When the woman came back with their guns, Shrapnel could already hear the rhythmic chopping and clattering of Flak chopping the wood coming in through the back window. The woman sat down beside him, slowly and awkwardly due to her huge belly, and eyed him again.
“I heard of the things slavers do to the ones they capture. I’m no wasteland doctor, but I do know a little bit of first aid and such. Do you need anything?”
“Not anymore.” That was nothing but the truth. “I guess... oh forget it.”
Her eyes softened for a moment and she put a hand on his arm. “I guess your pride hurts worse than anything else. I know your type of man.”
Shrapnel shrugged. That wasn’t far off the mark, either.
“In any case, once my men are back, they might get that ghastly thing off your neck.”
“I... I’m not sure we can pay you for all that help you’re offering.”
“Bah.” She waved that aside. “We may not have a lot, but out here in the wasteland, we help each other.”

Shrapnel suddenly couldn’t meet her eyes anymore. He had just realised that, for the first time in his sorry existence, someone was helping him. Freely. Just because it was what you did. And with that realisation came another: Had he still been with his gang, he would have robbed this farm bare, killed every living thing here and taken whatever was of value, without any remorse. Would have killed the woman without a second thought. Ever since he had run away from home at ten and succeeded in joining the raiders, he had only taken whatever he had managed to get his hands on, and at that moment he realised what a sorry pit of vomit his life had turned out to be. Drugs, violence, hate, sex, death. It had absolutely no meaning. No meaning at all. His hands began to shake again.

He felt like shit, physically and mentally. He was a piece of shit. How Flak had ever seen anything worth saving in him was beyond him.

And here he was, sitting in that cosy little kitchen, a pregnant woman with her hand on his arm offering him comfort, but if she knew what kind of man he really was, she’d kill him without a second’s hesitation.
The woman, in turn, noticed that he was fighting strong emotions and showed a surprising amount of tact in that she stood up and told him she would fetch some water from the well, probably to give him time to come to grips with himself again. Most likely, she ascribed his reaction to the things he had been through, and Shrapnel had no mind to correct her in that.

A little later he could hear voices, male ones and the woman, and realised that her men had come home from the fields. He also could hear Flak’s voice joining them, but he couldn’t hear what was being said. He just fought with his own feelings until, when the door opened and all four of them entered, he had himself and his face under control again.

x-x-x-x-x-x

“So, ye’re saying that you two alone of a gang of mercs survived the attack, and ye managed to get him away from the slavers how... exactly?” Jake’s voice held as much doubt as his facial expression showed, and Albert didn’t seem convinced, either.
“I just ran for it”, Shrapnel gave back testily. “I thought going out like a light would be better than being a slave. I ran into him...” He jerked his thumb at Flak “...’cause he was just thinking of a way to get me out. I don’t know how he did it, but he disarmed the fucking thing with the tip of a knife.”
“Don’t actually know myself”, Flak said slowly.
Both Jake and Albert looked back and forth between the two.

“Okay”, Shrapnel snapped. “Whaddya think of that story? I’m a raider, and he’s a slaver from Paradise Falls, you know, and we met there when my gang sold a few slave girls there. Next time we were there the slavers didn’t feel hospitable and collared me, and because we’ve been fuckbuddies he arranged a distraction one night so we both could get away. That better?”
Flak wasn’t sure if he should guffaw or strangle Shrapnel to death, but after a few moments of heavy silence that followed these last words, Jake cleared his throat.