“I hate being cooped up,” Israel grumbles, glaring at the rotting walls of the shack. James cooks dinner, smiling gently at him.
“At least we know you’re feeling better,” he says. “Yesterday, you didn’t have the energy to complain.
“I’m well enough to travel, and you know it,” Israel says, even though he isn’t, and they both know that. James just shakes his head, handing Israel a plate of food.
“You’ll need to eat if you’re going to be good for anything,” he says gently. Israel grumbles about eating ‘wasteland crap’, but puts the spoon to his mouth anyway. He doesn’t tell James that he loves his cooking, instead opting for grumpy silence.
“We’ve probably missed her, if she went back to Vegas,” Israel says between mouthfuls of food. James nods absently, fingering the pages of his Bible.
“That’s fine. She’s not keeping a low profile. We’ll be able to catch her again.”
“What are you going to do if it isn’t her?” Israel asks, swallowing.
“I don’t really know,” James admits. “Apologize for the trouble? I’ll probably keep traveling with you until one of us dies.” Israel coughs, wincing at the pain in his shoulder. That might be sooner than we think, he should say.
“Pfft. When you die, you mean. I’m fucking immortal,” he says instead, before succumbing to a coughing fit. “This damn Mojave weather. Too much goddamned dust,” he wheezes. James is at his side instantly, patting his back gently.
“You need to take it easy,” James chides, and Israel scoffs, but still lets the other man lean him back.
“I’ll take it easy when I’m dead,” he grumbles. James laughs, moving the dishes aside.
“I’m here to make sure you take care of yourself before that happens.”
“You sound just like Mona did, you know that? No wonder you two got along so well. Sometimes I feel like she should’ve married you instead of me,” Israel says, blinking sleep from his eyes.
“You two were perfect together,” James answers, his voice strangely quiet. Israel doesn’t comment, only motions towards James’ Bible.
“Read me a story out of that thing, would you?” he says. “I’m bored out of my damned mind.” James picks up the book, and obliges him.
“Then went Samson to Gaza, and saw there a harlot, and went in unto her,” James begins.
“A harlot, huh? Sounds like my kind of story,” Israel says, and James tries to hide his smile.
“Hush, you old pervert.” Israel makes a face at him, and motions for him to continue reading. He fades in and out of consciousness, listening to James’ voice more than James’ words. He used to make him and Mona read to the group while they were traveling. They had great fun with it, even taking turns and acting out the stories they read. They all adored the stories, even Orion, who often grumbled about literature being a woman’s domain. James would affect silly voices, and Mona would read her lines with a dramatic flourish.
Israel would sit enraptured with the both of them, watching their faces and bodies more than listening to the stories they would tell. Whenever Arcade would cry, the two of them would improvise the stories, telling them from memory. James and Mona had read many of the same things, and would finish each other’s stories while Israel bounced Arcade on his knee.
There weren’t any more stories after they were summoned to Navarro. Israel was told to serve the Enclave until his final breath, or face the consequences.
Keep Your Composure 14/?
“At least we know you’re feeling better,” he says. “Yesterday, you didn’t have the energy to complain.
“I’m well enough to travel, and you know it,” Israel says, even though he isn’t, and they both know that. James just shakes his head, handing Israel a plate of food.
“You’ll need to eat if you’re going to be good for anything,” he says gently. Israel grumbles about eating ‘wasteland crap’, but puts the spoon to his mouth anyway. He doesn’t tell James that he loves his cooking, instead opting for grumpy silence.
“We’ve probably missed her, if she went back to Vegas,” Israel says between mouthfuls of food. James nods absently, fingering the pages of his Bible.
“That’s fine. She’s not keeping a low profile. We’ll be able to catch her again.”
“What are you going to do if it isn’t her?” Israel asks, swallowing.
“I don’t really know,” James admits. “Apologize for the trouble? I’ll probably keep traveling with you until one of us dies.” Israel coughs, wincing at the pain in his shoulder. That might be sooner than we think, he should say.
“Pfft. When you die, you mean. I’m fucking immortal,” he says instead, before succumbing to a coughing fit. “This damn Mojave weather. Too much goddamned dust,” he wheezes. James is at his side instantly, patting his back gently.
“You need to take it easy,” James chides, and Israel scoffs, but still lets the other man lean him back.
“I’ll take it easy when I’m dead,” he grumbles. James laughs, moving the dishes aside.
“I’m here to make sure you take care of yourself before that happens.”
“You sound just like Mona did, you know that? No wonder you two got along so well. Sometimes I feel like she should’ve married you instead of me,” Israel says, blinking sleep from his eyes.
“You two were perfect together,” James answers, his voice strangely quiet. Israel doesn’t comment, only motions towards James’ Bible.
“Read me a story out of that thing, would you?” he says. “I’m bored out of my damned mind.” James picks up the book, and obliges him.
“Then went Samson to Gaza, and saw there a harlot, and went in unto her,” James begins.
“A harlot, huh? Sounds like my kind of story,” Israel says, and James tries to hide his smile.
“Hush, you old pervert.” Israel makes a face at him, and motions for him to continue reading. He fades in and out of consciousness, listening to James’ voice more than James’ words. He used to make him and Mona read to the group while they were traveling. They had great fun with it, even taking turns and acting out the stories they read. They all adored the stories, even Orion, who often grumbled about literature being a woman’s domain. James would affect silly voices, and Mona would read her lines with a dramatic flourish.
Israel would sit enraptured with the both of them, watching their faces and bodies more than listening to the stories they would tell. Whenever Arcade would cry, the two of them would improvise the stories, telling them from memory. James and Mona had read many of the same things, and would finish each other’s stories while Israel bounced Arcade on his knee.
There weren’t any more stories after they were summoned to Navarro. Israel was told to serve the Enclave until his final breath, or face the consequences.