Chapter Text
James was always a bit different. He knew that from the start. He knows when the world starts spinning and he drops to his knees and curls up in a ball, to take a deep breath and start;
Five things he can see
The ground beneath his feet, the sky above him, the buttons on his sweater, his sneakers, his mismatched socks.
Four things he can feel
The grass, his hair in his hands, his sweater, the cut on his knee from when he fell while playing.
Three things he can hear
The buzzing in his ears beginning to fade, the birds in the sky, the wind.
Two things he can smell
Freshly cut grass, the flowers under his palms.
One thing he can taste
The chocolate candy he just ate before the world got too much.
James takes a breath, a shaky uneven breath, but a breath nonetheless. He can hear his mother calling for him, he should go see her. Brushing the dirty off his jeans, he gets to his feet, heading to his mom.
He takes a breath again, subconsciously aware of each one. He heads to his mother, taking her hand as they walk to the house. Their intertwined hands swing as they walk, and he smiles.
Dinner that night was bland honestly, some sort of pasta. James wouldn’t remember much of it, to be honest; the hours blurrying together in a fuzz as he gets ready for bed.
James doesn’t remember falling asleep that night, but he remembers waking up in a cool sweat. He couldn’t fall asleep the rest of the night, so he stayed up, staring at the ceiling and thinking until his mom got him up. James should’ve had school, but it was Thursday; Thursday’s meant therapy.
James legs kicked as he sat in that waiting room, his mom beside him. He knew this too; talk about his problems with Mrs Stacy, then his mom comes in and they talk about what he said.
Sitting in the too big chair, he looks up at her. Mrs Stacy was a kind, older lady. Older than his mom, not old enough to be his grandma. “So, James. Has anything happened since the last time we spoke?”
James squirms in the chair, the restless energy of a ten year old boy making the older lady smile. “Uhm, I had a panic attack yesterday.”
“You did?” She frowns, leaning forward - trying to make herself seem less intimidating. Friendly.
He nods, little blond curls bouncing as he did. “In the backyard. I..” he sighs, sounding way too old for a boy who’s barely in double digits. “I got scared. It felt like.. like everyone was looking at me. I know no one was. I know it’s just in my head but it’s scary. It.. makes me feel like I’m.. different.”
Mrs Stacy nods as she writes that down, then she looks up at him. “You are different, James. I have a feeling you know that, don’t you?” She looks at him, and he nods. “I don’t want to be different.” He admits, voice small.
“I know, I know you don’t, James. You were taught you being different was bad; that it means there’s something wrong with you. There’s nothing wrong with you, James.” James nods, and his little chest fills with a feeling he can’t quite identify.
James pretends he doesn’t know that they’re talking as he plays. He knows what they’re saying; he's struggling. Mrs Stacy will say, and his mom will go; I don’t know how to help. So she’ll keep bringing him here. It’s all she can do.
When they get home, James heads to his room. He grabs his favorite book and pretends not to hear when his dad says there's something wrong with him. He pretends he doesn’t know that his dad thinks he’s a monster; all he wants to do is make him proud.
As James grew older, he learned more. Learned that his father was impossible to impress, that his mother may say she’s proud of him, but she never actually means it. He learned society has a hierarchy, and that if he needs to be anything - he needs to make himself known.
The first time James witnessed death, he’s 13. His grandmother dies from natural causes. James asks what that means and his mother simply says that means it was ‘her time.’ That makes sense to James.
When the funeral comes, James doesn’t feel anything besides confusion. Everyone is crying and he doesn’t know why. When the ceremony is over and they stand around the grave, James watches them lower the casket. He goes around telling everyone; “it’s okay, it was her time.” He pats their backs and offers hugs, he feels awkward about everyone crying on his shoulder, but he doesn’t pull away. He knows that’s rude.
Everyone will tell him it’s okay to cry too, that he doesn’t have to be brave right now, and James will say he knows as he holds his crying mother.
When they get home from the service, his mom will go to her room and he’ll listen to her cry.
He changes out of his uncomfortable suit and with a groan, he flops onto the bed in his underwear. With his head buried in his pillow, all he can focus on is how everyone was crying. Everyone but him. He wonders what that means.
The next week, at therapy, James brings it up. He tells his therapist - a serious man in his 30s - about the funeral.
“I’m sorry for your loss. That must’ve been tough.”
James shrugs, he knows he’s safe here, but he also knows the wrong thing could get him in trouble, so he chews his cheek as he debates what to say. “I.. didn’t really feel sad. It was her time. She was gonna die eventually.”
His therapist furrows his brows, before he smiles softly. “Grief works in strange ways, James.” James doesn’t know how to explain this isn’t grief. This isn’t anything. He doesn’t care that she died. She’s dead, there’s nothing he can do about it; why should he care?
