falloutkinkmeme_backup | Fallout Kink Meme Part IV: Closed to prompts, open for fills.

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Fallout Kink Meme Part IV: Closed to prompts, open for fills.

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Israel’s fever has finally gone down. James knows that they’re safe in the building he sought refuge for them in, a fisherman’s shack at the edge of Lake Mead. He can hear the Cazadors buzzing outside, and hopes they’ll lose interest by morning. He can probably stop wiping the sweat from Israel’s brow, but he doesn’t. He keeps his hands on him, and watches the weak rise and fall of his breath.

Israel is his oldest friend. He knew the other man long before Madison, or Catherine. Knew him back when Project Purity was just a pipe dream, and he was searching the wastelands of America for some sort of way to make it a reality. He remembers walking into that bar and seeing him for the first time, drinking whiskey and scowling at anyone who had dared to look at him. James, in his youthful bravado, sat next to him when no one else in the bar would dare to do so.

Shortly after, he raced to the inn they were staying at, and rescued the life of his only wife and child. Israel invited him to travel with his group for a while, and James couldn’t find it in himself to say no. He stayed with them for years, becoming close friends with Israel, discussing Old World literature with Mona, and watching Arcade grow from a weak baby to a strapping, if somewhat shy, young boy.

He could forget about the plights of the Capital Wasteland, and could almost forget about making Project Purity a reality. He even took Orion’s teasing in good form.

“Project Purity? What kind of pansy-ass name is that?”

Even when he found out they were Enclave, that didn’t stop his blind devotion. He was always wary of them after that, but he never stopped trusting Israel.

And then he died, or so they had thought.

There had been a summons to Navarro sent to them. Israel had wanted to ignore it, but Orion had talked him into it. They all went, with little Arcade in tow, to receive new orders. James had gone along with a cover story of being part of the East Coast branch of the Enclave. They hadn’t existed at the time, and at that point he thought they never would.

“I’m going to give the brass a piece of my mind,” Israel had said. “I’m through. Done. I have Mona and Arcade to think about now.” Arcade had seen the eyebots, and squealed with delight. He called them all ‘Ralphie’ and chattered to James excitedly about going on wasteland adventures with one. He smiled indulgently and picked Arcade up to see the ones higher up.

“Just be careful,” James had murmured, fearful for his friend’s life. “I know you served them, but they’re still Enclave. They’re still ruthless.” Israel had smiled that same prideful smile, the smile that said he was immortal, and James always believed him.

That was the last time James ever saw him until meeting him in a bar in the Georgia wasteland, almost forty years later.

“You know,” he begins, both to soothe Israel from the nightmares the poison gave him and to soothe himself from old memories. “Both times I’ve met you; it’s been in some dank dive somewhere. Both times I’ve met you, I’ve come away with you at your slightest urging.” He shakes his head, wiping sweat from the other man’s brow. “We’ve both been married, and lost our wives. We both have children that we have no idea where they are.”

“James,” Israel moans, and James pauses to see if he is awake. He is still held captive by the throes of bad dreams, and James presses a soft kiss to his forehead.

“We’re too old for this,” he whispers against the wrinkled skin of Israel’s forehead. “We’re running out of time.”

But running out of time to do what, James couldn’t say.

Fucking god I love this story.

Courier decides, inexplicitly, to change their plans and head straight to Jacobstown. The farther up the mountain they get, the colder the air and the worse it is on her. She tries to stifle her coughing, and the others strike up conversation to cover the sound of her wheezing.

“So, who wants to have a snowball fight when we get up the mountain?” Veronica asks cheerfully, and Arcade can almost kiss her for her exuberance. “I call Courier.” Courier laughs, and starts hacking again, but the smile doesn’t leave her face. Boone is by her side, as always, and this time she leans into him without a fuss.

“We can bake cookies,” Lily cheers, and Courier nods.

“Of course, grandma,” she rasps. “Any kind of cookies you want.” Lily coos at her, and sweeps her up into her giant arms, much to Courier’s chagrin.

