Hokay, so moving forward…
Please note I am no good at hospital talk, so if I get stuff wrong, just try and go along with it, I'm no doctor! :D
XOXOXX
After Stephen waking up, Brendan's day had been slow and surreal. People walked in and out of Stephen's room, but Brendan wasn't allowed to. First it was doctors, then some kind of specialist, then some coppers who left shortly after saying they'd come back later; he was asleep again. Brendan and Amy just sat together, once again shunned to the harsh silence of the waiting room, and forced to over-analyse every anxious expression of every passing nurse for some kind of clue as to what was going on.
"He's sleeping now." One nurse had muttered softly, "He's under a lot of medication, and while he's asleep all we can do is wait I'm afraid."
"Well… wake him up!" Brendan spluttered incredulously. "Find out what's wrong with him for fuck sake – isn't that yer job?"
"We're doing everything we can, Mr Brady." The nurse insisted. "But the damage is already done. All we can do now is let him rest and recover."
"I wanna go in."
"I promise that as SOON as we're given permission to allow visitors, you'll be able to go back in. I promise."
Hours passed. More doctors. More specialists. And then the coppers came back.
And they were in there for ages.
What was taking so long?
What was Stephen telling them? What could he tell them? Would he be able to remember? Amy said the very fact they were there at all must be a good sign… a sign that Ste wasn't completely brain-dead. That's something at least, she said. A girl who was easily pleased, Brendan thought bitterly.
All the while he kept trying to push away one thought… the thought of who put Stephen here in the first place. Deep down he knew who it was… but that very fact caused him to feel sick to the stomach with rage, hate, hurt, injustice. A long-suppressed bitterness towards the man that raised him. The monster that raised him… to become a monster himself. And now look what he'd done.
Stop it. Brendan told himself, forcing himself to take slow deep breaths. Don't think about that man now. Now, it was about Stephen. Brendan HAD to see him. He HAD to know what was going on…
"Miss Barnes? Mr Brady?"
"Yes?"
Brendan looked up anxiously. A young nurse was smiling down at him… a fake sickly-sweet smile. The one that was bound to bear the terrible news of Stephen's fate.
"Come into my office." She said gently, "We have some news for you now."
XOXOXO
Brendan edged uncomfortably into the sterile white office, tensed awkwardly beside Amy on the receiving end of the desk. It was filled with paperwork. Hundreds of words and numbers all mindlessly signing away the lives and health of patients. The nurse shuffled through the papers casually, looking for Stephens.
"Okay," she breezed, "Right… so, we've done some tests, we've been speaking to Ste and he's going to be just fine."
Amy sighed in relief. Again, too easily pleased, too quick to trust. Brendan didn't believe a word of it. If everything were fine then he'd be in that room now, pulling the tubes from Stephen's body and getting him the hell out of here.
"He was a little dazed when he first woke up." The nurse spoke the obvious, "A bit disorientated… but it did seem like he remembered enough for the suspected amnesia diagnosis to be forgotten…"
"Okay…" Amy breathed, "So… so he remembers us then? Me and the kids, I mean?"
The nurse smiled, "I believe so, yes."
Brendan flinched. He wanted to ask too. He wanted to be like Amy and cry and whimper in front of people just to get their sympathy and cooperation, so that everybody knew to ask Stephen about him the moment he woke up. But to these doctors Brendan was just the angry guy who slept in the leather chair. He didn't mean fuck-all to them or to Stephen and was treated as such.
The nurse took a deep breath, and continued sombrely. "I'm afraid though that our tests showed some other results. Miss Barnes, Ste has a case of acute subdural hematoma."
Amy blinked, "Wh…what's that?"
"It's caused by high-impact attacks to the head, like the assault, caused by a blood clot putting pressure on the brain."
Amy's eyes immediately filled with tears; her trembling fingers and shaking lower lip reflecting every emotion bubbling in the pit of Brendan's stomach.
