#he can still manage to get things done and will give himself a stimpak or stitches if he needs to

[sirmanmister]

MacCready being scared of needles because he’s a universal blood donor.

When he was a kid, everyone would turn to him to give blood transfusions whenever someone was hurt, but even though Lucy tried as hard as she could, she was still a child, and they were still living in a cave in the wasteland.

MacCready’s blood would end up on the floor, a new grave would be dug, and MacCready assumed he only felt so sick because he had lost another kid, but when Lucy had to give him stitches one day after being stupid, he found himself sweating, nauseous at the glint of thin silver anywhere near him, already steeling himself for another undue death that he and his blood should have been able to prevent.

[believerindaydreams]

Many of the most entertaining things in New Vegas have been the result of my own misinterpretation of thing.

Long rambling thoughts about midgame content behind the cut

So like, I eventually killed Mr House for the crime of being fallible- there's no good setting yourself up as divinely all seeing if you can't take into account a thing like, say, a power vacuum at the heart of your very own strip because the Courier you sent to clean up Gomorrah stage managed a mass hooker breakout and shot every one who thought they should run the place. At that point it's just "can I run your plan better than you can" and frankly if he's left himself so little time to get all these factions as allies he's bluffing out an uncertain hand.

Where was i- ah, but whereas killing Mr House seemed sorta flippant compared to all the things I've shot, Arcade suddenly shifting into "oh NO" panic mode and getting the Enclave on board really hung together with all the NCR quests into a "this is a game about a warzone, there are tired soldiers and bad taste jokes and plodding back and forth and filling out paperwork" this game is so good at portraying the vortex of systems built over years and to a certain extent no longer under anyone's control

Though I was a bit "good LORD" when he asked for five people across the Mojave

Anyway in most cases these were places I had a clue about already- somehow I hadn't ever made it to Westside and didn't linger, Jacobstown would have felt like a slog if I hadn't made it out to Foxtrot

I saved the last one for the fairly nasty sounding Cannibal guy, who I had not met, but seemed a short distance away from the Novac-Vegas road, so fine- how bad was it gonna be?

Only the Pip-Boy said Vault 34 and my heart sank a lil bit, because vaults give me the freakin' heebeegee. I get lost in video game buildings; they give me claustrophobia; open-world game for me needs to have a majority of time spent in the open which is one reason I never got into the series before

As a side point, this also means I don't really understand the whole Enclave thing. I'm relying on the scattered memories of survivors, people who are having their nostalgia tickled, and I hear the Navarro injoke but I don't understand. Was it a vault? Why not?

Meanwhile, Arcade has gone from charming, quietly provocative lack of words to spilling his heart out, self-flagellating just like I figured, and I want to say to him that he's turned a handful of rogues into gods, all his disgust with Enclave philosophy channeled into a twilight that he so badly wants to be a part of.

(That he will tear his life down and kindle a new one on ashes at the right bequest is obvious already. That's the Courier.)

So the six of them are all going to meet in a bunker, propelled by the habits of martyrdom, and I'm worried as I cross the last hill to enter a glowing cave.

The place does nothing to dispel my fears. It is cold and full of unpleasant things and the shift from stone to metal is no consolation. Every step further along drips with rads, I'm in a space suit and swallowing chems like candy, half dying at every new door, the whole hardcore game so far I haven't gone through consumables this much. Gulping down stimpaks preemptively and pumping lead out of a ridiculous Strip bauble, since most of the killing is actually being done by a misfit doctor who's switched from familiar flappy lab coat to a red sweater I thought was pretty.

(I mean it was +10 on energy weapons but it looks very nice on Arcade.)

So we keep going down, and down, and down, corpses in our wake, and I can't imagine what kind of superweapon the Enclave can make but this is the last stand before Vegas. Maybe it's a thing that'll pop out of the box if the NCR fails and the Legion is marching on all the little quibbles of the Strip and Freeside to burn like Nipton.

They'd do it. The people opposing them might think of equal horrors for their martyrdom.

Also I am still hunting for a cannibal.

So after an eternity of chasing and death and throwing myself into flooded rooms to wrestle a corpse for its banal password, I'm at the last door and I can't open it. Sonewhere in apparent miles of identical squalor I have missed something. Somewhere on the other side of that door is a cannibal, maybe even with sanity intact, who has spent years nursemaiding a superweapon and surviving. I am invited to contemplate watching him welcome in five friends and lock the door again, maybe with a request that I bury the mountain so deep they'll never be heard of again.

So I say, fuck it.

I stop trying. We fight our way back up, much quicker than going down, with my fixed determination that it cannot possibly come to that, what good is being the Courier of New Vegas if I have to build it on horrors, if that is needed to save the city, let the city die quickly.

We come back out to an afternoon sky. There would, I think, be a wind. It's clean and open again.

Around the next hill is a dumbass called Cannibal who enjoys dad jokes.

I'm still slackmouthed ten minutes later when Arcade is showing off his bequeathed Bob Heinlein power armor and is all "this rocks lololol"

...and it's mostly because the Pip-Boy is just. That fucked up.

[diredigression]

hey yo can I get an order of "temperance" with Sole aaaand surprise me with who she's with wink emoji

temperance: communication, healing, moderation;

“I’m here for you. You can talk to me.” possible AUs/settings/ideas: comfort, deep talks, hugging, woundtending  

Finally got this out! Hope it’s worth the wait!

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

It was just a raider den-clearing like any other. Sole needed to get out, clear her head, kill some jackasses, and Hancock was all too happy to oblige. She’d had time to cope with her experience inside the Institute, and this felt like a step back towards normal. She’d picked off a couple sentries from cover, then she’d then charged into the fray swinging as the rest realized they were under attack. Hancock was there at her back, blasting away any that tried to jump her from behind.

They’d missed one, apparently. A little smarter than the others, this one must’ve hung back, avoided the rush, sniped from a distance.

Sole goes down with a bullet to the thigh.

She lurches back to her feet, pain and rage fogging her head. She’s not at her best, but she’ll be damned if she’s gonna let one bullet stop her. She vaguely hears pained roaring and shotgun blasts as she struggles to return to the rhythm of the fight. She swings at the raider in front of her, screaming with the effort, and he crashes to the ground. Her head swings wildly, glaring back and forth, but the only figure she sees is the familiar red shape, oddly out of focus. “Hancock! Any more?”

“All finished.” His voice is hoarse. “Still with me? We're gonna wanna take care of that. C’mere.”

The red shape is now pulling one of her arms around his shoulders with his arm hooked around her middle, hauling her away. She tries to pry him off—”I’m fine, I can walk, let me go—” but is frustrated to find that, actually, neither words nor walking are coming easily now that the adrenaline rush is fading. She resigns herself to his help, and he half drags her towards shelter. All of her attention goes to her feet, on keeping them under her, on not stumbling and pulling that leg again on a broken piece of concrete, and to her hands clinging to the heavy cloth of his coat like a lifeline. After far too long she’s lowered with some difficulty onto something kind of soft, a bedroll, must be the raiders’ sleeping area. She tries to prop herself up against the wall, but she’s not angled right and that damn leg is useless and every stress renews the searing pain. She closes her eyes, forcing herself to relent, sagging into the cushioning, letting awareness recede behind the roaring of her body.

“Sole? Hey, come back to me. You gotta get these pants off so I can get to that wound.”

She manages a slight facial twitch in lieu of a frown. She doesn’t want to deal with the outside. Why can’t it just fix the problem without her?

“I know you like these pants. Don’t make me cut them off ya.”

She groans. Forces her awareness through the surface of the fog, just enough to push her eyes open and verify the situation. Yes, that’s still Hancock, kneeling at her hip with an expression she can’t interpret. Yes, there’s a lot of pain in that leg. Pants probably have to go. She forces her arms up, fumbles with the pants, gets them off with some assistance. With the effort returns a bit of clarity—a shot to the thigh, yeah. Could be bad. Forces herself upwards to examine the wound. It’s hardly the first time you’ve been shot, get with it, you’ve got to take care of yourself. Doesn’t look like the artery’s been hit. Of course, if it had been hit, she probably wouldn’t be conscious by this point anyway.

“Lie down, let me take care of this.” His hands are pushing hers away from the wound. A fragment of consciousness spares a moment to note the grounding, almost hot grip of his fingers.

“Just another shot. Gimme a stim.” She’s still struggling with words, and her attempts to grab in the general direction of supplies probably aren’t helping her case.

“It went through your thigh, you need help. You can barely even lift yourself.”

“S’not bad. Got it myself.”

“Just shut up and let me do it.”

Something in the ghoul’s voice gives her pause. Then another thought hits her. “No joke ‘bout gettin’ my pants off?”

A beat, then a chuckle that doesn’t quite manage to sound casual. “Oh, now you miss my jokes? Didn’t ya threaten my life last time?”

“What’s wrong?”

“…this is gonna burn.” And burn it does as he pours alcohol on the wound. Luckily, the burn at least helps numb it a little to the following stabs of the stimpak. He works with practiced efficiency and she finds herself able to let go a little more easily. Soon enough he’s put away the supplies and sat back. She looks up to find him shrugging out of his coat. He drapes it across her exposed legs.

“What’re you doin’? We gotta get back. Get me clean pants and we’ll go.”

“No, you’re stayin’ right there. You gotta rest.”

“What’s the problem?”

She looks back up at him. The stimpak is doing its job and the pain is fading from her brain, freeing space for consciousness. And, strangely, she finds that as she watches him her rage begins to fade as well, replaced with…concern? Is that it? He sits next to her, knees pulled up to his chest, arms folded around them, staring at the coat across her legs. He looks so slight without it, in just the white shirt and vest. The ghoul is so naturally larger-than-life, she always forgets how small he really is.

“I thought I was gonna lose ya.”

“From one bullet to the leg?”

“Not the leg. When ya left for the Institute.”

She snaps her mouth closed. His dark eyes flick to hers for an instant.

“Look, I…you know me. I been runnin’ from myself my whole life. And I know you done a lot a’ that too. So you and me runnin’ together, it worked out well to start, huh? Get in some trouble, keep each other distracted—”

“Wait, stop, where are you going with this?” Fear has begun to creep into her stomach.

“I know how you are and I’m not gonna stop, I need to say this and you’re gonna sit there and listen, okay? No running away this time.” He turns the full weight of his black eyes on her.

Her stomach backflips and objections die in her throat.

“I know ya haven’t told me everything goin’ on with you and the Institute. That’s alright, I don’t need ta’ know, I want to know but I’m not gonna push. The thing is, when I watched you enter that teleporter, all cold fire and vengeance…” He relents and drops his eyes again. “Of course we were all worried if you’d make it back. If they’d let you go, if you’d end up in the middle of a room full of Coursers, if the teleporter would even work and hadn’t just disintegrated you on the spot. But out of all that, I could only see that look on your face. That look that said if you didn’t find what you were lookin’ for…you’d try to take them down with ya.”

