Trying to make the most being snowed in to get some writing done but it's not going well. Luckily this part was already written. Please take heed of my customary warning that the things Cal says/thinks about himself and his injury are not a reflection of my own thoughts towards people with a disability. & I promise this story will soon become positive enough for me not to have to write that at the beginning of every chapter!

Nice long part so please spare me a few minutes of your time to read and review. I really appreciate all feedback, even just a few words.

Casualtyfandom86: Thank you so much. I'm really pleased you're enjoying reading this and it's so kind to compliment my writing. Hope it continues to improve every chapter - it's a lot to live up to but I will if I can! Hope you like the update.

Bonnie Sveen Fan: Thanks for reviewing. Ethan's such a nice person and good doctor that I like to think he'd be comforting to his patients whatever he has going on in his head, but it can't be easy. Cal would certainly benefit from getting support from Ethan, Charlie and the team but the question is, will he let them support him? You're certainly right that it's going to be hard for him to adjust. Thanks again and hope you enjoy this next chapter too.

casualtyfics111: Wow, thank you, that's so kind of you to say. There are so many good writers on here but I always try my best so I'm glad you think it's paying off. Thanks for reviewing and hope you like this next installment too.


4.


Cal glares at his hospital room door hoping that if he does so for long enough, someone will walk in and free him from his boredom. Ethan had told him to use his time wisely, whatever that means, but Cal had already watched film after film and he thinks starting another will result in him throwing his laptop across the room. He's not that far gone that he doesn't know he'd regret breaking his laptop.

It's only been a few hours since Ethan went but it feels like days. His brother's visit was only ever going to be a short one as it was before his shift, but it had been cut even shorter as Cal had refused to speak to him and Ethan had given up and left. Cal knows he's not easy company at the moment. He wishes he could snap out of it but every time his brother tells an interesting story and there's a cusp of a joke on his lips in reply, he remembers about his leg and how it's futile trying to be happy.

Yet now he's by himself again, he wishes he hadn't been so hasty to get rid of his brother. The visits irritate him because Ethan usually wants to talk about his recovery and what he should or shouldn't be doing to aid it. But his little brother has spent years telling him off so there's also a sense of familiarity in it that's vaguely comforting. Besides, he likes the distraction. As long as Ethan's talking about something other than his leg, he can focus on the words his brother's saying and not the words screaming in the back of his mind.

Impulsively, he reaches for his phone and dials Ethan via the frequent entries on call history. He's not sure what he wants to say to his brother but maybe something along the lines of I'm sorry, come back, I won't blank you this time. The phone rings and rings until the voicemail kicks in. Cal listens to his brother's stupid, unfunny message and then wordlessly ends the call. He sighs. It's probably just as well, he'd only drag Ethan's mood down too.

It occurs to him that he might be depressed. He doesn't want to put a label on it, there are too many floating around already: amputee, patient, disabled, but he knows he's never felt this low before, not even after everything happened with Taylor and Matilda or when the truth about their parentage came out and he thought he might have inherited an incurable disease.

He wonders if that's why this happened. He escaped the Huntington's so he's been cursed with this instead. Perhaps he deserves it. Perhaps this is karma at its finest. One of the problems about being bedridden is that he's had chance to think about all the times he's done wrong. He imagines being surrounded by all the people he's hurt and them pointing at him, telling him he had it coming. There are the girls he cheated on, whose hearts he broke, bosses whose work he shirked, the woman who raised him whom he failed to care for, his birth mother whom he barely knew. Worse than that, his baby brother, who he lied to, stole from, upset with a constant flow of jibes and put downs. Well, he's got his comeuppance now and he fucking hates it.

And yet he still can't help but question why him. Couldn't the helicopter have aimed for someone who had less to lose?

Cal slams his hand down on the mattress. It feels as though his head is about to explode. He wishes he could stop thinking, even for a minute, but every time one thought process ends, another starts. On cue, he's hit with a vision of the future. The thought of spending the rest of his life feeling like this is almost as hard to bear as the thought of spending it without half a leg, but he doesn't see how anything will improve. It's like being held prisoner with no hope of release.

