Archive of Our Own ^beta

I was gonna ask you to marry me.

Aaron squeezes his eyes shut, half wishing he was still unconscious. His room is blessedly empty, Aaron having begged his mum and Liv to give him five minutes peace. His mum’s going to take him literally, Aaron knows, but he just needs to be alone. His eyes are burning with unshed tears, fingers clasped tightly in too-coarse bedsheets. He’s trying to stay calm, having sent his heart monitor crazy once already, but it’s hard.

Waking up, he’d wanted Robert, to know that Robert was safe.

He ’s in surgery, love.

Aaron remembers their argument, remembers Robert’s yell of Aaron, watch out! and being unable to stop the car as he jerked it out of the way of the crash only to send it careening through the fence and into the quarry. He doesn’t remember anything else.

You were scared, stuck under the steering column. When he sleeps, Aaron has flashes, overwhelmed with panic and please, just go, but he doesn’t know if that’s real, imagined, or something altogether different. He wants to ask Robert, but he pulled you out, Aaron. Got you to safety. Adam and Vic found you both on the shore.

There’s an absence with Aaron that won’t go, the thought of Robert somewhere else in the hospital, undergoing surgery. He’s scared about the implications, about the doctor’s assurances that they were hoping any lasting damage would be minor, but that brain injuries were unpredictable. Aaron feels bitter, guilty because he couldn’t stop the car, because Robert’s come out of it with potentially life altering damage. He chokes on his tears, wants to punch something, but he’s too weak, there’s nothing to take his anger out on.

There has been little information from the doctors about what had caused Robert’s accident, but Aaron was in the car and knew that he’d hit his head on the dashboard, remembered the cut above his eye, and lead settles in his stomach, making him feel nauseous.

Everything in him is screaming to find Robert and make sure that he’s alright, but every time he shifts wrong on the bed, pain shoots through his stomach. Robert could still be in surgery, nobody is telling him much of anything, and he scrunches his eyes up, trying to fight tears and unable to stop it.  

It’s too much, overwhelming in ways he doesn’t want.

He’s still crying when his mum comes back with Liv, both laden down with food and drink.

“Oh, love,” his mum says, immediately sliding cups of steaming tea onto the cabinet to stroke back his hair, kiss his temple.

“He has to be okay, mum,” he says, voice raw and low, damage from the crash. “He needs to be okay.”

Thankfully, his mum just kisses his hair, soothes him with soft words. Not once does she say it’s okay, he’ll be okay and he’s grateful. She can’t know it won’t be a lie, and Aaron thinks he’d hate her if it was.

Liv is silent, eyes wet with her own unshed tears. There’s a brotherly instinct there somewhere to help her, to give her the hug she sorely needs, but he can barely get a handle on his own feelings, let alone someone else’s.

“Wouldn’t want ya crying over ‘im,” Liv says eventually, leaning forward to take his hand.

Aaron lets out a weak laugh because yeah, that’s the truth. “Doesn’t know what’s good for him.”

His mum smiles ruefully. “We’ll just have to make sure he knows he’s worth crying over, won’t we?”

Clenching his eyes shut, Aaron doesn’t know what to do with the love currently pressing down on his chest. He knows his mum and Robert have a tense relationship, understandable given the circumstances, and though he wishes things could be different, he’s just glad she’s trying, hopes that Robert will do the same – once Aaron knows what’s up with him.  

“Your Robert’s out of surgery,” one of the nurses tells him the next day.

Aaron ignores the rush he gets at your Robert and blinks. “How is he?”

“Still unconscious,” the nurse says, not unsympathetically. She pulls something from the pocket of her uniform, placing it on the bedside table. “Had this in his pocket. His family tell me it belongs to you.”

It’s a small leather box and Aaron knows immediately what’s in it. His chest seizes, nothing to do with the accident. The nurse isn’t watching him, busy running her checks, and Aaron takes the time to look at it. It’s wet, stained with lake water and something red that Aaron doesn’t want to think about.

The nurse hangs the clipboard back on the end of his bed. “Everything’s looking fine. Call if you need anything, though,” she adds with raised eyebrows, “we have the family’s permission to keep you updated of his condition.”

Family’s permission, Aaron thinks with anger, though he gets it. He and Rob aren’t family, not yet, and now—

As soon as Aaron’s alone again, he reaches for the box, fumbles it. He catches it before it can fall and pulls it close to his chest. He takes a deep breath, flips it open. The ring taunts him, promises of what could have been, if he’d not kidnapped Lachlan, if Robert wasn’t determined to save Andy, if, if, if. He pulls the ring out. It’s — Aaron’s not big on jewellery, but it’s something he’d wear. Robert knows him, he realises, so, so well.

I’d say yeah, he thinks viciously, hoping that wherever he is in the hospital, Robert can hear him.

Vic comes to see him later that afternoon, cheeks stained red and looking like she hasn’t slept in days.

“I’m sorry,” Aaron says immediately. The guilt threatens to spill tears, but he bites it down.

There’s no blame on Vic’s face as she gives him a hug, kisses his cheek. “Don’t be silly. You know Robert. He’ll be up and annoying us all in no time.”

Aaron nods, not trusting himself to say anything else. Vic pulls up a chair, hands between her knees.

“I’m sorry I didn’t come before.” She sounds sad, wrecked. Aaron’s seen Adam twice, devastated as he is by James’ death and Aaron’s accident, but he’d been trying to be strong. Vic’s the same, smiling and holding his hand, though Aaron knows it has to be tearing her up on the inside.

Aaron squeezes her fingers. “How you holding up?”

Vic brushes tears off her cheek and gives him a small smile. “Not great. But it will be fine. I know it.”

There’s an awkward pause where Vic has to know what he wants to ask, but before he can, she runs a thumb over his fourth finger.

“You said yes?”

Aaron looks down at the ring, feels the familiar clench of pain. He doesn’t know what he wants to say, only that it feels right, that he needs to wear it. “No. I just — he didn’t ask, not really, but I wanted to —”

“It’s okay,” Vic says softly. “He was worried you wouldn’t say yes.”

“He’ll wake up,” Aaron says, staring down at his hand. “He has to wake up.”

“He will,” Vic agrees.

Neither of them says anything else for a long time.

He looks like he ’s sleeping.

Aaron’s always hated the expression. When he’s sleeping, Robert’s like an octopus; limbs everywhere, kicking Aaron three or four times a night and occasionally drooling on Aaron’s shoulder. In the hospital bed, Robert looks too still, face pale, left side of his head shaved from the nape of his neck to his temple.

“He’s gonna hate that,” Aaron says, voice low. “Vain ass.”

Vic lets out a watery laugh. She’s on the other side of the bed, holding Robert’s hand. Aaron wants to, wants to cling to Robert like a lifeline, but he’s almost afraid to. This isn’t his Robert, the one that yelled his proposal because they’ve never been able to do anything right, the one that kept Aaron from losing it in a car full of water, the one that saved Aaron and didn’t think about himself.

“You have to be okay,” Aaron says fiercely, eyes on Robert’s face. If he could wake Robert with will alone, they’d already be back at the pub. “You have to ask me properly.”

The part of him that’s hoping Robert will wake quickly gives up an hour into his visit. He doesn’t want to leave but knows that someone will be coming to tell him he has to go back to bed soon. It feels wrong, like he should be in here, with Robert, until Robert wakes up. Robert saved him, they’re both still alive, it’s not fair.

