Hello!

I felt much of last night's argument alluded to some secret in the brothers' past, that neither wanted to mention but both understood what was being referred to.

I was hoping for some big revelation but it didn't come, so I've written this story as my own amateur version of what this dark secret might be.

The hints I took from the dialogue:

"even the slightest chance I might be happy again." – the 'again' implies he was happy once and then something happened that stopped that.

"You're just as messed up as me." – As far as we've seen so far, Ethan seems far from messed up, so does Cal know something that the audience don't? Have they been through something that messed them both up?

"At least I'm trying. At least I've got the bottle" - Trying to move on from whatever happened, while Ethan plays it safe?

Anyway enough of my ramblings, what do you think?

I hope you enjoy my story. Please leave a review, to discuss this or the programme, I don't mind!

One Reason

In the end there was only one reason why he succumbed (again, always again) to Cal's untimely and unreasonable request. It wasn't the doctor in him reacting to a life in danger; it wasn't even the desire to plead for the return of his money. It was the inescapable blood that ran through their veins, tying them together in uncomfortable brotherhood. They were, after everything, all each other had.

And so, despite the potential consequences, he snuck equipment from work and left mid shift to pick the pieces of yet another mess that Cal had so recklessly dragged him into. He saved them one after another; Taylor from her injuries and then Cal from the woman who'd conned him.

Even though it was always this way round, always him saving Cal, it was Cal who pushed and pushed and seemed determined to break the bond. It was Cal who, after all this time, still struggled to distinguish right from wrong and bounced at a hundred miles an hour between brothers or enemies or friends.

"You know, you're just as messed up as me."

"I'm nothing like you."

It had been Ethan who dealt with the aftermath, years ago, when everything went wrong and Cal was nowhere to be seen. It was Ethan who had (calmly and sensibly) rebuilt all of their lives and salvaged what fragments of normality he could.

And even if Cal was right and somewhere inside the head of a rational and intelligent young doctor there was the chaos of a teenage boy whose family had fallen apart, then who could blame him? Surely he had more right to be messed up than Cal. Because Cal, the older brother, had fled as soon as things had got too complicated.

"At least I'm trying. At least I've got the bottle to get it wrong!"

Ethan was used to insults from his brother but Cal's insinuation that he was the one in the right, was harder to bear. His thoughts went to that critical day so long ago and how the only comfort had been his big brother next to him in their parents' empty bed and how he'd woken to a silent house and a one word note from Cal.

Cal certainly hadn't tried then. In fact any time things went wrong, Cal didn't try, he just stood back and waited for someone else to fix it. He may have the bottle to get things wrong, but he didn't have the courage to try to get things right.

So his audacity in accusing Ethan, who had been trying to solve everything since he was fifteen years old, was one thing Ethan couldn't let go.

He lunged at his brother, hands straight for his shoulders to push him away. But Cal grabbed his wrists and the back of his neck and twisted his body so that the pair fell heavily to the floor. Ethan was on his back and had no time to right himself before Cal clambered on top of him. He fought as Cal tried to regain a grip on his wrists, but his brother was stronger and he soon pinned him to the floor, one arm across his collarbone so he couldn't move.

As children they used to wrestle in their back garden, laughing between fake yells. Neither got hurt because Cal knew that his brother was smaller and that he needed to be gentle with him. But as grown men fighting in the middle of the road, every shove was meant with malice and Ethan could tell that his brother was using all of his weight to hold him still. Their faces were so close that Ethan could feel his brother's breath, hot, heavy and angry.

"Admit it, Ethan, you need me to be messed up so you can look away from your own pathetic life! That's why you keep coming back, Ethan."

There had been one occasion when he was caring for their dying mother, that she had turned to him and thanked him for being the good son – the one who always did the right thing. And he had felt a fleeting second of pride in her statement and gratitude that she had finally acknowledged all he had done. But there was no rule which specified that for two brothers there must be one good and one bad. If Cal hadn't messed up (time and time again) then they could have been good sons together.

"Why would I keep coming back to clean up your mess?!"

Ethan heard the helplessness in his voice but tried to ignore the embarrassment he felt at being so close to tears. In his struggle he had manage to force Cal to move the arm that had been pressing uncomfortably into his collarbone, but now Cal had control over both his arms and they were chest to chest on the floor.

Ethan finally understood: Cal allowed himself to be a screw-up to exonerate himself from responsibility. Anger flooded through his veins, giving him a rush of strength to fight against his brother once more.

"What is wrong with you?! I come back because I have no choice, because you're my brother."

