"Sh―" he jerked back from her, one massive hand wrapped around her wrist and the other gripping a bottle of Nuka-Cola Orange like he was gonna smash her in the head with it. Paused, his hand tightening on her wrist, before she slapped at him.
"Stop it," she said, frowning. "Seriously, Gage, if you want to save the stimpak, you better let me stitch this shit." She'd paused with her fingers inside the wound, slippery with blood and the tip of the needle just barely through the muscle.
"I ain't keen on being sewn," he replied, somewhat crossly, loosing her and lowering the bottle.
Stella glanced up at him, meeting his hazel one in an awkward grumpy stare. She flushed and looked away quickly, focusing on the wound. "Well, I ain't apologizing," she muttered, threading the needle through his skin nervously.
Gage had a lot of scars but none on his chest or stomach. The cage he wore kept people from getting at the good bits, she supposed. He leaned back on the couch, naked from the waist-up, his throat rumbling. She could feel the vibrations all the way through his stomach, almost like he was a purring cat. Big fucking cat, too. Big.
Her face felt warm. She was in a very conspicuous position, kneeling next to him on the filthy couch and trying not to lose her balance. If she did, she was either falling onto the dirty upholstery―and would have to disinfect again―or she was going face-first into his lap. She didn't want to imagine the latter.
Stella pushed the needle through fully, trying to focus on her task, as Gage popped the cap off of the Orange with one hand and drank. She looked up again, distracted by the sound.
His Adam's apple bobbed, swallowing the liquid abruptly and letting out a hoarse cough. "Look what you're doin'!" he yelled, pushing her hand off his stomach and looking down at himself. Fresh blood overlaid the old, the needle sticking halfway out of his skin and half-embedded in the muscle underneath.
Stella sat back on her ankles and stared at the sight, her eyebrows drawn together and mouth pursed. It shouldn't be this difficult to stitch up the six-inch slice wound; she hadn't even gone that deep with the knife, not even far enough to hit any organs. Gage thumped the bottle down onto a table nearby and held out his hands in a "what the fuck" kind of gesture, then reached for the needle―
"Don't touch it!" she snapped, before he laid a finger onto the metal. She flushed at his immediate glare and breathed out, carefully. "Your hands aren't clean. Could get sepsis."
"Shit," he said, gesturing at the wound. "Goddamn, boss, it ain't that hard to figure out."
"It is if you don't hold still!" she hissed, moving back up and reaching for the needle. Gage jerked out a hand and grabbed her by the wrist again, fixing a look on her like he wanted to eat her or something. Stella blanched, but recovered quickly enough. "Knock that shit off, Gage!"
Gage released her again, leaning back on the couch and putting a foot up onto his knee. Like that didn't make it harder, fuck. Stella took a deep breath and sighed through her nose, pinching in her mouth and teasing the needle back through his skin.
"Thought you said you was a doctor," he mentioned, the vibration back in his stomach and passing through to her fingers.
"I was a veterinary assistant," she said, looping the line back around. "Before I took law school."
"The hell is that, then, if it ain't a doctor," he asked, his head turned away from her.
"Stitched up dogs, shit like that," she answered, pushing the needle through again. She pulled the wound shut, looking it over before tying off the line. "Never did a person, before."
Gage chuckled, then groaned lowly. "All kind of firsts, today," he muttered, picking the Orange back up and drinking from it again.
She packed up the supplies and grabbed a piece of gauze, pouring vodka on it before she moved to hover over his stomach. "This is gonna hurt," she said, looking up at him and trying to hide a grin.
"Hurt when you stabbed me, now didn't it?" he replied, dryly, turning his eye to the ceiling. "Get on with it, boss. I ain't like to cry."
Stella didn't look away from his face, jabbing him with the alcohol-soaked gauze and holding it onto the stitches, watching him squirm. Grunted and made a weird rolling motion with his eye before he settled, and she gently swabbed the area. "Well, you earned it," she noted, tossing the bloodied gauze and sitting back onto her ankles.
