Closed.

She looked at her suspiciously. "How can you know? No, Doctor, it's a curse. My mum always told me Lighteaters could do awful things. This is nothin' natural."

It's been known for years that cholera is caused by drinking contaminated water, but it was understandable why the uneducated called it "something unnatural".

If there ever were a disease caused by unnatural means, cholera would surely be it. Sometimes its symptoms were so mild that the victim could go for days without realizing they were infected and sometimes it hit so hard and so fast that the victim died within the day.

Clare arrived home to find Jed Baker and David Brown both pacing up and down her consulting room. Jed had been her patient since the business with the wine two years ago, but she hadn't seen David since he was a witness to the Merrill Steelworks bombing.

"My brother and his wife-" David begun.

"My wife and the baby-" Jed overlapped him.

Before she could say a word, Jill Symond appeared at the window. "Doctor, my daughter-"

Who is Clare going to visit first? She might not have time to pay attention to all of her patients.

-Go with David.
- Go with Jed.
- Go with Jill.
 
-Go with Jed

Clare frowned slightly at the reply, deciding not to comment further and let the uneducated be uneducated.

She left quietly and put a hand over her heart as she walked. How long can I take this? How much muck do I have to keep going through? There's so many things and I'm alone. I wonder if Finch... She paused a little as she walked, pressing a hand to her head to will herself not to think about him. She didn't think it would work, but she found herself moving her feet towards her home.

Then, more complications arose. She frowned as she saw the two men here, seeming stressed before Clare found out what the fuss was. Then she turned to Jill as she started to talk. She wished they didn't come at her all at once, but she knew she had to choose. "I'm sorry Jill, I'm going to go with these men first and I'll come to your aid as soon as we finish." She told her politely before looking at Jed and David.
 
"But, my daughter..." Jill's eyes were filled with tears.

Clare was only one woman still and there was so much to do with the outbreak of the epidemic.

--

Jed's wife and son did indeed both have symptoms of cholera. The baby was very bad.

Clare did what she could for the household, making sure those inhabitants still well understood what they must do to nurse those who are ill.

She was able to visit David's household as well after that, doing the same for his brother and family.

By the time she dragged herself home once more - well after dark - she was so weary she could hardly put one foot in front of the other. Every doctor in the area was in a similar state of exhaustion and the charity wards at the hospitals were filled to overflowing.

There was no cure for Cholera. All any doctor could do was treat the symptoms and hope for the best. When the source of the contaminated water is discovered, steps could at least be taken to ensure there were no new cases, but even then...

The doctors with the information about the disease hadn't the training to interpret it and the doctors with the training did not have the information.

If anyone was going to pinpoint the source of the contamination, it looked like it would have to be Clare. She was educated enough and she was at the front lines.

She now faced a choice. Outside her door, people were suffering and dying right then. They needed her medical skill, immediately.

- Focus on discovering the source of the contamination.
- Focus on helping the people.
 
-Focus on discovering the source of the contamination

Clare felt crushed under the weight of everyone's problems. But, found she had to help everyone's problems. Everything revolved around everyone, never herself, and at times she was okay with that. Focusing on her self would mean trying to confront her own fears and disabilities. None of which, she has been prepared for.

She opened the door to her home and leaned heavily on the door as she closed it behind her. She was tired. She wanted to help. Clare stood there for a while, thinking about her duties and her knowledge. If I find the contaminated water, I can prevent the disease from spreading. I can help a lot more people if I just try... But I can't do it alone. I'll need some help. I need... She needed Woodsworth help. Yet, she was nervous to even offer the proposal.
 
The following morning, Clare close her shutters and sat down with paper and pencils. She begun to map the known cases of cholera with the date of onset noted, trying to find a pattern.

All morning, she heard the downstairs bell ringing and her landlady's voice turning away caller after desperate caller - but my mother has fallen ill, but my father is in such pain, but my child is dying; I don't know what to do; please tell the doctor as soon as she returns; please.

--

She awoke to the news that the death toll was currently somewhere about 177. And that the three-month-old son of Jed and Helen Baker was among them. As were many other children.

The tensions that always ran beneath the surface of the East End were bubbling over. There were riots last night. They began when a lone healer was attacked by a grief stricken widower who claimed the healers were spreading the disease and ended with armed combat between Loegrian-born and Mercian-born East Enders.

But Clare had completed a map showing clusters of cholera cases and the date of onset of each. It was an extraordinary achievement for one day's work.

The largest concentration of cases, both initial and later, was situated in the three streets surrounding the Broad Street water pump. That suggested the pump was at fault, but did not prove it completely.