Sole’s eyes begin to burn. She drops them from Hancock’s face to the wall at her other side. No. You don’t owe him a response. You don’t owe him a piece of you.

“I been runnin’ from everything good in my life, but as soon as you vanished, I realized I was terrified that you were gonna run from me. From all of us that care for you. I know the hell that kinda anger can wreak on a person, and I know you been hurtin’ from it. Just…you got a lotta good here. Whether you include me in that or not. Course I hope you do, I mean, throwing in with you has been the best decision I’ve ever made. I’ve got your back and that’s not gonna change. I just don’t want you to make the same mistake I did and run from it all…don’t you leave us behind.”

Avoid. Deflect. Definitely avoid that little lump of warm vulnerability. “You're not going soft on me, are ya, Hancock?” The statement doesn’t come out nearly as clear as she’d like.

His chuckle cracks, betraying him as well. “Hey, everyone's entitled to some softness. For me, it's pretty much everything below the eyebrows.” He clears his throat. “So, yeah. Guess I got a little overprotective, hence the leg. Just needed to get that out.” Turned back towards him, she sees his eyes shifting, looking anywhere but at her, hands fidgeting. He’s about to stand.

Her hand grabs his. For a moment she sees her terror reflected in his scarred face, but then she realizes it’s less terror, more wonder, as he stares first at their hands, then into her eyes. She didn’t plan this. Didn’t intend it. The warmth and strength of his hand is almost overwhelming. She has to say something.

When all else fails, the truth. “I can’t promise I won’t. But if you…feel so strongly…about me…then I’ll try.”

His face softens further, a small smile appearing. “That’s all anyone can ask for.” They sit there, hand in hand, a few breaths longer.

Then Hancock shakes himself and stands. “One clean pair of pants comin’ up. Unless you’re thinkin’ about some sorta no-pants party, in which case—”

“Hancock.”

He winks and flashes her a grin. Perhaps a softer one than usual.

[siribear]

‘so.’ alice loads another clip of microfusion cells into her laser rifle. ash whirls around her shoes as they move past another section of subway tunnel, and she pointedly ignores where it came from. ‘you said there’s danger in publishing the paper?’

‘people don’t like hearing the truth all the time.’ she pitches her voice high. ‘piper, why don’t you publish good news for once? they’d rather eat up lies than swallow the truth.’

‘poetic.’ alice searches the pockets of a dead triggerman, coming up with a handful of bullets for her 10mm. ‘ignorance is bliss, i suppose.’

piper brushes invisible dust from her coat. ‘right. enough that they’d try to poison me instead of listen.’

‘wait, you were poisoned?’

‘oh, man.’ her eyes light up like she isn’t remembering a near-death experience. ‘so, there i am at the dugout inn, winding down with a drink. i turned to talk to someone about... something, not important, but the next swig i take tastes funny.’

at the end of the half-collapsed subway tunnel is a closed vault door, vault 114 printed on the cogwheel shape. alice frowns, unspooling the plug on her pipboy to unlock the vault door in front of her. ‘funny how?’

piper shrugs, watching. ‘off. so i start getting woozy and before i can pass out, i stick my head under the still and just start chugging moonshine.’

code flashes by on her pipboy screen, just like when she opened the door in vault 111. piper is too into her story to realize alice knows too well what she’s doing for someone that just picked up a pipboy.

‘and i just - just vomit all over the floor. yefim wasn’t happy with me, but hey. no poison.’

the vault door screech open when she presses the manual override button. the door turns like a wheel, sliding into the wall. yellow lights strobe around the room beyond. ‘well, i’m glad you aren’t dead,’ she says when the grating noise stops. ‘how’s nat feel about all this?’

piper’s smile falls. she pulls her hat down to her eyes. ‘that’s, uh,’ she pauses when two triggermen appear to investigate the door opening. wielding only bats, they don’t even make it close. ‘that’s kind of what worries me, sometimes.’

alice hums in understanding. they make their way into the vault. it’s more cluttered than vault 111 was. shelves create a labyrinth after they walk across the grated walkway into the vault entrance. crates and boxes line the shelves; some empty, some with supplies that she and piper take for themselves.

‘do you think she could be in danger?’

piper pauses, halfway to tucking a stimpak in her coat pocket. ‘i don’t know. after mcdonough threatened us, i’m kind of worried that she is. and i don’t know what i’d do if something happened to her.’

because of me, alice imagines she isn’t saying. ‘why don’t you move, then? or give up the paper.’

‘because, as dangerous as it is, it’s the right thing to do.’

-

after following the winding halls and rooms through the vault, a staircase finally leads to a room that opens up to a large area, indefinitely under construction. digging equipment is still lodged in the dirt walls, mid-job. alice leads the way across metal catwalks over the dirt floor. their shoes echo on the walkways.

another handful of triggermen rush out to greet them, but between piper’s quick shooting and alice’s laser rifle, they make quick work of them.

‘are you with the brotherhood of steel?’ piper asks, watching alice pick through more pockets.

‘no. i helped the squad that was trapped at the cambridge police station. the gun was a gift.’

piper crosses her arms over her chest. ‘yeah? didn’t know the brotherhood was so.. giving to anyone that wasn’t one of theirs.’

alice shrugs as she sorts through ammo. ‘they definitely tried.’

‘but you managed to get a custom brotherhood weapon without joining?’

the line of questioning is fair, alice thinks. probably deserved, since she’s done nothing but pry since they left diamond city. ‘i assume you aren’t a fan.’

‘they’re not the most accepting group. and they don’t like anyone else sharing their toys.’

finished with her looting, alice stands and brushes ash off her jeans. they exit the excavation room only to find a smaller room similar to the ones before except - it’s a dead end.

‘well. great.’ hands on her hips, piper looks around. ‘what now?’

alice walks around a large pillar in the center of the room. in the back corner is a terminal and, almost comically in front of it, a hole in the floor. ‘here,’ she says, craning her neck to look down the hole. it’s not a far fall if they land on the piece of ceiling to the second floor that juts out.

‘okay... that’s not dangerous at all.’

‘more dangerous than taking on a gang with just us two?’ alice asks with a raised eyebrow. before piper can respond, she sits at the edge of the hole, turns, and swings down to the ceiling. it holds. she helps piper down to the next level, then jumps down to the next room.

rifle drawn, she sweeps the room and finds it clear. piper stumbles after she hits the ground, but steadies herself on alice’s arm. ‘are you okay?’

‘i’m fine!’ piper exhales heavily. ‘do you think other journalists do stuff like this?’

alice smiles. ‘you’re the only one crazy enough.’

‘you’re... probably right.’

-

when they finally find nick valentine, it’s in a room at the very top of the vault atrium. a pair of voices drifts down the open room, one distinctly accented and the other belonging to another gang member.

‘that’s nick,’ piper whispers. ‘sounds like he’s stuck up there.’

alice and piper quietly make their way to the top, turning at the top of the stairs. a triggerman argues with nick through a circular window, his voice growing panicked as their argument continues.

‘the black book?’ says the triggerman, voice fearful. ‘i-i better go clear things up with skinny. don’t-don’t move, valentine.’

‘wouldn’t think of it, dino,’ comes nick’s response, dry and flat.

dino jogs their way and gets the butt of a laser rifle to the face when he gets close enough. he crumples in a heap, blood flowing from his broken nose. alice nudges him with her shoe, but he doesn’t get back up.

‘piper, that you?’ nick asks when piper passes in front of the window. ‘what’re you doing here?’

‘brought you some help! hang on, nicky.’ piper begins tapping away at a terminal on the wall.

when alice passes by the window, the room is too dark to see much. a single ceiling light illuminates nick standing in the center, but all alice can make out is a yellow trenchcoat.

‘hey, think you can get this?’ piper says, smacking the side of the terminal. ‘i hate these things.’

alice hacks the terminal easily and keys into the option to unlock the door. the door itself opens with a hiss. alice steps into the room just as nick steps fully into the light, a half-lit cigarette in hand.

yellow, glowing eyes stare back at her, same as the synths she fought back at arcjet. her hands twitch toward her gun, but nick either doesn’t notice or simply doesn’t mention it. when he removes the cigarette from his mouth, he has no breath to exhale.

‘can’t say i don’t appreciate the irony of the reverse damsel in distress scenario - ’ he snuffs out the cigarette in an ashtray on the desk next to him. ‘ - but who are you?’

alice grins. ‘your knight in shining armor, princess.’ nick’s robotic face, plastic skin stretched over a metal skeleton, is impassive. ‘i’m alice.’

a gear whirs in the exposed joint of his jaw. ‘and what brings you to help out an old detective?’

‘i need your help finding a missing person.’

‘hey, uh,’ piper calls from the door. ‘we might want to get going. i’m hearing footsteps.’

valentine takes alice’s offered handgun. ‘alright. you and i will talk when we get out of here. let’s go.’

-

at the bottom floor, the trio hides in a side room. a handful of triggermen enter the room, guns drawn. ‘dino?’ one of them calls.

‘up here!’ dino yells, leaning over the top railing with one hand. ‘some bitch broke my nose!’

‘there goes the quiet option,’ nick whispers beside her. he shoots a triggerman in the chest when he runs into their hiding spot. dino, when he stumbles down the stairs to the mid-level of the atrium, gets himself shot in the head, courtesy of alice’s hunting rifle.

their way out of the vault is a bloody one. more triggermen try to stop them, only to be gunned down. in contrast to the empty maintenance rooms that made up their entry to the vault, they fight their way through the residential areas. one triggerman surprises them by jumping out of a nursery. alice hesitates, breath catching when she sees an empty crib. the triggerman’s bat slams into her arm.

she hears bone snap before she feels it, pain lancing through her arm. her rifle clatters to the floor. nick spins on his heel and fells the triggerman before his bat can come down on alice’s head.

‘hey. you alright there?’

the crib is blurry in her vision. she closes her eyes. ‘yeah,’ she grounds out. ‘peachy.’

‘that didn’t sound alright,’ piper says, behind her. ‘i think her arm’s broken.’

nick tries to touch it, but alice shies away when she feels a hand grab her sleeve. ‘we have to set it before we can use a stimpak.’ alice opens one eye. ‘hang on.’

‘fuck,’ alice swears. one of nick’s hands - metal, skeletal - holds her arm in place while the other injects a stimpak into her skin. she exhales a breath she didn’t realize she was holding and forces herself to breathe.

‘doctor sun can take a better look at that when we get to diamond city. are you good to move?’

she flexes her good hand, knuckles still white from clenching her fist. ‘yeah. like i said - peachy.’

she doesn’t look back at the nursery.