“Little Jimmy needs to take a breather. He knows how much the cold aggravates his asthma.” Courier opens her mouth to protest, only to be cut off by Veronica.

“Yeah, Jimmy,” she says, grinning. Rex whines, and sits down. Cass leans over to pet him, murmuring soft words of encouragement.

“I’m going to scout for a place to for us to stay,” Boone says. He takes off his coat and holds it out to the Courier. She smiles weakly and Lily takes it from Boone, wrapping Courier up in it tightly. “I’ll be right back.”

“I’ll come with you,” Raul says. “Couldn’t hurt for you to have another set of eyes, even if they are half blind.” Raul and Boone take off, Boone’s red beret becoming a speck in the distance. They all sit down and Veronica tries to start a campfire, finally filching some of Cass’ whiskey to use as fuel.

Cass doesn’t pay her any sort of mind other than to make a face at her. She’s busy talking to Rex, and Arcade thinks her voice is the softest he has ever heard it.

“Poor thing. You and Courier are just about dying on us, aren’t you? Too bad we can’t get her a transplant to fix whatever’s wrong with her.” Rex whines, leaning into Cass’ hand, and she says, “Shh, I know it hurts, boy. You can make it. Hell, I’ll even carry you if the going gets rough, all right?” She looks up to see Arcade staring up at her, and says defensively, “What?”

“I,” Arcade says, not sure what to say. “You’re a hell of a lot nicer than you let on.” Cass snorts, patting the spot next to her.

“Siddown, pretty boy. No use in freezing your ass off by yourself,” she says, and he plops down next to her. He strokes Rex’s flank, ignoring the faded red bull painted on it.

“I always wanted a dog,” he speaks up suddenly. Cass lights two cigarettes, passing him one. He takes it without complaint.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” he says. “Always thought they were amazing when they weren’t feral.” He leaves out the part about having a dog being as American as baseball and apple pie, and wanting to live out the American Dream as preached by the Enclave.

“I had one once,” Cass says. “His name was Sour. A left over from before my old man took off.”

“Did you like him?”

“He was mean as fuck to anyone but me and my ma. But yeah. He was a damned good dog,” she says almost nostalgically, scratching Rex behind the ears.

Boone and Raul make it back, and lead the group to a shack built into the side of the mountain. Arcade finds his eyes looking toward the Remnant’s Bunker, and he feels almost ill at the thought of being so close to it. He takes deep breaths, telling himself that even if the others did find it, there was no way they would know what he used to be. No way to tell by looking at him.

“You ok?” Boone asks worriedly, eyes darting back and forth between him and Courier. Arcade swallows.

“Fine,” he says, forcing a grin. “Just a little tired.”

This story. The interaction between the entire crew is just flawless, but I absolutely adore the stuff between Cass and Rex. Love it so, so much.

Always excited to see this story updated, a!a. You are wonderful.

A!a, I simply can't relay to you how much I love love love this story. Never stop being so perfect.

James’ voice gets rougher by the day. Israel hates it. He’s afraid that soon, he’ll no longer be able to tell James’ voice from other ghouls he comes across. James keeps Israel bedridden for far longer than he thought was necessary, but every time he tries to move his breath is taken away by a shot of pain that course through his entire being.

The door to the shack is open, and Israel is watching James fish. He can almost see the man he used to look like, and the faint outline of a blonde child on his knee.

“What was your daughter like?” he croaks, shifting in his bedroll uncomfortably. He’s too hot, but it’s hard to find the energy to do more than squirm. Even talking exhausts him. James freezes for a split second before answering.

“She is very intelligent,” he answers. “Very kind. A lot like her mother, but more like me, God bless her. I,” and at this, he pauses. “I always felt guilty, and tried not to be too hard on her.”

“Why?” Israel asks. James doesn’t answer until after he manages to pull a fish out of the water, and watches it struggle for breath until dying.

“I was always comparing her to Arcade,” he answers finally, shooting an apologetic look at Israel. “I always wanted her to be like him. As well-behaved, as smart. I was secretly delighted when her hair grew to be blonde because it meant she looked a little more like him.”

