Chapter Text
There were many things in life that stressed Doctor Zoe Hange out and if dwelled upon, took the wind out of their sails: late bills, fussy patients, the ever-approaching cataclysmic climate crisis, to name a few. But the latest stressor to deflate Hange and make them batten down the hatches was an incident that involved their boyfriend.
“Running late again, Dr. Zoe?” One of the nurses at reception called as they hurried past.
“Only five minutes late this time!” they shouted back, rounding the corner to their boyfriend’s ward.
At a glance, Hange’s boyfriend wasn’t the typical partner they went for: loud laughter annoyed him, loud chewing annoyed him, loud creases in clothing annoyed him. It was quite difficult for Hange in the beginning, being the happy and chewy and creasy person that they were.
“I can’t believe you bagged a sexy firefighter,” their friend once said. “But he’s a bit weird, if you ask me.”
“Hardly,” they’d say back.
“I just don’t get if he’s being serious, or sarcastic, or if he’s just that mean.”
“He’s not mean at all!” Hange had said.
Their friend scoffed. “As long as you’re happy, that’s all that matters.”
And they were happy. It was when they had brought him back to their apartment for the first time, around three months into their burgeoning relationship, and he had complained endlessly about the breach of multiple fire safety regulations in the building, that Hange realised how to navigate the stormy, somewhat serious and sarcastic, sea that was their boyfriend.
His way of caring, and expressing that care, was so brash and blunt that anyone would mistake it for a verbal beating. It was weird, to those who didn’t know him. But Hange saw it as a spark of kindness. They realised they could put up with his grumbling because he didn’t really mean it. They could let his fixation for neatness go, because it meant the clutter in their apartment was always organised. They let his desire for looking tidy inspire them to take care of their own appearance. And they could understand his concern for fire safety because he was a firefighter. It was his line of work, so naturally it worried him greatly that Hange’s life could be at risk. And having seen their fair share in geriatrics, bodies broken and worn, Hange constantly cautioned him that all the training he put his body through would bite him in the back when he was old.
That was simply the life of a firefighter. He was one of society’s everyday heroes, pushing mind and body to the brink. Being in a relationship with a ‘hero’ was very stressful. Every time he was on call or sent to a house fire, Hange’s sails were dragged down. No matter how much he reassured them it would be ok, they still worried.
And then the stressful incident happened. On a grey October morning, when there was an unusual mist and unseasonal frost, Hange’s pager buzzed. Their grumpy, firefighting, heroic boyfriend was in a coma. Their sails were ripped apart. The stress burst. They hid their tears. They cancelled all their appointments. They imagined all kinds of horrific flame-ridden scenarios, that his body would be burnt and his head caved in.
But no, he had not been knocked unconscious from a burning pillar or fallen down a broken elevator shaft. It wasn’t an act of heroism; no flames or furnaces, nothing violent or movie-worthy. Rather, he had been punished for one of his sparks of kindness. He had been out collecting sausage rolls and pork pies for his crew, when he ran to the aid of an elderly woman at a zebra crossing. He slipped on invisible black ice. The woman avoided a trip to Dr. Hange’s office, whilst a thwack to the skull had sent Hange’s boyfriend to death’s door.
He’d enjoyed a slumber, but Hange had endured one of the most stressful, panicked, horrific weeks of their life. Given their specialisation, Hange was no stranger to slips and trips, but they could not rationalise the situation when it was someone they cared for on a personal, romantic level. They were the closest thing he could call family, so it was up to them to put on a stone face, talk to his specialists and nurses, then chatter to his lifeless body and keep him company.
Hange maintained the sunshine in his presence, but when they went home to their cold, lonely apartment, they broke down. They began to question their feelings, their relationship, their duty to him, their future. Pre-coma Levi was brash and blunt enough to say what he meant, but he lacked the vulnerability that Hange craved. After a few awkward conversations, Hange learnt that it wasn’t appropriate to tell him soppy things like ‘I miss you’ and ‘you make me happy’, so they certainly could never say things like ‘maybe you should move in with me soon’ and ‘I know we haven’t been together very long, but I think I’m falling in love with you’.
