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druidgroves · 2 years ago

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Chapter 10: So Much to Do and So Little Time

Fandom: Fallout 4 Words: 7,556 Characters: Georgia Tate (Canon Divergent Sole Survivor), RJ MacCready, Preston Garvey, Original Characters Notes: finally in the double digits of chapters ! also say hello to even More minutemen ocs <3 pls enjoy ! read on ao3 ch. 1 / ch. 2 / ch. 3 / ch. 4 / ch. 5 / ch. 6 / ch. 7 / ch. 8 / ch. 9

The next three days had gone by in a blur.

Mac had spent most of his time hanging around Curtis after the impromptu meeting with Georgia, despite the man’s somewhat unsettling personality. He also had quick, passing introductions to the friends Curtis had mentioned, as well as a few other Minutemen he was amiable with, but they kept quiet about their plans around them. A lot of them did seem like the “see something, say something” types Curtis had described to him, but they proved to be good people just trying to do right. Even if Mac couldn’t quite put his heart into it the way Georgia did, he could see the organization for what it was trying to be: change.

For all his newly established friendship with her, Georgia’s goal with the Minutemen—the whole Commonwealth, working together to protect itself in some semblance of unity—was ambitious any way you split it. Ranks appeared to be growing like weeds only when compared to the waning numbers before the betrayal at Quincy, but they were still so much smaller than they were in their heyday, or so he heard Ronnie say. For the members the Minutemen did have, most were recruited by Preston and Georgia during their early days giving aid to settlements, who in turn spread their involvement by word of mouth and so on. They must’ve been doing something right, Mac thought, if the life teaming and walking around the once abandoned fort was anything to go by.

During one of the mealtimes Mac and Curtis had with his friends, they got to offer them the opportunity to join them at the interchange. As promised, the four of them—Collins, Hollow, Gonzalez, and Buckley—were very receptive to the idea. Like Curtis, they all seemed to have some sort of beef with them, so that only made greasing the wheels of their operation easier.

Collins didn’t have much to say other than she was happy to wipe out another stain on the Commonwealth, while Gonzalez and Hollow had quickly started chatting between themselves before the conversation was even over. Buckley had listened to the proposal intently and had appeared to seriously consider his options before finally agreeing.

That very day, they all put in various leave requests, staggering the dates as they did.

While grateful and a little bit surprised by their willingness to help and not wanting to look a gift brahmin in the mouth, Mac did have his own reservations about the militia’s fighting prowess.

“I thought the Minutemen were just a bunch of backwoods farmers and stuff?” he asked Curtis afterwards.

“Well, yeah, some of us are. Actually, a lot of us are, but not everyone on board is from an allied settlement, or anywhere, really. The General likes to pick up strays, it seems,” he said, giving Mac a pointed look. “Besides Colonel Garvey and Ronnie, we’re basically taking two thirds of the Castle’s trained soldiers for this stunt, but we’ll make it work.”

While hanging around Curtis over the intervening days, Mac got to know him a little better as well. He talked about as much as Georgia did, which given their back and forth the other day, he could see how the two could get along. Even if Curtis was possibly the most unhinged man he’d ever met.

They talked a lot about the Gunners and their time with them whenever there weren’t many people around. Mac told him he only joined because he was new to the Commonwealth and hard up for caps (didn’t have to explain himself further than that, and Curtis didn’t ask). Curtis had told him he followed a friend in, but the friend didn’t get to follow him out. Mac knew not to broach that subject.

“Since you’re trailing behind General T these days, how’d you leave?” Curtis asked him during breakfast the next day, in between bites of his mirelurk stew. Unfortunately for Mac, with the Castle’s proximity to the sea, mirelurk seemed to be an ever-present menu option.

“Told them I wanted out and negotiated the rest of my contract down to three more jobs before they let me leave. I did my part, then they cut me loose. It was a clean break, but obviously they’re still not happy about it. You?” Mac explained with a lazy shrug, pushing around the bits of mirelurk in his bowl.

“Faked my death,” Curtis replied with an equally lazy shrug, like it was a normal thing to say.

“What.”

“Yeah, real easy to dress up any random corpse those fuckers made in your old clothes and then drop a molotov on it,” he said, then pointed his fork towards Mac’s bowl. “You gonna eat that?”

As for Georgia, the two didn’t get to see much of her in those few days. Ronnie and Preston had kept her busy in spite of her foot with updates on the armory, the rebuilding progress of the Castle, and trying to make heads or tails of the artillery schematics they’d found. In the brief moments Mac had caught her without something to do, she’d told him she honestly didn’t think there’d be so much paperwork involved in being General. Despite it, she seemed to be putting her nose to the grindstone with everything she did.