“You took care of him after I was gone, didn’t you?” Israel asks, a weariness infecting his voice. “After you thought I was dead.” James nods, and sadly answers,

“I stayed until Mona died. I would’ve stayed after that too, but Orion forced me out at gunpoint. He blamed me for not being able to protect you two.”

“I’m sorry,” Israel says. “For that.” James shakes his head.

“I’m not. I understood. Even when I left to go back to the Capital Wasteland, I always thought about you,” he says, and his look makes Israel avert his eyes. It’s too deep, too searching and loving, and Israel can’t deal with it.

He doesn’t deserve it.

James continues to speak.

“I thought about all of you. You know, I never wanted children of my own until I met you and Mona. Until Arcade.” James falls silent, working on gutting the fish for dinner.

“I don’t know how to thank you,” Israel says, more to break the silence than anything else. “For taking care of him.” James shakes his head, and a soft hint of a smile graces his ruined features.

“No thanks needed. You all were my family. I loved you.”

Israel doesn’t ask if that love still exists. Somehow, he doesn’t think he can bear to know.

Oh god, my heart. I seriously can't tell you how much I love this.

This is brilliant.

It’s the first time she’s laughed in a while, even though she is busy getting pummeled with snowballs. Her laughter is infectious, and soon the whole group is laughing too.

She isn’t doing much better than she was, but she’s pushing through for the sake of the group. They all can see that, and don’t begrudge her it. They all tell her how well she’s doing, how healthy she looks, and even Arcade can’t help but join in with their false encouragements.

He may not have a high tolerance for bullshit, but sometimes life is too short.

She hits Cass in the back of the head with a snowball, and the caravaneer swears playfully. Cass tackles her into the snow, taking care to not slam into her too hard. Courier squeals with delight, wrestling away from her. Rex barks happily from the sidelines, and races over to the two women to lick their faces. Doc Henry had given the cyberdog some medicine for the pain, and in the morning they were going to head out to find him a new brain.

They were a lot like Dorothy and her ragtag bunch trying to find the wizard, only instead of a yellow brick road they were traversing a nuclear wasteland forgotten by time, Arcade muses.

Courier hits Arcade with a snowball, and he takes it with good grace. He even manages to laugh while brushing the freezing snow out of his hair. She shoots him a lopsided grin before holding a finger to her lips. She eyes Raul, who has his back turned to them and is talking to Boone. She sneaks over while Cass and Veronica pummel each other with snowballs and yell obscenities that cause Lily to scold the both of them, and do they kiss their mothers with those mouths? E-DE chirps along, happily playing something about letting it snow, and Arcade tries not to glare at the robot too much.

Boone raises an eyebrow when he sees Courier, but otherwise lets her dump snow over the ghoul’s head. He swears beautifully in Spanish while Boone and Courier laugh. Arcade sits on the porch next to a happy Rex, lighting up another cigarette. He always promised Daisy he would never take up smoking, but he always seems to smoke during times of crisis and cold weather.

Courier turns to Boone to throw snow at him, but he beats her to it. She spits the snow out of her mouth with a delighted expression, and tries to tackle him. He easily catches her arms, and holds her a little too close against him. She gives him a wary look, and he smiles. Arcade blows a puff of smoke out, watching the two through a haze. Boone picks Courier up, twirling her around before gently depositing her into a pile of snow. Arcade hears a muffled ‘Hey!’ before Courier sits up, pulling Boone in after her.

“Those two should just fuck and get it over with,” Cass grumbles, plopping down next to Arcade, the brim of her hat weighed down with snow.

“I love it when you talk dirty,” Arcade comments, handing her a cigarette. She lights it, and before she can bring it to her lips, Veronica plucks it out of her hand, E-DE buzzing around her head.

“These are bad for you, you know,” she says, taking a deep drag before handing it back to Cass.

“Stop bogarting my smokes, you dyke,” Cass teases. Veronica, in response, collapses into Cass’ lap.

