Here's another installment, guys. Eventually, I plan on going back and fixing my little errors, so don't worry. Do point them out, though, so I remember! Also, if you know of an actress who sort of fits the description of Joss, please leave a comment! I'm trying to put a face with the name here, and the mental picture I have ain't quite doing it.
On another note, I would like to mention that there will probably be... A lot of anachronistic songs mentioned throughout the rest of the story, since the Fallout 'verse is permanently rooted in the fifties. It's not really an important fact, really, I just figured I'd mention, for anyone who may be a ~stickler for detail.
I would like to say that, although I do not reply to them, I do take your reviews into consideration as I write. Eventually, once I'm more comfortable with my writing and such, I promise I'll start throwing in a section at the beginning or end of the chapter where I answer reviews - so if you have questions or suggestions, keep on postin' 'em!
All my loving I will send to you
All my loving, darling, I'll be true
"He's my best friend, he really is. He was the only person who didn't treat me like shit when I crawled out of the vault, did you know that?" Of course, he did. She'd only told him about seventeen separate times on the way back from vault one twelve, and he'd kept asking uncomfortable questions ('Are you involved?' 'Do you want to be?' Things like that). And it's only gotten worse since they came home from the saloon. They've only been back for maybe ten minutes, and she's damn near certain that her face is an unattractive shade of red, and has been consistently that colour the entire time. Even when he'd been the big, bad vault doctor, she hadn't wanted to elaborate on any relationships she may have had - but now, she'd spent a year away from him and she really did not want to talk about this. It was awkward and she was a grown woman, and as far as she was concerned, the moment her dad had walked his ass out of the vault, he'd lost his license to ask such questions. It wasn't that she thought he didn't care, or cared less; It's that she's still a little bit peeved that he left without telling her. Even if I am going to help with Project Purity. The disbelieving look she's earned herself makes her frown and scramble for words; Just because she was damn near positive, at this point, that she did want something more with Gob... That didn't mean it was going to happen. "Daddy, I told you, Gob and I aren't-"
Her father merely clicks his tongue in mock scolding. "'Like that', yes, you've told me that." He looks simultaneously completely bemused, disgusted and strangely happy, and she is, well... To say 'confused' may be a little bit of an understatement. There's something she knows he's think, she's just not sure what yet - something she can't quite touch on. She's never fully understood how her father thinks, and it's been so long that she can't even pretend to get how he may have changed after being stuck in some freaky-deaky simulation pod for who knows how long. That could change anyone, really - especially if you were stuck as a damn dog, something that still made her snicker. "But that doesn't stop me from being concerned that the relationship will... Grow. You'll have to deal with a great deal of backlash, honey." Oh, she doesn't give a rat's ass about 'backlash'; If she did, she never would have befriended Gob in the first place, or spent so damn much time in Underworld, or... A lot of things, really. If backlash was something that actually bothered her, her life would be completely different than it was. However, the Calaways were generally known for their lack of forethought - just the fact that they were vastly different despite looking so damn similar. Where James was generally calm, cool, collected, or at least gave the appearance of being so, Joss was stubborn and hot-tempered; James was forgiving and Joss could hold a grudge like nobody's business. Where James was good with explosives and computers and medicine, Joss was good with speaking and combat and picking locks. That wasn't to say that one hadn't learned from the other - Joss would never have gotten anywhere if her father hadn't taught her how to hack computers, and James would never have gotten out of that damn simulation if she wasn't good with people. But then again, neither would she.
