Hello! Hope you enjoy this chapter! It was pretty intense to write, so hopefully that comes across for you.

'Come on, Ethan—I'm fourteen years old, I'm screaming in pain, I don't know where I am and it's clear that I have a lacerated femoral artery—what do you say?"

Ethan's toes curled up inside his slippers, his ankles contorting as he fought for words. Fingernail marks had formed on his palms and beads of sweat clung to his hairline. He grit his teeth and forced out a breath, but it was wordless. It was always wordless.

He found himself spitting pathetically as his jaw finally gave up on him. His head dropped, his chest heaving. He was never going to speak again.

Dr Singh retreated from his position behind Ethan's head and exhaled deeply.

'You want me to go harder? Because I can go harder.' Dr Singh scraped his office chair closer to face his patient. 'You were so close this time, Ethan.'

No, he wasn't. Sure, he'd improved, but Ethan felt nowhere close to speaking again. He imagined that this was what it felt like to be blind to the point that all you can see is dark shadows: he knew something was there, but wasn't sure exactly how to process what it was.

Ethan's teeth chattered unevenly as he tried to ask Dr Singh to try again. The therapist understood, wasting no time in bringing their faces closer together.

'Oh my god—what are you doing?! Don't touch my son; you're not a trained doctor!'

Yes, I am. I am a trained doctor and I am a good doctor.

He felt hot, frustrated tears begin to fall down his humiliated face. It only made him angrier. How could he ever be a good doctor again if he couldn't form words?

'Talk to me! Tell me who you are! Tell me what you're doing to my son!'

Ethan's hands slammed down on the armrests of the wheelchair, his heightened anxiety taking the best of him. An almost inhuman sound escaped him, a noise Ethan had only ever heard in dying patients and his nightmares, and he almost ripped the armrests from their metal frames. Maybe he would have succeeded if he'd had the strength.

'That's good, Ethan!' Dr Singh praised, breaking character. 'Bring that anger to the game! Fight for your voice!'

If Ethan hadn't been so terribly dependent on Dr Singh, he would have rolled his eyes at his phraseology. He understood now the stark range of reviews his colleagues had given the therapist. But he was sobbing, so uncontrollably that no sound was leaving his body. His face was frozen in a grimace, eyes screwed up, jaw locked.

Dr Singh stepped backwards, crouched in front of Ethan and rested his hands on his knees. 'I think we should stop for today. We're done, Ethan. We're done.'

But the younger of the men shook his head once, jerking his head to the right. Once he had forced his body to uncurl and summoned the strength to look Dr Singh in the eye, he lifted one defiant finger.

One more time.

Dr Singh's head tipped as he inhaled silently. He had been waiting for days for Ethan to be ready to fight—and now that day had come, he was questioning how far he could go.

'Alright.' He nodded slowly, pursing his lips. 'Alright… I'm… an elderly gentleman. Query advanced dementia. I'm… belligerent. I need you to calm me down.'

Ethan blinked, gathering his thoughts. He swallowed the painful lump in his throat.

'I don't want you treating me. You're a child. You're stupid, idiotic, foolish. You can't treat me—you're not old enough! Someone get me a real doctor!'

Ethan was sure he could feel his blood boiling. The two men were locked in a fierce stare, so close that Ethan could feel spray on his cheek when Dr Singh's character sneered at him.

I am not stupid. I am not foolish.

'I will not be treated by an amateur! This man is an amateur! This boy is an amateur!'

Fists curled once more, Ethan's body began rocking as he prepared himself to fight. He scrunched his eyes shut, his brow furrowed, summoning up as much courage as he could. He thought about all the times he'd been let down, humiliated, cornered.

'Come on, Ethan!' Dr Singh prodded, before switching back to character. 'You're a failure! Who would ever want to be treated by a doctor like—?'

Ethan's eyes flung open. Dr Singh had been torn from his position in front of Ethan, and was now sprawled against the far wall. Fistfuls of his purple shirt were caught in red, straining fists.

'Who the hell do you think you are, speaking to him like that?!'

Cal was back.

It had only been eight days, but the first thing Cal noticed as he was directed out of prison was how fresh the air was. It felt like the beginning of spring, though spring had definitely already passed. The door clanged shut behind him, an offensive signal of his early departure, and he stumbled clumsily a couple of steps forward.

'This man—not just a man, but a doctor, no less—abused his position of authority when he performed an unprovoked attack on my client. Intuition alone is no excuse for the appalling behaviour of Caleb Knight on the day in question.'

Cal's head shuddered as if he were physically shaking the voices of the Magistrates' Court out of his head. He focused on the scene in front of him, squinting at the bright skies, and barrelled towards the old car that was waiting for him.

'Cal,' Charlie greeted him, his arms opening automatically. The pure confusion on Cal's face was enough for Charlie to act as his father figure. 'Are you feeling okay?'

'Your Worships, I implore—before you cast judgement on the actions of my client—that you understand the enormous pressure that he was under at the time of the incident in question.'

Cal fell into Charlie's embrace without words, if not only because he felt as if he would vomit if he opened his mouth. In relative comparison, Cal's stint in prison had been uneventful, but that did not mean he had enjoyed it. He had faced it with the same philosophy he faced most things with these days: Ethan would not cause trouble, so Cal did not cause trouble.

'As for my learned friend's implication that it was mere intuition that triggered my client's reaction, I think we can all agree that there was more at play here. The fact alone that my learned friend's client could not be bothered to attend the hearing today speaks volumes of his character.'

'Thank you—' Cal leaned back from his friend. '—for picking me up. You didn't have to.'

