abstracts | the pier.

Entry tags:

fallout

the pier.

Let him just say it now--the kid had a lot of problems.

I mean, not really a surprise or anything--Alex had found him dried out in a desert, for crying out loud--but god damn.

Let’s recap.

Alex Seattle Geer found himself in love with a Vault brat from the Capital Wasteland with a daddy complex the size of Hoover Dam. Said kid loves him back--sometimes. Said kid would probably rather put ~~another~~ bullet between Alex’s eyes rather than spend time with him, and didn’t this just go to show it. Neil leaves to check up a rumor, said he’d be back shortly--shortly became two days and by then Dogmeat was back, meaning Neil took off somewhere he was worried the dog would get hurt at. Two days turn into two weeks and counting, and by then, Alex has tracked Neil’s steps, found the fucking pier, the fucking tool of a woman looking for her child, and all of the pieces are too easily placed.

Neil left for Point Lookout. And Alex, ED-E, and Dogmeat are left hanging in the wind.

Alex has been fucking camping on the dirty sand and shit next to that pier, waiting for that stupid kid to come back on that stupid ferry the woman told him about. Tobar the fucking Ferryman, and Alex feels like shooting the asshole just for submitting to Neil’s request. Probably not the guy’s fault, but-- Hell. Yeah. He didn’t traipse all over the goddamn country just to be left in the dust. Is the kid even coming back? Who fucking knows.

Alex will just.

Wait here.

Until Neil comes back.

Yeah, that’s not pathetic at all.

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Of course, Neil would catch the subtleties, the quiet inflections in the other man's voice. Of course, Neil understands what they mean, what two mean to Alex, even if the younger lack the details. He thinks to question the nature of the connections.

But that's moving outside of his bounds, asking for things that have nothing to do with himself or a choice he may have to make. And really, after everything, Neil understands the damage that can incur from such nosiness.

The focus remains on the tale. On the details, especially the last.

"Detonators," Neil repeats flatly. "Sinclair's doing?"

Edited 2016-07-19 04:25 (UTC)

This allows him to laugh, once, genuinely, in spite of the memories the bomb collars provoke. "You'll laugh," he says quietly. "Radios. Radios and speakers. Elijah got his hands on bomb collars and modified them, like everything else he touches, and while they worked better for him--he could detonate them remotely, if people weren't listening, or doing what they were told--they were more sensitive to everything else under the sun.

"So while we had to find stuff in the Sierra Madre, we were also walking into hot spots hand and foot. I'd be dead a few times over if not for one of my partners." Christine. "It was stupid after stupid when it came to that. Bomb collars, radio detonators, and survival locks. You know," he says almost mockingly. "If one dies, everyone dies."

He'd laugh, yeah, if it didn't sound so fucking stupid. So damn retarded that a guy couldn't handle his explosives well enough to reign in the cracks. A bomb that went off at the slightest disruptions in the environment didn't do its fucking job as a fucking bomb.

And that's not even touching the fact that it was once around the Courier's neck.

Neil inhales sharply, his face growing red from rage, his brain trying to fend off both pain and emotion. Alex is fine. His head didn't pop off from a rigged collar. The collar is still a mile-long list of complaints, but the narrator is alive to tell his tale.

"So," Neil chances, his voice careful not to sound too affected, "the odds were against you, and you survived. That--" He swallows. "--must have been something."

Something, really, beyond definition, aside from the pointlessness of it all.

Neil tries for nonchalance, and Alex wonders what's wrong. The red on Neil's face is brightening, and Alex--

"--Hey. What's wrong? You look upset. --Or are you feeling worse again?"

Alex notices, enough to call attention, and something inside Neil responds to that. He reaches to wipe away the sweat collecting on his forehead, an attempt to defuse the blunt of his ire.

"It's just dumb," he gives. The muscles on his jaw tense as he continues, "Pointless. A complete waste. If he wanted the Sierra Madre so damn much, he could have figured it all out himself. Oh--" Except. "--except that's impossible. If he couldn't stabilize a fucking bomb collar properly, he can't very well fucking figure out the rest."

His lower lip trembles once, before Neil sets his mouth into a tight line.

Alex frowns, brows drawing together, and he reaches to touch Neil's cheek gently. "Hey... What's wrong? You can't be this upset over an asshole failing at pre-war tech."

