Warning Signs

Gage threw the blackened, twisted remains of the broken collars down at Shank's feet so hard they bounced. The slaver jumped back in alarm, eyes wide at the charred metal, before Gage thrust the remote for them into his hands with a snarl.

"What is this?" Shank said, all smoothness gone.

"You tell me!" He was nose to nose with Shank now. "I put 'em on, as you please, then the next thing I know, the whole fuckin' lot detonate! Killed every last one of the slaves!" His heart raced as he said this, and Gage directed all his rage towards Shank, hoping to pin him in place.

"Did you hit the button by acciden…?" Shank's voice trailed off at the look on Gage's face.

"If this costs me my skin, I'm comin' for you first," he spat. "Sort it."

He stormed away, ignoring Shank's mortification at the failure of his collars. All eyes were on Gage and he hoped to hell his hollerin' had made the difference. Now he just had to get back to Bossanova and explain how the plan had...gone a little wrong.

In the distance he could see Jack watching him shrewdly, apparently overhearing his display. The look she was giving him now was sharp and cold, but she refrained from coming any closer. God help him if he'd actually managed to get the slaves back to Nuka Town—she would have surely interfered.

And then he was past her. Gage breathed a sigh of relief, dragging himself in the direction of the Fizztop Grille. He opted for the stairs over the lift, not trusting the rickety piece of shit, but immediately regretted his decision. Each step was an effort, his legs heavy, his head swimming with dizziness. When was the last time he'd eaten? If he didn't force something down soon, he was in for a world of trouble.

Later. I'll deal with that later.

Gage's place on the sofa was waiting for him, and he collapsed onto it with a muffled 'flump', his whole body aching. Maybe if he just stayed here, nothing else would go wrong. Shit would sort itself out.

The boss is gonna kill me.

He'd never let Bossanova down this badly before. She'd trusted him to haul them both out of hot water, and instead he'd fucked it all up. Honestly, he deserved whatever beating she was going to lay down—Gage only hoped she didn't take his fingers too. The last time she'd been truly violent with him was the Welcome Center in Safari Adventure, when he'd lost his temper and yelled at her. She'd put her sword to his neck, forcing him to back down.

God. What the hell would she do to him now?

When Bossanova eventually returned from wherever she'd been that day, Gage didn't move—didn't even look up. He lay there, perfectly still, listening for sounds of annoyance, waiting for her to turn her ire on him.

She clattered around in the background, and Gage wondered if she hadn't seen him. A sizzling began, followed by a delicious smell which curdled in his stomach, causing him to silently retch. His appetite was still out for the count, and even the mere thought of food made him feel sick.

Eventually the sizzling stopped, and footsteps approached him. A second later there was a clunk, and despite himself, Gage turned his head to look. On the coffee table was a plate of food—from the look of it, a slightly seared brahmin steak, with a side of diced and fried tato and carrot. Some sort of sauce was drizzled all over the top, though Gage had no idea what it could be. A fine meal—far better than anything he'd ever seen before, and he knew he wouldn't be able to eat a bite.

Bossanova set down a mug of coffee next to it, her face pinched with worry. "You look awful."

Gage sat up, rubbing his eye. He might look awful, but he felt exhausted. Gage stared at the meal, feeling he should try, and pulled the plate towards him with a murmured, "Thanks." He struggled through three bites of the steak before he started to gag, his stomach clenching in protest.

"Don't force yourself," Bossanova said gently. "If you don't like it…"

"No, it's great," Gage said truthfully, his words sounding less earnest than intended between his retches. "I'm...I can't keep anything down, no matter how good it is." Coffee, at least, he could manage. He gulped half a cup before setting it on the table and flopping back against the sofa with a sigh.

Bossanova said nothing for a moment, studying him. "What happened with the slaves?"

Gage closed his eye, but didn't answer, steeling himself.

There was a long pause. "Did the collars really malfunction?"

He snapped his head up to look at her, suddenly panicked. To his great surprise, the boss was smiling.

"I ran into Jack not long after you departed for the Commonwealth," she said, her tone light, "and I mentioned you were on business. She pressed the question—quite persistently, really—and I told her exactly what you were collecting. She left for the transit station soon after. Doesn't take a genius to figure out where she went...or what she achieved in her absence."

Gage shifted uncomfortably in his seat, glaring at Bossanova. He decided to avoid the accusation. "You told her?"

Bossanova shrugged. "You never seemed to care about being a slaver before, so I didn't think much of it at the time. What's changed?"

He opened his mouth to argue, then closed it again. Why did Jack finding out bother him so much?

She smiled knowingly, but didn't press the matter. Instead, she said, "So what happened? I'm guessing Jack tracked you down and tried to convince you not to go ahead with it?"