At 15, James gets caught lying for the first time. James always lies; he’s learned people like him more if he lies.
When he was a little kid, he used to say he was adopted to get sympathy. Sometimes, he’d tell the other kids at his therapy that he was his therapist’s favorite. Other times he’d lie to his mom about his grades.
When his mom caught him in his lie, he knows he should’ve felt bad; should’ve felt guilty that he betrayed her. All James can feel though, is the sense of pride at the attention. Finally, finally, he was getting attention.
James turns 18 sooner than he processes it. He’s known he wants to be a doctor for ages. Doctors are loved, respected, saviors. He wants to be worshiped the way doctors are.
In med school, James understands that knowledge is power. The more he learns, the more people adore him. So he learns all he can about everything.
He spends most of his time studying; tries to learn all he can in such a short time. James gets praise for it too. He feels so high from it he feels like he’s soaring.
On his first shift in the Pitt James learns the staff doesn’t find him as charming as he thought he was. Not for a lack of trying, either.
James tries to be comforting, or his definition of it. He tries to crack jokes about the patient who died, but it only gets him mean looks. He tries to make a witty remark and a coworker snaps at him. James even answers all the questions before anyone else can!
However all of this seems to only upset people.
James doesn’t know when the tears started forming, doesn’t quite remember when his breathing became erratic; he does know that somewhere the tears and the weight on his lungs he found him hiding like a small child in the stairwell.
Five things he can see
The stairs, the door, his hands that won’t stop shaking, the dirt on the floor, the light on the ceiling.
Four things he can hear
Whitaker’s voice, he seems to be talking to Langdon— no. Nonono-!
James can feel himself panic more. People can’t see him like this. They can’t! All his hard work, his carefully crafted persona he tried so hard to keep, it’s gonna crumble if they see him!
James tries to get up, but he can’t see through his tears and he ends up stumbling and slamming into the wall. The pain makes him cry harder, and he can only whimper in embarrassment when he’s found, hiding his head in his hands like a small child.
“Ogilvie?”
“Ogilvie!”
Whitaker’s voice made James curl deeper into himself, he doesn’t know when he was pressed into a firm chest.
“Ogilvie, deep breaths, it’s okay, you’re okay.” A different voice, Langdon’s. Whitaker grabs his hand, placing it against his chest.
He doesn’t know when his breath began evening out, doesn’t remember how he began to relax, but he does.
“Ogilvie, what happened?”
“Nothing! Nothing. I’m fine.” James huffs, trying to defend his dignity - to save himself for the suffocating feeling of failure.
Langdon doesn’t look convinced, “you had a panic attack. Something must’ve triggered it.”
Whitaker nods, the duo sharing a look, almost- concerned. That couldn’t be. No one cares about him. They’ve made that very clear.
“It’s nothing.” James insists, shifting away from the two concerned men.
Whitaker frowns, and James has to bite his tongue. How dare they pity him.
“Ogilvie..”
“I’m fine! Just- shut up!” He snaps, getting up and hurrying off before the duo can do anything else.
James finishes his shift uneventfully. Whitaker and Langdon keep trying to talk to him, but he keeps insisting there’s nothing wrong. Honestly, he’d prefer if they went back to hating him. Anything is better than their pitying glances.
On his next shift, James is pulled to the side by Dr Robby. James wants to scream that he’s fine, that he doesn’t have anything wrong with him, but Dr Robby insists he goes to see the doctor upstairs, and so, with no other option, he does.
It’s a boring process, a long one too. James swears he falls asleep during it at one point. “Are we done yet? Do you have proof there’s nothing wrong with me?”
“James.. with your history, the answers you’ve gave me and what I’m able to see now, I’d like to run one more test, please?”
The blond raises a brow, as if not convinced.
“Humor me.” The doctor pleads. James shrugs, “okay, why not?”
He wishes he wouldn’t have said that. Staring down at the paper, the words narcissistic personality disorder look back up at him.
James had heard of people with npd before. Famously, they were often serial killers. That was… not comforting. He wasn’t evil, was he? Sure he was bitchy, and kinda annoying if what he’d heard others say was true, but evil? No.
So, James did what he did best; he lied. Said everything was fine. He could feel the eyes on him, but he ignored them.
James was able to keep it a secret for a while. A good few months, and no one found out. Until a small little girl came in.
She was adorable; big green eyes and brown hair in pigtails. She was missing her two front teeth and was roughly 7 or 8 years old. She was leaned up in the bed, a blanket over her legs and an iv in her arm.
