Note: For fun, an attempt at capturing the unique character of Porter Gage. Hope it works well.

Stella remembered Nuka-World. How could she not?

But, seriously?

To hell with the place.

"Goddamn fucking bloodworms, I'll fucking poison this whole fucking place, FUCK!"

Gage was watching her, chuckling under his breath as Stella dropped onto the hay bales in Dry Rock Gulch. She grabbed her leg where the last bloodworm had bitten her, cursing the fucking things to Hell, and peeled back the chaps of the Western outfit she'd taken off a mannequin.

"Well, now," Gage said, making a breathy noise. "Didn't think a little bite would do you in, boss. Guess I'd better go dig a hole."

"Shut the fuck up," Stella grumbled, squeezing the wound. Oozing bloodworm venom. She made a less-than-impressive whimper, leaning back against the building and closing her eyes. Her stomach was roiling already. Fuck, she could handle all kinds of blood and gore, but this―this nasty yellow spit―she made a face. Fucking bloodworms!

"You need a hand?"

"Probably," she muttered, swallowing hard. "Venom." Her hand flapped at her leg, weakly.

A rustle of fabric and a creaking board. Gage's hands went to her thigh, without warning, grabbing the exposed flesh and squeezing as hard as she'd ever felt. Stella's eyes popped open and she punched out, smashing him in the face―

The eye patch he wore connected with her knuckles, but his head didn't move. "Fuck!" she hissed, embarrassed and nauseous. "Sorry, Gage―"

Her hand started to bleed. He said nothing but moved his hands back to her thigh and squeezed again, just as hard. After a moment, he nodded. "You'll live, boss."

Stella looked at the gloves, crackling and peeling from the cloth backing. "Cheap as fuck leather," she grumbled, stripping them off and examining her skin.

Much as she knew Gage would understand and probably not give a shit about her hitting him, she did feel the flush of blood to her face. Fucking beast of a guy like that might take her apart if she didn't stay on his good side. She didn't want to find out, either. Not after all that shit with Colter.

And―goddammit, she didn't need to make any more enemies, not after what happened in the Commonwealth―

"Remind me to ask more clear-like, next time," Gage muttered. He lit a cigarette, his lone hazel eye considering the Protectron nearby.

"In my experience, assholes grabbing at legs like that only means one thing," she shot back, jabbing herself with a stimpak and trying not to feel defensive. "That or they're trying to pickpocket me. You're not the type for either, I think."

Gage's mouth twitched. He made a low rumbling noise in his throat, but didn't turn to face her. Whatever, she thought, trying to put the bad thoughts out of her mind. This was not the time or place for it. Needed to deal with the stupid Mine, still.

"You don't know that," he said, hooking a corner of his mouth up into a half-smile. "I'd gladly take that expensive rifle you got."

Stella breathed out, looking up at him with slitted eyes. "Cold dead hands," she said, "would be the last of your worries."

Gage laughed, pitching the cigarette. "What we doin' now, boss?"

"Head up to the Mine, clear it out. Fucking tired of this shit. But..." She pushed herself up from the hay, groaning. "Job's a job."

"You ain't regrettin' becomin' the Overboss, are you?"

"Hell, no," Stella said, pushing her rifle strap over her shoulder and wiping her nose. "I'm tired and I'm hungry, and your attitude is not helping, Gage."

"I got your back," he replied, nodding somberly. The fading light caught his eye, though. Seemed like he enjoyed a little back-and-forth, sometimes.

"Aren't you sweet," Stella sniped. "C'mon, asshole."

Gage chuckled again, walking along behind her as she moved toward Mad Mulligan's Mine.

Boss was screeching like a pack of feral ghouls. Gage winced at the sheer volume of her shrieks. She'd give him a headache if she didn't calm herself down. He moved 'long the edge of a wall, firing at a bloodworm and trying to suss out why she was so noisy.

Stella slipped on a pile Brahmiluff shit as she tried to dodge the gaping mouths, falling onto her ass in a pile of gore left behind by the monsters. She put a hand down to push herself up and fell again, landing on her shoulder and shrieking again. Gage put a round in the thing's eye.

Maybe she was scared of the things. He hadn't seen her flinch yet, but there was bound to be something that got her all riled up. Even he wasn't too fond of some things―mole rats, fucking hated them, the bugs, fuck the bugs.

Reloaded, casually strolling up to Stella and looking down at her. "Hope you don't mind me not helpin' you up," he said, slightly amused.

"How did Colter not throttle you to death, Gage?" she shot back, making disgusted noises as she pried herself out of the aftermath of a bloodworm brood.

"Dunno," he replied, lightheartedly. "Maybe it's my sparklin' personality. Sure he had reasons."

Stella stopped halfway up from the ground, one hand jammed into a pile of shit and blood, and looked up at him. A split second later, she burst into laughter, shaking her head as she moved up from the pile of gore.

Now that, that was a nice sound. An honest-to-God laugh, from the boss. Maybe he was hitting a little too hard with his jabs, he didn't know, but she ought not have busted up that hard.

"You really are something else," she said, when she'd stopped giggling at him.

Gage watched her without replying. Had the laconic look down too pat for him not to use it when he really had nothing to say.

"Oh, this is just..." Stella groaned, and tried to wipe her hand on her pants. "Fucking great, and those things are going to smell me now for sure. Fuck me all to hell."

Gage nodded, absently. Looked around them, made sure nothing was left. Didn't get to be where he was by leaving all the good shit behind.

"Uh, the flag should be somewhere over there," she said, gesturing vaguely and making a gagging noise. "I think we should go back to the Grille, first."

"You can't smell any worse than I do, boss," Gage commented, moving away and toeing the remains of the Brahmiluff.

"You might not bathe often but I don't want to get bit again!" Stella's eyes were on him, narrowed and her mouth set into a grim line. "They aren't exactly fun to fight!"

Snorted, shook his head. "There you go again, complainin'," he said. "Thought you was tougher than that shit."

A wet and slightly warm piece of torn muscle flew at him, hitting him in the elbow. Gage blinked. The hell?

"There's a big difference being being tough and being weak," she said, when he turned to look at her. Her mouth was pinched-in, looked angry. "You got where you are by being smart and tough and all that shit, that's fine. I got my own ways, and just because I don't want to go traipsing about this fucking place wearing purée of Brahmiluff doesn't make me weak!"

Stella snapped her mouth shut and glared at him with all her worth. Tense. Felt pretty tight. Gage made a low rumbling noise in his throat. Stared at her. All riled up, still. Something up, he couldn't tell what.

"Look, boss, we might be on the wrong foot here," he said, after a moment. "You got the big boots, I'm just here to sweep shit 'fore you step in it. That's all."

"By making fun of me?" she asked, her eyes flashing. Could've sworn there was ice growing in the air, 'bout as mad as she was.

"I'm sure I ain't got that intention," he answered. "It ain't smart."

"Yeah, no shit," she spat. Kept glaring at him with cold in her eyes.

"Got no beef going back to the Grille," he said, exasperated. "That's what you want, boss, that's what we'll do."

"Better fucking not," Stella muttered, breezing past him.

There was that walk. Big bitch boss, large and in charge. Gage smiled to himself, ambling along after her. Wasn't the first time he'd worked for someone turning moods on a whim.

This whole thing was starting to look like a real good decision.