-

nick had told them skinny malone’s name was ironic, and it wasn’t a lie. a bigger man in a tuxedo stands in front of them, flanked by two triggermen. a woman in a purple sequined dress stands to the side, a bat held tightly in her hands.

‘what’re you doing, nicky?’

‘you shoulda told your dame to write home more often, skinny,’ nick says. ‘or none of us would even be here.’

the woman frowns heavily. ‘you should have killed him earlier. but no, you had to go soft on him because of old memories,’ she mocks.

‘shut up, darla. you don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘what i know,’ darla spits, ‘is he brought his friends here to wipe us out.’ skinny malone half-turns to darla, ready to argue.

‘darla,’ alice begins, weary. she holds her healing arm lightly, not enough to be obvious she’s injured. ‘you shouldn’t even be here. you’ve seen what we can do - you have a family that’s waiting for you to come home.’

darla turns to her, eyes wide. her grip on her bat loosens. ‘i - ’

‘darla,’ skinny warns.

‘that’s what i was sent here for. to bring you home,’ adds nick.

it’s the nail in the coffin. ‘y-you’re right. i - don’t even know why i’m here.’

‘d-darla?’ skinny’s voice wavers. there’s a vulnerability there alice wasn’t expecting. ‘what’re you doing?’

‘what i should have done a long time ago, skinny. it’s... over,’ she says, almost sadly. her bat falls to the floor.

‘wow,’ piper whispers. alice agrees.

when skinny gives them ten seconds to leave without a fight, they don’t need to be told twice. nick leads them to a side room back in the subway tunnels and a ladder that will take them back to the surface. he goes first, alice follows one-handed, and piper brings up the rear.

the manhole opens up in the middle of boston, halfway between park street station and diamond city. the sun has already set on boston, and the city is quiet for it. after checking her pipboy, the trio head back toward diamond city.

‘how did you know where i was?’ nick asks in the silence.

piper swears, startled. alice responds, ‘your assistant, ellie, sent me.’

‘hm. i should give her a raise.’

-

they reach the diamond city entrance tired and hungry. a few of the guards greet nick happily, but alice and piper merely shake their heads. happy to see him, but none of them were willing to go after him. piper breaks away, heading home to check on nat.

doctor sun they catch just before he closes up shop, and he’s none too happy about it. though, when they pay him extra caps, he stops his grumbling. the doctor grabs her arm, ignoring her pained wince, and inserts another stimpak. this time, after a moment, she can move her arm with little pain.

nick walks her back to the dugout inn, and at his word, yefim gives her another night in her room for free.

‘i don’t need sleep, but you look dead on your feet.’ when he tips his hat, he reminds her of the detectives on old television shows. ‘we’ll talk tomorrow.’

he leaves her alone in the room. alice falls asleep before her head hits the pillow.

[kiwisfics]

[Nova and Hancock/Nick]

X

  Stares were something Nova was used to.

  Not only was she nearly always accompanied by either a ghoul or synth - many times, both - but she plodded around with a deathclaw too.

  Stares and muttering didn't bother her anymore, however, having her boys refused food and drink in one of her own settlements burned her up.

  Nova's feet rested on Nick's lap, boots discarded under the table, as they waited for Hancock to return from purchasing a new shotgun.

  "This settlement is getting pretty large."

  Nova hummed in response to Nick's comment. He was right. She knew settlements tended to grow larger in between her visits, but something was bothering her. Her feet fell from Nick's lap as she stuffed them into her boots.

  Hancock, looking disgruntled and having his face covered with a mask, returned. He clearly hadm't purchased a shotgun. "Sunshine, is it just me or is it lookin' a little smooth around here?"

  "Yeah," Nova huffed out her agreement as she roughly zipped her boots, "I noticed." She doubted the bartender would recognize her - he was a fresh face - but she still wasn't risking a sugarcoating of what was clearly going on if he did recognize her. "Can I borrow that mask? Anyone messes with ya I'll handle 'em."

  As Hancock handed her the mask, Nick chided her, "Be careful, Nova, they won't respect you if they don't know who you are."

  Her shoulders were already tensed, anger rolling off of her in waves. "I will, but they clearly need to be reminded of Minutemen morals."

  She sauntered to the bar, gaining the attention of its tender quickly as she hopped onto a stool. His eyes darted to her clevage, exposed by the unbuttoned plaid shirt and tank top she was wearing, before he gave her a smug grin.

  "What can I do for you?"

  The mask covered only her mouth and nose, her eyes perfectly visible as her steely gaze focused on the man. "I couldn't help but notice there's no ghouls wandering around. There any reason for that?"

  The bartender laughed, though Nova's expression remained steadfast, "No ghouls here, you don't have to worry your pretty little head," Nova's jaw clenched, teeth gritting painfully, she did not like that, "the Minutemen don't check in often and when they do, they don't question the lack of ghouls. Its all the same to us, rather not have those-"

  Before he could finished Nova had pulled down the mask and grabbed a hold of the man's shirt, "Who's grand idea was this?" The man stuttered, clearly recognizing her - must have been the scars.

  "Uh, Norman, his name's Norman Slae. He put himself in charge as soon as he arrived. He's very convincing."

  Nova shoved him back, fully instending on giving him a tongue lashing, but Hancock's voice caught her attention before she got the chance.

  Fury burned in her at the sight of people surrounding her companions and attempting to force them out.

  There was no hesitation when she grabbed and threw a full bottle of wine against the wall, barely missing some of the setters heads. "Everyone, step back!" the words were practically a snarl, rage running through her veins stronger than a stimpak, "How dare any of you go against the code of inviting every settler in need into this settlement," her voice was powerful, booming off of the walls as she stood straight, her height doing nothing to lessen her intimidation.

  She paused, voice even stronger and louder when next she spoke, "Let alone trying to force the general of the Minutemen's closest companions out!"

  "Alright, alright, everyone settle down."

  The stillness that flooded the room was constricting, deafening silence following the voice and the murderous glare given to the speaker.

  "Nova!"

  Of course it was Norman.

  She knew the rat would be trouble from the moment she'd met him.

  He'd looked at her like a piece of meat and he hadn't been shy about sharing his attraction while disregarding her companions. She'd given him a bloody lip when he said Nick needed to be thrown in a scrap pile. She'd do worse this time. This went too far.

  "Is that deathclaw outside the gate Lady? Hardly even recognize her. Has to be yours though. No one else in this settlement is mentally challenged enough to travel with something that ugly," he glanced in Nick and Hancock's direction, "still a lot cuter than the other things you travel with."

  She heard the muffled "oh no" leave Nick's lips before she charged, done seething and ready to give this poor excuse of a man what he'd earned.

  Nova was Intimidating when she was angry, but the settlers - even settlers from before Norman's arrival - had never seen her attack, least of all without her weapons.

  Norman was surprised. A punch was nothing compared to the animalistic way she attacked now.

  Fury continued to bubble within her as her body went into autopilot. Her eyes were blurred. Her fists stung as she slammed them into his face with all the brutality she'd learned from the Commonwealth.

  The taste of her own blood filled her mouth as he managed to get a good shot in.

  A sound, nothing short of a growl, escaped her as she brought her nails across his face.

  When Norman kicked her off she was quickly restrained, Nick's voice calming her as he held her back. "That's enough. You've done enough."

  She relaxed against Nick, spitting out blood as she watched Norman get to his feet. Anger burned his own eyes as he pulled a dagger from a sheath on his belt.

  "Good synth, hold her while I gut her," Nick let go the moment he spoke, but she didn't attack, lest she go running straight into that blade, "Its about time the Minutemen got a better leader. One that ain't sleeping around with monsters and trash heaps."

  She snarled, "C'mon then! I'll show you why I'm the general."

  He charged.

  Before he could reach her, he was stopped. The dagger fell from his fist.

  Hancock pulled his blade from the man's torso, the same knife he'd used on Finn all those months ago. It wasn't a killing blow. "You have about twenty seconds before this exile turns into an execution."

  Norman was already slinking away, holding the hole in his side, "If I ever see your face in one of my settlements again, the only monster is going to be me and the only trash heap is will be the one your corpse is dumped in."

×

  Days had passed since the dramatic confrontation. Nova had made herself at home for an extended stay at the settlement. She was going to ensure that what happened when last she left had no chance of happening again, even if that meant forcefully removing every person who spoke against ghouls or synths.

  Nova stood on a rickety balcony, taking a break from her repair of the pre-war perch, humming a song as Lady peaked up at her. The creaking of the door caught her attention.

  "Would you look at that? I almost forgot you knew how to repair anything other than weapons." Hancock's subtle jab wasn't missed, and he earned himself a playful glare.

  "It has been a little while since I took a break, hasn't it?"

  "Try long," Nick stuck his head out of the door, "you know, you cant make everything perfect."

  "I can watch out for my settlements. Keep men like Norman from hurting more people," it wasn't the first time they had had this conversation. They thought she should care more about herself, but, to her, caring for herself only brought to light her past and flaws. The fact that she was a broken and scarred specimen of a human being, who couldn't protect her son and couldnt even feel desire for what others did. Why shouldn't she spend that time caring for others?

  "You're never going to be able to protect everyone, sunshine. And no matter how much I love seeing you give your all to fight scum like that, you need to relax." Hancock lightly poked the angry bruise on her face, "Any better?"

  "Yeah. Still got a huge cut inside though." Her answer lead to a loaded pause, hesitation clear in her demeanor.

  "What if- what if I can't relax?" Nick and Hancock glanced at each other, worry shining in their eyes as they waited for her to continue. "I just... When I try to stop I just remember everything. I remember that I never got to see my little boy grow up, that I'll never see my family again, that I'm-" she stopped.

  They hated when she said she was broken. In Nick's words, "humans can't be defective, they're not products." And in Hancock's she was "perfect." But still, she didnt understand the lack of desire that came so easily for others.

  "I'm broken. If not that I'm different. And what the point in me even falling in love if I don't care about sex? I should just-" Hancock's lips pressed against her own, cutting off her self deprecating words.

  Her arms immediately wrapped around him, pulling herself against his body and tilting her head back so he could straighten. A disgruntled whine escaped her as he pulled away but Nick quickly pulled her to him, pushing his hat onto her head as he did.

  When he pulled away, Nova was sufficiently breathless, and had a giddy smile on her face.

  "You are not broken."

  She didnt know if she believed it completely, but she knew she loved them, and she finally realized - as her father's words echoed in her mind - love had so much more to it than something as physical as sex.

  And, if she was the only person in this world to fall in love with a ghoul and synth, and if she was the only person in the world to see value in each life, even that of a deathclaw, she was alright with that. Because her family was more than alright with that.

