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"I said I'm fine!" Link exclaimed, indignant in his crossed arms, puffed cheeks, and side-turned eyes. He'd been doing that a lot recently, avoiding her gaze. It reminded Zelda idly of a prey animal, a very if-I-can't-see-you-you-can't-see-me outlook on life. Although, Zelda mused, if she were a predator, Link certainly would sate her appetite.
Zelda tangled her fingers in his hair and gently shook his head side to side. “You are literally just getting out of the hospital right now. ” And indeed they had just passed the boundary of the hospital’s automatic doors. “Let yourself be taken care of. Besides,” and here Zelda released the handles of Link’s wheelchair at the base of the accessibility ramp, stepping around to stand in front of him, “how could you possibly be planning on getting home all by yourself?”
Link’s hands settled gingerly on the wheels of his wheelchair, rolling himself forward at a snail’s pace. “Wheely carefully?” Link winced as Zelda’s arms crossed once more.
Zelda leaned in, bracing herself on the arms of Link’s chair, almost nose to nose with him. Link’s eyes crossed as he tried to keep them focused on her face. “It does not matter how cute you may be,” she said, each word punctuated by a finger jabbing into his chest, “those stupid puppy dog eyes won’t convince me of anything. I’m taking you home, I’m taking care of you, and you’re going to shut up and appreciate it.”
“You think I’m cute?” Link threw his hands up in mock surrender as Zelda snarled behind him. “Shutting up.”
The…ride? back to Zelda’s car was otherwise quiet, but certainly not awkward. Link knew Zelda was mostly just worried about him. She just expressed that worry through aggression. Cute aggression, he allowed himself to admit privately. Voicing that particular thought out loud was liable to bring him face to face with much less cute aggression. The weather was finally turning really warm; Link’s accident had happened in mid May, and a couple weeks of recovery in the hospital meant he wasn’t getting out until early June.
Getting into the car proved to be a little more awkward than the journey henceforth; Zelda wheeled him right up alongside the open passenger door and stepped back, hands on hips and eyes squinting at the car, sizing up the notable height differential between where Link currently sat and where he needed to be sitting, before her eyes widened and her hands clapped together once and she spun to face Link, who balked at her stare of wide-eyed innocence as she stepped lithely up beside him, deftly releasing the pins holding the wheelchair’s armrest in, letting said armrest swing open and clank against the back of the chair and barely giving Link a moment to even attempt to understand what was happening as she slid both arms underneath him and hoisted him bodily up into her arms, thus depositing him rather neatly into the passenger side seat. The armrest was clipped back into place, the wheelchair folded up and stored in the back seat, and Link buried his face in his hands, hoping to hide the glowing blush painting his cheeks. Paresis did not mean his legs were numb, and there was absolutely no way squeezing his ass had anything to do with getting him into the car. At all. And besides, since when had Zelda been strong enough to lift him like that?
Link felt his face grow warmer. Honestly, it was kind of—Link jumped as Zelda hopped in the driver’s seat and slammed the door shut behind her. He squeaked when her fingers brushed against the shell of his ear. “You look a little red there, Link. Everything alright?” In lieu of answering, Link wrestled his seatbelt across his body, knocked away Zelda’s questing hands when they reached to help, and harrumphed loudly as he settled back into his seat, turning pointedly to look out the window. Zelda just laughed. Her hands settled on his leg.
“But seriously, how are you doing?”
Link sighed as he readjusted again. It didn’t feel right, moving and only having half of himself respond. “Fine, I guess, other than,” he gestured vaguely downward, “you know.” Her hands tightened its hold on his leg.
“I’m sorry.” Her voice was quiet enough that Link almost didn’t catch it. He rolled his eyes and scoffed.
“For what? You didn’t break my back.”
“But if I hadn’t invited you—”
“Stop! Just stop.” This was not the first time they’d had this conversation. How could Zelda be feeling more sorry for Link than he felt for himself? She wasn’t even the injured one. “EMTs agreed it was just a freak accident. You know that. It was just—all the malice in the world aligned against me, or whatever.” And it was, really, a freak accident. If he hadn’t stepped just there, hadn’t kicked just that rock loose, hadn’t fallen at just that angle…part of his in-hospital rehabilitation had been regular meetings with an onsite psychologist; he really had never blamed Zelda, but there was a lot of general negative emotion generated with a serious injury like his. He was long past the point of trying to blame anyone, beyond ready to stop wallowing in defeatist attitudes, and very, very ready to push forward with the healing process. Which included making Zelda believe the same things.
Link ignored the tears he saw slipping down Zelda’s face. She hated whenever anyone acknowledged her crying. “Right.” Her voice was steadier than Link would have assumed given the tears. “Well regardless, you are letting me take care of you. That’s not up for discussion.”
“No, of course.” Link hid his smile behind a fake yawn. “Well, I’m beat. Gonna try and sleep a little.” He watched Zelda lower the volume on the radio through his eyelashes, working to keep his breath slow and even. He caught her taking quick glances his direction.
Link did, ultimately, wind up falling asleep, and so was startled awake by the sound of gravel crunching under the tires and Zelda squeezing his hand. He eyed her suspiciously. They had definitely not been holding hands when he fell asleep. She studiously avoided his seeking eyes. And once again, Link found himself facing a dilemma. How was he supposed to get out of the car? Zelda, of course, gave him no time to come to any semblance of an answer, whipping open the passenger door and proudly displaying the readied wheelchair.
“Looks great, Zelda. But how, exactly, am I supposed to get out of the car?”
Zelda stared at him deadpan. “Oh no. What are we going to do. How did we manage to get you into the car. How can we get you out. I guess we’ll never know.”
Link held up his hands as if to shield himself. “Oh, no. No, no, no. I’m sure we can figure out another way—” But Zelda had already tucked her arms under him, and hoisted him up, depositing him gently in the waiting chair.
“See? Nothing to it.” Zelda posed like a bodybuilder, and Link couldn’t help but laugh.
“Yeah, alright, fine. But can we get inside now? I’m starving.”
Zelda rolled her eyes. “I’d be more concerned if you weren’t. You’re lucky I already have a ramp instead of stairs or I’d just leave you out here, as ungrateful as you are.”