“Why do you have to be so stubborn?” Aaron snaps, letting the anger flood his chest. He takes Robert’s hand, threads their fingers together. Even that doesn’t feel right; they don’t often hold hands, but when they do, Robert’s always warm, his long fingers tracing patterns against Aaron’s palm. Right now, they’re cold and lax in Aaron’s grip.

He lets go quickly, calls a nurse to take him back to his room.

Aaron’s there when Robert wakes up; he’s given permission to spend an hour outside his room each day, and three days in Aaron’s trying not to worry that Robert hasn’t woken yet, when as if on cue, Robert’s eyes open slowly.

“Hey,” Aaron says, squeezing Robert’s hand gently.

Robert blinks, takes a while to focus properly on Aaron’s face. His eyes are half-lidded and he looks exhausted, though he manages a weak push into Aaron’s hand and a small half-smile.

Aaron reaches up, presses a kiss to Robert’s hairline. He’s glad it’s the right side; he doesn’t want to have to stare at the scar anymore. “Been waiting a long time for you.”

Vic looks relieved on the other side of the bed, hand pressed to her mouth, leaning back against Adam. Even Adam’s smiling, a small point of light in an otherwise awful week. Aaron focuses back on Robert, who’s staring up at him. He opens his mouth, tries to say something. He frowns, tries again. His eyes widen, panic obvious in his face, as he shifts on the bed, the only sound coming out of his mouth a horrible groan.

Aaron feels terror well up in his chest but pushes it down, tries not to let it take over. “Hey, it’s okay,” he lies. “It will be okay. Vic, can you—?”

Vic doesn’t even hesitate, goes to call for a nurse. Aaron can’t tear his eyes away from Robert’s wide, terrified eyes.

“It’s called Aphasia,” the doctor tells them, clinical and detached.

Aaron wants to punch her in the mouth. Robert’s keeping a death grip on Aaron’s hand, nails digging into the skin of Aaron’s palm. It’s grounding, a familiar pain that Aaron will carry for eternity if it helps Robert. “What does that mean?”

The doctor gives them a practiced speech that she probably uses on all her patients. Aaron catches important words like brain damage and impaired speech and non-fluent. Robert’s eyes dim, flick to Aaron’s face. Aaron squeezes Robert’s hand tightly, refuses to let what the doctor’s saying affect him in any way Robert can see.

“Thank you,” Vic says, as the doctor leaves.

Robert’s staring down at the bed covers, eyes hooded, face shadowed. Aaron doesn’t know what to say to make this better, how to take away this hurt from Robert.

“Hey,” he says eventually, touching Robert under the chin. “We’ll make this work, do you hear me?”

Robert’s never needed words for Aaron to understand him; there’s something frightened in his eyes, but the look he gives Aaron is irritated.

“We’ll work this out. I promise ya, Rob. I’m not going anywhere.”

Something eases on Robert’s face and Aaron knows he’s hit the mark; as if he would leave Robert over this. It hurts, to think of Robert unable to talk, to form words, and Aaron can foresee a lot of research in his future, but he’s adamant that he’s going to stick around, and not just because of the guilt pooling in his stomach.

He loves Robert, can’t imagine a life without him, and he’ll be damned if he starts now, because of this.

“I don’t get it,” Vic says, sitting in the chair by Aaron’s bed.

Adam’s loitering outside, having grabbed them drinks, trying to give some semblance of privacy. Aaron doesn’t know why he bothers; they’re not getting much talking done, the two of them stunned and upset over Robert’s diagnosis. Robert’s sleeping, silent despite the doctor assuring them that he will talk, it just might not make sense, which in and of itself doesn’t make sense. Nothing about this makes sense, and Aaron’s struggling with what this will mean for them, for their future.

They’ve just been in a car accident and god, he doesn’t even know how to begin processing everything that’s happened to them, and there’s guilt there too. He hadn’t been watching the road, hadn’t done his job to make sure they were safe, and now Robert’s got this thing to contend with. Aaron ignores the thrum of disgust at himself and tips his head back, staring up the ceiling.

“Yeah, well.”

Vic lets out a frustrated sound. “He’ll hate this.”

Aaron’s phone is on the nightstand and he wants to grab it, wants to find out everything he can about this condition, but that’s something he wants to do in private, when Vic’s not here, tears in her eyes and desperate for Aaron to make everything better.

Aaron can’t. He can barely convince himself that everything’s gonna be alright. Robert’s the one who needs help. “Probably.”

When Aaron turns to look at her, Vic looks frustrated, but she doesn’t say anything. Her mouth is downturned, fingers rubbing at her sleeves, and her eyes keep darting to the door, as if she wants to leave and can’t bring herself too.

Tired, Aaron sighs, rubbing at his forehead. “Go home, Vic. Get some sleep. Robert’s not going anywhere for now.”

Vic’s eyes shutter, and Aaron thinks they’ve both gone to the same place, to thinking about Robert not waking up at all, and they have to be glad he has. This is something they can deal with, must deal with if they’re going to make it alright for Robert.

“Alright,” she says slowly, though she’s reluctant to stand. She leans over, brushes a kiss to Aaron’s cheek and squeezes his hand. “Get better yourself, alright?”

Aaron nods, not trusting his voice, relieved when Adam settles for raising a hand in parting instead of coming into the room. As soon as they’re gone, he reaches for his phone, throat thick with emotion. His stomach hurts and he rubs at it gently as he brings up Google, the only place he knows to find the information he needs. There’s a wealth of websites, some videos, and a couple of case studies that threaten to overwhelm him, but he starts at the beginning.

When the light starts to dim through the window, Aaron’s heart is heavy in his chest, and the guilt is threatening to overwhelm him. Robert’s got a long and tough road ahead of him and it’s all Aaron’s fault.

There’s so much in Robert’s brain that he doesn’t know how to begin.

When he first woke up, tongue heavy in his mouth and with so many words trying to get out that he thought he was going to throw up when he couldn’t. Though he’s been awake a couple of times since then, he does his best not to stay that way. The faces around him – Vic, Diane, Chas, Liv – all look at him with pity and fear and Robert can’t handle that.

Car accident, he thinks. There was a car accident and he had to get Aaron out.

Aaron’s there the first time, and Robert takes confidence from his strength, but he’s not come back since and Robert doesn’t know what to do with that.

“It’s only been three days,” Vic says, aiming for soothing.

Robert’s eyes flutter. Want him, he wants to say, but keeps his mouth shut.

Vic’s more perceptive than he gives her credit for, and she squeezes his hand. “He promised he’d come later, when they let him.”

Aaron’s still hurt, Robert realised, and feels awful for not taking that into account. They’re both dealing with their own shit, Aaron’s injured and the part of Robert that’s desperate to be with him is warring with his own lack of energy.

The doctor comes a half hour later, a practiced smile on her face, and Robert clenches his hands into fists. He wants Aaron but fights the urge to say so.

“Are you feeling okay?”

Robert wants to roll his eyes. He opens his mouth, thinks better of it and closes it again.

The doctor clasps her clipboard to her chest. “I need you to say it to me.”

“Nnn,” Robert tries, clenches his teeth – and his hands.

Vic’s eyes flutter, looking apprehensive. She shares a look with Diane, and Robert deliberately ignores them, just serves to piss him off more.

“Again,” the doctor says, and Robert wants to punch her.

“No,” he says, swallowing thickly.

“That’s good.” The doctor looks impressed. She gestures to Robert’s family, tells them to talk in slow and short sentences, and it would piss Robert off, except then Diane starts talking, and Robert can’t follow, his fingers twitching against his lap as he blinks, catching only a few words.

“Remember,” the doctor says, holding up a hand. “Keep it simple.”