[fallout4reactsblog]

Awesome! Could you do a react for sole x the companions + dlc where they’ve been in a quiet relationship but after not seeing each other for a while they share a passionate/romantic kiss and then realise they’ve done so in front of lots of other people, how do the companions/people around them react 💜 sorry if this is long

Cait: She was used to being abandoned. Left behind. Ignored. It didn’t make it hurt any less when sole announced they were leaving her, but she didn’t make too much of a fuss about it. She’d been through worse. She’d live, somehow. Mostly, she went around picking fights with anyone she could manage, but when that didn’t work, she’d get Preston or Sturges to give her some physical job to do. She thought less when she was tired. It hurt less when she was tired.

Sole managed to surprise her by coming back.

She didn’t say anything at first. She let them approach her, let them say hello, and then she grabbed them and pinned them to a wall to kiss the until neither of them could really breathe but neither of them wanted to stop, either.

They were shocked into parting at the sound of a laser musket clattering to the pavement. Preston stuttered for a few seconds before he managed to compose himself. Cait buried her head into sole’s shoulder in pure embarrassment.

“I’m not sure why you decided to hide this,” he finally managed, “but I’m sure you had your reasons. I won’t tell anyone, but I think you might want to tell people before someone else finds out.”

“Thanks, Preston.” Sole was perfectly calm, thankfully. “We’re just waiting for the right time.”

Cait heard him pick up his rifle, then turned back to her grinning partner. “Don’t ever leave me again. I didn’t like it.”

Sole just laughed a little. “I didn’t like it much, either. So, I promise not to travel without you unless it’s absolutely unavoidable.”

She sighed. “I’ll take what I can get, I reckon.”

Curie: Curie wasn’t used to emotions in general, much less loneliness, so sole going away was practically a heart-crushing experience. She felt everything to the absolute maximum. She spent her days crafting stimpak after stimpak for when sole got back, hoping that they’d make it back to receive them. For hours, she worried while she worked. Sole could be injured, or captured, or, worse, dead. It was entertaining, if in a horrible way, to imagine all the ways things could have already gone wrong.

When she heard them coming over the bridge, she dropped the beaker she was holding and instantly ran to them. They dropped their bag, knowing what was coming, and she jumped up to wrap her legs around their waist. Taking their face in her hands, she began to absolutely pepper them with kisses. They were laughing, she was giggling a little, and ecstasy was the only emotion she could really feel.

“Well, ain’t that just somethin’ worth seeing. I haven’t seen anything cuter since, I don’t know, the last time I saw a kitten probably.”

Curie just giggled and looked over at Hancock, completely oblivious to her partner’s embarrassment. “Oh, Monsieur Hancock. You surprised me.”

“I can tell.” He took a drag on the cigarette in his hand. “I don’t think you were meanin’ to tell the world like this. Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me. And Cait. And Piper. And whoever they tell, of course.”

“You know he’s serious, right?” sole asked as soon as Hancock was gone.

“But of course. I would not expect any less. It is just that I do not mind so much. I love you very much and I am very happy to see you again. The night is very cold when you are not with me.”

Sole just laughed and hugged her close. “I missed you, too.”

Danse: He was busy. He was always busy. Both of them were, these days, and Danse told himself that that was okay. He didn’t need to be by their side all the time. He was perfectly capable of getting along by himself until they got back to the Prydwen. He’d been doing it for years before he met them, and so a few measly weeks was going to be no problem at all.

He was displeased to find out that wasn’t the case anymore, to say the least. Often he found himself wandering the airship, looking for sole, before he remembered that they just weren’t there. Then, he’d go tune up his power armor again.

One night, he noticed a set of armor in the frame next to his. That was strange, because that was sole’s frame, and they weren’t due back to the Prydwen for another few days. Someone had stolen their spot. When he found that person, he was going to give them a piece of his-

“Good evening, Paladin.”

He spun around to find himself face-to-face with the person he’d been searching for. There was a smile and a smudge of grease on their face, and before he knew what he was doing he pulled them in for a kiss. He’d missed them so, so much, and the feeling of their hands on his chest and their lips on his settled his mind once again. Everything was alright.

“Of all the things I expected to see, this sure wasn’t it.”

They practically leaped apart at Ingram’s voice. She was smirking smugly. “Don’t worry. I’ll keep your little secret. Everyone’s had a crush that broke the fraternization rules at some point. Just be careful.”

He nodded, grateful. “We will.”

“It’s cute, though,” she said, almost as an afterthought.

“Maxson will know by morning,” he whispered to sole as she walked away.

“How?”

“I don’t know. But he will.”

Deacon: He knew that the Railroad had lots of tasks, and that meant that, sometimes, people who were usually partners couldn’t work together. Some tasks just didn’t require two people. He couldn’t work with sole all the time, not even if he wanted to.

Still, he missed them. It had been forever since they’d even seen each other, much less talked. He caught himself dreaming about them every once in a while, or putting himself to sleep with thoughts of them there beside him, holding his hand. That was a little embarrassing, wasn’t it? It had to be.

He stumbled into HQ late one night. One in the morning kind of late. All he really wanted to do was flop down and go to bed, but when he picked his way over to his bedroll he found it was already occupied.

“Hey,” sole whispered.

He smiled just a bit. “Hey.”

Carefully, they took his hand, and he sat down beside them. “I missed you.”

“I missed you, too.” He leaned his forehead against theirs. “Way too much.”

They laughed softly, then leaned forward to give him a quick peck. It couldn’t have lasted for more than a second.

It was a second too long.

“I knew it!” Glory shot upright in her bedroll. “Tom, you owe me twenty caps.”

“Really you two?” Both their heads snapped around to look at Tom. “You couldn’t have waited one more week?”

“What’s going on?” Sole was clearly confused.

“I needed you to wait just seven more days. Seven. It’s not that many.”

Deacon’s eyes widened in realization.

“You guys were betting on when we’d get together. Real mature. Dez did you allow this?”

Desdemona, somehow, kept her face entirely neutral.

“Carrington, as I recall, you owe me twenty-five.”

Gage: He wasn’t one to miss people. Nuh uh, no way. Missing people was reserved for people who had mushy, gross, romantic feelings for each other, and Gage wasn’t a mushy, gross, romantic feelings kind of guy. He liked sole, yeah. They were cool, and they’d made a pretty good Overboss so far. So what if they had business out in the Commonwealth? So what if they wanted him to stay behind and take care of things while they were gone? He didn’t care. Nope. No way.

That, of course, made his reaction to seeing them again all the more mysterious. They were walking into the Fizztop Grille just as he was walking out, and as soon as he caught sight of them, he grabbed their shoulders and pinned them to the wall. His lips found theirs, their hands found his waist, and he kissed them absolutely senseless, gently nipping on their lower lip to show them he had been displeased that they were gone so long.

“Oh, now that’s a show!” Was that Mason? It might have been, he couldn’t tell. “Get that, Gage!”

Gage wasn’t the type for embarrassment, either, so he couldn’t have given less of a fuck. He let sole breathe for a few seconds, watched their face turn red as they realized they had an audience, then went right back to what he was doing before. The shouts and comments faded into the background. It was just him and sole. Him and sole. That was all that mattered.

They were forced to part for air again. Sole smiled at him. “Did you miss me?”

He grinned back. “Not even a little.”

“Can we maybe go up to the Grille? Get a little privacy?”

“What, are you embarrassed?”

They seemed to take that as a challenge, and grabbed his shirt to pull him back in.

NIRA, of course, chose that moment to come by and start cussing the both of them out.

Hancock: Somewhere in his time travelling with sole, he’d forgotten how mind-numbingly boring his mayoral duties really were. Even his chems weren’t as exciting as roaming the wasteland with his favorite person by his side. He needed something to spice up his life. He wanted sole.

He didn’t have them, though, so he resigned himself to getting high and getting by. Thankfully, though, he was not high when they stepped through the doors to Goodneighbor. He made it down the stairs and out of the Old State House in record time, literally tackling sole to kiss them. His hand cushioned their head and their mouth cushioned his own, and all he knew was how good it was to see them, and that he did not want to make a habit of being apart.

“If you’re looking for a discount on wedding supplies, don’t think you’re getting that out of me.”

They both turned to see Daisy, arms folded, smirk on her face. “Though, I think KLEO might be willing to give you one.”

“Why would I need anything from KLEO’s place for my wedding?” Sole didn’t even attempt to get out from underneath Hancock. It seemed they were perfectly content right where they were.

“It’s not a party with at least one gun, and what’s a wedding but one big party?”

“I think parties are a little different these days There were definitely no guns at the kind of parties I went to.”

Daisy just laughed. “I think you went to the wrong kind of parties, then.”

“I guess I must have had the wrong kind of wedding.”

“Maybe Hancock will show you the right kind someday.”

Hancock had to step in. “Daisy, are you hitting on my sunshine for me?”

She just winked and turned away.

MacCready: He understood that sole had responsibilities. He knew that they were dangerous. In his opinion, that meant he should go with them instead of being left behind. But, apparently, they were not of the same opinion, so they went away and he stayed behind.

He moped around for a while, but finally decided that, to pass the time, he needed to do something. He didn’t know how long they’d be gone for, or where they were going, or anything really, so to stop himself from worrying he needed a way to pass the time.

He was lounging in the Third Rail when a strange figure came in. They were wearing a wide-brimmed hat pulled low over their eyes, as well as a bulky trench coat that hid practically their whole figure. He looked up at them suspiciously.

“Can I help you?”

“Yes. I’m looking for the most handsome man in the entire Commonwealth.”

He frowned. “I don’t think-”

“Never mind.” The figure tipped up their hat to reveal a grinning sole. “I already found him.”

MacCready practically threw himself out of the chair. His lips were on sole’s before his feet hit the ground, and he kissed them over and over and over, quick pecks on their lips and cheeks and lips again. They just laughed and let him.

“Well, there’s a song just waiting to be written.”

They both froze in place, slowly turning to look at Magnolia, who had just strolled in. She leaned against the doorway with a smirk. “Having fun, kids?”

They didn’t have an answer to that, and she seemed to know it. “Well, don’t let me stop you. Have fun. Enjoy it while it lasts.”

As soon as she was gone, MacCready buried his head in his hands and couldn’t look at sole for a full five minutes.

Nick: He hated to leave, but he had a job. They knew that. He had responsibilities, people looking to him to solve their problems. It took him away from sole, and he hated that, but that didn’t change the fact that it was necessary. Besides, while he was gone, he hoped it would give them some time to think about what they really wanted in life, then subsequently realize it wasn’t him and dump him the first chance they got.

Okay, he wasn’t really hoping for that, but he assumed it was the inevitable outcome. He’d been waiting for the other shoe to drop ever since they’d gotten together. Nothing good ever got to last for him.

Sole was in the agency when he walked in, discussing one of his many miscellaneous cases with Ellie at the desk. They looked up when the door opened, and when they realized who it was, their eyes lit up and they shouted, “Nick!” Before he knew it, they had literally vaulted the desk to get to him, and kiss him. He grabbed their shoulders to steady them, fingertips gently curling into their skin. He could feel their excitement in the way they kissed, all fireworks and firey passion.

