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“I thought you were dead, you lucky son of a bitch!” Swank grabs Benny by the shoulders, clearly delighted. Benny smiles and tilts his head up to stare at the sky, even through the gore and the mud streaking his face Swank can see he’s amazed.
“So did I,” His arms encircle Swank’s waist, and just like that, they’re kissing. Buzzing with adrenaline and dizzy from the feeling of being alive, it seems like the most natural thing in the world. Benny smells like the inside of a deathclaw, which is somewhat unsurprising seeing as Swank’s pretty sure that’s what he’s covered in.
“Shit, you must be the luckiest guy in the fucking Mojave,” He grabs the back of Benny’s head and pushes their foreheads together, an intimate, tribal gesture. When Swank takes his hand away, Benny doesn’t move.
“No, that’s gonna be you in about an hour.”
“An hour? You think you can keep it up that long, Ben?”
“The old days end here,” House says, and it’s clear from the tone of his voice that he means it. “You realise what I am offering you, the opportunities that will present themselves. If your tribal history means that much to you, there’s the door.”
Nobody moves, but Swank’s eyes are burning a hole in the back of Benny's head. He doesn’t turn.
“This means no tattoos, no campfires, no petty disagreements - your rivalries are finished, your tribes are finished. Do I make myself clear?” There’s a muted mumble of affirmation from everyone present. Benny nods, but Swank notices that he’s careful not to look any of the Boot Riders in the eyes.
“Any of your other... How can I put this? Less than impressive practices will also, of course, be curtailed." House continues in his no nonsense voice, and it's with a sinking feeling that Swank realises exactly what that means for him and Benny. He's nodding like a fucking bobblehead, desperate to impress. Swank knows Benny, and he knows there's nothing he wouldn't give up to be big-shot leader of this brave new world.
"One day, I'll beat the shit out of Bingo." Benny says. Hunting geckos has taken them off the beaten track, and out into the Wasteland, far from the ears of the other Boot Riders.
"Why?" Swank continues skinning the youngster unlucky enough to get within range. He pauses to point conversationally at Benny with the knife, "I wouldn't go telling everyone that, either. You know what Bingo's like."
"Of course I know what he's like," Benny gives him a tight lipped smile, assembling the wooden frame to dry the gecko's hide. "Which is why I want to do something about it - he's giving us a fuckin' bad name."
"A bad name? Ben, we're tribal. We're about as far from having a good name as you can get without being cannibals or something."
"Yeah, well, maybe I want something better than just being some tribal nobody." It's not often that Benny gets this riled about things, and for some reason his sudden vehemence strikes a chord with Swank.
"You're serious about this, aren't you?"
"Serious as radiation sickness, Swank." Benny takes the gecko hide that he's handed, and stretches it out over the wood, then settles down beside the gecko's remains.
"Honestly? I think you're crazy as shit, but... Well, you know I'm your number two, right? I'll follow you to the end." Benny lets his head drop to his chest, and he laughs, though it's half hearted.
"You're an idiot, you know that?"
"Sure."
"One day, maybe." And for the time being, that seems to be all Benny has to say on the subject.
Their relationship grinds to a dead stop. Relationship is perhaps the wrong word, Swank thinks - it implies just sex, and he and Benny had more than just that; it had been a sort of camaraderie that just happened to include sex.
Now, for the past few weeks, all Benny's seemed to want to do is drink himself into a stupor and sit in his room. Swank's still his number two, of course, still known by everyone else as Benny's best friend, but it seems to be in name alone.
"Talk to me at least, huh?" Swank asks through the door. He's been trying for days, to no avail. There's a clatter and a thump, followed by muffled swearing, then silence.
He waits a couple more seconds, then pushes the door open, just a little. Benny's room is predictably dark, and the smell of cigarettes and vodka belches out like smoke from the barrel of a gun.
"Jesus," Swank mutters, half to himself, half hoping that Benny will hear and snap out of whatever it is that's causing this one man pity party. He doesn't, so Swank pushes the door open in one smooth movement.
Benny looks even worse than he'd imagined. In the shaft of light from the hallway, his face is an ugly shade of pallid grey, his cheeks pitted with uneven stubble; he looks, to Swank, like he's dying, but Benny's too tough for that.
"Get outta here." His voice is hoarse, as if he's either been talking too much, or far too little.
"You don't wanna see me? That's fine, but you made a goddamn promise to House that you were going to run this casino," He crosses his arms, and takes a daring step closer to Benny, who flinches like a kicked dog. Swank stops, and finds himself breathing out loudly, then saying, "You're a mess, Ben."
"Swank," He looks up, and Swank sees his red-rimmed eyes for the first time, ugly and watery. "Jesus, I don't think I can do this any more." His breath is worse than his eyes, sour with the paint-stripper stench of hard liquor.
"You made your bed. Lie in it."
The robot turns up from nowhere. It's as big as a man, a crude, boxy figure with a screen pressed into its middle. Of course, Bingo orders that they take it down without hesitation; to him, different is automatically dangerous. It takes several hits before the robot stops moving, and once it's decommissioned, it lies face down in the dirt like a giant, metal tombstone.
"Where d'you think it's from?" Benny is crouched in the dirt beside the it, his hands running across the casing, as if committing the blocky shape to memory.
"No idea. Never seen one like this before," Privately, Swank is not as enamoured with the robot. Something about it worries him, though he doesn't mention it. "Could be from anywhere."
"Guess we'll never find out now." Benny gets to his feet, the disappointment written all over his face. That's Benny, always dreaming of somewhere better.
"Shame," Says Swank, though deep down, he's relieved. He slings an arm around Benny's shoulders to guide him back towards camp, and Benny walks with him without putting up a fight.
"I can't do this any more," Benny repeats, his voice frustrated and childish. "I can't."
"Can't do what, Ben?" Swank feels his own resolve crumbling - he's a sucker for Benny, wrapped around his little finger. Always has been.
"I miss you." Benny is drunk, of course he is, but the revelation is still a little startling - usually it takes a lot more to coax things like that out of him, it's never given away freely.
"You promised House. We all did."
"Fuck House." His nostrils flare, hands clenching into fists. "Old man doesn't know what the fuck he's talking about. Needs unplugging." Swank recognises the tone of voice - the acerbic hate, once reserved for Bingo, has shifted to a new leader; it's like Benny won't be happy until he's well and truly top of the heap. With the revelation, Swank realises that once again, Benny's managed to play his spaniel heart beautifully.
"Is that what this is about? Your little power trip? Don't you dare try and pretend it's about you and me." He finds himself suddenly angry, angry at Benny for caring so little. For fucking himself up so royally. And then Benny's sour, dry mouth is on his, and he doesn't know what to feel.
He shoves him off, but only after a couple of seconds. Despite the vodka and ashtray taste of Benny, Swank can feel himself falling apart.
"Swank, don't. Don't push me away." Benny is crooning, his hands balling around Swank's lapels, his breath hot and rancid on Swank's face.
"What do you want from me, Ben? Don't do this to me." His plea falls on deaf ears, Benny's face pressing neatly into the crook of his neck.
"Stay with me tonight. I swear, I'll clean up tomorrow. I'll run the Tops, I'll be the best goddamn leader we ever had, but please stay."
Swank could never refuse Benny, not really. Not whilst he still needs him so much.