"I like your rifle," Phoebe was saying. "You take good care of it."
She was trying to talk to Tony again. Marcelo shook his head. The merc was off the end of his line, swimming against the rapids, and hitting every rock on the way. He blamed the Bitch, and rightfully so, but he wasn't going to give up the Bitch just because some mopey merc decided he couldn't live without her. She was too much fun.
He grinned, and ran a hand down her back, grabbing her hip possessively. The Bitch elbowed him off of her, standing with one foot up on a rock, staring over the sights of her rifle down into a dip of the land. The group had stopped to take a break and let Tony prepare to face down his uncle. Marcelo understood that he had gone against orders, bringing the girl back to Gladstone. He didn't care. Wasn't his business; his business was the Bitch.
He laid his hand back on her hip and pulled her to him, grunting. "Stop," she hissed. "You'll set Tony off."
"That bomb already blew," he rasped into her ear, through the hood.
"Doesn't mean I want to keep lighting it," she muttered back, and stifled a small moan as he dug his fingers into her flesh. "Stooooop."
She was going to get it, later. For now, Marcelo just stood back and admired her ass and how it filled out her black leather pants. He grinned, in anticipation.
Three power armored men were walking up the road toward them and Phoebe's eye began to twitch from stress. Tony and Bitch told him that the man they were looking for―Amos Royce―was a good man, and would not hurt her. But the way they were acting, it seemed like they were afraid of him, and she wondered if she ought to be, as well.
Bitch was muttering at Dog, who kept grabbing her hips and making breathy noises. Tony's hands were shaking, and he put one of them over his good eye, mouthing words into the air. She didn't understand.
"Are you upset?" she asked him. He hadn't talked much, not since that night when he asked about her stomach. "Can I help you?"
"No," he said. "I'm beyond help, Phoebe."
"Not even Amos?" she asked, uncertainly.
Tony burbled out a laugh and shook his head. "It's complicated," he said. "I don't know if you'd really understand. I don't know that I even understand."
"Is it Bitch?" she asked, shooting the woman a glance. "Is she making you feel this way?"
"Yes," he said, through gritted teeth.
"...You want me to hurt her?" she asked. She remembered the bathroom where he'd allowed her to hurt him, to dig out the bullet. He had been a lot more calm, then.
Tony barked out a laugh and surprised everyone. Bitch and Dog turned their heads sharply and Phoebe recoiled like she'd been hit. "No, Phoebe," he said, turning to her and removing his hand from his eye. "You don't need to do that."
"Amos is down there, let's go say hi," Bitch said. "Phoebe, uh... Call me Joey, okay? I don't need a lecture about my name."
They walked down and stood on the road, two hills on either side of them blocking the view of the rest of the wastes, and looked down the way toward the three large people walking toward them. Phoebe had never seen power armor before, and Bit―Joey had explained it to her.
"Tony," the one in the middle said.
"Uncle Amos," he replied.
"Who are your new friends?"
"Aw, hell, Uncle Amos," Joey said. "You can't have forgotten me."
Amos was quiet. The man to his left swore, and the one to the right gripped his weapon tightly. Phoebe looked at Tony through the goggles on her mask. He looked tired. She wished she could help.
"Josephine," Amos said. "And Marcelo." He turned his head to the big man. "Who is this?" he gestured to Phoebe.
"Phoebe Falconbridge," Tony muttered.
Amos regarded her for a moment. She felt embarrassed, all of a sudden, even though she couldn't see his face. "And why did you bring her here, instead of completing the job?" Amos asked, and his voice was bereft of all amicable intent.
"She refuses to go home," was all Tony said.
Amos sighed. "Tony, you have to return her to Three-Mountain," he said. "Or let her go herself. The bounty went up, while you were out. She's too much danger to us."
Phoebe shuddered. She didn't want to go home. Never, ever, go home. It hurt her head just thinking about it, remembering how she'd killed people―her stomach ached, and quivered around the rock-hard lump in there. She should just go away―
"What is the bounty, now?" Joey asked.
"Fifteen thousand," Amos said. "An ungodly sum. Turn around and take her back. Now."
Joey and Marcelo both registered surprise, but Tony just crooked a small smile at Amos and shook his head. Phoebe felt herself start to shake, and she couldn't control it. She didn't want to―
"No," Tony said. "She doesn't want to go home."
Now the man was temping fate? Amos shot glances at Josephine, and Marcelo. They stood solid with the girl and Tony, not moving. Marcelo's rebar was splattered with blood, and Josephine was more muscled than he recalled, before. Tony looked like a heap of brown leather tossed to the corner, his shoulders drooping, face sad.
"Anthony," Jesse said. "I know you might think you should help her―"
My fault, too, Amos thought, for teaching the man that being a good person has reward.
"―But this is going to get us all killed. And believe you me, I do not want to die any time soon."
Tony shrugged. "I'm already dead," he muttered.
Amos sighed. "Josephine―" he started.
"Hey, I said my piece," she snapped. "And I stopped this stupid asshole from shooting himself in the head, already. I'm doing my best."
