Fallout: Fury Blood

Chapter 123: Black Widow

Before night fell, Kelly wrested herself from her malaise with the help of a spicy cup of Ashroot coffee. It required her to venture over to the campfire in the heart of the Minutemen gathering, and it felt good to be among them, but she hated to even put that much distance between herself and Danse. She felt like a widowed woman all over again, her grief over him fragmenting into memories of Nate, forcing herself to part from his cold, cold body. Twice she glanced back over her shoulder to check on him, each time seeing Clay-Crawler tending to him with a cool damp cloth as though he was some antique artifact that a slighted touch could ruin.

He's not dead. He's not dead.

To add to her stress, she couldn't rid herself of the worry festering in her gut about Clay's budding relationship with Maxson. The Elder had already used the raider against her before, when he had him imprisoned at the airport as a safeguard against her detrimental loyalty to Danse upon his 'betrayal.' It wasn't a stretch to believe he was doing it again, in a much more covert, personal way.

She wouldn't put anything past that infernal man. Yet, she wanted to believe in the goodness that still clung to his frayed vestiges. She had been naive with him before and it had gotten her burnt. Was she walking into the same trap yet again?

How could she leave while so much nasty political strife poisoned the air?

"Fetch me one too, thanks!" Deacon was buddying up with the Minutemen, his arms draped across the shoulders of a young soldier and Grand Zealot Richter, who looked less than pleased. He and his fellow Children of Atom were fitting in surprisingly well with her militia. As for Deacon, he never ceased to amaze her with how effortlessly he could install himself into social atmospheres, even when he had nothing to gain but simple comforts. Once a spy, always a spy. She wouldn't show it, but she was glad he would be coming with her.

"Deacon, you're a strong, independent woman. Fetch your own damn coffee."

That caused a rumble of hilarity in the ranks, forcing the spy to lick his wounds and trek over to the fire with her. The flames reflecting off his sunglasses didn't hide the smiling eyes beneath. "Good to hear you've got your spunk back," he said while crumbling the Ashroot in his palm. "I was starting to worry we'd lost you to this shit-stain of a desert."

While sweetening her bitter coffee with some Snapsap, Kelly grinned at him and bumped his shoulder with hers. "Never."

"Good. Because I was really stressing about getting a face-change in your likeness and having to play your part just to keep the peace out here. I'm good, don't get me wrong, but I don't think I could have pulled that off when Mad Max decided to play rough-house and touch me in my no-no place..."

She shot him a look and hoped none of the Minutemen had heard that. "For an expert in your field, you sure have a big fucking mouth."

"Relax, everyone knows the rumors. Doesn't make it true to 'em. Folk just like to fantasize about scandal. Especially when their own lives are lack luster in the sexy department."

"Well I'm happy that my dramas in the sexy department are entertaining for the masses," she snarked. Maybe it was naive of her to have hoped the rumors would die off now that she had proved her loyalty to the Minutemen. But maybe they were just coming less from a toxic place and more from a place of fond familiarity. She just hoped Danse would be spared from the worst of it.

Kelly waited with her fresh coffee while Deacon strained his Ashroot and heated the flavored water over the fire. The heat was near unbearable in the humid temperatures, and they were both sweating anew when together, they walked to the cave opening and leaned against the rock wall, listening to the crew tell stories of Strong.