“I knew it!”

Poor Nick literally jumped as Ellie began to initiate her happy dance in the middle of the agency.

Sole’s eyes went wide. “I forgot that we hadn’t told her, yet.”

“Honestly?” Nick stared at the scene in front of him. “So did I.”

“Don’t let me stop you!” Ellie snatched her coat. “Piper is going to love this. Have fun!”

“Ellie, no!”

She was already out the door, laughing.

Old Longfellow: Sole had been gone for a long time, he mused, staring out at the sea. Maybe they weren’t going to come back. Maybe they’d decided to leave Far Harbor for good. He couldn’t blame them for that, he supposed, but the thought that they’d abandon him hurt a little more than he would have liked. He took a drink to wash that down.

He heard the boat before he saw it, thanks to the fog. The spike of anxiety in his chest was unwelcome, and he realized he liked it better when they were gone. When they were gone, he could tell himself that everything was okay, that they still loved him and whatnot. When they were here, he’d have to face the inevitable reality that they just didn’t want to be with him anymore.

They pushed open the door to the bar, and he took a moment to appreciate how absolutely gorgeous they were before they found him, sitting in a corner. Smiling, they picked their way over to his chair.

“Hey, there.” They snagged his glass to steal a sip of his drink, then stooped to kiss him.

The whole bar took in a collective gasp. They didn’t seem to care, just rested a hand on his shoulder to steady themselves as they absolutely stole his breath away. It was brief, but welcome, and when they pulled away everyone was staring.

“What are you looking at?” He waved a hand, embarrassed. “Go back to whatever you were doing.” As they slowly turned away, he muttered,  “Damn gossips. Always looking for something new to talk about. Nobody can get a single second of privacy these days.”

They just laughed. “What have I missed?”

“The same old, same old. Nothing interesting.”

“Well, you can do nothing interesting with me for awhile, then.”

He smiled, just a little. “That’ll be nice.”

Piper: “Blue was supposed to be back two hours ago!” She paced the floor. “What’s taking so long?”

“Relax,” Nat said from her place on the couch, flipping through one of their magazines. “They probably just got hung up with some raiders. No biggie.”

Piper opened her mouth, ready to lay out all the ways that could go wrong, when there were three knocks on the door and she practically tripped over herself trying to answer it. The poor door was practically ripped open to reveal sole, standing there with a bouquet of fever blossoms wrapped in what looked to be last week’s paper.

Piper wasn’t paying too much attention to that, though. She was busy lunging for sole to drag them over for a kiss. One hand wrapped around her to pull her closer, and Piper savored the taste of bubblegum on their lips. They were back and they were okay and they were-

“Gross!” Nat made a gagging noise, and Piper leaped away from her partner.

“Heh,” she chuckled, flushing. “I mean, good to see you, Blue. Let me see if I can find a vase for those flowers, okay?”

She turned into the rest of the house to hide her very red face, and heard Nat strike up a conversation with sole.

“You’re late.”

“I stopped to pick the flowers.”

“For two hours?”

They shrugged. “Fighting off raiders is hard when you’re trying to protect a bouquet as well as yourself.”

“You fought raiders?” Nat sat forward, listening intently. “Was it cool? Tell me!”

Sole just laughed. “Okay, kiddo. Just so long as you promise not to get any ideas. I think your sister would kill me.”

“No, she wouldn’t. She’s too in love with you.”

Piper jumped, then whipped around to shout, “Nat!”

All sole did was laugh.

Preston: He told himself that he was used to being alone. The closest thing he’d had to a friend until sole came along was Sturges. So, sole being gone would be fine. It wouldn’t bother him in the slightest.

He was good at lying to himself. That, and throwing himself into work to escape the loneliness that came from eating dinner without them for the twelfth day in a row. He told himself it didn’t bother him. He took all that emotion and packed it nicely away.

Maybe that was why he reacted the way he did when he heard their voice coming over the Sanctuary bridge, singing some song off of Diamond City Radio. Why he dropped his laser musket and literally ran for them. Why he didn’t think twice about interrupting the conversation they were just starting to have with Sturges.

His lips met theirs and suddenly, the world was right again. Their hands found the lapels of his coat, pulling him a little closer. He let his fall to their waist and made sure to kiss them senseless, letting them know exactly how much he’d missed them.

Sturges let out a low whistle. “Well, you sure pulled the wool over our eyes with this one.”

Preston pulled away, feeling his cheeks beginning to heat with embarrassment. “I- I think- I need to go check on the crops.”

He grabbed sole’s hand and tugged them toward the fields. They just laughed and shouted at Sturges that they’d talk to him later, and Sturges asserted that was okay before turning to the rest of Sanctuary.

“Hey, y’all! You’ll never guess what I just found out.”

Preston had never wished he could turn invisible before that moment.

X6-88: For weeks, it had been the same routine. The instant he got back from a mission, he’d get stuck on another one. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d spent more than three hours at the Institute. He was getting irritated, and he was getting stressed. He just wanted some rest, dammit. He just wanted to see sole.

He started working harder, trying to get back faster so he might have a chance to see them. He was efficient. They put him on more missions. It was a vicious cycle.

He was beginning to resign himself to not seeing them for possibly months when he popped back into the Institute to find, lo and behold, none other than sole standing before him. They were holding a huge stack of folders, but the papers hit the ground as soon as they saw him.

In unison, they stepped forward, arms open, lips finding the others. He let himself relax, let them kiss away the stress and the pain and the anger that had been building. He’d missed them.

They heard the sound of ceramic shattering on the glass floor. They turned, and Doctor Li was staring at them, coffee splattered over her white lab coat.

“Di-” she stuttered. “Director!”

Sole shot her a cool glare, one generally reserved for people who’d said something irritating during a meeting. “Is there a problem, Doctor?”

She said nothing, opting to scamper away instead. Sole turned back to the courser in front of them.

“Shall we take this back to my office?”

“I need to report back.”

Sole just smiled. “I’m the Director. I think, for me, they’ll make an exception.”

He couldn’t argue with that.

[bing0bang0b0ng0]

How to completely break a game economy and balance whilst still enjoying it (Feat: Fallout New Vegas)

Now in this thesis I shall give you a detailed run down on how to fuck the entire in game economy of New Vegas with no mods, so this is CONSOLE FRIENDLY! Or at least, PS3 friendly. DLCs don’t hurt and chances are they can help with a few steps. This “strat” uses all 4 title DLC and Couriers Stash.

Wake up after being shot in the head by Chandler.

Make yourself beautiful in your own Fallout 3 engine way.

Walk over to the not-love-tester and set your skills. This is the important part. Endurance needs to be 10 and Luck needs to be more than 7. Preferably try and get luck as close to ten as you want. Then you want to spec the rest of your stats as you do please. You’ll be adding +1 to all of these later anyways. Plus however many times you pick the +1 special perk.

Go and describe some images and reveal to Doc Mitchel that you’re a psycho or whatever.

Your tag skills and traits are not important to this run, so go nuts and choose whatever you want. I tend to go for “skilled” and some other trait and whatever tag skills I feel like. You could go for a survival, barter and science tag set with WW and Logan’s Loophole. Pick your poison really.

Tell the good doctor to go fuck himself or whatever. Go and proceedingly pilfer whatever the fuck isn’t nailed down that could be valuable. Fix the sub machine gun/make stimpaks/both and leave. The stimpaks will probably be useful.

Pick up the good springs snow globe. This is gonna be useful for the caps later.

Head to Yangtze Memorial and find the duffel bag and pick up whatever is useful from that.

This is the first fun part. You need to B-Line it to Camp Macarren. This means going past Quarry Junction. These Deathclaws will come out of no-where and fuck you up so save regularly. Good saving points are at the memorial, when you get to Sloan, when you get near Neil’s shack and once you get to Repcon(Reppcon?) HQ you are safe. What you need to do is give QJ as wide a berth as you can. If you didn’t spec into perception much then you’re gonna be a bit on edge here. Just keep looking around and stick to jumping up the terrain to get to places the Deathclaws can’t. Crouch and squat walk across the desert wasteland of Nevada

Once you’ve been harassed by some Fiends and kindly either shown them to the nearest NCR profligate soldier or introduced them to your big iron of choice, you may opt to optionally kill/loot the corpse of an NCR soldier. This isn’t needed, but saves you a modicum of time.

Head to the Camp Macarren terminal building. If you haven’t already, you can equip your soldier disguise.

Go towards the monorail and take it to Vegas. If the guards are there then you need to wait until the guards leave. Or just run past them and yell “fuck it” as loud as you can while doing so.

Take the monorail to New Vegas. Make sure you do this.

Leave the monorail building and get greeted by Yes Man. Tell him you’ll head right over to the Vegas Space Needle.

Head up the Vegas space needle.

Go to the bar level and pick up the test site snow globe. Head up to the penthouse and talk to the “lady sex bot” and cash in your snow gloves for cash money.

Go talk to house and say you’ll deal with Chandler and get the shiny circle thing that he stole when he fucked up 2 point blank headshots.

Leave the Space Needle but Gambling.

Now, the order you do this in is up to you but you should probably work your way around. You need to get 33000 caps. This means you need to exploit high luck and blackjack tables. I would recommend going to the Robot Fetishist’s casino in Freeside first and breaking its bank first. It has the worst blackjack payout and is frankly just a bit shit. But you don’t get some guy coming over and telling you you’re so amazing and to keep going while you’re there so it’s not so bad. Then go to Gomorrah, Topps and Ultraluxe in that order. Killing Benny is optional while in Topps.

Once you have broken the bank in all 4 casinos, plus whatever caps you had already you should have 33000 caps.

Go to Ultraluxe and get around 33000 chips. This’ll probably take a moment to spam the dialogue for it. Feel free to put on Johnny Guitar or Jingle Jangle Jingle or Big Iron. This’ll be a few minutes.

Save. Go to the table at the other side of the room and jump on it, looking down. Drop the chips. All of them.

STACK OVERFLOW ERROR HAS OCCURRED!

Pick up the chips again. They will say a negative number. This is good. It should be around -32000. Your mileage may vary depending on how far over 32217(ish) you were when you dropped the chips.

Go over to the exchange.

Proceed to get infinite money. I repeat, you can infinitely get cash money to your heart’s desire.

Once you have milked your human greed to the point where your courier is now more cap than weird homonculus person, leave Vegas. Maybe save again, if you want.

Now you have two options, but you should go to both regardless. My method has me:

Go to Gun Runners and milk them for all their ammo, mods and whatever firearms you desire. You’ll have got some combat armour from Gomorrah but it’s time for an upgrade so while you’re there pick up Combat Armour MK2.

