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jedifarmerr · 4 months ago

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Wasteland Masterlist/AO3

Pairing: Frankie Morales x F!Reader/OFC (established backstory, no y/n or physical descriptions)

Series Summary: Sentenced to a life underground after a nuclear attack, what was said to be a quick and painless process somehow ended up taking 200 years. Waking up alone and with everyone else still frozen, a search for help and answers turns upside down when four mysterious men come into the picture.

Rating: E (chapter warnings: language, food & eating, some allusions to PTSD. Let me know if I missed anything!)

Word Count: 12k

Authors Note: Yes, it's been a thousand years and I'm so sorry, but here we go again!

Chapter 11

“Have any of you seen Tom?”

Frankie glanced from the Miller’s to Santiago, his gaze catching on the empty stool that haunted the head of the hightop. He grimaced and looked away, feeling a stone lodge in his gut. Being here without Tom didn’t sit right with him.

They were at Shamrock Brewhouse – a tradition on Tuesday night. There was no one in the sunroom with them, but Will and Santi scanned the basket archway and the limited view of the second floor for any prying eyes or stray barflies. Nothing. Scarlett was nowhere to be found with their food either.

“Nope,” Will answered as Santi sullenly shook his head. They turned to Benny who was tracing the rings and runny medullary rays on the oak table.

“I ran into Molly the other day at the grocery store, but no Tom,” Benny said, voice low and sad. “Have you seen him, Fish?”

Lifting the frosted mug to his lips, Frankie downed a heavy sip and swallowed. “Not since the welcome home party.”

Twelve days ago.

One of them should’ve seen Tom around town by now. Sanctuary was too damn compact. You couldn’t evade anyone for too long unless it was intentional.

A bitter taste hung tauntingly behind his uvula, and no – it wasn’t pale ale backwash. Tom had made his point abundantly clear not showing up tonight – for the second week in a row. The writing was plastered on the wall: Tom was avoiding them.

And Frankie had no idea how to deal with that.

It was fucking with his head.

He’d never been on the other end of Tom’s silent treatment. None of them had, not Will or even Santiago. They never fought to such a degree before. Frankie tried to recount when any of them last genuinely argued with Tom. It must’ve been sometime before he retired. Butting heads was inevitable on missions when stakes and tensions were high.

Will cleared his throat, shaking Frankie from his musing. Behind Will, the wall of windows revealed a pitch-black sky. It was still somewhat early. It couldn't have been later than 8:30, but the nights had grown longer the further it inched into fall.

"It's been long enough. It’s time we reach out,” Will declared as he rubbed his jawline, his fingers scraping the thick, blonde hair there. “Besides, Tom’s not gonna be the one to do it.”

“No shit,” Santi murmured, snatching a greasy fried pickle from the basket in the center of the table. "But if we all show up at his house unannounced, he's gonna feel ambushed."

True.

“Alright, then, who goes?” Will didn’t look directly at anyone, but the answer was obvious. Even if Frankie knew his friends would never say it first.

There was a long pause. The air was ripe with tension. The music from downstairs bled in from the ceiling into the sticky floorboards, vibrating the legs of his chair. Frankie glanced around the table at his friends. Their faces were bathed in disfigured shadows by the few stained-glass pendant lights that barely lit the room. The glass was painted in dark neutral tones, the bulbs dim and orange as pumpkins.

"We all know it has to be me,” Frankie broke the silence. “I can go see him tomorrow.”

“Only if I’m coming with you.” Santi stared at him adamantly. The expression on his face was resolute, but Frankie still protested.

“You don’t-”

“You’re not going alone,” Santi interrupted, voice firmer than usual. He rarely raised his voice at Frankie.

"Not after that shit he pulled with your mom," Will added, and Benny nodded.

Surprised, Frankie’s lips parted. He didn’t think they would still be hung up over that. It had been almost two weeks, but the guys were still pissed at Tom for dragging his mom into this mess. Good thing he kept his mouth shut about Tom mentioning his dad. Or else it would be World War fucking 4.

