Chapter Fourteen:

'You mustn't overtire him,' Guy said, sounding surprisingly cross at Connie as he came in. Ethan was fast asleep, his cheeks a little pinker than normal. Personally, she thought he looked healthier. Guy had said he'd been too flushed.

'I did no such thing. He was more himself than he's been since he woke up,' Connie said, sighing. She was getting fed up of dealing with the neurologist. 'He's much happier now Cal's here. He wants to remember.'

Guy shook his own head. 'I need to remove the staples in the next few hours Around 12, I reckon. How will he react?'

She sensed a trick. How was she to know? 'Depends on which way the wind is blowing. You know that. But he's generally quite relaxed with local anaesthesia. I certainly wouldn't try it otherwise, especially as he tried to hit Dylan the other day for an intermuscular injection.'

'I'm aware.' Guy seemed to stiffen. 'Right. I've got another patient who needs me. When are you leaving?'

Originally, Connie had planned to leave as soon as Cal arrived, and then go home for a well-earned shower and sleep before working the night shift at the ED. However, she didn't want to leave until she'd seen those staples out and Ethan comfortable. She could sleep later.

'Physio's coming at 11. He wasn't great yesterday, but he's a DVT risk, so he's going to do it,' Guy's jaw was set, and made it clear that this was even more non-negotiable than usual. '30 minutes minimum.'

Ethan had previously made it clear how much he hated physio when he'd been up on orthopaedics. He hated feeling so vulnerable, and having his body pushed and pulled. Being cheered on for managing to move his body didn't feel encouraging, it felt demeaning. As a professional, he would have reminded his patient about how much they were progressing, celebrated it. As a patient, it was a stark reminder about the state he was in, and how much he couldn't do.

His physio was called John, a tall man who he'd been excruciatingly polite to previously. In neurology, he was uncooperative to say the least. Guy had noted that Ethan seemed disconnected with his spine injuries previously. In physiotherapy sessions, this progressed to him almost ignoring the poor therapist.

'When is it go?' Ethan hit his back brace hard. John smiled, sympathetically. 'Off. Tight.'

'It's meant to be a little tight. You're getting it off in two weeks. You've healed very well. Despite things.' Connie said, raising an eyebrow. Ethan shut his eyes. After a few minutes, he yelped, kicking out hard and unexpectedly. Winded, John staggered back a few steps, not having had the foresight to anticipate getting a kick in the stomach. Ethan was still groaning, his face screwed up.

'Hurts.'

By 12, Ethan had had twenty-minutes of physio, which he'd been extremely reluctant to participate in, and had eaten some of the cheese sandwiches Cal had brought in from home. It had been a busy morning, by his standards. He'd also remembered a new swear word, which he'd delighted in calling poor Charlie who came down from the ED for a visit. Connie didn't know whether it was appropriate to laugh or not.

'How are you doing, Dr Hardy?' Charlie had asked, softly. Ethan had produced a wolf-whistle, which made Charlie chuckle.

'Glad to see I'm still appreciated in my old age. Good to see you.'

'Hello, Charlie. How are you?' It sounded scripted and the way it was said was out-of-context, but Connie noticed that it did sound like Ethan speaking. She realised it was Ethan, parroting himself. It was how he would have greeted his colleague when one of them had joined the team for a shift.

Charlie noticed something was slightly off, but didn't comment. 'I'm well, thank you. Connie tells me you're doing well, too.'

'I've got all my legs.' Ethan announced, proudly.

'Excellent news.' Charlie patted Ethan gently on the shoulder. 'Right, I'll leave you be. We're missing you down in the ED. Don't be a stranger.'

Ethan nodded, and yawned, as Charlie left. 'I'm g-g-going back to sleep.'

'You might want to hold off. Mr Self's coming to get your staples out himself, apparently. Think he wants me to feel intimidated.'

His brow furrowed, clearly not understanding most of what she'd said. He half-rolled, and closed his eyes. 'I'm ti-tired,' he announced, trying to pull the blankets up over himself. 'Cold. Go away.'

She bit her lip. He'd been in a good mood for about 24 hours, but everyone was well aware of how quickly it might change. 'Guy's coming back in a few minutes. You'll have to wake up again.'

'Lea-ff-ff-v-ve me alone. I'm tired,' Ethan squeezed his eyes shut. 'No m-more touchi-ng my head.'

Connie didn't know what to do. Selfishly, she was torn between letting him sleep and letting Guy deal with it. On the other hand, he'd probably be much more unhappy if he was woken up to have his head fiddled with after ten minutes of sleep.

'Ethan? Sweetheart, stay awake. I promise you can have a long sleep after you've had your staples out.'

He rolled back over, and she was shocked to see tears rolling down his cheeks. Suddenly, his face was small, pale and frightened.

'Go. Go. Hurt?'

'It might hurt a little bit,' Connie told him. Her stomach was tight. 'Then you can go to sleep.'

'Sleep. Now. Then.' He was searching for the words, his eyes big. 'If. Hurt more?'

Trying to work out what he meant was usually tricky but not too much of an urgency. His expression then showed that this needed answering.

'Sorry, Ethan?'

'If. If now sleep. Th-then?' He thumped himself in the chest as he tried to remember. 'Hurt more.'

It clicked. 'No, no, darling. It won't hurt more. It won't hurt much anyway. If you need to go to sleep, then that's OK.'

He was silent, and she tried to decipher if he was thinking through something or not. The quilt was covering half of his face, and he sniffed quietly underneath it.

The mood swings and his personality changes were the hardest bit for Connie to deal with. A week ago, he'd still at least had Ethan's personality, even if he looked very different to how he had while working. Now, both aspects were so different that it was hard to recognise Ethan at all. His usual, bright eyes were ringed with the bruising developing around them, and any brightness seemed replaced with a drug and injury-fuelled dullness that was hard to look at.

She let him go to sleep. It was the kindest thing to do.