Clare was still missing some of the information she needed to make an accurate diagnosis. Only by interviewing the people affected could she close the gaps.

- Talk to the people by yourself.
- Alexander Townsend owes you, try to contact Free Mercia for help aquiciring the data from the people.
- Christopher Taggart is a healer, he should be able to help you with dealing with the people.
 
-Alexander Townshed

She tried to ignore the phone calls and the news. The faster she finishes the map, the faster they can stop more people from dying. Well, not they, she was alone. Which she now realized is a problem as she finally completed the data.

She chewed on her pencil as she saw gaps and knew she couldn't convince people to give her information like she used to. She's become too accustomed of being a doctor unfortunately. But... This area. I know these people will trust someone else though! It's just going to prove difficult finding him. I'm not one to back down however. She rolled up the map, with more of an idea of what she was doing now.
 
Clare was able get a message to Townsend via a patient whom she was fairly certain was involved in Free Mercia,and within a few hours a ragged old man tottered into her surgery. He watched Clare out of suspicious rheumy eyes until the landlady had closed the door behind her. Then the old man straightened and addresses he with Alexander Townsend's unmistakable voice.

"Good afternoon, Detective. Or is it Doctor now? I understand you wished to speak with me?"

He has a hand in the pocket of his trousers, no doubt resting upon the concealed pistol he would draw if Clare attempted to capture him, but his tone of voice was curious rather than aggressive.

- Explain why you need his help.
- Ask about his disguise.
- Ask something else.
 
-Explain why you need his help

She frowned at the get-up. He hardly made for a convincing old man honestly. Regardless, she crossed her arms and proceed to address him. "This is serious Mr. Townshed. I'm asking for a favor, which you seem vastly curious in by seeking an audience with someone who tried to capture you. And don't worry I won't, I'm not an affilate with the agency." She pulled the map from her coat and opened it up in front of him. "I've been trying to figure out where the source of the Chlorea is and I may have narrowed it down." She pointed to the circle with many scratched in information. "However, there are a few gaps. I'm asking you to help me get more information so I can make sure I have the correct source." She explained looking at him for a reaction.
 
Alexander nodded with approval when Clare explain why she had sought him out. "You are doing something good for a change. Of course I'll help." He craned to look at her map. "I see. You need to know where your earliest cases got their water. I'll start with the names on the map, and fill in the gaps for you."

--

It only took him a day to fill in the missing information. Twenty more people died that day - but at least, when Clare sat down to add Alexander's information to her map, she had almost arrived at a solution.

With the new data added, the solution at once leaped to the eye. All of the initial cases and many of the subsequent ones, arose among those who drank water from the Broad Street pump.

So that's it. She had it. She knew how the city could be saved from this epidemic. She could stop this.

But not alone.

- Give the information to Woodsworth.
- Give the information to Townsend.
- Give the information to Taggart.
 
-Give the information to Woodsworth

She smiled a little when they were able to put all the pieces together and had found an pretty exact location. She turned to Alexander and thanked him. "I'm going to give this to Woodsworth, but I won't tell him about you so don't worry. He's the only one that can tell the authorities to fix the problem and they'll do it..." She was quiet for a moment as she stared at the map. I did this... Without Finch. She thought. I was able to finally help on my own. She rolled up the map again, ready to give it to Woodsworth if he was willing to listen.
 
It took a little maneuvering to get in to see Woodsworth, but he immediately grasped the importance of what Clare showed him. "I'll have it shut down." He said at once. His eyes lingered on Clare for a moment too long.

Shutting down the pump won't solve the problem immediately. There will still be new cases in the poorest homes where it was not possible to be careful enough when washing linen.

"But the worst is over." Woodsworth interrupted Clare's thoughts, placing a precarious hand on her shoulder. "You've cut off its head. Thank you."

The Broad Street pump was shut down within the hour.

The number of new cases reported each day begun to drop from that moment. Something like 197 people have died already, and there were more deaths to come - but the end was within sight, if not yet within reach. Because of Clare.

It was a damned good day.

Her old colleagues, Stoker and Morris invited her to celebrate with them that night, to treat her to drink and to catch up on not seeing each other for more than a year.

- Accept.
- Try to get Woodsworth to come as well.
- Refuse.
 
-Try to get Woodsworh to come as well

Clare felt pretty proud about this. Not only did it make her shoulders feel a little lighter, she felt it around everyone else. She had to admit, it made pretty brave after. So much so she tried to talk to Woodsworth into going to the party with her.

She hadn't talked to many people and this could be an opportunity to rekindle other ties. To finally reconnect with Finch for once.
 
"A celebration?" Woodsworth's eyebrow rose as Clare came into his office with the invitation. It was the second time they had spoken after a while and both times were caused by an unfortunate event. At least this time it was after the event was finished.

