"The hell's goin' on out there?" Billy irritably asked.
Jess panicked.
From the four-chaired table they all sat on or stood by, Jess stood, and Billy, Lucy, and the doc, along with some of the saloon's remaining customers, followed, while Moriarty shushed Gob and Nova and yelled them back to work.
Jess exited the bar, and there, outside and near the railing, was Jericho's back to them, and there, on the floor, was Sawyer, hoisted up on one elbow.
Jess's eyes widened.
Just as Jericho was about to bring another fist down, Jess, followed hastily along with her friends as Church stood aside and an audience watched. Billy zoomed in hurriedly past Jess, taking hold of Jericho's arm as Jess came to block his path, shoving him harshly in the chest.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?!" she demanded furiously.
She looked down at Sawyer as Jericho shrugged off Billy's hand. She tried to lend him a hand as he seemingly effortlessly rose back to his feet and refused it.
His forehead was bleeding from the side, his jaw was bruised, his lip was cut!
And Jericho looked untouched.
"What exactly is your problem? Did the radiation finally get to you?" Lucy shot at him.
"Shut up, cunt!" he retorted.
"Don't you fucking talk to her like that!" Billy threatened. Jericho turned to him.
"Or what, pretty boy?"
"Jericho," Jess called. He faced her. "What the hell are you doing?" she asked harshly.
"The idiot won't fight back," he stated in amusement.
Respectively, Jess turned to Sawyer, who was eyeing her plainly. Her eyes darted back and forth between his questionably and in confusion.
"I'm sure he will, after a few more fists up his ass," Jericho chuckled, bringing his fists up again as he started to move. Before Billy, Lucy, and others had to hold him back, Jess spun and threw a nice, heavy punch right onto his nose, satisfied with the sound of a breaking bone.
…
The crowd eyed wide.
Jericho threw his head back and held his profusely bleeding nose. His wild eyes turned to meet Jess's tense ones. "You fucking bitch! I'm gonna kill you!"
As he shoved his restrainers aside and approached her, he was quickly shoved up and back into the saloon's wall, by Sawyer himself.
The crowd gasped as the mountain held Jericho off his feet by the throat.
From all the commotion, Moriarty finally came out, and was taken aback by the sight approximately beside him.
Anxiously, Jess stormed forward and put a hand on Sawyer's flexed bicep firmly, yanking down, though it he wouldn't budge. "Sawyer, put him down!" she demanded in haste. He did not make eye-contact, but immediately complied and rooted beside her.
Jericho collapsed to the ground and clutched his throat, couching vigorously with a blued face. He looked up at them in fear, and they looked down on him
in utter
disgust.
Wordlessly, Jess guided Sawyer away.
XXX
"Sit down," Jess instructed after exiting the bathroom with a medic kit.
"This isn't neces-"
"Sit. Down," she ordered with clear anger. Sawyer, though reluctant, wordlessly complied. He inhaled and she sighed tiredly as she flopped down onto the couch beside him, bending down to open the kit on the floor.
Realizing she'd forgotten the alcohol, she hauled herself back up and retrieved a whiskey bottle from the corner-kitchen, then re-sat.
He was looking onward, and she needed him to face her so she could work. She was in no mood to ask nicely, so she simply reached out to lightly grab his chin, but he instantly pulled back, eyeing her in angered-shock. She observed him perplexedly. Realizing he'd overly acted due to instincts, he calmed and, hesitantly still, stilled. Noting so, she, more carefully this time, re-approached him.
She reached for his head, and though he looked like he would've pulled away again, he didn't. Satisfied with so, she finally, gently still, brought down the alcohol-wetted cloth onto his open wound. Warily, her eyes darted to his face but…nothing…not a single wince.
Surly, it hurt, but he didn't give off any sign of such.
How used was he to the pain?
…To pain…
Jess shook off the question and focused on her work. His gaze was far, elsewhere, and she momentarily wondered exactly where.
Where was he?
His state saddened her, and respectively angered her, though her fire had somewhat died down.
She had to ask.
"Why did you let him hit you?"
It took Sawyer a moment to answer, as if he did not wish to discuss it. "If I would've fought back, I would've been forced to leave the city and you, which, in the lack of my presence, could compromise your safety," he formally informed. Jess's face fell at the last statement. A mixture of pity, guilt, and shock swirled within her eyes, he could see, just before he looked away once more.
Jess's gaze fell.
What could she say to that?
'Don't do it again,'? If he wouldn't have, they would've, had she not been able to convince them, thrown him out, and then what? How would she feel when he was out there in the hell that was the Wastes, and she was inside a nice and cozy house? Would she have followed him, out there, in the hell that was the Wastes…
She remained silent.
Instead, she continued to work at his wounds, and he was minimally satisfied with her acceptance.
At least, though he thought it was extremely stupid of her, she punched the guy for him.
…When was the last time someone stood up for him?
Jess's thoughts bitterly consumed this ever reoccurring problem: what is she to do with him? How can this end?
She found something, right?
She spoke.
"…My…friends…They told me that…Rivet city had good high-tech. That someone there might help," she said. He made eye-contact when she'd started speaking, but said nothing to that. In fact, he looked quite indifferent to what she'd said. At his silence, she pursed her lips. She moved to his own cut lip as she continued to speak. "I know it's a long shot, but we have to try," she told encouragingly, wiping at the blood there too. He was as still as a statue, but as tense as a spring on the inside, not because of what she was saying, but because of where she was touching.
He was grateful when she removed her hand and rose alas with the kit and equipment in hand. Putting the kit between her arm, she put the bottle on the sink, and opened the fridge with her towel-wielding hand. She brought out a cooled water-bottle, and approached him, handing it over. He took it as she explained. "For the bruise."
After cleaning the towel and leaving it to dry on the stairs' railing, she re-grabbed her bag from beside the door, and held the door-knob. "I'm gonna go see Moira about that mattress. I won't have you sleeping on a couch again," she told, then opened the door, and left.
Sawyer exhaled tiredly at her words.
He wondered when she'd get bored of this nice-act, if she ever would.
The last thing he needed was pity breathing constantly down his neck, and no, all the good she was doing him in the process wasn't helping…
…yet…
XXXXX