“I’m obviously the femme of the two of us, you butch dyke,” Veronica says, kissing Cass’ cheek. Cass rolls her eyes, but Arcade can see the hint of a grin from underneath her hat. Raul is the last to join the group on the porch, grumbling about how bad the cold is for his bones while still grinning. They all watch Courier and Boone play in the snow, placing bets on when they’ll get tired (or in Cass and Raul’s case, bets on when they’ll finally give up the ghost and start a relationship).

Arcade stops paying attention after a while, instead focusing on the snow. The last time he saw snow was when he was a small child. It was just after his father died, and try as he might, he can’t remember much about his father other than his height. What he remembers is James, and Courier looks so much like him it hurts. He remembers James helping him build a snowman, and having a snowball fight with him because there weren’t any other kids around. He remembers a sadness and longing at his father’s passing, and he remembers those emotions reflected in James’ eyes.

Arcade is pulled from his reminiscing by a loud, persistent coughing. He turns to see Courier doubled over, wheezing, and Boone adamantly trying to lead her to the lodge. She’s shaking her head, but once she coughs hard enough to splatter blood in the snow, Boone picks her up to carry her inside. Arcade follows them inside, and the rest of the group is at his heels. Courier looks over Boone’s shoulder at the snow with a familiar sad look in her eyes, and Arcade fights to stay in the present, even while her gaze is pulling him into a past he’d rather forget.

“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.

“There isn’t anything you can do to me that I can’t survive,” he had boasted to the brass.

“But there is,” they had replied. “You can rejoin our ranks, or you can watch your entire platoon die. Moreno, Kreger, Johnson, Whitman. We will execute them all. Your wife and child? We will tie them to posts, and leave them for raiders. That soldier from the East? We will send him back to his commanding officers in a matchbox. Your call, Gannon.”

He had made his call, and loathed the Enclave ever since. He rejoiced when, a scant two years later, a tribal from Arroyo blew Navarro to hell. He never set out to search for them, instead drifting through the wastes as a man without a purpose. He didn’t think they would ever forgive him for his deception.

“’And she said unto him, How canst thou say, I love thee, when thine heart is not with me? Thou hast mocked me these three times, and hast not told me wherein thy great strength lieth.’”

“That’s enough for now,” Israel says, a sick feeling in his stomach. “I’m feeling tired.” James nods, shutting his book. “Short version. How does it end?”

“Samson, vexed to death by Deliliah’s questioning, tells her the secret of his strength.”

“What is it?”

“His hair. He keeps it long, and God gives him strength.”

“What happens afterwards?” Israel asks, stifling a yawn. James pulls the blanket up around his narrow, withered shoulders.

“She cuts his hair, robbing him of his strength, and delivers him to his enemies,” James answers smoothly, tucking the blanket around Israel. His hands warm his freezing flesh, and he is sad to feel them leave his skin.

“What an awful story,” Israel murmurs, his eyes drifting close. “Is the whole book like that?” James chuckles, and Israel can see his youthful face smiling in his memories.

“Only half of it.”

“And the other half?”

“I’ll tell you when you wake up.”

I'm feeling very torn. I can't wait for the two groups to converge, so I can see them interact. On the other hand, that would probably be the end of the story, and I don't want it to end. Ever.

Courier falls ill with a fever. Marcus lets them stay in the rooms farthest from the rest of Jacobstown’s inhabitants, much to Keene’s displeasure. The nightkin finds little solace in the fact that they are too far away to stare at him and his brethren.

Boone leans against the wall with his arms crossed tightly over his chest, and his teeth clench with every rattling breath Courier takes. Veronica hovers over Arcade’s shoulder worriedly, and Arcade finally has to come get Cass to pry her away.

“Tell everyone I’m fine,” Courier says weakly, after drifting in and out of consciousness for some time. “Arcade, I could cut the tension in this room with a knife. It’s just a fever.”

“You’re treading on dangerous ground,” he says, checking her temperature. She is still hot to the touch. “Even ‘just a fever’ could kill you in the state you’re in.” She makes a face, and turns to look at the rest of the group, Veronica in particular.

“I’ll be fine,” she says, forcing a grin. “What I care about is Rex. Did anyone find out where to get him a new brain?”