"I wonder what your dad would think of that - about all of this."

Frankie could still recall the way Tom sneered at him. Those words had been said so flippantly – so carelessly – that it rooted Frankie to the spot. Shocked. He would’ve sworn he’d just been pummeled by a rabid gulped with the way the air caught in his chest, squeezing his ribs and lungs.

Tom must’ve known. Tom had to have known that it haunted Frankie. That he’d thought about his dad and especially his opinion every goddamn day since meeting her. Hell – longer than that. It’d plagued him for years. Ever since that cold January night when tiny white specks fell from a starless sky, wetting his ears and nose – snow. It was almost as if those flakes had melted into his head, sunk into his brain, and buried themselves somewhere deep within the grooves and fissures of his frontal lobe. He could not rid himself of it, could not make a decision without it being there - looming and present, unseen like a ghost.

What would my dad think of this? Would he be proud of his son?

It had been in that moment that Frankie had wanted to defend himself against Tom. It took everything in him not to lash out, but he knew better than to argue with Tom when he felt backed into a corner. There was no point. It was like dealing with a wild boar – a prowling snake – a faulty fragmentation mine where one tiny misstep would make him completely implode.

Instead, Frankie had left his office without saying a word.

Honestly, Frankie didn’t expect Tom to swallow his pride and ask for forgiveness. It was less of a joke and more of a universal fact that Tom was allergic to apologies. The word sorry would sound alien in Tom’s voice. It didn’t matter, though. Frankie had already made up his mind and forgiven Redfly. It felt like the least he could do given the circumstances.

"It worked out, though, didn’t it?” Frankie finally replied.

Abruptly, Will straightened and his brows furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know,” Frankie said, his thumb smudging the sweaty mug. “Blue seems to like working there-”

“That’s not the point, man,” Will intercepted, his blue eyes piercing into Frankie. "He never should've put you in that position."

Frankie shrugged, his tongue running along the roof of his mouth, feeling the dents and ridges. It was tough. He could understand where Tom's anger stemmed from in a way they could not.

He could see it from Tom’s perspective, and a part of him felt deserving of Tom's wrath. If roles were reversed, he’d also feel betrayed. He’d be shaken up, as well. Crawling out of his skin if someone, let alone his friends, showed up with a Vault-Tec kid claiming they were innocent.

“I could’ve said no,” Frankie reminded them. “We just need to make things right with him.”

---

The next day, the sun was beginning to set as they made their way to Tom’s place.

Frankie felt like he was going to be sick. His throat was dry as chalk – tongue lace-patterned. The hard lump in the center of his chest was shaped like an unruly fist.

His slippery grip tightened, practically strangling the glass handle of their peace offering – a growler from Shamrock. Coming equipped with an olive branch in his arsenal seemed like a necessity at this point. It never hurt to be prepared.

He hoped that Tom would be willing to talk as they silently walked through the orange and pink painted streets – as they moved into the calmer part of town and past colonial homes primarily reserved for families.

Encroaching upon the white picket fence, he was surprised to see Molly. Or her ponytail, more like. Her rich copper hair nearly blended into the budding sunset. He’d never met anyone with red hair before her. As a kid he’d thought it was a myth that only existed in the dingy pages of picture books like Madeline.

She was alone in the backyard. Her back turned to them as she picked up fake, plastic food in the patchy grass. It gave him a moment to readjust a smile on his face before Santi knocked on the fence.

Molly spun around, squealing when she realized it was them. At least she was elated to see them.

"Tom didn't tell me you guys were coming by." She tossed the toys into a nearby bin and waved them in.

“Thought we’d surprise him.” Santi unlatched the gate, tipping his stubbly chin towards the house. "Is he home?"

“He’s inside with the girls.” She hugged Santi, then Frankie. This was a much kinder welcome than anticipated.

