Chapter 25

Sorry for a short chapter before! I'll do my best to keep updating this story as much as possible. I wanted to try to be accurate here- George Rainsford, the actor who plays Ethan, is apparently left-handed, so Ethan is left-handed too. Dylan is quite prominent in this chapter and the one following it.

(reference!) /georgerainsford/status/816326354450968576?lang=bn

Thank you again for your reviews and please keep sharing your ideas! Given my work situation, it is likely that I can be quite active on this story for the next month or so (depending on whether my laptop can travel!)

'No more brace,' Ethan said, clearly. He stood up, gripping onto the bed next to him. Carefully, slowly, he turned. Taking a deep breath, he looked into the mirror. It was the first time he was going to see the scars on his back. The ones crossing his scalp would eventually be hidden when his hair grew back to cover them- the first small prickles of sandy hair were starting to shadow in- but his back wasn't as easily hidden. He tended to leave the topless wanderings to his brother on hot evenings or Instagram photoshoots, but he enjoyed swimming.

They were darker than he'd expected. The number of operations, including the pocket of infection, had lead to some of the scar tissue having to have been cut through again.

He didn't know exactly how to react. His brain suddenly felt stronger than it had in a while. Just for a few moments, everything was calm and clear. He took a deep breath and nodded.

'Please can help you me?'

It was jumbled but spoken clearly and in his own voice. Dylan helped him get his top on, and then worked with him to get Ethan sat in his wheelchair, ready for physio. 'Good,' they managed to say, both at the same time. Ethan laughed. He wasn't sure why, but his brain told him that was one of the right responses he could use.

'Rubbish wheelchair.'

'You'll be relying on your wheelchair to support you with fatigue and co-ordination for the next few weeks. It'll be very helpful.'

'Rats.'

'Let's go,' Dylan said, taking the break off. Ethan sat up as straight as he could. While not exactly enjoying the feeling of his back stretching properly again, it wasn't unpleasant. He yawned. He hadn't even attended physiotherapy yet, but trying to shower independently, use the toilet, brush his teeth using hand over hand support and then dressing himself were tasks that he really had to think about. He still struggled with the delay it sometimes took for the message to get from his brain to his hand when doing any tasks. His legs were thankfully more co-operative. Strangely enough, Ethan's right hand was more responsive than his left, which unfortunately was his dominant hand. Although he hated it, he was usually so tired by the evening that he relented and allowed someone to more or less feed him at dinner.

'On own?'

'Yep. I'll be outside trying to get through the latest compost-sized pile of paperwork that nobody will glance twice at unless I don't do it,' Dylan stopped, cracked his knuckles and then carried on. 'Connie's on-call and trying to sleep but Cal's working cubicles. 'You'll be fine. It's a little step towards the big ones.'

Ethan nodded. Since the head injury, he'd pretty much constantly had one of Cal, Connie or Dylan with him, or someone else he knew, such as Duffy or Charlie. It hadn't been easy to schedule shifts around, leading to the three central people in Ethan's life becoming very tired. It has been agreed that building Ethan into independence was crucial, especially given the fire had happened when he'd been being looked after away from them. Connie wasn't sure, as it was too complex for Ethan to try and communicate at the present, but she had a fairly good idea that the two events were connected in his mind somewhere.

'How long?'

'Forty-five minutes. You'll have lots of breaks, then you can come back and rest before speech therapy.'

'Don't need. Accident- accent good.'

'Not elocution lessons, Dr Hardy, this is the NHS. You'll have speech therapy to help you with sentences, explaining yourself. All the good things.'

'Dylan!' Ethan shouted. The sound made the other three occupants of the corridor (a doctor, a nurse and a woman with a green handbag) turn around.

'Seizure?' Dylan moved like lightning to him.

'No.' Ethan sat back, looking just as calm as he had before he'd shouted. 'Will I be a…. d-doctor?'

It had been in the back of everybody's head for a while, and nobody had wanted to be the one to answer Ethan if he asked the question they dreaded. All things considered, though, Dylan was the best to answer. Both Connie and Cal would be too optimistic.

