"Piper, the car!"
Tuesday's yell caught the reporter's attention in time for her to whip her dark head around and meet her companion's eyes with suddenly dawning understanding and horror, but not in time for her to get away from the vehicle she'd been taking cover behind—the one that was about to explode.
One too many hits from a Super Mutant's rifle had caught the thing on fire, and Piper had been too occupied with dodging bullets to realize in time what that meant. Tuesday, though, had a perfect view from her place behind a battered barricade across the street.
A perfect view, but not enough time. She launched into motion at the same time Piper did, intending to tackle her friend away from the brunt of the blast if she could, but neither were quick enough.
The car exploded.
"Piper!" Tuesday's cry was drowned out by the clamor of combusting gasoline and car parts ricocheting off every nearby surface. She caught a glimpse of her companion's figure thrown into the air by the force of the blast before black smoke filled the air and her line of sight. Over the ringing in her ears she may have heard the enemy Super Mutant down the street laugh victoriously, but she was too consumed by crippling fear to pay it any mind.
Tuesday blundered through the smokescreen amid gently falling ash particles and not-so-gently falling scrap metal, ignoring the shrapnel raining on her shoulders in favor of getting to Piper. She reached back to fumble in her pack for a stimpak as she crossed the street to where she thought she'd last seen her companion, praying she would need it; praying it wasn't too late, that Piper hadn't been too close to the blast.
"Come on, come on, please," she wheezed out of smoke-filled lungs, blinking the sting out of her eyes to look for her friend. Debris filled the street around the remains of the car, and in the haze it all looked the same: dark and twisted and burned. Would she even be able to pick out a body from the mess? That thought made her heart race even faster until her pulse was the loudest thing she could hear.
"Piper!" Tuesday struggled to keep her voice below a hysterical shriek, but the Super Mutant was still out there, and she had to if she wanted either of them to survive this. She stumbled through the debris field, half-doubled over both to avoid unkind eyes and to search the ground for signs of Piper. She was hardly getting enough air in the state of panic she was in, not to mention the smoke, and her vision was beginning to go spotty because if she didn't find Piper soon—
A cough to her left made her heart leap. Tuesday sprinted toward the sound, finally able to pick out Piper's fallen form among the rubble as the reporter moved slightly, rolling partly onto her side to cough again like she too was struggling to breathe.
Tuesday slid to her knees at Piper's side and registered several things at once: first, the younger woman was alive, thank God; second, her clothes were torn and burned from the explosion, and her exposed skin was similarly abused; and third, some of that darkness was not soot at all, but blood, and some of those wounds were full of shrapnel. One nasty gash on the back of her hip sported a whole piece of a fender sticking out of the flesh.
Tuesday's fist went tight on the stimpak in her hand. I can't treat this here, she realized. She didn't have the space or the cover to take care of those wounds the way she needed to, especially considering the healing might be a very painful process and there were still enemies lurking nearby.
She bent over Piper until the reporter's hazel eyes slid to hers and registered her presence, then whispered, "Piper, I'm going to have to move you."
The girl let out a cough and a groan, furrowing her brows and looking like she very much did not like that idea, but Tuesday shushed her gently. She hated seeing her friend this way. She hated that she could basically feel how much the raw pink burns on her cheek and the shrapnel in her back must have hurt, but she couldn't do anything about it yet.
Yet. She had to get Piper out of here. "I can fix this, but not here. It isn't safe."
Piper made a miserable sound deep in her throat, and the look in her eyes was heartrending but Tuesday didn't have much choice. She took a deep breath and stowed the stimpak in her pack again before wiping her freed hands on her pants—not that it would make much difference since Piper was already blackened head to toe from the blast, but it was a compulsion.
"Okay," she breathed mostly to herself in preparation, eyeing Piper's form for the best way to lift her without seriously exacerbating her injuries. She was already lying mostly on her back, only canted slightly to keep the weight off of her hip wound, and the worst of her injuries seemed to be concentrated on her left back. "Okay," she repeated, thinking she'd probably figured out a way. In any case, the smoke was clearing, and they had to get out of here before they were spotted by the Super Mutant or any other unfriendly who may have been drawn by the noise.
Tuesday threw a nervous glance behind her to scan for any such enemies and didn't see any in their immediate vicinity. Something did catch her eye, however: the limp dark shape of Piper's press cap, thrown from her head in the explosion and now resting a few feet away on top of a sunken tire. Tuesday crawled the short distance to it and snatched it up out of a sense of obligation. Having nowhere better to put it for the short term, she pulled it onto her own head as she crawled back.
