Pale hands clasped around her Nuka Cola bottle, one she had finished a good while ago. Her dark eyes swept the bar, taking in each individual face. For such a small town, the bar was popular. Did everyone in the wasteland love to drink to excess?
With a roll of her eyes and a small huff, Yvette shifted on the hard wooden stool and turned back to Gob. He was alone behind the bar, dutifully scrubbing down the stained surface of the bar top and looking miserable. Yvette took a moment to watch - and yes, admire - the lean muscle of his strong arms. Even with the mottled, flaking skin it was impossible not to enjoy those arms. If only he knew how to put that bulk to good use, he might not get pushed around the way he did.
White eyes flickered up, a nervous smile tugging at his lips as he gestured to her drink. "Want another?"
"Sure," she replied with a beaming grin, "thanks, hon."
Cheeks flushing an odd purple hue, Gob ducked behind the counter to grab another Cola. "Dunno why you've been hanging out here all day," he muttered, head popping back up from behind the bar. His joints cracked worryingly, likely popping back into place, but his smile was genuine. "Can't say I don't appreciate the company though."
Yvette hummed in response, smile widening. "I like the conversation, and it's no fun if it isn't with you." It was true. Gob was a sweetheart, a really lovely guy, and that was too damn rare in the wasteland.
"Not many people around here who would agree, kid," Gob replied quietly. He popped the cap on her Cola with expert precision and slid it across to her. He was, Yvette noticed, careful not to let their hands touch. "But thanks for the sentiment. You're a good kid - too good for this town."
Fighting back the sudden flush that threatened to overtake her cheeks, Yvette dropped her head into her slender hands. "Don't say that," she murmured, "Megaton's not so bad. Not with you here."
Gob's hairless brows furrowed, lips pursing - but he didn't reply. He looked hurt, as if her compliment had offended somehow. Either that or... or the poor guy really had no idea how to handle affection. After a moment he parted his chapped lips to reply-
"Hey corpse, quite bothering that nice girl and get me another whiskey."
Yvette flinched at the sudden words ringing in her ears - but it was nothing compared to the way Gob scuttled back, eyes snapping wide as he stared at the person suddenly beside her. If one single sentence had him on the defensive like that... Yvette shivered.
"Right away Jericho," Gob muttered, hastily grasping for whiskey and a fresh glass.
Jericho turned out to be a familiar face. One of Nova's regulars. He looked more like a raider than a Megaton resident, with buzzed hair and a myriad of scars. He looked exactly like he sounded - a jerk with too much power and not enough common sense.
"He was just chatting," Yvette mused with a scowl, "no harm in it."
"Yeah?" Jericho said, "and what does a pretty girl want with a fucking corpse?"
Yvette bristled. Her gaze moved to Gob, but he was focused on the task of pouring whiskey. Too focused. There was no way he hadn't heard. A rush of protectiveness bloomed in her chest. She fought down the urge to reach out to him. Instead she turned to Jericho and snapped, "Gob's great. It's not my problem you're too ignorant to see that."
The whiskey glass landed on the bar top, contents sloshing around inside. Gob's hands shook, but he retracted them so quickly Yvette barely saw. "Ten caps."
Jericho squinted at the glass, deep-set eyes suspicious. When he lifted it to take a swig, he grimaced. "This isn't the usual stuff."
"We're out," Gob admitted quietly, "you finished the last bottle."
"I ain't drinking this shit." Jericho slammed the glass back down and its contents spilled across the bar top. It dripped down too, splashing against Yvette's faded jeans.
Her lips curled, and she hated the way her chest shuddered. This was a regular wasteland dispute yet it left her feeling sick to her stomach. Another reminder that she didn't belong out here. "Chill," she huffed despite her shivers, "it's just whiskey."
Dark eyes swivelled, thin lips curled back. "And what's you're problem, bitch?"
"Hey now-"
But Jericho's attention had already drifted. He glared at Gob now, sharp enough to slice through metal. "Get me another glass. Of the good stuff this time."
Gob hunched, and his tall frame suddenly seemed so tiny compared to the Jericho's enormous frame. "I can't get you what we don't have," he muttered - and he couldn't meet Jericho's steady, hot gaze.
Jericho was drunk. It hadn't been obvious at first. With his clear gaze and steady hands he could have been on his first drink. Now Yvette knew better. This was the kind of drunk of someone long used to alcohol. Someone who still functioned perfectly well under the influence - until someone pissed him off.
Springing to Gob's defence, Yvette put what she hoped was a placating hand on Jericho's broad shoulder. "Can we all just take a minute? Maybe you've had enough anyway-"
Jericho swung one meaty arm, smacking the air from her lungs. "Don't you fucking tell me what to do," he growled. He didn't so much as blink an eye as Yvette gasped for air, but a satisfied smirk spread across his lips at the sight.
As vault girl with a non existent pain threshold, the hit left her ribs burning. She gulped down air, blinked back the sudden flurry of strained tears; but when she tried to straighten up it only made her side burn hotter. "Violence isn't gonna get you what you want," she commented drily - but the dark glare Jericho sent her shut her up immediately.
People were beginning to stare now. Half a dozen heads turned, half a dozen pairs of eyes stared. At a table at the back, someone snickered.
"Jericho-" Gob started - but then Jericho's dark glare turned on him. Gob ducked his head as if expecting a blow, his whole body shaking.
Jericho's white knuckle grip clutched the whiskey until, finally, it just gave up. Glass shattered, ringing in Yvette's ears as the saloon fell deathly silent. Golden liquid trickled down the bar, pooled on the floor. His hooded eyes narrowed to slits as he slowly rose from his bar stool.