He's concerned. Actually, really concerned. Did something in this story remind Neil of stuff in his own past? Alex wishes the kid would just fucking talk to him more.

The touch tugs at his heartstrings. It sets Neil back a step, away from the raw emotion pulsing inside his chest, and he knows. He knows so fucking well that he's just upset about a hypothetical death. A potential loss.

But it begins to reek of something else, of tar slipping in and setting fast.

It's like with the human tenets of Tenpenny Tower. With little Marie. With himself, to some extent. It is another's choice being forced upon those who are innocent, who would rather have none of it. It is Roy, Ashur, Sandra, and now Elijah taking away volition from those who do not deserve it. It is unforgivable, and Neil--

He blinks hard. He tries to paint his thoughts into pictures for Alex's benefit, but nothing substantial's coming to the man. Nothing except-- "You might have been killed."

By that asshole's failing tech.

Alex blinks, hand freezing against Neil's skin. In a way, this is the most out of place comment Neil could have said. Alex could have died? That happens every day. There's a million and one things that could kill you out here, and that--

Alex remembers Neil's face reddening with anger. The tremble of his lower lip before he set it into a firm line. There is emotion here, heavy and hot and strong, and he needs to look past the simple answer of "they always almost die."

Because it's something else. Something that reminds him of his steps into this basement, nearly two days ago. The steps he took, stumbling, shattered, and he remembers--

Remembers being frightened. As he has only been a few times in his life that he can recall. Nothing of a threat to him, but everything of a threat to Neil. One that Alex couldn't control or destroy. Alex felt fear, and a protectiveness that would have killed the guards above them if they had tried to stop him. And Neil, for something he was only hearing about, apparently felt rage.

"...You might have died," he notes quietly. "Going there to that place. Coming back. Everything else. It's the same for me, you know." A beat stretches before he moves his hand, lays it back on Neil's chest, against his heart. The organ beats against the walls of its cage, and Alex rubs his hand back and forth there. "I'm okay, though. I'm fine." It's okay. "You will be, too."

Neil holds to the feeling, that bitter heat. His heartbeats slam against his chest, and he lets it. Finds a form of stability in that force of will, his proof of existence.

But Alex speaks. He reminds Neil of the parallels between them, and like a candle flame, everything snuffs out. What remains is overrun by regret. Sorrow. The younger man clenches his eyes shut and prays for that simplicity once more, knowing that it will not return to this place in time again.

Everything finally settles, helped along by a hand rubbing against the vicinity of his heart. Neil breathes out and tries for calm instead. "Yeah," he says quietly. "Yeah. I'm sorry. I--"

Went off on a wild tangent. "--interrupted your story."

Alex leans down again, shifts his hand from Neil's chest to hold his cheek as he kisses him. "Stop apologizing," he says quietly, watching. Then he straightens, running his hand back down to its first position.

"Also, story was already done. This was just question time, remember? Also--" He glances to the side, a small, private smile forming that Alex isn't aware of. "It's fucked up, but it's nice. That you're upset over me."

The calm Neil attempts to gain is given in a simple act of affection. Nearly stable, he slowly opens his eyes to Alex watching him. Speaking to him.

It isn't until Alex straightens and finishes his comments that Neil chances a response. Or rather, a question. "Because I don't seem like I care most of the time?" he asks.

Alex could respond to this in any way. Use the charm and charisma that has helped him out of enough tricky situations. Except when he opens his mouth, something else comes out altogether ~~because his speech wasn't high enough~~.

"I thought you took off on purpose. I thought this was your way of showing me you were done."

The answer proves unexpected, its nature unanticipated. The mentioned thought holds reason. Of course, anyone would have expected Neil had run off to Point Lookout to put an end to things with the other man. The truth, however-- Such a thing isn't so straightforward as that.

"It was a whim," he murmurs. "It wasn't ever in my mind to go; I was honestly heading to Rivet City." Perhaps take his damn time getting back, in hopes that the dust kicked up by their fight in Dave's Republic would settle. What he didn't anticipate, however, was-- "That riverboat. I just happened to see it on the way, and I was drawn to it. So I made a detour. The ferryman--"

He won't say his name. He will never say that damn name.

"--told me about Point Lookout, and like a stupid kid, I said yes. Bought the ticket and sent Dogmeat home. Honestly thought the round trip would take a week at the most." Until he realized the distance of the destination in comparison with the speed of the Grand Duchess.