Go to New Vegas Medical Clinic. Proceed to get every implant. If you went for the max luck option at the start you’ll get told you don’t need the luck implant. Proceed to buy up all the stimpaks and superstimpaks and all the chems you want.

Well Done. You can now break every fight you come across because you now have 100% condition armour and weapons and enough ammo to hold out against an entire battalion of profligate soldiers.

And as you level up from cheesing through quests/locations/enemies you can head back to Gun Runners and just buy new gear when it breaks.

(If you have the DLC [Which you should get it’s all amazing in unique ways])

Go to Lonesome Road first because the commissary you unlock in the starting bunker gives you a shit tonne of good loot and ammo.

Old World Blues is a good way to get 100% repairs and to become overpowered as fuck on top of your already overpowered as fuck build. The implants you get here are also all good bets.

Dead Money is a lot more fun when you have managed to become ridicously overlevelled/overpowered because you have so much big iron energy that enemies die in your mere presence. Too bad a radio will do you in harder than a deathclaw alpha.

Honest Hearts is also a lot more fun when you rock up with a modded grenade machine gun a 100% condition and HE grenades

Thank you for coming to my TED talk.

[fallout4holmes]

Far Harbor 7

Valentine and I returned to Far Harbor in the morning to find a Miss Nanny model robot talking to Captain Avery. The robot introduced herself as Pearl, and said she was looking for a detective. Apparently the staff at the hotel on the cliff were distressed by the lack of a response when they tried to call the police.

A staff of robots who hadn’t realized the world had ended, and now wanted help with a murder investigation. At least it was different. The hotel was swarming with ferals, as should have been expected. In fact, I assumed this whole thing was simply going to be a macabre misunderstanding, an example of a robot's programming unable to adjust to dramatic change.

Then we saw the Vault door.

“Well, well,” said Valentine, “this place just got a little more interesting.”

“Indeed. I shudder to think what sort of experiments they had planned for the hotel residents.”

Never in my wildest nightmares could I have conceived what we found inside. The Vault was a plush luxury hotel, every possible need of its residents tended to by a staff of robots. We were met by the head of staff, a Mr. Handy called Maxwell, who led us to the scene of the crime where two of the… residents, were arguing.

“Goodness,” Valentine said.

“I would have used much stronger language,” I muttered.

“No need to be crass while we're working.”

“Normally I'd agree, but this seems an appropriate exception.”

The residents were human brains encased in glass domes atop mechanical cylinders with simple robotic arms and caterpillar wheels. They could speak, and did so, shouting at each other around the toppled form of another one, the glass protecting the brain smashed in. Maxwell managed to interrupt, asking them to return to their quarters while the detectives investigated.

“Your residents are robots?” I asked as they left.

“Not robots, Detective. Well not exactly anyway. I believe the term they use is 'robobrain.’ Back before the war, the residents decided the best way to wait it out was to put their brains inside robotic chassis.”

“I guess someone wasn't a fan of robobrains,” Valentine commented as he looked down at the smashed glass, “At least not this one.”

Maxwell gave us the name and occupations of all five remaining “robobrains” and we began. It was surreal, to put it lightly. No, I must be honest, it was mad. We found the Overseer’s office and learned the Vault was originally intended as a grand social experiment; a lower working class would be housed in a cramped wing of the Vault while an elite rich lived in luxury… but the door wouldn’t open when it came time for the masses to enter. As Maxwell said, the rich residents had decided even before the war to gain immortality as robobrains, and so the Overseer was stuck as the sole experiment, the one person who had to live with ‘these assholes’ as he put it. For their part, the robobrains descended into a mild madness of delusion and banality… until one of them decided to commit murder.

There were limited options as to who the killer could be, and the solution was ultimately fairly simple, though certainly unique. I’d never had a case where the murderer stole the victim’s voice to fake his own death before. Ultimately, Vault 118 was a surreal, macabre distraction from the drama of the island. It was almost refreshing to deal with something as straightforward as murder born from greed, as terrible as it may be to say so. At the same time, Vault 118 is little more than a lush Hell of its residents’ own devising.

We returned to town and were met by Dr. Wright. Teddy, as he insists I refer to him, heard about what I’d done to assist around town, and had an idea for turning around the town’s attitude toward me. There is an old ritual called “The Captain’s Dance,” a ancient rite of passage that hasn’t been completed in a long time. It involves chumming the water and fighting what comes. If I can complete it, it’ll earn the respect of the town.

Valentine is doubtful. I wanted another opinion, so I went to the best source of information on Far Harbor and the island. Longfellow’s initial response was not encouraging.

“You want to what?! Cap’n, I know you can handle yourself in a fight, but there’s a reason this old tradition faded away. Too many people hoping to be Captain ended up dead.”

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes, “But will it work?”

“Assumin’ you don’t die, sure it’ll get people to respect you, but why the hell do you care?”

“I don’t give a damn about their opinion of me, Longfellow. To be perfectly blunt, the people in that town need a reminder that monsters can be fought and beaten, and maybe not every stranger that comes to town is trouble. I’m tired of seeing nothing but suspicion and despair everytime I say hello to someone.”

He sighed, and turned to Valentine, “And you’re just going along with this, metal man? Ain’t you supposed to be his friend?”

Valentine was mildly offended, “You think I haven’t tried to talk some sense into him?”

“You’re stronger than him, ain’t ya?”

“Not particularly fond of the idea of knocking my partner unconscious,” he frowned. “You’re welcome to try locking him up, but he’ll get out.”

The old hunter scowled. “… well, hell, cap’n, if you’re dead set on this foolishness, I guess I’m gonna have to go along with you. Can’t have your death hauntin’ me, got enough reasons to drink as it is.”

I was not cavalier, I knew exactly how dangerous this undertaking would be… I thought. After all, I'd defeated everything that has tried to eat me so far. This would be dangerous, but survivable. I had plenty of ammunition, a few grenades, and friends at my back. There was no sign of an angler’s light, no sound of a Fog Crawler in the distance, just a swamp full of mirelurks.

I should have anticipated the queen.

And yet she fell… and so did I, collapsing as my head spun and vision fogged. I heard Valentine shouting in the distance, and then he was beside me, “Holmes! Sherlock? Oh thank god you’re alive.” I felt the familiar jab of a stimpak in my shoulder, and another in my leg. My sight cleared as he gripped my shoulders, worry and anger all over his face, mere inches from mine, “You are an absolute idiot! If you weren’t half dead I’d… I don’t even know what I’d do!”

I had no words to adequately express what I felt in that moment, and only one reaction seemed reasonable. His lips against mine felt like something between malleable plastic and supple leather worn by the elements. “I'm sorry,” I said. At his baffled scowl, I clarified, “For scaring you. You're right, this was an idiotic plan.”

“That suggests you had a plan to begin with. I said you were an idiot, period.” His hand clasped mine. “If I could have heart attacks, I'd have had three of them since meeting you. Can you stand?”

I could. Longfellow shook his head as we approached, bemused. “You’re a strange one, cap’n, no mistake. Come on, let's get you back. Reckon the witness the doc sent will get back long before we will.” The old hunter chuckled, “Should have seen the way he ran out of here.”

We made our slow way back to Far Harbor in exhausted silence. The people were assembled, a feast set, and Dr. Wright was giving a speech about me. Cheers went up all around as a Harborman confirmed I'd completed the 'dance' and killed a mirelurk queen, and the party began.

Dr. Wright confirmed I wasn't going to die, and quipped, “If they don't respect you now, well, fuck 'em.” It was a sentiment I heartily agreed with.

I milled about, making an appearance and performing the socializing expected just long enough to claim exhaustion and go up to the room over the Last Plank. Valentine followed.

“First time I’ve seen this town in a good mood. Almost makes this dumb stunt worth it.”

I pulled off my chest piece with a groan, “You’ve made your point.”

“Hey, hold still.” The contrast of leathery plastic and cold steel on my back as he pushed up the edge of my shirt surprised me. He tsked, “Your armor’s straps rubbed the skin raw. Being constantly soaked the past few days probably didn’t help.”

I set to removing the rest of my armor, “I hardly noticed.”

“We’ll have to buy you a new set of clothes.”

“The clothes will have dried by morning.”

“My point was to get you out of wet clothes in the first place…”

He was suddenly quiet as I removed my shirt. I glanced at him, “Is something wrong?”

“I'm not sure.”

“You did say I needed to get out of these wet clothes.”

“Holmes, you don’t even come downstairs in your own home unless you’re dressed or in a robe to cover the fact you’re only mostly dressed.”

I removed my boots and socks, “The two of us are alone in a room above a bar on the fringes of what might be described as civilization. My desires for privacy and propriety are second to my need to be dry for an evening.”

“And you'd rather be naked than wear a fisherman's outfit.”

“What? Of course not, it simply wouldn’t be practical. There’s no point in spending caps on a full set of clothes I’m only going to wear one night, perhaps two.”

“Sure, sure,” he grinned. He watched me search for some sort of blanket for the bed, his grin fading to something softer, more self conscious. “Hey, Holmes… about the kiss.”

“What about it?”

“You aren’t usually the type for physical displays of affection.”

I scoffed, “The fact that I choose to keep my most intimate emotions private from the rest of the world doesn’t mean I don’t feel them.”

“I wasn't saying otherwise. Just surprised.”

I sighed, “I apologize, it was a common assumption for most of my life. I'd never seen you so panicked, I was relieved to be alive, and…” I shrugged, “even I have moments of emotional impulse.”

He softly laughed to himself, “I guess I'm making this more complicated than it is.”

I tossed the threadbare excuse for a quilt I’d found onto the bed and turned to him, “May I remind you, Mr. Valentine, the idea of us being partners in more than the business definition was originally your suggestion.”

He folded his arms, “While you cracked wise about being on one knee.”

“I simply want to establish that any confusion in our relationship is your fault.”

“Ha! Any relationship with you is going to be confusing. Half the time I don't know what possessed me to fall for you.”

If I can be forgiven for using such a cliche, my heart leapt. “I wonder that myself. God knows you deserve better than -”

“Shut up, Sherlock.”

His kiss was firm, his arms circling around to pull me close. I let the boundaries fall, melting against him. A soft heat emanated from his chest, along with the faint hum of internal machinery. It was exquisite.

“Are you always this warm?” I asked.

“Running a little hot right now, actually. Must be a kink in the coolant system.”

I pulled away just enough to see his face, “Was that a joke?”

He grinned, “Yes, that was a joke. I don't feel… what I guess you'd call lust, but some part of me sure wants to. If you were a dame, at least I might have some idea of what to do next.”

I stifled a sudden laugh, “Dame??”

“Don't make fun of the way I talk, you're almost as bad as Danse.”

“I’m not nearly so verbose.”

He smirked, “Whatever you say, doll.”

“Valentine, if you ever call me ‘doll’ again, I will respond with violence.”