It makes Robert feel like an idiot; everything feels just the same as it always did inside of his head, it just gets stuck coming out of his mouth. Next time the doctor asks him a question, Robert shakes his head, refuses to give it, even though Vic and Diane prompt him, try and get him to say something. Stubborn to the end, Robert turns his face away, feels like closing his eyes but he’s trying not to be a dick he just hurts.

Why won’t they give him time?

“He won’t talk to anyone,” Vic says.

Aaron snorts. “Right, because you expected him to?”

From the look on her face, yeah, she did, and Aaron wants to scream in frustration. They don’t get Robert at all, don’t understand the things that make him Robert and it’s frustrating.

“He’s so used to saying shit to make everyone step into line,” Aaron says immediately. It still bothers him sometimes that Robert can be that way, but he’s fast learning that Robert learned to use his mouth and his words to lash out before anyone could get close enough to hurt him. Everyone has their coping mechanisms, and Robert’s aren’t any more healthier than Aaron’s used to be. “He can’t even say yes and no without a struggle. Why would he start?”

Vic looks unhappy, sad and exhausted all at once. Aaron wants to tell her to go home, to stop worrying, but he knows from experience that it’s easier said than done.

Scrubbing at his face, the thrum of Robert Robert Robert under his skin that’s always there, and the guilt currently threatening to crush him, Aaron has to get over himself and help Robert. It’s not fair, none of it is, but Robert didn’t ask for this anymore than Aaron did. Everything’s wrong.

“I’ll talk to him,” he says eventually.

Robert’s stubborn to the end.

Aaron comes, coaxes him into the basics of ‘yes’ and ‘no’ and though sometimes he stumbles over them, the doctors take heart and keep to relatively simple sentences that he can answer easily with either of those words. Robert gets resentful quickly about everything, from the way Aaron won’t look him in the eye, to the way Vic and Diane start talking slowly, like he’s a moron.

Keep your questions simple, he wants to snap, not talk slow.

He can’t say that, though, and when they disappear from his room, his stony silence enough to have everyone running away from him, Robert sends everyone a text;

Don’t come visit again.

When he flashes his phone at the nurses later, they try and change his mind, but Robert is adamant. They make him feel stupid, like not being able to talk means his mind doesn’t work and he’s not going to tolerate their pity and their frustration for much longer. They’re not the ones with a mind full of words that won’t go anywhere, and Robert will be damned if he’ll let them keep making him feel stupid.

Aaron finds out, tries to get him to change his mind, and there are a million things Robert wants to say to him, but Aaron won’t look at him and Robert throws a glass, a book, anything he can get his hands on until Aaron’s cursing him, looking him dead in the eye, and telling him to go to hell.

It doesn’t feel like the victory Robert thought it would.

Liv looks unimpressed when he wakes up.

She’s curled up in the chair by his bed, book on her lap, but as far as he can see, she hasn’t opened it. She’s staring at him, eyes narrowed, and rolls them when he looks at her.

“You’re an idiot,” she says.

Figures Aaron would start bitching about him.

“He didn’t tell me anything,” Liv says, reading his expression well enough. He’s startled, didn’t think she’d be able to read him, but wasn’t he starting to do the same with her?

“No,” Robert says, hating the way his breath catches on the word, unsure if it’s even coming out the right way.

Liv raises her eyebrows. “You are an idiot.”

Frustration, Robert thinks, is going to become his best friend. Aaron is on the tip of his tongue. No matter how hard Robert tries, he can’t make his mouth say it.

“I read about this,” Liv says, tipping the book up so that Robert can see the title. It’s some text on Aphasia and though Robert immediately hates everything about it, he can’t stop the rush of gratitude he feels that she’s trying to understand. “Aaron told me where to find it.”

Robert freezes, his eyes darting back to her face.

“Yeah,” Liv says smugly. “He’s looking this up for you, dumbass.”

Don’t swear.

Liv tilts her head, as if trying to figure out what his face is doing, and then snorts. “I don’t have to listen to you. You’re not my brother.”

Robert falters, remembers the ring that had been in his pocket and his fingers twitch. He wants to know what happened to it, wants to know whether Aaron would have said yes, and from the look on Liv’s face, she knows where his head as gone.

“You can still ask him, moron,” she says quickly, and doesn’t even apologise that no, Robert can’t just say it anymore. Instead, she gives him an unimpressed look and shuffles the chair closer. “You don’t have to tell him with words. There are other ways.”

Insightful, Robert thinks, but he knows her. She won’t leave him alone with his self-pity, will probably just sit around shitting on his choices until he listens to her.

There’s a pad of paper in his hospital room, specifically set aside to help him communicate. The doctors would only tolerate his silence for so long before they needed a way to talk to him – mostly about his medical progress. Robert won’t accept any questions about his speech, not yet, he doesn’t know what to do with that right now. Everything else is going great, and they’re hopeful that he’ll be discharged soon.

To where?

He doesn’t ask, doesn’t really want to go back to the pub, with Aaron and Chas and Liv but he doesn’t have a choice. Everyone will be staring at him, wanting to help, and it makes Robert’s skin crawl just thinking about it.

There’s James – fuck funerals – and Rhona’s still in hospital and Aaron.

There’s still Aaron to think about, and Robert lets them give him paper and a pen. He still has functionality over that at least. Reading it back isn’t so great, sometimes the words get mixed up and he can’t figure out what he’s written, but it gets his point across as best he’s able.

Sorry, he writes, when he’s finally allowed a visit to Aaron’s room. It’s obvious Aaron wasn’t going to come back, hadn’t even sent a message with Liv, so Robert’s made the journey.

The moment he’s through the door, Aaron looks startled, angry, and guilty in equal measure and yeah, Robert gets it. He’s had time to think about it, to figure out that Aaron’s spent the whole time thinking he’s responsible when it was Robert, Robert was the one who –

You didn’t answer.

Aaron makes a face that Robert can’t cipher. “How are you?”

Robert scowls, that’s avoiding the question, and he manages a, “No,” like the doctor helped him out with. It sounds more like no now than it did when he first said it, and Aaron’s eyebrows shoot up.

Don’t get excited, Robert scribbles, flashing the pad at Aaron. No and yes are it.

“I’m sorry,” Aaron says, and it’s so low and strained that Robert has to lean in to catch it.

Robert takes his hand, squeezes tight and shakes it until Aaron meets his eyes, mouth downturned unhappily. “No,” he says, hating that he can’t say it’s not your fault, god, it’s mine. “I.”

It’s the closest Robert can get, and frustration presses at his chest, nails digging into Aaron’s wrist, but Aaron doesn’t say anything, just holds him back just as tightly.

“Fuck, Robert,” Aaron breathes and tugs him forward, presses their foreheads together.

I’m scared, Robert thinks. He can’t bring himself to write it because he’s not gonna throw that on Aaron too, but when Aaron brushes a hand against his cheek, draws his face back, Robert knows he can see it anyway.

“You’ve got me,” Aaron promises.

There’s a ring on Aaron’s hand, and Robert catches his wrist, stares down at the ring, awed.

“I,” Robert says again, swallowing. “Yes.”

It’s a question, but he can’t make his mouth form that, but it doesn’t matter. Aaron nods, eyes wet enough that Robert wants to brush them away, but Aaron’s smiling and he leans in, presses a kiss to Robert’s mouth.

“It’s a yes, you idiot.”

Robert’s been called idiot so many times, but he thinks maybe he is because he’s spent days wondering where his life was supposed to go, what he was supposed to do, but Aaron’s said yes.

Maybe Robert can’t talk, but Aaron said yes.

