Chapter Eight:
I'm Not Okay (I Promise)

Disclaimer: I don't own anything of the Fallout franchise. That is all © to Bethesda. I just (barely) own the slightly fleshed out humdrum backstory and writing contents of this story. Any vague mentioning to any shows/ books/ video games/ songs that are mentioned in this story are all © to their respective owners, I do not own them either.

Note: I'm Fallout trash and suffering pretty bad brainrot, y'all. Is anyone else suffering ever since the new Fallout show dropped? Anyone?

Alliance: None

Companion: Dogmeat

I'm not okay
I'm not okay
I'm not okay
You wear me out

What will it take to show you
That it's not the life it seems? (I'm not okay)
I've told you time and time again
You sing the words but don't know what it means (I'm not okay)

To be a joke and look
Another line without a hook
I held you close as we both shook
For the last time, take a good hard look
—"I'm Not Okay (I Promise)" by My Chemical Romance

It took about a week for things to settle shortly after the hunt. Quinn took a two-day trip visiting both the Abernathy farm, and Concord for any supplies. She took Dogmeat with her, while Quill stayed behind to help with keeping Sanctuary secure.

He wasn't idle in assisting Sturges with setting up a clean water filtration system, or with helping Marcy and Jun in setting up a field for crops in preparation for growing their future food, or in further repairing the home they'd been camping out in with protection from the elements. Frank was quick in rejoining them once his leg was fully healed, giving them all another pair of hands to help ease the workload. Mama Murphy did her own part, gathering pieces of junk that could be taken apart and repurposed into something else. She was especially adept at stripping the screws or nails or gears from other resources to further their efforts. Codsworth was always hovering nearby her, fretting that she'd get hurt if she tried to take on too much.

Quill found it endearingly adorable when he caught sight of the two together. Mama Murphy would probably be inclined to agree, because she would often pat the Mr. Handy affectionately when he was close enough at hand to do so.

"Stop worrying, ya crazy robot. I'm not about to keel over any second now, I'm not that fragile. I still got some fight left in me yet," the older woman would tell him. Codsworth would only splutter back, seemingly trying to save face.

When the third day rolled around and finished up with no sign of Quinn, Quill began to feel his worry prickling away at the back of his neck and down along his spine. He hardly slept that night, only catching fitful snatches of it at random intervals between constant tossing and turning.

On the fourth day, his prickling worry migrated to his stomach, and for most of the morning he fought against the building nausea that made his gorge rise in his throat.

As noon on the fourth day came crawling along, he was already planning on heading out to find her. He worried about Azog and his little mongrel pack crossing paths with Quinn and Dogmeat. He worried about raiders or super mutants ambushing them. So many possibilities out here, too many permutations of how anything could go wrong—that might have already gone wrong. Quill found himself pacing along the entrance to the bridge, contemplating just going out and looking for the pair.

He barely noticed Preston calling him until the man was sidling right beside him.

"Hey, is everything all right with you, Quill? You look like you've been out of it lately."

Quill flinched at the sudden intrusion in his flurried thoughts, but he played it off by rubbing the back his head instead. He pulled back and avoided Preston's concerned gaze. Instead, he shot a look down the bridge, spotting it just as empty as it had been minutes before. Hours before. The last three days.

"Sorry. It's just…Queenie was supposed to be due back yesterday. I'm hoping she's all right, but..."

Preston seemed to pick up on his anxious energy and offered Quill a reassuring smile.

"From what I can tell, Quinn seems more than capable of handling herself out there. And you can as well, if it's any consolation." Preston continued to offer Quill a comforting look, but it did little assuage Quill's troubled thoughts. They continued to dance about in his head, angry as a kicked hornet's nest, refusing to settle down until the problem at hand was acknowledged and addressed.

"As much as I appreciate what you're trying to do…we're not exactly acclimated to this place just yet."

Preston furrowed his brow, tilting his head at Quill. He shifted his weight on his feet, as if to consider his next words carefully.

"What do you mean by that?" Preston finally settled for.

"I…well, we're…" Quill rubbed the back of his head again, biting his lip. He gave his surroundings a cursory glance, as if expecting to see someone spying on them from around the corner of one of the buildings or from behind a tree. He turned back to Preston. "We're not from the Commonwealth. I mean…timewise."

Preston's brow beetled further, lips pulling into a thin, concerned line. "I don't think I'm following."