Then, "All right. Hold on, papergirl," she murmured as she reached for Piper's battered body, sliding a careful arm under her upper legs and behind her back so she could lift her from the asphalt. Piper whimpered at the strain on her wounds, but didn't struggle as Tuesday gathered her frame and pushed herself to her feet with the reporter cradled to her front like a child. The vault dweller could feel the blood seeping onto her fingers from beneath Piper's coat immediately and decided she had best start moving now.
She hurried as best as she could while carrying a heavy pack, a heavier girl, and also trying to remain quiet as she traversed the rubble-strewn street to bring them around a corner from the blown-out car. Tuesday was praying for the block beyond to be devoid of enemies, and though she could see a gruesome raider blockade further along, their immediate surroundings looked relatively safe. She ducked into the first sheltered building she could find: a half-caved-in bookstore where all that remained of the books was ash. Inside was too filled with rubble to house any lurking threats, but for the two of them it was enough. Tuesday lowered Piper down against a leaning bookcase and returned to the door to pull a second shelf in front of it, just to provide a bit of extra protection.
Then she was free to brush her hands clean again and return to her companion's side, pulling out a stimpak again, plus a Med-X syringe. She laid the stimpak beside her knee while she bent over Piper with the Med-X, pulling back her sleeve to expose a vein. Piper's eyes followed her motion, but she made no protest past the sound of her labored breathing. She knew she needed this. Blood was pooling on the dirty tiles under her hip. Her face was pale under the soot.
Tuesday grimaced with sympathy as she administered the Med-X and then reached to turn Piper over slightly so she could get at the shrapnel. Running her eyes over its jagged edges, she took a deep breath. "This is going to hurt," she warned at a whisper, and Piper's only response was to fumble for her hand until they found each other and clung on. Tuesday squeezed, but had to let go so she could attend to the wounds with both hands.
She wished for clean hands, or antiseptic solution, or bandages, or anything to make this safer or easier, but this was the apocalypse. All she had was a bootleg healing concoction and sheer force of will to pull her friend through this. And she couldn't even use that until this metal was out of her.
She had to quit stalling before Piper bled out. She reached for the first in a spray of metal shards in the reporter's back, closed her fingers around it, and yanked.
Piper recoiled, curling around Tuesday's knees so she could muffle her cry of pain against her companion's body. It hardly worked, but it was all she could do.
Tuesday took a shaky breath and moved to the next piece.
This one was larger, and the way out was even worse. The blood started dripping faster. Tuesday picked up the pace.
Neither of them could tell if it was thirty seconds or thirty minutes later when Tuesday finally reached the big ugly shard in the back of Piper's hip. This one she would pull out with one hand and shoot the stimpak in as fast as possible with the other, and then buckle down for the even more painful speed-healing process.
She met Piper's eyes with a breed of pain of her own and rasped, "Ready?"
The papergirl only squeezed hers shut in answer.
Tuesday didn't give herself time to psych herself out further before acting. She ripped out the metal, her heart wrenching at the sick sound it made as it took Piper's flesh with it, and jabbed the stimpak just below the wound just as fast. Piper screamed as her back arched in agony and Tuesday practically pounced on top of her to muffle the noise with her hand, heart thundering in her ears. She so hoped no one had heard that.
She kept her hand over her companion's mouth, feeling her jaw clench and unclench and her breath come quick through her nose as the stimpak did its job, knitting together flesh and purging infection in its efficient but painful process. Piper's cries weakened to whimpers and tears slid from her tightly shut eyes as her bleeding slowed and then stopped. Tuesday remained crouched over her, pressed up against her, watching the burns on her face mend with profound relief.
They stayed like that until gradually Piper's whimpers died and she was able to breathe again; until she raised a weak hand and guided Tuesday's away, down, to lay against her chest instead. The relief the vault dweller felt upon sensing that heartbeat running strong beneath her hand was enough to make her knees weak. As it was, she was already kneeling, so she slumped forward instead to pull Piper into her arms.
Her fingers found the holes in Piper's coat and she sighed shakily at the sensation of smooth, scarred-over skin beneath rather than gaping wounds. She let her eyes slip closed as the stress of the past hour slowly dissipated to be replaced by exhaustion. In her utter relief to be holding Piper, alive and well, in her arms, she couldn't even remember what they'd been doing before the incident.
Piper held her just as tightly, breathing steadily into the crook of her neck. Each puff sent shivers down Tuesday's spine, and she chalked it up to the aftereffects of her nerves. Even when the reporter mumbled hoarsely, "Glad that's over," and her lips moved right against the vault dweller's skin, making her absolutely weak. "Thank you."