But beneath the commotion of his thoughts, he knows accepting the injury would make things easier. He just doesn't see how he can. He's watched athletes and ex-soldiers on television do amazing things without all four of their limbs and yet he feels no kinship with them. He doesn't possess whatever attribute drives them to succeed. Besides, he doesn't want medals; he just wants his old life back.

Charlie had suggested the first step to feeling better is for him to look at his leg. It's not something he wants to do. Every time the nurses have changed his dressing, he's fixed his eyes on one of the posters on the wall and can now quote most of them word for word. But he's a doctor. He's seen all kinds of injuries. And if, by some miracle, it's not as bad as he's expecting, it might release him from his inner torment.

He tugs the duvet off and stares at his legs. The right is severely bruised but it's the left that makes his stomach churn. The leg ends abruptly and even though it's swathed in bandages, dark bruises have travelled onto the uncovered skin. He yanks his three-quarter length joggers up to his thigh. His knee is intact but somehow looks wrong too, as if it's pointless being there when it doesn't have a full leg beneath it to operate.

Cal drags what's left of his leg up to rest on his healthy thigh. Until now he's remained as stationary as possible and so despite the hollow ache, he's relieved he can still move it. His hands inch across the bandage, trying to find the end without pressing down on the wound. But once he has the end of the bandage between his fingers, he freezes. He shuts his eyes and takes a deep breath and pleads with the universe to make whatever he sees okay.

Then he starts to unwind.


Ethan enters the staffroom and heads straight for his locker, ignoring the throng of his colleagues already in there. The one-sided conversation with Cal has drained him of what little energy he had and he wants to conserve what little's left for patients rather than idle small talk.

His briefcase is bulging with paperwork, research into amputation recovery and progress of prosthetics which he hopes to show his brother once he's strong enough to take an interest, and it barely fits into the tight constraints of his locker. He shoves the door shut and holds it in place as he twists the lock. He barely manages a step away before he realises his stethoscope is still trapped in there. The groan that slips from his lips is accidental but loud enough to alert his colleagues.

"You okay?" A familiar northern accent comes from just behind him.

"Yeah," he says. "Sorry."

As he fights to open the locker, Alicia places a concerned hand on his. "Has something happened?"

"No. Nothing has happened, that's the problem," he hisses. "Nothing I do can fix anything." His key still won't budge and in frustration he slams his palm against the locker. Either he's broken it or he's incapable. The potential reason behind his ineptitude sends a chill down his spine.

"Let me," she says calmly. She takes the key off him and deftly twists it in the lock, the door springing open. "Right, now that's out the way, you can tell me what's really wrong."

Ethan sags. He considers spilling everything to her; how his chest aches every time he watches his brother cry, how he wishes they could go back in time, how it hurts him when Cal refuses to speak but that he doesn't really know what to say either. He wants to tell her that he feels useless, that he's never come across a problem of Cal's that he can't fix before, and that he's suffocating with his own worries but he's buried them to take care of Cal and yet he's failing him anyway.

"It doesn't matter," he eventually stammers. "I, um, I'm okay. Nothing a good night's sleep won't cure, anyway!"

"Hmm," she says, sceptically. "Well, on the off chance that's a big fat lie, here's something that might help."

She throws her arms around his neck. Ethan can't help but wish that it was his brother holding him instead but he feels a flush of embarrassment at the childish thought and forces himself to relax into her embrace. It's surprisingly comforting, at least until Max wolf whistles and Jez shouts something about Alicia identifying her next prey.

She drops him and throws a firm "not funny" in the direction of the two chuckling men.

Ethan retrieves his errant stethoscope and heads out of the staffroom to start his shift early.

"Ethan!" Alicia catches up with him just a few metres down the corridor. "I'm sorry. They're insensitive idiots but they're just having a laugh." She pauses. "Max should know better. I heard he was there when-"

"That wasn't why I left," he says hastily. "I wanted to get to work."

"But you're on the same shift as me," she reminds him. "We have fifteen minutes still."

"Yes, well, a head start can't hurt."

