Pixie cracked an eye open as Sarge came in the door. She’d finally managed to talk the doc out of drugs, but she was so tired that her head was just as fuzzy as if she hadn’t. If it didn’t hurt more to lay down with her arm in a sling instead of sit up against the wall, she’d have been down and out long before Sarge got back. She heard Spike and Sarge talking quietly in front of the fabric sheet masquerading as a curtain that divided the ‘bedroom’ from… everything else. Well, just Spike. Probably relaying the doctor’s instructions. Bloody shotgun dislocating her shoulder because of a slight problem in her stance. Pixie yawned. Okay, it’d probably been a big problem. And she should get Sarge to drill her better once her shoulder was alright. And pray she never had to shoot a crew mate-turned-Vector again. Poor Mort.
Pixie’s eyes had drifted closed again by the time Sarge ducked past the curtain. He shucked his shoes on the floor, pulled something out of his pockets, placed it on the tiny bedside table, and crawled onto the pallet bed. Nestled up to her hip, threw an arm over her, and let out a 'bad job is done’ sigh. Or maybe his 'life is shit’ sigh, they were pretty similar. Pixie moved her left hand to the back of Sarge’s head and started massaging his scalp.
“Doc said four weeks?” Sarge mumbled.
“Four to six. Last couple are going to be tight, rentwise…”
Sarge shifted; Pixie opened her eyes again to meet his sad gaze. “Mort was pilfering looted bounty.”
Pixie paused, then sighed. “Damn it. What’d you do?”
“Left a third of it in his backpack for Goma.”
“Good. How much extra we got to work with then?
"Six. Goma wants us to move into her second bedroom too.”
"Tell me about it. Did you know Janice is going Black Math?”
“Ohhhhh boy. Are we supposed to be encouragement along that route or a warning?”
“I think we'd just be to preserve the Taker discount on the place. And keep it a multi-income household, at least on rent."
Pixie looked around their room — two battered, tiny tables wedged into the tiny space left for them between the pallet bed and concrete walls. Bed shoved against the back wall, the drape of curtain hanging just at the foot of the bed. They had an interior apartment, so no windows; the electricity was working today, but nobody had bothered to turn on the overhead lights yet. Not until sunset. The other 'room' in their apartment barely had enough space for their two folding chairs to be open at the same time, in between their meager possessions that didn't come into the field. A soft thump from there announced another book falling off the stacks again. It was a damn good thing neither of them had to cook; the enclave had gone for communal kitchens, even if you did have to be paid up with the council for the month for entry. "It'd be more room for the same cost, sounds like."
"Living with the folks whose husband and Dad we just shot. The whole attempting to eat us notwithstanding."
"Hence the awkward," Pixie sighed, then bit her lip. "Sarge?"
"It's my fault he's dead isn't it?"
Sarge opened his eyes in shock, say up and pulled Pixie in for a hug. "No, why would you think that?”
"Told him to go out on the bridge," Pixie mumbled around the lump in her throat.
"To follow through on his idea. He could have, should have checked the railing before leaning on it. Didn't really need to check the railing at all. Bad luck it broke then, bad luck he hit his head on the way down, bad luck there was a casualty right there. I mean, it was just stupid bad luck he landed on the damn thing."
Pixie nodded and sniffed. "Still feels like responsibility."
"Yeah, it always does." Sarge just held her and rocked a bit as she cried silently.