Setting: Fallout 4
Characters: Sole Survivor, MacCready
Pairing(s): F!SS/MacCready (pre-relationship)
Summary: Just a drabble with a bit of murdering, swearing, and having fun in the wastes. There’s also a terrible pun.
Genre: Cute shit, Action
Warnings: Canon Typical Violence
Word Count: ~650
Fuck! Fuck fuck fuck. Sawyer dove around the stone wall, cringing at the chk chk chk chk of the turret sending bullets flying past her. There were definitely a few of those bullets that needed to be removed from her person, but she ignored them in favor of shoving a Stimpak into her leg, followed by one of her dwindling supply of Psycho. Her jaw snapped closed, head tipped back against the wall as she let the feeling of cold rage consume her until it was clawing its way out of her throat in a crazed war cry.
A raider leaning around the corner, combat rifle aimed square at her chest, found himself headless before he could pull the trigger. Sawyer adjusted her grip on the serrated machete and ran full tilt at the next nearest raider. She bid them all pay attention to her, screaming and removing limbs as she went. One, two, five, ten raiders down. She tugged the sleeve of her vault suit over her hand to swipe raider blood off her face as she looked for any stragglers. Pain ripped through her shoulder and she spun to catch sight of the shooter falling from the fire escape with a bullet wound of his own, right between his eyes.
It wasn’t until she heard the ‘All Clear’ whistle that she slumped against the husk of a car and dug out her repair kit. A scalpel, vodka, flip lighter, a handful of Stimpaks, and a bottle of Bobrov’s Best to numb the pain. She already had a strip of leather between her teeth when MacCready knelt next to her.
“Fu-frick, Boss. You cut it any closer than this an’ I’m gonna be outta employment.”
“I’m sure you’d find yourself another sugar momma in no time,” she bit out around the leather.
Humor was always a good default in her book. Granted, her book tended to be wrong most of the time. The confused look she received was something she was getting used to in this dystopian future. MacCready just shook his head and placed his left hand above the bullet wound in her upper thigh.
Sawyer merely raised an eyebrow and took a swig of the moonshine. The burn in her throat took just enough edge off the fire in her leg for it to be tolerable. Once she was patched, MacCready scavved the bodies, particularly looking for any gear that had a good weight-to-caps ratio, while Sawyer waited for the Stimpaks to do their job. She grabbed one of the bullets he’d dug from her body and chucked it across the pavement with a curse. MacCready swiveled toward her, but she waved him off and pinched the bridge of her nose in frustration. Fucking turrets.
The crunch of boots on the uneven concrete, moving toward her, interrupted the mental lecture she’d been giving herself and she glanced up to see MacCready standing over her, looking bemused.
“Here. You’ve got…” MacCready trailed off, passing her a damp rag and gesturing at her head.
Sawyer snorted and wiped down as best as she could for now. “I thought raider blood was the new fashion craze. Seems I’ve been misled.”
“I’m pretty sure you should slap whoever you’re getting your information from,” he said, giving her that lopsided grin she was starting to like just a little too much.
“You think wearing my power fist would be too heavy handed?”
It was MacCready’s turn to snort in a doomed attempt to stop the guffaws that followed quickly after. “That was terrible, boss.”
Her own laugh cut off with a groan and a curse as she pushed herself to her feet, holding up a hand to forestall his assistance. Laughter is the best medicine, as her grandmother always used to say. Once she was sure she was capable of walking they did one last sweep for scav and headed north toward Goodneighbor.