"Yeah, well, I don't worry much about backlash. You and I have that in common," she snarks, arms folding over her chest. At the look on her father's face, the balloon of her anger rapidly deflates, leaving her feeling something akin to guilt. She understands why he left, why he thought it best she didn't know; Knows he probably put a lot of thought into the planning and nosing about to make sure she'd be safe. It still stings that he left and only planned on telling her via a goddamn holotape, but she understands; At least, as well as she can without children of her own (and there's a nasty scar on her belly that will prevent that from ever happening). Pushing her hands back through her hair, which currently hangs loose around her shoulders, she sighs. She wants so desperately to be absolutely furious with him, to refuse to speak to him and kick him out of her home to go stay in the common house or at Moriarty's; Wants to pretend she never found him alive and not she doesn't ever to worry about it again. She wants to pretend he's dead and gone and there was closure, and that she never has to think about 'Project Purity' again, but she isn't that lucky. Her sense or morality may be a little bit wonky, but she knows when's been presented with something that absolutely has to be done, as much as she dreads it. "I'm sorry, Dad. I just... Look, I understand why you left, and without telling me. I don't want to, but I do. But I want to make something extremely clear to you, right now: I love you, I do. You're my dad, and I wouldn't be here without you," she pauses, sighs, fixes her gaze on the bobblehead stand to her left. There are eleven there - she's missing nine, she notes. "But I'm not helping with Project Purity for you. I'm doing this for Mom, because it's what she would have wanted. I'm happy I found you... But I would have preferred if you'd just fucking brought me with you instead of leaving me in a goddamn hole with a bunch of useless nut jobs!"
She pinches the bridge of her nose, takes a few deep breaths. Now isn't the time for this emotional overflow that's been building up and being pushed back down - it can wait until after Project Purity is finished and she can safely screech at her father without hindering its progress. "I'm going back to the saloon. You can take the bed upstairs." At the sound of him starting to speak, she whirls around, pointing at him. "Just go to bed, Dad." Never mind the fact that it's barely seven o'clock; She just doesn't want him following her right now. As much as she loves him, if she doesn't leave, she'll do something brash, and he'll end up hurt and trying to patch himself up at the home infirmary upstairs; So much different from their years in the vault when he'd always had to patch her up, never himself.
She's the last person Gob expects to see when the saloon door swings open; The sour look on her face just makes it all the more shocking. He can see her knuckles have gone white as she stomps up to the bar with a bottle of whiskey in hand (Smart girl, considering the piss-diluted liquor sold here, he muses with an inward smile, before reminding himself that he probably shouldn't be smiling in any way, shape or form, if she looks that pissed off). He watches her take a long drink, eyes tracing over the bow of her full lips and the curve of the lean column of her throat as she drinks, hoping that she doesn't notice. Sometimes, just watching her, he feels like some creepy old pervert (she's what, twenty, while he clocks in at somewhere near three hundred by now?), but worse, an old pervert stuck in the friend zone. When he was younger, still human, he'd been perpetually rooted there, and he'd hated it - but he was never bold enough to do something about it. Now, with skin all but gone, exposing smooth muscle between patches of leathery skin... Hell, the girl may have no problem hugging him, but anything more than that is probably more than out of the question. That doesn't mean he hasn't spent countless hours, after the bar's wiped down and he's laying on his shitty little cot, fantasizing about it; Imagining brushing his ruined lips over her scars, threading his fingers through her hair and kissing her, watching her pull away with a dreamy smile. Doesn't mean he hasn't thought, more than once, of everything moving, so fast-paced and wonderful and warm, before bright lights spark behind his eyelids; Taking the angel of the wastes and turning her into something unexpected and untouchably, delicious naughty, a part of her only he'd ever get to see.
Swallowing hard, he blinks; He doesn't know how long he's been out of it, just staring and mindlessly polishing the same glass, but Joss is staring at him expectantly. "Er, what?" The lazy half-smile that tugs at her lips makes his mouth feel drier than usual, his heart skip beats; Shit, was it hotter in here than usual? He doesn't remember anyone ever smiling at him like that - a strange mix between a look that says he could do whatever he wanted to her and she'd love every single second of it, and a look that pretty clearly read that she thought he was messed in the brain (which he technically may have been, some sort of post-traumatic stress disorder bullshit from all that he's gone through). He's probably just misreading things anyway; She probably just sees him as sad, pathetic Gob from the saloon, just like everyone else does. It doesn't really matter in the long run - he still doesn't have a chance with someone like her. She's all bold words and strong actions and traveling, sinewy muscle rippling beneath skin; He's all broken flesh and visible, deep red muscle, too meek to stand up for himself. Polar opposites, really - he was surprised it had worked out with him and Fiona. He's fairly certain the odds of that 'opposites attract' bullshit working again are astronomical, now that he looks like death slightly warmed over.
