen with this- it never goes away." Phil's fingers squeezed mine tight at those words and I looked over to find actual tears on his cheeks. Part of me was already feeling irritated because he'd only been awake for a day and Dr. Spencer was already forcing him into these preconceived realities that might not even be the case for Phil. He wasn't exactly the epitome of 'typical situation'. I stared at him until he looked at me, and then I gave his hand a reassuring squeeze before the doctor could give us more bad news. "You'll work with a speech therapist," Dr. Spencer continued, seemingly oblivious to mine and Phil's little moment. "We'll start slow, because your vocal chords are not very strong right now."

"Does that work?" I asked, before Phil could. He really shouldn't be talking at all right now (doctor's orders), but we all know how good he is at listening.

"It won't reverse it, if that's what you're asking. But with enough practice, you could gain most of your speech control back." He looked each of us in the eye and added, "But don't go into it expecting a miracle." He stood up and reached out to pat my shoulder, which I allowed for the sake of getting him out faster, and then he touched a palm to Phil's duvet-covered knee and smiled hopefully.

"What a charming guy," I commented as soon as he was out of the room. I turned to face Phil, hoping to distract him with sarcastic humour or maybe kisses, but he was already crying silently. I didn't dare ask if he was okay, because I knew he wasn't. Instead, I moved my hands to his cheeks to wipe the tears away. He opened his mouth, but I slipped a finger under his chin and made him close it back. "Just rest," I told him, and he nodded once before leaning over to tuck his head into my shoulder.

"W-ha-t's…ha-appen?" Phil asked a few minutes later. His voice was so scratchy, I was afraid he'd break his vocal chords. I sighed internally, but didn't bother reminding him about the importance of silence right now. Phil was a guy who liked to talk, and I knew that was probably ninety percent of the problem- that he could no longer keep up with the voice in his head. I wrapped an arm around his waist and pulled him closer, pressing a kiss to his temple.

"I don't know, baby," I whispered, and it terrified me because I really didn't know what was going to happen now. Still, I smiled when I looked back down at him to find his eyes closed; he'd finally given in to the exhaustion once again.

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(Phil)

December 20, 2014

"C…a….t."

"Very good, Philip," Emmy said, lowering the flashcard in her hands. Emmy was the speech therapist, assigned to come to my room three times a week and make me read off names on cards and practice maneuvering my vocal chords until I could speak without it being so obvious that I had a language deficit now. I'd found out pretty quickly that it actually did help if I drew out each syllable, making the word three times longer but leaving out most of the embarrassing cracks in between letters. Of course, that was just with single words.

"Try this one," Emmy instructed, holding up a new card. The Cat in the Hat. She'd apparently gotten these from the children's ward. I swallowed the lump building in my throat and shot a glance toward the window, where Dan was turned with his back to us, staring out the glass. They'd planned on making him leave during therapy sessions, because apparently he'd be too distracting and hinder my progress (actual words spoken by Dr. Spencer), but he'd pretty much slammed his foot down and told them he'd leave when I asked him to. We both knew that wasn't going to happen, so here he was. "Take it slow," Emmy suggested, noticing my hesitation. "One word at a time." I focused on her dark fringe hiding half her face; it was almost the same colour as mine.

"…C-at iiiin…the…ht." Goddamn, I was all over the place. I'd visualized the stupid sentence perfectly in my head. I had no patience for myself, though. I had too much going on in my life that required the use of my voice, and I didn't have time to sit here and play baby games, but that was apparently all my schedule entailed for the next month at least. And even if I could talk like a normal person again, I still couldn't make it down the hall without someone holding me up, as my body had been in the process of shriveling up when I finally snapped out of it. Everything hurt, and I couldn't walk at all yet. My legs were like jello when I tried to stand. I'd know because I'd already snuck out of bed four times in an attempt to gain some independence back.

"That was good, Phil," Emmy was saying. "Really good. It's a long process, so don't worry so much about not getting it perfect every time." I met her gaze with a half-smiling expression, but I doubted she bought it. Her head turned towards Dan. "Hey, Dan?" He looked over and smiled when he saw us watching him. Emmy smiled sweetly and said, "He did good, yes?" She ran a hand through her hair, creating a quif on top, and looked at him expectantly.

"Of course," was his automatic reply, as he made his way toward me. He didn't hesitate in wrapping me up in his arms, because Emmy was one of the few people who encouraged it. She said it was important to have loved ones around, because of dopamine secretions…or something like that. It also helped that she was apparently a major fan of us. "You're doing great," he murmured after a moment, moving his head so he could press his lips to mine. One hand twisted into my hair to hold me in place, while the other was positioned on the mattress so he wouldn't fall on me.

"I was thinking," Emmy announced suddenly, after we'd finally pulled away from each other. We both looked at her with expressions of confusion and some embarrassment, because she'd essentially just watched us make out. "It's going to be a while before you guys can carry a regular conversation," she continued, "so it might do you both some good to learn BSL."

"Sign language?" Dan questioned, but then he grinned. "I hadn't thought of that. It's a good idea, though." He turned to face me again with shining eyes and a cheeky smile. His sad dimple was fully visible. "That way, you won't go mental with all those weird thoughts in your head."

"Sh-ut," I retorted (weakly, might I add), but he just laughed and leaned in for another kiss.

A/N: Wow that was long.

Also, expressive aphasia is a common side effect in stroke patients or any other situation where the brain is cut off from oxygen for an extended period of time. If you'll recall, I mentioned a few chapters ago (and will discuss more later) that Phil had a blood clot pass through his heart. While that clot was there, blood wouldn't have been going to his brain, hence the oxygen deprivation. (don't worry- Dr. Spencer will explain more in the next chapter). If you're interested, you can google "expressive aphasia" because this site doesn't allow external links.

Anyway, that's all for now.

PS: I'm not an expert in this stuff, so "creative license". That is all.