It was funny how different Molly was from Tom. On the outside, their couple almost seemed like a mismatch. Polar opposites. She was warm and bubbly and as green as her eyes. There was a callowness there, an innocence that Tom did not possess, but then again, nobody who lived in the vaults did.

Tom needed someone like that to calm, ground, and balm his barbed-tooth edges. Molly was good for him. They worked well together.

After setting the growler carefully on the ground, they helped Molly clean up the rest of the yard: chalk, hula hoops, and a single jump rope. Most of the time, Molly talked about the girls – Janey had started school. Tess was learning how to ride a bike. They’d been pestering Tom non-stop about when the guys would come visit.

That made Frankie feel a gut-twisting guilt for his friend. Poor Redfly. He was angry at them, but still had to cover up their absence and had done it well, given how normal Molly was behaving. Frankie couldn’t imagine. Lying to his mom was hard enough and would undoubtedly be worse with a wife and kids.

"Would you mind hanging around out here?” Molly asked, directing them to sit at the patio table. "It's almost bath time, and it will be impossible to get the girls upstairs if they see you."

It was no problem. Of course, they did as she said. It would offer them more privacy, anyway.

As Molly waved goodbye she made them promise to come by next week for dinner with the Millers before heading inside to fetch Tom.

Waiting, Frankie nervously drummed his fingers along the tempered glass. The sun was barely cusping the horizon. A crisp breeze, scented with salt and early October, rattled the leaves, which had recently changed from green into fiery shades of orange and red – some pink and vermillion.

The back door kicked open – it swung and hit the terracotta siding with a thwack.

Wordlessly, Tom stepped onto the porch. His jaw was clenched. His beard was scraggly and unkempt. The only good sign was a stack of three cups in his left hand. It seemed he was letting them stay for a drink.

Frankie watched as Tom mechanically walked towards them. Usually, he’d stand to greet him but decided not to push it. He instead went with the safe option of a smile. The last thing he wanted to do was get off on the wrong foot over something stupid like a hug.

Santi must've had the same thought because he remained seated, as well. "How's it going, man?"

"Alright." Curt. Stone-cold.

The only sounds that followed were the wind and the whine of rusty hinges as Tom sat in the chair between them. God – it was awkward. It made Frankie doubt if it was a good idea coming here.

Tentatively, Frankie slid the growler over to Tom hoping it would help. It was a gift – a tribute. Tom remained silent as the grave. For a second, he thought Tom might push it away, deny it, and tell them to leave, but he finally sighed and accepted the offering. He unstacked the cups, unscrewed the lid, and poured the inky black liquid into the first glass.

"Imperial Stout." Tom's lips twitched enough to resemble a smile. "Trying to butter me up?"

"That depends." Pope shrugged with an ease that Frankie envied. He made everything look so simple. “Is it working?”

Tom answered with a nondescript hum before filling the other two glasses. Together – they took a drink. The beer coated his mouth. It tasted mildly of cherries.

It was civil twilight. The sky was crepuscular and cornflower blue. Around them, the streets were empty. The closest neighbors were an elderly couple who were likely already in bed. Tom was lucky. His house was private, located on a half acre of land.

A light from upstairs suddenly turned on – it flooded the grass with a dull yellow hue, and Tom cleared his throat. “Molly’s getting the girls ready for bed, so we can cut the bullshit.”

"What bullshit?" Santi quickly shook his head. Barely a word had been said, yet. “We’re just here to talk.”

Tom remained silent, eyeing Santi as if he was lying. It didn’t seem to faze Santi because his voice was as calm as ever.

"What do you want from us, Tom? We’re doing everything you asked. We’ve been looking after her-”

“We? Really?” Tom snuffed, the bottom of his cup smacking the tempered glass. "Cause what I’ve heard is only one of you is babysitting her.” He flayed Frankie with such a venomous glare that it startled him. “How’d you get that job, huh Fish? Pulling sticks?”

"Are we supposed to be keeping an eye on her or not?" Santi replied before Frankie could finish licking the bitter tang off his lips.