"We crossed paths after I'd collared them. She asked me to free them, and I said no," Gage replied, his heart picking up. He rubbed his face, before deciding just to say it. Whatever happened, Bossanova deserved to know the truth. "But...after she left, I...I dunno. I got to thinking. Is Nuka World worth it all? I couldn't shake the thought. So I...I took the collars back, told 'em to fuck off, and detonated the damn things in a pile on the floor."

He said this last part extremely quickly, as if vomiting it all out would lessen the impact somehow. Gage pinched the bridge of his nose. "And I've been regretting it ever since."

Bossanova grabbed a chair and sat down opposite him. "There's no shame in doing something for someone because they asked."

"She shouldn't have asked in the first place! Shouldn't have put me in that position!" Gage spat, sitting bolt upright. The anger was back, muddying his thoughts as hot prickles rushed through his skin. "She asked me to do something that could get me killed!"

"But you still did it."

"Yeah, well I wish I hadn't. We needed those slaves to keep the heat off our backs. Fuckin' stupid. Jack knew the shit it would bring me. She doesn't give a fuck, so long as she gets what she wants. She's supposed to be…" Gage broke off, unsure how he was going to finish the sentence.

"She's supposed to be...what?"

Gage threw himself onto his side, facing into the sofa. "Fuck off."

"Your...friend? Or maybe even your lover?"

"I said fuck off," he snapped, voice slightly muffled by the cushions.

"No, I will not." Bossanova propped her feet on his back, digging her heels in. "You need to learn to deal with things like an adult, rather than a twelve year old runaway who's in over his head. Saying one thing but doing another. If Jack meant nothing to you, you wouldn't be taking things so hard. You wouldn't have done as she asked in the first pla—"

Gage rolled over, throwing Bossanova's legs off so sharply she toppled backwards from her chair with a yell. He ignored her, getting to his feet and striding across the room. He had his rifle in his hand and was out the door before Bossanova could call to him.

He hated her. He hated them both.

The day dragged on as Gage skulked around town, lost in his thoughts.

He bought some cigarettes for a few caps, not even bothering to threaten Shelbie Chase over her prices like he usually did, and then retired to the far side of town, away from everyone else.

Nuka World meant everything to him. He'd poured his heart and soul into it—his blood, sweat, and tears—countless, endless nights plotting and planning, and an infinite number more wondering when the gangs would just give up and shoot him. Jack had been at his side through it all, supporting him, helping him. Nuka World needed its slaves to keep things running, because the raiders sure as hell wouldn't pick up the slack. But if he and Jack managed to patch things up, could he make that sacrifice?

And did he really want to, when she clearly couldn't care less for the cost?

Of course, this was assuming he survived abandoning Nuka World and successfully outran the gangs looking for his head. Gage took a drag on his cigarette and coughed, feeling more miserable than ever. For the first time in his life, he didn't know what to do. He couldn't back down, but God, he missed her.

Gage finished his cigarette and threw it into a nearby puddle of foul smelling sludge, before getting to his feet. With any luck, Bossanova would be out doing...whatever it was she did these days, and he'd have the place to himself. The prospect of lying motionless in an empty room for hours on end wasn't appealing, but it was all he had the energy for.

Gage stretched, turned to walk back to the Grille, and found himself face to face with Jack.

He had to do a weird little skip to the side to avoid walking straight into her, but she followed, laying a hand gently on his shoulder, a pained expression on her face. His chest tightened, her touch like ice and fire kissing his skin, sending shivers down his spine, and he opened his mouth, struggling to breathe. Then their last meeting crashed to the forefront of his mind, and he stepped back, knocking her arm away.

Jack winced, drawing her hand in and biting her lip. "I heard you shouting at Shank earlier. And I got to wondering…" She hesitated, glancing around to check no one was nearby, and then continuing in little more than a whisper, "...did you…did you do as I asked?"

"No," Gage snapped, folding his arms and scowling at her. It didn't matter how much she lowered her voice, the fact she would bring up such a dangerous topic here of all places—

"What happened then?"

"Shank's collars malfunctioned when you left the transit centre," Gage lied smoothly, relishing her shock. It was a balm for his despair, soothing him more than a drink ever could. He lapped up her horror, wanting to hurt her the way she hurt him, consequences be damned. "Killed every last one of the fuckers. You didn't want them to be slaves...guess you should be careful what you wish for, huh?"

Jack swayed on the spot. "You're lying."

"I ain't." He held up his hands so she could see the fresh burns from the detonation. In actual fact, he'd misjudged how far away he needed to be, the resulting explosion knocking him off his feet. But she didn't need to know that.

When Jack continued to gape, he let his arms drop and smartly walked around her. Every bitter, desperate feeling about his situation boiled to the surface at an alarming rate, threatening to spill and burn all they touched. If Jack hadn't interfered, everything would be fine now. Everything. But because of her, because she kept getting in his head, a world of pain awaited him. Jack was his weakness and Gage despised her for it.

He had to get away before he exploded like one of Shank's collars, had to think how the hell he was going to weather the incoming storm.

