Chapter three

As luck would have it, he has little choice in today's outcome; going to work. He enters the hospital, distracted and sleep deprived, entering the realms of disorganization and crammed beds. He wonders if they'll ever have a day where they can get by comfortably. It is exhausting - though he can't say it isn't worth it.

Bring a person back from the brink... what could be more meaningful? He knows that science and math guided him to this path initially, but so did the wish to make people better, to fix what's wrong (or try to, as it isn't always as straightforward as popping a joint back into place) with them and himself. To become self-sufficient. Put people back together again. To know that if the worst happens to someone he loves, he'll be there to fix it. He'll always know how to make it better.

Unless he isn't there. Unless they're left alone, suffering, without a smudge of hope, none at all. Unless that happens. Unless a missed phone call is all it takes.

Suppress it.

He focuses entirely on maintaining a friendly, composed expression, noticing his colleagues juggling patients like acrobats, and marvelling. It is truly a talent to manage to stay kind and professional after negative hours of sleep, legs aching from too much walking, finger joints inflamed from constant handwritten notes. They offer good mornings wearing vomit stained scrubs. He repeats, points, they groan when they notice the stains. They work as a unit. He feels like he's in a family on a good day; maybe today is a good day.

"Dropped something, mate."

Noel is trailing behind him, a crumpled up piece of paper in his hand. Notes from his prior phone conversation, printed on his laptop because he needed to trust the writing would be decipherable even if he's slow at typing. He couldn't risk handwriting it. Not when his neat scrawl gets dangerously close to loopy and messy like every doctor does. He couldn't be unaware of a single word. Though it isn't inclusive of his own 'um's and 'ah's.

"What's this, then?" Noel peels it open without permission.

Ethan, without meaning to be too harsh, snatches it from Noel's grasp. Noel looks taken aback. "Private matters, Noel."

Noel - or anyone, really - would ever understand his insatiable urge to know the truth. He knows this for concrete certain.

Ruth: Answers? What sort of answers?

Myself: I suppose I should give you some context first. You (pause) sent letters. Letters to my brother.

Ruth: I did. Did your brother receive them?

Myself: I'm afraid he passed away in April of 2017. So he didn't, no, unfortunately.

Ruth: Oh gosh, I had no idea. I'm so sorry.

Myself: It's okay (lies). I hope that you don't mind, but I did read them.

Ruth: That's okay. It would've been weird if you didn't.

(standard awkward pause)

Ruth: I understand now. You read them and you're confused about the subject matter. It must've felt like a lot if you're entirely in the dark. Did your brother never tell you about Tilly?

Myself: Tilly?

Ruth: Right. You know, I'm not so fantastic over the phone. I'd much prefer it if I could see you.

Myself: Sorry, yes, understandable. You don't know me. I get that. What time can you do?

(plans a time, she gives address)

Ruth: I'll look forward to seeing you.

Myself: (awful awkward laugh) Yes, I'm looking forward to seeing you too.

(ends)

"Right. Too private for me to see. I get that."

Ethan is jerked back to reality rudely. His insides feel heavy. He was harsh, but Noel's extreme stiffness doesn't seem justified. Ethan knows the staff haven't been the same with him since his clinical lead stint, but he's working on regaining back the wobbly bond they had once. He smiles, apologetic, even though he's irked by Noel's careless behaviour and the immediate grudge.

"Sorry, I... thank you for giving it back. It could've ended up anywhere."

"No problem," Noel says, grumbling, and turns to return to his usual perch at the reception desk.

It'll never be the same. Ethan knows that he wants this to be his family - because, let's face it, he'll never have his own, not with his dodgy genes - but he's struggling when he seems to be giving but never receiving. They say hellos, but they do that with everyone. They're paid to be hospitable. Ethan wonders if it'll ever be the same as he walks, hands clenched uncomfortably.

"Ooh, hiya," a familiar Geordie voice says. "Forgot how to answer your phone, have you? Good to know you can still work even if your phone hand is broken."

Ethan feels guilty enough to look apologetic. Alicia rests against an Admin desk, and he's forced to stay too.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to just hang up on you like that the other day. Wasn't intentionally rude."

"Why, then?"

"I've got a lot on my mind. I'm sorry," he shuffles, uneasy. "How are you?"

"Yeah. Decent." She crosses her arms and leans. "I, ah, had a counselling appointment with someone new today. Well, this morning. Doesn't really matter about the technicalities."

"How'd that go?"

"Actually, it went alright." Her smile is telling the truth.

"I'm glad," he says, feeling that deeply. "Really glad. Must be a weight off of your shoulders. Someone to talk to without personal strings attached."

"Well, that's the definition of a counsellor."

"Loosely. A counsellor is defined as-"

"How'd your appointment go yesterday then? With the estate agent? Must've heard back by now."

"Doctor Hardy," Connie swans past, eyes never quite looking at his, voice steely firm. "Doctor Munroe. No time for that; we don't need two staff members standing around looking pretty when there's work to be completed. Get to work, please." Her footsteps echo.

When she goes, Alicia raises an eyebrow. "She called us pretty."

"It's an expression. I can't imagine it was intended for me," he begins off, relieved of any excuse to get away from questioning. "And yes, it went how I expected."

"How's that?"

Awful. "Great," he says.

"Fantastic! Have you heard any-"

"Estate agent is speaking to the landlord right now. Fingers crossed, right?"

Lying is like rolling down a hill. It's hard to get started, then it's hard to stop. He's on a literal roll. They came out of his mouth before he can stop them, little white fibs that he knows he'll be ashamed of later. Alicia believes them without a doubt - because why would innocent Ethan lie?

"Fingers crossed!" She says, gleeful.

He leaves her by Admin. It's not a bad lie as such. An intense bending of the truth, that's what it is. A malicious lie is too rich a term. A lie, yes, is something that is not true - but he is under the impression that bad lies and good lies exist. Lies are only bad if they hurt someone or something, surely. If they spare someone a worry, or whatever it is she is feeling toward him, it surely can't be anything but positive. If it's meant with someone's best interests at heart, it can't be wrong, can it?

Nevertheless, he'll procrastinate and make excuses until she finds someone else as a side project to fix. There'll be some drama. Someone will feel broken. She'll fix them, the same way Saint Charlie swoops in to mend a fractured heart at any chance he gets. It is as guaranteed as the sun rising each morning.

Ethan changes in record time, loops his stethoscope in its rightful familiar place around his neck and gets to work.

IseultLaBelle: Aw I'm happy you do! That makes perfect sense. Glad that worked out - characterization is one of my favourite things to write besides description so I'm glad it worked out well. I hope you enjoy chapter three, thank you for your review!

InfinityAndOne: Ah thank you for your vote of confidence dude! Hehe aw. Glad to hear - if nobody was intrigued, I'd be doing a really bad job haha, aw I hope you enjoy this next one - thank you for your review!

Casfics: Yay! It's good you liked the staging of it; thank you for your review!

20BlueRoses: Here's the next one! I hope you like it. Thank you for your review!

Thank you to Catherine4, IseultLaBelle and carebear02 for following this story.