Quill groaned softly. He ran a hand through his thick, shaggy mane of hair. "I'm sorry. I don't know how else to say this, but…my sister and I, we were…in a Vault. It's right up there on the hilltop, overlooking Sanctuary. We've been cryogenically frozen since…since before the bombs dropped. We only just woke up not too long ago."

There was some truth to that all. Always pepper a lie with a nugget of truth. He couldn't begin to think how anyone could ever understand his and Quinn's actual predicament. Preston sucked in a breath between clenched teeth, eyes widening. His grip on his laser musket's strap loosened and he scrambled to snatch it again when it nearly slipped from his shoulder completely. "You're—you're kidding me, right? That would mean…you and Quinn are well over two hundred years old!"

His incredulous tone made Quill avoid the man's gaze at first. His face was flushed, and his ears were burning as he scratched the back of his head, nails digging into his scalp.

"I guess, yeah. That's right. We're old geezers, technically speaking. Crazy thing is, we're really not from the Commonwealth proper, either. Queenie and I are originally from Montana. The only reason either of us was here is because, well. Queenie was in the military. The Marine Corps, as a dog handler and trainer. It's how she lost her leg and half her hearing, during a mission on deployment. She recently got out and joined the FBI. She…she was supposed to be graduating just two days before we were snatched up and frozen. I was there as a surprise with our parents."

"My god, that's…I'm so sorry, Quill. I mean, I had an idea of the troubles you two might have been having, but knowing this now? Nothing I was thinking about came close." Preston said, hesitating before reaching up and giving Quill's shoulder a squeeze. "And…your parents? Were they…?"

Quill shook his head. "No. Thank god, I don't think they got pulled from the streets like me and Queenie were. We didn't see them down there at all, it seems like most of the residents inside were all once part of this neighborhood."

That small piece of comfort did little to cool him or his growing temper. It was bubbling up and colliding with his worry for Quinn's no-show. The wriggling worm that was nausea began to make a comeback.

"And you? What is it you did?" Preston continued, a faint smile pulling at his lips. Quill could even sense genuine interest in the other man's voice.

"I…was still in school. I changed majors. Twice. My core classes were all completed, but having to go through the entire programs for career changes before I even had a career? I think I messed up pretty big on that." Quill chuckled, his face growing red again. "I got my associate's in architecture, but I just…wasn't feeling it. I tried engineering for a while and while I liked the core concept, I just…"

"Wasn't feeling it," Preston finished, offering him a thin smile. "So, architecture and engineering. What was the last thing you were in school for?"

"Filming. Uh, the production aspects of it. I was hoping to make producer, or maybe even a director one day. I was supposed to graduate…well, I had one more semester and then I was done. I was working on my final film thesis." Quill felt an embarrassed grin pulling at his lips and he began fidgeting and fretting with his hands. "I-I think I was pretty good at it. I got an internship going on right now—or, I used to have an internship, given everything that's happened, and I was actually getting paid! Do you know how rare that is…or was in the film industry? And-and I would help Queenie with her own little filming projects and her TikToks and—well, she liked the performance and dressing up aspects of things, like she's the actor and I was the director. She wasn't a film student or anything like me, obviously. But she's actually got her own degrees—uh, double bachelor's in animal psychology and animal behavioral sciences. I know she doesn't seem like it, but she's actually pretty smart, but she'll tell you she's…just a dumb grunt. I always have to remind her she isn't."

Quill clamped his mouth shut when the realization dawned on him that he was rambling. His face flushed all over again. Christ, why did he have to go and say all that?!

"I-I'm sorry, I just…couldn't stop talking." His words felt lame and tired, like an excuse he shouldn't have given in the first place.

Preston laughed and clapped his hand on Quill's shoulder again, startling him. "It's fine, really. You looked like you had a lot on your mind and just needed to get it out. And thank you, for telling me all that. I had no idea just how different things were for you and your sister."

Quill cleared his throat, once more fidgeting his hands. "I—yeah. Yeah, it's been crazy, trying to adjust. But, between the two of us, I think we'll be okay. We weren't exactly raised like normal kids."

"Awww, Quill. That's so sweet, you singing praises behind my back like that."

Quill jumped at the sound of his sister's voice. He whirled, heart pounding in relief and surprise as he took in the sight of her standing on the broken bridge, with Dogmeat at her side. She beamed at him, looking healthy and whole and most importantly, unharmed.