She gives a tight lipped smile. "Sure you're okay?"

He gives a robotic nod and continues down the corridor before she has chance to interrogate him further. He's working in minors today and so he selects a file from the tray and scans through the notes. One word halts him. His heart thumps against his rib cage. He doesn't want to treat a patient with that. He doesn't ever want to treat that kind of patient but knows his Hippocratic Oath forbids him from spurning a condition due to personal preference. He just doesn't see why it has to be today he does it when his barriers are already weakened and penetrable. He wonders if anyone would notice if he slid the file back onto the pile.

"Even if you blame me too," a voice says, "it's imperative we discuss work related issues."

Ethan turns and at the sight of Lily by his side, he jumps.

"Ethan, I have you heard a word I've been saying?" she asks, frowning. "I've been calling your name."

"I- um, yeah," he stammers. "Actually, no, sorry. Not the name calling bit. World of my own." He shuts the file before Lily notices what's on the patient's records and works out why he was distracted. "Lily, I don't blame you for what happened."

"Your brother does."

"Cal's… hurting. Please don't take what he said to you to heart."

Lily pauses and stares at the ground, suddenly uncertain. "It was my call though. I performed the procedure. I-"

"You saved his life, Lily."

"I amputated his leg."

Ethan takes a shaky breath. "You did what you had to. What any of us would have done, Cal included."

"Do you mean that?" Lily asks softly.

"Yes. Don't feel guilty. Cal's going to be okay, I'll make sure of it." She gives him a grateful smile but Ethan can tell nothing he'll say will fully reassure her. He pauses. "Um, what was the work related thing?"

"Oh." Her shoulders relax. "Cubicle three: emphysema. Don't trust him when he says he's stopped smoking. He was very convincing until I caught him sneaking out for a cigarette."

"Thanks for the heads up. I'll check on him shortly," Ethan says. He uses the closed file to point in the direction of the adjacent cubicle. "I have a patient I should examine first."

"I'll let you get on," she says. "But, Ethan. Thanks."

He smiles his response but as soon as he turns back to the cubicle he feels his face drop. He takes a deep breath and pulls the curtain to the side.

"Hello, Joanna, I'm Doctor Hardy," he begins. His patient is in her mid-forties but looks older, a heavily lined face suggesting a difficult life. Her arm is in a temporary sling and there's a slight abrasion to her forehead. "It says here you, um, fell."

"My l-legs gave way," she stammers. "H-had to be when I was by the coffee table, d-didn't it? Not a soft l-landing."

"You landed on the coffee table?"

"Yes," she says. Her injured arm jerks and she winces. "This b-blasted disease has made me a- a klutz!"

Ethan tries to supresses the shiver that runs through him. He avoids looking at both his notes and his patient and blinks several times. "You have Huntington's Disease," he states, matter of fact.

"Guilty."

"From first impression, I'd estimate mid-stage progression?"

"You're g-generous," she says. "My c-consultant says latter s-stage."

Ethan bows his head. "Right. And- And do you have appropriate support at home?"

"C-carers. Three of them. L-lovely ladies."

"It says you were found alone." He frowns. "Where we the carers when you fell?"

His patient throws him a pleading look. "Nikita was r-running late. R-ruby couldn't stay. Wouldn't w-want her to; she's g-got a little one to pick up from n-nursery."

"That shouldn't have happened."

"D-don't tell," she begs. "They're good g-girls. Do a lot f-for me."

Ethan shakes his head. "I should really report it," he says. "It's negligence." The expression on his patients face causes him to sag. "I'll think about it, okay? For now, let's focus on you." He reads the monitor she's attached to. "The good news is your pulse is healthy. I do want to rub a blood test though, just to eliminate the possibilities it was anything other than your Huntington's that caused the fall."

"N-needles?"

"Afraid so," Ethan says. "But, Nurse…" he peers over to the nurses' station and calls over the first nurse that makes eye contact. "…Miller is very experienced at taking blood samples. You'll barely feel a thing."

"Th-that's if my arm k-keeps still."

Ethan hesitates. "Do you, um, have any control at all over the contractions?"

