[i]A Fresh Collab by Leidenschaft & [@Stitches][/i]

Abigail hated her compulsion to fidget. It was the bane of her existence sometimes, but if she didn’t move a little bit every so often then she’d move a lot in a few moments and consequently end up getting shot...or worse; she’d pull the trigger on that gun of hers and blast her kneecap clean off. That’s why she pulled her goggles down to hang loosely around her neck. It’s why she drummed her fingers on the beer-soaked carpet, and it’s also why she twirled one of the backpack straps around the palm of her hand a couple of times.

It’s also why she didn’t jump out of her skin when Redding motherfucking Schmidt came crashing over the pool table and ended up slumped against it, staring her dead in the eyes. Abigail looked back, wide-eyed with surprise, and very quickly pushed a finger against her lips. Within moments, a gnarled fist grabbed Redding by his hair and the man went swooping right over her once more. Abigail wasted no time ripping open her backpack.

When Redding crashed back behind the pool table, a rusty Vaut-Tec lunchbox covered in stickers slid under his face. A set of pale, bony fingers clicked open the lid - a small bundle of stimpaks, a roll of yellowed gauze, and a shallow flask of potent alcohol lay within. Abigail laid a hand on Redding’s shoulder and hissed “You owe me, Mr Schmidt.” There was a rustle as Abigail crawled around the corner of the pool table, then a pause.

“Jesus CHRIST, you’re one fat motherfucker aren’t you?!” called out Abigail loudly, her voice cutting through the sounds of the carnage. She pulled the trigger twice, sending a bullet into Sid’s shoulder and back respectively as the brute tried to reach over and finish what he started. A big shit-eating grin was plastered over Abigail’s face but her hands shook too much to make a proper shot, even at point blank range. Spreading her arms out wide as Sid turned around to face her, she tilted her head back and laughed. “Come get some, you dumb sunnuvabitch!” she taunted. It had the desired effect - Sid lunged for her instead of going after Redding.

Sid may have been strong, but he simply wasn’t as fast as Abigail. And good lord, Abigail was fast. She moved like she was high off Jet, constantly ducking and weaving and avoiding the flailing limbs aimed in her general direction. Whenever Sid got too close to the furthest side of the pool table, Abigail was quick enough to shoot him once more and enrage him enough to make him turn back towards her. It became apparent after a few rounds of this game that Abigail wasn’t actually trying to kill Sid - the bullets were too flimsy to be able to rend through that thick layer of muscle and fat, not to mention that he seemed to be on a volatile cocktail of chems which made it far too easy for him to shrug off the pain. No, Abigail knew for certain that she could empty the revolver on Sid and leave herself defenceless...so she was providing a distraction. More specifically, she was drawing Sid away from Redding long enough for him to use her first-aid kit.

His salvation lay inside of an aluminum Vault-Tec lunchbox filled with first aid supplies. He grasped up a stimpak and scrambled against a wall, the sound of Little and Sid’s fight almost going unnoticed as he smacked the crook of his right arm. He found the vein that stood out and slid the needle into it, something he’d had practice at more than a few years. The effects wouldn’t be immediate by any means, but over the next few hours, he’d be up to snuff. He tossed the half-empty stimpak back into the box and tried to haul in a breath before it seemed like a knife had been twisted into him. He reached for his side, broken ribs, unsurprisingly. He rose to his feet with some work, his head still fuzzy, and watched Little in action.

Abigail huffed as she skidded under Sid’s legs and hopped over one of the dead raider bodies. Sid had tried to grab her as she slid but missed, arse in the air, looking at Abigail upside-down as she aimed squarely at Sid’s buttocks. Unfortunately, her opponent had enough sense to duck to the side and the bullet crunched against the concrete wall. Abigail pressed a hand to her lips, panting heavily; she had been giving Sid the runaround for several minutes now but her luck just ran out. Sid found himself staring at Redding hunched up behind the pool table, and his features screwed up with grim determination. “Fuck this! I’m gonna paint the walls with you bastards!” he bellowed, reaching for his previously abandoned shotgun on the floor. Abigail was fast enough to kick it out of the door, but Sid’s fist closed around her ankle instead. She shut her eyes and exhaled a low, rattling breath, preparing herself for the inevitable.