The nurse continued hastily, "Now, it's under control. The surgery we did on the brain has fixed the bleeding, but it's the after-effects we need to talk about. I'm afraid there are some potentially long-term impacts that need to be taken into consideration before we allow Ste visitors…"
"But… but you said…"
"The impacts on Mr Hay are still being examined… but one of the things the doctors have instantly recognised is a case of Ataxia."
"Ataxia… what's… I don't…"
"It's a problem with his muscle movements. A difficulty with coordination, in Mr Hay's case with his hands. It's something that you'll later need to consider when thinking about his future, when he's eventually discharged from hospital."
"I don't understand –"
"Well it will affect his every day life. With help from our physical therapists, his muscles will improve, but it will be a long process and in the meantime Mr Hay will need help with… the simplest of tasks."
"Hold on…" Brendan muttered, finding his voice again gruffly caught in the bottom of his throat. "But… you said his muscles – his muscles... that's – that's not just his hands now, is it?"
The nurse bit her lip. "We've yet to see whether this is a problem in other parts of his body."
"So worst case scenario?"
"Well, if the Ataxia has developed in limbs such as the legs then it may be…"
"Yeah, cut the CRAP alright?" Brendan spat. "Jus' tell me what might be wrong with him."
The nurse shot Brendan a scolding look, before continuing, "SHOULD the Atexia have developed in his legs, then yes, there may be cause for a wheelchair or…"
"Oh my God…" Amy moaned, head falling distressed into her hands.
"But there's nothing to say that's the case yet!" The nurse insisted. "Really – nothing. And on first impressions, Ste's memory, speech and hearing all seem to be in good form for this kind of diagnosis."
"And we're supposed to feel good about that are we?"
The nurse eyed Brendan sombrely, with him staring intensely back at her, like they were in some fierce battle of wills. Eventually she drew back a sigh.
"I'm sorry." She breathed, before gathering her papers together quietly.
Amy gulped back a tear, facing the nurse with brave and watering eyes. "Did he say anything to the police? About…"
The nurse fixed her a smile. "You can ask him yourself. You're welcome to go and see him now."
XOXOXOX
Brendan had never anticipated that he could feel such intense adoration before. Not until now, as he sat back in the leather chair, and he heard Stephen's voice again… and a wash of unparalleled emotions filled his lungs, tears threatening to choke him there and then. Not that he showed that of course. As Stephen croaked his simple words to Amy, Brendan's face remained stony and unreadable. His insides burned a hurricane.
"They're dead nice in here, them doctors." Ste spoke softly. His voice was weak from not being used, and his lips shook slightly, like he was suppressing a stutter. Still, his words were clear. His brain was functioning well enough to produce comprehensible words… comprehensible sentences and that was enough for now.
"We've been so worried about you." Amy replied. "The kids have been askin' after you, every day. They made you some cards and stuff; I left them at home but I'll bring them tomorrow. Lucas's writing has come on SO much, you're gonna be so proud."
"Really?"
"Yeah, and his reading! He read a whole book on his own yesterday – you know, that one you always read to him? I thought he'd just memorised it at first, but then he asked me to spell out the word for him, and he was – he was properly reading it! He's gonna be well clever when he's at school."
"Yeah." Ste smiled. His eyes shone for a moment with the pride that he'd had before all this… the pride he always wore when talking about his kids. "Definitely."
"And my Dad says get well soon. He's stayin' at the flat for a bit, you know, to help with the kids while I'm here."
"Have you been here a lot?"
"Course I have!" Amy laughed softly, "Wouldn't leave you on your own, would I?"
On your own. Again, acting as if Brendan didn't exist, as if he counted for nothing, as though he couldn't possibly serve as anything useful or helpful to Stephen ever. Well Amy was wrong; he could. He would help Stephen; help him get better and on his feet and help him get over all of this. And help him avenge who did it to him.
As though reading his thoughts, Stephen's eyes flickered momentarily over to where Brendan sat watching him now. Like he knew almost. Knew that his proper matehad been here all day, all night – never leaving.
Their eyes only met for a second, but it was like all that fierce electricity they'd shared scorched joltingly through the atmosphere. Stephens' expression was still slightly dazed, his limbs heavy and useless, his head vulnerably bandaged… but the fire was still here. Tense. Severe.