He knows the answer but the shock as she says no is almost physical, like being shoved in the chest. He's grateful that Robyn is busying herself with the blood sample so that the patient is distracted while he composes himself.

"May I take a look at your arm?" he asks. With consent he unties the cloth sling from behind her shoulder and places it on a pillow on the patient's lap. Her arm flinches as if she doesn't want him to examine it, but he knows the movement is involuntary. "Are the tremors making the pain worse?"

She nods.

"Once I've reviewed your existing medication, I'll get you something to help." He works his hands along her arm, checking for any contusions or swelling. "Can you wiggle your fingers please?"

She manages the movement without problem.

"Okay, looks like a simple fracture but we'll know more after the X-Ray. Nurse Miller, can you get that booked?" He turns back to his patient. "I'll be back with the results once we have them but in the meantime Robyn here will look after you."

"Y-you haven't told me w-what you d-decided."

"Ah," Ethan says. He knows that accidents happen; his mum and brother were both injured while under Cal's care, but he can't help thinking this could have been avoided if she hadn't been left alone.

"They're the b-best carers I've h-had," she continues. "P-partner didn't want to help. These g-girls do. D-don't take that f-from me too."

Guiltily, Ethan nods. He's still sure he should report it, to their workplace if not social services, but he can't bring himself to deliver another blow to the already fragile woman. "You're certainly persuasive," he says, with a smile. "Okay. I won't report them."

"Used t-to be in m-marketing," she says. "G-glad to see I still have the s-skill." Her body jerks again. "Thank you, D-Doctor."

"You're welcome. See you in a short while."

Ethan exits the cubicle with her slurred speech echoing in his mind. He got used to the way his biological mum spoke but that was before his own diagnosis. Now, it's impossible to listen to someone with deteriorated language without imagining how his own words might be stolen from him.

All he wants is for someone to promise him he won't end up like that. But he's a doctor and a realist and knows no amount of reassurance will free him from the inevitable onset. His chest clenches and he realises his brother is going through the same. Nothing he says can convince Cal he's going to be okay when he's already lost his leg.

Ethan stumbles into the next cubicle in daze. The patient is struggling for breath, his oxygen mask around his neck rather than his mouth. Ethan jumps into action, repositioning the mask and placing his stethoscope on the man's chest. The wheezing from his lungs is a concern and he hastily releases the breaks on the bed and calls for help to wheel him through to Resus.

Ethan can feel his phone going in his pocket. It's either Cal or a junk call but he's not able to check while his patient's condition is worsening.

"Okay, try to stay calm," he tells the patient. "We're going to help you breathe easier." He recognises the man as the emphysema patient Lily described during their handover. "It's important to be honest," he continues, "so we can treat you most effectively. Have you had a cigarette recently? Don't speak, just nod or shake your head."

The patient moves his head from side to side.

Ethan's sceptical but he knows better than to rile a breathless patient. "Okay." He calls Charlie over. "Can we get him on a nebuliser? And I want an urgent chest CT."

He watches the monitor carefully as Charlie fits the devise and is relieved to see the readings improve. As his patient stabilises he chances a quick look at his phone. The missed call is from Cal. He excuses himself and huddles in the admin cupboard as he phones his brother back. The call dials out. Ethan sighs. It's probably nothing serious, but it's the first time Cal has initiated conversation since his accident and whether there's an emergency or he just wants company, Ethan isn't going to let him down. If Cal won't answer, he'll go and visit.


Cal can't stop staring at it. His throat is tight, his chest heaving and his cheeks hot with tears, yet he can't drag his eyes away.

The skin is a multitude of shades, blues and reds and blacks, and is swollen so violently it's barely recognisable as a leg. Amid the swelling, the wound is a thick, dark line held together by spidery stiches. Half his calf has gone but it's the lack of a foot which turns his shivery tears into loud, heartbroken sobs.

It's every bit as bad as his worst suspicions.