"Sure, boss," he said, sounding amused but pained. "Whatever you say."
The nerve! She froze in place for a brief moment, then laid a hand onto his knee and pushed herself up as hard as she could. Stared down at him sitting on the couch and narrowed her eyes, feeling her temper rising.
She'd had more than enough stab wounds of her own, more than enough fights she'd lost on a technicality, more than enough round twos and threes than she needed. But she had to―he was getting on her case, again! If she didn't give him hell for that, he'd never lay off―never let her be―
Wished she knew what possessed her to fight tooth and nail, but it didn't fucking matter, did it?! Always fucked it up, no matter where she went, lost her head, made people mad, and sometimes they stabbed back―so why bother trying to save it, anyway!?
"You saying you wanna go round two?!" she asked, her voice rising with each word. You're a fucking idiot, Stella, but at least you follow through. But seriously, bitch, quit!
"Nah, boss," Gage breathed out, looking bored. "Think we know who'd win."
Stella's rage, bubbling up, cooled off at his concession. "Yeah, we do, don't we." She felt the anger draining from her, ending up somewhere near her feet. He was learning. That was moderately satisfying.
He didn't answer, taking another drink of Nuka-Cola Orange and seriously contemplating the vase sitting on the table near him. Like it was the most interesting thing he'd seen in ages.
She stomped off, moving behind the bar area and kneeling under the counter. Grabbed up a bottle of liquor, had one hand on the cap before she thought twice about it. Her guts were begging her, already, not to drink any more―much as she didn't want to listen―and she knew better than to chase a hangover like that with a second one.
Stella peeked out over the edge of the counter, watching Gage as he looked down at his stomach with a curious look, poking at the reddened edges of the stitches and frowning. She hadn't had a chance to dress the wound yet, and he was already tempting fate. She stood up, carrying the bottle to the couch and popping the cap on the liquor.
"I told you not to touch it," she said, tipping the bottle up and pouring some onto the site.
Gage made an agitated noise, pushing himself up from the couch and removing the bottle from her hand as he dropped the Orange to the floor. Sticky syrup poured over the battered wood as he grabbed the bottle from her and tossed it out of the open elevator area, his other hand on her collarbone and pushing her backward roughly.
Stella stepped backward, tumbling onto her ass. She grunted in pain, bony ass impacting the hard floor, skidding across it slightly before she caught herself by grabbing the edge of the couch.
Gage grimaced, looking down at his stomach, then glanced up at her. His face moved back to the neutral face he usually wore. He stared at her for a tense moment, her clutching at the couch and returning the look with her own indignant one.
"Boss," he said, reaching out a hand and bending to help her.
"Don't fucking touch me," she snarled, hoisting herself up and turning toward the doors. Stormed across the floor and down the stairwell, wishing she could slam the doors behind her―kicked the bottom ones with all her force before she stumbled into the wall and slid down, hitting it with the heel of her fist and loosing a stream of obscenities.
Same shit, different day. Stella pressed her forehead into the crumbling plaster and squeezed her eyes shut against the massive headache forming in her head, shutting out what she could.
It never fucking mattered. She'd screwed shit up with the Minutemen from the start. Fought with Marcy, kept giving drugs to the old bitch. Wasn't too much of that before Sturges had her by the back of her shirt, pulling her off Garvey after she'd tried to scratch his goddamn eyes out―
All over his need for her to be some kind of fool figurehead. Wasn't her place to take up that mantle, not with her past. Asshole.
She'd lost her chance with Nick―goddamn reputations and all, him on a high horse she couldn't even count how many hands high―even tried to get in good with Railroad, learn more about synths―fucking lot of good that did her! Just left a trail of bodies behind her, how many, synths or not, she'd never know.
Wasn't even gonna bother trying out the Brotherhood. Laughed at that one, thinking about it. Even Nate knew she wasn't that.
But it didn't matter. Stella removed herself from the wall and left the building. She couldn't un-fuck this one, either. Might as well go live it up while she could.