“Best bet is Gibson Scrapyard,” Cass says. “I can get it while you recover.” Courier nods, her eyes drifting closed. She struggles to stay awake.

“Take someone with you,” she says sleepily. Cass motions for Veronica to follow her, and Veronica shakes her head.

“Come on, kid,” Cass says gently. Veronica doesn’t say anything, but miserably follows the other woman out. Courier falls asleep, and Arcade sighs.

All he can do now is wait.

After the sun sets, the Courier’s fever still hasn’t broken, and it’s affecting her state of mind. She glances around the room frantically.

“We have to go,” she says. “Where is Charon?” Arcade bites back a weary sigh. Boone places a hand on his shoulder.

“I can stay with her if you need sleep,” he offers, and Arcade isn’t sure if he’s ever been tempted by anything more in his life. He nods sleepily, and stands up.

“Come get me if you can’t handle her,” he says. Courier swigs her legs over the bed, and Arcade watches Boone try to gently push her back.

“You need rest,” he says gently, and Courier looks on the verge of tears.

“You don’t understand,” she whispers. “We can’t let them have it. Where is Charon?”

“We won’t,” Boone says, and Arcade could bless him if he were a religious man. “We’ll keep it safe.”

“Charon,” she demands. She begins calling for him, and she struggles away from Boone to stand. Arcade bites back a shout. He’s tired, she’s sick, and all he wants to do is fall in a heap and sleep for the next few days. She manages to get to the door, only to be stopped by Raul.

“Get back in bed,” the ghoul says firmly, his hands clenching her shoulders. She looks up at him, and caresses his cheek almost blissfully.

“Charon,” she says happily, and Arcade can see Raul’s resulting wince from across the room.

“Hija,” he begins, but she doesn’t let him finish. Her lips slam against the ghoul’s with a desperate want that makes Arcade blush. He chances a glance over at Boone, and tries not to flinch at the hopeless look on the other man’s face.

Raul pushes the Courier away after a moment (too long of a moment, Arcade thinks), and she simply gazes up happily at him.

“I thought you were dead,” she whispers, and Raul, for once, looks at a loss for words. He leads her back to the bed, and touches the back of his palm to her forehead.

“Arcade,” he murmurs, and Arcade nods, pulling out a syringe of Med-X to administer to bring her fever down.

“Keep her distracted,” he orders, and Raul nods wearily. She turns to look at Raul again with a smile.

“I love you,” she says, throwing her arms around it. “I never told you that enough.” Raul hugs her back, more to hold her in place so Arcade can give her the shot than anything else.

“I know,” he says softly, kissing her forehead. Arcade administers the Med-X, and only a soft gasp of pain is heard from Courier, which Raul soothes with another kiss. “I always knew.”

You're making me bawl. This is excellent.

Raul's resignation and Boone's hopeless affections are both making my lips quiver. :( I might be reading it wrong, but I think they both love her. The courier's gonna make a lot of people cry when she dies.

“Who is he?” Boone demands quietly after the Courier falls asleep again.

“I don’t know,” Raul answers evasively.

“Bullshit,” Boone snaps. “You talk to her about him. She hallucinates that you’re him. That piece of paper she carries around like a god damned rosary has his name written on it. Who. Is. He?” Arcade puts a hand on Boone’s arm in an effort to soothe him, but he shrugs it off. He shoots a guilty look at Arcade, and so Arcade leaves him alone. Raul sighs before answering.

“I met him about fifty years ago. I made my way to a place called The Capital Wasteland.” Arcade shoots a look at Courier, and she looks more like James when she’s asleep. “I think that’s where Courier’s from. If so, it’s a wonder she made it out here. The Capital Wasteland is a godless, lawless land. Everything is dead, and people would kill one another over a bottle of clean water. At least, they did when I was there last.”

“And Charon?” Boone prompts.

“A ghoul. He worked for a slimly bastard named Ahzrukhal down in Underworld. He didn’t talk much, but from what I could gather Ahzrukhal has just bought his contract. Some sort of brain-washing keeps him bound to whoever holds that slip of paper. I don’t know how Courier met him, just that she did.”

