Bane

September 27, 1964

"A moment, please?"

"Absolutely not, Martin. There has to be a degree of professionalism where we're not pandering to Clayton Walker. Right now, Nadjia is fine. Our focus is on Nida, and keeping her under observation until we know she'll be alright."

Grandma D giggled at Nadjia, and cooed her, touching the tip of the baby's nose with her wrinkled finger. "Let's go see mommy while these big tough men argue about who's bigger, and tougher."

Clayton, and the Doctors Lance, and Martin Bellar watched her stand up out her seat. She hobbled past them without acknowledging their presence, and without a word, she continued to Nida's room, shutting the door behind her with a pronounced click.

"I'm sorry, who is that woman?"

Clayton felt his cheeks cooling. Grandma D made her point, and she did it without having to raise her voice. "Midwife. I'm leaving. Doctor Bellar, keep me apprised, should anything change."

Both doctors nodded, though where Lance Bellar kowtowed to Clayton's whims, Martin was dismissive.

When Clayton was gone - when the door audibly closed, and he was certain the man was gone, Lance's tone changed noticeably. "You need to show Goodman Walker respect."

"That's funny." Martin Bellar turned to face his brother.

"Martin. These people can make, and break you."

"I don't remember the word servant anywhere in the job description. I'm a doctor, Lance. Not an errand boy."

"Clayton got you out of that mess back in Los Angeles."

Martin shook his head once. "Treating these people like they're people, the same as anyone else is the only way they'll take serious anything you say. You're not going to get anywhere kissing their asses. If Clayton, or anyone in their fraternity wants to shit can me for doing my job, it's their loss."

Lance frowned. "When you came to me, you sounded so genuine. You asked for help, and you never do."

"I don't play quid pro quo, and my time is too valuable for sycophancy. You wanted to get me up here, I'm here. Now, I'm going to see to your patient."

✟ ☧ ✟

"Clay," Emily Walker sat behind her husband, stroking his hair. "So he's and asshole. You're not a pompous self-important prick. Don't be one. You've got a life now everyone in The Order wants. You did your duty, let everyone else do theirs."

Clayton gritted his teeth. "I don't care if they drop the façade with titles, or obsequious traditions. I care that Doctor Bellar's an asshole."

"Lance is only ever been good for our family, Clay."

"Martin, Martin fucking Bellar! The Goddamned doctor's doctor-brother from Los Angeles!"

Emily shook her head. "Don't blaspheme, Clay."

Clayton's face darkened a shade of red, and he clenched his jaw, and fists. "I... fine. Hail Mary full of Grace. The Lord is with thee..."

Emily sat by patiently, watching Clayton and trying her hardest to contain her amusement. She waited the twenty minutes it took Clayton to finish. When he did, his face was still a dark red. "Well, baby... that was good... but His name in vain? One more pass."

Clayton glared at her, but by virtue of their faith, her station in The Order... and The Order itself, he began again.

Emily waited another twenty minutes, excusing herself once to check on Jonathan. She returned in time for Clayton to finish his last pass on the rosary. He put his rosary into his pocket to clarify he was finished. His face was flush, but almost it's normal color. "The guy's a fucking prick, Em."