She had started by alphabetizing the armory write ups Ronnie had given her, typing up everything on an old typewriter that first day after her injury (“If no one organizes it now, it’s never gettin’ done, and then where would we be?”). She identified a group of Minutemen with advanced technical skills and temporarily pulled them from the fort’s repair crew to assist herself and Ronnie with the artillery. When she got too “stir crazy” as she called it, sitting in her quarters hunched over papers full of lists and diagrams, she sat in a chair and helped Preston run training drills in the courtyard. They held them in the early morning, the two working as a team in their efforts to fashion the newer recruits into model Minutemen. At some point early on, someone had even put together a crutch for her when they noticed she’d been hopping along on one foot around the Castle, using its crumbling walls as support in pursuit of her next task. If Georgia was one thing, it was stubborn.

At one point, Curtis and Mac had managed to find her as she was making her way in the direction of the bathrooms, crutch under one arm with her pack hanging off the other. They had wanted to keep her apprised of any updates to their personal mission, but ran into the issue of her free time getting taken up by Being the General of the Minutemen. As such, they’d found her in the one spare moment she could steal for a shower.

She looked between the currently vacant bathrooms and the two of them before saying, “I don’t have a lot of time right now, so either it can wait or we’re about to get real comfortable with each other.”

Which was how they ended up holding council in the bathroom, Curtis and Mac sitting outside her shower stall to “maximize time efficiency”, as she put it. Curtis was posted up in front of the door to make sure no one walked in on their scheming, while Mac had pulled up a chair, the both of them pointedly facing away from Georgia’s stall at her request. Something about “still having manners” and something called “decorum.”

On their way to the bathrooms, she’d made a point to tell them that once they’d found the showers, her first priority had been getting the pipes fixed. They had a whole pump system and everything, plus a few old water heaters pulled from apartment buildings further inland. It meant the bathrooms were buzzing with the sound of a generator and steaming pipes whenever it was in use, but it aided them in their need for privacy.

The shower stalls had rickety patchwork doors and rose up above Georgia’s shoulders, and if Mac turned his head even the slightest amount, he could see her soapy head peeking over the walls as they conversed. He made a concentrated effort to keep from reflexively turning back whenever she talked. They’d only just defined themselves as friends, so Mac was in no rush to get that personal with her, even with the stall between them.

Meanwhile, Curtis had been relaying information about his friends to Georgia, talking up their talents and specialities.

“Lieutenant Collins has a fondness for explosives, she can make things go boom if necessary. She’s on your little artillery team, so whether or not that’s done by the time we head out, she’s coming with,” Curtis said. He was completely unbothered by their choice in location, in contrast to Mac who had been anxiously tapping his foot on the ground the moment they got there. “She’s also useful in a pinch if we find ourselves in a tight spot.”

“And Corporal Hollow?”

Mac stopped himself from looking back at Georgia as Curtis replied, “Crackshot specializing in mid-range combat. Used to be a merc like your guy MacCready here. He’s not afraid to get in there, but he’s good for covering fire, too.”

“Sounds like he’ll be with me,” Georgia said as she rinsed her hair, the smell of homemade hubflower-scented soap wafting over the shower stall. “Since you and Mac have long range covered, I mean. Who else?”

“That leaves us with Privates Gonzalez and Buckley. They’re new, but show a lot of promise. Gonzalez’s got light feet and her own silencer, so I figure she could be our scout. Buckley is a big, versatile son of a bitch, so if we run into any problems we can usually throw him at ‘em,” Curtis finished. “How’s that sound?”

“Conveniently well-rounded,” Georgia supplied with a laugh. “What about you, Mac? What’re your thoughts? …Mac? Hellooo?”

“Huh? Oh,” Mac started, turning his head automatically to see Georgia peeking at him over the shower stall, wet hair plastered to her forehead. Water dripped down her freckled nose, and he could better make out the scar running through her left eyebrow, and the other, smaller one marring her chin. She squinted at him a little bit, waiting for him to respond.

“Uh, yeah. Well-rounded,” he agreed hastily, turning back around only to meet Curtis’ shit-eating grin.

He’d been distracted, and not only because he was trying hard not to focus on the physical space of the conversation at hand. He had started having trouble believing that this was actually happening—the whole operation, that was. Things never fell into place like this for Mac, that was just a general rule he’d learned in life. With not one, but two willing hands and a squad of volunteers, the winds seemed to be favoring him for once. It felt…strange. Like taking a shot and not hearing the bullet casing hit the ground, waiting for it to fall.

