Commonwealth Blues

"Preston! Preston, wake up! Get off your ass!"

'BZZRT, BZZRT, BZZRT'

"Marcy, relax- you don't need to wake him up, we could just-"

'BZZRT, BZZRT, BZZRT'

"No, he's supposed to be up by now but he's just laying around. The sink's clogged and it's about to overflow!"

'BZZRT, BZZRT, BZZRT'

"We could fix it ourselves, for once, may-"

'BZZRT, BZZRT, BZZRT'

"Could you be on my side about something for once? I swear it's like you don't have a spine!"

'BZZRT, BZZ'-thunk

The large lump on the bed groaned, having forcibly silenced his alarm clock. The beds inhabitant, Preston, rolled onto his back, rubbing his eyes with the palms of his hands.

Start to another exciting day, it seemed.

He reluctantly pulled the warm comforter off his body, lurching his legs off the side of the bed as his bare feet made contact with the cold floor. He blinked at the light streaming in from the window, which was now shining directly in his eyes as he sat up. Stretching out his back, he looked over at the clock.

8:30 AM

It was a later start than he usually had, but it was a Saturday-

No. Saturday's were for kids. He couldn't afford the luxury of sleeping in.

With the that hammered into his mind, he lurched himself up and onto his feet, swaggering with unsteady steps over to his closet. He absentmindedly pulled out clothes that he thought would match. It was relatively easy; it was full of neutral colors, warm browns, heathered greys, calming off-whites, soft blacks. It was made to not attract the eye, or any unnecessary attention, just the way Preston liked it. He quickly changed, struggling into his pants as he listened to the faint sound of Marcy long arguing with her husband; well, arguing was a bit of a stretch. Marcy pretty much just complained at her husband, which he was generally unbothered by. She managed to keep a reign on her mouth around Preston, seeing how she was living generally rent free in his house. He probably wouldn't do anything about it even if she didn't; he knew she had a hard life, and he was accustomed to getting yelled at by people with no grasp on what they were talking about.

Bracing himself for whatever fresh problem was going to be thrown at him today with excessive levels of drama, he opened the door to his bedroom, making his way downstairs. As he was about halfway down the steps he heard the familiar trill of Marcy Long's voice.

"Ah, finally! Look who it is!"

Looking out at the living room he saw Jun Long slumped over, defeated on the couch in front of a standing Marcy, who had her hands defiantly on her hips, a scowl on her face. Mama Murphy, the fourth member of their odd living arrangement, was sitting in her usual chair, ignoring whatever was going on between the Long's; however, at the sound of his name she looked up with a lazy smile.

"Mornin' Preston."

"G'mornin, Mama Murphy." He couldn't help but crack a smile at her; but Marcy's urgent snapping quickly brought him back down.

"Hel-lo? Standing right here!" She muttered impatiently. "The sink's clogged. It's been close to overflowing for an hour now! Jun has been having to displace the water with a cup."

Preston didn't even say anything, he merely gingerly walked over to the sink, ignoring Marcy's yelling. He flicked a switch, hidden behind the coffee maker, and a deafening whirring came from the sink. The water quickly began to sink down the drain, prompting Preston to flick the switch off. He turned to see a shocked, but still angry, Marcy and a surprised and ashamed Jun.

"Garbage disposal." He said matter-of-factly, walking back towards the door, plucking his boots off the ground, sitting on the stairs to put them on.

"And what? You're leaving now?" Marcy's hands were once again on her hips as he tightened his laces.

"Yepp. Got a job to do, no one else's gonna do it for me." He was surprised at the snideness of his comment, he hadn't meant it that way, but thankfully she didn't notice it.

"Whatever, just make sure you don't come in at one in the morning again."

"Can't make any promises Marcy."

Before she could make any more complaints he was out the door with a squeak and a slam, his coat tucked under his arm as he ventured out into the brisk morning air, he lazily put his hat on his head; his signature atricle of clothing.

