When I woke up, I did not ever want to do that again. As far as Blake was concerned, he could drink as much of that as he wanted, just as long as he left me out. My head pounded so hard I felt sick and wanted to die. The last time I felt pain like this was when one of my brothers whacked me with a rusted pipe for walking into him. I sat up rather slow, being vertical seemed to make things worse and I figured a hole in the head would be better right about now. I squinted, every light source sent stabs of pain through the throbbing in my skull. It was a bit before I was stable enough to look around and see where I was.
My surroundings scared me, causing me to panic mildly. I did not recognize the place; it was a small corrugated steel shack, with minimal furnishings. The room was warm but my nerves caused a shiver to run through me. I realized I had somehow stripped half naked and like lightning, redressed. I could hear something I couldn't recognize and looked over the back of the dusty old couch I was on to see another robot. This one hovered with three metal eyes that looked around everywhere and three curled metal arms each with an assortment of tools at the end. I gripped the back of the couch watching it move by and to another room.
I got up, heart attempting to beat out of my chest and glanced at the door. I resisted the urge, as much as possible, to run for it. My fingers clenching and unclenching into fists with anxiety. Blake had to be nearby, he wouldn't just leave me alone would he? I worked up the strength to move to the stairs and rushed up them, finding that to be the worst idea ever. Each hurried step sent jolts of pain through my temples, like bolts of electricity. The first door was open but nothing was inside, other than another couch and a table. It only left one door on my left, I eyed it with suspicion..
I went at it with caution, I felt a bit ridiculous, like opening it I would find myself back in the vault and this had been a hyper realistic dream. If it wasn't Blake in that room I, for some reason, did not want to disturb whoever it was. Gently, very gently, I nudged it open, glancing slowly about the small room. A desk with a chair, two filing cabinets and a bed. The bed was in use and I saw Blake's leather jacket hanging over an open drawer of the cabinet. This calmed me, I had the feeling Blake never took it off and if he did it was always somewhere nearby. Quietly as I could I inched towards the sleeping figure, every creak of the building was painfully loud. It was enough to send the thrum of my heart to my brain adding to my headache.
I crept up to Blake, I almost didn't want to wake him, he was sleeping so soundly. I took a moment to study his features. He has light scars marring his skin, some light and fading a few others deeper and thick. He had one large one on the side of his head, angry and red, that crept into his hairline from the bottom of his right jaw. There was no doubt in my mind. Blake was a fighter, a survivor. What in this great dead world had he been through.
My next move I should have thought about with more care, because the moment he placed a hand on the sleeping figure, all while saying "Gaaary?" the young man bolted upright, throwing one fist, one single sharp fist, as if it had been set with a spring trap, directly at my face. Luckily I didn't freeze like a small animal caught in light and flinched to turn. The fist connected with the raised bone of my cheek, directly below my left eye. With an instinct I didn't know I had, I flew back, landing on my rear, skidding across the floor bumping the chair. My hand immediately flew to my face and the spot burned and stung like acid had been applied to the spot. It took a moment for my vision to return to normal, the entire scene before me turned black with white spots flecking in and out. I stare at Blake from my spot on the floor in terror, moving my hand to see the spot of red on my palm.
Blake only stood there breathing heavily, like a wild beast caught in a cage. His fist still locked at his side, ready to go for broke. His shoulders squared, rising up and down slowly with each seemingly angry breath. Once his breathing calmed he dropped his fist, coming back to reality immediately seeing me on the floor, and my look of pure terror. His eyes were trained on the tears that streamed down my cheeks in a quiet waterfall.
He was frozen, trying to reflect on the event that just transpired when he realized what he had done he moved forward, only to stop dead in his tracks when I became rigid with a singular sharp startled breath, that fell out of my mouth and died within the silence. There was no sound, not leaving the sound of breathing. Blake dropped to the ground, remembered how bringing himself to the level of a mole rat would make him seem less hostile out of fear of his size. He didn't try to move any closer to me.
When I calmed as much as I felt I was going to, I shifted to sit up straight, my hand still glued to my bruising cheek bone. If I had anything in this moment to be thankful for, it would be the fact that my cheek took my mind from my head. I looked at Blake, the guy looked at the floor in regret, I recognized this from my own experience, every time I would deem something a good idea, only for it to not be. I took a breath to speak but caught the singular word in my throat and I swallowed it down, letting it die. I didn't know what the hell just happened but the only conclusion I could come to was Blake was so high strung, from everything he'd been through and I startled him awake. Not my brightest move but people were a lot more complicated than I thought they would be.