Having watched him in the coma, tubes and machines keeping him stable, they realised yet another thing: they did want to say all those things to him. They wanted him to know how they felt. They needed to be vulnerable with him, before it was too late. But it was terrifying – would he feel the same? Did he even love them back? Did they make him as happy as he made them? And who knew what condition he would be in when he woke up.
When the solemn calm of night settled over the ward, Hange took his still hand and told him a few simple things.
“You make me so happy, Levi, I know that now. You can’t go yet. I’m in love with you. Please wake up.”
He must have bitch-slapped the gatekeeper at death’s door, because he woke from the coma the next morning. He was given a thumbs up. All his vitals were perfect. His reflexes were in tune and when he saw Hange through bleary eyes, he melted their heart and stress with a small smile.
But it was not all smooth sailing. The damage to the back of his head had been severe. He could not express himself. He had lost the ability to talk.
He had gone from being verbally constipated to totally, mute.
“No running, Dr. Zoe! I don’t care how late you are!”
“Oops, sorry!” Hange dodged the caretaker’s trolley and checked their watch. Ten minutes late. Hange picked up the pace, huffing as they went. They were twenty minutes late to Levi’s previous speech therapy appointment, and they did not want to be that late again.
“So sorry, I’m late, Dr. Brzenska!” Hange yelled when they burst into Levi’s room. Levi was perched up in his bed, his eyes narrowed as he caught sight of them. The speech and language therapist, Doctor Rico Brzenska, was slightly sterner than Hange would have liked, but one of the best specialists in the area. Hange knew Levi was in good hands – he had gone from being unable to speak, to saying short sentences with few mix ups. Dr. Brzenska gave Hange a wave from her seat in the corner of the room, clearly hiding her annoyance.
“Glad you could make it, Dr. Zoe,” she said. “We’re ready to start when you are.”
“That’s great,” Hange said. “You know how it is when your last patient of the day just won’t stop talking and...” Hange trailed off. That was insensitive. Levi snorted. Dr. Brzenska didn’t reply, or had pretended not to hear as she was busy fiddling with papers and a clipboard. Hange wiped the sweat off their brow and began to take off their jacket. “Wow, would you look at that!” They said, ogling the room. “Christmas decorations!”
The magnolia walls had been modestly decorated with shiny paper bunting. Tinsel hung from the windows that overlooked the sleepy city and a tiny, frazzled Christmas tree had been set up on the bedside table beside Levi’s get-well cards and flowers. The festive look had been complete with a scrawled note on the bed frame that read ‘GRINCH’.
“It’s a mess,” Levi mumbled quietly and rolled over to face away from Hange.
“That’s a fantastic word, Levi,” Dr. Brzenska said. “One of your all-time favourites.”
Hange bit back a light-hearted jibe. Patients were usually asked if they wanted decorations or not. “Come on, Levi. It’s December first! Time to be festive. I don’t even have any decorations up in my office yet! Lots of cheer and happiness, mince pies and yule logs – Oh! And your birthday!” Levi made another mumbley, non-committal noise. Hange knew just the remedy for a case of evening grumps. They leant over him and pecked his cheek. “Did you have a nice day?” they asked. He rolled back to look at them.
“Mmm.”
“Mmm?”
“Not really,” he said.
It didn’t take a genius to understand just how much he hated being stuck in hospital. He still couldn’t form complex sentences and he often repeated the same words. If he could talk freely, Hange was certain he’d be ranting and raving about losing muscle mass and being forgotten by his colleagues. He was caught doing squats by a nurse and was banned from attempting anything that vaguely resembled working out.
“Have a good lunch? What was on the menu today?” Hange tilted his jaw gently, moving his head from side-to-side. Levi kept his eyes on them. “Any bowel movements to report? Any pain?” They lifted his right eyelid, then his left and was reaching for their pen light to check his pupils when Dr. Brzenska interrupted.
