5
A/N: I don't know if ghouls sweat canonically, but biologically they shouldn't. Sweat glands are located in the dermis and FO3 ghouls are usually depicted missing some or all of it; what skin they have looks very dry and dead, as if there are no functioning oil glands. They apparently feel no pain from the skin that's sloughing away, indicating the pain nerves are dead. If sebaceous glands and pain nerves are dead, then sweat glands should be as well.
Jocko's Pop & Gas Stop is a real location in FO3 and is basically as described here.
I made it about a quarter mile before I fell the first time. Maybe I tripped on a rock, or maybe one of my knees played me a trick. Either way, I ended up on all fours in the dust. Fawkes stood next to me and watched as I got up. Now like I said earlier, super mutant faces are not very easy to read. Just watching seemed kind of unfriendly, especially since he was still carrying my rucksack, but who knew how Fawkes thought? He wasn't a human person and he wasn't a super mutant like any of the others I'd been around. Maybe he wanted to see if I could do it myself. Anyway, he didn't say anything, which I was starting to realize was unusual for him.
In another quarter mile or so I could see the gas station off in the distance. It was just a couple of specks up on a small rise, but I knew what it was. "That's it," I said, stopping for a second. This overbalanced me and I almost fell again. My insides felt raw and achy, like movement wasn't doing me any good. I managed to stay upright after a couple of seconds of fighting it.
Fawkes shaded his eyes with his free hand. "It doesn't appear very defensible."
"Nope," I said. It hurt to talk. "Keep the rain off, though." I started forward again before it got too hard. I could tell we were still almost a mile away. It might as well have been ten. I tripped again a minute later and this time I only just caught myself with one elbow before I landed on my sore belly. I stayed there for a minute, swearing quietly.
"Thistle?" said Fawkes.
"Yeah?" I said between clenched teeth.
"Would you permit my assistance?"
I mouthed this back to myself silently. Permit?
"Hell, yes," I said. He got down on one knee and held out his hand. I grabbed one of the fingers with both my hands and levered myself back up onto my feet. Close enough to touch, heat radiated from the super mutant's body like a blast furnace. He smelled strongly of something very alien. It wasn't really bad, not like a dirty human body, but like something you would expect to find green and bubbling in a beaker. It was sour and sort of chemical.
"There are those who prefer not to be touched by a super mutant," Fawkes said. He didn't seem bothered that I was that close. Maybe this was because he could've swatted me like a bug. I couldn't spare much energy to worry about this, since I was mostly still wondering if I was going to die, and if I did, whether it would be an improvement.
"Know what you mean," I managed. Fawkes put his head on one side, like he'd somehow forgotten I was a Ghoul.
"Yes. I can see that you would." He looked up at the distant station again. "I think we'll arrive more quickly if I carry you."
I breathed for a minute and allowed as how I agreed with this. I let go of his finger. Fawkes crooked his empty arm and I sort of collapsed onto it, but carefully. I didn't want to jar myself again. He moved his arm a little bit, adjusting my weight, and then he stood up. He put the rucksack into the hand nearest me so his other hand was free. I felt the muscle in his forearm move as he did it.
"There is safety in mindfulness," he said. That close up I could feel his voice rumbling through his chest. The sour chemical smell was stronger, too.
"Probably is," I said. Fawkes's chuckle shook me a little. I must've stiffened up because he stopped right away. Then he turned and started off toward the gas station. Each step made a solid crunch, but it wasn't too bumpy all things considered. He must have been really going slowly to keep from outpacing me, before, because he was standing at the edge of the little square of blacktop in no time at all. (My commentator here says if you spend a lot of time around people who are half as tall as you, you have to get used to taking little steps. I never thought of it like that.)
He walked up to the building more slowly. From my angle I could see the cords in his neck move as he looked around. It wasn't much to look at, just a shack made out of warped wooden boards and sheets of corrugated steel. The rocket ship that stood over the dead gas pumps was taller than the building, still making a proud show of its red and white paint. Once upon a time, somebody might've made a small living here serving the cars that went by. It wasn't close enough to the highway to ever have done much business. Something was still powering the old Nuka-Cola machine that seemed to be holding up one wall. It blinked on and off and hissed quietly.
Thunder rumbled in the distance.
I listened for a minute before I said, "Put me down." Fawkes went down on one knee again and let me slide off. I stood there leaning against the outside of the building and listened some more. The thunder rumbled again, closer now. I thought I saw lightning from the corner of my eye.
Then I unslung the plasma rifle, powered it up, and nudged the door open with my foot. There was nobody inside. I edged in to the left of the door, looked behind it, and checked behind the counter. Nothing but a couple of bottles of Nuka-Cola Quantum and an old book. The windows were boarded up tight. The only light came from gaps in the wall slats and the eerie blue glow of the soda bottles.
