leanonstuff | PSL post for daughterless

PSL post for daughterless

[The NCR had sent Norman to the Vault because the area was surrounded by Fiends, and he was damn good at blending among the various "criminal" groups around the Mojave. No way an ordinary NCR trooper would be able to get inside without being attacked. And according to their intelligence, exactly what was inside was of such great importance that they couldn't possibly wait to go after it just in case Caesar's Legion got wind of it and acted first. Norman was searching for a box of special bottles that appeared to be beer or vodka bottles, but were actually filled with a chemical that, when introduced into a water supply, could spread a deadly bacteria that would wipe out anyone who drank the contaminated water for at least a month.

Unfortunately, finding the bottles was turning out to be far more difficult that Norman had anticipated. He'd gotten into the Vault in the first place by wearing old, torn and dirty clothes that could pass as those a typical raider or Fiend might wear. He'd even bought a few chems from them to help gain their trust (and to use them later, though he planned to tell the NCR that he'd disposed of them instead). The Vault seemed to be empty of Fiends, luckily, but he wasn't too optimistic that he wouldn't eventually run into ghouls or worse.

10mm pistol in hand, Norman opens the door to the Vault infirmary, hoping he might have some more luck locating the bottles in there.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[Joel limps after Norman, trying to match his pace but failing, falling a step or two behind. It doesn't matter, as long as they can get the hell out. His arm aches, he's gripping his gun so tightly.

There's a low snarl from behind them, distant but quickly approaching-- the Deathclaw they'd distracted, having finally caught sight of them and lunging forward at high speed. Joel risks a glance back, and immediately regrets it.]

Fuck--! [His reaction is purely instinctive, he isn't thinking when he shoves Norman forward, just as the Deathclaw leaps.]

Wha-?

[The shove is rough enough to send him stumbling several paces ahead, and out of the way of the Deathclaw. But that puts Joel in its way instead, and Norman feels his pulse rushing wildly as he gets a glimpse at the creature's face. Working out in the wasteland, you see a lot of horrible things, but nothing looks like staring into the face of hell itself like gazing upon a Deathclaw.

And Joel is going to be torn to shreds if he doesn't do something. The beast looks pretty heavily injured, probably thanks to the firefight with the NCR. Norman raises his rifle, wasting little time to aim properly before firing off round after round into the Deathclaw's face. It roars and stumbles back off of Joel, but Norman doesn't let up until it's time to reload. Then he just prays he's done enough damage, or will have enough time to finish it off before it recovers.]

[For one brittle, frozen moment, Joel thinks that this is the end for him. This is the end, and he's going to die alone (not alone, not anymore), mangled by a Deathclaw in some dark hole in the ass middle of nowhere. He thinks... he can't think a single philosophical or sentimental thought, no last words, just that Norman had better damn well fish those bottles off his corpse- unless the Deathclaw ate them first. And then it wouldn't be a problem for either of them to deal with.

There's a tearing, heavy weight against his back (claws, and even then he doesn't close his eyes, waiting for the inevitable pain)-- and then the sharp crack of Norman's rifle and suddenly Joel can breathe again, and he rolls onto his back just in time to see the Deathclaw rearing back with a roar.

His arms move before his head can quite catch up, and he's crawling forward, picking himself up on hands and knees and staggering forward.]

[Norman moves himself between Joel and the wounded Deathclaw, rifle reloaded and ready for another round. The monster strikes weakly at him, clearly on its last legs. The claws tear into his shirt, but the cuts are shallow and superficial- they shouldn't even need stitches.

Steeling himself, Norman moves closer and aims his rifle right beneath the Deathclaws chin, and fires several rounds into its skull from there. It's enough, finally, and the creature falls down with one last ghastly whine.

Norman lets out a hefty sigh of relief when the monster falls, then turns his attention back to Joel. Adrenaline rush still flowing through him, he grabs his companion and tries to help pull him to his feet. Then, in what is possibly the least well-thought-out moment in their journey so far, presses his lips firmly against Joel's in a celebratory kiss.]

[Joel's on his feet again, gripping onto Norman's arm for dear life, still a little surprised, actually, to still be breathing. His blood is pounding in his ears, still ringing in the aftermath of the gunshots, adrenaline coursing through his veins, and then Norman--!

Joel is shocked beyond words, and he isn't (who the hell is he kidding, he'd seen Norman looking and hadn't done a thing to dissuade him), and his first thought is to follow his instincts, do the sensible thing-- jerk away, get the hell out, because this is veering dangerously close to personal territory uncharted, and what'd he been doing for the last fifteen years if not avoiding feelings, entanglements, obligation exactly like this...

