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Camp Forlorn Hope was quiet for once that night (or as quiet as anywhere in the Mojave could get) and Dean couldn’t sleep. Boone was sleeping for once, and Dean couldn’t shake the paranoia that came without at least one of them having their guard up. He could stand to be more trusting, he supposed, but then again, the last time he relied on the kindness of strangers, it got him a bullet in the brain.
He wandered lethargically through the camp, whistling a song from long before the war he’d caught on some morning radio show or another.
“What’re you doing up so late, handsome?”
Dean turned around. Dr. Richards was sitting on a rough wooden plank, his face lit only by a lit cigarette. Dean shrugged. “Couldn’t sleep.”
“Tell me about it.”
Dean sat down. “Spare a cig?”
Richards handed Dean a cigarette. “C’mere.” He carefully leaned in, with a lit cigarette in his mouth, and touched the tip of his cigarette to Dean’s. Dean closed his eyes, trying to take a moment
Richards pulled back and laughed. “Chrisssakes, are you wearing cologne?”
Dean laughed, a little embarrassed. “Found some herbs growing by the highway on my way from Primm. Keep ‘em in my coat pocket.”
“Unbelievable,” Richards shook his head with a smile. “Well, just wait it out. Believe me, you spend enough time out here, vanity goes out the window fast.”
“Guess so,” said Dean. “But I gotta hold on to the little things, just so I don’t lose myself.”
Richards looked out at the sky, thick with smog. “I used to wear cologne. Real stuff, from the bottle. I used to get my suits tailored. Used to go out dancing, even.”
“You still dance?”
“Maybe when the war’s over, honey.”
“I’ve heard Cali’s good for that,” said Dean. “ Dancing. ”
Richards smirked. “God, has the cruising dried up around here. No pun intended.”
“Do you have anyone waiting for you back home?” said Dean.
Richards smiled bitterly. “I did. He used to write every week. Silly little love notes I’d hide in my cot to look at when I got lonely. After a few months, they dried up,” Richards flicked some ash off his cigarette. “I like to think he’s moved on, for his sake. How about you, handsome?”
“I could never hold on to anyone for long,” said Dean. “Boyfriends, girlfriends- somehow we always seemed to drift apart once the novelty wore off,” Dean paused. “But it gets lonely out here, don’t it?”
“You have no idea,” sighed Richards.
“Heard through the grapevine the NCR isn’t the most accommodating,” said Dean. “For boys like us.”
“You heard right, more or less. Though it depends where they stick you. Out here? Not a chance.”
“Don’t your superiors mind?” said Dean. “Let’s call a spade a spade, you’re not exactly discreet .”
“What are they going to do?” said Richards. “Discharge their only halfway competent medic? Maybe if I stop being useful.”
“You ever wish you’d stay behind?”
Richards stopped and blew out a puff of smoke. “I won’t put on some kind of show of self-sacrifice for you,” said Richards. “Every goddamn day. I thought I was here to serve my country. To defend glorious democracy. What a joke, what a sick fucking joke. But if it wasn’t me, it’d have to be someone else. And I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.”
Richards took a drag of his cigarette and closed his eyes. “But I try not to dwell on it. Sounds awful, but they all melt together at a certain point. But God, some things . . . Two years ago, I had to amputate the leg of this kid, Christ , he couldn’t’ve been a day older than nineteen. I had to use the last of the morphine to knock him out, he wouldn’t stop bawling,” Richards sighed. “And they posted him up in the watchtower, figured he was still good for something if he could hold a gun. I told them they’d be crazy not to send him home, they said he wasn’t on the front lines so he’d be fine,” Richards kept his gunpowder green eyes fixed on the horizon. “They killed him, they killed that kid. They told his girlfriend and his parents that he’d died in combat, they let them imagine he’d gone down in some big heroic stand. Kid died for nothing, he got shot by a Legion sniper before he even had the chance to see him,” Richards rubbed his temples. “God. Yeah, I do, I do wish I’d stayed behind.”
Dean leaned over to touch Richards’ hand. Richards looked at him and took a long drag of what was left of his cigarette, before he flicked the butt on the ground. Richards grabbed the back of Dean’s head and pulled him in hard for a kiss. Dean leaned forward hungrily, feeling his rough, stubbly chin, keeping an iron grip on the neck of Richards’ shirt. Richards slowly pulled away and gently ran his calloused thumb along Dean’s cheek. “In another life, buttercup. In another life.”