"Keeping an eye on her is a very different thing from following her around like a fucking dog," Tom spat, and Frankie had to look away, suddenly feeling severely embarrassed.

A dog? Was that what people were saying? It must've been the shop owners. Assholes. God forbid he walk her to work every day for the first week. It was just to make sure that nobody fucked with her. He didn’t like how certain people looked at her sometimes. That’s why he also walked her home if she got off when it was already dark. Sanctuary might’ve been protected against ghouls, raiders, and mutants, but there were still creeps.

Her safety was his – their responsibility.

He vaguely wondered if Kasumi had told Tom how often he was at her apartment. He hoped not. He hoped Kasumi had kept it to herself how often she saw him in her garden. In those first few days especially, he'd hung around her place slightly more than necessary when it became apparent how much she was struggling. He couldn’t find it in himself to leave her alone for too long – isolated in that tiny garage apartment with nothing more than her thoughts for company. It seemed cruel.

“Molly went by your mom’s shop the other day, but Blue wasn’t there.” Tom’s fingers curled around the metal armrest, his knuckles blanched as white as the crescent moon. “No. She was out to lunch with you.”

“So what?” Santi – again – intercepted. “I took her to lunch today - Benny took her yesterday.”

“But it’s mostly you, isn’t it?” Tom’s voice was so smug that it came across as patronizing. Even more so when his lips twisted into an impish grin. It was as if he’d caught him.

But he didn’t. It wasn’t like that. It really wasn’t.

Yes. Frankie had taken on the brunt of the work. He’d mainly looked after her, but only because the others had been analyzing the data from Blue’s vault, trying to figure out a way to open the pods. They had also been working on decrypting the synth chip. Besides, Frankie had more time to spare than the others. Will and Santi, and likely Benny as well, had someone in their beds.

“They help out when they can,” Frankie explained, tugging at the worn sleeves of his camel-tan nubuck jacket. “You know tech shit has never been my thing.”

"Don’t fuck around with me.” Tom shook his head in disbelief – or maybe disgust. “Is she what - your friend, now?”

“So what if she is?” Santi answered, but other than a grimace, Tom ignored him; his gaze remained firmly glued to Frankie’s face.

“I-” Frankie muttered, “I don’t know.”

He didn’t. He really didn’t know what she was to him. It wasn’t something he ruminated over too much because anytime he did, it struck him as a sin. He felt contrite when he realized Blue had wormed her way in. She’d gotten closer than he anticipated, and the guilt bound to his skin like old, muddy blood.

His brain was hard-wired to despise anything remotely associated with that company. It was decades worth of psyops.

They were the enemy – they imprisoned innocent people – they destroyed his fucking life.

He knew, deep down, he knew that he was supposed to hate her.

And he had hated her.

He’d despised her entirely with that bratty attitude and sinfully tight vault suit. He'd wanted to kill her. He’d pointed a gun at her head and nearly shot her dead. Brain matter on the Vienna rug. Purple guts on the velvet couch like the mud from their boots. Her body left to decompose in the living room.

It was strange how after just two weeks with her, he could no longer bear that thought. Ugly. Horrible. It cut him deeper than the idea of being her friend. He felt violently sick whenever he remembered his finger on the trigger, visualized her trembling chin and bulging eyes in his sight. The memory was never supposed to stick with him like this. She was never supposed to matter. It was like nothing made sense anymore. He swore nothing did since she came crashing into his life.

Of course, he had no idea how to explain any of that. The sky had darkened and blued like mold when he looked at Tom, wishing he could articulate all the shit in his head. He cleared his throat.

“It’s complicated.”

“Complicated?” Tom spit the word back at him. Staggering back in his chair, Tom tilted his head and scrutinized him. “Are you fucking her?”

"What?” Frankie stared at him in shock as Santi sputtered on his drink. “No.”

"Jesus, Tom. What the fuck's the matter with you?"

