#* medium.

{۞} — Fucking hell, is Val glad that she told MacCready to wait back in town. She never pegged Gunners as the type to take prisoners, but with that Assaultron– - saying ‘no’ didn’t really seem like an option.

          She cusses aloud as she enters Diamond City, making a guard jump a little at her sudden expletive. At that point it’s hard to pinpoint what hurts and what doesn’t, and her head throbs with every step she takes.

          “MacCready,” she says when she reaches him. He’s sitting on a stool at the noodle stand, and she fights hard to keep her composure smooth once he turns. “We should get going. There’s a clear path just west of–”

          The look on is face halts her train of thought, and through the haze of adrenaline and exhaustion that’s clouding her mind, she wonders how long she’s been gone.

          Val watches him, her gaze following his hand as he reaches forward. His touch makes her flinch a little– - not from the pain, but from something else entirely– -and she shifts when he wipes at the blood. Some of it’s hers, some of it isn’t. Hard to tell.

          “I’m fine,” she says. That’s a lie. Something in her eyes, behind warm amber, is different. She’s trying to hide the vulnerability, but that brief moment staggered her concentration. Or is it fear? “Are you okay?”

   though not bad being surrounded by other people in a market circle, maccready holds no special spot in his heart for waiting. being surrounded by voices clambering over one another to get more residents to try out their goods & services overstayed its due. it starts to sound more like rattling in his ears. the moment val suggests it’s time he waits at diamond city, he feels the strings binding the two tightening. 

   he’s not all for that idea, but follows it, anyway. 

it takes her longer than he anticipates, & meandering just never suited his tolerance. luckily takahashi kept some company with his delicious schimini-ga-ka(?) goods.  he’s helping himself to a bowl of it the time a familiar voice strikes his ears. 

the usual vibrancy, or whatever remains to show, dissipated. the space between his brows deepens a crease that’s concerned. he normally wouldn’t act this way if he persistently kept val at arm’s length. that’s the double-edged sword of caring, you feel pain knowing it’s been instilled in others that you hold closer than imagined.

   ❛   i should be asking you that. what happened?

voice devoid of its typical snark is replaces with concern, a warmth that doesn’t fill maccready at all.

   ❛   yeah. i find it kinda hard to believe with blood on your face.  

  he plucks a folded napkin, fortunately not too grimy then stands up to face her. he swipes it near the gash, picking up smears of crimson that trail along its white material.