“Great listenin’ skills,” Georgia laughed, flicking water at him. “I’ll take a look at those leave requests on my desk later. In the meantime, Mac, d’you think you could find somewhere nearby for them to hole up in for a day or two while they wait? And take Dogmeat with you, he’ll help you scout a place out.”

He ended up finding an abandoned house outside of the Minutemen patrols by that afternoon, stashing a bag of food Curtis had pilfered from the kitchens for the rest of the now formed squad. Hollow and Buckley would be there that night, followed by Collins the next morning, and Gonzalez and Curtis the day after. Once the squad was out, Mac and Georgia would follow—she just had to come up with a good cover.

From what Georgia had told him as he was sticking her with another stimpak for her foot, she had been trying to stagger the leave requests quickly, but still have them spread out enough for people not to notice much out of the ordinary. She mentioned something about Preston and Ronnie and “plausible deniability.” Even so, Mac had caught the Minuteman’s eye more than once around the Castle, like he knew something was afoot. Every time Mac would just duck his head and make to avoid him.

Mac had waved off Curtis and Gonzalez when they left, Curtis dragging out the entire affair by going around and shaking the hands of everyone in the courtyard. Georgia and himself would follow suit the next morning after testing the newly constructed artillery she, Ronnie, and their little team had been busy with. Even with her still-healing foot, Georgia insisted on following Ronnie around like a student following their teacher, looking for the older woman’s approval wherever she could.

Once Curtis had finally left, Mac turned to go find Georgia to let her know, only to be met with Preston himself walking up. The man carried himself with purpose, taking long strides in his direction, indicating he was heading for absolutely no one else. Mac couldn’t even pretend he didn’t notice the Minuteman before he was standing in front of him.

“MacCready,” he said, nodding his head in greeting and Mac froze. Preston took notice, because his next words came out softer, “Can we talk for a minute? It won’t take long.”

“Uh…sure, Garvey. What do you need?” he replied with no small amount of hesitation.

“Just follow me,” Preston said, gesturing over his shoulder where his laser rifle was strapped. Curious and the tiniest bit suspicious, Mac followed.

Preston led him through the Castle’s halls and up a set of stairs to one of the bastions. An artillery piece sat completed before them as they came up, ready for testing the next morning. A Minuteman tipped their hair to Preston, walking past them to go down the stairs, and Preston mirrored the gesture. Once they were alone, he turned to Mac.

“Now,” he started, voice quiet and even enough that it calmed Mac’s nerves somewhat, “I don’t claim to know whatever it is you, the General, and Captain Campbell seem to be doing, and I don’t want to know. I trust the General’s judgment, and Campbell is a good captain. You, on the other hand, are an unknown.”

Preston already knew too much for him to try lying his way out of it, but he didn’t seem angry, so that was a win. Mac arched an eyebrow at him, unsure of where this was going.

“But the General said she trusts you, and I want to believe her trust isn’t misplaced. She told me you saved her life,” Preston continued, and met him with a speaking look. “Is that correct?”

Images of Georgia falling flashed through Mac’s mind for a moment, making a chill run up his spine. He nodded.

“So, once this secret operation of yours is complete, the Minutemen will still have their General afterwards, right?” Preston pressed, and Mac could see what he was getting at.

After spending a few days within the Minuteman HQ, he’d picked up a bit of their history, and they didn’t have the best luck when it came to the longevity of their leaders. He couldn’t blame Preston for getting worried, especially considering how familiar he and Georgia seemed to be with one another.

“Don’t worry so much, Garvey. She watches my back as much as I watch hers,” Mac conceded. “Plus, she’s able to take care of herself. You wouldn’t have made her General otherwise, right?”

“You got me there,” Preston agreed, but he didn’t seem quite finished. “But I’m also worried about how this will affect more than just the General. I saw the leave requests. She’s not the only one we want back safe.”

“The goal is to get everyone back in one piece,” Mac said, but he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t thought about what would happen if their little mission went sideways. He didn’t want to be responsible for the deaths of more innocent people.

“Good. I’m glad to see she’s been traveling with someone like you that’s able to watch her back in my place. Someone with a good head,” Preston nodded, and Mac had the sinking feeling he wouldn’t be saying that if he really knew anything about him.

“She told me she used to run around with you before she hired me,” he said, then suddenly remembered something. “Wait, question: has she always been bad at using stimpaks?”

A smile cracked through Preston’s serious expression, obvious fondness coming through as he nodded, “Ever since I’ve known her. When it comes to that, she’s not as gentle as you’d expect her to be.”