"I said, 'I don't know what I'd do without you, Gob'." she repeats, and he swears she blushes for all of two seconds before she composes herself and takes a long drink from the bottle in her hand. Well, whatever she's trying to drown with that whiskey, it's fairly safe to say she's succeeding - she can possibly have been here more than ten minutes, and more than half of the burning alcohol has already disappeared down her throat. He doesn't think he's ever seen her drunk before - she normally orders Nuka-Cola when she comes through, because even lukewarm fizz is preferably to the dulled burning of pissed-in whiskey or vodka. "I know I'm not here often, and I don't really tell you, when I am, but... You're my best friend," she pauses, and he watches her as she fidgets nervously (he doesn't ever remember seeing her nervous, either; even the first time she was here, she was the picture of confidence). "Not just... Not just here in Megaton, but anywhere. If, if it, uh, weren't for you, I wouldn't come back to Megaton. Ever." That was... Unexpected. He follows her eyes as they dart from Jericho, sullenly nursing a beer at the end of the bar, to Lucy West, chatting animatedly with some nameless settler, to Nova, and then return to him. "I hate most people here. They treat me like a goddamn child." After one final drink, leaving the empty bottle to clatter against the bar, she grins at him - that broad, heart-stopping, absolutely mind-numbing grin that he hopes, wishes that she would save for him and only him. "But not you. You're always there, even when I'm gone for weeks and weeks and don't think of sending word with a courier or anything - I'm sorry about that, by the way, I'll make sure to work on that, because I love you-"
He doesn't even hear anything she says after 'you're always there'. Shit, maybe being dubbed 'the best friend' permanently condemned him to that friend zone, but if he still got to have Joss in his life, he could deal. The Lone Wanderer, known for making the best decisions regardless of the time it took to make them or how much it hurt (at least, that was all he'd been hearing on the radio, and from her, really)... He was her best friend. Yeah. He could definitely deal with that. It doesn't even click in his head that she said that she loves him - even if he did, he'd probably reason that she meant as a friend, after the rest of her words. Being someone's best friend is enough of a shock, at this point, he doesn't know if he could mentally handle being told anything about love. "Really?"
She finds herself shrinking when Gob doesn't acknowledge her confession. Immediately, she assumes the worst of the situation: he doesn't feel the same, so he's just going to pretend she didn't say it. The fact that he didn't hear her is also a possibility, or that he misinterpreted it... But she can't quite bring herself to say it again, not even with a full bottle of whiskey nestled, burning in the pit of her stomach. Another bottle, maybe, and she'll be good to go; Good thing she bought two when she stopped at the Brass Lantern. Even better that she'd only paid half price after leaning just enough over the counter to give good ol' Leo Stahl a peek - he was sweet, now that he was off the chems, but that man just seemed to be perpetually horny and too afraid to go up to Moriarty's and pay for a night with Nova. Granted, women who are actually attractive are few and far between, so she has to cut him some slack... Not a snowball's chance in hell (whatever a snowball was - she vaguely remembered reading something that made mention of that phrase once, though, and it seemed to fit) was she going to sleep with him, though. No siree. She sees him more as an older brother type, anyhow - sees the whole of the Stahl family as a sort of strange, conflicting extension of her own, really, with Jenny taking the place of that stereotypical older sister that you weren't quite happy to have, but appreciated nonetheless, and Leo and Andy being the older brothers who you didn't tell anything so you could actually have fun.
