It was so bright. Why was it so bright? Even with his eyes closed, the light was too strong. It hurt. Everything hurt. His insides hurt. His outsides hurt. He couldn't tell which hurt more. He was hot and cold at the same time. He couldn't move, couldn't open his eyes – the light was out there. The light hurt.
As Gob took a moment to focus on breathing, the only thing he seemed capable of doing, he tried searching through his most recent memories. This didn't feel like one of Moriarty's heavy beating sessions, but he wouldn't rule it out. He remembered the smoothskin. She'd been there, screaming and clawing at her face. She wanted them to kill it. He couldn't forget what it was: him. That hurt. That hurt worse than whatever he had going on right now. She said –
No. That was a dream. It wasn't real. She said he was her friend. She was . . . Gosh, where was Cassie right now? He could really use a friendly face.
He felt a bit of pressure on his shoulder. Whatever it was, it hadn't been there a moment ago. When the light suddenly dimmed, he redoubled his efforts to open his eyes. He could figure out what was happening if he could just get them open.
The first thing he saw was white. There was so much white, and why did it have to be so bright? He tried to raise his arm to shield himself, but it wouldn't respond. Luckily, some big dark thing sat in the middle of the brightest bit. He struggled and fought but everything still hurt and it was hot except where it wasn't.
Then, an arm reached down towards him and he let it pull him the rest of the way to the surface. The hand held his tightly – so that's where that arm went, it was curled up against his chest.
Finally grounded, though he still was unsure where, his vision focused to the point that he could tell it was a person standing over him. They were calling his name. The sound was so sweet. A single note. Almost like music.
He closed his eyes to bask in its healing properties, but the hand clenched over his gave him a gentle shake. When he opened his eyes again, there she was – Cassie, the smoothskin – just like he'd wished. A blazing halo of light framed her perfectly rounded face and, next to her, it lost much of its sting. Angel. Where are your wings, sweet angel? You can fly away from this pit of despair. Fly away and be free. Be happy.
"Gob," she called again.
His dry lips parted. He barely managed a feeble squeak. "Am I dead?"
She smiled. If he was dead, it was okay. He was okay with dead.
"No," she said, smoothing the wrinkles in his shirt. "No you're not dead. Jeez, you just about gave me a heart attack though. One second you're standing there looking a little unsteady, and the next you're passed out on the floor. I didn't know what to do. I was so worried. I couldn't see anything wrong but you were out cold and I knew I had to do something but I didn't know-"
When her words sped into a frantic torrent, Gob interrupted her, though it came out as more of an airy exhale than a full word.
"What?" she asked, leaning closer.
"Slow down smoothskin," he mumbled. "I can't listen that fast."
After a calming breath, she tried again. "Are you okay, Gob? Now, I mean?"
All in all, he was still unsure. He felt like he was tipped awkwardly, but that could be his balance figuring itself out. The light was still hot and bright, and he wasn't sure where he was precisely. Because his better judgment hadn't kicked in yet, he said the first thing that came to his mind.
"I think," he said, swallowing to moisten his throat, "I think I peed myself."
She gave his hand a gentle squeeze. "You're talking so quiet. Say that again," she said.
"My pants are wet," he said, gaining enough coherence to be embarrassed. "I think I peed myself."
"I don't think so," she said kindly. "You're just sitting in a puddle."
"I am?"
"Yeah," she said, leaning back against something large and wall-like. "We're both sitting in a puddle."
He took a moment to process this. Sitting. In a puddle.
"My pants are wet too," she added.
They sat there for a few minutes. It felt like a long time to Gob, with the sun beating down on him while he lay in Cassie's puddle. He could feel the water down the back of his legs and in his shoes. The lower part of his back was also wet, but he was bent at the waist – probably to keep his head out of the water. His upper body was cradled amongst a variety of cushy supports, which he realized were Cassie's limbs. She was holding him. If he held his breath, he could feel the steady rise and fall of her chest against his shoulder.
Instead of focusing on the fact that she was holding him in a somewhat intimate manner, his focus zeroed in on the hand that hovered over his chest. Fingers interlaced with his, every so often the thumb would run across the ruined flesh on the side of his hand.
"Smoothskin," he said.
"Hmm?" She sounded tired.
"You're holding my hand."
She looked down, as if noticing her grip on him for the first time. Before she could respond, Gob tightened his grasp, trapping her fingers with his. She squeezed his hand in return.
After another minute of comfortable silence, Cassie spoke.
"You sound better. Do you remember passing out?"
"A little," he said, but something still seemed out of place. When he was more together, he'd have to ask her about it. "It's all still a little hazy, but I've got bits and pieces."
"Do you remember why you passed out?" she asked.
"Bad morning," he replied, not wanting to upset her with his nightmare.
"Did Moriarty hurt you?"
"No."
"Did someone else hurt you?"
"No. Darn, I should be at the bar."
Gob's head lolled to the side and he finally saw something that wasn't sky. There was dirt around the water puddle and some walls farther in the distance. When he looked back towards Cassie, he took better notice of the thing she was leaning up against. It was metal, like a wall, but not quite as straight.