“He’s been given the once over by the nurses,” she said. “No need to treat him like one of your patients.”
Hange looked down at Levi, who was still fixed on them. “Oops! Right, right,” they said. “Here as speech support, not a doctor.”
Brushing their hand over his shoulder, Hange began to punch his pillow to shape. He sank back into it, content to watch them fuss over him. “I’m sorry I’m late, Mrs. Braun was back with her boil. I hope your day wasn’t too boring. You can tell me all about it when therapy is finished.” Hange checked their watch. “I’m ten minutes late, but that’s still three hours and fifty minutes until I have to go home. We have time to order something to eat for dinner. I’m starving, what do you fancy?”
It was a lot of questions and information to process at once, but Hange hoped it would trigger a response. It had become a daily ritual. It was best to patiently continue talking as normal, Dr. Brzenska had instructed. So Hange fired the questions with patience.
Levi sat up and opened and closed his lips in a silent struggle. What he wanted to say was balancing on the tip of his tongue. But tonight wasn’t the night. Levi put his head back on his pillow. Hange recognised the frustration on his face. Not to matter, that was what speech therapy was for and they certainly weren’t giving up. The ritual would continue tomorrow, and the day after that and the day after that.
“Shall we get started?” Dr. Brzenska smiled in the exact way Hange did at their own difficult patients.
“Sure,” Hange nodded. Before they could move for the seat by the window, Levi grabbed their wrist.
“Four eyes.”
A rush spread through Hange’s body at the sound of his voice. They twisted back around.
“That’s an interesting phrase, Levi,” Dr. Brzenska said, forgetting that she was talking to a thirty-eight-year-old man and not a child. She adjusted her glasses. “Not a particularly nice one.”
Hange’s chest shook with repressed laughter. “No, no, that’s a nickname. It’s his nickname for me. It’s not rude, it’s not meant to be rude at all.”
“I see.” Dr. Brzenska did not sound amused. “Well, that is certainly progress, Levi. A brand-new phrase. Can you say it again?”
He could not. Even so, Hange’s insides ballooned with joy. They felt like their whole body had filled with air and Levi’s grip on their wrist was the only thing keeping them on earth. Hange kept their face from ballooning into a smile, too. They didn’t want Levi to feel pressured into saying it again. He had not said their name yet, but ‘Four Eyes’ was as good as anything.
Hange took a seat over at the window, letting Dr. Brzenska take over.
“It’s good to see you again, Levi,” Dr. Brzenska began formally. “How are you feeling this evening?”
No response.
“Before we start, do you remember the exercises we ran through last week? Nice and gently, tell me what you remember.”
Levi strained again. His chest rose and fell but he met Dr. Brzenska head on and found the strength to say slowly and thoroughly: “There was a cat.”
Dr. Brzenska immediately started writing on her clipboard. “Very good, Levi. We looked at keywords last week–”
“A catdog. Something.”
“Yes, you can recall the different animals you were shown. There was a cat, a dog, and other pets. That’s fantastic. I’d like to try a new exercise today, something we haven’t done yet.”
Levi rolled his head to look at Hange. They nodded reassuringly.
“Dr. Zoe is here to support you as family and to observe so she can run through these exercises with you before our next session, just like you’ve been doing these past weeks. Is that alright with you?”
Levi opened his mouth and – “mess.”
“I’m a great speech therapist!” Hange defended themself. Levi had always seemed a bit uncertain around Dr. Brzenska. Hange suspected he was embarrassed and thought himself weak. When it was just the two of them, he was able to relax and he didn’t get as frustrated or upset.
“I’m sure you are,” Dr. Brzenska said, but she jotted something down that made Hange nervous. “Today, we’ll be looking at synonyms. Do you know what a synonym is, Levi?”
He shook his head.
“A synonym,” Dr. Brzenska continued, “is a word or a phrase that has the same meaning, or a similar meaning to another word. For example, ‘ill’ is a synonym for ‘sick’. Does that make sense?”