"I know," he answers. "I know that now. I honestly don't know why I even--"

Brought it up. Except he does. The question Neil had asked--this was the answer. "...No," he says, after a pause. "It doesn't seem like you care usually. And that's fine. I'm fine with it. It's just surprising when you--" Show that you do.

Alex shakes his head slightly. "Surprising when you do."

There's a sadness that touches Neil's eyes, that creeps into the space behind them. He swallows before speaking, wondering if his words would even make any sense. "I'm no good with care," he says, almost stumbling. "Not really familiar with it. I know that's no excuse; just wanted to explain why I have trouble showing it."

"You don't have to show it," he replies, nearly automatic. "I'm not asking for it from you. Don't feel like you have to."

I want to.

The thought strikes him, cold and sharp against his nerves. A new kind of pain blossoms in his head, beneath his once open skull, and Neil looks away. To the ceiling, to the wall-- It doesn't matter.

Neil may want to, but it seems his care may not have a place. Maybe it's too late. Maybe Alex just isn't the type. The reason is insignificant.

The hand cupping Neil's head pets lightly toward the end of strands. "...Hey," he intones softly. "It's a weird subject to talk about right now. Don't worry about it, okay?"

Maybe Neil has trouble showing care, but Alex has trouble accepting it. And really... Honestly, this isn't the time or place. Not like this. Not right now.

"What about your questions?" he asks. "Bored of my tall tale already?"

Neil blinks hard at the assurance and the subsequent questions. His mind a wreck, the young man reaches for the easiest answer, the simplest explanation for everything without giving himself completely away.

"I have more," he begins, still looking at a place that isn't Alex, "but do you have any more Med-X? My head's starting to be a little annoying."

Much like the subject of Frisco and the groups that lived there, this subject begins to dwindle to the call of pain. Alex... he doesn't really mind.

"I'll have to get up then, kid," he mentions. "You should probably have more anyway. But I think your fever might have broke. Or lowered at least," he says, running his hand against Neil's chest. "You don't feel so hot anymore."

Without further prompting, Neil carefully rises to sit up in bed, leaving enough room for the other to get out. He manages to tolerate the severe vertigo that comes after, mostly by closing his eyes and breathing.

Alex's comment regarding his temperature, therefore, comes as a better surprise than it would have been. "Guess that 'exercise' did something," Neil comments, almost offhand. "Maybe I can starting walking around tomorrow."

Alex had been going to help him sit up, and he doesn't miss Neil's eyes closing from the effort. Alex slides out, then swings an arm around Neil's shoulders to lower him down more slowly. "...Ask me for help," he mutters, then gives a displeased expression. "Two days of bedrest is what I told you. Listen to your fake doctor."

He passes on the exercise comment. And maybe that's more telling than most, Alex Seattle Geer passing up a chance to make a comment about sex.

The help can't be, well, helped. Neil would have flopped down on the bed without Alex's arm, and that would have been quite messy. The younger opens his eyes and grins despite himself, despite the pain pulsing in his skull and tightening in his chest.

It widens when Alex misses an obvious cue, reminding Neil of the moment before everything fell apart when they went to visit President Dave and his ill-gotten Republic. "You missed your chance," he says lightly, "but I guess things aren't that funny anymore. And don't fret. I'll keep to your plan, Doctor."

Alex rolls his eyes at Neil's remarks, despite the fact that he's entirely pleased by the way Neil is acting. Wanting to ruffle his hair but holding off for the obvious reasons, Alex settles for reaching to lightly pinch Neil's cheek. "Call me Doctor again and we'll see what's funny," he says teasingly.

He moves to the half-filled bags, dragging out a couple of more Med-X, then after looking at the pile of meds and chems, rummages around. "Aha..." he murmurs, finding one of the alcohol Fixers. Maybe lessening one of Neil's addictions would make things a little better since he's probably feeling the affects. Which reminds him....

He eyes the bag the girl gave him with distrust, but eventually goes to open it, pulling out a fruit.

However gentle his gesture, Alex's two fingers are akin to the hot tongs from hell fire to Neil's skin. Regardless, Neil gives no objections, settling instead for his coughing laughter. He eventually quiets, turning again to look at the ceiling.

It isn't until Alex begins rummaging through their items that Neil glances over, in time to catch a familiar fruit in the older man's hand. "Where did you get that punga fruit?" he asks, curious.

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