"Don't worry about that. I had a good shouting match with your sleazeball boss. Just take a minute to rest and recover."
She sounded really tired. He hoped Moriarty hadn't hurt her. Then again, where had he been for all this? Passed out, unable to pull her away or even jump between them to take the hits.
A sinking feeling came over him. He had to ask, "Where are we, exactly?"
"Sitting next to an undetonated nuclear warhead," she replied flatly.
Crud, he was right. This was the pool those Church of Atom guys stood in. No wonder he was feeling better – the radiation was as thick as the air this far in the crater. It would also explain why it was so unbearably hot.
After he got over the fact that he was sitting in a radioactive mud puddle, Cassie's arms tightened around him incrementally. His eyes flew open when he realized that meant she was getting irradiated too. Her face looked pale, and the skin on her hand was almost white.
Gob strained against her hold, but the water weighed down his clothes and he couldn't get any traction against the thick sludge at the bottom.
"Smoothskin," he pleaded when his position remained unchanged, "you can't stay down here. It's hurting you."
"Shh," she returned, leaning her head against the bomb's outer casing and shutting her eyes. It was evident how weary it had already made her. "Just . . . just let me enjoy this for a few more minutes."
"What? The brain-rotting radiation?" Gob said.
"No. This," she said, giving his hand a few weak squeezes. "You. Me. And a few thousand pounds of explosives."
"Look," he began, attempting to conjure a reason to extract himself from the arms of a beautiful woman while his every ache was being soothed away.
"Not too bad in terms of second dates, if you ask me." At least she still had the strength to give him that challenging smirk.
He couldn't help but chuckle. Even drained and soggy, she managed to cling to her terrible humor.
"He's right kid," a strange, deep voice interjected.
Gob hadn't noticed the growing crowd. Before then, it had been him and the smoothskin. Now, he identified close to a dozen faces peering in their direction. Even that eccentric shopkeeper, Moira, was here. Simms stood at the head of the group, dark arms crossed over his burly chest.
The sheriff continued, "You've been cooking in there for over an hour."
"An hour?" Gob echoed, turning to look at Cassie.
"I'm fine, Gob," she reassured him.
He stammered. "Smoothskin. All these people."
Now, Gob had two reasons to be fearful. Besides Cassie being stupidly wonderful enough to hold him in the middle of a radioactive puddle, there was now the issue of Cassie being stupidly wonderful enough to hold him in front of a quarter of the town. As much as he could, he wanted to protect her. He didn't want her to be shunned for associating with someone like him. Heck, he was practically sitting in her lap. If that didn't get the gossip mill going for the next week . . .
"Alright, fine," she hollered, shifting under him. "Leave it to a public venue to ruin a private moment."
While he had the strength to sit up without help, he still couldn't pull himself out of the water. After a couple seconds of fruitless efforts, a hand reached down to him.
"Let me help you, dearie," Mother Maya said.
Gob took the old woman's bony hand, but she didn't let that fool him – she pulled him to his feet, waterlogged clothes and all. His head swam when he stood. It probably wouldn't have hurt to sit and stew for a few more minutes. A little ways away, her husband raised his arms to the sky, proclaiming that Atom's chosen one had risen and encouraging others to draw closer to be strengthened by Atom's glow.
"Of course he's risen."
Looking over his shoulder, he found the smoothskin on her feet as well. She was over by Sheriff Simms. She looked different. Water soaked through her clothes, but they weren't her usual town attire, or even the reinforced mercenary armor she wore when she was about to head out or coming fresh from the wasteland. Her new apparel was obviously enhanced with mismatched metal and leather plates over her shoulders and down her legs, various pouches and holsters, a heavy metal band around one of her arms that he could only assume was the Pip-Boy she showed him, and an empty bandolier sagging over one of her hips. Otherwise, it stuck out because of its solid blue color. Had she been wearing that when she came in the bar, right before he passed out? He couldn't recall.
"Radiation heals him. The rest of us? Not so much." After she said her bit, Cassie bent over, propping her hands on her knees.
"Smoothskin," the ghoul called, shuffling forward. He kept his distance – people were still watching.
"You'd best get back to the saloon, boy," Simms said.
He was thankful that there wasn't any scorn or threat in his words, but Gob lowered his gaze all the same, rubbing one of his arms.
"Oh, yeah," he replied.
"Come on dearie, I'll help you up there. You still look a little unsteady on your feet," Maya offered, sliding up to him.
As the Church of Atom elder led him away, he craned his neck to make sure someone was attending to the smoothskin. Simms murmured something in her ear about going to see Church. He didn't offer her his arm to lean on, like Maya offered hers, even though Cassie swayed when she stood there, dripping and growing paler. He dearly hoped it wasn't because she'd been seen touching a ghoul, even when the sheriff pardoned his proximity by saying she was as hot as the darned nuke.
When her back was turned, he caught a glimpse of a spot of yellow on her new outfit. There was an oval bordered by two vertical lines. He knew it was significant, but couldn't place it in his memories.