He laughed, “Got it.” Metal fingertips traced the side of my face in pure awe, “Any thought of love was all memories, just the old Nick’s grief… but you. You’re mine.”

I turned my head to kiss his hand, “For as long as you’ll have me.”

He kissed me again, and made a small sound of surprise as I coaxed a deeper kiss from him. His mouth is warm and dry, tongue like soft rubber that tastes of smoke and something slick and metallic and unidentifiable. I was quickly losing whatever semblance of physical control I'd had.

“Nick…” I’m not sure I knew what I was asking for, but I was begging.

His hands drifted lower, slowly seeking permission and giving me plenty of time to change my mind. “You sure about this?”

“Yes… if you want,” I suddenly analyzed everything about the scene, panicked that a partner who can't feel lust would feel forced or obligated…

A gentle force on my jaw turned my eyes to meet his. “I’d like to see if I can make you stop thinking for two minutes.”

I shivered, “Only two?”

He smiled, “One step at a time, partner.”

He's buying clothes this morning. Mine are dry, but desperately in need of a wash. And so I woke to him leaving, a quick kiss as he said, “We can afford clothes, one use or not. Go back to sleep.” I didn’t have the energy to argue.

I've never been more affectionately bemused at the sight of bruises on my skin. I have not often craved physical contact with anyone; my marriage was one of intellectual companionship and deep friendship. I remember being in her arms or holding her in mine, the proximity to someone I love a unique comfort, but this…

I love him. I already knew it, but seeing it written…

Dear god, I'm prattling away into a diary like a lovesick schoolboy when there's work to be done.

[imaginethisgalaxy]

hemostasis i

Alexsandr Kallus x Reader Word Count: 4,370. I may have gotten carried away. Prompt: @myeternalsin requested #40 from this list (”You know, you can stay if you want to.”) with Kallus! I hope this is to your liking, dear. ❤️ Warnings: Mentions of serious injury, and some debatably graphic descriptions of certain injuries. I don’t think it’s too bad, but that’s all relative of course. My total inability to calculate hyperspace travel time between Atollon and Yavin 4 should also be mentioned, because neither is in the tool I would usually use for this. So um … pretend it sounds totally reasonable and we’ll all be happy.

A modified freighter is nowhere for the huddled masses – even if those huddled masses are the few remaining fragments of a squadron that all but doesn’t exist. The limited passageways of the Ghost are lined with them, in various states of non-critical injury. They tend to their own wounds where they can, assist with the application of what bacta patches and bandages are available in places others can’t reach. Anyone with medical training and free hands – yourself included – is drifting along the limited path between them, checking in, exchanging bloodied scraps of cloth with clean ones, looking for whatever cannot be seen. There are concussions to monitor, simple fractures to set, and a dire need to boost morale by treating as much acute pain as possible as the ship hurtles through hyperspace in search of shelter from the Empire.

You are so focused on your task – and perhaps he is so focused on the idea of going unnoticed – that you almost don’t see him, set apart in the corner and staring at the grate in the floor as if willing it to open and swallow him up. You don’t have a name for him, not a real one, but you know him instantly by the Imperial body armor, by the muttering and not-very-subtle cutting of eyes to his corner of the passageway among the injured. It can be no one else in the galaxy. Fulcrum.

Pressing a glue stat to an open laceration on the forehead of a pilot, you murmur care instructions to her as you smooth her bangs down for her without really looking, thoroughly distracted now that you know he’s here.  Picking your way through the crowded hall is a challenge, but you manage, aware of the number of eyes watching your retreating back as you make your way down the passageway. It’s an effort not to turn and scold them all, but they’ve had enough already.

You don’t wait for him to look up when you finally reach his corner, tossing a couple of spent bacta patches into a nearby receptacle. “Has anyone taken a look at you yet?”

It isn’t until his head lifts to look at you, only mildly startled, that you see the bruising on his face. The shiner he’s sporting is particularly vivid, and likely painful – at least the split lip isn’t too severe. “I’m fine,” he demurs, and you look at him with about as much doubt as you can muster.

“You’re hunched over in a corner with a black eye, a split lip and probably more than one broken rib if your posture is anything to go on. ‘Fine’ is probably not the word I would use.” He hesitates, and it’s enough. You gesture to the side port, nodding in his direction. “Come on, it’ll even get you away from your new fan club.”

“I don’t know that I would call them that.” “You can call them whatever you want as long as you start walking, Fulcrum.” You watch him consider you before he starts moving toward the blast door you’ve indicated, ducking only slightly into the smaller cargo area before you follow him inside. You press the panel to shut it, to give you both privacy, because of course there are people watching.

Tossing your kit onto a nearby table, you gesture to the makeshift exam bench that’s been set up in the room so he can sit. “You’re going to need to get rid of your armor, and I’ll need the top of the uniform off to inspect your ribs. We’re low enough on stimpaks that we’re trying not to use them, but I can probably make you a lot more comfortable once I get a good look. Did they use anything on you that I should know about? Titroxinate,” you suggest, “Mangoriza maybe?”

“Nothing chemical,” your patient supplies, reaching carefully to begin shedding body armor. “Out of curiosity, do you just keep a bulleted list of the things Imperial Intelligence uses on people around here?”

“Well, it’s sort of my whole job to know that kind of thing.” You move to help him divest himself of the chestplate and wait for him to shed of the top of his uniform, taking it from him and setting it aside before digging through your limited supplies for an injectible health stim. “If I tried to give you a painkiller that interacted poorly with Mangoriza and they’d given you any, you’d be pretty cross with me.” By way of punctuating your point, you press the injector to his thigh and fire it. He barely seems to register it, but that’s likely for the best under the circumstances. “Seems like a waste of a medical education not to keep track.” “I could also be dead,” he offers, but not totally without humor.

You gave him a wry smile. “Well, that would be enough to make me cross.”

There’s a bit of a nod, by way of conceding the point. “You’re a doctor?”

“I am – well, I was. The Empire is in control of the governing bodies for that kind of thing, these days. For the most part, anyone accused of collusion with the rebels gets their license taken away.” You flash him something like a grin over your shoulder, rummaging in your kit for a jar of salve. “Now I’m just somebody who asks people to take their clothes off so it’s easier to poke at them.”

He lets out a huff you choose to assume was meant to be a laugh and your smile widens just a fraction before you turn back to your task, eventually producing a vacuum-sealed container of something that, once open, smells astringent and strongly herbal. “This should help with the more minor bruising, and take some of the pain out of it.” Stepping closer and leaning in a little, you apply it to the bruising around his eye as gently as you can with the pad of your finger. It’s a little too intimate in such close quarters, you’re sure, but it’s the best way to be certain it’s used properly. “It’s made with vincha, so it’ll sting for a couple of minutes and then it’ll be sort of numb. Better than the alternative.”

There is a noncommittal hum from somewhere in his chest as you dab delicately at the bruising on his face, trying to avoid using too much pressure on the worst of it. “I’m sorry you lost your license,” he murmurs, and it occurs to you that he’s trying to keep his face as still as possible. The idea of a polite spy for some reason threatens to break you out in a grin, but you manage not to give it away.

“Why?” You pull back from his face and wipe your fingers on the nearest clean cloth, screwing the cap back onto the salve. “You’re not the one who signed the order for it, are you?”

“No,” he replies, a little more seriously than you expect. “That wouldn’t have been my department. If anything, it would have –”

“I know all of this already, you know.” Your patient balks, looks something close to sheepish, but he doesn’t argue. “I trust our intel, thanks in part to you. … also, I still have the order somewhere, and it’s signed. Not by you. Don’t worry about it.”

“You are a remarkably trusting lot in general,” he says quietly.

“We’re really not. You’ve just been lucky.” The second sentence is a sigh, because you don’t really know how to prepare him for what’s coming. It occurs to you that he likely doesn’t need it, but it’s not in your nature not to try. “Not for nothing, but as good as most people are, there are plenty of people on this ship – and plenty where we’re going – who aren’t going to trust you for a while. Some of them probably won’t ever trust you. Fulcrum has done a lot for the larger rebellion, and believe me, people are grateful. But Fulcrum has never had a face before, and having that face suddenly turn out to be an Imperial officer is … well, it’s going to be hard to swallow.”

“But not for you.” You notice him scanning you with his eyes, sizing you up, and suddenly feel more scrutinized than you have in years. Imperial Intelligence, you think with not a small amount of respect, was probably the perfect fit for him if he makes everyone feel this way just by looking. “What I do isn’t based in trust,” you counter, “it’s based in ethics. If I don’t treat people who need it, no matter who they are, I’m no better than the people we’re fighting. Imperial medics would have left a Rebel for dead, or worse. You know that. Besides, it’s not as if you’re exactly the same as the rest of them. You chose to leave, chose to make a difference. That choice is open to everyone else the same as it is to you. It’s not without consequences, but it is.” Swallowing hard, you move to grab a penlight from your kit. “I do need to check you for a concussion just to be on the safe side, but it’s not stable enough in here for a bioscanner so we’ll have to do it the old-fashioned way. Sit up as straight as you can, please.”

“You seem to know an awful lot about this sort of thing,” he says, and you’re sure it’s at least partly to hide the wince straightening up on the exam bench produces.

“What I know is that nobody leaves the only thing they’ve ever known,” you breathe, not sure why you’re being so quiet with nobody else in the room, “unless the only thing they’ve ever known is a firaxa’s mouth. Soldier or not, Fulcrum or not –”

“Kallus,” he says, pulling back from you enough that he can look at your face instead of straight ahead and into the blinding pinpoint of light in your hand.

The quiet spell over the both of you effectively broken, your brows knit together briefly, looking back at him with your now-empty hand still lifted to its same position as if his jaw was still resting there. Your fingertips itch where his facial hair brushed them in passing, and you flex them gently to get rid of the sensation. “I’m sorry?”

“My name,” he tries again, but a little quieter. “It’s not Fulcrum. It’s Alexsander Kallus.”

You hear more than feel the clicking of the penlight’s power button as you turn it off, but it seems distant. “[Y/N],” you offer in return, more quietly than you intend. You know he’s heard you, you can see him studying your face as if to evaluate whether or not it suits you. Taking a breath, you find yourself trapped in his thrall for a moment, really looking the former Imperial agent in the eyes for the first time – honeyed golden-brown, like good Akivan liquor, you realize – and you almost feel compelled to shake your head to break out of the trance you’ve fallen into. "You’re supposed to be looking straight ahead, not at me, Alexsandr Kallus.”

“Right,” Kallus half-laughs, the grin he gives you only a little lopsided. You’re more distracted by it than you’d like.

“Well,” you begin, replacing your penlight, “you don’t follow instructions that well but you know your own name, your speech sounds normal and your pupils are doing what they’re meant to, so I don’t think you have much to worry about for now.” You motion for him to move his arm so that you can examine his ribs. “Of course, you’re still going to want to see someone who can look you over with a bioscanner when we get to Yavin 4.”

