[color=00aeef][u]Chez Nathan – New Vegas Medical Clinic – Mid-morning, Oct 17th[/u][/color] There was a knock at the door as Chez was finishing up with Mrs Munroe. “I’m with a patient,” he called. The door opened and Jerry the Punk stuck his head in, looking sheepish. “Sorry to disturb you, Chez. Lettie said this couldn’t wait. Urgent message for you from the higher ups. There’s been a communication from the 3rd infantry they want you to deal with.” Chez sighed and shut his eyes, massaging his eyeballs. “All right, Jerry. I’ll be out as soon as I can.” Jerry retreated, closing the door behind him. “I’ve taken up enough of your time as it is, Doctor,” said Mrs Munroe apologetically. “I want to thank you for being so patient with me. These talks we’ve had… well, I just don’t know where else to turn. You see, I don’t really have anyone else to speak to. But we both know the issue won’t be solved until he comes in himself.” “And you don’t think that’s likely to happen.” “No more than when I first came to you three months ago. I can’t even raise his problem with him. He flies into a rage. He was never like this before… before his service. The man I knew would barely touch a drop of drink. He’d never raised a hand to me or the children. I didn’t think he had it in him. But the man who came back from Bitter Springs, discharged… he wasn’t the man I’d married. It’s like living with a stranger. A frightening stranger. “Three years of risking his life, serving the NCR, and this is what they’ve given him for his loyalty. It’s been left to us to pick up the pieces, and… I just don’t know how much longer I can go on for. I don’t blame the children for walking out on us.” “I’m going to ask you again,” Chez said. “Will you consider moving somewhere safer? We could make space for you here.” “Oh, I couldn’t do that, Doctor. He has no one else. No one but me. I’m afraid to leave him alone, you see. The children are gone, the army abandoned him. I’m the last thing in the world he has. I couldn’t leave him now.” “Your sense of wifely duty is admirable, Mrs Munroe. But the problem your husband has makes him a danger to himself and the people around him. You have to think about what’s best for you as well.” “Oh no, Doctor Nathan,” Mrs Munroe said firmly, rising to her feet. “I said my vows -- in sickness and in health, for better or for worse -- and I meant them. Loyalty may not mean much to a lot of folks nowadays, but it means something with me.” After Mrs Munroe had left, Chez sat at his desk, staring at nothing for a few moments, toying with a pencil. A peculiar numbness had stolen over him. He felt almost as though he were in an old moving picture, and the frame rate was slowing down. At times he thought he could step out of the frame, detach from the events around him, and walk… where? Into another time? Another place? [i]He comes into the house. He can hear the sound of his mother’s jewellery tinkling, as it always does when she’s on the move. She is never still, always working at something. From the radio, the deep, rich voice of Ella Fitzgerald is pouring into the air like honey, and his mother’s high tones are sprinkled on top like spices on one of her desserts.[/i] ‘Summertime... and the livin’ is easy... Fish are jumpin’... and the cotton is high... Your daddy’s rich... and your mama’s good lookin’... So hush, little baby... don’t you cry...' [i]He goes to the door and sees her at the sink, stirring a big pink mixing bowl with a wooden spoon. “Dad said Mr Stanley passed away this morning,” he says. She turns the radio down. “I know, child. I knew before your Pa left. Knew it was coming for some time.” “How did you know?” “Because I saw Mr Stanley. Saw him passing by our house, sweetie, just this morning.” “But he’s been in bed for days.” She shakes her head, her dark curls bouncing from side to side. “I ain’t talking about his body, child. I’m talking about… something else.” A tingle runs down his spine, and he feels a prickling, as goosebumps stand up all over his body. His mother rarely speaks about these things, and never in front of his father. It’s like there’s another side to her, something beyond his understanding, something she hides from the world. He can never predict when she will say something fantastical… but when she does, he feels a thirst, as though part of him needs to understand her in order to know himself. [/i] ‘One of these mornin’s... you’re gonna rise up singin’... You’re gonna spread your little wings... and you’ll take to the sky... But till that mornin’... there ain’t nothin’ gonna harm you... With your Mama and Daddy... standin’ by...’ The door slammed as Jerry the Punk came back in, and sat across from Chez. He slid an envelope over. “Julie Farkas wants you to handle this,” Jerry said. “Came in with an army caravan this morning.” Chez picked the envelope up. It was heavy, official-looking, and bore the stamp of the NCR military. It was addressed to the Followers, and the return address was… Fort Golf. There was no question of slipping away from the present moment now. He was very firmly back on solid ground.