"Me?" Tom hissed, ramming a finger into the center of his chest. He suddenly lurched forward and Frankie could see the prominent vein on his forehead throbbing. “What the fuck’s the matter with you? I mean, seriously - it’s like you’ve all forgotten who we’re dealing with here.”

“Do you think I could forget?” Frankie snapped – his shock erupting into indignation. His fingers curled into his fists as he tamped down the fire to rattle Redfly by the collar. How could you say that? How dare you. "I know better than anyone who we're dealing with," he spat, voice shaking with overwhelming rage. "My dad's dead because of them."

It was like he slapped Tom across the face. The force of his words made Tom’s head jerk, his mouth split apart like a gutted fish. Good. Tom gaze instantly dropped to the ground, where the moss was branching over the bricks.

Frankie snagged his drink off the table and took a heavy pull, though he wished for something stronger. His body craved it. Almost demanded it. His tongue itched for the specific burn that only the hard stuff – the good stuff – could supply: gin, whiskey, or whatever gut-rot he could quickly get his hands on. Of course, all of those were off the table. Had been for the last five years. He'd given up hard liquor when he quit Mentats and Jet and every other Chem that he'd grown too reliant on to live.

"What'd she say when you told her about your dad?" Tom's voice was soft, almost remorseful. It was the closest thing he'd get to an apology.

"I haven't told her yet," Frankie answered. "It's not easy to talk about." There was a reason why most people avoided mentioning Vault-Tec. It was a trigger. It brought back those memories that he used to try and choke to death in Chems and booze.

Soon. He would tell her, though. Very soon.

"I get it."

The stars breached the surface. A gust of chilly air seeped into his jacket, making Frankie snug it tighter. He turned to Tom and even in the ripe twilight, he could see Tom starting to crack. All that previous hardness was chipping away to reveal the man he knew – his friend. Redfly.

"I'm not asking you to trust her, Tom. I know I didn't." At first. Frankie sighed, dragging a hand across his jaw. "I still have doubts."

"About her?"

"Sometimes,” Frankie admitted. “Not as much as I used to, but it’s not like all the shit from before just goes away."

“We’re just asking you to give this a chance,” Santi siad, his carob eyes pleading with Tom. Trust us. "Can you do that?"

Tom waited a moment before giving a weak nod. “I’ll try.” He raised his glass in the air and rested it against his bottom lip. "Let's hope you're right."

"We'll find out more tomorrow." Santi squeezed Tom's shoulder. "She should give us some sort of intel at that meeting."

---

You'd expected things to move a little faster than this. You'd expected them to be on your ass for information. You'd expected them to give you at most a week, maybe a day or two at the new job before they started hounding you about holding up your end of the deal. This was, after all, a transaction. It'd sorta seemed like you'd be treated like one of those informants in a drug cartel movie.

You weren't complaining, though. Not at all. Having time to settle in was nice and much needed and you took it as a sign of good faith. They’d help up their end of the bargain, and now it was your turn to do the same.

After a little over two weeks, you were finally summoned to the council building. In the basement, they'd set up a private base where you could safely share intel. It was tucked away within a maze of short hallways, secured behind a pair of password-protected doors.

Stepping inside, the room appeared to be nothing special. It looked more like a storage room than a nerve center. The floor and walls were unfinished, gritty concrete with spidery cracks in the ceiling. Tiny motes of dust swirled around the strip lights like fruit gnats. Your eyes stung when you breathed in the heavy smell of loam and spilth.

The room was certainly spacious, though. Even with ten people in here, there was legroom to spare. The limited furniture undoubtedly helped. Against the back wall, a chalkboard on wheels was flanked by foldable steel chairs on two-tier dollys. Everyone gathered in the center of the room around a long cafeteria table.

Squeezing into the spot between Preston and Benny, you noticed the table was covered in maps, which encompassed the entire state of Massachusetts. A few even expanded into parts of Rhode Island and New Hampshire.

