This Is Where My Stuff Lives

The personal and professional (citation needed) page of Quinn (me)

Oct. 25th - "I got you", flufftober


Ruby sat with her head on the table, gritting her teeth against the waves of discomfort washing over her. It wasn't pain, or at least not exactly. She was just acutely aware of literally every part of her body, and it was about to drive her insane.

It had happened every so often after Shaun was born - the doctors said it was all normal, but she was about half sure the doctors were full of shit. It sure didn't feel normal, and she was pretty sure they should have stopped by now. If the botched cryo had trapped her in eternal post-partum she was going to kick somebody's ass. She'd figure out who eventually. As soon as she could sit up.

"You alright, Fixer?" She lifted her head slightly as Deacon came in the room. It sent a wave of vertigo through her and she had to lay her head back down, as much as she tried to fight it. She didn't want to be hurt in front of Deacon. He was, frankly, kind of an asshole, even through the happy-go-lucky facade. He berated her for every wrong and studiously ignored anything she got right, and she was starting to think he usually worked alone because nobody else could stand him. She fully expected him to write off anything she said as an excuse, and she just didn't have the energy for a "fight through the pain" speech.

"Yeah." The single word was about as clipped as she could make it, because she discovered the hard way that the act of opening her mouth and pushing air through her vocal cords made her want to vomit.

"You sure?" The chair across from her scooted out and she heard Deacon sit in it. She gritted her teeth where he couldn't see.

"Yeah." She forced herself to sit up, fighting the way the world swam in front of her. "Pretty sure."

"Yeah?" The world was still fuzzy, but she could hear the smirk in Deacon's voice. She kind of wanted to punch him for it, if she didn't think the exertion would put her in the floor. "Wanna go run a mile? Get a bunch of mirelurk cakes from that place in Goodneighbor? Jumping jacks?"

Bile crawled up Ruby's throat and she closed her eyes against the wave of nausea. She could smell the mirelurk cakes, as soon as Deacon said it. Normally the greasy, pungent street food was a guilty pleasure, but she was pretty sure if there was one in front of her in that moment she would actually faint. After she threw up.

"That's what I thought." Deacon set a can of purified water in front of her with a thunk. "Drink that, get some sleep. I'll find you some antibiotics somewhere."

Motherfucker had already known she wasn't feeling good, and had come in here to…give her water.

She opened her eyes, peering down at the can, then up at him. "Why antibiotics?"

He lifted one eyebrow. "Because you're sick?"

Ruby frowned, opened her mouth to call him an idiot, then put a temporary leash on her irritation and mentally ran down her list of symptoms. Nausea, fatigue, the aforementioned irritation - ah. Deacon thought she had a cold.

"No, I - " She closed her eyes against another wave of nausea and reached for the tab on the can, only to find it already opened. She blinked down at it for a second before taking a couple of sips, careful not to overwhelm her already sensitive stomach. "Don't waste the meds."

"Fixer, you're not set up against what we got floating around out here. You need - "

"Shut up." It came out through clenched teeth. For a wonder, Deacon did in fact shut up, waiting for her to get a couple of deep breaths in through her nose before she continued. "As far as my body's concerned," she said quietly, "I pushed a baby out less than a year ago. It's still putting itself back together, under less than ideal conditions." Another deep breath, another careful sip of water. "I'm not sick. I'm just…broken." The last came out even quieter than the rest, but not in deference to her stomach. This time it was in deference to the way her throat was trying to close up over her voice and tears were starting to burn in her eyes.

Right. Mood swings. That was the other thing.

Deacon was quiet for a long time, and Ruby decided if the next thing out of his mouth was stupid she would just clock him with the can. Shame to waste the water, but at least she'd feel better.

"You're not broken," he said, and she looked up at him in surprise. "You're mending."

It was such a departure from what she'd been expecting that she didn't know what to do besides stare at him. She hated his fucking sunglasses - she couldn't tell if he was looking at her, at the table, or if he'd just fallen asleep waiting on her to figure out what to say.

"Talking makes me wants to vomit," is what she finally landed on. "How is that not broken?"

"Most people have that reaction to talking to me," Deacon said, cracking a grin, and Ruby couldn't help but smile, herself.

"You don't have to take care of me, Deacon."

"I know." He pointed at the can. "Drink that. I'll go see if the purifier's spit out another yet."

"Please don't say 'spit'," Ruby whispered.

"Take a nap," he went on as though she hadn't spoken, but she was pretty sure he was smiling again. "Dogmeat's in charge." She felt Dogmeat's head lift up from where he was laying on her feet. "I'll try to find something you can eat."

She nodded, wrapping both hands around the water can as Deacon stood. "Deacon?"

He stopped next to her. "What's up?"

"…thanks."

His response was almost too quiet to hear. "I've got your back, partner."

Ruby blinked, once again at a loss, as Deacon headed out the door. Dogmeat came out from under the table as it swung shut behind him, and she looked down at him.

"Who the fuck was that?" She asked. Dogmeat just tilted his head as though echoing her confusion. "Couldn't have been our Deacon, could it?"

Our Deacon. She turned the phrase over in her mind a couple of times before deciding thinking also made her want to vomit, and set it aside for later. Or never.

After a long moment with her forehead pressed against the water can she finally mustered the will to move from the table to the sofa, resisting the urge to flop and instead stretching out slowly and gingerly. Dogmeat laid his head on her leg once she was settled, and she petted him slowly between the ears as she gave herself permission to rest.

back to index