“I’ve learned not to make many assumptions about her,” Mac told him with a slight laugh. “She’s too full of surprises.”

“More than either of us knows for sure,” Preston agreed, smile faltering somewhat, then sighed. “For whatever it is you’re doing, good luck. I hope it’s worth it.”

With that, he reached out to pat Mac on the shoulder, giving a firm nod before going back the way they came. Mac let go of a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. He hoped it would be worth it, too.

-----

Later that night, after palling around with a few of the other Minutemen that Curtis had introduced him to over the last few days, Mac had gone in search of Georgia. He debated over whether or not to tell her about his conversation with Preston as he walked around trying to find her, and couldn’t help but speculate on the relationship between the two.

Despite Preston’s worries fixating around the Minutemen, Mac picked up the vibe that even if that weren’t the case, if Georgia were just some regular person and not the General, he’d still be upset if something happened to her. Mac had to remember that by helping him, Georgia was being pulled into danger, and that she had friends that would hold him responsible if that danger proved fatal.

After checking her quarters, the common area, and then finally the kitchens, a Minuteman with a pair of dark shades that he had passed by several times figured he must have been looking for the General, and pointed him up the stairs to the bastion. Mac nodded his thanks and walked up, greeted by the smell of salty air and a wind strong enough to make him pull his scarf tighter around him. Along with the sea, a minty, smoky scent blew over him.

Sitting near the edge of the bastion was Georgia and a pack of cigarettes, staring out onto the water. Her hair was loose, blowing freely in the wind around her head, and she had the thick blanket from her quarters wrapped around her. She hadn’t noticed him coming up the stairs, and Mac hesitated in the stairwell for a moment, wondering if she had purposefully wanted to be left alone. Then, he wondered why he’d even come to find her in the first place. He hadn’t even had a reason, he realized, just followed the urge.

In his hesitation, a stiff breeze blew over the bastion, knocking over the crutch Georgia had left leaning against the stairs.

She whipped back when it clattered to the ground, cursing into the wind as she jumped with a start. When she saw him standing there, however, she visibly relaxed.

“Jesus, you about gave me a heart attack,” she called out, putting the hand that wasn’t holding her cigarette to her chest.

“Sorry, sorry,” Mac replied as he righted her crutch, then crossed the length of the bastion to meet her.

As he got closer, he could see several other cigarette butts and matching ash stains on the stone next to her, her open cigarette carton half gone. She patted the space to her left for him to sit upwind from her smoke. He leaned back to rest on his palms, looking at her from an odd angle. As he got comfortable, Georgia picked up the carton beside her, offering him a single cigarette poking out amongst the rest. He took it with a nod and she flicked open her lighter, attempting to light it before the wind put out the flame. She leaned in close to him to block the breeze, her blanketed shoulder bumping gently against his. When it finally caught, she took her lighter away and didn’t make to move back.

Mac brought the cigarette up to his mouth and inhaled, mint coating the inside of his throat and making him cough.

“Didn’t take you for a chain smoker,” he said as he cleared his throat, leaning back to let his smoke be carried away on the wind behind her.

“Neither did I, at first,” she shrugged after a long drag. “I didn’t start smokin’ until I was a teacher, actually. I got real good at findin’ the right time to sneak off and light up.”

Mac was caught off guard with how freely the fact of her past left her mouth. He didn’t say anything for a moment, wondering if she was going to keep talking. When she didn’t, he realized she was waiting for him to respond, almost like asking for permission to keep going. He shifted next to her, putting his cigarette back to his lips and inhaling.

“You were a teacher?” he asked, gently trying to prompt more out of her.

“In another life, yeah. Twenty-eight seven to eight year olds versus me,” Georgia nodded, and he could feel the tenderness in her voice. “They could’ve eaten me alive and ran that classroom if they wanted. Surprisingly, they didn’t.”

Mac nearly balked. The tunnels in Little Lamplight were expansive, but they’d never had more than fifteen to twenty kids at a time, at least when he was there. There had been about seventeen when he left. Even when he was young, he knew adding any number of kids to an already sizable group of children became even harder to manage, much less twenty-eight of them. He knew from experience.

“I do not pity you there. Back in Little Lamplight, I kept up with about twenty, more or less,” Mac said, shaking his head. Sure, it was a revolving door of children within that range, but with the way he ran things, it never flew too far off the handle.

“Twenty? Oh, that’s child’s play. Beginner shit,” she teased with a breath of a laugh. “I would have loved to have a classroom that small when I started. But those extra eight were always sweet.” She paused, taking another drag and letting it out with a heavy sigh. “I remember each of their names and faces. I think about them a lot.”