It feels like the amputation has just been carried out in front of his eyes. With his injured leg naked and stretched out before him, his breaths grow panicky. There's no way out of this. There's no way to get rid of the ugly stump. The room feels oppressive with the truth that nothing he can do can fix this and he splutters for air. His hands clutch at his t-shirt. He tugs the material away from his neck as if doing so will also open up his windpipe. He wishes he could disappear.

He doesn't realise anyone else is in the room until the sound of his name breaks through the din inside his head. As his sobs further obstruct his airway a choking noise is thrust from his throat. His eyes sting. He doesn't understand how that can be his leg.

"Cal." A pause. "Cal, look at me."

He feels paralysed, vision locked on his leg, unable to think of anything else.

"Caleb, please. Look at me."

Gentle hands take the side of his head and slowly turn it. The hands are stroking his cheeks now but there's still enough pressure for Cal's gaze to gradually shift from his leg to the concerned face of his brother.

"It's okay, it's okay, just-"

Cal's eyes flicker back to his leg.

"No, no, Caleb, focus on me. Try to calm your breathing."

Cal's lips flap wordlessly. He makes a gagging noise. His lungs hurt.

The stroking of his face becomes frantic. "Cal, breathe out or I'm going to have to go and get help." Ethan's so close to him their chests are almost touching. "Come on, match it to my breathing. Yeah? Yeah, exhale, that's it."

Cal's dizzy but he tries to do as his brother tells him, guided by Ethan's exaggerated breaths. Eventually he manages to calm himself, only the occasional sob getting in the way of normal breathing. He hangs his head. He didn't know until that's it's possible to feels so empty yet so full of pain at the same time.

Ethan's hands leave him but his brother remains nervously in front of him looking like he's walked into a disaster zone. Cal doesn't want to see that pitying look on his face so he pulls his good leg up to his chest and buries his head in his arms. He doesn't have the energy to prevent his heaving shoulders giving away that he's still crying.

Time drags on, the silence as painful as words. It's obvious Ethan doesn't know what to say. This is one situation where even his brother can't put things right. The years of relying on Ethan to patch up his messes were always going to end one day, but Cal's not ready for it to happen yet.

After minutes that feel like hours, Ethan clears his throat. "That needs re-bandaging."

Cal's chest twinges. His little brother's still trying to be the practical support but the wobble in his voice reveals how hopeless it all is.

"Shall I do it or do you want me to get a nurse?"

"You," Cal whispers. He wants it covered and out of sight as soon as possible.

"Okay," Ethan says.

Cal remains still as Ethan hunts through the cabinet for spare bandages. There's a clatter as the drawer bangs shut and then the bid dips as Ethan sits down. Cal lets his brother rest his leg in his lap but keeps his eyes hidden, scared of another breakdown if he catches a glimpse of the injury.

Ethan quietly narrates what he's doing but somewhere between finishing the final wrap of the bandage and affixing it with tape, the conversation changes. "Cal, why did you..?"

Cal doesn't think he can explain to Ethan how he'd somehow hoped removing the bandages would reveal a perfectly healthy leg. He shrugs. "Trying to get my head around it," he mutters into his arms.

He doesn't need to look at his brother to be sure he gives an anxious nod in response.

"All finished," Ethan says, but he keeps hold of Cal's leg. "Caleb, if you touch the area," he continues, "like this…" He lightly massages the end of the stump. "It's meant to help you get used to it. The- the leaflets said."

Ethan's hands are gentle but the sensation's weird, Cal's mind not yet adjusted to touch on somewhere that had previously been unreachable. He raises his head and looks at his brother uncertainly.

"Do you want to try?"

Cal's brain's beginning to catch up, to realise that that's the end of his leg now and it makes him light-headed. He lifts his leg out of his brother's hold and gives a short shake of his head.

Ethan sighs. "Okay, but at some point you need to start taking the advice."

Cal doesn't see why he has to take anyone's advice. He wasn't responsible for the accident so why is it now down to him to put his injury right? Yet he knows that if their positions were reversed, Ethan would be doing everything by the book, reading the pamphlets, doing the exercises and praising all the staff. But he can't do that. Every time he tries it feels as if there's a heavy weight on top of him, pushing him back down onto his sick bed. Undressing his leg was the furthest he got and that ended in disaster. He's not Ethan, he'll never be, and the last thing he needs is his brother reminding him of how badly he's coping. He glowers at his brother, the earlier desire to have his company now lost.