"Hey, baby brother. Hope you weren't going too stir crazy without me around," she said, before nodding toward Preston. She resumed her approach and by that cue alone, Dogmeat began walking alongside her. "Thanks for keeping him busy, Preston. I know how Quill gets sometimes when things don't go according to plan."

Quill flushed, turning his widening eyes on Preston. "You were distracting me?!"

Preston offered a sheepish grin in return as answer at first. "She…asked me to keep an eye on you. Said you might get distracted and worried if she got delayed and didn't return on time."

Quill tried to find it in him to be mad at that. He really did. And he found it, briefly, for a split second. It was snuffed out almost immediately and his shoulders sagged. He turned back to Quinn instead. "How long were you standing there?"

"Long enough," Quinn replied with a shrug, her smile softening. As she passed Quill, she patted him on the back before hooking a thumb to point over her shoulder, addressing both him and Preston. "By the way, I managed to hook us up with a trader."

As if on cue, a low mooing sounded off on the other end of the bridge, accompanied by the percussive clop of hooves along aging wood. Preston and Quill turned as one to look on. Quill's mouth popped open as he looked between his sister and the oncoming trader and pack-brahmin moseying their way toward Sanctuary.

"How—how did you…?"

"I caught a lucky break on my way back from Concord," Quinn answered. She waved for them to follow after her. "I'll tell you all about it later. For now, let's try and get some work done. Dogmeat, c'mon buddy."

She gave him a pat on the flank and the pair began moving along together again.

The trader who Quinn had brought along had a myriad of seed packets and fertilizer, and even bags of dried grain and flour and wheat for sale. Perfect for the oncoming winter months. It was enough for a couple of weeks for everyone if they rationed it all out evenly, smartly. Coupling that with the lessons Quinn had imparted on the others with hunting and trapping, they could even extend their food stores with the meat they could get.

When inquired about possible farm animals, the woman told them they didn't have any for the time being, but she could arrange to have some brought along the next time they rolled on through. The trader also agreed to make the trip out to Sanctuary at least once a month, just like they made throughout the other surrounding farms in the area.

"What's one more stop along the way? More caps and trading goods in my pocket," the squirrely looking woman said as they concluded their business. Frank, Sturges, and Jun loaded the last of the bags into their shoulders and began moving them back into their shelter. Marcy and Mama Murphy were busy taking into account for everything inside, while Preston provided security around the area.

"You never know when raiders will hit. Or worse, super mutants or feral ghouls. Anything, really," he had told Quinn when she asked him why he was keeping himself distant. Quill had just finished haggling with the trader, exchanging out the necessary payment for the traded goods. Once they were done, the woman with her brahmin asked if they could bed down for the night.

"Not a good idea to head out when I'm this far north so late in the day. I'd rather wait it out until the morning. I usually stay with the Abernathy family, seein' as they got a shack to spend the night. Looks like you folks have a nice place yourselves. Didn't even know there was anything up here," the woman drawled on as she pulled out a pack of cigarettes and lit one up.

Quill hesitated, glancing over where Preston was, about thirty or so feet away, moving right along his patrol. He was about to call out to the man, but Quinn was suddenly at his side and already taking over.

"I don't see why not. If you've got your own sleeping bag, we can set you up in one of the other houses, get you squared away with a meal for the night and a place to hitch your cow. Do you need help unloading your wares for the night?"

"I think I might, yeah. Just know after this transaction, I still know exactly what I have left, so don't go thinking you can steal from me."

Quinn held out her hands in surrender, looking as contrite and humble as can be. "Wouldn't dream of it. Caravan traders gotta make their living, and it ain't easy work."

"Damn straight," the trader sniffed back pointedly, blowing out smoke into the air. Quinn eyed the cigarette for a moment.

"Think I can bum one of those off of you? Not a pack, just one cigarette."

Quinn heard the noise of disapproval from Quill beside her, but she ignored his little comment of, "Seriously?"

"Mmm…I suppose I can part with a whole pack, actually, if it means I get some help with unloading the wares, bedding down my brahmin, and getting that cozy little spot for the night. Hell, make it two packs. I got a few to spare." The woman answered, a lazy Cheshire grin spreading across her face. She paused to puff on the filter before blowing smoke from the corner of her mouth, shrewd little eyes never leaving Quinn's face.