Mac had to wonder where she had taught. Where had she been that she had a classroom of twenty-eight children, all of whom survived the first few years of life in the wasteland with no accidents of birth or disease preventing them from attending altogether. There had been plenty of epidemics that swept through their little cave system, leaving most Lamplighters with the side effects. Lucy and the others had done their best to keep everyone healthy, but there was only so much they could do by themselves.

“What I’m tryin’ to say is this,” Georgia said, turning to face him, “in case it isn’t obvious, I have a soft spot for kids. Always have. When you told me about Little Lamplight, I guess I got a little upset imaginin’ you and all those kids livin’ like that. I mean, underground? By yourselves? Really?”

Mac breathed a sharp laugh through his nose, “I didn’t pick it, I just grew up there.”

“And I guess you turned out alright,” she said, and he saw a grin ease its way back onto her face, “for the most part.”

“Hey, watch it, now,” he warned, wagging a finger at her, “you’re talking to the former mayor.”

Georgia’s eyes went wide and a startled expression came over her. “Mayor? So not only were you in charge, you were the mayor?”

“Crazy, I know, but can’t say it didn’t do me some good,” Mac shrugged, putting his cigarette between his teeth to mimic looking down the scope of an imaginary rifle. “I’m completely self-taught, y’know. Picked up a sniper rifle at age ten and never looked back. Impressed yet?”

“Impressed and maybe just the tiniest bit concerned about your childhood development,” she laughed. “So did the other kids just…vote for you?”

At that, Mac felt the back of his neck flush with heat. He let his eyes dart out over the sea as he took another drag.

“Well, it didn’t go exactly like that…”

“Oh god, Mac, what did you do?”

“Listen,” he started, holding his hands up in defense, “if Angela hadn’t appointed herself mayor and insisted everyone call her ‘Princess’, I…wouldn’thavehadtopunchher.”

Georgia pushed a few pieces of hair behind her ear, cupping her hand around it, “Come again?”

“I wouldn’t have had to punch her in her stupid nose!” Mac relented, throwing his hands up as she descended into a fit of laughter. “Seriously, I mean, she would have run that place into the ground. Everyone should’ve been grateful I took over when I did–there was an issue with rickets again not long after, and I don’t think—”

“Wait, wait, wait, hold on, rickets?!” Georgia balked, eyebrows quickly furrowing in disbelief.

“Not a lot of fresh food in a cave,” he pointed out and she seemed to collapse under her blanket, burying her head into her hands. “If I hadn’t been in charge and put Lu—” He choked on her name, then cleared his throat. “If I hadn’t put our best doctor on rickets research, that could’ve been it for Lamplight.”

“Jesus, Mac,” came her muffled reply. “You can’t tell me stuff like this–you’re takin’ years off my life with the stress. Pullin’ at my heartstrings like a guitar.”

He couldn’t help but shrug, “It was tough, but we pulled through. I’ve made it this far, haven’t I?”

Georgia turned to look at him, taking in the entirety of him in one quick glance before nodding, “You certainly have. I’m glad you did.”

Mac wasn’t sure how to respond to that, her habit of being far too earnest during moments like these. Where he was quick to laugh off a serious moment, she seemed to cherish them, make them last longer than they should’ve with a bigger impact than expected. It made his insides feel like a molerat was burrowing inside his chest.

Quiet fell between them for a moment, save for the waves washing against the shore and the faint sounds of Radio Freedom carried over by the wind. They smoked in silent tandem until the ends of their cigarettes flickered out into ash.

“So, you ready to head out tomorrow?” Georgia asked after a while, putting her cigarette butt with the rest of them while he flicked his off the side of the bastion. She tutted at him as he did, “Litterbug.”

“Don’t think littering has mattered in about two hundred years,” he shrugged to her pursed expression. “But yeah, all my stuff’s ready. What’s the plan for tomorrow?”

“Ronnie wants me to stay long enough to test the artillery, so that’s gotta happen first. After that, we’ll head out and meet Curtis and the others, then go on down to the interchange,” she explained. “If we stick to the main roads, we can make it there in about a day and a half, I think. I suppose we’ll come up with a plan of attack when we’re closer.”

“You know, when you lay it all out like that, it almost seems reasonable, and not the craziest idea in the fu—freaking world,” Mac said, shaking his head in disbelief. “I still can’t believe we’re doing this. I didn’t think one person would agree to help, let alone six. We might actually stand a chance.”

“Hey, if you need my help, I’m there,” she said, reassuring in a way that came easy to her. “You can ask for help, you know. We’re friends now. That’s what friends do.”

