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“I have returned from my therapy session, Brother Ghirahim.” Fi said as she entered the room.
Ghirahim had been reading a book while he waited for his sister to return. He lowers it, reluctantly, to face her.
It had surprised him when Fidelis had told him that they were going to get therapy, but in hindsight it made sense that they would wish to. Given she was forcefully separated from her master and friend by fate, and then spent centuries on end in a comatose-esque state with Ghirahim’s own far less pleasant former master as a roommate, that was bound to leave one with a sizable amount of mental trauma. Not to mention the whole molded into a mindless slave thing…
“How did it go?” Ghirahim asks as he forces himself to stay out of those memories.
He was expecting his sister to say it went well, or tell him what the therapist was like. Instead, they said, in the same tone they say just about everything else: “I have officially been diagnosed with autism.”
Ghirahim did a double take. Not because he didn’t believe it, or see the signs. But because Fi was just so matter-of-fact about it. Weren’t people usually a bit more… more about this? Then again, this is Fidelis we’re talking about here, and she wasn’t like most people. Which is precisely why she got that diagnosis, come to think of it.
But what is one supposed to say to that? Ghirahim racks his brain, pondering the many hylian interactions he’s witnessed from the shadows, and scripts he’s made. None of them apply.
Thankfully, Fi didn’t seem to expect any sort of particular response and simply moves on. “What is the title of the book you are reading today, Brother?”
Instantly, the other sword spirit’s mood was lifted. He never really got the chance to share his interest with anyone in the past, and it always pleasantly surprised him when people asked about them. “Why, it’s Gemstones Through the Ages, of course! It details the history of hylians’ relationships with gems of all sorts: how they mined them over the years, how much they consider them to be worth, things of that nature. But my favorite chapters are, of course, the ones about diamonds. I’ve reread them about… twenty times now, was it? The library will likely want this book back soon, I’d wager.” He feels himself pout a little at that last part. Whenever he got overwhelmed or upset about something, rereading the section about diamonds always put him in a better mood, almost as much as making them with his magic. He wasn’t sure if he can cope with losing that.
“You are able to renew a book for a longer period of time at the library, Brother Ghirahim,” Fi is quick to inform. “And it is approximately one hundred and twelve days until the Yule celebrations, so I will purchase a copy as my gift to you.”
Ghirahim won’t lie, he’s deeply touched by that sentiment. And a bit worried because he hasn’t thought of a present for Fi yet. But he still has time, so he supposes he shouldn’t get overly anxious about that. “You know, you aren’t supposed to tell people what you’re getting them for Yule,” he says, rather than confronting that vast amount of feeling at this present moment.
“That is highly illogical,” Fi objects. “It is far more probable that the recipient will not be satisfied with their gift if it is delivered in this way.”
That was true enough, Ghirahim supposes. He feels, however, that his sister wished to talk about more than the strange traditions of hylians. He says as much, and Fi, efficient as ever, replies bluntly.
“There is an eighty percent chance that you are also somewhere on the autism spectrum, Brother.”
“What?” A little laugh bubbles from Ghirahim’s throat, slightly too high-pitched to be completely genuine. “No, no way. Absolutely not.” He knew, the moment that he said those words, that he had made a mistake. He didn’t even have to look at Fi to know that.
For it was always a bad idea to deny one of her calculations without giving any sort of evidence to back up your position.
“Those on the autism spectrum have a tendency to struggle with changes in routine.”
“Well, yes, I do despise when my plans are interrupted, but that doesn’t mean—”
“They also have intense interests and seek external stimulus through repetitive movements.”
“It is the rest of the world who’s strange for not sharing the love of diamonds that I do!” as Completely unbeknownst to himself, Ghirahim was wiggling his fingers around constantly while he had this defensive outburst.
“Another telling sign is their struggles in social situations.”
Ha! Yes! Finally, Ghirahim has them! “I do not struggle in social situations! I’ve practiced for centuries; I know all of the rules!”
“It is my understanding that neurotypical individuals do not require such diligent practice, Brother.”
…
Ghirahim takes a deep breath. Then he thinks about it. Really thinks about it.
How many times had he misjudged a situation and made someone uncomfortable when he hadn’t been intending to at the moment? More times than he’d like to admit. He’d gotten good at smoothly making it look as though it were intentional, however.
How many times had his interests, particularly his interest in diamonds, consumed his mind so completely that it was almost impossible to focus on anything else? Also, more times than he’d care to admit.
Then, before he could stop it, his mind wandered further back to the worst things.
Demise was not an easy being to work with. So many times he’d given commands that seemed so vague to Ghirahim. If he asked for clarification, he would be punished for being insubordinate. If he didn’t ask and did things incorrectly, he would be punished for being incompetent. He’d thought if he just tried harder, things would change.
“Brother?” His sister’s voice sounded so far away. When had he let himself spiral so far? He tries to focus on the soft, melodic tones. But it’s not quite enough.
Snap, snap. He watches the diamonds sparkle through the air. They’re so beautiful. They bring him peace. A moment later, his worries are a soft hum in the back of his mind.
“I apologize, Ghirahim. I pushed too hard.”
When had Fidelis moved to the bed? And when had Ghirahim started rocking back and forth?
He understood where she was coming from, though. Fi could get very tunnel-visioned when she wanted to figure something out. It was something she had been working on, but they still had the occasional lapse in judgment.
“I’m… going to see if perhaps that therapist of yours has time for one more patient. I probably should have done that a lot earlier, in truth.”
“How did your first therapy session go, Brother?”
“Oh, just wonderfully!” Ghirahim was in a considerably better mood than he had been today, practically skipping into the house. “A person I can pay to sit there and give me their undivided attention while I speak for hours at a time? How positively brilliant! I should have done this long, long ago!”
Fi gets that look in her eye that tells Ghirahim she is thinking deeply about what she should say next. A subtle change that most wouldn’t pick up, but Ghirahim, having centuries of reading people under his sash, and also just so happening to be her older brother, got it straight away. “I am happy to know that you felt heard, Brother.” They recite. And though the words were likely practiced, the ex-demon lord knew they were sentient.
Ghirahim begins to smirk. “I know you want to ask about my diagnosis.”
Fi perks up, yet another subtle change. “Which is?”
Ghirahim lets out an overdramatic sigh, raising his hands. “He barely spoke with me for ten minutes, before he asked me point-blank if there was any chance autism runs in our family.”
The evaluation hadn’t even started officially yet, but the demon could already tell that his therapist made up his mind about him. Maybe it was when he went on a tangent about how his life was going when the therapist asked "How are you?" Or perhaps it was that moment that he got up and started pacing around the office as he spoke, because he could not properly express himself while sitting still? Or maybe it was a third thing he didn’t even think about because it just seemed normal to him?
In any case, despite Ghirahim’s outward frustration, he actually felt quite a bit grateful. Things were finally beginning to make a little more sense.
“Well, I suppose there is only one problem left,” Ghirahim muses.
Fi tilts her head slightly. “And that would be?”
“Eventually, I will need to delve into the years and years of trauma I have accumulated. I fear my therapist will need a therapist before I’m through.”