He stood up from his desk. There was a mountain of files on it, heaps, as there always were. There was always paperwork to file after a big event and that was Woodsworth's job, among other things. He took a reluctant glance back at his work and then turned toward Clare.

"Perhaps it would be a nice change of pace." He said with a slight smile.

--

Uncharted_3_Concept_Art_by_Andrew_Kim_01a.jpg

Gettings Woodsworth to come along was not that big of a task after all. Perhaps he wanted to unwind as much as the others did.

The tavern they went to was already filled with Clare's acquaintances. Colleagues, for the most part. She had very little friends. Actually, after Finch, there probably wasn't anyone she could call a good friend.

But this was the night for happier thoughts. Woodsworth and Clare entered together and joined the ranks of "private detectives" who were already pretty intoxicated. Whiskey was poured in two glasses, topped with ice and handed to the two of them without a question.

"To the end of the plague!" Stoker said, smiling.
"To saving lives!" Morris added.
"To our doctor." Woodsworth spoke, not very loud, but loud enough for Clare's ears.

- Mingle through the crowd.
- Stay with Woodsworth and the team.
- Go to the people from the hospital.
 
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-Stay with Woodsworth and the team

Clare smiled happily at their toasts and even found herself blushing at Woodsworth, but that could be the beverage choosing to act up. She started to talk to everyone after that, happy to find herself laughing at their jokes and them telling her their stories. Everything felt... Happy. It was a foreign feeling which felt like she was going into cold water after a hot day. Her eyes drifted over to Woodsworth and frowned a little as she remembered her rejection. She just wasn't sure how to address it, or if it was a good time to ruin both of their fun. There was a part of her that wished they could forget it and be happy together tonight.
 
Despite her wishes, Clare did not get a chance to talk to Woodsworth about anything personal. He was a gentleman and a very secretive one on top of that and he would never discuss his or someone else's private life out in the open. The closest they came to that were a couple exchanged glances over the rim of their whiskey glasses as the crowd around them started getting louder.

--

The night air hit Clare like a slap to the face, but it did little to clear her head. She staggered a bit, looking about in an attempt to get her bearings. She was in one of the vilest stews of the East End and she faced a longish walk home.

She couldn't remember how she came to be there. The whiskey in the tavern behind her had muddled her thoughts.

Now she set homeward, putting one careful foot in front of the other.

She caught a flash of movement out of the very corner of her eye, but her numbed reflexes were too slow and she was not able to do anything before the man in the alleyway leaped at her. She crashed underneath him to the filthy cobblestones and his knife blade bit into the skin at her throat.

"Wandered a long way from home, haven't you, lass?" He said in her ear, with a gust of foul breath.

"Now then, you hand over that watch and your wallet and then our business is done, see? And you can wander back to where you came from. But give me any trouble and your fine kin will never discover where we've dumped your body."

When he said "we," Clare saw the others. Five or six menacing shapes were stepping out of the shadows.

It should have been impossible for thugs such as these to take someone like her by surprise. It would have been impossible, had her abilities not been compromised by drink and exhaustion.

- Your revolver is in your coat's pocket, try to get it out.
- You don't think the knife is near any arteries, if you jerk suddenly you should be able to free yourself.
- If you can get him to drop his guard for an instant, you can wrestle him off with sheer strength.
- You expect that these men are desperate, try talking them down.
 
-You don't think the knife is near any arteries, if you jerk suddenly you should be able to free yourself

Clare knew this wasn't a good idea. Each foot forward felt like 10 backwards. Wow, can I drink... She found herself wanting to laugh until she was interrupted by danger. Of course it's danger, she never can avoid it even on a good day. She struggled under the man as he wanted to take her wallet and watch.

She stared at the blade and the men as they appeared. "Savages..." She mumbled, not loud enough for anyone to hear since the knife was right at her throat. She paused to think and felt all their eyes staring her down. She noticed that it wasn't that close to her. There, I can move. Granted I'll get cut, but I can fight them. Once I move. Then she acted quickly. Or as quickly as someone can be while drunk.
 
Unfortunately, her fogged mind and slowed reflexes were not up to this challenge. Clare's hands came up desperately to hold him off, fastening around the bare skin of his neck, but at that point she knew she could not throttle him before he slit her throat.

She had only an instant to decide. Her palms were flat against his bare skin and she had Lighteater blood. She could grasp hold of his inner flame and smother it, right now, this moment, before his blade sliced her throat.

- Do it, who knows how many people he killed before, rip his life out of his body.
- Don't do it, you will not become like them, not even to save your own life.
 
