'So,' the social worker clears her throat. 'You seem rather smitten with this child, Ethan. Would you agree your level of care over the past 48 hours has extended beyond your medical duty?'

Scarcely even acknowledging the woman, who sounds like she's landed out the 1950s, he scoops the infant up in one splayed palm and tucks him into his chest. He knows this will give her the answer she's searching for. Besides, between the pompous language choice and the cold stares of the panel, he isn't altogether sure his brain and mouth would coordinate and respond back in comprehensible English.

He doesn't want to be interrogated, not least over a child. It seems wrong, like they're sussing him out as a candidate for a job. But being rude will do no favours. Charlie told him to keep a cool head. With a gathered nod, he gazes back at them.

'In my life, I've had to work to get exactly what I want. A career in medicine, of course, monumentally being one of those things. Most people would say you'd be fortunate to have a job like mine. I don't deny it's a privilege,' he says coolly, noticing four sets of narrowed eyes fix on his own. 'I passed my driving test even though it took two years. I tried my hardest for the part of Joseph in the nativity at the age of six. I was determined, in spite of my lisp and thick-lensed spectacles. Turned out my teacher was right to be doubtful though. Whenever I faced forward, the glass reflected the lighting and dazzled the front row. They had to urgently recast and I ended up as the donkey. No child wants that part, do they?'

Nobody laughs.

'Not many people have the misfortune of having to attest to fighting for a person, and if they do, it is usually romantically. Well, every person who's drifted into my life has been temporary. Myself and my elder brother Caleb were put up for adoption. Our adoptive parents went through a divorce and abandoned us when we went to uni. My birth mother died from a terminal illness just as I rekindled with her, my brother was assaulted two years ago and lost his life due to complications—'

'Familiar with bad luck, eh,' comments the policeman, sitting forward in his seat.

'Just a little,' he says faintly. 'Lying in a bed just a few corridors away from us is Dr Alicia Munroe, a passionate medic. She has been through a rough time over the past few months, resulting in a subsequent coma. It is a stressful period for us as a department, and a terrifying time as a friend.'

The social worker's eyes are wide and brown, pools of apathy against her pale skin. She shuffles some papers and reads almost robotically off a sheet. It is laughable, except the harrowing cause of the meeting really isn't. All of them are stone cold. They do this every week, day in, day out. Why should his life be an exception? A plug of sadness stoppers his throat.

In your statement, you wrote that you would be willing to be granted complete custody of her premature son until, and if, she recovers.'

'She will,' replies Ethan tersely.

'Will what?'

'Recover, you said if.'

'Covering all bases, sir. I am sure you understand the statistics at least twice as well as—'

Now they are being pleasant, polite smiles of sympathy twisting their expressions. Just doing their job, but he hates them for it.

'Yes, I-I understand that and I would never hesitate to step up for this child.'

'Why?' asks the policeman.

One syllable leaves him truly stumped, searching his clouded mind for words that would near summarise why. It is a long story; longer than long. If he were to joke and tell them they might need a while, that would never work. Ironically, they all go home in forty five minutes today, no doubt to respectable neighbourhoods, to nice little families with children who cling to their knees and chatter on whilst the aroma of homemade cottage pie smacks them in the face. Alright for some, for most.

'I have stayed awake for nearly three days with this little man, taken him to see his mummy all strapped up to tubes. He is every bit like her. Blonde hair sprouts from his head, his scalp flakes already and he has her skin, her deep blue eyes, her way of silent pondering, her stubby toes with razor-sharp nails—'

'Sounds like you've been doing a lot of studying,' says the woman plainly. 'And not just of the baby.'

'Meaning?'

'What exactly was the nature of your relationship with Alicia?'

'It is complex. Never a day have we hated each other, quite the reverse, but circumstances meant we could never blossom into anything better than a friendship,' he explains. 'Uh, a friendship quite profound.'

The panel exchange glances.

'Before lunchtime today, did you know of the rape ordeal your dear friend faced?'

'Forgive me, how is that question relevant?'