'Don't worry about that,' Charlie discounted, waving a hand between them. 'I'm heading into work now, anyway. But Cal—are you really alright?'

Cal swallowed harshly, forcing the corners of his mouth up. 'Of course, Charlie.' He began to climb into the passenger seat that Charlie had opened for him. 'Aren't I always?'

'I hold Dr Knight in some of the highest regards that I hold my team, and I assure Your Worships that this alone is not enough for him to lose his medical practitioner status with me. I can also assure you that I have fired people for less. That is enough to speak of Dr Knight's character.'

The car ride was pretty silent. Cal rolled down the window and sucked in the cold air, and while it made the hairs on Charlie's arms stand on end, he was not going to complain. The man had gone through more in a few weeks than most would experience in a lifetime, and was still breathing.

'Does Ethan know?'

Charlie did not let Cal see his surprise at his sudden outburst. He kept his eyes dead ahead and hands positioned firmly on the wheel. 'I haven't told him. I think he still thinks you get out next week.'

'While we have considered this case in its entirety, the fact stands that you, Doctor Caleb Knight, acted in a way that was unsuitable to your surroundings, and illegal in law. For this incident alone, then, we are sentencing you to fourteen days in custody.'

Cal nodded slowly as he assessed his next move. At any other time he would have probably waited in Ethan's bed or by his locker at work to scare him, but this was now, and now was not the time to be playing around. What if Ethan didn't want to see him? What if he was scared of him again?

Cal's hand rested atop his jeans pocket in which he had folded Ethan's Post-It. 'How is he?'

'He's doing okay,' Charlie answered, reminding himself to choose his words carefully. 'He looks forward to his speech therapy sessions. They seem useful to him.'

'I've sent Ethan to some therapy sessions for his speech. From there we'll be able to gage his communication levels and maybe the cause of his difficulties.'

'Is he still staying at the hospital?'

'Yes. But when you get out, I think it might be time for you two to go home.'

'Yeah, Mrs Beauchamp mentioned that when she visited me last week. Dr Singh, right?'

A small chuckle escaped the driver. 'Right. He's there as we speak. It seems to be helping.'

'Hmm.' Cal's eyebrows flicked up and down. 'We've all heard the rumours though.'

'Cal,' Charlie warned as he pulled into the ED's parking lot. 'If we all believed rumours I wouldn't feel nearly as safe bringing you here right now.'

Cal glanced at Charlie, silenced. His brow creased, he rolled up the window and climbed out the car. Every move he made he took care to keep it quiet. He kept his head down as Charlie took him into the hospital.

'So they let you out, did they?' he heard a voice tease as he entered the ED. This was not what he needed right now. 'Good behaviour, was it?'

He summoned up all the courage he had left to throw a grin at Max. 'You know me, mate. A little wink, dash of charm—they all fall for it in the end.'

Charlie exchanged a look with Jacob as they passed, both concerned for their friend's behaviour. But what could they do? Cal was… Cal. Cockiness was his game. Who were they to take that away from him?

'I'll see you later, Charlie. Thanks again,' Cal acknowledged as he made his toward the lift.

He prayed that nobody would get in with him, frantically knocking the buttons in the elevator as he entered. A woman tried to catch it as the doors closed, asking with her eyes for him to stop them, but he just stared straight forward, as if he hadn't seen her, his thumb robotically tapping the button for his floor. As soon as he was trapped, alone, in the capsule, he could feel his eyes pricking. He pushed a fist down his face, pressing it against his mouth, begging himself not to scream. But between floors he suddenly threw his fist out and smashed the STOP button, letting out the most primal yell. He was in too much anguish to spare a thought for anyone who heard it.

Then, as if it had never happened, he sniffed, cleared his throat, and calmly pressed the STOP button once more. He pursed his lips and rolled up his sleeves, and everybody who passed him as he left the lift were none the wiser.

As he approached Dr Singh's office, he could hear yelling. Though he couldn't make out the words, he found himself tripping over his own feet to approach the door. Peering through, he was confronted with an image that he was sure would never leave his memory.

His younger brother, rocking in his wheelchair, his gentle hands squeezed into fists, eyes scrunched, sobbing. And a man, Dr Singh, curved over him, threatening him, screaming at him. It was too reminiscent of the times Cal had found Ethan as a child, as a teen, curled up beneath a person twice his size and half his compassion.

Neither of the men in the room had time to think before Cal had thundered through the door, thrown Dr Singh from his position in front of his brother and pinned him against the wall.

'Who the hell do you think you are, speaking to him like that?!' he hollered, grabbing fistfuls of the man's sickening purple shirt. A loud and flamboyant tie danced in front of him as it tightened, and it only maddened him further.

Dr Singh said nothing. He didn't even try to defend himself. His hands curled around those of his attacker, but he did not fight back, even though Cal was sure he could have taken him. His eyes were locked on Ethan.

'Come on then!' Cal shoved the man against the wall again. 'Show me what a big man you really are!'

'Caleb!'

Cal froze. It couldn't be. There was no way. His grip loosened on Dr Singh, and his eyes flicked in the direction of his brother. His brother, who was now breathing like he'd just run a marathon; standing, barely, his arms and legs shaking violently as he supported himself against the wheelchair; staring straight into the eyes of his older brother.

His voice was scratchy, and had hitched sharply on the second syllable. It was not a pretty sound, not even close: in fact, had Cal not been so desperate to hear Ethan's voice for so long now, he may not have even noticed him speak.

But he had spoken, and that was enough.

I have already begun planning the next chapter so hopefully (I know I say this a lot) I can upload another chapter soon. I always have two more oneshot stories buzzing round in my noggin, so I might try creating those soon too.

Please review! I love to know what you're thinking!