Robert improves slowly.

Aaron keeps an eye on him, now that Robert’s broached the distance between them. It wasn’t that Robert threw shit at him, or even that he was frustrated and angry, because god, Aaron can understand. It was that he had given up. Nothing about Robert has ever given up and trying to force his family and friends out of his room was as much giving up as it was self-preservation.

Robert’s still selective about who he lets back in his room – Liv and Aaron are pretty much it – but he’s talking to the doctors, and though he’s told Aaron in scratchy writing that he’s scared about what will happen when he’s discharged, he can’t wait to get home.

Aaron suspects Robert’s waiting for him to be discharged and is digging his heels in, refusing to speak, until Aaron will come home too. It’s heart-warming when he’s amenable enough to think about it but equally as frustrating.

“Stop making it about me,” Aaron says.

Robert frowns, opens his mouth. “Me.”

“No,” Aaron says, pausing to take a breath. Keep it simple. “Take care of yourself.”

Robert nods. “Yes.”

“You’re not,” Aaron says, frowning and shaking his head. “Mum and Liv will take care of ya.”

“No,” Robert says, immediately clenching a fist around the duvet. “My, myself.”

Aaron fights down the urge to snap, to force Robert to accept the help that he’s being offered. “Please, Rob. I’ll be fine.”

“You,” Robert says, face scrunched up in frustration. Aaron has to keep forcing himself to remember that Robert’s got so many words in his head that he can’t access. “Want.”

Injured as he is, Aaron knows he won’t be of much use to Robert once they’re out, at least not until he’s fully recovered himself. Still, he knows Robert and he knows where most of this fear is coming from. Aaron leans in, presses a kiss to Robert’s temple. “Alright.”

Robert lets out a slow breath, turns into Aaron’s face, his lips warm and wet under Aaron’s. It occurs to Aaron how close he came to losing Robert, to not having him at all. Whether Robert can talk or not, Aaron’s gonna hold on to him for as long as he’s able.

When they finally get discharged, Chas comes to pick them up.

She’s careful around Robert for the first five minutes, which has much to do with Robert being self-conscious around her as it does Chas’ own reservations. Something breaks and then Chas is rolling her eyes at something and Robert manages to snap something back that obviously makes sense.

It’s not until they get out to the car park, that Robert sees the car, that pain seizes his chest and he grabs hold of Aaron’s hand, digging his nails into the palm of Aaron’s hand.

“Robert?” Aaron touches his shoulder, ducks his head so that he can look him in the eye. “Rob, it’s alright.”

“Car,” Robert bites out between breaths. It’s painful to breathe, his whole body vibrating when he thinks about climbing into a car. “Can’t.”

Chas says something, angry and frustrated, and Robert can’t look at her, doesn’t want to know what she’s thinking. He can’t help it, can’t stop the plunge into the water being the only thing he can see when he closes his eyes, the fact that he can’t speak is because they couldn’t stop the car.

“Hey,” Aaron says, bringing Robert into a hug. He hates it, skin crawling every time Aaron draws him in for comfort, doesn’t want to need it but can’t stop burying his face in Aaron’s neck, clinging to his shirt. He’s always been desperate for affection, tries to bury it down because it’s not like anybody will give it to him, but now that he needs it, he can’t accept it when it’s offered. “We don’t have to get in the car.”

“Do,” Robert bites out. I have enough problems without this.

Robert doesn’t even bother trying to say it, just stares at the car and makes his mouth work around words he’s not even certain he can say.

“Angry. Need to sit.”

Aaron sighs but doesn’t fight him. Robert can be stubborn even when he can’t talk, and he’ll be damned if he lets something like this destroy his life. “You don’t have to fight everything.”

“Yes,” Robert says. Because if I don’t, I’ll never get out of bed.

Staring at him, Aaron curls a hand around the back of his neck. Over his left shoulder, Chas is pretending not to listen in, leaning against the car and tapping away on her phone. Robert doesn’t care if she can hear, doesn’t care if anyone hears. He’s not ashamed of Aaron, not ashamed of himself. He hates it, can feel the ball of rage that’s taken up residence in his chest expanding with every failed word, every sympathetic look.

“I want to help,” Aaron says gently.

“Are,” Robert says, desperate to reassure Aaron. “Stay.”

After a tense minute or two, Aaron nods, still unhappy and frustrated, but he squeezes Robert’s hand and jerks his head at the car. “You alright with getting in?”

Robert doesn’t know, but he needs to be, so he says, “Yes.”

 It’s still hard to breathe, and he closes his eyes as he climbs into the back of the car with Aaron, Aaron’s fingers tight on him.

Aaron’s still injured, moves gingerly and winces occasionally as he settles in next to Robert. Robert feels a little selfish that he’s been focused on himself, knows better than to throw himself a pity party. He wants to say so many things to Aaron; tell him that he’ll be there for Aaron, that he loves him, that he’ll do whatever he needs to make sure Aaron’s happy.

He can’t say any of that.

Instead of saying anything at all, he clings to Aaron, staring out of the window as they approach Emmerdale. It doesn’t look any different, feels like there should be some sign that a car crash affected so many people, lives thrown into turmoil and unrest. Robert hates, sometimes, how easily life gets back to normal in a small village.

The Woolpack is busy when they pull back, not unusual given the time of day, but Robert is certain he doesn’t want to see anyone else today, not even his family. He can’t handle trying to deal with answering questions he doesn’t have the words for. Thankfully, Chas takes them both in the back way, immediately slipping out into the pub ahead of them, giving them time to move upstairs.

Aaron is slow, body protesting moving around so much after the crash. He takes the stairs slowly, with Robert hovering protectively behind him. He wishes his injuries were more physical, at least then he’d be able to get over them quickly. Shaking his head, trying to rid himself of the thoughts, he focuses on Aaron instead, makes sure he’s comfortable and offers, in a stilted and broken away, a drink and some food.

“You don’t have to,” Aaron says, brow furrowing.

“Want,” Robert says, leaning down to brush a kiss against Aaron’s forehead, brushing the limp curls away from his face. “Please.”

“Alright.” Aaron gives him a small, warm smile and it just makes Robert’s chest tight with pain.

When he gets downstairs, putting the kettle on and waiting to make a cup of tea, he feels bile rise in his throat, terrified of what this means for their future; the hospital’s instructions had been clear about his progress. Speech therapy, small improvements, time. Things Robert doesn’t want or can’t wait for. He’s not patient, has too much to do to wait for his speech to catch up.   

Focusing on Aaron will only take so long and then Robert’s going to have to deal with what’s happening to him.

“How are you doing?” Vic asks, nursing a cup of coffee.

Robert’s lip curls, tired of having to answer the same question again and again. He shrugs, doesn’t bother to make words. She’ll just get that pinched look on her face, pity warring with sympathy and Robert’s seen that too many times to want it from his sister.

Vic stares into her mug, mouth unhappy, and she doesn’t say anything for a long time. “I won’t make you talk if you don’t want to.”

I want to, Robert wants to scream. I can’t!

It’s easy to get angry at everyone who doesn’t understand that, who thinks it’s a choice rather than something he can’t do.

Vic isn’t the only one; Diane, Doug, various Dingles, everyone Robert comes across don’t seem to understand what’s happening to him, throw the words brain damaged around.

“Not damaged,” Robert says to Aaron later, where he’s camped out on the sofa, phone clenched tightly in his hands. He’s looked up everything he can about aphasia, like it’s somehow going to give him the perfect solution to get better. Time, time, time. The same word in every article and Robert’s angry, compounding the ball of rage that doesn’t seem inclined to disappear any time soon.