"Morning, Preston!" He looked to his left to see Mrs. Leighe with her two kids, ushering them out the door.

"Good-mornin' Mr. Garvey!" Came the yelps of the two over-excited youngsters. He tipped his hat with a warm smile.

"And good morning to you too, Mrs. Leighe- Where are you kids off to?" He approached the fence, pulling his heavy cotton jacket on over his shoulders. The two children, Alexis and Joshua scurried over to the fence to greet him.

"We're off to a baseball game!" Alexis was the one to answer him, with her dark braided hair and wide eyed enthusiasm.

"Oh?" Preston didn't drop his smile for a moment, raising an eyebrow. "And who's playing?"

"Us!" It was Joshua who answered him, this time.

"Yeah! Joshua's the catcher, I'm the pitcher! You should come see us play, Preston!" Alexis piped up again.

"Wish I could, guys- But I've got work today." He reached his hand over the fence to flick the little girls scarf back over her sagging shoulders.

"You've got work every day!" She sighed in disappointment.

"I know, I know. Don't like it anymore than you, but somebody's got to do what I do- and as I've always said-"

"'Don't trust anyone to do a job you're not willing to do yourself.'" They both groaned with lackluster enthusiasm, prompting a chuckle from their mother.

"That's right. Now don't think I won't be rooting for you from behind the sidelines. What time's your game?"

"It starts at noon." Joshua dug the toe of his shoe into the dirt, looking down at his feet.

"Well then, I'll be cheering for you from behind my desk. You can count on it." This seemed to cheer them up a little.

"Alright, kids, I'm sure Preston has to get going. Say goodbye." Mrs. Leighe began to shepherd them back over to her car.

"G'bye Preston!" They called over the pitter patter of their small feet hitting the concrete. He gave a little wave as they ushered inside the minivan. The woman offered him a wave from behind the wheel as she situated herself in her car. He waited until they drove off to finally walk out onto the sidewalk, closing the gate behind him.

-

Pushing open the door to the small, stony building, Preston was greeted by the usual tinkle of bells.

"Now I know the only person who could walk in here without being preceded by screaming is the one, the only, Preston Garvey." The southern drawl that greeted him was a welcome addition to the morning. The tall, muscular and oh so distinctly southern figure of Sturges rounded the corner as he entered.

"Mornin', Sturges." Preston tipped his hat slightly and smiled. The man in question was currently using a ratty bandana to wipe grease from his hands. It worked to varying degrees of success, as Preston was sure his hands had been stained by the oily black substance a long time ago. He pushed a stray strand of sweaty black hair from his face, and back into his greaser style pompadour.

"Now put this one in the books, kids- I, Sturges Berkley, got to the office before our very own personal alarm clock Preston fricking Garvey. I'm gonna have to take a picture, else no one'll believe me," He jokingly patted his back pockets. "Oh, but would y'look at that. Forgot my phone."

Preston played along. "Oh, don't worry, I'll vouch for you."

"Yeah, like I couldn't get you to say you saw a pig flying down the street shitting fire if I asked you nicely enough." The man nudged him playfully in the shoulder with one of his cleaner fingers. Preston chuckled, slapping his hand away; and he noticed someone missing in the office.

"Where's Curie? I don't see her." Usually one could tell Curie was there by the sound of her feminine french accent and her inclination to sing along to the radio, which she always left on.

Sturges scratched his head, looking at her usual seat behind the front desk, which now lay empty. "Your guess is as good as mine. Texted me this morning and said she had to do something for a friend before she came in this morning."

"A friend?" Preston didn't want to sound like an asshole, but the idea of Curie having many 'friends' came as a surprise to him.

"Yeah, I know right? She said she'd be in around noon, and if anyone comes in needing any immediate help to call her. So she must not be too far away."

"Well, I suppose we could hold down the fort while she's away." He sighed.

"Oho, you mean me, tough guy? You gotta get out there. Just because Curie ain't here doesn't mean I won't be able to radio you from the call center."