"I know it's hard," Ethan continues. "But if you're sensible now it will make the coming months much easier."

Cal wants to point out that it's not as simple as flicking a switch and becoming sensible. Instead, he folds his arms across his chest and deepens his frown. "Stop talking to me like I'm a kid."

Ethan opens his mouth then shuts it again and shuffles uncomfortably. "That wasn't my intention."

He'd been expecting a retort but this is worse. His brother refusing to argue with him is proof that something is wrong. Frustration causes his thoughts to knot together. His leg is butchered, his life is ruined and his little brother is treating him like he's an idiot. He glares at Ethan through narrowed eyes. He needs an argument; he needs to refocus the pain somewhere other than his leg.

"How could you let them do this to me?" he demands off his brother.

Ethan flinches. "Cal, I'm sorry, but there was no other option. It had to be done to save your life."

"Then you should have let me die."

For a moment Ethan looks like he's been slapped but then his body slumps and his chin trembles and he starts to blink furiously. "You- you don't mean that?"

There's a twinge of guilt in Cal's chest but his mouth's on autopilot now, the words he's been smothering for days tumbling out one after the other. "Why would you think I wanted to live like this?"

"You've had a terrible shock," Ethan says. "But it's only been a week. Things will improve, I promise, you-"

"I'll never be the same," Cal says. "I'll never be normal."

"Caleb, you have so much still to live for."

"Name one thing."

Ethan falters. His lips flap. Cal longs for him to say something to turn his mood around.

"You- you can do anything," Ethan stutters.

"Except for walk," Cal says. He blinks and a tear trickles down his cheek. He doesn't bother to wipe it; his skin is already hot and damp from crying. Ethan tries to take his hand but he snatches it away.

"You can do that too," Ethan says in a small voice. "I won't lie, it will take time and effort, but you'll get there, I know you will."

"Admit it, Ethan, my life is over."

"That's not true."

Cal shakes his head. He wants to believe it but he doesn't see how things will ever be okay again. "Easy for you to say," he snaps. "You don't know how this feels."

Ethan takes a shuddery breath. "How it feels to have your health taken from you? I have a pretty good idea."

Cal looks at his brother and is shocked by the hurt in his eyes. He can't believe he's forgotten about Ethan's diagnosis. Up until the last week it had been the only thing on his mind. "That's different," he mutters reluctantly.

"Yeah. Yeah it is." Ethan repositions himself on the mattress so that he's fully facing his brother. "And you know the biggest difference? You're going to get well again. From here, things will only improve and you can live a- a normal life."

Cal's silent. His head aches with thoughts.

"I don't want to argue over who's got it worse but, Cal, I do know how it feels."

"The difference the way I see it," Cal continues. "This could have been avoided."

"Yeah, if the helicopter hadn't crashed…"

"If you'd tried harder. There would have been a way around it, I know it. Or was it revenge, Ethan? You're still sore it wasn't me who got the gene?"

Ethan's bottom lip quivers. "That's not fair."

"What was it I overheard you say? Caleb's just perfect? You couldn't bear that, could you, Ethan? After all the things I've done. Well guess what," he chokes, "I'm not perfect any more. I'm defective just like you."

Ethan's eyes are shining. "Cal, I'm not letting you push me away. I want to help."

"You don't. You just want to be the martyr that fixes me." Cal's barely knows what he's saying anymore. "Well you can't this time." His voice breaks on the final syllable. "You can't."

Ethan looks away but Cal doesn't miss him dabbing at his eyes. A lump sticks in his throat. After Ethan had been diagnosed, he'd promised himself he wouldn't upset his brother again and now he'd done just that. His head's still hot with anger but he doesn't want to punish his little brother.

"You'd better go, Ethan," he says, desperate to get rid of him before he says anything else he'll regret.

Without speaking or even looking at him, Ethan gets up and leaves.