Still holding her ribs, wincing against the twinge of pain, Yvette jolted from her own stool and skittered back. Lips parted, but no words left her.
And then Jericho swung one enormous fist - but not at her. The crack of fist against bone rang horribly clear and then Gob reeled back, shaking hands splayed across his face. From behind his splayed fingers a thin line of blood trickled down his chin.
In the aftermath, silence reined. It stretched out as Yvette stared in horror - but slowly the din of chatter returned. Did no one care? Was this such a common occurrence that it was only worth a few seconds of notice?
Gob continued to cower, blood steadily dripping from a nasty slice across his lower lip. Jericho simply smiled, smug and proud.
"Get the fuck out."
Jericho blinked stupidly, his hazy gaze swivelling to Yvette. His own blood mixed with the whiskey from a cut on his palm but he didn't seem to notice - or care. "You can't tell me what to do."
Gob winced, eyes pleading and Yvette's glare softened. "It's not worth it," he muttered - and it didn't take a genius to understand the hidden words. I don't matter.
But he did - of course he did, and it only made the fire in her belly grow. She squared her shoulders, drawing herself to her full height - which to be fair, was barely over five foot four - and narrowed her chocolate eyes. She hadn't even realised her hands had formed tight fists until Gob's hand snatched hers, damp blood staining her sleeve.
The haze of fury receded. She blinked once, twice, and huffed out a quiet sigh. "Fuck you," she muttered to Jericho, but it was a empty threat. He had already lost interest anyway.
Maybe she couldn't fight Jericho, couldn't do a thing about what was already done, but she could at least help Gob now. She turned - and as she did Gob withdrew his grip as if he had just committed a terrible crime. The crime of touching her hand. Her heart already hurt for him and she resisted the urge to reach out, to cup his face in her pale hands.
"Let me see," Yvette muttered, "do you have a first aid kit anywhere?"
Gob snorted, a sound that could have been laughter if not for the scowl on his face. "You think Moriarty cares enough about us for that?" he muttered.
Across the saloon Nova cast them a wide eyed glance. Concerned, but not concerned enough to offer help. At least Jericho hadn't returned to her, instead choosing to sulk at a corner table.
Sighing, Yvette reached across the bar. Gob flinched back, but allowed her to gently touch the corner of his bloody lip. "You sell stimpaks right? Might be overkill to use one but... if I buy one, will you use it?"
He couldn't meet her eyes. Instead they fixed on the bar, watching the remaining whiskey dribble down the side. "I should clean that up, before Moriarty-"
"Moriarty can go screw a yao gui," Yvette snapped - but when Gob flinched back her expression softened. Poor guy. The way he flinched from her soft touch, so unused to such a simple ghosting of fingers across his face... she wanted to find whoever was responsible for making him feel so unloved and personally kick their ass. Starting with Jericho. But for now, Gob was more important. "Look, she murmured, dark eyes flickering up to meet his milky white ones, "you're hurt, and I want to help. Please?"
"Not worth it," Gob repeated, but his resolve was crumbling. "It happens all the time."
Yvette winced, but it was Gob that murmured a soft apology. Almost as if he thought her comfort was more important than his safety. A soft frown graced her features, tears threatening to sting the corner of her eyes.
Jericho was looking at them again. Yvette stepped in his way, blocking his view of Gob. And vice versa. "Honey, you shouldn't have to put up with this. Let me patch you up."
Blood stained his grey t-shirt. When he parted his cracked lips to reply, his teeth were stained red. It seemed to sink in then, that he was still bleeding. Or perhaps the shock had worn off, and now he felt the full force of the pain. Either way Gob relented, an apologetic murmur on his lips. "Thanks Yvette. Sorry you've gotta do this."
"I don't mind at all," she reassured with a swell of relief, "I want to take care of you."
She could have sworn he flushed, and the sight of it sent warmth pooling in her chest. After grabbing an old, chipped first aid kit he hesitantly stepped around the bar, settling his oversized frame awkwardly on the nearest stool. "Feels weird being on this side," he muttered with a tiny smile.
Gentle hands set about opening the first aid. She sensed eyes on her back, curious gazes and whispering lips - but since when did she care about what other people thought? Pulling out an alcohol soaked swab, Yvette oh so carefully took Gob's chin in her hand.
It was amazing, the way he leaned into her touch. When was the last time someone had treated him with gentleness? The last time someone had touched him at all, except to throw fists? "Is this okay?" she murmured, and she he wouldn't pull away.
He didn't. "Just not used to smoothskins being so nice to me," he muttered - and that lovely flush spread across his patchwork skin.
"I'll be careful, I promise." She tilted his face, enjoying how his leathery skin felt beneath her smooth fingertips. She was still undamaged by the wasteland, and as she swiped the swab across his swollen lip Yvette realised just how lucky she was.
He flinched, eyes pinching shut as the alcohol stung the cuts and bruises.
Yvette sucked in a breath and muttered quiet apologies that were lost to the din of the saloon. "Sorry hon," she muttered. Then, with careful hands, Yvette placed one butterfly stitch just below his lip. She finished off with a stimpak, gently pressing the needle into his skin, so careful not to hurt him more than he already was. It wasn't much, but still better than bleeding all over the place. She only wished she could do more for him. Enough for it to really matter.
When her hands pulled away, Gob leaned into her touch. Milky eyes flitted closed for just a moment and he sighed, smiling so softly it melted her instantly. Then a small laugh escaped from her lips and his eyes shot open, face turning crimson beneath the weather of radiation. "I'm so sorry!" his voice hitched, "I should, uh, get back to work."
In a flash he was up, scrabbling to shove the bandages and stitches back into the box. Then he turned, and with an apologetic duck of his head, got back to work.