But he doesn't. He doesn't, and instead Joel grabs Norman by the collar, jerking him forward, and kisses him back, awkward and clumsy. It's been a long, long time since he'd kissed anyone, and never another man before. The whiskers make a difference, he thinks, distracted, and behind them there's still god knows how many Deathclaws and probably a goddamn firefight still going on and--]

[Norman doesn't really know how he thought Joel would respond to the sudden display of affection, to put it mildly, but having him return it eagerly enough is such a pleasant surprise that he goes on kissing him for a few more seconds. Maybe now's not the time, but hell... they almost died right there. It might be that this is the best time for it.

He does eventually pull away for some air, though he still holds onto Joel to offer support. Luckily he has plenty of other excuses for being red in the face other than embarrassment- suddenly kissing someone without asking first isn't really his sort of thing. In fact, it's been a long time since he's kissed anyone at all. Funny what near death experiences will do to you.]

...We should go.

[He starts leading Joel toward the exit again without commenting on what had just happened. There could be time for that once they're in the clear.]

Ah-- right.

[Joel draws back as well, absently wiping his mouth off with the back of his hand as he follows Norman toward the exit. The lack of roaring or shouts of "Hey! They're getting away!!" is mostly reassuring, but now the rest of his brain is catching up to what had just happened, and he... doesn't know how to explain it, even to himself.

What the hell does he think he's doing? Shit happens when the bullets are flying and you think you're about to die, but afterward... afterward, attachments are what get you killed.

They follow the light up a tiled stairwell that opens up to more scrubland and bombed out houses. Joel is still leaning on Norman's arm, but as soon as they emerge into the light he begins to pull away.]

[Stepping into the sun and breathing fresh air again nearly makes Norman dizzy with relief. From what he can see, the Deathclaws must've stuck to the train station, or maybe nearby caves too, 'cause he doesn't see any out there.]

Maybe we should take a quick break in one of those houses.

[He has a feeling no NCR will be after them anytime soon now... at least not from that direction. Legion, he's got no clue. But they have to rest eventually.

When Joel starts to pull away, Norman grabs at his arm again almost reflexively. He doesn't think the guy is in a good enough state to walk on his own yet, nevermind that he might be feeling awkward about being handily kissed only minutes earlier.]

[Joel stiffens as Norman grips his arm again, looking away-- ostensibly to scout along the street, but mostly so he doesn't have to meet Norman's gaze. The memory of the other man's mouth on his own raises a faint flush along his cheeks, and Joel shakes his head as if to clear his mind. Fuck. What the hell should he do?]

Just lead the way.

[He keeps his tone curt, just short of brusque, as he adjusts the strap to the shotguns strapped to his back, shrugging Norman off again and hobbling forward with purpose. Looks like this might've once been a residential area. A dented mailbox sticks out of the ground, the twisted remains of tricycles and cars slumped over dead grass and dirt. Civilization again... they can't be too far off from Boulder City.]

Alright.

[It doesn't bother him when Joel pulls away, though Norman can't help but wonder if he's purposefully trying to avoid looking at him. Well, he'll just have to explain himself once they find a decent house to hunker down in.

...Or, more likely, he won't mention it at all. As he glances through the dirty windows of one of the houses, he realizes there isn't any good way to bring up what happened. Hell, he's pretty sure it was a bad idea. One too many Med-X maybe. Easier to explain it that way.

The house looks to be empty and in as good of shape as any, so Norman gestures for Joel to join him inside. There's only one skeleton in there, and a search of the fridge reveals some water and food. Looks like they're finally in luck.]

Thirsty?

[Following Norman into the house, Joel barely makes it past the entrance hall before collapsing into the nearest sagging chair, breathing hard. He rolls up his pant leg to examine the bandaging-- blood streaks the gauze padding in ugly stripes of rusty red, but at least it isn't soaked through.

It feels like his leg is on fire-- and his ribs too, and hell, even the damn graze on his arm is joining in on the chorus of pain. Now that the worst of the danger is past, adrenaline high gone, his body is tallying up the total and giving him the bill plus interest. He's also suddenly aware of being achingly hungry and thirty-- Norman's offer of a drink is more than welcome.]