"All that just for some cigarettes? I dunno. Might need something more to sweeten the deal," Quinn said, eyes dragging lazily over the piled-up goods still strapped to the brahmin. Her eyes landed on something of particular interest, and she nodded to it. "How 'bout that? Is that up for grabs?"

The trader spared a glance over at the object in question. Quinn spared a knowing glance with Quill, and he covered his mouth with his hand to hide his smile. The trader turned her attentions back to Quinn, a look of mild distaste on her countenance.

"That useless thing? Ha! I can't work it out, and nobody else wants it, neither. Don't know a soul who knows a damn thing about how to use it. But you're more than welcome to try. I was getting ready to just dump the damn thing if nobody even wanted it for parts."

"Oh, I wager I can get that thing going again," Quinn replied, trying to keep the excitement from her voice. She bumped Quill gently in the side, cracked her knuckles, and turned to the brahmin with a grin. "So, let's start unloading and get you settled for the night, huh?"

"How's the tuning going?"

"Fine. Okay, maybe not fine. I might need to get some new strings. That's probably why no one can get this thing working right. Especially if it's had the same strings for the last two hundred years…plus, these things look rough. They'll need replacing regardless." Quinn sighed as she finished fiddling with the tuning machines and set aside the weathered guitar. Quill gave her a sad little nod in understanding.

"Sounds about right. Sorry you couldn't play it tonight. I know you were looking forward to it."

"It's fine. I think I passed a music store somewhere in Concord, might be something still worth salvaging in there. Not a lot of looting's gonna happen in a music store."

Quill gave her another nod, conceding the point. "So, you coming back out to the fire or are you gonna just hang out here the rest of the night?"

It seemed a bit lonely inside the sheltered house, away from the others. Quinn and Dogmeat appeared to have found further harmony with one another, and while he was glad for it, it also seemed more of the same since they were kids. She preferred the company of animals over people.

"I think I'll stay back for a little while longer. Y'know those eggs we found?"

Quill winced and groaned. "You're still carrying those things around?"

"What? They're getting ready to hatch, I couldn't just leave them alone."

"Uh, yeah, you can, and you should've," Quill fired back, furrowing his brow, and leveling his sister with a hard stare. "You need to get rid of those things. Preferably before they hatch. They're dangerous—you know what they'll grow up into! You've fought one of them, a full-grown one, and nearly died because of it!"

Quinn snorted, because of course she did. He really disliked how flippant she could get when it came to matters such as this, when it came to dangerous animals. He remembered when she'd pulled the same damn stunt when they were twelve, when Quinn had found an a cluster of seemingly abandoned rattlesnake babies. She'd somehow collected most of them without getting bit and brought them into the commune, only to lose them almost immediately.

The days following that incident had been absolute mayhem.

"Oh, it wasn't that bad—I had it under control! And you said that these things are incredibly intelligent, and even sentient in some cases. Who's to say they're untrainable?"

Quill opened his mouth to argue with that, only to slowly close it and grumble nonsensically under his breath. "Christ, you actually listened to me for once about this place and it was to that? Just that?"

Quinn offered him an idle, smug grin. "C'mon. Wouldn't it be badass to have not one, but three Deathclaws as our own personal bodyguards? If I can train a dog," Quinn said and paused long enough to pat Dogmeat's side as he lay beside her. "Then I can train a bunch of freakin' dinosaurs."

That got a laugh out of him. He hated that it did and at the same time, he didn't hate it, not at all. Even if the words out of her mouth sounded utterly absurd, he believed in her. And that was because he knew she meant what said and quite possibly…she was the only one insane enough to try and actually succeed.

"…how long until they hatch," he inquired cautiously in resignation, lips pressing tightly together. Maybe she was right. Maybe they could train baby Deathclaws. They were intelligent creatures, and given the lore of Fallout, they could even be sentient. Hell, there were talking Deathclaws in one of the older games.

"Lots of struggling inside. Wouldn't be surprised if they were pipping right now. In fact, I think I'll go check on them now, and I might just hit the hay after. I suggest you do the same, if we're to get an early start tomorrow morning."

He sighed at that reminder, and he ached at the idea of waking up so early. "My back's already hurting just thinking about it."