“You are,” Aaron says gently, gripping Robert’s arms tightly as he forces him to stay still. “It’s damage, but not damage that can’t be fixed.”

“With time,” Robert says.

“Yeah,” Aaron says, his smile wry but sad. “I know you hate that.”

Robert nods. He closes his eyes, leans into Aaron and lets himself feel the fear and despair for as long as he can.

Robert hates speech therapy, wouldn’t even go if it wasn’t for Aaron’s hopeful face. Everything about Aaron is hopeful, as if hope alone will give Robert control over his own mental functions, but Robert’s inside his own head – he knows that it’s not that easy. Hope will only go so far, but it’s not going to make Robert’s mouth form words that are crowding his brain.

It goes slowly. Robert barely has a grasp on simple words, and it’s frustrating how long it takes, but his vocabulary expands with every session and he should be thankful for that at least.

I want to say Aaron, Robert writes quickly, shoving at his therapist.

It’s hard when they get to work with it.

“Aaron,” Robert says, but from the furrow in the therapist’s brow, he doesn’t think he’s said it right.

“Try again,” he says. His name is Paul and he’s only slightly older than Robert, something that irritates Robert because he thinks I used to speak like you every time they meet. He has to dig his nails into his leg to ground himself back to the moment and stop thinking about what he’s lost.

“Aaron,” Robert says again. And again. And again.

Aaron struggles with knowing what to do.

It’s easy when it’s just he and Robert, when all he has to do is be patient and wait for Robert to say what he wants to. They don’t watch as much TV as they used to, even when Robert as the subtitles on the screen, and he starts to get confused if there’s a lot of people in a room, finds it hard to track who’s saying what.

Some days he’ll wake up and know immediately that it will be a good day; Robert starts by saying, ‘Hello,’ something he’s been able to say for a long time. He’ll be all smiles when they go downstairs, even going so much as to joke with Chas, in his own halting way.

“Old,” Robert says, tongue-in-cheek, a word Aaron knows he demanded to learn just to tease Aaron’s mum.

“Oi.” Chas slaps him on the shoulder, but there’s never malice behind it.

Liv’s always rolling her eyes or bitching about school, but even she’s relaxed around Robert, keeping everything as normal as she ever does. Robert finds it easier with her, because she’s always talking simply, telling him like it is with as few words as possible.

It’s impossible not to love them both more for the way they move around each other these days.

When Robert wakes up on the bad days, he doesn’t talk at all. He shrugs and maintains a stony silence through breakfast, right through to dinner. Work is harder for him; he can read well enough, knows exactly what’s happening with the businesses, but he can’t turn the words he wants into sentences that make sense.

Aaron does his best on those days to not crowd him, to let him get on with. He has a list from the doctor and speech therapist about things that could affect Robert, that he’ll need counselling as well. Robert refuses, and Aaron knows he’s going to have to put his foot down, but he’s learning to pick his battles.

Some days Robert wakes up and he wants affection but doesn’t know how to ask for it. He can, he and Aaron have never needed words to know how to read each other, but he won’t. Those days are easier on Aaron than the bad days, because he just has to take a day off from the scrapyard – something he’s trying not to do too often – and curls up with Robert on the sofa. They have the TV on low, though it makes things harder for Robert in the long run, but Aaron’s trying to figure out which is the lesser of two evils.

“You need to keep him motivated with therapy,” the doctors tell him.

“Practice,” his mum says. “Keep him talking, love.”

Aaron knows what’s best, does what he can to make sure Robert knows it too, but Robert’s never been good at doing anything that’s good for him.

“Hey,” Chas says, sitting down at the table.

Robert’s staring at his laptop, emails he needs to answer open on the screen, but he’s been trying to form a sentence for the past ten minutes and it’s not working. “Hello.”

Chas gives him a warm smile. “What you working on?”

It takes Robert a minute to understand the question. “Emails.”

“Is it going well?”

Of all the people that have been trying hard to help Robert, Chas was the last person he would have expected to take it seriously. “No.”

Chas’s expression is sympathetic, but not pitying. “Need help?”

Robert keeps staring at her, wanting to say no, but Chas doesn’t look judgemental. “Can,” he starts. “Work.”

“I know,” Chas says gently. “That doesn’t mean you can’t ask for help, Robert.”

It’s still frustrating. “Know. That.”

“Robert.” Chas touches his arm, squeezes gently but hard enough that Robert knows she’s serious. Their relationship isn’t perfect, and he doesn’t think it ever can be, not with the things he’s done to her and her family – to her son – or the things that he hates her for, but Chas is the closest thing he has to a mother. Diane is great, but she’s never really been – she’s never been like Chas. “I know you can do this up here,” she gently touches his temple. “But it can be hard, under the circumstances, to handle it when it won’t come out here, or here.”

Chas taps Robert’s chin, then the laptop.

“Can’t,” Robert says. “Write.”

“Alright,” Chas says easily. “What do we need to do here?”

Robert doesn’t know how she’s going to get it out of him when he’s already explained he can’t, but it’s nice to have help even if he’s still not sure he can ask for it. Chas is reading over the email, slides the laptop across the table, and Robert holds the pen, scribbles something he hopes makes sense – but what he needs to write.

“Thank,” Robert says. “You.”

“You’re welcome, love.”

 “Got everything you need?” David smiles too wide.

“Yes.” Robert places the milk, butter and bread on the counter, the pub fridge empty of necessaries. “Thank.”

“No problem.” David keeps casting looks at Robert from under his lashes but doesn’t say anything.

Robert’s grip on his wallet is tight enough that his knuckles are white. David’s not the only one. Other people around the village tip-toe around him like he’s broken and it makes him want to snap, want to crawl into the pub and never leave. It’s stupid because if they could listen inside his head, they’d know he was still the same, could still talk like a functioning human being, but they still treat him like he’s broken or needs help.”

“Great,” Robert says, when David hands him his bag, even though it’s anything but.

David nods, cheerful almost to the point of faking it.

Robert’s trying to channel his anger instead of giving into it – he’d promised Vic and Aaron – but it’s a lot easier when people look at him like they always have, instead of the way they do now.

“Not, uh, broken,” he tells Aaron that night.

Liv’s got her laptop balanced on her knees and Robert knows she’s eavesdropping, but it’s not like they can get privacy any other way.

“Still, okay.”

“I know, Rob,” Aaron says, ever patient. Robert doesn’t know what he does with his frustration, but he never lets it loose around Robert. He must be just as sick of everything – as sick of Robert – as Robert is of his own stupid brain not working properly. “They’ll get over it.”

“And I can always hit ‘em if they don’t,” Liv informs him with a smirk.

Robert rolls his eyes, pretending his chest isn’t flooded with gratitude.

It gets a little easier after that.

Robert still can’t say everything he needs to, but he tries harder to go to speech therapy, to come home and talk to Liv and Aaron, sometimes Chas. To watch movies with them and follow what’s being said. He makes the odd comment and tries to go back to being the same Robert as before but it’s not easy. There will be times he gets frustrated and the bad days still come as often as the good days but Aaron’s confident with his progress.

Aaron gets some distraction with Adam, helping him deal with James’ death. They don’t talk much about it, Adam’s as closed off about it as he is with most things, but they laugh and try to pretend everything’s alright and it works. It gives him something else, even if he feels guilty as soon as he walks through the door, watches the way the lines around Robert’s eyes get tighter, his face paler with every passing day.