"Don't swear, Josephine," Amos said, automatically. He was very close to losing his temper, and took a deep breath. "That true, Tony?" Tony looked away from him, to the left, and Amos couldn't see his face. "Tony!"
Jesse sighed. "Dammit, Anthony," he muttered. Amos knew what Jesse was thinking.
Avery cleared his throat. "Whatever is going on―" he lowered his rifle to the road. "Tony, you have to go home. Joey, you and Marcelo, take the girl back to Three-Mountain."
Phoebe stepped behind Tony, but her head was still visible over the man. Josephine laughed, and Marcelo gripped his club a little harder. "I don't think you understand," Josephine said. "I'll try to lay this out for you." She pulled Phoebe's hood off, with a quick motion. "Phoebe is different."
Amos thought the girl looked normal enough; she was gray-colored, though, more so than would be considered normal, and when she pushed her ash-blonde hair out of her face from the abrupt hood removal, she had very pronounced cheekbones, and gray eyes.
Tony elbowed Josephine, hard, and grabbed the hood back, handing it to Phoebe. The action contained unspoken words to Amos, who knew exactly how Tony acted about his own headpiece. Amos narrowed his eyes. Perhaps that was why Tony had brought her back. Some kind of kindred spirit related to their respective appearances.
"She also needs medical attention," Josephine was saying. "Some kind of tumor in her stomach. I think, anyway."
"Is it a tumor," Jesse asked, "or is it something else?" Amos grimaced to himself. Jesse always did have a soft spot for the troubled ones.
Marcelo rumbled out a laugh, and the ARC men looked at him. They were aware that Marcelo didn't speak unless he felt it was necessary. This, unfortunately for his audience, made him an object of utmost attention. "She's definitely carrying," he said. "Something surprising."
"...How surprising?" Josephine asked. "And how do you know?"
The ghoul turned his covered head to her. "Been alive a long time," he said. "Been all over. Girl looks like a deathclaw. Deathclaw have eggs."
"Eggs?" Josephine breathed.
"What the fuck is a deathclaw?" Jesse asked.
"A monster," Marcelo said. "Stronger, tougher, meaner than Marcelo."
"Well, shit, don't want to meet one of those," Jesse muttered.
Amos held up a hand. "Regardless of what's going on―" he started to say, and then lost his words. His temper broke. "Goddamn it, Jesse! I told you to keep your son at home!"
Jesse protested, and Avery jumped into the fray, and Josephine, too. The four argued between themselves while Marcelo, Tony, and Phoebe watched in silence.
"Amos, you know full well I can't control a grown-ass adult!" Jesse said. "Even if it is my son!"
"Amos," Avery said, moving forward, "it's not Jesse's fault―"
Josephine laughed stupidly. "Yeah, it's Tony's fucking fault―"
Amos growled and placed a hand on Josephine's shoulder, shaking her a little. "You―"
Marcelo bounced the ARC man. Amos found himself sprawling on his behind, on the road. Avery raised his weapon on the ghoul, and Jesse scoffed. Josephine pushed past Marcelo. "Look, Uncle Amos," she said. "I'm here to help Tony, not to get my ass handed to me. Phoebe doesn't want to go home because those creepy fuckers in Three-Mountain made her a monster, and Tony isn't going to take her home, so neither will I." She stared down at him. "And I suggest you never lay a hand on me, ever again, even if you think you're going to save my life."
Marcelo growled in response. Amos sighed, and sat on the road. He'd never laid a hand on a woman in his entire life, like that. He felt disgusted with himself, for both losing his temper, and doing something so reprehensible. He also felt that he understood why Tony was in such a bad way, over Josephine. She was the spark, they were the explosives. "We're going to get killed," he said.
"Everybody dies," Marcelo said.
"Yeah, but I'm not everybody," Amos muttered, and pushed himself up off the ground.
Tony had climbed up to the roof of the Sellers' house and was sitting with his feet dangling over the edge, looking out over the lake. For a moment, he had considered shooting himself, on the roof, where no one would be able to see him right away, especially in the darkness of the new moon. But the moment had passed, just as it had before.
Phoebe had refused to leave his side, mostly because she was uncomfortable with all the tension between ARC and the young people. She'd made it clear she wasn't going anywhere without Tony. She was sitting to his left, her hands in her lap, and she was staring at him. He wished she would go away, but he didn't know where she could go that would help her. ARC could not, and she was dangerous in more ways than one. He would have to leave home again, and go out into the wastes with her, and get himself killed trying to protect her from the competing mercenaries.
That isn't a bad thought, he thought. He'd still be dying on the job.
"Tony?"
He ignored her, and stared out at the lake. He was thinking about St. James, about shooting Alexy Ilyin, about Josephine mooning over that fucking ghoul. About his eye, and how his tear duct was injured and no longer worked correctly, for all that Dr. Donald had done for him. About his cheek, and about Josephine going away, and about himself trying to find her again.
"Tony?"
He thought about how he'd tracked the two as far as Spalding and had been roughly drawn home by his father, about being forced to stay at home, about his anger at his family for not letting him go out again until he was doing better. About Helen Eifler, who had told him she couldn't carry him and Josephine at the same time, and had moved on.