"Hey, we helped unload that cow, we're the ones who have to reload it with its wares. Which reminds me, why aren't they using a cart? It would be a much easier to hook it up instead of piling it up on that poor animal's back! And it seems like such a basic logistics issue that should have been solved, I dunno, generations ago. And what about horses? Where are all the horses? Shouldn't there be horses?"

"It's just the way it's in the game—"

"I swear to fuck, Quill. Say the phrase 'it's in the game' to me one more time. I dare you."

He threw up his hands. This wasn't the argument he wanted to fight, nor the hill he wanted to die on. Not today. "Fine. I'm sorry. Let's just…gloss over that for now." Quill hesitated for a moment before pressing onto another matter. "Hey Queenie…what do you think about…leaving here? Like, going somewhere else?"

"Like where? Another farm? Another bombed out, ransacked city?"

"Kind of." Quill replied. Quinn waited for him to continue. "We…should be trying to figure out what happened to us, exactly. This isn't our world. And I think it has something to do with this Vault 113. It…might be how we got here? I-I don't know. But if we can find the Institute, maybe we can get help in finding answers and maybe support and—"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Slow down. You still haven't really sat down with me and explained anything about…anything in this world, this place. I'm still pretty much in the dark here, Quill." Quinn said, and began fretting with her hands, fidgeting like she needed something to do and unfortunately had nothing to do them with. She found something eventually and that was to reach down and run her hands along Dogmeat's flank. The German Shepherd heaved a content sigh and continued dozing by her side.

"I…there's just…so much, I-I-I don't even know where to start—"

"Then start somewhere. I need intel, and frankly, I think I've waited long enough for answers from you. I've been patient, and you've been pretty squirrely with giving me anything solid beyond, 'Deathclaws are bad! Raiders are bad! Radiation is everywhere!' I…I need more. What happens in this place? Who are these people? What do I need to expect?"

Quill hesitated, words catching at awkward angles in his throat. He tried to swallow them back down, to buy himself time. He had been dreading this conversation, and he should have expected it. Yet it had still caught him off-guard all the same.

"I…I know. I know you need to understand this place better, and I'm sorry. I…I genuinely don't know where to start, though. Do I start with the first game or the divergent alternate history from our world and this one or—"

He startled when Quinn was suddenly in his face and clapping her hands onto his face, squishing it together. He grabbed her arms, squeezing, but stopped short of shoving her away. She stared at him hard, eyes bright in the lantern-light that reflected in them.

"How about…you start with the immediate area? The people here in Sanctuary? The people we're going to meet? I'm guessing there's going to be recurring faces we're going to have to deal with more than once, hm?"

In spite of himself, he found himself laughing. It grew from a small chuckle to a hysterical keening. All the while, Quinn held him in place, her expression melting from hardened seriousness to bothered concern in a heartbeat. He reached up and clutched at her hands, gripping them hard as they held his face. Her hold on him softened as well when he seemed to be shaking with sobs.

"Don't…don't cry, Quill. I'm sorry, I…I…" Quinn began, but she stopped when he shook his head. She tried to drop her hands, but he kept a firm grip on her wrists, holding her in place like her touch was a lifeline. He hesitated, hearing the others just outside, still gathered around the campfire before he answered her.

"No, no, no…I-I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I know I haven't told you much, and I'm sorry, I just didn't know where to start or how or-or anything—"

"Hey, hey. Breath, okay? Breath. Look at me. It's okay. Just…take your time. O-oh!" Quinn managed to pry herself loose with as gentle a persuasion she could and motioned to the Pip-Boy on her arm. She pointed to the glowing green screen, and more importantly, to the date displayed at the very bottom: October 31, 2287.

"Hey," she said, her voice quiet and light, a mischievous glint in her eye. "If I can lighten the mood a little for you…Happy Halloween and Happy Birthday, baby brother. Guess we're…" Quinn's smile fell, her brow furrowing as realization hit her. "I-I guess we're, what…two-hundred and sixty-three years old now, if my math's right."

Quill internally balked at that, running through the numbers in his head. His stomach dropped away as the thought hit him full force like a freight train gone off the tracks. The conversation he'd had with Preston earlier in the day seemed so far away and old, and yet so fresh in his head now that perspective was rearing its ugly head in his face.

They were over two-hundred and fifty years old.

And if that were true, then that would mean…

"Wait. Wait, wait, wait. If-if we were…if we were in our world, taken in 2024…"

His chest began hurting, tightening constrictively as the pieces began to fall into place.