“And now she thinks he’s dead,” Arcade murmurs. Boone shifts uncomfortably, all of his previous anger dissipated. He takes a seat next to Courier’s bed, and a weak smile breaks over his face when ED-E begins to play soft music.

“You guys can go to sleep,” he croaks. “I’ll watch her.” Arcade nods, and Raul hesitantly pats Boone’s shoulder before leaving the room as fast as his old legs can carry him.

“You sure?” Arcade asks. Boone nods.

“Yeah.” Arcade walks toward the other bed in the room, and collapses on it. Boone slumps over in his chair, and his hand reaches out to grasp hers. Her skin is still unbearably hot, even with the dose of Med-X.

Arcade watches Boone watch Courier until he finally drifts into unconsciousness.

Lordy. I keep starting a comment and deleting it and starting again, because I want to express how much I love this and I can't seem to get anything coherent out. This fill. I love it.

“What the hell is that thing doing here?” Courier demands, startling Arcade out of his slumber. He groggily tries to wipe the sleep from his eyes, and puts on his glasses. Courier frantically searches for something whilst glaring daggers at ED-E. Boone is speaking unsurely, stumbling over his words and trying to calm her.

“Where in the hell is my plasma rifle? Charon?” she calls, looking under the bed. Boone spots Arcade getting up, and a pitiful sort of relief courses through his being.

“Her fever went back up,” he says. “Her skin is so hot. I don’t know how she’s walking around. Arcade, help me. I don’t know what to do.” Arcade nods, patting him on the shoulder.

“You’ve done the best you’ve been able,” he murmurs, eyeing Courier as she swings at ED-E. “Don’t worry.”

“Autumn! Can you hear me?” she says menacingly to ED-E, throwing a lamp at the robot. He chirps unhappily as he dodges it, and Arcade does his best to shield Boone from the spray of broken glass. “You are never going to get our hands on it. Do you fucking hear me? I won’t let you have it!”

“Courier,” Arcade tries, but she doesn’t respond. “Courier, stop.
That’s ED-E. ED-E. He’s ours.”

“God damn it, where is my plasma rifle?” She spots Arcade, and a look of recognition flashes in her eyes. “You know, the one I got from Harkness? Dogmeat,” she says, turning toward Rex. The dog sleepily raises his head in confusion. “Can you find it, boy?”

“Courier,” Arcade tries again. “I don’t know where you think you are, but you’re in the Mojave. We’re at Jacobstown. That’s Rex.” She gives him a blank stare.

“Courier?” she asks. “That isn’t my name.” Boone steps forward, motioning for her to come to him.

“Catherine,” he says, and she turns her gaze to him. “You’re very sick. You need to rest.” He takes an unsteady step toward her, holding out his hand. “Arcade is a doctor. He’ll help you.” Courier wobbles on her feet unsteadily, holding her head.

“It hurts,” she whimpers.

“I know it does. Come on. Get back in bed.” She nods, and Boone helps her back to the bed. Her eyes close as soon as her head hits the pillow, and they try not to focus on how shallow her breathing is. Arcade busily gets to work, opening his doctor’s bag. Boone wipes the sweat from her brow almost lovingly.

“This isn’t just a fever, is it?” he asks. Arcade doesn’t answer, allowing him to continue talking. “I heard stories back in the NCR about this sort of thing. People too irradiated to be well, but not enough to die. It starts to affect their brain.”

“Her brain is decaying,” Arcade says finally. “Rotting in her skull. I wasn’t sure at first, but I was afraid. Now I know I’m right.”

“Ferals go through the same thing,” a voice from the doorway startles both of them. Raul stands there, leaning against the wall and looking years older. “That’s why they’re barely more than snarling savages, right Doc?” Arcade nods, and can feel Boone breaking next to him.

The other man doesn’t say anything else, but Arcade can feel him trembling. He can see his grief in the way he holds Courier’s hand. Finally, he whispers,

“How long?” Arcade feels a sharp pain in his chest.