"I'm sorry, Gary." Blake whispered out, still looking at the floor. He heard the clone sigh and move closer, he himself only moved his eyes to watch the movement. He even sat as still as a statue when I took his hand and gave a forgiving yet firm squeeze to it. When he moved suddenly to embrace me I gasped, only stiffening slightly, I didn't know what to do. I'd never been touched like this. It was a foreign gesture and it scared me for a moment. He held me tightly burying his face in my neck, taking a deep breath. When I began to squirm, Blake released me, holding me by the shoulders and pushing me back to look at the fully formed bruise.
He huffed and clicked his tongue to his teeth. "I guess we should get this cleaned up." It was like night and day and his voice flattened in tone as if he wasn't the one to do it, his expression turning from regret to straight boredom. He hauled me to my feet, pulling me to the other side of the shack across a small catwalk and placing me in a chair. After examining it further in far better light, he nodded in silent agreement to himself. "Yup, that's gonna scar. Not bad enough for a stim but you're gonna need stitches."
I squirmed uncomfortably at the thought of getting stitches. The other clones administered stitches to each other and it was the sloppiest, most unsanitary, looking procedure I'd ever seen. And painful, when one needed them he would grit his teeth like he was being skinned alive. I began to sweat as I watched Blake gather the necessary supplies to stitch my face back together. Blake became himself again and smirked "Don't worry, I've done this dozens of times." The statement didn't make me feel any better about what was going to happen.
Blake gathered several sheets of clean gauze, suture thread, a curved needle and a pair of oddly shaped scissors. He placed them all on a shiny aluminum tray. I had to wonder how Blake could get his hands on such nice and new things. I also had to admit it did look a lot better than the crap they used on each other in the vault. Perhaps it was things he brought from his own vault. "Want a med-x?" he asked, breaking out another needle, only this one attached to a syringe.
I nearly fainted at the sight, holding back a bit of vomit that rose to the top of my throat. I swallowed it back harshly, shifting for the hundredth time in the chair. "Relax, Gary, this is meant to get rid of pain." He spoke like it was all common knowledge. He didn't even ask as he reached out and began to unzip my jumpsuit getting the zipper all the way down to the navel before I turned about twelve shades of red and the bleeding of my cheek picked back up. Blake noticed, because of course he did and snorted his laughter with a smirk. He continued his work removing only one of my arms from it's sleeve. I, however, wanted to sink into the chair. I was embarrassed, never had I ever been embarrassed, it felt as odd as being hugged.
He applied a large amount of pressure to my arm, just above the crook of my elbow, having used all his surgical tubing on dart guns, his own man power was all he had. He popped the vein till the blue line bulged under the skin and pressed in the needle. He didn't even warn me, the burn sending me into a squirming fit. Blake, however, has the grip of a steel trap, the arm in his hand never moving an inch. I'm sure I could have crawled all over the chair but my arm wouldn't have moved. When he was done he looked straight into my eyes and smiled as he released his grip allowing the chem to speed into my system. The moment it hit my heart, I felt my eyes become heavy and felt my lips pull up into a smile. Blake chuckled his hand lingering on my arm rubbing soothing circles, gently into the flesh. "Feel better Gary?" he asked, his voice becoming sickeningly sweet.
I practically purred, eyes glossy, posture eased and relaxed, and I looked right at Blake. I felt wonderful! The best I've ever felt in my entire life. My head seemed heavy, I couldn't lift it away from my shoulder. "Gary" I giggled, not sure why because I was really concerned about not being able to lift my head. Blake just grinned and touched my chin, placing his thumb and fingers gently there, tilting my head to the side he needed.
~*~Blake's POV~*~
"I need to fix this now Gary, or it will get really bad. Do you understand?" Nodding as best as Gary could, Blake just continued to smile but shook his head slightly 'what a nosebleed' he thought as he went to work repairing the damaged cheek. Gauze to clean the deep gash, a splash of iodine, another pad, then the needle. It was precision needlework, not many in the wastes could match the skill. No doubt he's his father's son. He finished long before the chem wore off and he was a little pleased it didn't, this was the funniest thing Blake had witnessed in a long time. Gary became the most loving creature he'd ever met in the wasteland.