“And I still don’t know what to say to that,” he replied, unable to hide his exasperation. “Truth is, I haven’t been able to rely on anyone since I was a kid. Everyone has either tried to rip me off or plant a knife in my back. But you…you’re different. We see eye-to-eye on almost everything.”

“Except you still won’t admit that the Silver Shroud could beat Grognak in a fight.”

“Okay, first of all, that’s why I said almost, and second, I can’t believe how dedicated you are to being wrong.”

“On the contrary, your argument makes it so easy to be right—”

They went on until they covered every feasible argument they could manage on the subject. When Mac helped her limp back to her quarters later, he still wasn’t sure who won, or if one of them even did. The discussion was tabled until they could gather more evidence for their respective sides. He’d have to find more issues of Grognak soon.

-----

The next morning, after helping Georgia administer one last stimpak, Mac opted to hit the showers before they had to leave, finally able to take advantage of the Castle’s facilities. He cleaned and sharpened his boot knife as well, finding a quiet corner and a cracked mirror to clean up the scruff that had begun to get a little out of control in the past few weeks. It had started coming in patchy on the sides and made him look younger than he was, so it had to go. His hair would have to wait—he didn’t have the scissors nor the skill to fix it up just then.

As he was shaving around the curve of his jaw, however, a second, less muffled explosion than the one from a few days before sounded from the other side of the Castle.

“Shit.” Mac let a string of curses out under his breath as his knife slipped across his jawline, a small cut now bleeding freely.

He sighed, wiping away the blood with the cuff of his sleeve before finishing the rest of the job. At least the artillery seemed to be working. He held his sleeve to the cut until it stopped bleeding, then picked up his knife again. After he was done, he cleaned and slid his knife back into the holster on his boot and made his way to the courtyard. Over by the entrance to the armory, he saw Georgia talking with Preston, all geared up with Dogmeat sitting patiently beside her.

“—back to the city for…personal business. With Mr. Valentine,” he heard her say as he quietly approached. “I don’t know when we’ll be back this way, but you know how to get in contact if you need me. I’ll try to keep you updated on how it goes.”

“Please do,” Preston said with a serious nod.

So that’s the cover we’re using, Mac thought, stopping just short of the two of them as they talked. Considering she had let the detective know when she’d be back in town, he figured she had some sort of business with him. Mac just wasn’t sure exactly what kind of business. Still, he’d always heard the best lies had a little bit of truth in them.

“And would you mind keepin’ Dogmeat for a few more days? I think he deserves a little bit of a rest since he’s been with me for a few weeks straight,” Georgia said, and Dogmeat whimpered, looking up at her with the closest thing to a pout Mac had ever seen come from a dog. It was more likely she didn’t want to risk him getting hurt or in the way with a plan as delicate as theirs was. “Oh, c’mon, boy, don’t be like that. Put those puppy-dog eyes away!”

Preston laughed and grinned down at the hound, “I’ll watch over him. He can help train the recruits with me in your absence.”

“Thanks, hun. At the very least he can chase ‘em around while they’re runnin’ laps,” Georgia laughed, crouching down to give the dog a good scratch before looking back up at Preston. “I’ll try to swing around when I can. Might make a trip back to the old neighborhood soon, see how things are holdin’ up there, but I gotta head out in a bit. I’ll see you later, Preston.”

“Maybe I’ll see you there. Until next time,” Preston nodded. “Good luck, General, and stay safe out there.”

The Minuteman caught Mac’s eye over Georgia’s shoulder as she pulled him in for a hug, giving him a speaking look that said all he needed to know before they pulled apart. If it came down to it, Mac would make sure Georgia made it back at least, as harsh as it sounded. He knew how to spot the big players, and as General, she was the biggest piece on the board.

Preston tipped his hat to the two of them before leaving with Dogmeat at his side, and Georgia turned around, only to be surprised to see him standing behind her.

“Jesus, Mac, I’m gonna have to put a bell on you,” she said, startled, then she paused, eyes darting around his face. “Oh. You shaved.”

He reflexively reached up to itch at his remaining facial hair, arching an eyebrow at her, “What, did I miss a spot?”

“...No, just noticin’,” she said, shaking her head quickly and letting her fingers drum against the straps of her pack. “Ready to head out?”

“Yeah, but how’s your foot feeling after that last stimpak?” Mac asked, gesturing to her feet. It had been an hour or two since he’d administered the stim, but she’d been so eager to test the artillery that he didn’t get to completely check her over.

“Feels good as new thanks to you,” she said, sticking out her boot and rolling her ankle around. “Let’s go.”

