Work Text:
“Listen, sweetheart, I’ll be a couple of hours.” Smith looked over as he shrugged his Atom Cats jacket on, sighing as Trott frowned, placing one of his many copies of the Massachusetts Surgical Journal down on the small metal filing cabinet beside him.
Smith walked over to Trott, leaning down to press a kiss to Trott’s forehead.
“I’ll be fine.” He whispered as Trott’s frown softened, a smile playing at his lips.
“Promise?” Trott asked, relaxing back into his seat as Smith stepped back as into the line of the doorway.
“Promise.” Smith replied, shooting a glance of his shoulder as he slid open the main door of the Red Rocket, smirking before walking out.
Trott straightened his back a little so he could see above the counter, watching Smith light a cigarette, walking part the old gasoline pumps.
Trott let a sigh pass his lips, closing his eyes momentarily before picking up where he left off with the Journal.
“Stop worrying.” He murmured to himself, eyes settling on the paragraph about bandages.
About an hour and a half or so passed and Trott had decided against reading the next book of the MSJ’s and resorted to fixing up one of the power armour suits they had acquired.
The light flickered above him as Dogmeat sat by the workbench, Trott kneeling down. He had a screwdriver stuck in between a couple of the copper wirings keeping some of the metal plates together. He held a fuse between his teeth as he attempted to fix a medic pump onto the torso.
With no such luck, he set the screwdriver and fuse down, looking over to where Dogmeat was.
“You okay, boy?” He asked, Dogmeat looking up quickly, wagging his tail slightly in response.
“Good.” Trott said as Dogmeat closed his eyes again and left Trott to his own devices.
Trott rocked back on his heels, looking at the half-shoddy job of the medic pump.
He was jolted from his thoughts by a loud slam coming from the front doors of the Red Rocket.
Dogmeat’s ears pricked up as the slam came again, all too familiar.
Trott jumped up to his feet immediately, taking the welding goggles off, letting them fall to the floor as he ran out of the workshop.
He was greeted by the sight of Smith, covering his nose as he slid open the door.
Smith was battered and bruised, leaning against the door frame.
“Trott, they set me up.” He murmured, his body trembling as tried to keep his pride held above his shaking body. Grimacing, he groaned through the pain, his breathing harsh against his throat.
That’s one thing that bothered Trott.
Smith would never let his pride fall, even if he was fucked up badly, he’d never admit he was hurt.
“Shh, shh- just, let me take care of it.” Trott replied, trying to keep his voice from wavering, indicating the tears clinging onto his lashes.
He took Smith’s hand, leading him to the chair he was sitting on hours before.
Trott turned around, reaching for the nearest medical box before kneeling back down in front of Smith.
He rooted around inside for the things he needed, placing several stimpacks and some cloth to the side.
“They just wanted to beat me up, that’s all they called me for.”
He placed the needle of the stimpack on Smith’s arm, looking up as he pushed it into the skin, watching Smith’s face as he flinched somewhat.
Trott then spent no time at all cleaning up his bloody nose with the cloth, tears leaving trails down his cheeks as he cleaned Smith up. He didn’t mean to cry; this was the one thing that got to him.
People he loved, getting hurt.
It was a pretty vague fear but, it got to him the most.
Trott used a couple more stimpacks on Smith and tried to find some sort of vodka to use on the cuts. (with no luck, they’d been needing to top up for a good while.)
Moments passed before either of them spoke.
Smith had built himself back up, regaining his natural hard demeanour.
“Buttercup, don’t cry. I’m fine. I won’t be seeing them again.” Smith said, rubbing some dry blood from just underneath his nose. He lifted a hand forward, taking Trott’s hand in his own.
Trott shook his head, rubbing his eyes as he picked up the cloth again, looking up to Smith’s face.
He rubbed lightly at Smith’s cut lip, trying to ignore Smith’s words.
“I’m not crying. Are you sure you’re okay?” He asked, his voice breaking slightly as he tried to keep his voice wavering.
“Look, I’m fine Trott. They just wanted a punching bag, I put up a good fight though, two outta’ three down. Got a good stash of bottle caps and one was carrying another one of those Surgical Journals you read. I’m okay, sweetheart.” Smith gripped a little tighter onto Trott’s hand, making the other looking at him.
“What’s the matter?” He asked, keeping eye contact with Trott.
“I’m just worried, Smith. If you fucking die, who will I have? I’ll be alone, Smith! I don’t want to fucking lose you.” Trott grit he teeth as he trembled slightly, trying to keep his breathing steady.
Smith sighed slightly, wincing as he breathed through his nose.
He leant forwards, taking Trott’s cheek in his hand, his lips hovering briefly in front of the others.
“I love you, you won’t lose me.” He whispered, filling the gap between their lips.
He kissed Trott softly, his eyes closing as the taste of cigarettes and blood mixed with that of mint from Trott. Just a gentle, innocent kiss.
He hummed against the kiss, feeling Trott practically melt into the kiss.
He rubbed the pad of his thumb along the others cheeky bone, feeling him relax slowly.
They stayed like that for a good couple of minutes before Smith pulled back, resting his forehead against Trott’s.
No matter what happened, to either of them, blood moved to tears and tears moved to kisses and kisses moved to smiles.
Smith knew he pushed his boundaries with Trott sometimes, he tried not to but, getting into trouble was just his thing.
Smith looked at Trott, a look, kin to that of adoration.
Trott blushed gently, a small laugh passing his lips as he looked up at Smith.
“You won’t lose me and I won’t lose you.” Smith said softly as Trott smiled slightly, his eyes still laced with tears.
“Promise?”
“Promise.”