"Gage!" Jack ran to catch up with him, grabbing hold of his arm.

Gage wanted her. He wanted her body against his, his fingers in her hair, her arms around his neck. He wanted her to kiss him and tell him it would be alright, like in the days of Colter. But everything was spiralling out of his control, Nuka World crumbling before his eyes, and this woman—this beautiful, deadly, infuriating woman—was rapidly becoming the source of all his problems. Shame overwhelmed him until he thought he might drown in it, before anger launched him free of the turbulent depths, sending him crashing to the shore.

This was her fault.

Gage wrenched his arm free as he spun around to face her. "Fuck off back to your whorehouse where you belong. If I ever see you again, I'll be paying for it."

He caught a glimpse of those lips drawn into a snarl before his head jerked sideways as Jack punched him. Pain flared through his nose and mouth, salt and metal running across his tongue. He staggered, dazed, and glanced up in time to see her face twisted with hate, her arm raised and ready to deliver another blow.

Gage threw himself forward, driving his fist into her abdomen, just as her own slammed into his ear. He snapped his leg around, taking her feet out from beneath her, and as she rolled to her knees, whipped around again and kicked her hard in the stomach.

Jack grunted and toppled backwards to the ground, her mouth opening and closing as she fought for air that wouldn't come. The raiders milling around broke out into jeers and laughter, egging him on for another punch—a kick— anything. She gazed up at him, still winded, completely at his mercy.

Only the Disciples stayed unusually silent, their hidden eyes fixed on Gage, as if they were assessing him. He knew the raiders wanted a show, and if it were anyone else, he'd give it to them. But this wasn't just some dreg in a bar brawl. This was Jack.

Gage wiped his face, his arm coming away bloody, his shoulders heaving with the force of his breathing. No. Enough. He stared down at her, all his regret and his grief and his anger piercing her, trying to make her feel what he felt. Then he stalked away, the catcalls of the gangs ringing in his ears.

His nose was still bleeding by the time he made it back to the Fizztop Grille, a trail of red spattering the carpet in his wake. Gage set his rifle down on the countertop and began pulling open drawers and cupboards, looking for something to stem the flow. All he achieved was getting blood on his pants.

Cursing, Gage glanced around for a place he hadn't searched yet, and spotted the boss' trunk on the far side of the room. He'd never really seen her use it, but the constant stream from his nose was starting to piss him off. Muttering to himself, his fingers jammed up his nostrils, he strode over to the trunk and flipped it open, rooting through the junk inside with one hand.

As he unearthed a roll of bandages, it snagged on a collection of paper, pulling them free from the mess and sending them all over the floor. Gage picked them up, not wanting to make it too obvious he'd been through her stuff, when the word 'raider' caught his eye. He paused, torn. On the one hand, it was her private shit. But…

Ah, fuck it.

Gage set the paper down, ripping off a piece of bandage with his teeth and stuffing it up his nose. Sniffing a little and feeling like he had a cold, he wiped his hands on his shirt, then turned his attention to the letters. The first was written in slanted, spidery letters, but had no date or author, and didn't look old enough to be prewar.

"We're not letting those damn raiders take over this park. Dry Rock Gulch always had the best defensive positions. We'll make our stand there."

Gage frowned. If he didn't know better, he'd say these letters were from the traders who initially held Nuka World. They'd put up a hell of a fight when the raiders first swept into town but quickly buckled under the pressure, retreating to other sections of the park. Those that remained were either killed or enslaved, and the ones that fled were never heard from again. Gage had always suspected they'd return with a vengeance, until he faced the gatorclaws. After that, he figured the traders had been eaten and shit out in a river somewhere.

Frowning a little, he moved onto the next note.

"We got pushed back into the mine. Don't know how long we can hold out. I keep hearing things. Tremors or something. I don't think we're alone here.

God help us."

The mine...Bossanova mentioned the mine to him once or twice. Something about worms, bodies, and exploding brahmin. Gage wasn't sorry to have missed it. He picked up the final letter, feeling a sense of foreboding. It was longer than the others, splotched with dried blood, and written with such a shaky hand it was difficult to read. He squinted, slowly working his way through it.

"Bloodworms. Should've known they'd nest down below here. Came at us through the dirt. Only a matter of time now.

I'm not letting them take me. Not some worms. Not some raiders. I'm going out on my terms.

My name was Sam Teller. I ran caravans and did good, honest deals out of Nuka World for years. I fought the raiders when they came. I led the holdouts. I was a mother and a wife and a sister and a daughter, and fuck you for taking that all away from me."

Gage stared at the note. The contents didn't particularly bother him—stupid motherfuckers should have kept themselves out of danger—but the fact Bossanova saved their final words did. She'd found them, read them, and brought them back here.

Bossanova was a bleeding heart, through and through, but there was purpose behind every one of her actions—a purpose she normally shared with Gage.

What possible reason could she have for keeping them?