“Anywhere from a few months to a few years,” he answers, Lies, he thinks. She won’t last another year. “There are ways to stem the tide, but it’ll submerge her eventually.” Boone nods, pressing her hand against his cheek.

The three of them sit in silence, watching the unsteady rise and fall of her breathing

D: You're breaking my heart; this is beautiful and sad, a!a. I'm loving every minute of it.

Keep Your Composure 17/?

James and Israel begin traveling again at Israel’s insistence. Israel doesn’t want to be the one to keep James behind. He can push these old bones forward for the chance
to make James happy.

They stop in Novac, and James chuckles to himself.

“I’ll be damned,” he says, craning his head to look up at the dinosaur. “That old thing is still here.” Israel scoffs. James shakes his head. “Let’s get a room for the night.”

“I can keep going,” Israel offers.

“You can, but I can’t. These old bones need to rest,” James says, flashing him a grin. “You know how I can get without my beauty sleep.” Israel barks a laugh and they head to the shop inside the dinosaur. The man behind the counter is busy helping two young women pick out supplies. Israel crinkles his nose in disgust. They smell like they haven’t bathed, and he stops himself from thinking what he and James must smell like, an old man and a rotting ghoul.

While the shop owner goes to retrieve their ammo, food, whiskey and various books, the woman in the cowboy hat elbows the woman in the hood.

“Chin up, soldier,” she says. “She’ll be fine. It’s like she said-it’s just a fever. Look at how far she’s gotten already.” The other woman nods sadly, and the woman in the cowboy hat flings an arm around her. “Come on. We’ll spend the night here and get plastered, and head back to Jacobstown in the morning.” The woman in the hood forces a smile, and James watches the shop owner come back with his arms full of their supplies. He drops a few of the books.

“Darn it,” he says. James bends over to help him, picking up a weathered book. The shop owner thanks him, and James nods, smiling softly in reply.

“Ah,” he says. “Rousseau. This is heavy reading for a night of heavy drinking.”

“We have friends who are into books,” the woman in the cowboy hat says, taking it from him. “Including this cute little number here,” and at that, she nudges the other woman. “Personally, I could never get into books. Too much fucking work.”

“Same,” Israel grunts.

“They’re get well presents,” the woman in the hood says.

“Oh?” James says, and Israel has always loved and hated his friendliness. “The friend with a fever? I’ve always found that hot Bramhim stew and cold Nuka Cola makes me feel better.” He holds his hand out. “James.” With a grin, the cowgirl takes it.

“Cass. “

“Veronica.” James nudges Israel, and he reluctantly answers,

“Israel.” Cass grins, motioning to the copious amounts of whiskey the two had bought.

“Would you fellas like to drink with us?” James smiles, and Israel grudgingly nods.

“We would love to.”

The four of them make their way to the motel room at the top of the stairs, and Israel grabs James’ arm.

“What are you doing?” he hisses. James just smiles serenely, and reassuringly pats his hand.

“It’s good to make friends,” he says. “Besides, I haven’t had a decent drink in God knows how long, and I’m sure you haven’t either. And if the booze is free, then who am I to complain?” Israel stares at him incredulously, and James leans in to murmur against his ear. “The one in the hood is Brotherhood. I can see her holotags around her neck. I want to see if they know my daughter.” Israel suppresses a shudder at the hot air ghosting across his ear, and nods.

“Your daughter is Brotherhood?’ he asks, trying to quell the sudden surge of hate. She's just a child you haven't met yet.

“Back east she is. But at Forlorn Hope, they said one of her traveling companions is a Brotherhood scribe, remember?”

“Yeah,” he answers slowly. The truth is, he doesn’t, but he’ll be damned before he lets James know that. Hazy memories are better than no memories, and he doesn’t want James to worry about him any more than he already does. James nods to himself, and Israel watches an old woman exit from her room to smoke a cigarette, leaning over the railing as she watches the smoke drift up to blend into the fading Mojave sky.

Keep Your Composure 17a/?