Link reached behind him and fumbled for one of Zelda’s hands on the chair handle. “You know I love and appreciate you. Being stuck in this stupid wheelchair and not even able to just move myself easily sucks. I am glad you decided to stick around though.”
The wheelchair stilled, and Link tensed, wondering what he may have said wrong. Then Zelda’s breath tickled his ear. “You love me, huh?”
Link waved his hands in the air, panicking. “No I don’t—I mean like a friend you know? Like platonic love like between friends…” he petered off as he finally picked up Zelda’s tinkling laugh behind him. She tousled his hair.
“Getting a little long. You’ll let me braid it?”
“What? Oh, yeah, sure.” Link was glad she had decided to let him off easy with the teasing. It was like some evil magic gift, the way she was always able to get to him and make him panic, even just a little. She said he just made it too easy for her, but Link honestly had no idea how, given that he was just existing.
They made it in fairly easily; Zelda’s grandmother had been wheelchair bound near the end of her life, but was more than cognizant and wealthy enough to demand a redesign of the house to suit her mobility needs. Although, now that he really thought about it, he had no idea why they were even at Zelda’s, considering he lived on the opposite side of town.
“You live on the fourth floor of an apartment building with an elevator that’s been broken since before you moved in, Link. And I am definitely not lugging you up and down the stairs. Plus I have more room anyway.”
“I didn’t even ask my question yet! Stop reading my mind, you witch.”
“Uh huh.”
Zelda deposited Link in the sun room, tossed him the TV remote and headed out toward the kitchen. As she left, she popped her head back through the doorway. “You just sit there and look pretty. I don’t really feel like cooking so I’ll just make us some popcorn or something and we can order a pizza.”
Link grumbled about having to “look pretty,” idly flipped through the channels, and settled on some show about a guy pretending to be a psychic to solve crimes with the police. He glanced around, making sure Zelda was nowhere to be found, and started slowly wheeling himself around the room in circles. The sooner he got the hang of pushing himself around, the sooner he could gain a little more independence, and the sooner he could regain a little normalcy. He hated not being in control, especially of himself. After his fifth circuit around the room, he got a little more adventurous, and started leaning back in the wheelchair, lifting the small front wheels off the floor and balancing with his core. It was in this position that Zelda returned, and in a panic to set himself back down, Link overcorrected, lost his balance, and toppled sideways, chair and all.
“Ouch.”
“Link!” Zelda set the bowl of popcorn aside, rushing over to Link’s side. She helped him right himself. “Oh, Link, I thought I told you to be careful !”
Link pulled his arm from Zelda’s grasp and turned away from her as best he could without moving the wheelchair. “How else am I supposed to figure this out for myself? I need to be independent. I’m not an invalid.”
Zelda sat on the couch. “You don’t think I think that?”
“You haven’t let me even try to get in or out of this stupid chair!”
“Link, I—”
“Zelda.” Link spun his wheels in opposite directions, turning to face Zelda where she was perched on the edge of the couch. “I appreciate you volunteering yourself to help me, but you’ve been mothering me like I can’t manage anything on my own. I’m just as capable as you are, minus the use of my legs. I need to adjust—to learn how to function again. Your heart’s in the right place but I can’t just rely on you for everything.”
Zelda sniffled and wiped at her eyes. “You’re right. You’re right. I guess I just feel—I don’t know how I feel. Responsible still, I suppose. Like I need to atone.”
Link arched an eyebrow at that. “You’re using me to make yourself feel better? Jeez, Zel, you really know how to make a handicapped guy feel special.”
Zelda shot up straight and pointed a finger at Link. “Don’t you dare accuse me of that, you—you’re joking. Of course. Ugh.” She fell backwards into the cushions. “I thought you were supposed to be the exhausted one. Well? What’re you waiting for? Scoot yourself over here, I’m braiding your hair.”
Link rolled his eyes (fondly), wheeled himself over to the couch beside Zelda (fondly), and turned around to face the TV (fondly). He didn’t pay much attention to what Zelda was doing to his hair, other than the fact that it felt good having her fingers card through his hair, lightly scratching his scalp as she found the right strands to twist together. He spent the time zoned out, staring at the TV but not really seeing it, comfortable and at peace.
“Ok!” Zelda’s exclamation shocked Link back into full awareness, and his eyes darted back and forth. He took a deep breath to calm his racing heart.
“Jeez, trying to give me a heart attack on top of my broken back?”
“Oh, hush. Do you want to see how pretty you look now or not?”
Link rolled his eyes, but handed his phone back to Zelda anyway. He heard the camera shutter click as she snapped a couple pictures, and then his phone was dropped back into his waiting hand. He scrolled through the newest images in his camera roll and smiled. “Looks good, Zel.” She had given him a braid down from each temple, falling just past his jawline, and a matching braid on either side behind his ear. “Subtle.”
Zelda continued to toy with the hair near his nape. It felt nice, her fingers ghosting across the back of his neck. Link allowed himself to relax into her touch. This was a decision he immediately regretted as her hand fisted in his hair suddenly, yanking his head backwards as Zelda exclaimed.
Link’s hands flew to grab hers, trying to wrestle it away from the back of his head. “What are you trying to do, scalp me?” He pushed her hand away from his head. “I don’t think I’ll look pretty with a giant bald spot.”
“Oops,” Zelda giggled. “Here—” Link felt her lips press softly against his neck, where her fingers had been drawing circles before, “—all better. Now hush, I’m trying to watch.” She smoothed Link’s hair down. He settled back in his wheelchair, arms crossed, grumbling quietly to himself, the perfect picture of mock disgruntlement. That didn’t stop Zelda from touching the tip of his ear in a silent acknowledgement of its red flush, of course.
“Can I have the popcorn?”
They passed the evening that way, vegging on whatever snacks Zelda happened to have laying around, channel surfing and not really paying attention to anything. Link did not attempt any more wheelies. When Link couldn’t stop aggressively yawning, Zelda turned off the TV and jumped up from the couch, hands on hips, all mock authority.
“Alright! Bed time for you, mister. We’ve got your first physical therapy appointment in the morning.”
Link stretched his arms up above his head, his shirt riding up his stomach a little as he leaned back. He missed the way Zelda’s eyes followed the exposed strip of skin and the way her cheeks colored as he moaned through the stretch. “You still have that blow up mattress, right? Figure we can just throw that on the floor here for me.”