“You’ll be passing me off, then.”

“Not exactly true. I’m just giving you sound medical advice,” you laugh, very carefully touching your fingertips to the black and blue expanse of Kallus’ side. He winces when you apply pressure, but he doesn’t complain. You reach for a stethoscope and hook it around your neck, pressing a palm to his battered side as gingerly as possible. “You may get me again, you may not. I’m not the only doctor we have, and it all just depends. For all we know, you may not see me again for months.”

“That would be a shame,” Kallus breathes, and you glance up at him a little too quickly, eyebrows raised. “I’d hate to end up with the only doctor who doesn’t know what painkillers don’t mix with torture drugs,” he hastens to add, and you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding with a huff of a laugh.

“Everyone is perfectly capable. Their bedside manner is probably better too,” you joke, lifting the chestpiece of the stethoscope and pressing its diaphragm carefully to his skin. “Three deep breaths, deep as you can without hurting yourself too badly.”

“I somehow doubt that,” he manages as you place the eartips into your ears, but then he is obeying and you are too busy listening to the not-quite-right whooshing of air into his lungs to argue the point. The space of three breaths is just enough for you to collect yourself as you mull over the stilted noise his breathing makes under the skin, and part of you is grateful. Pulling the stethoscope away from the both of you and setting it aside, you clear your throat, turning to dig through one of the durasteel-sided cabinets to produce a bacta bulb before sliding it shut and moving back to the countertop to prepare it and a cleaning swab.

“You do have a bit of a collapsed lung in there,” you finally tell him, “but it’s not so bad that I don’t think it’ll take care of itself. If nothing else, once you get to the medbay on base, they’ll be able to fix you right up. Try not to do anything too strenuous until then and I’m sure you’ll be fine.” You hear him make a noise in the affirmative, but keep your back to him, instead watching him carefully in the dim reflection of the durasteel panels lining the wall. You note how utterly exhausted he looks now that no one is openly watching him. Not just physically – you are all drained in that regard, and how you will all manage to pull yourselves together remains to be seen – but there is a weight that seems precariously balanced above him, the broad slant of his bare shoulders enough to tell you that he’s not doing as well as he’d have anyone believe. He’s given up his whole life to try to make everyone else’s a bit better, and that’s no light task. You wonder what he’s risking, exactly – what the Empire will tell his family, if he has a family, or if they’ll tell his relatives anything at all.

Lowering your eyes and swallowing the lump you hadn’t noticed move into your throat, you turn to swab the area clean before affixing the bacta bulb to his side, hands gentle against the mottled purple galaxy blooming along where his ribcage lives. You murmur something apologetic about the cold before peeling the backing off the bacta bulb. “We don’t have bact-ade, so this will have to do until we get there. It won’t speed things up by much, but it’ll start to feel better and it’ll get things moving.” To his credit, he doesn’t flinch, although you can see the shallow breath he takes hitch when you press down to ensure that it’s secure.

“I don’t suppose breathing will hurt less,” Kallus muses, and you smile.

“A little. The bruising is part of it, the bacta really will help. I’ll brace it too; that’ll help you breathe a little deeper, which is a good thing. You’ll want to try to get in a few deep breaths every hour.” There is a pause as you calibrate the bulb, and you consider not saying what you’d like to, but think better of it. “You know,” you begin slowly, very deliberately not looking him in the eye as you monitor the device to be certain it’s working, “you can stay if you want to. In here, I mean.” He quirks a brow when you glance up for his reaction but says nothing, so you take in a deep breath, do your best to ignore the heat creeping into your face and start again. “I don’t think I’ll need to bring anyone back here for quite a while, and you could probably use a minute of quiet after … well, if you want it, it’s here. There’s a bin of scrubs around here somewhere too, if you want to change.”

You can feel the former Imperial’s eyes on you, like he’s evaluating your sincerity, and it’s an effort not to squirm. Eventually you have to give in to the impulse and turn to find a brace for his ribs, only to feel his hands close around your wrist firmly enough to stop you from crossing the gap between where he’s sitting and the supply crates shoved hastily in the corner. You feel yourself swallow hard before you turn to look at him, trying to keep your breath even. “You don’t need to pity me,” Kallus says, and your brows knit at the very idea, head tilted as if you’re struggling with the concept.

“I don’t pity you,” you fire back, twisting your wrist gently in his grip to coax him to let go of you. He withdraws his hand immediately, but nothing in the rest of his posture suggests he buys it. “I don’t think either one of us is better off than the other. Frankly, we’re all in the same sarlacc pit right about now, so there’s no point in pitying anyone. None of us is here to have a good time or feel superior to anyone, we’re here to fight, or in my case to keep other people fit enough to do it.” Turning back to your task, you lift the lid off the crate and set about finding a brace that will fit his torso. You can hear him gingerly sliding off the exam bench, but choose to ignore it.

“I didn’t mean it as a dig at you, you know.”

“I know.” You manage to unearth a brace in what you’re sure is the correct size, tearing the sterile packaging off of it and unrolling it as you turn back to where you assume he is without looking up. “That doesn’t make you any less –”

Kallus is much closer than you expect, and it makes you stop abruptly, blinking up at him and trying not to look too surprised. You’ve likely failed, as he’s less than an arm’s length from you, and you realize suddenly that if he wanted to, he could have you caged between the corner and himself, with nowhere to go. Experimentally, you shift under his gaze, and he makes no move to compensate for your change in position. “Wrong,” he says suddenly, and you do almost start that time. “I think the word you were looking for was ‘wrong.’ You’d have a point.”

“Yes,” you sigh, not sure if you’re relieved or embarrassed but that heat is creeping into your face again and you can’t do much about it anymore. “Compassion and pity aren’t the same thing; one means I want you to be well and the other comes with a superiority complex none of us can afford these days.”

“My apologies,” he finally concedes, and you wave him off.

“It’s not the worst thing a patient has ever said about me. There’s nothing to apologize for. You’re just going to have to learn to trust me a little, eventually.”

“You certainly are an improvement over a medical droid,” Kallus half-whispers, and you feel yourself slipping into a grin before you can stop yourself, lowering your eyes to unfasten the brace.

“Medical droids are useful, but who do you think programs them?” Motioning for him to raise his arms, you move around to secure the stiff fabric around his torso, careful not to press to hard against anything that might hurt. “We use them, but there’s usually a sentient doctor around except in a pinch. Droid programming can’t think creatively; if it can’t come up with a diagnosis based on what it already knows it’s going to make things much worse very quickly.”

Kallus hums something in acknowledgment, shifting slightly as you move around to his back, securing the fasteners and checking the tightness. “You were serious before,” he finally asks, “about me hiding out in here until Yavin 4?”

“I wouldn’t call it hiding out, and I wish you would if just to get a little rest, but I can’t exactly stop you if you decide not to take my advice. I’m a doctor, not a drill sergeant.”

“Not planning to tie me down, then?”

“Not unless you want me to,” you say, before you can stop yourself. You’re suddenly very happy to be behind him, because you can feel everything from your face to your chest flushing and you would like very much to be just slightly closer to the nearest black hole, so that you might throw yourself into it.

But he’s laughing, as much as a person can laugh with a fractured ribcage, and you’re so startled that your hands actually stop moving along the closures of his brace for a moment. “What was that you said before, [Y/N], about bedside manners?”

“Laughing at the person responsible for your well-being seems like a bad move,” you say, although you’re laughing in spite of yourself anyway. The way he says your name makes you a little too happy. “All I have to do is hit you in the side at the right angle and you’ll be a heap on the floor, you know.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” he challenges, looking over his shoulder at you with enough amusement in his eyes that it makes something in your stomach do a somersault.

“My job is to keep you from dying, Kallus,” you clarify, moving away from him to find a shirt in his size among the spare sets of scrubs ferreted in with the other supplies. “There’s nothing in there about you having to enjoy the experience.”

“You definitely won’t be tying me down, then.” Your mouth actually falls open, and he’s laughing again, turning to catch the scrub top you throw at him with an almost infuriating ease. “I will make you a deal, however.”

You cross your arms over your chest, considering him as he carefully maneuvers himself into the shirt. “I can’t imagine what either of us has to bargain with,” you finally admit, “or over what.”

“I’ll stay put like a good patient,” he starts, pausing to pop his head through the collar of the top and ignoring the hair falling into his eyes, “and I won’t tell anyone you’ve threatened me with bondage, but only if you stay too. The company seems better than staring at the wall. Deal?”

There is an incredulous moment where you can’t decide if he’s serious, but the way he’s looking at you – expectant and almost challenging – tells you he is, and it’s enough. Crossing the short distance between the two of you, you reach up to brush the hair back out of his face, taking one deep breath before you answer. “Deal, I suppose.” Backing up to the countertop, you hoist yourself onto it, settling comfortably with your legs hanging over the edge. You watch him watch you get comfortable before he takes up residence beside you, leaning back against the hard surface you’ve claimed rather than joining you on top of it. “I am going to have to do my job at some point, you know.”

“I’m not going to stop you from tying anyone else down,” Kallus teases, and you elbow him in the shoulder with just enough force to jostle him. “You could also talk me through a thing or two, and I could make myself useful.”

“You’ve already been very helpful to all of us,” you say, and you find that you really do mean it. “Besides, what I have left amounts to ‘apply bacta or glue stat, instruct not to pick at it, rinse and repeat.’ Tedious more than difficult. If you want to stick things to people, though, be my guest.” He murmurs something agreeable, and strangely companionable silence falls over the both of you for a while. He is the first to break it.

“Where are you from?” Kallus asks finally, looking up at you on your durasteel perch.

“Chandrila,” you answer readily, tipping your head to look down at him with a small smile. “You sound like you’re from Coruscant.”

“Is it really that obvious?”

You stifle a laugh. “Only to people who aren’t from Coruscant.”

The hours that follow are a game of Twenty Questions that somehow becomes Two Hundred Questions, but neither of you seems to mind. By the time the Ghost reaches Yavin 4 and you begin helping to unload and direct the walking wounded, he has ruined six glue stats but is an extra pair of hands you didn’t know you needed all the same, and you are grateful. People are scowling less – the lack of Imperial rank plate likely helps – and as you pass among people alongside him you realize that he’s already acclimating. You have just enough time to wonder at how much better he looks in scrubs than an Imperial uniform before you lose one another in the chaos; he has to be debriefed, you realize, and you have plenty to contend with in the base’s busy medical center that demands your immediate attention.

It isn’t until the next day, when you pull back the curtain on a patient who had specifically asked for you while complaining of chest pain with shortness of breath to find him sitting patiently on the gurney and laugh so hard you have to close the curtain again, that it occurs to you that you might – just perhaps – be a little smitten.