“Hi doctor uhm,” she squints at his badge, “ovil- ogil- olive?” She frowns, struggling. “You can call me James, if that’s easier.”
She grinned at that. “Hi doctor James! My name is Miley!”
James returns her smile, glancing over her. “What seems to be the problem?”
“I hurt my leg when I was riding my bike a couple days ago. My uncle brought me! It really hurts, uncle Ryan says it looks inflected.” She frowns, and James asks if he can take a look.
When he pulled back the blanket, he had to try his best not to vomit. She needed surgery if the way her leg looked was any sign.
When James told her uncle the news, he sighed off on the paper work.
Little Miley went up to surgery, and James breathed a sigh of relief. She was going to be okay, hopefully. He honestly didn’t know if she could walk again.
When Miley came back from surgery, an older woman was with her. James would assume this to be Miley’s mother.
“Mrs Smith, I’m so glad to meet you. Miley’s surgery went well, if her physical therapy goes according to plan, she should be walking again within a couple months to a year.”
Mrs Smith’s face twisted. “Year? My baby girl went to surgery at this overpriced hospital and that’s all you can offer me?! You were supposed to fix her!” Her voice raised with every word as she grew closer.
“Ma’am, we did the best we could, if it had gotten any worse we would’ve had to amputate-“ James tries to stay calm, he does. She sounds so much like his mother it makes him shrink in on himself.
“Amputate?! It couldn’t have been that serious! She can’t spend a year not walking!” James swallows, trying to find his voice, “ma’am-“
“You are a horrible doctor and an evil, evil man! All you want to do is hurt my baby!” A slap echoes across the walls, and James stumbles into the cart behind him. He doesn’t remember security being called, nor the women being taken away.
James's breath becomes shallow, her words echoing in his head. Evil. He was evil. He walks swiftly, with intent. He walks and he walks until he finds himself in his favorite place: the stairwell. He doesn’t even have time to panic, because before he can, his pulled to someone’s chest. Around his height, a friendship bracelet on his arm.. Langdon.
“Deja vu, huh?” Whitaker teases, but he goes quiet when he hears James sobs.
“Ogilvie, cmon. What happened in there?” Langdon whispered, brushing his curls from his face.
“I don’t wanna be evil.” It’s soft, barely a whisper. “I know I’m annoying and I’m bitchy and I’m mean but I’m trying. I’m trying so hard and no one cares and.. and I..” a sob rakes through the blond, burying his face in his hands.
“What? James..” Whitaker sounds as shocked as he can imagine Langdon looks. Normally, James would have some snarky remake about the use of his first name, but all he can do is cry.
“I’m a bad person.”
“No, you’re not.”
“Yes, I am.”
“You’re not a bad person, James.” Langdon insists. James shakes his head.
“Frank’s right, you’re not. You’re stubborn, yeah. Self absorbed? Absolutely-“ James laughs, bittersweet.
“But,” Whitaker continues. “You’re one of the smartest student doctors I know. You’ve made some mistakes, sure.”
“You…” James swallows, looking between Langdon and then Whitaker. “Don’t think I'm horrible?”
“Nah,” Langdon shakes his head, “why would you even think that?”
James swallows, sighing. “Remember last time this happened? How Dr Robby made me get some testing done to make sure I was mentally well?”
The duo nods.
“I have npd. Narcissistic personality disorder. I am a genuine narcissist and I can’t..” he runs a hand through his hair “It impacts me. A lot. It’s why I am so..”
“Much?” Langdon supplies. James nods.
“Well,” Whitaker starts, “that doesn’t mean you’re evil. It doesn’t mean you’re gonna hurt anyone. Just means you need a bit more care than others.”
James chews on his lip, but nods.
“I know it’s scary. Especially because people like using narcissism as an insult or an excuse, but you’re not a bad person. You’ve made some mistakes, but that’s okay. That’s normal.” Langdon’s hand rests over his shoulder, his thumb rubbing against the top of James’s scrubs.
“You think we haven’t made some mistakes? When I first got here I had to change scrubs a minimum of five times!” Whitaker exclaims, and there’s something about that image that makes James laugh.
James sniffles softly, a smile pulling at his lips. “Please don’t tell anyone. I know I’m being difficult but I don’t.. I’m not ready to tell anyone yet.”
“That doesn’t mean you’re being difficult, James. If you’re not ready, you’re not ready. That’s okay. I promise we won’t tell.” James nods at Whitaker’s words.
James blinks, trying to calm his nerves. He didn’t know why he was so nervous. “Thank you.” He murmured, voice small.
“Hey, no problem. What’re friends for?”
James blinks at the words, feeling the echo in his head. They were friends? He can’t help but smile at the thought. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all.