Vic talks to him whenever he’s in the pub, slides up beside him and just talks; about Adam, about Robert, about anything and everything. It’s been a long time since they’ve had the kind of relationship they used to, for so many reasons, but he finds himself reluctant to offer up any information on Robert that Robert doesn’t want him to share. Aaron’s being selfish, hoarding Robert to himself because they came this close to losing each other.

“You could talk to him,” Aaron says.

Vic hesitates, dropping her eyes to the table. “I want to. He just doesn’t talk to me.”

Aaron stares at her. “He won’t, can’t, Vic. You have to do the work, give him a means to talk to you.”

Tired of having to explain it to everyone, Aaron has little sympathy for the expression Vic turns on him. “I don’t understand any of it.”

“So, look it up,” Aaron snaps. “It’s easy enough to find. Doesn’t he deserve that?”

It’s not fair, perhaps, to take his anger out on her, but there’s nowhere else for it to go. Aaron doesn’t want to carry it home, to let it out unintentionally around Robert, who doesn’t deserve it. Who suffered a brain injury because Aaron took his eyes off the road. Clenching his hand around his beer glass, Aaron shakes those thoughts away, bile rising in his throat.

He makes his excuses as quickly as he can, stumbling out of the pub and as far away as he can get, leaning against a fence and digging his nails into the wood, trying to get a handle on his breathing. He drops his head to his arm, feels the panic and the tightening of his chest, doesn’t realise he’s hyperventilating until he hears a familiar voice, someone’s hands on his body and someone telling him to breathe.

Trying to.

Robert’s face swims in front of him and he hates himself for panicking Robert, for doing this, for taking his voice away from him. Robert’s face falls, Aaron tries to talk to him, but he can’t make the words work through the breaths he’s trying to haul into his lungs.

“Aaron.” His mum shakes him a little, soothes and talks to him until it’s easier to breathe, until his chest eases and he can let out a sob, fall into her arms.

“Sorry,” Robert says, voice shaking.

Aaron wants to tell him it’s okay, that everything will be fine, but he can’t, doesn’t know if it’s true.

“Couldn’t, uh,” Robert starts, fumbling for his words. “Help. Panic.”

“I know, sweetheart,” his mum says, then runs a hand over Aaron’s hair, pulls him back so she can look him in the eye. “Alright?”

“Yeah,” Aaron bites out. Robert’s still hovering, face white and hands shaking where they’re resting on the fence. Aaron pulls him in, lets Robert envelope him in a hug and buries his face in Robert’s neck. It’s fucked up, nothing feels right, but Aaron trusts in what they have. “I’m sorry.”

“Stupid,” Robert says, and Aaron can feel the brush of his hair against his face. “Love.”

“I love you too,” Aaron says, because it’s so much easier to say it now, now that he knows how easy it is to lose him. He doesn’t want there to be anything unsaid between them. Ironic, given Robert, but he doesn’t care.

“Why were you panicking, love,” his mom asks, looking gentle.

Aaron doesn’t want to talk about this in front of Robert, but maybe he needs to. “I thought,” he starts, licking his lips. Robert’s looking at him, eyes soft, but there’s a tightness to his expression that gives away his own concern, his own fear. “I thought it was me.”

Robert’s brow furrows and his mum stares for a long time.

“What was?”

“This,” Aaron says, waving a hand at Robert. “I drove us off the –”

“No,” Robert says immediately, forcefully. His cheeks are red, his brow furrowing, and he grips Aaron’s arm tight, shakes him a little. “Not you.”

Aaron wants to fight back, but Robert’s shaking his head emphatically, gripping Aaron’s arms in his. His mum looks stricken, but Aaron can barely spare her a glance before Robert presses their foreheads together, closes his eyes.

“Me,” Robert says. “Ring. You. Did not.”

There’s nothing else for a moment, even though Robert’s throat is working, trying to get the words he wants into the air between them. Aaron doesn’t need them, understands what Robert means. “It wasn’t you, Rob.”

“It was neither of you,” his mum says decisively, and they both drop their arms, turning to stare at her. “That car crash would have happened without ya. Not many people stopped in time. Worrying about who caused it isn’t gonna help ya.”

Aaron knows that. It doesn’t stop the thoughts being there, from pressing him down and making him wonder. “Mum.”

“No,” she says, poking a finger at his chest. “You’re alive. Both of you are alive, and I don’t care what words he can or can’t say, I’m damn lucky you both made it out, you’re damn lucky, you understand me?”

Robert’s lips are quirking up into a smirk, his first for a long time, and Aaron lets out a slow breath. He didn’t realise how tense he was until this moment, until shades of the old Robert are back. He’s not really gone anywhere, but Aaron knows how Robert deals with trauma – pretends it’s not there. This is the compromise and he’ll take it. “Yes. Mum.”

Aaron watches something ripple over his mum’s face and her smile is warm as she squeezes Robert into a hug. Robert looks startled, eyes wide and Aaron smothers a smile. His chest seizes for a completely different reason this time, warmth that his mum is thinking of Robert and what he needs.

Robert pulls back and looks awkward, but there’s a red tinge to his cheeks and he’s smiling widely. “Thank. You.”

“You’re welcome, love.”

Aaron tugs on Robert’s hand, curls their fingers together. He feels lighter, breathes easier, and thinks with support, maybe they can do this.

His euphoria lasts four days.

They’re busy – Aaron with the scrapyard and Adam, Robert with the haulage firm – and they don’t see much of each other. Chas and Liv are there, providing some distraction, but Aaron doesn’t realise something’s wrong until he wakes up on the fifth day, and Robert’s back to having dark moods.

It takes him too long to get out of bed, and when Aaron prods him awake, he turns over, hunching down under the covers.

“Rob,” Aaron says, rubbing a hand over Robert’s arm. “What’s got into you?”

“Hate,” Robert says darkly, staring at the bedside cabinet as if it’s responsible for whatever mood’s settled over him. “Want. Speech.”

“I know, Robert,” Aaron says, tries not to sound tired. It’s not Robert’s fault, even if he’s frustrated with how good its been – and now this. “Maybe you could. Talk.”

Robert turns to glare over his shoulder, and it’s only then Aaron realises what he’s said.

“I meant with a counsellor or summat. You know you need it.”

“Hospital,” Robert snaps, shrugging his shoulders as best he can bunched under the covers. “Said. Not. Want.”

“I know you don’t want it,” Aaron says, dropping his chin to Robert’s shoulder. He feels useless, can’t figure out what he can do to help. “This isn’t right, feeling like this.”

Robert sighs, lifts a hand and curls his fingers around Aaron’s, holding on tight. “What. Can, do?”

“They can help you,” Aaron says weakly, clutching at anything he can say that will convince Robert it’s a good thing. Counselling’s done so much for him, even if he can’t imagine going now. He thinks about the crash, about the aftermath and everything happening with Robert, and knows this is the right kind of time. If he lets everything build up again, he knows exactly what the outcome’s going to be. He doesn’t want that for himself, not now he and Robert are actually something. “Stop you feeling so down about what’s happening up here.”

Aaron brushes his fingers against Robert’s temple.

Robert sighs, turning into the touch. Eventually he rolls over, tugging Aaron down to stretch out next to him. Aaron knows his mum will get Liv to school, and though he needs to be at the scrapyard soon, he can give this to Robert. “Scared.”

“I know,” Aaron says, leaning in to press a kiss to Robert’s lip. “I am too.”

Raising his eyebrows, Robert’s fingers stroke the back of Aaron’s neck, sliding down into the neck of his t-shirt. It’s not a touch that’s going to start anything, even when most touches these days make it easy to want to get Robert naked, just a soothing gesture for Robert – and for Aaron. “Why?”