He saw a change in Cal's eyes as he said the word brother, the look of upmost loathing quickly fading to unequivocal grief. However Cal's hand was back at his throat, pushing down as if as long as he could stop Ethan talking, he could also stop the reminder that he had just trapped his little brother against the ground. But when Ethan shoved him once again, he put up little resistance and fell back into a sitting position, finally freeing his brother.

"Whatever that is forces me to come back, to protect you from people like her and the rest that will no doubt follow. I'll keep coming back for you, Caleb. I just will."

This time it was Cal fighting back tears.

Before Cal left in the middle of the night all those years ago they had spent the evening together crying in each other's arms. Their father's death was both a loss and a liberation and too much of a contradiction for two teenage boys to comprehend. The tears had been more for their mother, held in custody while impassive police officers differentiated between self-defence and murder.

They had permitted themselves to cry that night noisily and unashamed. Yet today Cal climbed to his feet and turned his back on his brother to try and disguise the moment he wiped at his cheeks. Ethan wasn't fooled but let Cal have a moment before he placed a hand on his brother's back and steered him gently so they were by the railing looking out to the sea.

"I'll get your money back. Slowly, but I will get it back."

Fifteen thousand pounds. Cal could barely save a fiver – he'd never needed to. As children of a well-off and perpetually guilty man, they'd never needed to ask twice for anything. Gifts were frequent but marred with their father's lies; he had convinced himself that the presents he gave his family were an indication that he was actually a good man, and he wanted his children to be of the same persuasion.

"I am so sorry about Taylor."

"I just don't get it. She seemed so… Look, I had to come, Ethan. You know that, don't you?"

"I know."

If there had been the slightest chance that his father was redeemable, Ethan would have gone anywhere in the hope that all the hurt could be reversed. So he understood why Cal had clung to any tiny possibility that his relationship had been genuine.

"Look, you have the car. I'm going for a drink.

"Stay, Cal, I want to finish the conversation."

"I'm finished."

"You ran, Cal. You're my big brother and you left me to deal with everything on my own. Don't do it again."

Ethan had been in his bedroom (his sanctuary) when the row had started. As arguments had become more frequent he had taught himself how to tune out the shouting by carrying on reading, focusing on each word and engrossing himself in the story.

And at first, his tactics worked. But his father's volume and his mother's noisy sobs and the crashes as something got thrown across the room became too much to ignore. Ethan was halfway across the landing to Cal's room when his brother flung open his bedroom door as if he knew Ethan needed him.

They sat side by side squashed on the top stair, listening as their father called their mother a dishonest slut, wincing at the sound of fist against cheek and their mother's pained yells. Neither brother spoke; no words could offer any comfort.

One crash, louder than any before and then a few seconds stunned silence. Cal lept down the stairs in a swift motion and Ethan followed his big brother's lead.

Their mother was on the floor, bleeding but conscious, and their father was leaning over her, shocked but with his fist still clenched and held back, ready for another blow.

Cal put himself between his parents, shoving his father; the strength of a troubled eighteen year old against a violent grown man. The action brought their father back to life and he smashed his son against the wall and drove a fist into his stomach.

Ethan's eyes were on his gasping brother and didn't see his mother struggle to her feet, antique table lamp in her hands. As his father delivered a second punch to Cal, the table lamp crashed down on the back of his head and shattered across the room. He fell forward onto Cal, who in panic pushed the man away from him causing him to fall unaided to the floor.

He landed on his back with a thud. Both his eyes and mouth were open and unmoving. A puddle of blood began to stain the cream carpet beneath his head.

Their mother started to scream.

"How could I have stayed?"

"How could you have left?"

"It was my fault, Ethan. She killed him protecting me."

Cal was still facing the sea, his fingers wrapped tightly around the railing. Ethan took his arm and forced him to turn to face him so that their eyes locked. Cal blinked and a silent tear fell down his cheek.

The judge had declared it self-defence, a long record of hospital admissions confirming a brutal history of domestic violence. Their mother was acquitted but fragile and Ethan had helped piece her back together one bit at a time.

"You left us, Caleb, and I hated you for that, but what happened was not your fault."

"I should have stayed, I know that now."

"Yes. But it's not too late to put things right."

Ethan watched as the tension in his big brother's shoulders finally dropped. Cal took a shuddering deep breath and nodded.

After all the hurt and stress Cal's recklessness had caused, Ethan wondered why he was giving him yet another chance. It must just come down to the one reason that neither could escape; they were brothers, and nothing could break that.

"I'm so sorry for everything. This time I'll change."