Welcome to the Guardian

[Lih]

In the Guardian’s waiting room, Eiji poured himself a second mug of coffee and fantasized about slugging a dash of vodka in it. He’d never been comfortable in hospital, the day-less nights and the night-less days, the dreams, the dis-location. He hadn’t been sleeping well. The prospect of days or even weeks more in hospital did not fill him with relish. Give him a nice world and just a straight fight instead. Actually, the fight could belong to someone else. Just a nice world would do...

He took another disdainful look at the leather-bound book he had been reading from. Excerpted pieces from the cases of Freud, pulled from his extensive notes. Meera had been right. Freud could certainly write. For hours at a time. It was giving Eiji a headache.

He took a pill. There were only a few of them ratting around in the bottle now. He didn’t like to think of them as a crutch, but he really didn’t like to think of facing life without them.

Eiji stopped just outside of Meera’s office, took the pill bottle out of his pocket, and shook it. There weren’t many left. He was going to need more before long. He wasn’t looking forward to the conversation with Meera. The good doctor Meera Alam was bound to comment on the speed with which Eiji had used the first supply. Well, screw her. It wasn’t like he hadn’t followed instructions. “One of these, when your head hurts, or when you feel agitated.” Well, he’d been agitated quite a bit. A hell of a lot.

Maybe he could deal with one of the pharmacists, show them the label, get them to fill out Meera's prescription. He could avoid Meera’s awkward questions entirely. That ruled out the tattoo’d assistant, then. Nina, her name was. He’d already managed to piss her off. He couldn’t go looking for favors there. What about one of the new pharmacists? Maybe they’d respond to persuasion.

“Looking for me?” asked Meera.

Eiji turned, deftly picketing the pill bottle. Odd; he hadn’t heard her wheel up.

“I was about to knock.”

Meera Alam looked immaculate.

Despite the hour and his heavy head, Eiji grinned.

He’d never know anyone adhere to the hygienic code so exactly, even by the demanding standards of the Guardian. She was obsessively clean, obsessively regimented and organized. She was a good looking woman, and a highly effective doctor by all accounts, but control smoked off her like blood off a knife wound. No give. Eiji saw that in her, and that’s what made him respect her.

They went into Meera’s office. There was still the faint smell of disinfectant Meera used to scrub the floor.

Eiji sat down and rubbed his chin. He looked terrible. His eyes were hollow and he needed a shave.

“How are you, Alam-Sama?” asked Eiji.