“Are you joking? No way. Uh uh. You’re sleeping in a bed, and that’s final.”
As far as Link was aware, the only bed in the house still was Zelda’s. On the second floor. “I’m not going to kick you out of your own bed, Zelda. I’ll be perfectly fine—”
“Yeah, no, I don’t like you that much. Why would I give up my beautiful, ultra cozy bed for you? It’s a king. We’ll both be perfectly comfortable sharing. Plus, that way, I’m right there in an emergency.”
Link gulped. Perfectly comfortable, right. “Well it's not like I can even get up to your room anyway, so I’ll be fine down here. Promise.”
“Wheelchair lift, genius. Did you forget where you are?”
“Oh. Right.” Maybe Link had forgotten about Zelda’s loaded grandmother and her quest to make the house completely wheelchair accessible for herself when she had lived there. “Can I roll myself over there, at least?” Zelda stepped back, sweeping her arm out to usher him by. It was slow going, and awkward, trying to find the right rhythm to keep moving forward steadily. He was, luckily, able to situate himself on the lift without much issue. Zelda followed him up the stairs, and he disembarked smoothly.
“See? Nothing to it. I’ll have this thing mastered by lunch!” Link pushed himself down the hallway, aiming right for the door to Zelda’s bedroom.
“I hope you’re not planning on going to bed without brushing your teeth.”
“Ah.” Link paused, turned around, and made his way back down the hallway to where Zelda waited for him in front of the bathroom. “Think I can at least reach the sink?”
Zelda rolled her eyes. “There’s a spare toothbrush on the sink. I need to run back out to the car and get your bag.”
Link tossed her a thumbs up, eased his way into the bathroom, and was surprised (and honestly a little surprised at his surprise) that there was a second, lower sink available, just the right height to fit over his lap. Clearly Zelda’s grandmother had thought of everything. There awaiting him was a toothbrush, a cup to rinse with, and some weird organic toothpaste. Link was used to just picking up whatever was cheapest. At least this was mint flavored.
Zelda returned as he was rinsing his mouth. “Glad you haven’t forgotten how to brush your teeth, at least.” She lifted a bag. “Got your stuff. We’ll probably need to make a run over to yours at some point to collect more clothes. I refuse to let you rot around in the same single outfit the whole time you’re here.”
“You got it, princess. Not a fan of my manly musk?”
“Not a fan of you .”
Link laughed as he followed Zelda out of the bathroom. He pulled himself to a stop next to the bed. “Let me just see if I can get myself up there, please?” He unlocked both armrests, pushed them open, and braced his hands on the chair’s seat, pushing himself up. His arms shook a little as they took on his body weight, and he tried to push himself sideways onto the bed. He lost his balance and dropped back into his seat. He took a moment to reorient himself, bracing one arm on the bed and the other on the chair, but couldn’t maneuver himself up and over onto the bed.
He dropped back into his seat, and dropped his head into his hands. “I have no idea what I’m doing.”
“Hey. Hey . Look at me, Link.” Zelda crouched in front of Link and peeled his hands away from his face, cupping his cheeks in her own. “It’s okay to ask for help. You were in the hospital for weeks. Of course you’re not sure what to do. Why do you think you’re going to physical therapy?” Zelda stood up, holding Link’s hand. “Let me just help you this time.” Link nodded, eyes downcast. “But we are changing those nasty hospital pants before you even so much as think of getting into my bed, do you understand?”
Zelda dug through the duffel bag she had brought in and produced a pair of sweats. “I’m sure you want to try this part by yourself. I’ll be outside if you need anything. Just shout.” She tossed the sweats into his lap and headed out of the room, leaving the door just barely ajar.
Link stared dispassionately at the pants in his lap, knowing just how difficult this was going to be. He’d spent most of his time in the hospital in a gown, and even when he’d had pants on, he’d been helped into them by a nurse. Well, he’d been put into them, really. There hadn't ever been much he could do to help. He was thankful that he at least retained enough hip mobility to lean to the side. He wiggled the waist of his current pants down below his right buttock, then leaned the other way and wiggled the pants the rest of the way down. It was easy enough to get the pants off, at least. A little awkward having to wedge his hand under each thigh and lift his foot free, but he managed.
The hard part was getting the new sweats on. He couldn’t bend far enough over to reach his feet with and slip the pants over them, and if he was lifting a leg up with one arm, he couldn’t manipulate the pants with his other up and over his foot. He groaned, leaning his head back. The ceiling was white and textureless. It would just be like seeing him in a bathing suit, he reasoned. “Zelda,” he called. “Turns out I could use a little help.”
Zelda’s voice was muffled behind the mostly closed door. “Um. Right. Yeah. No problem. It’ll just be like seeing you in a bathing suit.” Link peered through the crack in the door, but saw no sign of Zelda moving. “Just like a bathing suit.”
“Zel, please. I’m tired, I’m way more embarrassed than you are, and I just want—”
Zelda pushed the door open, marched up to Link, and grabbed the sweats, deftly sliding them up his legs, stopping only when her hands had pulled the pants up to his mid-thigh. She snatched her hands away, and straightened up. “I am going to brush my teeth now.” Promptly, she spun on her heel, marched out of the room, and slammed the door behind her.
She may have attempted a mad dash from the room, but Link had seen how red her face had grown. He was sure his was a mirror image. Luckily, he was able to manage the rest by himself, pulling his pants snugly into place. It proved a little more difficult than taking pants off had been, but he was still comfortably situated by the time Zelda returned from the bathroom.
“Hey—that’s my shirt!”
I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Zelda turned up her nose. “Now let’s get you into bed. Zelda lifted him like she had when she had first picked him up (from the hospital, but also in her arms) and set him down on the bed, pulling the covers out from under him. She helped Link reposition himself as well as possible. He laid back on the pillow.
“Thanks, Zelda. Luckily I have plenty of practice sleeping on my back.”
Zelda offered a soft smile, flipped the light switch by the door, and eased herself under the covers next to Link. “Well, good night.”
Link cleared his throat. “Yeah. Good night.”
Neither of them could fall asleep; they lay in the darkness, listening to each other breathe, doing their best not to move. Link did eventually enter a fitful slumber, his head tossing side to side, muttering under his breath. Zelda watched him a while, frown marring her face, wishing there was some level of comfort she could offer him. She, too, eventually fell asleep, facing Link, her hand an inch or two from his resting on top of the comforter.