Yeah. [Joel reaches out for Norman to pass him a bottle, keeping his head down and not tearing his gaze away from his leg. He doesn't know what he'd do if the other man tried to talk to him about what had just happened, and hopes that this will be enough of a distraction to keep him busy.] Appreciate it if you pass me a Med-X while you're at it.

[He hasn't really been keeping track, but they must still have a handful left, right? Right?]

[He looks Joel over when he collapses in the chair, worry evident in his expression. They survived, but... his wounds are serious and there's no doctors around to treat him properly. Norman is concerned that he won't heal, but he's also worried about their dwindling supply of Med-X. He can't afford to give him another one, really.]

How about a stim? We have a lot of those left, and I think they help you heal better.

[Of course, he feels terrible about trying to deny Joel some extra relief, and hands him the bottle of water to try and feel like he isn't being a complete monster. His own wound from before isn't hurting too bad since he'd recently taken a Med-X, at least. ...And that just makes him feel worse about it. But if he runs out of the stuff, he'll be utterly useless, and Joel will leave him behind for sure. There's nothing he can do about it.]

[Joel gulps a third of the bottle in one long swallow, then wipes his mouth with a grimace.]

Not really one much for stims these days. I got in the habit back... a while back. [his raiding days, he means] Used 'em all the time, so they don't take too well now.

[Though he's just as like to build up a resistance at the rate he's shooting up with Med-X. Norman's right, he can't just rely on the one, not with the state he's in right now. If they hadn't been running for their goddamn lives with those bottles in tow, he'd have been more cautious, more careful, but that isn't exactly one of their options right now.]

Pass me one of each. I'll heal up fine, just need something to tide me over.

Oh... okay.

[Norman opens up his pack with fingers that are starting to shake a little out of nervousness rather than withdrawal. Of course, being nervous tends to trigger a desire for the drug, and the more he takes, the more often he feels the need to shoot up sooner. What a goddamn mess.]

I'm looking. [He shuffles through his bag a bit too haphazardly, trying to make it seem like he can't find a Med-X but probably looking more frazzled than anything else. He only sees two left. Sorry Joel, but I just can't....]

We must've used them all up. How about two stims? [Those he easily has in hand to offer up.]

[In some other circumstance, he might have accepted that and made do, but even through the haze of pain and irritation there's something... off about Norman's tone, and Joel shoots him a narrow-eyed look of disbelief.]

What? Could've sworn we-- [He shakes his head, trying to clear the jumble of thoughts, of memory-- Norman in the ticket booth, hands shaking--] Look, just-- pass me your pack.

No... they aren't there. I checked the whole thing already.

[He can't hand over his pack or Joel will see he's lying, and, well, who knows how he'll react?]

But I think I saw an abandoned clinic up the road a bit, so I'll go check there for more supplies. How's that sound?

[Norman is going to do it regardless. Even without sharing, two Med-X isn't enough to last him for long. God, he wishes he could detox from this crap, and maybe if things had worked out with the NCR he could have. But now, he doesn't see the opportunity. Attempting it would take time, and that would be time the NCR and Legion would have to catch up and kill them.]

[Joel gives Norman a long, hard look. The pieces don't fit quite right here. They'd definitely had more Med-X than either of them had used in the past day, and there's something off about-- he doesn't know.

The pain is a distraction Joel can't afford and his hands are beginning to shake, as much from blood loss as it is the aftermath of their near-death encounter. There ain't much point arguing about their med stash right now, so Joel exhales, a low and exhausted sound, and lets it go (for now, but he sure as hell is going to mull over it later.)]

Fine. [Letting his shoulders drop, he extends his hand toward Norman-- just pass him the damn stims.] You do that.

[He sees the slump in Joel's shoulders and feels a deep pang of guilt. He'll just... have to find more to make up for it. And he will. There has to be some in that clinic.

So Norman hands Joel the two stims, trying not to appear too guilty.]

Will you be okay in here while I'm gone?

[He'll have to be, but Norman asks anyway.]

[Rolling back his sleeves to inject the stimpack, Joel doesn't look up at him.]

I think I'll manage.

[If his voice is somewhat less than friendly, well, he's not sure how he feels about Norman right now. Between the kiss and... this, whatever this is, Norman being suspicious as all hell, Joel is definitely having second thoughts about this mission.

At least they hadn't had the other conversation that he'd been trying to avoid. Norman hadn't mentioned-- maybe he felt as awkward about the whole thing as Joel does. Better to think of it as a one-off, not to be repeated.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

PSL post for daughterless

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject