(no subject)

Not Holby. Milliways. Room 147.

Guppy stares at the ceiling. It's been nice to have a good night's sleep for a change. The room is exactly how he remembered it, down to the little smudge on the ceiling that looks a little like a flamingo. Not that a flamingo lives in this room any more.

He is not tired, but he is still angry.

'Everybody does it Gurpreet. We could all use a little extra cash...'
'Harry is involved too. You don't want to get him into trouble...'
'I don't believe you.' Harry wouldn't do that. Harry wouldn't put patients at risk for profit.
But he has, and he is. He's betrayed them. He's betrayed me. I can't work for a man like that.
What if I'm wrong?
I'm not wrong. I've found evidence. It's unethical to test drugs on people unknowingly. I'd expect it of father, but not of him. I have to go.

He looks at his watch, mindful that he needs to spend exactly twenty six hours in here to get his body clock right when he goes out. What he sees puzzles him for a moment.

Twenty past nine? But that's when I came in.

He waits for the second hand to move in its usual twelve second ticking pattern. It stays put. He lies back on the bed.

Great, just great. I knew it was a risk coming in here so tired. Now I get to be Bound on top of everything else. Not that I want to go home at the moment. Maybe the bar just wants me to have some thinking time.

It's got its advantages. He needs to eat, he needs to sleep, and he needs to decide what to do next. Should he confront Harry? The goals are clear this time. Breakfast would be a good starting point. He gets up and spots something underneath where he had been lying. He picks it up and has a look. It's like a photograph, except it's not printed on normal paper. It looks more like dried out bullrushes. It's hard to make out, because it's slightly blurred, but he can see a very small flamingo in a flock, sitting on an egg. The ink seems to be some sort of mud or oil, primative but beautiful. Turning it over, he sees two words, written painstakingly on the back.

'hapy. mitzi.'

Above this are other words that make no sense, and are crossed out. Words that try to describe emotions a flamingo can't feel, or the magic that cannot exist. Probably explaining how the picture got to him. He doesn't care, and instead puts the picture on his bedside locker, glad that the little bird is happy. He shoves some clothes on, ties his hair back just because his boss and father aren't around to disapprove, and heads downstairs for some breakfast.