Link awoke a few hours later in a panic, his eyes searching for something in the darkness. “Zel—Zelda! I can't—Can’t feel my legs! I can’t—”
“Shh, shh, Link I’m here. Breathe.” Zelda had shot awake the moment Link had called her name. She couldn’t hide the tears in her voice as she settled her hands on Link’s face, stroking his cheeks with her thumbs and resting her forehead against his. “Shh, just breathe.”
Link took deep breaths as his heart rate slowed, his hands fisting the sheets. His right leg twitched. “Okay. Okay. I can—” he screwed his eyes shut, taking another deep breath. When he opened his eyes again, Zelda’s eyes were illuminated in the darkness, wet with unshed tears and hovering just above his. His eyes sought the rest of her familiar features; the slender curve of her nose, the bow of her top lip, the soft roundness of her cheeks and chin. “I need to pee.”
Instantly, Zelda recoiled. “Ew.”
Link pushed himself up onto his elbows. “It’s a natural bodily function. But seriously, if you don’t want me to wet the bed you should help me get to the bathroom.”
Zelda rolled her eyes. “Boys.” Nevertheless, she heaved herself out of bed, lumbered over to Link’s side, and hoisted him into his wheelchair. Link pulled the armrests around and let Zelda wheel him to the bathroom.
Problem 1: Link was unable to maneuver himself onto the toilet.
Problem 2: Link would need to remove his pants before moving onto the toilet.
Problem 3: Link would not be able to put his pants back on.
Problem 4: Zelda was the solution to his problems.
“I’m a nervous pee-er,” Link blurted out.
“What? I don't want to watch you pee.”
“No, good. I don’t want you to watch me.”
“Great. Glad we established that. So…how are we doing this, exactly?”
Link took a deep breath and gathered Zelda’s hands in his own. He made eye contact with her and fought to hold back a raging blush and a nervous laugh. He figured he was doing pretty well on the second part, at least. “I think I need you to take off my pants.”
Zelda walked out of the bathroom.
“Alright, I can take my pants off, but I can’t get onto the toilet myself,” Link called after her.
“I know that, Link,” Zelda called back in. “I just need to mentally prepare myself to see your penis.”
Oh. Oh. “Wait, wait, wait, that’s not—we don’t need that to happen, right?” Sure, they had bathed together as kids, but they had been two , not twenty-five. “I can just, like, cover myself with my hands, or something, right? There’s no reason you have to see it.”
“No, right of course, why didn’t I think of that? Yeah, yeah. Um, so just, um, take off your pants, and cover yourself, and—and let me know when it’s safe.”
Link figured there was so much blood rushing to his face that he was losing higher brain function. “Hey, it wouldn’t kill you to see it. I think it’s actually—”
“ Shut. Up. ”
“Right. Yeah. Taking my pants off.” Link took the dull thud that followed for Zelda banging her head on the wall. He wiggled out of his pants and awkwardly deposited them and his underwear to the side. covering himself with his hands, he called out to Zelda, “okay, I think I’m about as decent as I can be.”
Zelda peeked around the doorframe, shielding her eyes with her hands and peering through a small gap between her fingers. Her eyes darted from the small pile of Link’s clothes on the bathroom floor to his very naked legs. She squeaked and turned her gaze to the floor. “Okay. Just—just keep your hands like that.” She shuffled closer to him. When she finally reached his side, she hesitantly reached out to slip her arms under him, but yanked them back when she made contact with his skin. She offered a nervous chuckle.
Link felt positively queasy. He didn’t even really know why—obviously it was because this was Zelda —but he tried to muster the energy to give what he hoped was a comforting smile. Not that Zelda was looking anywhere other than the floor, of course.
Zelda huffed out a breath, tensed, wedged her arms under Link, lifted, stepped around the wheelchair, deposited Link square on the toilet, and hightailed it out of the bathroom. Now all Link had to do was pee. That part came without difficulty; a handrail had been installed next to the toilet, so Link had no issues balancing himself, and his bladder and groin muscles had remained blissfully unaffected by his accident. Thankfully, peeing while sitting down was a generally quiet affair (or at least quieter than it was standing up), and the exhaust fan in the bathroom was loud enough to block out any offending noises that would have otherwise clued Zelda into exactly where Link was in his process. He finished up shortly, dabbing away the final drops with a square of toilet paper. Link flushed the toilet, once more covered himself with his hands, and called Zelda back into the bathroom. Again, she shuffled in with her eyes glued to the floor.
“Ok, we just need to get my pants back on and then we can put this whole thing behind us.”
Zelda held out a new pair of underwear and made her way over to Link, studiously training her eyes on the floor the entire time. “Figured we had better just start with clean underwear now so there’s no room for trouble in the morning.”
Link nodded appreciatively. Zelda crouched down in front of him. Link turned his gaze to the ceiling as Zelda grabbed his ankle, lifting his foot from the floor. Link raised a hand to scratch an itch on the side of his face. As Zelda wrestled Link’s feet through his underwear, she threw a quick glance up at Link, and stilled. Link, noticing her pause, turned his gaze back to her and watched the most peculiar expression eclipse her face. Her eyes widened, her mouth fell slack, and a bright red flush crept up her neck and across the tips of her ears.
“Penis…”
Link yelled and threw his hands down into his lap, groaning in pain as the sudden motion inadvertently applied undue pressure to the more sensitive areas of his body. Zelda jammed his underwear up to his knees and lunged for his sweats still sitting in a pile on the other side of his chair. Link shimmied his underwear into place, biting his lip almost hard enough to break the skin. Without a sound, Zelda helped Link into his pants and returned him to the wheelchair, maneuvering them out of the bathroom, down the hall, and back into the bedroom.
Once tucked safely back in bed, the pair lay on their backs, staring at the ceiling. Link raised his hand above his face and watched the tendons flex in the back of his hand as he wiggled his fingers. “Since when have you been able to carry me, by the way?”
“Link. You’re kind of tiny.”
“Oh.”
“Give me your hand.” Zelda laced their fingers together. “Tomorrow—or today I guess—you’re going to go to physical therapy, the doctor is going to teach you how to get in and out of your wheelchair, you will practice dutifully , and I will never help you go to the bathroom again.”