“Now hold on a minute.” Mac moved to stand in front of her, stopping her from walking off. “No aches or pains? Sharp stabbing feelings?”

She rolled her eyes and let out an exaggerated sigh, “I’m fine, Mac. I’ve been able to walk on it alright, I promise.”

Mac bit the inside of his cheek, “I’m just saying, it wouldn’t hurt to take one more day if you need it—”

She reached out, her hand falling to squeeze his arm through the sleeve of his duster, cold as every other time she’d done it despite the warmth of her words, “We’ve got people waitin’ on us, Mac. People that wanna help, so it’s probably best not to keep them waitin’.”

He sighed as she took her hand away, “Fine. But if you start slowing down, I’m not carrying you.”

She smirked, leading them out of the Castle, “You would if there were enough caps in it.”

“Okay, yeah, sure, but that’d be a stupid waste of caps on your part.”

She laughed as the Minutemen on gate duty closed it behind them, waving their goodbyes to their General. She waved back and threw him a smile before turning to the road ahead of them.

They got to the house Mac had scouted out about an hour later, the sun high in the sky above them.

“This one here,” he said as they came close. Its faded yellow siding and once vibrant red door had been an easy identifying feature when relaying directions to the rest of the group.

“How quaint,” Georgia said as she walked up the steps.

She held up her hand to knock on the door, only for it to swing open to Curtis’ wide grin before she could.

“Nice of you to join us,” he greeted them as Georgia jumped back with a small yelp. “Welcome to our humble abode.”

“That’s not how you greet people at the door,” Georgia muttered as Curtis moved back to let them both through the door.

Inside, the rest of the team were sprawled about the remains of the house’s living room. Collins sat on a sagging couch and was bent over something in her lap, while Hollow and Gonzalez were playing cards in the middle of the floor, Buckley sat in a chair across from them just watching them play. When Georgia entered the room, Mac watched all of them scramble to present themselves for their General.

“Oh, please, you don’t have to do all that,” Georgia said, holding her hands up and going a bit pink in the cheeks. “Technically we’re all off duty, anyways.”

“Oh, thank god you’re cool,” Gonzalez said, relaxing back into the slouched posture she’d had before. She had short, shaggy black hair and seemed to positively ooze cool from every pore.

Collins, a tall, gangly woman with dark red hair and freckles, snorted but didn’t look up from whatever she was tinkering with, “Told you.”

From behind them, Curtis clapped his hands together, “So, General T, what’s our first move?”

Georgia slung her pack off her shoulders, sitting it on a nearby chair to fish out her Pip-Boy.

“I’ve mapped out a route for us to take, and we could be there sometime tomorrow afternoon if we keep pace,” she started, tapping her nails against the screen. “We can follow the Turnpike for a while, but I was thinkin’ about turnin’ off once we’re closer so we can come at the Interchange sideways. From what I know about ‘em, the Gunners probably have the roads covered, right? When we get there, we can scope the place out before we decide how we wanna play it. How’s that sound?”

“Good thing I put on my walking boots today,” Hollow muttered, gathering the deck of cards off the floor. He was a stocky man with dark, tawny skin and broad shoulders, and wore his Minuteman hat tilted back on his head. Mac half wished he had nabbed one of the ridiculous hats before they left the Castle.

“Sounds like a plan,” Buckley said, speaking up for the first time since they’d entered the house. Curtis hadn’t been lying when he said the man was big—he had to duck his shaved head to avoid bumping it on the low ceiling. “Hopefully one that means we come back alive.”

Georgia smiled, a hint of uncertainty in the slight waver of her voice, “Well, that’s the goal.”

“It’s a good plan,” Mac nodded, catching her eye and watching her smile grow more confident. “For now at least. The rest can come later. Now, are we ready to head out?”

-----

They made camp when the last rays of sunlight faded over the horizon, the first leg of their journey done. Georgia showed Mac whereabouts they were on her Pip-Boy map, somewhere near where the railroad tracks crossed with the Turnpike’s main road. With her skill in sneaking through the city by way of old shops and side alleys, they were apparently right on time with whatever schedule she had come up with in her head. The Interchange wasn’t too far down the way.

After a collective vote proposed by Georgia, the group took to settling down for the night in a house near the river. It was a suitable shelter after clearing out a small host of rad roaches that Georgia hadn’t been too pleased to encounter. Most of the living room was largely intact save for a wall of broken windows facing the water and a few pieces of barely damaged furniture scattered about the room. Once inside and settled, everyone began to claim their spots. With seven people, they decided to do the night watch in groups.

