The tone of Noel's voice in reply was one that few would have expected. It did not have the bravado one might have expected from a media darling (albeit a fallen one) nor the slightly spacey, wavering intonation of those that are fighting to hold onto what remains of their sanity. Nor, for that matter, did it contain the aggression that he had so often used against Dr Walt, whom he somewhat resented, for the doctor forced him to remember things he'd rather not. Instead, it might almost have been described as...
...shy!
"Please, Delilah, come in," he said, standing back, making it obvious he was giving her plenty of personal space. "And commiserations for being stuck with me. Broke some rule or other, did you? Late for work?" He gave a cynical grin, sat down in the chair - being caught in nothing but a towel had left him totally unembarrassed - and lit a small cigar from a pack he took from the bedside table. "As to your question... well, the normal polite answer is to reply one's fine. But you weren't asking to be sociable, now, were you? It was a professional enquiry, right? Well, I'm feeling as shitty as all hell, and I don't dare even look at the windows for …show more content…
Your job's hard enough, I guess." He sat down on the bed, and ashed his cigar in the small ash tray. He'd also marked the thick-framed spectacles she wore, and guessed her eyesight wasn't perfect, a situation that keeping the room in darkness wouldn't help. The fact that the spectacles were obviously a little large for her, and forced her to adjust them he found almost endearing. He reached for the small book, with the printed columns, given to patients who monitored their own medication. "Let's get the formalities over, I guess. I took every tab The Wart told me to, but I passed on the sleeping tablets. Somehow, I find I have fewer dreams when I don't use them. yeah, I know that's the opposite of what the clinical studies said, but I can't help
...shy!
"Please, Delilah, come in," he said, standing back, making it obvious he was giving her plenty of personal space. "And commiserations for being stuck with me. Broke some rule or other, did you? Late for work?" He gave a cynical grin, sat down in the chair - being caught in nothing but a towel had left him totally unembarrassed - and lit a small cigar from a pack he took from the bedside table. "As to your question... well, the normal polite answer is to reply one's fine. But you weren't asking to be sociable, now, were you? It was a professional enquiry, right? Well, I'm feeling as shitty as all hell, and I don't dare even look at the windows for …show more content…
Your job's hard enough, I guess." He sat down on the bed, and ashed his cigar in the small ash tray. He'd also marked the thick-framed spectacles she wore, and guessed her eyesight wasn't perfect, a situation that keeping the room in darkness wouldn't help. The fact that the spectacles were obviously a little large for her, and forced her to adjust them he found almost endearing. He reached for the small book, with the printed columns, given to patients who monitored their own medication. "Let's get the formalities over, I guess. I took every tab The Wart told me to, but I passed on the sleeping tablets. Somehow, I find I have fewer dreams when I don't use them. yeah, I know that's the opposite of what the clinical studies said, but I can't help