Fallout: Fury Blood

Chapter 120: Hardship On The Horizon

"I knew someone was following me."

The darkness parted for her stalker. Strange how having a furry four-legged bodyguard was just as reassuring as having a muscly two-legged one. Dogmeat approached with ears pinned, snout lowered with a small whine in plea for her acceptance. Kelly melted down to him and hugged his scruff, nosing into his warm fur. He needed a bath; her fingers were oily and coated with grit, but his doggy smell was like a perfume in comparison to the stench of war she had grown far too accustomed to as of late.

"I missed you, boy. And I know you would have saved me from a lot of pain out there. But I'm glad you stayed behind. I would have hated myself even more if something happened to you." His eyes gazed into hers adoringly, head cocking slightly as he listened to her words. "And I don't know what you said to Danse when he found you in the morning with my holotape in your mouth, but I'm glad you sent him after my dumb ass. Maybe you can convince him to wake his ass up, now. Tell him I need him again." He wagged his tail.

The infirmary bunker was buzzing as Kelly and Dogmeat stepped in from the decontamination bulkhead. Her radmeter was much lower in here than outside, although it spiked abysmally when she neared something metal. Radiation was a clingy bitch in the harsh new world.

Minutemen and Brotherhood soldiers alike were crammed into the limited space on gurneys and medical cots. Some were even in chairs, and those that could stand were doing so. The Minutemen in need of intensive care were still up on the Prydwen being closely monitored by Cade and his team, but the stable patients were grouped together in one section here, most conscious and conversing amongst one another.

Before even searching for Deacon amongst them, her eyes were impulsively trained to immediately pick out Elder Maxson tending to the morale of the wounded Brotherhood. Currently, his back was to her, those damned hands hung there as usual. It was jarring to see him smiling so loosely with people while holding his regal posture, almost avuncular in nature. She snapped her eyes away in hopes he wouldn't see her as long as she didn't see him; it was the most childish hope she had ever had, but adults reached for their inner child in times of desperation.

Kelly tried to soothe the headache that was sinking it's claws into her. She was very aware of the Jet inhaler still in her pocket, still in need of disposal. She would do it, she just needed the opportunity to be discreet. Smiling over at her Minutemen as they noticed her, she braced herself and glided their way. She spotted Deacon lounging across his gurney. Not laterally, like a normal person. Horizontally. Across the guard rails. With arms resting backward and spilling over the side, butt wedged up against the opposite rail, and legs hanging over them, lackadaisically dancing at the ankles to some imaginary music only available to his special mind. He looked fine to her, dressed in his casual attire from plain white tee down to the jeans and scuffed sneakers.

"Ten-hut!" Kelly blasted him from behind.

His limbs flung out in fright. "Gah! C'mon, boss! You know I have weak bowels."

"You know I can never resist," she commented with a devious grin.

Deacon struggled to wedge himself back out from his questionable choice of seating position. "Well, skid marks and all, it's good to see you. I barely slept a wink, you know."

She flung her arms around him without warning and squeezed tight, tucking her chin snug over his shoulder. It felt odd to embrace someone so much leaner in muscle mass than Danse, but good in the sense that she didn't feel so frail in comparison. Tightening her grip furthermore, Deacon gave a wheeze.

"Uh, boss? Can't breathe. Currently dying." Smiling, she released him and smacked a forceful kiss on his forehead, swiping away at her lone tear. "Ew," he said. "Emotions and love. Disgusting." But he daubed at her wet eyes with his t-shirt sleeve all the same. "Miss me that much, huh?"