(( AN- I understand that Michaiel's brogue is a bit hard to understand and read- but you're sort of meant to be as confused as Peter is. His accent is that thick. I recommend pronouncing phonetically in your head. Also- it was pointed out to me that I had made a mistake with the holidays in chapter two. They've been corrected- thank you to TheFluffiestUnicorn.))

When Peter's eyes shifted open, he saw a man's face over his with a light shining in his eyes. He groaned, blinking hard; and the man spoke.
"Guid mornin!" the man said loudly, a wide grin on his face, "Ah ne'er thooght yoo'd wake up! Abit time," he commented, looking over his charts, "Nurse Emily takes 'er job serioosly, sweit lassie. She's sweit oan ye ."
His scottish brogue was so thick it was hard to understand him. He stared at him, looking him over closely. If he didn't know better, he'd have thought that this doctor was his brother, or his real father. He had sandy blond hair and bright, keen blue eyes. Stubble dusted his jaw and lip, and Peter couldn't help but noticed that he smelled like leather and black pepper; and it was oddly comforting.

"Who are you?" he asked, trying to get the haze out of his head.
"Mah nam is Michaiel Leómhann. Aam yer doctur noo," he replied, "Yer sister Susan speart me tae tak' ye oan. Noo haud yer weesht." He looked uninterested in answering any of Peter's questions, but he just...couldn't understand the last part. Peter stared at him, completely confused.
"What?" he asked. Michaiel shook his head.
"Um. Ah meant, "Shoot Ahp. Er, be quoo-it." He frowned, having a difficult time expressing what he meant, and simply pressed a finger to his lips, shushing him. Peter may have been a bit dense but he definitely knew what that mean- and he obliged the doctor. Michaiel sat in a chair oposite of his bedside, pouring over several folders. They didn't speak, and Peter was baffled by the fact that this man was apparently his new doctor; but he had nothing to say. No questions, no pills. He kinda liked him.

They both looked at the door as a loud altercation took place in the hall. Michaiel looked over at Peter, a look of amusement on his face as they heard a man yell, "What do you MEAN you've taken him off the medication! I AM HIS DOCTOR and HE NEEDS ON THE MEDICATION!"

"Looks loch Merrit is haur. Seems a bit radge, doesnae he?" he chuckled, rising from his seat. Peter looked at this man in awe as his former doctor blew into the room, his rage thick and opressive. Was he really going to defend him from Merrit? They'd barely even known each other an hour.
"Who do you think you are, you bloody quack!" Merrit yelled, shoving his finger in Michaiel's face. Michaiel didn't even flinch, completely relaxed.
"Ah hink aam haur tae replace ye. aw those years ay schoolin' an' ye cannae e'en pick up oan 'at?" he smirked, shaking his head. Merrit look fit to burst, pushing Michaiel hard as he continued to yell.
"You think you can handle this case but you can't. The boy is mad, and all your experimental therepies won't help him. He needs locked up. Did you even read his file? He was sexually abusing his sisters."

Peter almost screamed, but not before Michaiel reacted. He grabbed Merrit by the front of his shirt, slamming him into the wall.

"Listen tae me closely," he said, his voice full of venom, "Peter is mah responsibility noo. Ye can lae noo, ur ye can lit me gie ye a proper erse kickin' an' 'en ye can lae. Yer choice," he said, letting go of Merrit's collar, "Ye spook. Peddle yer chemicals elsewhere- aam haur tae dae what's reit fur heem, nae what's guid fur mah pooch." Merrit stumbled away, letting out a stream of obscenities as he went. Michaiel turned back to Peter, a grin on his face. He stared at his new doctor in awe and respect; glad that he had let Susan talk him into meeting him. He had not only defended him; he threatened to kick his ass and called him out on stuffing his patients full of chemicals. He was a little confused on what kind of doctor Michaiel was, but there was no doubt in his mind- he was one of the good guys.

"Buck 'at twat, deserved a proper thrashin'...Ah'm only sorry Ah cooldnae gie heem th' medicine he needs. by th' way, ye can caa me Micke," he said, "Noo let's gie ye discharged an' haem, eh?" Peter looked at his hands, a bit upset.
"I don't have a home," he replied, "I lived with a few flatmates- but my mother burnt that bridge for me...or they think I'm dead or disappeaered." He began pulling at all the wires and tubes attached to him, wincing as he yanked out the IV in his hand. Micke came over, reaching out and stilling his hands.
"Peter, dornt be a bampot," he said seriously, "Wa dae ye hate hospitals sae much?" Peter looked away, biting his lip. It was Micke's first question, the first question of billions.
"I hate hospitals because sick people are in hospitals," he mumbled, "I'm not sick. I'm not mad and I'm not sick."
"But ye waur," he replied.
"I'm not anymore!" he shot back, "I'm fine now. I was sick and I spent a night in the freezing rain and..." Micke shook his head, reaching out and patting his leg over the sheet.
"Weel, ye ur reit. ye arenae sick anymair. at leest nae physically," he responded, "Noo we need tae wark oan yer heed."
"So you do think I'm mad?" Peter asked, twisting the sheets in his hands.
"Nae. ye arenae crazy. Ye jist need tae learn hoo tae keep yer days in Narnia tae yerself."

Peter stared at Micke, a simultaneous feeling of joy and dread filling him. "How do you know that Narnia is real?"
Micke just gave him a smile with a mischievous twinkle in his eye.