Conquerors

Chapter 14

"Another one?" He asks me, holding up a shot glass.

"Please." I respond simply.

He pours another shot for me and I down it quickly, taking a swig of Nuka Cola Orange to help it go down.

Gage also tips back another shot. He clears his throat, scrunching up his eyebrows.

I feel my thoughts grow more sparse, my worries becoming more dull. I lean back into the couch.

"You should eat somethin'." Gage says.

"Like what?" I respond. I could eat.

"Place next door makes good mirelurk cakes. Uses his own homemade brahmin cheese." Gage explains, his words slightly slurred. "I want some."

"Lets go get some." I say, standing upright. I am surprised by how unsteady on my feet I am.

"Woah there, cow girl." He says, steadying me by grabbing my arm.

"I think I'm drunk." I say with a laugh.

"You stay here, boss. I'll get some food." He says, gently pushing me onto the couch. "You want anything else?"

"Pizza?" I say with curiosity, hoping there is some variation of it in this post apocalyptic world.

"Okay. Pizza and mirelurk cakes." He says with a hiccup. He holds up his finger, pointing it at me. "Don't go anywhere, please."

"I won't."

"Thanks." He responds. He slips out of the door, closing it behind him.

Dogmeat gets up, stretching his back and yawning. He gives his head a shake, his collar jingling. He moves to the bed, hopping up and circling three times before plopping down with a huff.

"Rough night?" I ask him with a chuckle.

He groans low in response, sighing as his eyelids drop closed.

I pull my legs up so I'm sitting cross-legged, and grab a cigarette from the end table. I pin the tip between my lips, grabbing the gold lighter from the coffee table. I take a long drag, pulling the smoke into my lungs. It tastes disgusting. I take deep inhales of the sweet, sour smoke, shove the cigarette into the ashtray, and put out the ember. 

Gage returns a few minutes later, containers of food in hand, condensation collected on the sides of the plastic. 

I awake sometime into the night. My stomach hurts. I open my eyes, blinking a few times, looking around. I'm on the couch.

I hear snoring beside me. I lift my head, looking to the right, surprised to find I had been using Gage as a pillow.

As I sit upright, I realize my stomach is rolling and the world is spinning. I scramble to my feet, stumbling through the dark, searching for the bathroom. Unable to find one, I rush outside, saliva building in my mouth as a hot wave hits me. I bend over, throwing up on the grass outside Gage's door. I feel my stomach heave, my eyes watering as I empty my stomach.

"Ya okay, boss?" I hear Gage mutter from behind me.

I feel another wave of nausea come, and I throw up again. I feel Gage's fingers in my hair.

"Lemme help." He says, holding my hair out of my face as I evacuate my guts. His voice sounds groggy. After a few moments, I stand upright but stumble as my head spins. Gage grabs my arm, holding me steady.

"Are you still drunk?" He asks.

"I don't know," I respond. I feel better now that I've thrown up. I grab some water from inside and swish and rinse my mouth.

I lie down on Gage's bed and cover up with his blankets. Dogmeat climbs up beside me, nuzzling my face with his wet nose. I kiss his head, petting him as I fall back asleep.

When I awake next the sun is flooding through the dirty glass. Gage is still asleep, snoring on the couch. I blink a few times, rubbing my eyes with my knuckles. My head hurts and I feel a little nauseous still.

I groan, plopping back down, and pulling the blanket over my head. Dogmeat hops down from the bed, walking over to the door. He sits on the front mat and whines.

I sigh, getting out of bed, and trying to be as quiet as I can. I walk across the old, wood floor, and open the door. I step outside into the sun with Dogmeat, squinting as my eyes adjust to the bright light. He runs around for a few minutes before he finds a spot to go to the bathroom.

He follows me back in the house and I close the door behind us. I grab a can of dog food and open it, dumping the brown paté into a bowl. I set it on the floor and he eats.

I return to the bed, sitting on the end, peering over at Gage's still form on the couch. His chest rises and falls softly as he breathes, his left arm dangling on the floor. Dogmeat trots over, licking his fingers.

"Dogmeat!" I mutter loudly. "Get over here."

He lifts his head, giving a quiet whine and lying down on the floor by my feet. Gage doesn't stir.

I get up and walk to the kitchen. I am craving something greasy to eat. I go to the fridge, pull open the door, and peer inside. A blast of cool air rushes around me. I look for something I can cook. I pull out some misshapen eggs, a fat loaf of bread, and some strips of red meat. 

I set my ingredients on the counter, and turn on the stove. I grab an old frying pan and set it on the open flame. I pour some cooking oil from a silver bottle onto the pan and wait for it to get hot before cracking a couple of eggs into the sizzling oil.

I toast some bread and fry the meat, making an old American-style breakfast. Then I put the cooked food on some plates, grab some freshly buffed cutlery, and go to the table. As I'm setting the plates down, I hear him stir. He rolls onto his back, stretching his arms above his head, groaning loudly. 

"Well, good morning, Porter," I say.

"Good mornin', boss." He mutters, rubbing his knuckles in his eyes. The couch creaks as he sits up. He meets my gaze. "Don't... call me that."

"Call you what?" I ask, taking a bite of my breakfast.

"Porter. S'too formal. Just call me Gage."

"Alright, Gage. Come eat. I made breakfast." I say, motioning to the steaming plate across from me. 

"You cooked?" He says with surprise. 

"I was an apron-wearing housewife before the bombs fell. My husband had gone to war for months at a time. I got good at cooking."

"Wasn't that the expectation for women in your time?" 

He slips into the chair across from me. He sighs when he looks at his plate. 

"I might have to marry you, boss. That's a good lookin' plate." He says.

"It was the expectation. But it came to me naturally." I explain. "Try it before you cum." 

He chuckles as he picks up his knife and fork. They look tiny in his large hands. He cuts into the meat, shoving a chunk into his mouth. 

"Boss, that's real good." He says, digging into the rest of his plate. 

"Glad you like it," I respond with a smile. 

I drop a chunk of meat on the floor for Dogmeat to chew on. 

For the first time since the bombs fell, I feel like I have a little family again.