So it, uh, looks like I finally wrote some of Callum's story! Enjoy!
The patient had narrowed their eyes at him when he had walked in, three student doctors and two trained nurses trailing in after him.
"I know you from somewhere," the patient had said. "We haven't met have we?"
"I don't believe we have," Callum had answered, holding out his hand to shake. "Dr Callum Morrow, consultant surgeon." The patient had looked at his hand then back at him.
"Oh that's it," they'd said, not taking his hand. "That's why I know you. You're the one on the TV that time going on about how bad the Collection Programme is. That's it."
"Hmm," Callum had hummed; a noise of practiced polite, non-commital doctor-answering.
"I don't want you operating on me," the patient had said. "No way. The things you've said about that family. They lose their parents first, and then if that's not enough, that poor poor girl gets murdered. Then her brother dies in a car accident and you're the one saying how bad you have it!? You asked to be a Donor. There's not one of that poor family left to defend themselves. My cousin had a BP and they got on like a house on fire. I don't trust a word you say."
........
Sitting in the hospital restaurant, the conversation played over and over again in Callum's head. He had picked the restaurant quite deliberately over the harsh silence of his office. It was as anonymous as a man in scrubs with scarred arms and a scar around his throat could get in a hospital. Too many other people all caught up in their other people drama to notice him. He doesn't think that he'd have said anything for the patient to complain about, but the truth is that he's not sure exactly what was said after that. He would have been polite. He'd not have risked his record at the hospital or his registration as a consultant by being rude. That much he knows is true.
Quite what his students must think about him though was another matter entirely. His past isn't a huge secret and every new person that he meets, every patient, every new recruit, every student he trains and mentors, they all eye up his scars and whisper when they think he's not looking. But to hear the way that the patient had spoken to him can't have inspired a huge amount of confidence in him. Patients hardly ever tell a surgeon that they don't want them to be the one performing their surgery.
In front of him, the plate of chicken curry and rice was getting colder by the minute. It wasn't even that he was particularly hungry, but the restaurant staff weren't overly keen on people coming in and taking up room that paying customers could use. And so, chicken curry it was. He had mashed it down with the back of his fork into a lumpy puree. A cold one, which he sat and stated at. To the side of the plate, the small dish of melon and custard that he'd picked up for literally no reason suddenly had a use. He tipped the melon and custard into the curry and mashed it all together.
Perfect.
Just like Master Hayden would have made for him to eat. Something with vitamins and nutrients and very little consistency. Something just right for a little wretch who has atoned. And with very little appetite, Callum ate the whole plate. Ingratitude is not to be even thought of. Someone had taken the time and effort to cook this.
And manners cost nothing. He sighed as he pushed his chair back and took the plate, bowl, cutlery, and tray to the rack where they are meant to be stacked by whoever used them. Not left at the table for the staff to clear away. Yes, manners cost nothing, he thought as he muttered thanks to anyone in a uniform on his way back to his office, keeping his head down and eyes on the floor as he went. Getting to the office and closing the door behind himself was a blessed relief. Straight away he went to the shelf where Haz was always sat, ready should he be needed, and picked the teddy up. Pressed him to his face. Breathed in the smell of his fur. It smelled like home. Like real home. Not like atonement in a basement, covered in blood and mud, a cracked masquerade of perfection that never really was.
The knock at the door was unwelcome, when he had only been in there for less than a minute. On instinct born of stress and panic, the noise made him flinch and twist Haz's ear. He chewed his lip and whoever was on the other side knocked again. Carefully, he placed Haz back on the shelf, unwilling to let him go so soon, and opened the door to find his favourite nurse, May, stood the other side.
"I heard what happened," she said with no preamble. It was part of why he liked her so much. She always had his back and always had her ear to the ground. And always got straight to the point. "Did you put Haz back on his shelf when I knocked?"
"Yeah," Callum said, rubbing at his forehead, at the spot where his bruise always used to be. Where, if someone really looked hard enough, they would see a slight dip that was left from his brain surgery, another step along the road to recovering from what Master Hayden had done to him.
"Do you want to get him?"
"Umm... yeah. Yeah I do,"
"Well, come on then," she said, hustling him gently back into the office. He didn't need to be told twice, hurrying back to the shelf and grasping Haz hard. "Better?"
"Much," he said, pausing for a moment. "I...I never lied May. Never. It's all true. I can't lie because it's not allowed and rules like that stick. They stick when they've been carved and burned and beaten and broken into you."
"I know," she said, coming to him and taking his hands in hers, Haz squashed up in between them. "Everyone who matters knows. And anyone who doesn't know? Doesn't matter."
Callum looked down at their hands. At Haz.
"If this bear could talk," he said with a sigh.
"If this bear could talk," May said. "He'd tell you how wonderful you are. And how proud he is of you. And he'd say thank you for keeping him safe all this time. Most of all, he'd say we'll done and thank you for telling the truth to the whole world."
He could feel his throat getting tighter and thicker with the feeling of tears as he listened to May speaking. As she stepped in to keep him from sinking too far back into the past where all he had to rely on for safety was a list of ten rules and the tenuous safety of atoning for temporary perfection, knowing that one day his luck and his time would run out.
The past was not the place to be. Anything that had dressed itself up as safety back then had been a lie. He didn't have to rely on those lies anymore.
"You want to call Rory?" May asked quietly. Callum nodded. He wanted to do that very much. Very much indeed. May squeezed his hands before letting go, standing on tip toes to press a kiss to his forehead. "You be back for ward rounds on time Dr Morrow, you hear?"
He smiled at her and kissed her back.
"I'll meet you down there."
Tagging the old team but it's been a while. Please say if you want off the list! No one is more surprised that this got written and posted than I am! @haro-whumps @grizzlie70 @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @bloodybrambles @iaminamoodymoodtoday @burtlederp @my-whumpy-little-heart @pepperonyscience @faewhump @whump-tr0pes @spookyboywhump @finder-of-rings @liliability @whumpfigure @girlwithacoolcat @tears-and-lilies @inpainandsuffering @whumppsychology @ashintheairlikesnow @justabitofwhump
