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

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Re: Tag, You're It [2/4]

[(Anonymous)]

“You know Cass, this would heal a lot faster if you cut down on your drinking,” Arcade commented as he wound a fresh bandage around her ankle. A few weeks earlier she had disarmed a bear trap the old fashioned way. Stimpacks had saved the foot, but the damage was deep enough to put her out of commission for a while.

“Would me kicking the shit out of you for nagging me reopen the wound?” Cass asked cheerfully.

“Yes, but-”

“Then me drinking whatever I want is vital to the healing process.”

Arcade shook his head, but chuckled. “Its looking good either way. You can tell the Courier that we'll be back on the road in a couple of days.”

“It'll have to wait until she gets back from the Tops.”

“What, again? No wonder we can never afford a decent stock of energy cells.” Arcade gently lifted her foot out of his lap, and set it on the floor.

“Don't you prefer having her there, instead of here mooning around you all the time?”

Arcade stared at her, wondering if he should adjust the amount of painkillers he was giving her. “What? She's barely spoken to me all week.”

Cass clapped her hands like a toddler. “You haven't noticed yet! Everytime I look over she's in your shadow, looking nervy as a spooked Brahmin.”

Arcade waved a hand at her. “I know she doesn't have the best judgement, but that's ridiculous. Even if I wasn't openly gay I would still be the worst possible- oh. No. No no no no no.”

“There it is,” Cass drawled. She leaned over and expertly tipped a shot into his open Nuka Cola. “Buck up. Just ignore her until she fixates on someone new. Like Boone did.”

“That wasn't exactly natural. I had to intervene.” He took a swig of the adulterated cola, and as he waited for the burning sensation in his sinuses to fade, a lightbulb went off.

...


“What are you doing in the laundry room?” Boone asked, nearly making Arcade jump out of his chair.

“Hiding. What are you doing in the laundry room?”

“Laundry.” He peered over Arcade's shoulder at his notepad. “The King. Pros. Genuinely nice guy. Steady job. Sexy accent,” he read slowly. Arcade bit back an expression of surprise- he'd always had the sniper pegged as functionally illiterate.“Why do you have 'Appears mentally stable' down as a con?”

“I'm trying to think of someone to set our fearless leader up with. But everyone I come up with is a little too... um...”

“Mentally stable. Right.” Boone turned to the washing machine, but didn't seem offended. “Michael Angelo.”

“What?”

“Michael. Angelo.” he repeated slowly. “Nuttier than a pecan pie. But in a harmless way.”

“Boone, you're a genius,” Arcade said, jumping out of his chair.

“I know,” Boone said, with an air of relief that someone had finally noticed.