Eventually, she finds her words, manages to spit something out. "Uh, yeah?" There's no reason for her to lie about that, because it's probably the truest thing she's ever said in her life. Well, besides when she told Wally Mack that she'd heard that he'd do anything Butch told him - because that rumour had been all over the vault since they'd hit fourteen. "Gob, you're literally one of maybe ten people in the entire wasteland that doesn't treat me like I'm either a child or I've been fucking brained because I lived in a vault." Rubbing at her face with one hand, she shifts to tug the other bottle of whiskey out of her pocket and pop the stopper out of the bottle. She takes a short drink, wincing as the burn runs down her throat like a shot of liquid fire. The warmth doesn't spread quite as nicely after one full bottle, but she can feel it loosening her muscles and destroying her mental filter, slowly but surely. For a while, they chat, with him wandering off to do some odd thing or another when it was necessary - getting Jericho a new drink, fetching a plate of cold iguana bits to give to some random customer. It's nearing eight thirty when she finally finishes her second bottle of whiskey, and she's basking in the warmth of the alcohol and the fact that both Jericho and Lucy West have finally turned in for the evening (and she wouldn't be surprised if Lucy ended up in Jericho's bed, because that sappy, 'I'm such a sweet girl and I would never look at a former raider that way' bullshit is just that - bullshit). She likes it best when the customers start thinning out - fewer customers mean less judgement, and, even better, fewer passes made by Moriarty. By nine, the saloon is more or less officially closed - Moriarty has retired for the night, as has Nova, and there hasn't been a single customer in fifteen minutes, which is probably a good thing, considering her boughts of giggles brought on by every little thing.
"Y'know, when I was seventeen, we had this, this..." Squeezing her eyes shut, she gestures wildly, trying to pick the word from the air. "Sweethearts' Dance or something. And I heard this song there, and I haven't heard it since." She also hasn't done a whole lot of singing since then, but she'll hazard a chance now, seeing as she's just drunk enough to hopefully not remember this. "I... Maybe you'll know it, if I sing a bit?" Receiving a nod in reply, she smiles brightly and takes a deep breath, trying to arrange the lyrics in her head. "And I wish you all the love in the world... But most of all, I wish it from myself! And the songbirds keep singing, like they know the score... And I love you, I love you, I love you, like never before..." With surprising grace, she scoots out of her seat, leaning over the bar to press a kiss to Gob's battered cheek; Instead of waiting for his reaction to both the singing and the kiss, she stumbles out of the bar, shooting a smile over her shoulder before the door closed.
What had that been? It had obviously been unexpected and shocking, but definitely not unpleasant or unwelcome; Both the singing and the kiss. Her voice was like... He didn't even know if he could actually describe it. It was like something simultaneously rich and light, sweet and melodic and beautiful and he was in awe. He hadn't heard a damn thing like that since before the bombs - Hell, since he was a kid. And that kiss... Sure, it had only been a kiss on the cheek, but it had sent his heart racing at a pace that was far above normal. God, what was this vault girl doing to him? He's a mess when she's in town, a mess when she's out of town; A damn kiss and he ends up near catatonic because he can't believe it. He lets his head hit the bar with a metallic thud, wincing at the brief ache but doing nothing about it. She was going to be the goddamn death of him, he just knows it - all that soft, soft skin and those eyes, and god, just everything about her. This is what he gets for getting attached to people so easily, especially people who spare him a kind word and a smile, and especially pretty girls. While he's never been one for redheads, he knows that if he'd ever met someone like Joss before, god, he'd never have another type. From her legs, muscled and skin tinged gold from the sun (those legs were the reason for many of his fantasies, he'd admit), to her thick coppery hair that she only seems to let down when she's in the saloon... Don't even get him started on what he thinks it'd be like to get her alone, pin her against the wall or the bar and just- He lets out a strangled groan and grips the edge of the bar tightly, taking a few deep breaths. Just stop thinking, wait 'til you're done cleaning the damn bar and in your room and Moriarty won't do shit, he tells himself before puttering about to collect all the empty bottles and cleaned plates. 'Waste not, want not', or some such shit, that's what Moriarty always tried to sell him when he suggested buying some new plates or bottles. It doesn't really make sense to him, but he never argues it.
By the time he manages to get the bar scrubbed down, the plates and bottles as clean as possible, and scrub his only spare set of clothing clean, he's pretty sure it's nearing one in the morning and his eyes have that wonderful, gritty feeling that always accompanies staying up too long. He only stays up long enough to take care of the painful, throbbing heat that's settled in his groin; When he comes, he's out like a light.