“That I can’t help,” Aaron admits, drags the words up from somewhere deep inside. I hate talking about this stuff. He thinks about those words now, how hard it is to make himself talk about feelings, but he’s seen what happens when he and Robert keep quiet. He thinks it’s because Robert can’t talk that he finds himself wanting to fill the silences, tries to figure out what Robert wants without him having to ask for it. “That you’re not going to be okay.”

“Same.” Robert says gently, closing his eyes and kissing Aaron’s cheek, the corner of his mouth. “Am, okay. Not.” He huffs a small, wry laugh. “Will be. You,” he says after a long silence. “Good.”

Aaron swallows thickly around the sudden lump in his throat. He shuffles closer, wraps his arms around Robert and holds him close. He brushes a kiss against Robert’s temple, his hairline. “God, I could have lost you.”

“Didn’t,” Robert says, his voice muffled. “Lucky.”

“Yeah, I heard me mum,” Aaron says, lips curling up into a smile. “We are, you know.”

Robert nods awkwardly, but he doesn’t try and move away from Aaron. It’s not comfortable; Robert’s bony elbow is digging into Aaron’s side, and parts of him are already cramping, but he needs this.

“Go,” Robert says eventually, pulling back to stare at Aaron. There’s still an unhappy slant to his mouth, and he’s not looking Aaron in the eye, but it’s something. “I, help.”

It takes Aaron a minute, but he figures it out, closes his eyes against the relief. “I’m proud of ya.”

“So,” Lisa says, sinking back into the chair.

She’s attractive, definitely Robert’s type, but he isn’t thinking about that as he crosses his arms over his chest, tucks his fingers under his arms.

“How are you coping with the aphasia?”

“Good,” Robert says abruptly. He feels awkward, knows he told Aaron this is a good thing, but now he’s here, he’s embarrassed to not have the words.

“Robert,” Lisa says, calmly. She’s speaking slowly but she’s not patronising, and Robert likes that. So many people talk to him like he’s stupid, doesn’t understand when he understands perfectly. “You can say as little or as much as you like in here. I’m not judging you.”

“Okay.” Robert stares at the ceiling, the wall over Lisa’s shoulder, then Lisa’s shoes. “Want. Speech.”

Lisa doesn’t have a pad of power, doesn’t look like she’s taking notes, but she’s paying attention, listens while he blurts out words in a rush, hoping some of them make sense.

“Say. Name,” Robert says. “Husband.”

“You have a husband?” Lisa smiles gently. “Tell me about him.”

“Love,” Robert says slowly, thinks of how great Aaron’s been, how lucky he is to have Aaron after everything they’ve been through. He doesn’t want to talk about any of that, doesn’t think it will help, but talking about Aaron is easy. “Understands, uh, words. Knows. Saying.”

“It’s good that he knows what you’re saying,” Lisa tells him, and Robert’s relieved that she understands. “It can be difficult for people with aphasia to handle people around them. Do people follow your husband’s example?”

“No.” Robert winces, thinks of David, Diane, of Nicola and Jimmy. They try but they’re not tactful, don’t understand how hard it is. “Some. Stare. Think I, uh, stupid.”

Lisa sits forward a little, eyes imploring. “You’re not that, Robert.”

Robert knows that. Everything in his head still works perfectly. That doesn’t stop it being frustrating. “Want. Normal.”

“Your speech therapy will help,” Lisa tells him, resting her joined hands on her knees. “I can help with your moods and your worries. It takes time.”

Robert hates that word. “Wish. Faster.”

“Yeah,” Lisa says, with a gentle laugh. “I can understand that.”

Silence falls between them for a while. Robert feels awkward, hates lulls in conversation when he thinks he should be talking about something, anything. Lisa’s patient, watching him.

“Have. Good,” Robert starts eventually. “People help.”

“You have other support?”

“Yes,” Robert says. “Chas. Wife.”

Lisa’s brow furrows. “Your husband?”

“No,” Robert says, frustrated. He thinks of Vic. “Uh, like brother –”

“Your sister,” Lisa says gently.

“Yes, sister.” Robert shoves down the irritation at himself but then thinks maybe this is where it’s allowed. “Like, uh, that. Can’t. Think.”

Lisa doesn’t say anything for a moment, but when she does, her words are kind but forceful. “Sometimes it won’t work, Robert. That’s okay. I’m sure your speech therapist has talked to you about this, but it’s alright to get it wrong.”

“People,” he starts. “Don’t. Get.”

“Fuck ‘em,” Lisa says, grinning. Robert lets out a surprised laugh, but he feels something ease in his chest. “If they can’t figure out why it’s difficult for you, or why you’re upset and frustrated about this, then that’s their problem not yours. You have your husband.”

Aaron, Robert thinks, but knows better than to try and say. “Can’t say, uh, name.”

Lisa nods, and her sympathy is genuine. “Sometimes names come harder. It will come with time – and yes, I know you hate that word.”

Robert snorts. He’s smiling, has been for hours, and he’s surprised with how easy it is. “Thank, you.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” Lisa tells him, her smile genuine. “It’s what I’m here for.”

“Understand,” Robert starts, walking into the Woolpack kitchens.

Marlon looks up from his pot of veg, mid-sentence, and stares between Robert and Vic. “I’m going to uh, just, be,” he waves his hands and darts out the door Robert’s just come through.

Vic blinks at him, startled. “Robert. Are you-“

“Understand,” Robert says again. “Need, you. Understand, it, hard.”

It takes Vic a minute to get over her surprise. She steps away from the counter, seems to want to touch him, thinks better of it. “I’m trying.”

“Try. Harder,” Robert bites out. “Pity, no. Need. Sis, sister.”

Vic’s face crumples and Robert feels like a dick, never wants his sister to be sad because of him, but he needs to say it, needs her to know how he’s feeling. She takes a step forward, then another. “I’m sorry, I’ve been crappy.”

“No,” Robert says, because she hasn’t. It’s just fucked up and none of them know – she’s trying, but Robert needs her to try harder. “Can. Do. Believe.”

Vic’s lip quirks up into a smile and she throws herself forward, hugs him close. “When I thought you’d died in that car,” she says, her voice shaking. “I should be lucky to have you at all and stop being so weird about this.”

When she steps away, she squeezes his arms, gives him a bright smile. It’s not completely genuine, but it’s enough to soothe some of the frustration Robert’s been carrying about her reactions.

“Love,” Robert says, because he doesn’t say it enough and he needs her to know. He’s mad, but he’s been trying to – he needs to make changes too, needs to feel like he’s the kind of person they want to keep talking to.

“I love you too, idiot,” Vic says, brushing at her face.

Robert pretends not to notice and stares around the kitchen. “Mum,” he says slowly, because he’s thinking about her. “Proud?”

“Duh,” Vic says with vehemence, shaking his arms. “She’d be dead proud. Of you, Aaron – you’re getting married.”

Robert’s let himself forget that through all the pain and fear and oh, he’s actually going to marry Aaron. He swallows, grins, and nods. “Thank. You, help.”

“I want you to be happy, Rob,” Vic says, too seriously, and looks like she’s going to cry again.

“Uh,” Robert starts, because he doesn’t want her to keep crying. “Happy. I, am.”

Vic manages to get a hold of herself, keeps staring at him a little, but she goes back to work. It’s comfortable in as much as it can be, and Robert leans against one of the counters, wonders if Marlon’s ever going to come back. “You should come for dinner at Moira’s.”

Robert opens his mouth to say no.

“You and Aaron – and Liv, if she wants.”