The moment the words of completion left his lips, the clone took his hand and kissed his fingers and found the strength to pull him into a tight hug. When Blake pulled back using both hands to steady himself on either side of the younger male. What Gary did next, knocked him through a loop. The clone leaned up and planted kiss after kiss to his lips using soft, unmarked hands to hold Blake's head in place, it felt really nice. When he tried to stand up, the younger was latched on and went with him, hands still attached to his head. He instinctively put his own hands on Gary's waist and, well, 'What the hell', he thought as he returned the onslaught of kisses with earnestness. Blake may be a lot of things but someone to take advantage of someone in this state was not one of them. Sure he'd indulge Gary for a little bit but as long as the clone kept his clothes on he'd make sure Gary was happy.
Blake knew what would happen, high exertion of energy, hard crash. He steadied Gary as he felt the strength leave the others legs. The clone pulled his face away from him, but his oh so soft lips continued their assault on Gary's neck. "Gary, it's time to rest.'' He said softly from the soft flesh of the neck before him, feeling the rapid pulse rush through the large vein, getting a whimper in response. He guided them to his room and to his bed, the lights were off in this room only the sun creeping through holes made any light. It was really hard to keep this up, to keep in control, he had the willpower to last for days, but Gary was hard to control and slowly wore away at his resolve.
"Gary, I need you to stop." he coaxed, dropping Gary onto the mattress, Gary still holding just as tight as he was before. He knew he would have marks, sloppy marks but marks non the less. His plan worked just as he thought it would, the darkened room caused Gary to slow down and get sleepy. It only took about five minutes, before Gary closed his eyes and began to breathe the soft breaths of sleep. Blake stood by for a moment watching for any movement before grabbing his Tunnel Snakes jacket and stepping out. He needed to get some air.
It bothered Blake that Gary withstood a direct punch to the face. It itched under his skin and he couldn't figure out why. Not very many could handle one, especially not a child. In his mind Gary was still a kid. Sure he had the body of an adult right on the cusp of edging out of his teens but his mind. His inexperienced mind. The moment he laid eyes on Gary the word innocent bounced around his skull. He had all those much older clones to take care of him, no reason to get his hands dirty, and without them he was helpless. Blake figured that out and it was the deciding factor to why he took him home with him. The disgust he felt in himself was eating him alive. He stepped outside long enough to cool off, figuring another hour and Gary would be waking up.
The anticipation was eating him alive so he decided to wake Gary up. He needed to get out of Megaton and be damned if he was taking the clone with him. Even though he only got a half awake response from him, he told Gary to stay in Megaton, that he had something he needed to do. He'd be back in a few days. And a few days it was although he was dirty, tired, with bleeding knuckles, and a migraine that made him want to take a drill to the skull to relieve the pressure. Gary looked at him worried the entire time. And that was something he didn't much care for either. He broke ties with his childhood friend because she looked at him like that, with pity and sympathy and worry. The more he sat there with Gary staring at him, with those concerned filled blue eyes, the more he needed to escape. Each time he left he informed Gary and nothing more. The days gone increased from a couple of days, to weeks.
~*~End POV~*~
I felt more alone now than I ever did in Vault 108. Although being surrounded by myself, it was a very lonely existence. Blake did at least bring me things to do in the times he did come back before leaving again. Magazines, old books, even brought more of the bobble-heads. Paper, pencils, even junk. I discovered things to make and kept busy trying to create things. When the idea hit me to try and write I could have died when the first word I ever wrote was an extremely sloppy and barely legible 'Gary'. That damned name, four letters, it was a slap to the face, it felt like a prison to me.
After crumbling the paper up with a few strangled yells, I sat back to take a few breaths. I rubbed my face in frustration but slid back to the edge of the couch and tried again. Grabbing a book, Pugilism Illustrated, studying the words. Not necessarily the context. How the letters looped, what each word meant on it's own and after taking a steadying breath, I tried again. Gripping the pencil in my hand, holding it in different ways to get a feel for the chipped yellow, painted wood.
When I felt I had found a comfortable way to hold it, I practiced in the air a few times, swirling and dipping the point. Yeah, this would work, this feels okay. Another deep breath and I tried to write once more. One word at a time and practicing that word over and over. I wrote the word 'hello' about forty to fifty times, each time watching the letters become more stable and less shaky, I didn't worry about much else but that one word. I was also glad that I was alone, save the robot hovering around straightening things, because I felt dumb as shit trying to say it. This frustrated me worse than anything Blake was doing right now because it was like a vice in my throat. The words caught and locked in my vocals edging me to the brink of insanity. I just wanted to be free of this. Of that fucking word. To vocalize with someone, to say anything! I cursed in my head. Kicked the coffee table, immediately regretting it, the leg hitting my toe just the right way to send a bolt of pain into my kneecap and back down.
