There’s an inevitability in them meeting again. The seasons marked the pass of time; punctuated with every heaving change upon Nuka World. He must’ve seen it in the distance; the gilded crest of its refurbished ferris wheel and roller coaster ; the tall grey walls and spires, repaved and fitted until the place looks more like a castle than it had a ruin. It was still a honey pot at the end of the day – the only difference was that hers was a different caliber entirely than her predecessor’s.
And maybe that’s why Gage had VANISHED instead of try to replace her too.
“You know, most folks say their goodbyes before leaving.” A leg slung over the other; elbow perched on the table. Her posture paints the picture of a cat lounging, waiting, rather than a woman who should view Porter for the threat he could be.
“It didn’t seem like you, Porter– to cut and run like that. But maybe I didn’t know you as well as I thought.”
“Feeling’s mutual. Trust me.” His words are measured. It earns a pause from Quinn. Did he use the same voice around Colter? She wonders, but she doesn’t have the right to anymore, she’s sure. If there’s any regret for what happened, then it’s long since been crushed by the boot of her heel. Porter Gage would not be the first person FUCKED OVER by Quinn’s ambitions. She’s sure he won’t be the last.
“You know you weren’t part of that. All of that. I wanted you exempt from what happened.” And he was. Her gaze doesn’t flinch when he laughs, something bitter, something that sounds as if it was dragged through gravel.
“And you know that doesn’t change a DAMN thing about what happened.” The Pack. The Disciples. It was so quiet, when it happened; nothing more than crumpled bodies in their beds, at their posts, slumped and frozen in their revelry. Her synths have always been touted as a matter of craftsmanship by her Institute. That night, however, they were something far more.
But Gage is right: it does not change what happened.
“So, what, then? You’re here to finish the job? Get revenge? Is that what this is?“ Her stomach feels like a cold pit, something empty; a deep freeze that crawls her veins. It might be fitting. Poetic, in the literary sense. But reality and fantasy don’t always blend. “I guess I should be flattered that at least you’ll try and off me in person compared to the last one, shouldn’t I?”
“Enough talk, woman. I don’t–” The Raider waves a hand, dismissive. Chews his words up and swallows until there’s nothing but SILENCE that hangs between them. It lingers, something heavy and unsettling until she almost STARTS when he speaks again; his voice small, and weary, and dissonant from the person she thought she knew.
“Right now— right now all I want is a god damn drink.”
He doesn’t look up at her. He doesn’t move. Just lets the silence and dim light claw away at him. Quinn sighs, and suddenly, she feels just as he looks. A few moments pass, and the soft clink of glasses paired with a bottle set down on the table between them can be heard. She twists the cap, pours a couple fingers of scotch for herself — and more than a couple for Gage.