“Yes,” Levi replied immediately.
Hange couldn’t help feeling proud when he managed to answer a yes or no question with no hesitation.
“Today’s exercise will challenge your brain and your mouth to work together and come up with, and identify, synonyms. It’s a great test, and I know you are ready. I will say a word, and I want you to tell me a synonym. You can take as long as you need, there is no hurry. Are you ready?”
“Yes,” he said.
“The first word I would like a synonym for is, cold,” Dr. Brzenska said.
Hange sat on the edge of their seat, willing Levi to not get too stressed if the answers didn’t come. He put his head back on his pillow and looked deep in thought.
After what felt like five minutes, he said “cool.”
“Excellent.” Dr. Brzenska jotted it down. “The next word I would like a synonym for is, house.”
This one didn’t take as long. “Home,” Levi said. Hange couldn’t wait to be able to bring him back home. His house was too far from the hospital, so he’d be staying at their apartment until he was ready to live by himself again. Hange hoped he’d be home in time for his birthday. With the rate he was improving, it was looking likely.
“Good, good, you’re doing so well, Levi.” Dr. Brzenska said. “Can you tell me a synonym for big?”
Then he struggled again. Hange watched on, powerless to help as he sat up and begged his body to comply with his brain; his lips groped the air and his jaw tightened but no sound came out. Hange clenched their fist, digging their nails into their palm to steel themselves.
They would never say it aloud, but when Levi struggled like this, the tiniest glimmer of defeat bloomed in Hange. What if he could never express himself fully again? What if they never had the chance to have a sincere conversation with each other about their feelings? They could feel his frustration building and just when it seemed like he would give up, he said “huge” and collapsed back onto the pillow for respite.
“That was a tough one, how do you feel?” Dr. Brzenska asked.
“Mess,” Levi said, downtrodden.
“We’ll just do a couple more, if you feel comfortable?”
He would not back down from a challenge. Levi sat up and nodded.
“The next word I want a synonym for is happy.”
The words had barely left Dr. Brzenska's mouth, when Levi said it clear as day: “Hange.”
The rush hit Hange again, but this time a gust of wind hit their sails and they were pelted into earth’s orbit. A synonym for happy. He said their name. As a synonym for happy!
Dr. Brzenska began writing. “That’s lovely, Levi,” she said. “But ‘Hange’ is a name, not a synonym for happy. Shall we try that again? What is a synonym for happy?”
“Hange.” He said it even faster this time. Brash and blunt and vulnerable.
It tugged at Hange’s heart. They laughed to cover the awkwardness and Levi swivelled to look at them. His eyes pierced their sails. His grounding gaze brought Hange back safely down to earth.
“Hange,” Levi said unprompted, his eyes sharp. Then his gaze softened when Hange smiled at him. “Hange,” he said, with the innocence that came from being totally earnest.
“As you know, doctor,” Dr. Brzenska said. “It’s not unusual for patients with speech apraxia to mix words up and say one thing when they mean another. There’s a good chance he’s mixed up the ‘ha’ at the start of your name with the ‘ha’ at the start of happy. He must’ve said your name daily prior to the accident, so it would be like reflex.”
Hange’s heart was going to explode. Levi rarely called them by their name. It was reflex for him to call them ‘four eyes’ or ‘shitty glasses’ or other profanity that their friends found sarcastic and mean. They tried to be rational and think like a doctor – they knew Dr. Brzenska was right – but looking at his soft eyes as his lover, it was the greatest show of vulnerability that Hange could have asked for. They felt lightheaded.
“Levi’s made good progress considering the trauma to his brain, but it’s not unusual to see some discrepancies, some mix ups, from time to time.”
Hange nodded as Dr. Brzenska rattled off, but they kept their eyes locked with Levi’s. They knew, with all their heart, that he hadn’t mixed up a thing.
“Let’s try one more time. What is a synonym for happy, Levi?”
They had gotten the answer to all those questions. They knew exactly how he felt.
With them, he was happy.
“Hange.”