These maps were incredibly detailed. Each included street names, major highways and interstates, parks, and various landmarks. Someone had added their own interest points: X's and O's, making the maps look like a scrambled Tic-Tac-Toe board.

"These areas are where the bombs fell." Preston pointed at the black ring around Fall River. His finger rested there for a few seconds - tapping it for emphasis before trailing to the other circles.

You tracked his movement from Bridgewater to Rockport to Milford. When his finger ran across the ring near Wayland, you winced. It felt stupid that something as small as a circle could be a trigger. You couldn't escape it.

The nightmares were constant. Again and again, you dreamed of Concord, reliving everything like Groundhog Day. There was the distant sound of sirens and screams. Families desperately wailing for someone to save them. You could see Nora - bloody lips and gravel-dust on her ashen face. Against the summer blue horizon, a bright burst of light - a mushroom cloud of smoke. You'd thought you were going to die. It rattled your skull. You'd braced for impact, accepted death, then turned around and had to live.

To make matters worse, you could not go somewhere deep inside your head anymore. You couldn’t escape to happier times. Everything was too fresh and tainted. You couldn't remember Nora without seeing her dead. You couldn't think about your parents or family trips to Spain and Greece or the Amalfi fucking Coast without the taste of vinegar burning your throat. All your memories had become rotten, curdling like spoiled milk.

A salty pressure built around your temples, and you quickly closed your eyes to keep back tears. This was not the time or place to fall apart. You could do that later, in bed, like a normal person.

If anyone noticed your reaction, they didn't mention it. You were thankful for that. You were still figuring out how to deal with everything and where to put it all.

Stuff it down.

Stuff it away.

Bury it.

You opened your eyes when the threat of tears finally waned. You exhaled before scanning the mix of red and black X’s on the map. Focusing, you recognized some of the locations of the black X’s and noticed the red was solely in the north.

"I know these black X's are Vault-Tec. So, I'm guessing the red must be for Treasury?"

Preston smiled in response as Benny explained, "We added Treasury's, just in case you were curious."

Surprisingly, it was very informative. Most of the vaults they'd found were also in the north. That made sense, you supposed. Finding the vaults closest to Treasury's and Sanctuary was probably easy – or easier, at least. Additionally, there was one in Malden, Revere, two more in the neighborhoods around Boston, and four in New Hampshire. In total, you counted 16, but that was it?

"When did you start looking?" you asked. You were genuinely curious, but your tone must have come off as judgmental or unimpressed because Tom immediately appeared offended. He defensively folded his arms and nearly elbowed Frankie in the ribs as he puffed out his chest.

"The first vault was freed in 2200."

Suddenly, it made sense why they seemed so desperate for your help. Almost 80 years of searching, 16 was barely scratching the surface. At this rate, it would take another two centuries for them to locate the rest. If not longer.

"The first vault actually liberated themselves," Preston elaborated, gesturing to the X in Swampscott. "They found us, and that's how all this started."

"How many others have freed themselves?"

"As far as we know, none," Preston said.

Tom suddenly let out a sound that sounded like a mix of a scoff and a snort. It audibly flared his nostrils. "They made sure it never happened again," he stressed, the tendons in his jaw twitching.

He continued to stare at you. The chill that ran down your spine had nothing to do with the cold draft in the basement room. Under his ruthless hazel eyes, you felt scrutinized. His upper lip curled in disgust as if you stunk of toxic waste.

The guys had said they'd talked to Redfly. He's gonna try. He's gonna give you a chance. Yeah, that didn't seem to be the case.

Benny must've sensed the growing tension because he abruptly shifted topics. “Do a lot of these overlap with the ones you had?”

You tilted your head unevenly from side to side.

“About half-and-half. I didn’t know the exact location of the ones in New Hampshire. Or any of these, either.” Your finger orbited around the three vaults in the far northeastern region. “I was pretty dicey on this one, too,” you added, pecking at the city of Lawrence. It was lucky for them that most of the ones you knew were either within a 25-mile radius of Concord or to the southeast of Boston.