"I know, I know- it's a metaphor, Sturges." Preston really liked working the streets better than sitting behind a desk and taking complaints. He was more of a man of action than words.

"Better be. I sure as hell couldn't take up your job if you decided to go soft on me. Too many bullets; plus momma always told me I don't work well under pressure." He tucked his greasy bandana into his back pocket. "Anyway, want some coffee before you head out? I know Marcy was probably blasting your eardrums out this morning and you ran out the door as fast as you could."

Preston nodded sheepishly.

"Well don't worry, your pal Sturges here makes the best instant coffee that his meager salary can buy." Sturges snapped his fingers into a gun shape, clicking his tongue as he disappeared into the back room. As soon as he was gone, Preston melted into one of the lumpy armchairs in the waiting room; stained with what seemed to be blood- or diarrhea. Both very real possibilities in his line of work. He didn't bother taking his coat or hat off, he knew as soon as Sturges came back with his cup of coffee he'd have to be on his way.

As much as he loved helping people with the Minutemen, patrols were never easy for him. In fact, they kind of sucked, but if it made the neighborhood a bit safer, he'd do it without complaint. Though his bullet wounds from his last violent run in had just recently healed, and he wasn't too keen on reliving the feeling of being shot twice in the ribs.

"Well, cowboy," Sturges came back into the room quick enough to cut him off mid thought. "Looks like you're gonna have to take a rain check on that coffee- someone's holding up Myrna's store. Armed. One gunman."

Sturges listed off the details before Preston could ask. They had done this many times before. Preston immediately pushed himself up from the chair, jolting for the door.

"Woah, wait-" He stopped, turning back to Sturges, catching the leather holster that was tossed at him. "Hope you don't have to use it."

--

"Give me the money in the fucking register or I swear to god-"

"Myrna, just give him the money!" Preston heard the plea of another person trapped inside.

"No! This is my entire months earnings and I'm not just gonna give it to some low life scum."

"What the FUCK did you just call me?" Preston wanted to duck tape the womans mouth shut, did she even care that her life was on the line.

"Scum. You need me to spell it out for you? S-C-U-M-"

"I'll fucking put a bullet right in that fucking mouth of yours-"

He had heard enough, if he didn't act now Myrna would probably end up full of holes.

"Alright, let's just calm down-" The gun went from being pointed at Myrna, to being pointed at him.

"And who the fuck're you!?"

"Preston Garvey, I'm with the Minutemen-"

"That fucking neighorhood watch bullshit? Fuck, at least they didn't send the cops."

"Listen, man, you don't have to do this. You can put the gun down and we can all walk away from this in one piece." Preston raised his hands placatingly, trying to talk the man down. He'd rather nobody get shot today.

"Like hell! He's rotting in jail for shoving a gun in MY face-" Myrna, of course, had to interject. The gun once again traveled from Preston to her.

"Myrna. Please. I don't say this lightly- but shut the HELL up." He didn't know if it was the firmness of his voice, or the face that he actually swore at her, but her jaw screwed shut, and she glared at him in anger. "Thank you."

The gun was once again pointed at him.

"Don't act like I'm stupid, I know I'm not walking away from this without going to jail. All I want is the money, and I'll be gone- and if this bitch doesn't give it to me, she'll end up with a few more holes." The kid was panicked, on edge, he could've been on something but Preston couldn't know for sure.

"And is that money really worth someones life?" He tried to appeal to the boys better nature.

"NO! I keep trying to get this bitch to hand over the money peaceful like and she keeps going on about SCUM and over 'HER DEAD BODY'- so hell, I might just have to get it over her DEAD FUCKING BODY." He angrily jostled the gun in Myrna's face. He was on a break, his finger jostled on the trigger.

Preston took a step forward. "Listen-"

The boy whipped the gun back at him, and opened fire. Preston took this as an opening. He grabbed the boys arm, twisting it until he let go of the gun- before taking the boy down to the floor, pinning his arms behind his back. The boy cried out in pain as Preston muttered an apology. Once the boy was subdued underneath him, he pulled the radio out from his jacket.