'It's still possible. You'll have to make sure you're doing all of your therapies, and it'll take a while. Guy Self isn't known for being an optimist. You're making very g- you're making fantastic progress.' Dylan swallowed. Ethan nodded, sagely.

Once they were at the physiotherapy suite, Dylan signed Ethan in, and then waited with him to meet the new physiotherapist. It seemed John was not desperate to return to working with Ethan, unsurprisingly. The new physiotherapist was called Mikael. He'd met Ethan before, and told him so. Ethan had treated him for a dislocated knee several months ago down in the ED. As he took the handles of the wheelchair and took Ethan with him to start the session, Dylan smiled. It was good to know that all around him, people still knew Ethan as a doctor.

Twenty-minutes in, Ethan was exhausted already. He'd been sat down the whole time, being stretched and assessed and measured and so on. It didn't feel like the right time to start trying to take his first steps in months, albeit with Mikael's assistance.

He started at the parallel bars, Mikael supporting him from his waist. Ethan gripped the wooden bars, and swung his left leg. Then, his right. Left. Right. Left. Right.

He'd walked, with support, to the full end of the bars.

Again.

He could feel the wood under his fingers, and Mikael supporting him. He was aware that it felt like hard work, really hard work, but he was also aware that he wasn't leaning on the therapist. He was able to support his own weight.

Five minutes later, he was sat back in his wheelchair- the wheelchair- with Mikael helping him stretch out his legs. 'You'll feel a little sore tomorrow. You did brilliantly today, Dr Hardy. Well done, you.'

'Shimmering.'

'Sorry?'

'Skin shimmering.'

'Shimm… shi…sh…shivering! Ah, I see. You're shaking a little- I imagine that's the adrenaline. You worked very hard.'

Ethan nodded. An image appeared suddenly in his brain, the page of a website or a textbook. He'd read something about this. Deep in his memory, a new connection was made. He nodded again, as if he could somehow shift the picture to embed it properly.

He started to feel fuzzy as Mikael and he went back to the reception. Dylan was looking brighter, a takeaway cup of tea next to him on the chair, a pile of papers starting to mound up. 'Goodness, is it that time already? How was it, Ethan?'

'Good.' He yawned again. 'Tired. Brrrrr.'

'Brrrr?'

'Sounds strange to me all of a sudden. It means he's sleepy.'

Every now and then, those closest to Ethan and most involved in his recovery would realise how strange their little world was. This was one of those times. Dylan smiled, gathering up the paperwork. 'Good progress?'

'Exceptional. He managed four sets of eight steps using the parallel bars for support. He's stronger than I expected- although he was getting tired by the last set, he wasn't putting much weight on me at all. I've got him again tomorrow afternoon. Don't try walking with him, even with support, but getting him used to standing up and sitting back down would be really helpful.'

Ethan's head rolled forward. He'd fallen asleep.

'He was actually walking?' Cal said, almost in disbelief. Ethan had been deep in sleep for the entire journey back from the physiotherapy unit. He and Dylan were so rehearsed in transferring his brother at this point that they didn't need words to communicate when they were ready or when to lift. Dylan gave a slight nod, and Cal slipped his hands under Ethan's arms. He still didn't wake up, as they eased him onto the bed, and Cal gently covered him with the patchwork blanket.

'He was. With support- the parallel bars and the physio, but he could do it. Obviously he's exhausted now, but he did it. Four sets of eight- it's not as if he could hardly stagger. He'll walk again, Cal. If nothing else, there's that. If he… if he can't manage to go back to how he was before everything happened… we want him to be as independent as possible.'

Cal swallowed. Weeks ago, he'd have jumped in and argued back with Dylan, have demanded that Dylan rethink what he'd said. Ethan would of course be fine, he'd be back at work, he'd recover completely. Now, he looked at his little brother and the dark circles under his eyes. The scar was still so visible on his head. He nodded.