Link nodded his head, realized Zelda wouldn’t be able to see that in the dark, and gave her a firm, “yes ma’am.”
“Good. Now go to sleep. I think I’ll die if I think about it anymore.” And go to sleep they did.
Physical therapy was not at all what Link had imagined. Zelda had dropped him off 15 minutes before his appointment, promising to be on time to pick him up. He would have preferred she stayed, but she had needed to run a handful of errands, and had also agreed to swing by his apartment to collect some more clothes for him.
The office was a single story, modern building, with wide automatic doors and a friendly aura. Link pushed himself up to the reception desk, which was situated low enough for him to see clearly over it. He had worried the desk would be sized for walking patients, but was glad to see that wasn’t the case.
The receptionist was kind enough, and directed him to a wheelchair accommodating waiting area, replete with snacks and cold water. “The doctor will be in to meet you shortly,” she said as Link turned away. He gave her a wave of acknowledgement and a quick, “thank you!”
Doctor Borville had shown up quickly, just as the receptionist had promised. He was a shorter man, even by Link’s standards, and wore glasses with the thickest lenses Link had ever seen. He introduced himself, bid Link to follow him, and led the way to a private room.
And now here he was, watching the surprisingly spritely doctor demonstrate how to push oneself out of a wheelchair and onto, well, an examination table here in the office, but he promised the exercise could be applied to most furniture. Link certainly hoped so.
“Alright, Link, my boy, one more time, and then it’s your turn to try it out.” The doctor rolled the wheelchair he was using as a demonstration tool up to the examination table, angling himself almost parallel to it. He pushed his body forward to the front edge of his seat and over toward the table, braced one hand next to himself and another on the table, pushed himself up and over, and sat comfortably. Then, without missing a beat, he leaned back into the wheelchair, pushing himself off the examination table and settling back down into the chair. He wheeled himself out of the way and beckoned Link forward.
Link lined himself up with the table just as he had seen Doctor Borville do, and sized up the distance. In theory, it was a relatively simple move. It was, of course, always easier to succeed in theory than in practice. Replaying the doctor’s moves in his mind, he scooted himself to the edge of his chair, placed a hand on the table beside him, his other keeping his balance next to him on the seat of the chair, and pushed . He teetered for a moment on his hands, pushed again to move sideways, and dropped awkwardly onto the table. Well, mostly at least. He did need to scooch himself back to sit fully on it.
The doctor jumped up from his own wheelchair, clapping his hands. “Wonderful, wonderful. Most people struggle with that movement the first few times. It can be easy enough to lift yourself up from your seat, but it’s an uncommon motion to push yourself forward, or to the side, from that position.” He walked over to the table and patted Link on the arm. “You’re fit and young, so I foresee no issues for you. After all, if I can do it, anyone can!” Doctor Borville laughed.
Link couldn’t help but smile. “I did try a little to figure it out on my own. Didn’t manage until now, though.”
“That’s good! It can be extremely difficult,” the doctor said, tapping his temple, “to suddenly lose something you were otherwise taking for granted. It’s all too easy to let that loss defeat you. But remember! You are the master of your body; it is not the master of you. Now,” the doctor clapped his hands, “we’re going to go over some basic stretches. We’re early in the game yet, but most people with similar injuries to yours are able to regain their ability to walk with no issues. As long as they put in the effort, of course.”
Link nodded. Putting in the effort was no issue. He was determined to do everything in his power to heal. As directed by the doctor, he swung his legs up onto the table, one by one, by slipping his hands under and around his thighs and lifting his legs up. He then lay down on his back.
Doctor Borville rested his hands on Link’s leg, just below his knee. “We’re going to get started with the basic range of motion exercises and stretches. Now, these are designed to be done by or with a partner, but we will also go over some independent exercises.” The doctor lifted Link’s right leg, bending it at the knee. “First up is a standard hip and knee exercise. You can expect to do these with me every appointment; we’ll start by practicing your movement into and out of the chair, and transition into these exercises.” He pushed Link’s knee up toward his chest. “We’re strengthening the muscles, reforging the connections with your brain to allow you to eventually return to using just the muscles of your hips and legs to perform these exercises.”
One hand cradled Link’s hip, keeping his thigh in place, and the other held him at the knee, making sure to keep his knee and calf balanced and straight. He braced Link’s leg under the knee, lowering it back down to the table, before repeating the exercise and holding Link’s leg in place for twenty seconds. They repeated the exercise with the left leg next, ten repetitions, holding the knee bent for twenty seconds each time.
“How did that feel?”
“Like my leg was moving, I guess?”
The doctor laughed. “That’s good, actually. These exercises are aimed to help you build up your leg muscles again, so we can eventually get you back up on your feet.”
“I’d like that, yeah.”
“Well then let’s work our way through some other basics, here, see how those feel as well.” Doctor Borville led Link through a set of exercises, focusing especially on his hip extension and rotation, and worked him through a series of small movements in his ankles. After these repetitions were completed, the doctor helped Link sit up, swinging his legs off the table. “Alright, that’ll be it for now. Let’s see here…” the doctor flipped through his notes. “Ah, yes. Excuse me one moment.”
The doctor exited the room and Link practiced flexing his leg muscles. His legs twitched, ankles twisting slightly. Link sighed. Better than nothing. Doctor Borville rolled back in with another wheelchair, and Link realized it was a different model.
“Your friend called earlier and arranged for a new wheelchair for you. This one should make it a little easier for you to get around yourself. Regaining independence is an important part of the rehabilitation process; even beyond progress made in physical rehabilitation, just being able to do things for yourself again is a vital step in healing.” Doctor Borville replaced the wheelchair sitting beside Link with the new one.
Link could certainly see how it could offer a greater feeling of independence. It had no armrests, and, more importantly, a shorter back devoid of handles. He would have to get everywhere with his own power.
“Alright, last step,” the doctor said. “We’re going to do the reverse of what we did at the beginning of the appointment—transfer yourself from the table to the wheelchair.”
The doctor had already helpfully aligned the wheelchair at the right angle and locked the wheels. Link leaned over to it, resting his hand on the seat, and awkwardly propelled himself up and off the table and down into the wheelchair seat. He landed a little harder than intended, and also crushed his fingers, but he managed to stay in the chair and rearrange himself. One point for Link.