Redding sat and watched. He sat and watched a girl die right in front of him, this was something. The day was getting interesting, he thought numbly. He was waiting to feel better after the stimpak, even though he knew it wouldn’t do anything noticeable for him for the next couple hours. Now, Little dangled from Sid’s big paws like a mouse in a cat’s grip. If he knew Sid, Little wouldn’t die quick. He looked around him for his handgun and found nothing, he reached down to his boot and slid out a knife, a four-inch blade coming out of his fist.

Sid howled with laughter as Abigail struggled pitifully, hanging upside down. She missed her last two shots and threw the revolver at Sid as he stood up with leg hoisted high in the air; the screaming started when Sid raised his bulbous arm and had her dangling close to the ceiling. “Who’s laughing now, bitch?” he crooned, drawing the girl close before slamming her into the pool table. Abigail felt her teeth piece holes straight through her tongue and her shrieks broke off into whimpers and gurgles as blood bubbled out of her mouth. Her fingers groped the table for something, anything to hit Sid with but froze when she felt his hand close around her neck. He lifted Abigail up again and slammed her into the wall, revelling in the look of anguish and the sickening crack that accompanied her impact. Her vision darkened around the edges and her struggling became even more feeble. Where did all that adrenaline go? Abigail’s gaze slipped to the doorway, she couldn’t hear Sid hollering curses and insults at her over the ringing in her ears and the dull thud of her pulse...her mouth formed a word that she couldn’t find air to utter it with, pushing more blood out of her lips instead...she kept clawing at Sid’s knuckles but her fingernails were too short and stubby to do any actual damage, eventually her arms flopped to her sides.

“You motherfucker!” Redding yelled, leaping off of the pool table and springing into Sid’s side. He wasn’t heavy enough to bring the dumb ogre of a man down, but Redding was a good man with a knife. He wasted no time in muddying Sid’s mind with pain, three quick stabs to his kidneys and he ducked a wild punch, slicing across the inside of his thigh closest to his groin and Sid’s leg buckled, putting him on his side. Redding kicked Sid in his face, but he didn’t stop, he wasn’t going to have Sid show up at his door at night to kick it in and chop him up. And a little piece of him was sickened remembering Little’s helpless gurgles and the sight of her bloody lips twisted in a grimace.

Only one woman he let die in front of him and he never wanted to watch it happen again. Even if it was Little. “Who’s laughing now, bitch?” Redding hissed through gritted teeth and split lips.

Sid looked up just in time to see Redding’s boot plant itself on his face. He didn’t stop stomping until his foot hurt, until Sid’s face was barely recognizable under the blood, and not even then. Sid was a bastard, an unlikeable bastard and he’d been waiting for this very moment. Redding found that feral smile on his face again, angry at remembering Teresa Hallsley, angry at letting Francine go with that idiotic junkie fuck, and maybe a little angry at himself for letting Little’s beating go this far. Big wouldn’t be happy about that, he told himself.

He stood, panting and clutching at his side still. He turned to Little, fighting the urge to bend knee and ask if she was okay. The answer was damned apparent and she already had someone who’d be coming to ask her that. He picked up Little’s med-box and peeked outside the room. He looked back at Little, there was a time he’d have left with the first aid box without so much of a thanks. He peeked out the doorway, looked back at Little, out the doorway, and then swore. He reached over and helped Little to her feet. “We’re leaving.”

Abigail was curled on her side, mouth open and panting. She watched Redding demolish Sid through watery eyes and realised, with utmost clarity, that she may have just swapped from one ruthless monster for another. That is why when Redding grabbed Abigail and helped her up, she didn’t even hesitate in following his order - immediately she staggered the length of the room to grab her things, but her gaze kept flickering to the doorway with a look of panic. Her tongue was swollen, but she managed to lisp out “where?” as she stumbled over to Redding’s side again. She bent down to pick up a pistol from one of the dead raiders, and the room swam horribly under her feet...it took a couple of moments for her to push herself back into a standing position.