Before everyone else turned in—Georgia had offered to be part of the first watch group and Mac had volunteered right after—Mac made an attempt to get their attention by standing up from the chair he’d claimed and clearing his throat. He felt nervous, and not from having everyone’s eyes on him. When you grew up trying to wrangle a colony of kids your age who knew exactly how to bust your balls, public speaking wasn’t something Mac had issue with. It was what the group before him was going to help him do that he was anxious about.

“I’ll try to make this quick,” he started, clasping his hands together to stop them from fidgeting. He spared a glance at Georgia, who had been studying the map on her Pip-Boy but was now listening with rapt attention. “This is anyone’s last chance to back out. If you’re having second thoughts or feel like this isn’t something you wanna risk your life for, I get it. Won’t hold it against you. You’re, uh, free to go, I guess.”

The first person to react was Collins, who snorted, “Like hell I’m missing out on giving those Gunner bastards their due. You’ve got your reasons for going after them, and so do we.”

“Plus, it’s one hell of a hike back to the Castle,” Curtis chuckled, pulling snatches of laughter from the room.

Gonzalez huffed out a breath from where she’d been cleaning her gun, the silencer next to her kit. “The Gunners don’t care about finding a reason for half the shit they do. What’s a better reason than just wanting to knock a group of assholes down a few pegs?”

“Having your brother caught in their crossfire might be a better one,” Collins said with a shrug that belied hidden bitterness. “Not to one up you or anything.”

Gonzalez made a face while Hollow gave a shaky laugh and pointed toward her, “I don’t have a much better reason than this one does. When I was still a merc, I had more than a few contracts taken from me in favor of the Gunners. Maybe it counts for something when you need the money, I dunno.”

Mac agreed with the man there; he knew that feeling all too well. He had remained quiet, however, not wanting any of them to start further prodding him for his own justification—no need to get into the nitty gritty of it, of why the Gunners were after him. They had simply told them that the Gunners wanted Mac, who was now apparently a “good friend” of Curtis’, gone. Curtis had almost made it sound like an unjust bounty the way he’d explained it, Mac letting him take the lead and half hoping the man’s mystifying charisma would be enough to carry them through the rest. It had worked well enough to get the group to agree to help, and for that Mac was grateful.

“I’m with you, Cath,” Buckley spoke up, staring at Collins across the room. He took up the whole door frame he’d been leaning on, a wall of muscle between the wood. “Lost some friends in Quincy. I’m here because of them.”

All eyes then turned to Georgia, who had remained quiet in a room full of people for the longest amount of time Mac had noticed since he’d met her.

“What about you, General?” Gonzalez asked, hands still working over her weapon. “Can’t say I wasn’t a little surprised that you signed off on this whole thing.”

Georgia looked up at Mac from where she had been sitting on her sleeping bag and Mac had to fight himself from looking away from the sincerity in her expression.

“My friend Mac here saved my life,” she said simply and he swallowed thickly, “least I could do is help him out, y’know? Only coincidence we found others with a similar goal.”

“Pays to be a friend of the General then, huh?” Collins piped up with a pointed look towards Mac. “Good to have someone like that at your back.”

“It has its perks,” he shrugged, and held Georgia in his gaze for a moment longer than necessary.

“What can I say? I’m useful like that,” she laughed, then stood up from her sleeping bag and stretched. “We should start turnin’ in soon, get an early start tomorrow so we have some time to scope the Interchange out.”

The rest of the group called out their various agreements. As they began to get settled for the night, she picked up her shotgun and slung it over her shoulder. Attached to it was the leather strip that had previously been on the rifle that now stayed strapped to the side of her pack. Her new weapon was covered in scuffs and dings from the various altercations they’d been in since Mac had given it to her.

Once she was ready, she came to stand next to Mac, and put a hand on his arm, cold as ever despite the fabric between them. “You and I have a hot date with first watch, can’t keep her waitin’.”

Mac breathed a laugh through his nose as she led them out to the porch, their only plan for the rest of the night to keep an eye out for any perceived threat that would come to harm them. Compared to what they had hoped to do the next day, he could manage as much. They had numbers and strategy on their side and for a moment, he dared to hope it was enough.

#fallout #fallout fic #fallout 4 #fo4 #rj maccready #fic: best laid plans #eeeep i'm finally glad this is Out #it always takes me a long time to force myself to edit bc i need most of the words to Leave my brain & forget them so i don't get bored rer #*rereading #bc i often reread it every time i open it to write if the chapter isn't finished #so i can Maintain the Vibe #but it does make it harder to edit without being like 'ugh i've read this part 102394 times already' a;dflkj #but it's out & im happy i hope u all enjoy ilu

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