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-Don't do it, you will not become like them, not even to save your own life

Clare felt tears run down her face as she grabbed the guys throat. A part of her. The side she had only been exposed to once, right before Finch died. The one that was all fire, consuming her wanting to take a life. It'll be easy. His neck was cool under her fingers, it was easy to kill it.

Did they think the same thing too? She thought as pushed her hands more into his skin. "I..." She managed out still crying. Finch and Pierece... Tagget and Woodsworth... Jed and Alexander. I want to live. I don't want to die here, but... I can't live in a world where I could be a danger to them either. "I don't want to kill you!" She tried to push her whole being away from him. It was funny, if she will die here, she wondered why she hadn't died all those times before. I just ran out of time at this very moment.
 
Clare watched as the knife descended toward her -

- and felt, rather than saw, the arm behind it go limp. The rest of the thug went limp as well, falling heavily on top of her. She was able to push his body away and look up to see Alexander Townsend. He held a tiny pistol fitted with an extra attachment the like of which she had never seen before, but which appeared to have rendered the sound of the shot inaudible.

The echoes of footsteps frantically running away told Clare where the rest of the thugs have gone to.

Alexander raised his eyebrows when he got a clear view of her face.

"You're far from home, aren't you?" He commented. "What in hell are you doing here?"

- Don't say anything.
- Tell the truth.
- Say you were out for a walk.
- Say you went to see a patient.
 
-Tell the truth

Clare was shocked when she was acutally saved. She supposed she couldn't die that easily then. She stared down at the man in which Alexander shot then the men who had fled. Before, drawing her eyes to Alexander again. "I... I was at a party and got a little drunk okay. I'm human too." She wiped her eyes quickly, using the shadows of the night to her advantage. "I could ask you the same thing. Were you stalking me?" Clare stood up and hopped over the man.
 
"And this was the best place you could find?" He shook his head and stepped back so Clare could get unsteadily to her feet.

"I was in the neighbourhood and I heard the noise. Like any good citizen I came to aid."

In a businesslike manner, Alexander went to prod the body of the thug with his boot, giving Clare a wink over his shoulder.

- Thank him.
- Praise his aim.
- Accuse him of murder.
- Stay silent.
- Say something else.
 
-Say something else

She stared at him with a small frown crossing her lips as she watched him. "I don't think you were 'in the neighborhood'. Were you on a mission?" She asked him a little suspicious to what his dealings were in this part.
 
"I'm not about to tell you that, Detective, now, am I?" Alexander grinned. Then his eyes strayed down to the thug on the ground. "He had it coming. I know this one. He's slit the throats of other easy marks."

Alexander moved from the body then, coming to lean beside Clare against a convenient brick wall, one booted foot propped behind him. From the pocket of his trousers, he drew out a packet of the cigarettes, pulling one out for himself, then glancing at Clare, and offering her one.

- Accept.
- Refuse.
- Refuse, but give him a matchbox to light it.
- Leave.
 
-Refuse

"I'm not a detective anymore. I'm just a doctor now." She remarked quicker than she would have liked. She looked down at the man, thinking about what she cried out to him. I was going to do the same thing... She didn't say anything as she shakily leaned against the wall and watched him. She refused the cigarette and looked at the wall on the other side. "I... Sorry, but can I ask why you are apart of Free Mercia?" Maybe because she was more drunk, she felt more emotional than she needed to be.
 
Alexander replaced the packet, struck a match and lit the cigarette. Smoke wreathed around his face.

"You've been a good doctor, too." He said. "You just saved our city from a cholera epidemic. Thank you, by the way." He took a drag on the cigarette. "Free Mercia does good work, you should know that. You've been drifting through your life. And you should stop that. You're capable of more than treating measles and miner's cough. Or even treating cholera. You could make a big difference, if you wanted to. And you've been walking my streets for quite some time now - so isn't it time you joined the effort to clean them? The Professor would welcome someone of your skill, and you know the cause is just. You've seen- " He gestured. "... the horrors of the East End. In all their glory. Come help us put them to an end."

After a moment Alexander added. "There's a meeting tomorrow night. If you want to come, meet me at the Ten Bells at eleven, and I'll bring you along." Without a warning he leaned toward Clare, pressing his lips on hers.. The kiss was brief and fleeting, but the smell of cigarettes lingered. "Take care getting home, now." He said, walking off with that mocking salute of his without waiting for a response.

Clare did not have to give an answer immediately, but how did she feel about the proposal?

- You are not about to become an outlaw.
- You don't know what to think.
- You think it's time to do something about the horrible situation in the slums.
- You are tired of your life having so little meaning, perhaps it is time to join Free Mercia.
 
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