They ate, the meal stretching over an hour. Manny was good at talking, and Simon liked listening. Time had a way of disappearing, of not mattering, and that was a feeling Simon welcomed. No schedule, no delivery, no one who needed saving. He didn't even know where he'd be walking tomorrow. Off to a corner he hadn't reached yet, he supposed.
Manny rinsed the dishes and tossed the empty beer bottles in a small trash bin, and settled next to Simon where he was sitting on the bed. Cautiously slid a hand on his thigh in a silent question.
"Sorry," Simon said, "not this time."
Manny removed his hand with no complaint. "Same guy you were seeing last time?" he asked, voice still as casual as it had been during dinner.
"Yeah," Simon said.
"Must be working out well, then."
Simon worked at the knuckles of his left hand. "I hope so."
He didn't want to spend the night in his room -- too restless to spend time in what had always been little more than a glorified supply shed for him. He walked to Camp Forlorn Hope, still struck by how different it looked from the first time he had seen it, back when it was a skeletal place that looked like a graveyard waiting to happen, smelled like fear and death. It was by no means as comfortable as McCarran now, but it was substantially improved, and full of people who were always happy to see him. Another impromptu congress assembled around him at the campfire, the night owls and guards on their breaks. Hayes was the one with the hidden flask here -- Simon could name "the one with the flask" at every NCR post he had made enough of an impression on -- and shared a swig with him. He slipped into the medical tent where Dr. Richards was working far later than he should, on nothing more important than reorganizing old reports, weariness in his shoulders but still lucid enough to provide Simon with the enjoyable flirtatious banter that made no promises and no demands. The tent was empty save for the two of them, and Richards offered him one of the cots for the night. Or, he playfully offered, Simon could just join him in his tent, and Simon met him gamely, even as the doctor looked so bone-tired that Simon wouldn't take him up on it even if he weren't spoken for.
He hadn't realized that it was morning when he fell asleep, and he slept hard, emerging from the tent as the late afternoon haze was scattering and evening was settling in. He walked on.
He headed north, not really certain where he would go next. Just opting to see where the road would take him. Night had well and truly set in and he was far from any of the settlements he knew about when two patrolling NCR soldiers rushed towards him.
"Simon?" one of them said. "Simon. Thank god you're okay."
"What do you mean?" Simon asked, genuinely confused.
"We were worried he had gotten to you first," the other soldier said, shoulders sagging with relief.
"Wait, who?"
"You were being trailed," the first one informed him. "We saw it while we were patrolling a bit further south -- he's been following you for a while."
Simon's heart dropped into his stomach, and he didn't know how to respond, blinking at the two of them dumbly.
"We lost track of you a little ways back, and he must've to, 'cause he was ahead on the trail. C'mon."
The soldiers began walking and Simon followed, asking, "Come on where?"
"We got the bastard," the second soldier said. "You won't believe who we just saved you from, brother."
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timeasmymeasure
M!Courier/? - Remain Nameless [2c/?]
Date: 2011-11-20 11:57 pm (UTC)Manny rinsed the dishes and tossed the empty beer bottles in a small trash bin, and settled next to Simon where he was sitting on the bed. Cautiously slid a hand on his thigh in a silent question.
"Sorry," Simon said, "not this time."
Manny removed his hand with no complaint. "Same guy you were seeing last time?" he asked, voice still as casual as it had been during dinner.
"Yeah," Simon said.
"Must be working out well, then."
Simon worked at the knuckles of his left hand. "I hope so."
He didn't want to spend the night in his room -- too restless to spend time in what had always been little more than a glorified supply shed for him. He walked to Camp Forlorn Hope, still struck by how different it looked from the first time he had seen it, back when it was a skeletal place that looked like a graveyard waiting to happen, smelled like fear and death. It was by no means as comfortable as McCarran now, but it was substantially improved, and full of people who were always happy to see him. Another impromptu congress assembled around him at the campfire, the night owls and guards on their breaks. Hayes was the one with the hidden flask here -- Simon could name "the one with the flask" at every NCR post he had made enough of an impression on -- and shared a swig with him. He slipped into the medical tent where Dr. Richards was working far later than he should, on nothing more important than reorganizing old reports, weariness in his shoulders but still lucid enough to provide Simon with the enjoyable flirtatious banter that made no promises and no demands. The tent was empty save for the two of them, and Richards offered him one of the cots for the night. Or, he playfully offered, Simon could just join him in his tent, and Simon met him gamely, even as the doctor looked so bone-tired that Simon wouldn't take him up on it even if he weren't spoken for.
He hadn't realized that it was morning when he fell asleep, and he slept hard, emerging from the tent as the late afternoon haze was scattering and evening was settling in. He walked on.
He headed north, not really certain where he would go next. Just opting to see where the road would take him. Night had well and truly set in and he was far from any of the settlements he knew about when two patrolling NCR soldiers rushed towards him.
"Simon?" one of them said. "Simon. Thank god you're okay."
"What do you mean?" Simon asked, genuinely confused.
"We were worried he had gotten to you first," the other soldier said, shoulders sagging with relief.
"Wait, who?"
"You were being trailed," the first one informed him. "We saw it while we were patrolling a bit further south -- he's been following you for a while."
Simon's heart dropped into his stomach, and he didn't know how to respond, blinking at the two of them dumbly.
"We lost track of you a little ways back, and he must've to, 'cause he was ahead on the trail. C'mon."
The soldiers began walking and Simon followed, asking, "Come on where?"
"We got the bastard," the second soldier said. "You won't believe who we just saved you from, brother."