I sat defeated, on the verge of tears when the door of the shack opened. The darkness spitting out Blake into the small house. The Lone Wanderer shrugged off a duffel bag to the floor with disregard and he locked eyes with me, staring at him like he was vomiting mole rats all over the floor. Blake looked like steamrolled hell. His usually well kept hair was destroyed, his beloved jacket had burned holes in it and the dirt, by god the dirt. It's black from the dried blood and ash in it. I look away, the tears gone and forgotten, now just sitting there not sure what to do. Blake strolled over and slumped to the couch, keeping a good deal of space between us.
As if on cue the robot brought him an already opened beer, even bringing one to me. It was like my presence went unnoticed unless Blake was in the room. The silence could be cut with a wooden spoon, until Blake sighed. I only used my eyes to look over, he figured Blake had been through enough without having to be annoyed by someone with a vocabulary of broken record player. Blake rubbed his eyes and sat forward resting his forearms on his knees, beer braced between his hands, he was studying the mess I had accumulated. He finished the beer with a long held breath, when he finished he released the breath with disregarded satisfaction and tossed the bottle over the back of the couch.
He picked up a handful of the papers and tried to read the chicken scratch writing and breathed out a laugh through his nose. "Looks like my dad's writing." He commented. This made me turn my whole attention to Blake who stayed focused on the papers. He searched through them for something but didn't find it. "He's gone." He gritted his teeth behind frowning lips, brow furrowed. Surprisingly he set the papers back down with care, his features softened as he stared at the back wall.
I wasn't sure what to do but swallow and search Blake's features, not knowing what to look for. It was like instinct when I extended my arm and placed a hand gently on Blake's shoulder. Blake snorted out a soft laugh, bringing his own hand up to place it on mine. A silent thank you for being here, gesture. I could only sit silently as Blake continued.
"I… I couldn't do anything." He drew in a shaky breath, his shoulders becoming rigid, lips quivered in silent controlled anger. "The son of a bitch locked himself in and there was shit I could do to help him!" Although the grip he had on his knee was turning his knuckles white, the hand that held mine stayed gentle. "I swear to whatever Holy force there is left out there I will kill them all..." There was a blood and fire filled determination in his eyes, I knew it wasn't for me so I didn't fear being on the receiving end of that seething anger. When Blake dropped his hand away, I figured it okay to remove my own from his shoulder. "Gary I want you to stay here, don't leave." No explanation, only a command. He stood, went upstairs and returned in different clothing but the same jacket. Quietly unloaded his bag, reloaded it with new gear and walked out the door.
I could only sit stunned. What did that mean? Stay inside the house or stay inside Megaton? I sat contemplating the vague command, my thoughts only stopping when I fell asleep leaving the mess for the robot to take care of. I abandoned my goal of writing, spending too much time in my head couldn't be healthy. I went against my better instincts and stepped outside the house the next morning. The days were all the same in this settlement, people doing the same crap day in and day out. I had met most of the people who lived here, found better company in the kids, I wasn't too fond of the grizzled ex-raider Jericho. While playing a game of tag on the second day I was in Megaton, I ran around a corner and right into the man's leather covered chest.
The much older man was an asshole, no other word I knew to describe him. I can still remember the feeling of the air leaving his lungs forcefully, when Jericho grabbed the front of his jumpsuit and slammed him into one of the metal shacks. I swear I can still feel the loose bolt that dug into the middle of my back, leaving a quarter sized round bruise to the right of my spine. Could still feel and smell the stench of stale smoke and liqueur on the mans thick breath, as it wafted over the side of my face and neck when he growled at me to "Watch where the fuck I was going." I could have sworn I'd have another broken facial bone if it hadn't been for Lucas Simms who luckily rounded the corner at that moment.
That was a memory I wished I could forget. It set off an irrational fear of the man, which caused me to literally move far-far away from Jericho every time I saw the man. Today being no different, as I mindlessly wandered around the large crater and the man came into view I had to keep myself from jumping from the side of the metal catwalk in front of Craterside Supply. I braced himself on the railing, pretending to look out over the deactivated bomb, when the man stopped and leaned over the railing right next to me.
