The Doctor's Notebook.
"It's important scientific work he's doing!"
"What are you scribbling?" his brother asked, inquisitive as always. Once again, they were at some stupid ball, and after Victor had finally found a way out, he had simply grabbed a pencil.
"Nothing, really," Victor said, not even looking up from what he was doing.
He only did when his brother sat down next to him and laid a hand on his shoulder. "Come back inside, Victor, you're missing the party."
"I don't really feeling like I am missing anything, Gerhardt," he answered. He hated those balls. They were basically thrown whenever some rich man or woman needed to find a husband, but usually their father would send them too, either to find husbands for themselves or just because he had to. Victor believed that it was, for him, the last. His father couldn't only bring one son, and leave the eldest at home. His father didn't believe that he was ever going to find a fitting wife; not any woman would want a man who was doing experiments on dead bodies, it was perverse, according to his father.
That's why he was sitting here, in the dark blue night. He didn't have any business inside there, because no-one actually wanted him there. So he had flew as soon as he could, and pulled his notebook out of his pocket. He did always have it with him – you never knew when some brilliant idea would jump into your mind, and if it would – and answer to all the problems he was having with his experiments – he didn't want to miss it.
His brother remained silent for a few minutes, and then said: "I know you hate those balls, and all the courtesies going with it, yet perhaps you should…"
"Come back inside and dance with ladies, only to please father, while they are looking at me as if I am going to eat them alive? They know who I am and what I do. As soon as you do something that they don't consider normal…"
"Then what, Victor?" his brother interrupted him, looking at him with a serious gaze in his eyes. "Are you going to stay alone for the rest of your life? Die alone?" His brother's words were harshly confronting, even though he could have spoken them himself.
"Perhaps," Victor answered. "I can't see why I wouldn't. After all, that's most likely what father would like best; for me to just vanish somewhere alone, so I can't humiliate him." He couldn't help the bitter sound in his voice. He had always acted like he didn't care. Like he was used to it. He was, he really was. Yet that didn't change that it did hurt him. That it made him feel like he was truly going to die alone. That he would never find someone who could love him. Who wanted him. Because, apart from his brother, people never seemed to be eager to even talk to him.
"I wouldn't like to see that," Gerhardt said, speaking his words softly. "I don't want you to become lonely." Victor's eyes caught his brother's, and he managed a small smile on his face, though he knew his brother would see right through it – his brother knew him too well for that. "Yet you already are, aren't you?" his brother asked, though it didn't sound like a question.
"I have you and my scientific work. That's all that matters to me."
"What were you scribbling?" Gerhardt asked again. There was some concern in his eyes.
Victor sighed, and handed the notebook over to Gerhardt, trying not to look at him to read the reaction from his face.
"You miss her too, don't you?" Gerhardt's voice was cracking as he looked at the drawing of their mother. She had loved the both of them.
Victor gave his brother a supporting smile. A true smile, this time. "Yes. I do miss her too."
Gerhardt handed the notebook back to him again, and then asked: "Is the goal of you work to bring her back to life?"
"If I would get it to work, I would, probably. It's still mainly about discovering this part of science. No-one has ever done something like this, and that's why I find it so interesting. It could be like a whole different world opening up to all of us."
"It could get our mother back," Gerhardt whispered, and Victor wasn't sure if he was saying it directly to him, or simply to himself. "It could grant you more respect."
"Yes," Victor said, putting the notebook away into his pocket again, watching the blue shapes of the night. "Yes, it could."