"Does that mean we-we were under ice since the 2020's in this world?!"

"I…I don't really care about that," Quinn said in earnest. "I was trying to celebrate our birthday, but if you want to overthink everything, again, then I think I'd rather just go to bed now—"

At the harsh pitch in his sister's voice, it brought him back down again. He shook his head and offered her an apology in return.

"No, no, no…I just…it's all complicated and technical—"

"No, Quill—I know…I'm know I'm not as smart as you, but I know what this implicates. Chronologically speaking, we're over two-hundred and fifty years old. But physically? We're still thirty-two. We were…preserved. And I think that you're overthinking and panicking over things we can't exactly control or fix. So why don't you just…let go and share a drink with me, okay? I'd like to share a birthday drink with my brother, like we used to when we were younger."

Her words struck a chord deep inside him. Quill couldn't find the words to retaliate in kind, and instead he flubbed, choking on awkward silence instead. He knew she understood the implications of their predicament. She wasn't stupid, no matter how often she begged to differ.

She wasn't some dumb grunt. She was smarter than that. She was simply choosing to not give a damn about it, because that's what Quinn did. It was out of her control, so she was choosing to not worry about it.

He wished he could do the same. He wished he could simply let go of the full ramifications of what their situation entailed and move on—or at the very least, forget it completely.

But somebody had to live with it. Someone had to be accountable to it.

Maybe that was his role in all of this. His sister could handle the more physical challenges of the world, and he could handle the mental posits of it. It wasn't that dissimilar to how they went about their childhood. Quinn handled all the physical burdens and Quill was more than content with the mental wrestling of it all. Together, they somehow managed to tackle it together in a strange kind of harmony—

And yet…he still couldn't find that rhythm with her.

Had they been away from one another for too long? Were they just not…in sync? Would they ever be again?

Quill couldn't find what the disharmony between them was, and it was driving him nuts. Did he simply know too much about this place and Quinn too little? Or was he a prisoner of his own conceptions on the matter, unable to disentangle himself from the preconceived notions of his situation at hand? Was that causing the disruption between the two them from bonding in full with one another—?

Quinn's warm hand on his shoulder shattered his thoughts, as did the equally warm smile she presented him with. "You doing okay in that head of yours? Not getting too lost in it again, are you? It's not that hard a concept. Happy Birthday to you, to me. To us both? It's Halloween and our birthday? Remember? Silly costumes and birthday cake and drinking and us being stupid."

Quinn somehow found a way to simplify the notion at hand and nullify his chaotic thoughts. As much as he wanted to dwell on the fact that they were nearly three hundred years old—she didn't. She just wanted to celebrate their birthday together. Just like when they were younger. It was as simple as that.

No number crunching, no dwelling, no struggling with an existential crisis like he'd been doing the last several days or so. Just the two of them, together. It didn't matter if anyone else was around or not.

Quinn took out her hip flask and held it up, waiting expectantly. Quill fumbled for his, and once it was in hand, she clinked it with his and laughed, carefree and relaxed.

"Happy Birthday, baby brother."

"H-Happy Birthday, big sis."

"We're gonna be okay. Okay? I promise. I'll keep you safe."

Quill hummed back in reply noncommittally, hoping she wouldn't say more and was relieved when she didn't. He wished he had the guts to point out so much to her: that she had left their family years ago and left him alone. That their dads had pressured him with so much that he eventually fled to school. And even when she supported him, she'd been too distracted with her own issues, her own troubles—and that this was the first time, in a long time, she'd actually given him more than five minutes of her time that wasn't over a video call.

But that all sounded so…bitter and petty when he thought about it. And unfair. He couldn't beholden her to sticking around when she had wanted more out of life when she was younger. The same could be said for him. And Quinn called him more than their parents, spent more time on video or phone calls with him. That she'd lent an ear to him whenever he had his own troubles—school, relationship, job, or friendship-wise. Every little thing, really.

And the only times she ever came to him was…it was for the big things. Like losing Becks. Or losing Tigress. Or Nero. Or her leg.

The last two…she hadn't even been the one that called him about it. It had been her command while she'd been overseas on deployment. Or maybe it had been the Red Cross? The details were fuzzy on that matter at this point.

Quill brought his thoughts back to the present and took a long swig from his hip flask, following Quinn's lead.