"Tony?"
"What?" he snapped. Phoebe jerked like he'd hit her. She made a sad noise.
Goddammit. "I'm sorry, Phoebe." He looked at her.
"You feel bad," she said.
"Yes."
"Why?" She was looking at him with those gray eyes, catching what little light there was.
"Because I got my heart broken," he said, with resentment in his voice, "and I don't know how to fix it."
She was quiet for a moment. "I don't―"
"I told you that you wouldn't understand," he said, sourly.
"That's not nice," she murmured. Tony shot her a glance. "B―Joey said I should be more assertive," she explained. "You're not being nice."
"I don't want to be." Tony pulled his legs up and laid his arms across his knees. "I'm not in a good mood."
"I want to help you," she said. "Tell me how."
"I said, I don't know," he grumbled. "I'm sick and tired of feeling like this, but I can't just stop it."
Phoebe reached out and patted his head again, like she had once before. "I still don't remember much," she said, "but the pain has gone away in my head."
"That's good," he said, and sighed. She paused, her hand on his hair. Tony pushed her away.
"Why do you wear the eye patch?" she asked.
"Because I get very tired of hearing jokes about crying," he shot back. She moved her hand to his face and he grabbed her. "Don't."
"How did that happen?"
Tony bit his tongue and felt tears springing to his good eye. "Just―"
"Tell me. I don't know what to think."
"It's just a scar," he muttered.
"I have those." She pointed to her stomach. "I have a lot of those."
"I have a lot, too," he said. "None of them are special."
"But you let me touch the other ones," she said. "The wound on your shoulder."
"That was different. That was necessary." Phoebe ran her fingers along his shoulder and pulled back the collar of his shirt. It was stiff with blood, now, from her wearing it. Tony pulled away. "I don't want to be touched," he said.
"You don't like it when Joey touches Dog," she murmured, "or when Dog touches Joey."
No, he thought. I don't. I wish they would go away and never come back. I should never gone to get her from St. James―she wouldn't have met Marcelo. ...She would be dead.
"I don't like to be touched, either," she said, and crossed her arms, digging her claws into her elbows. Josephine had given her a pair of leather gloves, but her fingers were too long for the material, and her nails had cut through the ends, leaving them exposed.
"That's fine," Tony replied. "No argument from me."
"Do you―" she paused, and cocked her head at the distance. "What is that?" Tony looked in the direction she indicated, but didn't see or hear anything. He shrugged. She curled her fingers into her armor.
"You aren't going to kill yourself, are you?" she asked. "You promised you would help me."
Tony scoffed. "You and Josephine, both," he muttered. In a louder voice, he said, "No, I will not. I'll probably get shot trying to help you find somewhere safe."
"And if I remember what happened, and want to go home?" she asked.
Toy shot her a look. "Don't see why you'd want that, since you keep saying they made you into a monster."
Her hands tightened and her nails popped open stitching in the leather. "I don't fit in out here, and I need medical attention."
He looked at her stomach. "Is it bothering you?"
"No," she said. "But I might have to go home just to have it dealt with." She pulled her claws against the leather and it ripped.
Tony nodded. "Sounds about right," he said.
They sat for a while longer, in silence, before his mother came out of the house and called them down to eat.
Bitch―Joey, now, because she knew what Amos would say about her new nickname―stretched out on the bed and groaned in relief. "Ah, I think I got spoiled by that mattress in the Metro," she said. "Sleeping out on the ground made me all kinds of sore."
Dog―and she ought to start calling him Marcelo, just because it was less confusing―grunted and sat on the edge of the bed, smoking a cigarette. He'd removed his armor and was examining the wounds in his legs from the Metro fight. Joey heard a plinking noise and knew he'd finally managed to get the bullet out of his foot that had been bothering him.
She sat up and wrapped her arms around his neck, feeling the rough skin. "Marcelo..."
"Back off, bitch, you'll get burnt," he muttered, putting the cigarette out away from his face.
"You don't want me to touch you anymore, is that it? You were so damn anxious to bend me over, earlier." She huffed and sat backwards on the bed.
Marcelo snorted. "You're interrupting my smoke break."
"Oh, fuck you," she muttered, and laid back onto the bed. Her hands roamed up and down the mattress top, feeling the canvas. "I'm surprised Uncle Amos let us share a room."
"He knows better," Marcelo said, and put his foot down to the floor. "After that shit on the road."
Joey grinned. That had been a sight, seeing Amos flat on his ass for once. She rolled onto her side and put her foot into Marcelo's back, pushing him forward in little jabs. "Marcelo."
"You'd better stop," he growled, and she only laughed. She knew better. He knew she knew better, too.
"Marcelo," she kept saying, pushing him with her foot. He didn't respond, and she rolled her eyes, lowered her foot, and rolled onto her back.
Marcelo put out the cigarette and spun on her, pressing her down into the mattress by her wrists. He put a knee on her stomach, and leaned into her. Joey shrieked in surprise, but laughed.
"You want to play?"