The social worker remains silent and he looks worse for not answering, like he is guilty of something, although he is positive they already know and they're just looking for how he will worm his way out and look less of a shit friend. It still hasn't fully sunk in. He wishes he could rewind time so that he wasn't in the loos at the same time as Rash. As for now, these people are deliberately trying to trip him up and he cannot possibly vindicate his terrible shortcoming. How can he, when ultimately it landed her in a hospital bed? Congratulations to them, he thinks, they've finally dug up the hamartia of the stuttering, do-no-wrong doctor.

'We are trying to ascertain the intimacy, or lack thereof, as the case may be, between the pair of you in the absence of Alicia's comment either way.'

Posh terminology for a set of strangers second guessing what a woman they've never met before might want.

'I knew something was wrong for months,' he concedes quietly. 'I just knew.'

'Knew how?' probes the policeman.

'On her face, I could- I could sense it. Avoidance of eye contact, then clinging to me and pleading with me to stay with her, dismissing others, this vibe—'

'Intuition is a rather flimsy ground for us to deem you a suitable guardian for baby M.'

'Baby M?'

'Yes, the initial of his surname.'

Horror surges through his veins and he thinks surely not, surely they wouldn't have used Eddie's, before remembering indeed about her surname.

'Oh, yes,' he says tiredly. 'I have a lot of regrets about my lack of support in the past few months but I passed my consultancy exams and was pretty wrapped up in all things me. Either way, I accept there is no way to make myself sound less pathetic, other than assuring you I am completely dependable and I would move mountains for Alicia and this boy of hers.'

Ethan swallows tentatively and glances back down at the baby sleeping across his lap, watches as he balls his red fists to his dimpled cheeks and opens and closes his mouth like a little fish. He recognises this tiny boy overwhelmingly so. Perhaps that is because he is a carbon copy of her. At least, that's what he tries to convince himself. In truth, there is only a slither of doubt in his mind. Time has lapsed and saying something now would be a dangerous move.

One of them looks straight at him and catches his eye, holding steely contact for a while. He worries quickly that he is easier to read than he thinks, but, after a pause, the lady smiles comfortingly.

'It's quite obvious you think the world of that child, and that viewpoint is rare even in new parents—'

He holds his breath momentarily.

'You seem a devoted friend and I am sorry for all your cruel losses. Over the next two working days, we will liaise with the child welfare officer, the appointed solicitor and paediatric team here at Holby City Hospital. In that time we'll chat to a couple of colleagues who understand the dynamic from an objective point of view. Baby M will stay in the care of the hospital until then but you are welcome to visit in accordance with policy here.'

'Thank you,' whispers Ethan.

'All the best,' says the police officer as he stands up, shaking his free hand and accompanying it with a firm nod.

-x-

As they turn corner after corner in a place so well-known, they finally arrive outside the nursery. It is bleak and dismal, a temporary home to the poor babies who don't have parents to cuddle, swaddle them and take them home in nice car seats. They get cheap budget knitted blankets and plastic sheets in case of stains. Though Ethan did a stint on the neonatal ward, he now notices glumly that the "cribs" are merely a plastic box. All of it seems so inhumane. Worse still, when a nurse occasionally pops in, the babies get fed cheap, chalky liquid poorly fortified and manufactured to bulk them up rather than fill their delicate tummies. And albeit perfectly balanced, it must be disgusting. He feels the medic in him withering away by the second.

'I know it is noisy, darling,' he whispers, cradling the stirring baby against his shoulder. 'Some of your friends in there scream all day long. I think it might just be because they are sad and scared.'

The baby snuffles against his shoulder.

'I am having to be brave now. Promise me you will be a brave boy too. Once I'm less grouchy, I will come straight back for you and we'll go on a nice little walk. We can see the trees in the park and I'll even show you what the ducks look like.'

His heart breaks as he absentmindedly pictures the baby in home clothing, pink cheeked, gurgling away like he should be. He hasn't been alive to see the moon orbit earth even three times yet. A newborn baby shouldn't have anything to be brave about, for God's sake. One of the younger looking nurses from inside has spotted them and waved cheerily. Time is running out to say what he needs to in private.

'Trust is something you'll learn about when you get bigger. Hopefully you'll do a better job of it than me. I know that this world already seems a pretty mean place to you, and that I'm pants as a substitute for your mummy. Please trust me, little Max, I will protect you no matter what. Even from afar.'