The doctor set a folder on his lap. “Instructions for those exercises we did; it’s good to get into the habit of performing them at home too. Now, before I send you off, is there anything you’d like to ask?”
“Uh, yeah actually. What’s the best way to change my own pants?” Link couldn’t help the blush that colored his cheeks. Obviously Doctor Borville wasn’t going to judge him; he was sure people had asked way more embarrassing questions than that. But still, it was an uncomfortable ask. The lack of agency of it all. Or something. “Don’t want to keep relying on other people for that one.”
Doctor Borville tossed himself down in his demonstration wheelchair. “Luckily, that should be an easy one!” He grabbed his right leg under the thigh and lifted it, wrapping his hand around his ankle and pulling his foot close enough to rest on the seat. “Prop your foot up like this—hold it in place if you need to with one hand—and slip your pants over that foot. Pull them up to your thigh,” the doctor mimed as such, “so they don’t just slip down on you. Put that foot down and switch to your other leg,” again he mimed this action, dropping his right leg back to the chair’s footrest and pulling his left up onto the seat, “and repeat the same action. Then it’s just a matter of wiggling them the rest of the way up.”
Link nodded. “Guess that’s another thing to practice.”
Standing up from his own chair and walking over to Link, Doctor Borville patted him on the shoulder. “That’s really all there is in life, practicing till you get just good enough at things to pass. But I digress, look at the time! I’m sure you want to get out of here. Remember: next appointment is in two days!” With that, the doctor marched out of the room, leaving Link to wheel himself out and down the hallway. Zelda was already waiting for him.
“I brought a different car, in case you didn’t notice,” she said by way of greeting. In fact, Link had noticed. He couldn’t use his legs; his eyes were just fine. He opted for rolling them at Zelda. She smiled in return, opening the passenger door for him. “Your chariot awaits, my good sir.”
Just like he had done in the doctor’s office, Link lined up his chair with the open car door, thankful that Zelda cared enough (or at least paid enough attention) to switch to a car with a lower chassis so he actually had a chance to get himself in. Or maybe he should thank her tremendous inheritance for letting her even afford more than one car. Link braced himself on the edge of the car seat, pushed himself up from the wheelchair, and shifted his weight toward the arm in the car. He landed on the edge of the car seat, wobbling as he fought to regain his balance. Zelda started toward him, but he caught himself, tugging his legs into the car and huffing out a breath. Not the most graceful landing, but—he’d done it. A smile suffused his face. He’d done it.
Zelda jumped up and down a little and clapped. She folded up his new wheelchair, tucking it into the back behind Link’s seat, tossed the folder Doctor Borville had provided him on the back seat, and rushed around the other side of the car to get into the driver’s seat. The drive started in silence.
“I watched a lot of YouTube videos,” Zelda offered.
“That’s, uh, great. I think.”
“About different wheelchair techniques and mobility exercises, you dweeb.”
“I knew that.” Link couldn’t see it, but he knew Zelda must be rolling her eyes at him.
“So how was your appointment?”
Link rubbed his arm absentmindedly. “Thanks for the wheelchair, by the way. It was pretty good; way less awkward than I expected. Doctor Borville demonstrated a lot of the movement techniques for me, which helped me understand them a lot more. Why didn’t we try watching videos before this?”
Zelda reached across the console for Link’s hand. Her thumb brushed across the back of his hand. “Having a doctor there who understands how it all works is probably better than relying on YouTube videos.”
“What would I know, anyway?” Link chuckled. “We did a lot of stretches too, stuff I’m supposed to keep up at home. Wink, wink.”
“You did not just say ‘wink, wink’ to me. It’s amazing I’m still friends with you.”
Link laughed, his thumb ghosting across the back of her hand. “I figured you hung around cause I was so pretty to look at.”
“Talk about an inflated ego,” Zelda said, pinching the palm of his hand. “You’re not that pretty. I must just have a terrible case of Stockholm syndrome.”
“I’m actually so incredibly offended by that, Zelda, you don’t even understand. I’m so ugly I had to kidnap you just to keep you around? My face makes children cry? The sun doesn’t shine on me because if I’m always in the dark, no one has to suffer looking at me? God himself—”
Zelda broke out into peals of laughter, covering her mouth with the hand that had been holding Link’s, her eyes shining with mirth. “Stop being funny, I’m trying to drive.”
Link huffed dramatically. “I may be ugly, but at least I’m funny.”
Zelda hit him on the arm. “Alright, Link, you got me. You’re beautiful. I planned this whole accident just to be able to keep you to myself because I was so scared your face was going to put museums out of business.” It was Link’s turn to laugh.
It felt good to laugh; it felt like he hadn’t done very much of it since the accident. It made him feel more alive. They passed the drive back to Zelda’s like that, bantering back and forth. Luckily Link wasn’t funny enough to cause an accident, although Zelda did once have to pull the car over because Link made her laugh so hard she begged him to stop talking, or else “I’m going to pee my pants.”
Link was able to extricate himself from the car with little issue, mentally patting himself on the back, and wheeled himself inside. “Seriously,” he said, “Thank you for the wheelchair. It feels way better using this one myself than the old one.”
Zelda pet the back of his head. “I enjoy taking care of you, Link, but I guarantee neither of us would be happy with me potentially pushing you around everywhere. Now how about some lunch?” Right on queue, Link’s stomach growled. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
While Zelda prepared food for the both of them, Link maneuvered himself onto the couch. It wasn’t uncomfortable to stay in the wheelchair, per se, but there was just something about reclining back into the cushions of a nice couch. Zelda relaxed next to him, and they feasted on air fryer hot wings and frozen pizza, channel surfing between ad breaks.
They enjoyed some “outside time” as Zelda called it; she insisted there was no way Link would go outside by himself, and that he needed the sunlight and the fresh air. Link liked the way the wind brought Zelda’s hair to life. They lazed around the house when they returned, ordering Chinese takeout for dinner, and Zelda made Link show her the exercises he had worked on at physical therapy. She flipped through the booklet the doctor had sent Link home with first, familiarizing herself with the diagrams and example pictures.
“This all doesn’t look too bad, Link. I think I can manage to help out with this.” Link had boosted himself up onto his side of the bed, arms folded under his head.