“Outside,” Redding said, “Away from here, anyhow.” He risked another peek outside the room and it was still a hail of bullets and blood. He looked back to see if Little was still following before he went for the window near the end of the hall. The sound of the glass breaking was lost in the maelstrom of lead and he draped his coat over an arm, running it around the pane of the shattered window to make sure he didn’t cut himself going through. Soon enough, they were out on the streets, crouching and listening for more mercenaries. There were two men going towards the Desperado and he ducked, planting himself as flush with the wall as he could.

The two battered survivors went unnoticed and they ducked into an abandoned, collapsed shell of a building, just enough wall left for shelter, but not enough ceiling to keep in any warmth. A shivering vagrant was in the corner and Redding pushed at him with his foot until he stumbled away, grumbling. They were still close enough to the Desperado that the gunshots still added an ambience to the night, among the crickets and other night bugs. It was silent between the two. One voice said to leave Little to fend for herself and get back to his apartment to plan his next move with Ramirez, the other said to stay. At least until Big got away from the fight… if Big got away.

He glanced at the fidgeting girl that’d placed herself some ways away from him- and the sentiment was not lost- and he felt sorry. In his stomping grounds and in stomping grounds the wastes over, she was the type of person he passed in the gutter, or sold his drugs to. And he knew all too well how drugs could make all the shit piling up around you seem so far away. But who was he to stop someone from doing what they wanted. He just supplied the means. “What’re you fixing to do now?” He asked and he tossed the box of first aid supplies clanking and bouncing to her feet, “You’re welcome to leave.”

Abigail hadn’t looked up at Redding because she was too busy rather frantically clicking Brooks’ cigar cutter. In fact, it didn’t look like she even noticed that Redding was speaking to her until she croaked out a reply, her gaze transfixed on the little metal object in front of her. “And go where?” she asked, shifting her weight. It didn’t matter anyway - everything felt like it was on fire. She was hungry and scared and everything hurt. “Am gonna wait for Brooks,” she decided after a moment’s hesitation.

She couldn’t even bring herself to look up at Redding, all of the rumours surrounding him were too terrifying and made him seem a lot worse than he probably was. Even with this logic, Abigail couldn’t quite separate the man from the stories, and the bloodied wretch standing a few paces away from her. “He’ll find us soon enough,” she continued with a very deliberate nonchalance. “And boy, he’s gonna be pissed. What’d you do-...” her brain fumbled as she glanced up at the man. She didn’t know how to address him with respect, and frankly she had seen enough to prefer staying on Redding’s good side. There was blood smeared across her chin and mouth and the exposed parts of her skin was covered in deep bruises, but she didn’t make a move for her first aid kit. “What...did you do to bring in those goons?”

“Who the hell knows.” Redding shook his head, “Teresa and her fucking sidekicks have had it out for me for a while. Only thing stopping them is that I haven’t pissed off anyone above me. Maybe they were just sick of waiting for me to slip.”

His hand went to his nose and he groaned, he could feel it grinding back into place as he set it, and his face was bloodied from Sid’s skull and the pool table he’d taken to the face. “Reckon we’re even now. I stopped that big bastard from killing you.” Redding said, gasping quietly as the broken rib dug into him when he pushed himself up to his feet.

He took one last look at Little. The way she looked at him, the way she avoided looking at him, it made his goddamn skin crawl. He bit his lip, he’d done a good deed, that was all he needed. If she had a problem with him being the one to save her instead of getting her twiggy neck snapped, that was on her. At least she was alive to look at him like he was no better than Teresa or Sid. He spat to the side again, “Tell your Brooks he can find me at the Cracked Glass if he has words for me.” His lip curled, today was shit, he’d lost a friend and almost died. Now he’d have to go find the rest of Teresa’s gang, figure out why they wanted him dead and kill whoever that was. Maybe even skip town. A little piece of him cracked, “You know, a simple fucking thank you would do you good in the future. Sid’s dead, you’re not. You’re welcome.” And he stalked off back to the Cracked Glass. 

Abigail watched him go, rubbing her nose on the back of her hand. She said nothing, stared down at her feet, and continued clicking the cigar cutter patiently. All she had to do now was wait for Brooks to inevitably find her, and if not...well, she didn’t have to think about that.

He’d find her eventually.