Robert’s family, he thinks, and he nods before he can change his mind. He hasn’t done anything because he’s been scared and embarrassed but maybe – maybe he can do this. Lisa and Aaron and Chas, they’re all showing him it’s okay to get angry and frustrated, but he doesn’t want that to be his normal. “Okay.”

Vic grins, eyes crinkling at the corners and Robert’s glad he agreed.

“So,” Liv says, sitting at the table and raising her eyebrows.

Robert’s staring at his email with a scowl, tired of working and not being able to do what he wants. It’s easier with Chas, when she’s in the room and helping him, but he doesn’t want to rely on her all the time.

“I’ve been looking this stuff up.” Liv stares at him pointedly when he doesn’t answer.

“Working.” Robert waves a hand at his laptop.

“Yeah, I’ve been watching,” Liv says, and Robert realises she looks a little uncomfortable. Whatever she wants to say is hard for her. Things haven’t always been great between them, they’re still working on them, but he remembers what she was like after the accident, how worried she’s been and trying to hide it. He cares about her, he realises, and doesn’t know what to do with that.

“Fine,” Robert snaps, when he realises what she’s said.

“So you don’t wanna know the apps I’ve found that can help,” Liv says, pretending to be disinterested.

Robert doesn’t like asking for help. It’s not asking, not when she’s offering. “What?”

“Look,” Liv says, shifting chairs until she’s sat next to him. Robert doesn’t stop her when she tugs his laptop over to her or starts typing into the browser. She’s got her tongue between her teeth in the way she does when she’s sketching or doing homework. He likes spending time with her, wants her to be happy in the same way he wants Aaron to be happy. “See?”

There are a couple of apps she’s brought up, speech apps that apparently help with writing emails. It’s not perfect – can’t translate the thoughts in his head onto the laptop without an intermediary. There is, however, another app that lets him scan notes and it translates them as best it can.

“Liv,” Robert says, because her name he can say. It feels like a betrayal, able to say everyone’s name but Aaron’s. He clenches his hand into a fist and nudges her shoulder. “Thank, you.”

“Whatever,” Liv mumbles, but she leans into his touch, points out a couple more things on the laptop that she thinks might help him. It’s – not actually that strange. She’s still angry, still rolls her eyes and snaps back and is generally a pain in the ass, but she’s been looking stuff up to help him. She’s giving him back some of his agency and for that.

Robert throws an arm over her shoulders, knows it’s not something they do and half expects her to pull away. She doesn’t, curls an arm around his waist.

“I’m glad you’re not dead.” She mumbles the words into his hoodie and then makes a face. “Sort of.”

“Ha,” Robert says, rolling his eyes. “Funny.”

“I know.” Liv taps the table once, twice, then shrugs and shoves away from the table. “We’re watching a movie tonight.”

It’s not a question, so Robert nods. Maybe they won’t even use the subtitles.

There’s an unfamiliar face at the bar.

Robert clenches his hands into fists. It would be easy enough for him to ask Aaron to put their order in, but there’s a part of him that’s still irritated and refuses to deal with his situation, so he approaches the bar.

“What can I get ya?” The woman asks, her smile bright.

Two pints. Those are the words Robert wants to say. He presses his hands onto the bar. “I,” Robert starts. “Beer. Two.”

The woman raises her eyebrow, mouth disapproving. “Are you taking the piss?”

“No,” Robert says, and though he wants to say it quickly, it takes a while to come out. Frustrated, he said, “Beer. Two.”

“So you said the last time,” the woman snaps, folding her arms across her chest. Her voice raises slightly. “Are you gonna spit it out or is there something wrong up there.”

When her hand waves up by his forehead, Robert’s anger blossoms in his chest, but even though he wants to yell at her, he can only manage, “stop,” before someone’s sliding up next to him.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Robert’s expecting Aaron, who he knows has been watching across the pub, but is surprised when the voice is distinctly feminine.

Belle has her hands on the bar and her face is pinched in anger. “Why would you talk to someone like that?”

“Listen,” the woman says, affecting a smoother expression when she looks at Belle. “He’s fucking with me.”

“Not,” Robert says. Inside his head he’s got a steady stream of vitriol that he wants to spout at this woman, a stranger in a family pub. He’s mostly embarrassed, so keeps his mouth shut on whatever else he might say.

Belle puts a hand on his arm, and though Robert immediately wants to shrug it off, he doesn’t. His hands are tight around his wallet, and when he glances off to the left, Aaron’s sliding out of the booth, brow furrowed in anger.

“Hey,” Robert says, because he thinks Belle but can’t make his voice say it.

“Hold on, Rob, yeah?” Belle turns back to the woman behind the bar. “Who gave you this job?”

“I’m a friend of Charity.” The woman seems to stand a little taller. “I’m doing her a favour. What’s up with this guy anyway?”

There’s a distinct silence around the pub and Robert feels shame wash over him. This wasn’t what he wanted. He came in for a drink with his fiancé, not for – for this to happen.

“He has a brain injury,” Chas spits, from her position behind the bar. When the woman gives her an unimpressed look, Chas storms up beside her, physically standing between her and Robert. Robert would be impressed and he’s sure he’d be grateful if he wasn’t ready to die of embarrassment. He fucking hates this. “Get out of my pub.”

The woman’s eyes flick to Robert and though there’s a flash of sympathy in her eyes, Robert doesn’t want it. “I didn’t know.”

“Which is why you should keep your mouth shut instead of picking fights with customers.” When the woman makes no move to leave, Chas points to the exit. “Out. Now!”

The woman huffs and doesn’t even bother to apologise, and stalks around the bar.

“Rob?” Belle is looking at him, but Robert can’t meet her gaze.

Aaron approaches slowly, with a, “Rob?”

“No,” Robert says, can’t form the words he wants to, so he turns on his heel and leaves the pub, breath tight in his chest.

Fuck. Fuck.

Belle sits down next to him.

Robert tips his head back, grits his teeth against the urge to cry.

“People suck,” Belle says, nudging her shoulder against Robert’s.

“Yes.” Robert clenches his eyes shut. “Always,” he says. “Like.”

Belle is patient, like Aaron. She doesn’t prompt him, doesn’t try to finish his sentences.  

“Don’t,” Robert starts again. “Want.”

“I know,” Belle says, and perhaps she does. Mental health is different, he thinks, than a physical illness, but Belle knows what it’s like to have people look at you and judge you for things out of your control. “It gets better.”

Robert almost snorts, almost doubts her, but he shouldn’t.

“It’s easy to say that.” Belle gives him a rueful smile. “But it does.”

“Hope, so,” Robert says, a break between words.

They sit in silence for a while, Robert getting control over his emotions.

“Aaron,” he says, and Belle’s startled for a moment. “Wrong?”

“No,” Belle says, and her smile is wide. “Robert, no, it was right.”

“Aaron,” Robert says again, just to test the word. “Aaron.”

Belle’s smile is wide, like she’s the one that’s reached a milestone and not Robert, and he’s struck for a moment that she’s family. He doesn’t know how to handle those thoughts, when they come, something that happens with Chas and Liv, Moira and Cain. Fucking Cain. But they make Robert’s chest tight with something close to happiness and he lets himself, in those moments, think about the future and their marriage.

“Aaron,” Robert says.

Aaron’s eyes widen, sucking in a breath, and he immediately tugs him in for a kiss, threading his fingers into Robert’s hair. “God, Rob.”

Robert buries his face in Aaron’s neck, hands fisted in Aaron’s hoodie. It’s such a simple thing, saying someone’s name, but it feels like the most monumental thing he's ever done.