“It’s all you Zel. Not much I can do other than tell you how it feels.” Zelda smacked him on the thigh with the booklet. “Ow! Hey, that’s not in the booklet.”
Zelda worked him through the same exercises Doctor Borville had, in smaller repetitions, just to get a feel for it. The doctor’s hand hadn’t strayed that close to Link’s ass, however. Link thought better of calling Zelda out for it. Somehow (Link figured through sheer force of will) he was able to get himself to the bathroom, get his pants off, get onto and off of the toilet, and get his pants back on, all without Zelda’s interference. She told him how proud she was of him as he pushed himself back into the bed and swung his legs up. Link rolled his eyes, but the smile that lingered on his lips told Zelda enough about him enjoying that line. Zelda propped herself up on her elbow, running her free hand through Link’s hair. Link fell asleep to her scratching lightly along his scalp.
And so the next few weeks passed, Link growing more and more comfortable maneuvering himself through the world, and with the exercises he practiced every day, with and without Zelda. Doctor Borville had encouraged him through repetitions of the individual exercises, especially stretches in his wheelchair and on an exercise mat. It was still awkward for Link getting out of his wheelchair and onto the floor, and quite difficult pulling himself back up, but it got easier as the strength continued to return to his legs. He measured success by how much he was able to move his legs and feet as time progressed. He had regained mobility in his feet first; in fact, when he first managed to wiggle his toes, he shouted out loud. Zelda had teared up in excitement when he had first shown her.
Zelda also more often than not accompanied him to his physical therapy appointments. Doctor Borville encouraged it, extolling the benefits on progress companionship offered. Zelda was content to sit in a chair on the side of the room and watch quietly. Link was content to try much harder than he may have otherwise just because she was watching. Eventually, the doctor declared Link fit and ready to move on to the next major step of his rehabilitation: a series of pre-gait training exercises, designed to continue strengthening the legs in his muscles until he could start trying to walk again.
One appointment, weeks into therapy, the doctor had greeted Link with a new tool: a balance beam for him to practice standing with. Doctor Borville relied on Zelda’s assistance for this. They worked through the regular series of stretches and leg warm up exercises, and then Doctor Borville had Link get back into his chair, wheel himself over to the balance beam, lock his wheels, and try to pull himself up onto his feet. The doctor and Zelda both stood beside Link, ready to catch him if and when he was unable to hold himself up. Link nervously wiped his hands on his pants, his palms sweaty. Luckily the balance beam was padded to help combat any sweatiness. It was more a nervous tic than anything, but going into this exercise with relatively dry hands made Link feel better about it.
He wrapped his hands around the bar in front of him, flexing his fingers, and hoisted himself up out of the chair. Almost immediately, his legs buckled underneath him, but before he was able to brace himself by throwing an arm over the bar, Zelda and the doctor were at his sides, supporting him at the elbows and helping him back up to a standing position. Sweat beaded on his brow as they slowly let him take his full weight back onto his legs. His legs and arms quaked as Doctor Borville and Zelda eased up their support. He slipped again, and again they were quick to catch him, settling him back into his chair at the doctor’s guidance.
“That was good, Link, very good! Your legs are very unused to bearing any weight right now, but that’s what they’re designed for—they’ll figure it out pretty quickly.” Doctor Borville patted Link on the shoulder. “We’ll call it there for the day. Get ready to practice this again next appointment. I have a feeling things are going to move forward quickly from here!”
“Yeah,” Link sighed. “Thanks.”
He wheeled himself out of the room without a goodbye, and without waiting for Zelda. Zelda offered the doctor a brief apology and followed after him. Link tried to keep the ride back to Zelda’s silent.
“Link,” Zelda said softly. He ignored her. Her voice grew louder. “Don’t be such a brat, Link. That was amazing! You stood up by yourself.”
Link snorted. “Barely. That’s not exactly what I’d call a roaring success.”
Zelda smacked him on the back of the head. Link opened his mouth in surprise, but no words came out. “You really can be such an idiot sometimes, can’t you? Do you have any idea how long it takes to regain the ability to walk after a spinal injury? Months, Link. If not years . You’ve been in physical therapy for barely a couple months—it’s only September, for God’s sake. That’s barely two months of basic exercise and you can already stand. No one cares how long you were able to hold yourself up for! It’s the first time you even tried!”
Link grimaced as he rubbed the back of his head. He could hear the tears in Zelda’s voice even without looking at her. He didn’t think he could manage that, anyway. “It’s just—it’s frustrating, Zel. It feels like it’s been a lot longer than two months, and I’m still struggling even just getting in and out of the bath. It sucks.” Zelda raised her hand again, and Link flinched, but she just tangled her fingers in his hair.
“It does suck. It all sucks, but you’re getting better. You’re going to get better. You think I’d let it go any other way?” And she sounded so confident when she said it, Link realized he had absolutely no trouble believing Zelda could remold the universe. He pretended not to see Zelda discretely cleaning her face of residual tears.
He continued to practice his mobility exercises at home with Zelda, and continued to practice standing up with only support from the balance beam with Doctor Borville. And really, time seemed to fly, and in what felt like practically no time at all, Link was able to hold himself up for minutes at a time, and could just about balance on one foot. They switched, then, to the next major step (no pun intended) of the process. The single balance beam was switched out for a pair of balance beams spaced out so Link could stand between them, resting a hand on either side to keep himself steady. The first few appointments with this new arrangement were focused on getting him comfortable with the different weight distribution from supporting himself at his sides rather than out in front, but he readjusted quickly, and the doctor walked (again, no pun intended) him through practicing the motion of taking a step.
It was quite similar to the exercises they had run (really, no pun intended) through at the beginning of the therapy process, only this time Link was relying on the restrengthened muscles of his legs to lift them up and bend at the knee. In this form, Link practiced walking in place, very slowly. Zelda never stopped smiling the whole time. Link thought that was really the reason he was able to succeed to the degree he had, but sometimes her smile was just so blinding he had to look as far away from her as possible. He had once let himself get distracted by her just watching him, smiling goofily back at her, and then losing his balance and tumbling to the floor. Zelda hadn’t been able to fully contain her snort of laughter at that.