“Hey, Ms. Whitman,” the cowgirl greets, and Israel freezes. She looks at him, and he at her, and he expects her eyes to light up with a weary sort of recognition. But she pays him no mind, waving to the two young women, and goes back to smoking. He remembers her, can see her youthful figure hidden by the shell of the old crone she has become.

She used to be a hell of a pilot, flying the vertibird like she was a part of it. He wonders how she’s survived this long. He should go talk to her, and he sees that sentiment echoed in James’ face. James nudges him, and his feet move of his own accord. One step. Then two. Oh God. He doesn’t want to do this. Soon, he is standing next to her, watching the sunset. She eyes him suspiciously, and he wants to run away from her, away from the Mojave Wasteland, where NCR waits like a starving dog in the west.

“Can I help you, stranger?” she asks. He should say something, anything, but finds his voice locked in his throat. She steps away from him, back into her room, and her eyes never leave his until her door shuts.

“You shouldn’t smoke, Whitman,” he murmurs, the scolding coming to his lips naturally even though he hasn’t said it for decades. “You’ll die early. Your country needs you.”

“Live fast, die young, and leave a good looking corpse,” he hears her voice reply, carried by the winds of the memories he struggles to hold on to.

This keeps getting better with every chapter. I don't know how thats possible, but it does.

Courier is up, sitting at the window and smoking a cigarette. Arcade’s voice dies on his lips when he sees her frail, sickly figure silhouetted against the rising sun, and struggles for a few moments before his voice finally croaks,

“We need to talk.” She wordlessly motions for him to sit in the empty seat next to her, and he walks past Boone, who is slumped over her bed and reaching for her hand in his sleep, and Raul, who is slumped against the wall next to him. With a deep breath, he sits down, and finds his voice.

“How dare you,” he says, and feels cheated when she doesn’t wince. “You knew.”

“I told you I was dying,” she says. “I didn’t think I had to go into any more detail than that.”

“How long?” he demands.

“About a year after it happened.”

“After what happened, Catherine?” She does wince at that, and he still feels cheated because he isn’t as satisfied with it as he thought he would be.

“Don’t call me that,” she murmurs.

“What? Catherine? That’s your name, isn’t it? It’s the only thing we know about you other than the fact that you’re a dead woman walking, and you didn’t even have the fucking decency to tell us how bad it really was!”

“I’m sorry,” she whispers. He sighs, rubbing his temples.

“So am I.” She takes a deep breath, and he thinks that is the end of their conversation. He moves to stand, and she says,

“Please continue to call me Courier, Arcade.”

“Why?” he asks dully. “I don’t see any reason to continue this charade.”

“It’s the only name that has ever been mine,” she answers, smiling wryly. “I have my father’s last name, and the names of the two people he loved more than anything else in the world. Two people I have never even met.”

“Oh? So, what’s your full name, Rumpelstiltskin?” She takes a deep breath, and he isn’t sure she is going to answer him. But she does.

“Neil. Catherine Israel Neil.”

Its Christmas day where I am, and a new update of this was a very welcome present.

Fallout Kink Meme Part IV: Closed to prompts, open for fills.

Keep Your Composure 10/?

Re: Keep Your Composure 10/?

Keep Your Composure 11/?

Re: Keep Your Composure 11/?

Re: Keep Your Composure 11/?

Keep Your Composure 12/?

Re: Keep Your Composure 12/?

Re: Keep Your Composure 12/?

Keep Your Composure 13/?

Keep Your Composure 13a/?

Keep Your Composure 14/?

Keep Your Composure 14a/?

Re: Keep Your Composure 14a/?

Keep Your Composure 15a/?

Re: Keep Your Composure 15a/?

Re: Keep Your Composure 15a/?

Keep Your Composure 15b/?

Re: Keep Your Composure 15b/?

Keep Your Composure 16/?

Re: Keep Your Composure 16/?

no subject

no subject

no subject

Keep Your Composure 18/?

Re: Keep Your Composure 18/?

Re: Keep Your Composure 18/?

Keep Your Composure 19/?

Keep Your Composure 20/?

Re: Keep Your Composure 20/?