"I don't know what I'd do without you," was Tuesday's unintended response, uttered on the tail of a rush of emotion, and although it was maybe a little too raw for their relationship right now, she didn't regret it. She couldn't imagine what she would have done if Piper had died just a few short minutes ago. She couldn't imagine braving the Commonwealth without her again. She couldn't, and she didn't want to.
Piper pulled back abruptly to look her in the eyes, hazel to gray, lips parted in surprise and maybe something else as that sentiment caught her off guard. Her fingers ran over the back of Tuesday's neck of their own accord, skimming the shaven base of her unladylike undercut. "Y-you either, Blue," she admitted almost shyly, dropping her eyes and her hands before the contact grew too intense.
Tuesday let her own hands fall away too, unsure if the lost touch made her feel disappointed or relieved. When Piper looked back up with a smile, she banished those feelings in favor of enjoying the welcome sight. Those hazel eyes flickered over Tuesday's face before raising to fix on her head, sparkling.
"Can I have my hat back now?"
…
"Are you sure you want to keep travelling with me? I wouldn't blame you if you said no, after…" Blue was staring down at the Publick Occurrences couch cushion where she sat beside Piper's reclining feet. After you got hurt was the end to that sentence, they both knew, but the memory of the event was still a little too raw for either of them to address outright just yet.
Piper knew just as well as Blue did that she easily could have died that day, even if the other woman tried to act offhand about saving her. Piper had saved her before, too, but usually in a less dramatic way, from a less dramatic end. The truth was, she was firmly in Blue's debt now, so even if she didn't want to keep travelling with her (which she did), she sort of had an obligation to. She would repay this woman for all the good she'd brought into her life in just a few short weeks.
So, "Of course I'm sure, Blue," she said firmly, nudging the vault dweller's chin up with a knuckle so those gray eyes rose to hers (and gave her a little thrill). She debated whether to continue or if it would come across too mushy, and decided as she usually did that saying too much was better than not saying enough. "You're my best—hell, maybe my only friend out here. And I made a promise to watch your back." She let her hand drop and her voice drop with it as she gave Blue a small, tender smile. "I'm not going to back out on you over a little scratch."
The vault dweller reached up and twitched aside the hem of Piper's black t-shirt. She was lying on her side on the couch, so the scar on the back of her hip was visible, ragged and pale against her tan skin. Blue ran a reflective fingertip over it and Piper tried very hard to suppress her shiver. "Little scratch, huh?" the older woman echoed somberly, knowing better. Her touch lingered for a moment before she pulled back, settling against the armrest behind her with a sigh. She met Piper's eyes again and the gray looked dark, stormy. "I'm—glad you're with me, too. It's better," she admitted as if it hurt, "with someone."
Piper knew enough about this woman by now that she understood the pain in her voice. Blue was desperate for companionship in the vacuum left by her family, naturally, but she regretted that any companion was bound to follow her into danger. Piper propped herself up on her elbow to bring herself slightly closer to the vault dweller. "I know." She tried to communicate with those tiny words just how much she did know what it was like: to lose someone; to care about someone and yet to have to remain distant in order to protect them. She knew, and she understood. "I'm just sorry I can't do more."
Blue snorted, but more bitterly than humorously. Piper frowned; she hadn't expected that. "There's not much anyone can do," Blue said, and her voice wavered under its hard edge. "You can't go back and stop the bombs. Can't bring my husband back. Can't—" She halted abruptly, blew out a breath, and collected herself. When she spoke again, it was quiet: "Sorry, Piper. I don't mean to take it out on you. It's just…hard."
"Oh, Blue, I can't imagine." Piper may have understood the small, personal facet of Blue's pain, but to lose one's whole world? That, she couldn't begin to comprehend. She was afraid even to try. And to think, that was her friend's entire reality. One she had to face every day; every moment she spent walking this depressing hellscape that had become her prison. Piper longed to be able to do something for her, but Blue was right. There wasn't much anyone could do.
But she would still try. The reporter hesitated for a half second before reaching out to her friend and laying a comforting hand on her leg, the most readily accessible part of her body from where Piper lay. "Just know you're not alone, okay?" she reminded gently, watching Blue's eyes flick up to hers before falling again.
"Thanks," the survivor intoned, a little too low, a little too flat to sound convincing. She lowered her head in the picture of defeat, but her near hand lifted to cover Piper's. It was something, at least.
…