And then it happened. The big one. A moment that would be burned into Link’s mind forever and ever, the end. As summer bled into fall, and Zelda returned to his apartment to collect sweaters for him (and insisted that he wear one every day it was cold enough to justify it, because apparently he was so cute in a sweater it would’ve been a crime to let him wear anything else), Link had taken his first steps. They were slow, they were clumsy, and really, they probably barely counted as steps at all, but his knee had bent, his foot had raised up, and when he put it back down, it was multiple (multiple!) inches ahead of where it had been. And then he had done it again with the other foot. Now this, of course, wasn’t the Event branded into his frontal cortex. Looking back, he figured this probably should have been a fairly important moment to emblazon into the very matrix of his brain, but, well, he was no better than a man.
It took him a month more before he was ready to attempt anything beyond the awkward shuffling gait he had managed to develop so far, and still weeks beyond that before he could even consider walking like a regular person capable of walking. Up until the big moment, Link had needed to pause for breaks as he practiced walking the length of the balance beams, often not able to make it from one end to another even with pauses. But finally, one glorious fall day in the middle of October, he did it. Without pausing, with a relatively normal stride, without stumbling or losing his balance, Link walked from one end of the balance beams to the other. He almost didn’t realize he had even done it, but when his hands hit the end of the rails and he had to readjust them to not topple forward, he stopped still, shocked. Zelda jumped up, cheering in excitement, rushed up to where Link was holding himself up between the balance bars, grabbed his face in her hands, and kissed him straight on the mouth. It was this, beyond any other moment in his life either before or after, that had etched itself so permanently into Link’s memory.
Link watched in real time as a blush rushed up her neck, through her cheeks, and crested the tips of her ears. Her eyes shot wide, her hands jumping to cover her mouth as she took a step back.
“Um—um—um,” Zelda stuttered, waving her hands through the air. “Good, um, good job Link.” Her voice cracked. “I’m going to the bathroom.” She fled the room.
Link stared dumbstruck at the empty doorway she disappeared through, missing the way Doctor Borville chortled. He was shocked out of his stupor when the doctor grabbed him firmly around the arm.
“Let’s get you settled back down, Link.” He helped Link back into his wheelchair. His hand rested on Link’s shoulder. “You’ve made this old man very proud, Link. You’ve come a long way.”
Link nodded, not really processing everything the doctor was saying. He gave his head a little shake, patting himself on the cheeks to try and clear some of the Zelda-induced fog from his mind. “Ah, yeah, thanks, doc. I don’t think I would’ve managed without you, honestly.”
“I think that young lady has had quite a tremendous hand in your recovery, young man. I’d love to take all the credit, but I like to think I’m a little better than that.” He patted Link on the back. “Now, I think that’s more than enough for today. We’ll continue slowly. Really, good work today. But go find your friend. Go on.” Doctor Borville ushered Link out of the room, closing all locking the door behind him with finality.
Link nodded to himself. Find Zelda. Easy. Face Zelda. Easy. Return to Zelda’s home. Easy. Sleep in the same bed as Zelda. Easy. He groaned. Oh, who was he kidding? Zelda was waiting for him at her car, cheeks still tinged pink, although Link couldn’t be sure if it was from the cold or—well, anyway. His smile felt queasy. Zelda opened the passenger door for him, folded his chair into the back seat as she always did, and climbed into the driver’s seat.
“Good job, Link. I don’t know if I’ve ever been as happy as I was when I saw you walk . I mean, can you believe it?” She laughed in disbelief. “All the things we take for granted without ever realizing it, and here I am crying over you being able to walk .” She shook her head and wiped at her eyes.
“Why do you get to cry over me all the time? I feel like you’re stealing all my emotional thunder.”
“Shut up, you jerk.” Zelda hit him on the arm, but laughed anyway. “I need to be involved somehow.”
Link turned to face her as well as he could. “I really don’t know how I would’ve made it half as far as I have without you, Zelda. Seriously. You are amazing.”
Link could see her roll her eyes this time. “I’m not the one who’s had to relearn to walk, Link. You’re amazing.”
“Okay, so we’re both amazing. I can live with that. Now, can we go eat something? I don’t know about you, but all this walking has me famished.” He smiled as Zelda scoffed.
“Yeah, I think we can manage that. Let’s go out somewhere, though. I’m sick of takeout and we need to celebrate.”
That night, they lay in bed again, staring holes into the ceiling. In the quiet, the events of the day rushed back to Link full force. He hadn’t forgotten, obviously, but there had been enough going on to keep the memory at least slightly at bay. Laying in the small light of Zelda’s bedside lamp, staring at the ceiling, however, gave his mind ample opportunity to replay it all. He was surprised how well he remembered the warm brush of Zelda’s breath across his face, the way her smile had felt against his mouth, the heat of her hands on his cheeks. The flush that colored his cheek as he remembered it all echoed the warmth of her hands.
He pushed himself onto his side, rolling over to face Zelda. He was surprised to find her already facing him. “Hi.”
“Hi, Link.”
He found himself fascinated by the shape of her lips, the supple curve of her bottom lip pulled between her teeth, the bend of her cupid’s bow. He tapped the tip of her nose and watched it scrunch.
“Stay away from my nose, you freak.”
“It’s cute.”
“It’s a nose.”
“A really cute nose.”
“Uh huh.”
“I’m serious! You think I’d lie to you? Look—” he traced the curve of her nose from her brow down to the tip, ghosting his fingers across the divot between her nose and upper lip. “It’s a nice shape.”
“That’s called the philtrum,” Zelda whispered.
“Huh?” Link jumped, his finger brushing across her lips.
“The space between your upper lip and your nose. The philtrum.”
“Oh. Cool. You have a nice philtrum.” Link continued to trace the shape of her nose, running the tip of his finger down the bridge and gently across the outer edge of her nostrils, feeling them flare gently as she laughed. He tapped the tip of her nose again. He watched her nose scrunch again as she pushed his hand away from her face, linking her fingers with his.
“Just kiss me, you idiot.”
“Idiot? How is that going to make me want to kiss you? If anything—”
“Oh my God, shut up.”
Link rested a hand on Zelda’s cheek, caressing it with his thumb. He bit his lip. “I have absolutely no idea what I’m doing.”
“Well,” Zelda returned, eyes shining with warmth, or mirth, or some other intangible property Link couldn’t identify, “me neither. Let’s figure it out together, yeah?”
And now Link really did kiss her.