He ran his hand into his jacket fishing for a pack of cigarettes, the soft paper package flattened signaling the fact he'd have to get another pack soon. To my surprise, the much older man popped the bottom of the softened pack and offered me the white filtered, paper cigarette. I, out of fear of being thrown off should I refuse it, took it with shaky fingers. Jericho flipped his lighter open, the metal spring gritting with the sign of age and flicked his thumb across the striking wheel. This was the most uncomfortable silence I'd ever been part of in my life. Jericho had his cigarette bit between his teeth and brought the flame up, closing his lips around the smoke pulling the small flame into the tip, with the air pulled through with his lips. Once he was finished he held the lighter out to me, I had watched the display and tried my best to copy it. The sharp inhale of smoke immediately sent me into a fit of coughing.
Jericho laughed heartily and popped me on the back a few times. "If you didn't smoke kid, you shouldn't have taken it." he smirked when I caught my breath and straightened, wiping a bit of drool from the corner of my mouth. Jericho stared at me now, a look that was trying to figure the kid out. "Surprised that little shit stain leaves you here all alone so much." he took another drag from his smoke, letting the grey cloud sit in his lungs for a moment before blowing it out through his nose. "I thought he kept all his souvenirs locked up," he smirked.
I wasn't sure what he was getting at. I looked at the man puzzled. Forcing Jericho to laugh once again, this time mockingly, like he knew things about Blake that I didn't. "The show he's putting on has really got you by the collar huh?" he turned his head to spit off the railing, with no regard if anyone was under it or not. "Word to the wise kid, get out. I spent time with the little asshole. He's not who you think he is. If I were you…" he took one last long drag from his half burnt cigarette, flicked it with the same disregard from the side and exhaled the large cloud. "I'd run. Run far-far away." he accentuated his words by patting me on the shoulder before walking past, without another word.
The cautionary words left me in shock. Fear began to grip me, my mind went into a frenzy 'What the hell did all that mean?' Without even realizing where I was going, I had walked back to the shack and was sitting on the couch. My mess was straightened but still there where I left it. I didn't know what to do. Should I heed the warning and run away, or should I take it as a mocking joke, from a bitter old man who doesn't care for anyone that had any youth. I found himself in a new turmoil.
Stay or go?
I became afraid of the uncertainty. If Blake happened to be as bad as Jericho informed, I needed to get out of dodge. To do as suggested and run. My fear gave way to sadness and the feeling of being alone became much greater than that from my Vault. I breathed out and grabbed a small bag. The length of which Blake has been leaving, I figured it to be days to weeks before he ever came back. 'A good opportunity as any.' so I left. Grabbed as much water as I could, along with a few random boxed meals and walked to the door. My hand touched the knob and I hesitated.
The past few months flooded back and I realized, there were no good memories. It started with pain in this house and never got better. My breath was sharp and steady when I turned that knob and walked out. I figured if I could get back to the Vault, I'd be safe from the outside world. I'd have to remove a few corpses and hopefully it hadn't been looted in my absence but it was a chance to lock myself in and never come back out again. The journey took its toll, got bit by a radroach, chased down by a raider, that I was luckily enough to outrun and my suit had tons of scrapes from the damn, resilient ass, dead bushes and the thorns that they held onto. I tripped over rocks and fallen trees in the dark, and fell into so many holes from the godforsaken earth that decided to shift every which way but flat after the war. I had never been happier in the past two days, than I was in the moment my eyes fell upon the wooden slat door that had the Vault, my Vault, behind it.
I had a gut pulling ache, a feeling that something horrible was close by, I got this feeling a few times right before having to run for my life. I believe that was intuition. I, hastily, rushed the door when I suddenly got that feeling again. The feeling that you get when something was after you, a paranoid flutter of adrenaline filled heartbeats. 'Please, please, please, let this be a fluke, please let this be my imagination.' When I glanced back I couldn't see something moving at me in the darkness. I slammed the door open and ran, my legs were already aching from the nonstop journey back and could feel them burning when I stopped at the other end in front of the console. In the dark I saw the sparks, electricity arcing between the frayed wires that protruded from it. I felt my heart tighten when I heard the wooden door slam open. I didn't want to turn around, didn't want to see what horrible thing it was that came for me in the dark.
The footfalls treading closer and the closer they got, the faster my heart beat through my chest. I could feel it in my neck, my fingertips and hear it in my ears. 'This is it…'