Even Amy seemed to notice the change of tone… the oppressive atmosphere weighing down on her as their shared intensity crackled off the walls.
"Does anyone want coffee?" She muttered lightly, "Brendan?"
"Please."
"Okay… can I get you anything Ste?"
Ste shook his head slightly. Even the small movement looked painful, but Amy didn't even notice; so quick she was to escape the sudden heaviness of the room.
And Ste and Brendan were left alone.
They sat for a moment in silence, Ste staring blankly at the ceiling, but Brendan's on him… never wavering.
"Are you in pain?" He asked gravely after a while.
Stephen wrinkled his nose, admitting softly, "a bit."
"Do you want me to get someone?"
"No."
Brendan nodded. Fine. He knew Stephen had his pride, and he knew how hard this must be for him to deal with. If the tables were turned, Brendan would rather die than deal with what Stephen was having to deal with; stuck like an invalid in a hospital bed, no use of his hands; no longer able to write, or hold things properly… having to have his food cut up for him like some kid… having to have assistance even dressing himself… undressing himself… not being able to remember certain things… not being the same person that he was and having no control over that… losing control of everything… all his abilities…
"It's gonna be alright, you know."
It wasn't Brendan who said it. It was Stephen. Again, like he was reading Brendan's mind and sensing his pain at the whole situation.
Brendan scoffed. It wasn't him that needed consoling.
"If you say so."
"They said…" Ste swallowed, gathering his words and thoughts together. He seemed to be struggling a little to do so as he grew more tired and uncomfortable. "The doctors said… it's all fixable. I'll get everything back."
Brendan nodded. "Yeah, I know."
"And… it's not like I could write that well anyway."
Brendan laughed softly.
"Or swim that well…" Stephen continued, "An' it's not like I ever went swimmin' anyway so…"
"You'll learn it all again. I promise."
Stephen nodded. But his eyes left Brendan's for a moment, rising back to the ceiling, blinking harshly… trying to rid himself of the rising tears he so didn't want to acknowledge at such a time.
"Hey…" Brendan breathed. He leaned forward instinctively. His fingers hovered against the bruised skin of Stephen's cheek, searching for eye-contact.
"Ow…" Stephen winced in pain.
Brendan drew his hand back quickly, "Oh – er… sorry…"
"No, s'alright…" Stephen sniffed, and his watery eyes followed Brendan's hand as it hung awkwardly to the side of the bed, limp and apologetic.
Very slowly, Stephen reached his own hand out.
But it didn't work. He couldn't do it anymore… he couldn't wrap his fingers inside Brendan's the way he did, and squeeze with the open affection he'd used on Brendan so many times before in the past. Now his hands just lolled open, nudging awkwardly at Brendan's own as he frustratedly tried to enforce the contact between them.
Brendan was quick to take over; he wrapped his fingers around the palm of Stephen's useless hand, holding tightly as he knew Stephen wanted.
But it was too late.
Tears fell down Stephen's cheeks, aggravated and infuriated as he acknowledged the loss of such simple functions.
"Nothin' works Brendan!" he sobbed miserably, not even bothering to hide the pain anymore.
"I know," Brendan coaxed softly. He didn't know what to say; he felt useless… ridiculous. He just wrapped his arms around Stephen's neck as he lent forward… and held him as close as he could hold him. And just like old times, his fingers wrapped themselves tightly around the strands of Stephens hair – the loose strands that came through the bandages. And he held as tight as he could.
"I'm sorry, Stephen." He breathed sincerely, "I am. I'm sorry."
Stephen's voice came out muffled from Brendan's shoulder; "s'not your fault."
But it was. It was Brendan's fault. Like everything was.
Brendan swallowed. "You didn't tell the police who did this to you, did you?"
Ste paused for a moment. And then… very slowly… he shook his head.
"Why not?"
"Cos… I…. I didn't know if you wanted me to."
"Don't worry Stephen." Brendan sighed, fingers stroking softly down the bruises on the back of Stephen's neck. "As far as I'm concerned, he's already a dead man."