I slumped into the one rickety steel chair as Fawkes ducked under the lintel. He'd never powered up the gat. Maybe his hearing was better than mine, or maybe his sense of smell. In which case I felt sorry for him stuck in there with me. I don't sweat any more, but I must've stunk pretty bad from the dried mud and blood I was covered in. I'd left a powdery brown mark against the remains of his blue jacket. He didn't seem aware of it, but I figured he was pretending. He'd made an effort to clean himself up after he grew his leg back, so it wasn't like he didn't notice things like that. (My commentator here says that's a pretty good observation for somebody in as bad of shape as I was, or longer words to that effect. I say I'm the one doing the typing here and he can damn well write his own journal if he doesn't like it.)
Fawkes set my rucksack down on the counter next to me. He did it gently enough that it didn't rattle the bottles inside. Just that gesture scared me a little, more than it had when I'd watched him shoot down the yao guai. Self-control wasn't something I associated with super mutants. It was one of the things that made them less dangerous. That and being stupid.
And Fawkes is smarter than I am. I'm pretty sure, I thought. (The person reading over my shoulder is being diplomatically quiet right now. This is very typical of him.)
It started to rain. I twitched at the first rattle on the corrugated steel, then winced. Fawkes just stood there listening to it. It was sort of a relaxing sound if you thought about it, white noise without static...
I sat up suddenly, panting as scraps of a nightmare cleared away. I looked around. I was sitting on the wood floor of the station. I must've had my head pillowed on my rucksack as I slept. My rifle lay in splinters on the floor around me. And where was Fawkes? I looked up just in time to see the huge boot draw back, aiming a kick at my unprotected belly -
"Thistle," said Fawkes.
My eyes snapped open as my fingers closed around the stock of the plasma rifle. I lay still for a moment, making sure I was really awake. I was lying on my side on the floor of the station, my right cheek pillowed on my rucksack. Fawkes must have put it there while I slept. I wasn't sure if he'd moved me to the floor or I'd fallen out of the chair. It was dark except for the blue glow from the Nuka-Cola Quantum. The two bottles must be up on top of the counter now.
"Did you say something?" I said. The super mutant knelt in the opposite corner of the room, still wearing the gatling laser.
"You seemed to be having a nightmare," said Fawkes.
"Yeah." I sat up carefully, putting my back to the wall beside the counter. "Thanks." I could still hear rain on the corrugated steel outside, harder than before. After a moment I said, "How do you know what a person having a nightmare looks like?"
"My friend often didn't sleep well," said Fawkes. It wasn't hard to know who he meant. He'd probably only ever had one friend. And I've had, let's see. None. So maybe I should hop off this train of thought right now.
"What about you?" I said.
"Meta-Humans seldom require sleep," said Fawkes.
"Huh," I said. I guessed I'd never seen a super mutant asleep. I just assumed they did it somewhere hidden. We sat there quiet for a while, listening to the rain outside. I like rain. Most of the more dangerous things that roam the Wasteland will lay up until it's over, remembering when the rain was actually dangerous to living things. I grew up knowing that and even now, listening to it makes me feel safer. (My commentator says he has often wondered about that.)
I wondered if Fawkes felt the same. Probably not a lot of things were dangerous to a super mutant with a gatling laser and a better brain than the average human. I was still thinking about this when I fell asleep again.
This time I woke up leaning over against the corner between the counter and the wall. Fawkes was gone. I wondered for a minute if he'd gone off during the night. I stayed still and listened for a while, like I usually do right after I wake up. After a while a shadow fell between the slats in the wall and I heard the step of a giant boot outside. I caught a glimpse of a green arm and a shred of blue fabric: Fawkes was still here.
I ate some more jerky and drank some more water. I was a little stiff from leaning against the wall for however many hours it had been, but I felt pretty good that morning. Reaching around to the exit wound in my back, I found it much smaller. The entry hole was closed, just a scar in the making. I felt stronger. The ache was less.
I got up carefully and took inventory of what I had, losing most of the skin off my right hand again in the process. One and one-half bottles of pond water. Another two or three meals' worth of jerky. Two cells for the plasma rifle. No stimpaks. A pretty good number of caps. I thought about the trip between here and Megaton: water holes I knew, patches of radiation where I could stop at night, places I'd have to route around. I could go back to Girder Shade, but there was nobody there who could sell me much in the way of supplies and I doubted the old lady was there any more.
With this decided, I opened the shack door and said, "Fawkes?"
The super mutant appeared around the corner of the building. "Good morning, Thistle."
"Morning," I said. "Can I talk to you a minute?"
"Yes, of course," he said.
"Thanks for all your help," I said.
Fawkes shook his bald head once. "It was nothing. My way fell alongside yours."
"Be that as it may, I appreciate it," I said. "I'm doing pretty well today, but I'm low on supplies. I'm thinking about heading East to Megaton."
"That's a long walk," said Fawkes. "It will take several days."
"Yep," I said. "Maybe more. I'll be slow at first. You're welcome to come with me, or we can part ways here. You've helped me. Maybe there'll be something I can do for you, unlikely as that seems."
Fawkes appeared to consider this. When he thought he held very still, not shifting from foot to foot or moving his hands at all.
"I would rather not return to Megaton," he said. "But I will travel with you until you are fully healed."
"Okay," I said. "Let's go."