"Hey Sturges, I'm bringing one in."

"I heard gunshots over here, you alright?"

"Yeah," Preston looked down at the new tear in his coat. "Don't worry about it."

--

"Kid's alright. Think he was hopped up on that new drug 'Pshyco' or whatever the junkies are calling it nowadays." Sturges hunkered down next to him, pressing the warm cup of coffee into his hands. "Glad you resolved it with no one getting hurt."

"'Victory always falls to the quicker man'." Preston exhaled, pressing the warm cup to his lips.

"You got those cat like reflexes, man. You could be one of those Bond types, with pretty girls hanging all over you."

That got a chuckle out of him. "Not as much of a ladykiller as you think, Sturges."

"That's because you never pay attention to the prospective ladies- or gentlemen, for that matter."

"Because there are more important things to focus on," He took a sip of the bitter, watery coffee before looking over at the other man playfully. "Are you hitting on me Sturges?"

"Me? No. I like my life partners with a bit less risk in their jobs. I'd like a longer life expectancy, if you catch my meanin'." Sturges laughed, leaning back in his chair.

Preston slapped him jovially on the shoulder. "Don't worry, I'd feel the same way."

Before their conversation could continue, the door opened with a loud 'crash'. Normally, this would cause both men to leap from their chairs in alarm; but the crash was accompanied by frantic phrases spoken in hurried French.

"Oh, Monsieur Sturges, I am so sorry I am late! I told you noon and here I am at-" Curie, behind all her bags, with frazzled hair and skewed glasses, managed to look at her flowery watch. "Twelve thirty! Oh I'm so sorry. I shall make it up to you, I promise!"

"Curie, Curie, relax, girl, relaaax." Sturges chuckled, trying to calm her down, raising his hands as he stood to help her with her bags.

"It was just an emergency and he really needed my assistance and it couldn't wait and I had to-" Her eyes fell upon Preston, finally. "Oh! 'Ello monsieur Preston; good morning to you." Her face reddened, she seemed embarrassed that he saw her in a tizzy. Curie was infinitely closer to Sturges than she was to him, since they worked together so much; so she was probably more comfortable with him seeing her like this than Preston.

"Good morning to you too, Curie." He didn't feel like correcting her and rubbing salt in her imaginary wound.

"A-as I was saying." She turned back to Sturges, who had relieved her of most of her baggage and dropped it off behind her desk.

"You don't gotta explain nothin', Curie." Sturges gently clapped a hand on her shoulder. "You volunteer here, ain't your job. We're glad you come in at all."

This seemed to give her a wave of relief, as her tense form melted, ever so slightly as she began to brush her hair down.

"But, uh- me and Preston were wonderin', who's this friend of yours? It's obviously a 'he'-" The color and peace faded from her face as he asked this.

"O-oh, it is nothing! At all! Do not worry! It is a friend from- from- college, yes! He just needed me to uh- water his dog! That is it!" Curie quickly moved herself away from Sturges to behind the desk, rifling through her bags. She was a genius, but a terrible liar.

"Uh-huh." Sturges apparently decided to not give her a hard time about it. "Well, I hope his uh- dog is alright."

"Oh it is! Very happy! Woof woof!"

Preston and Sturges looked at each other, confused, but choosing to accept Curie's lie. They weren't going to pry into her personal life. But they were surprised at the implications. Curie might have a boyfriend? That, or a drug dealer. They were having a hard time deciding which instance was more unlikely.

"Uh, anyway Curie. We got a kid in back, he's coming down hard from some Pshyco. Think you could fix him up?"

"Of course!" She perked right up at the idea that she could get away from the two skeptical men. She quickly snatched her medical bag up and disappeared into the back room.

The two stared blankly at the doorway that she had just disappeared in.

"So-" Preston started, looking blankly at his companion.

"Honestly? I don't even wanna think about it."

"Fair enough."