“So, that means you have a vault to give us.” Tom’s voice was flat as wood as he rolled a marker across the table. It would've been easier to just hand it to you, but of course, he had to be difficult. He probably didn't want to risk touching you. It was like you were diseased.

Luckily, you caught the marker before it could slide off and hit the ground. The last thing you wanted to give Tom was the satisfaction of seeing you crawling around on the cold, cement floor for a runaway marker.

You tapped the capped side of the marker against your chin. The fluorescent lights were bright white, reflecting against the synthetic paper. On the edge of Peabody, there was a vault. Finding Cannon Rock on the map, your eyes drifted a few blocks northeast. Right there. In that park.

You paused and abruptly looked at Concord, where your family was currently frozen. You thought back to when you left the vault. The only reason you did it was to save them, not betray them.

You'd been flirting with the point of no return but realized this was it. If you did this, if you gave up the vault, you could never go back to them again. Your father would not forgive you. Thinking about losing the only thing you had left of the world you knew made your chest feel too tight. It was as if a burlap sack was wrapped around your sternum, making it hard to breathe fully.

You wondered if this was the right decision. There was a split-second where you considered giving them the wrong location, leading them there, then making a run for it. This was a position you never wanted to be in. You were tired of being misled. Tired of not knowing who to trust. Time and time again, your own intuition had proven wrong. You didn't want to fuck up anymore.

You looked up, and when your gaze landed on Frankie, he offered a small smile. It was subtle, a simple quirk of his pink lips. You felt penitent. You hated yourself for even briefly considering misleading them. It was a lapse in judgment. You had no idea what you were thinking. Whether you turned back or not, things would never be the same with your family. You knew too much.

You uncapped the marker and took a deep breath before drawing an X near the border of Peabody and Lynn.

No going back, now. It was done.

---

When Frankie saw where she marked the map, he knew Tom would definitely question her.

“Right here?” Tom hammered his index finger against the fresh blue X, smearing the edges onto a nearby street. "Are you sure about that?"

Tom's stare bore into her like a heavy boot on her neck, but she didn't flinch. Instead, she firmly nodded, not even looking down to double-check.

"Positive?" Tom continued to press despite her confidence. "Cause we've checked that area more than a dozen times-”

"I don't know what to tell you, Tom. It's there."

Frankie had lost count of how many times their unit was sent on a recce to scope out that exact area.

Over the years, there had been countless clues and data encryptions that alluded to a vault being somewhere in Peabody. They’d go and waste days sifting through the town, turning it upside down to leave empty-handed.

After a while, Frankie had started to believe it was a ruse – a diversionary tactic to throw them off their scent. It sounded like something Vault-Tec would do, but now, it seemed like they had just overlooked it somehow.

"What made you pick this vault?" Tom asked.

She glanced down at the map before peering up at Tom through her lashes. "Uh - it's the closest one." Her tone was dry, a duh heavily implied. "I thought that would be the easiest way to do this, wouldn't you agree?"

The vein on Tom's forehead pulsed like a wound. He grunted in response, clearly pained to agree with her.

Truthfully, they should've been thanking her. She could've easily given them a vault that would take days or weeks to reach, but Frankie decided not to point that out. He'd rather not pick a fight before the ink could dry on their new peace treaty. Things between them weren't entirely back to normal just yet. Their interactions were still slightly awkward – stilted and fragile.

"So," Will rested his hip against the table and looked at Tom. "Is the captain going to tag along?"

Tom's lips split into a disarming grin that shaved the years off his face. Gone were the bags, wrinkles, and frown lines. He hadn't seen Tom smile like that since he retired.

Frankie knew Tom missed being out there – with a gun in his hand. He craved action – adrenaline – the acts of violence that inflicted the wasteland. Sitting at a desk and reading through files wasn't the life he ultimately envisioned.

"Come on." Tom folded his arms over his chest. "Do you think I'm gonna let you guys do this without me?"

"Woo!" Benny cheered, pounding his fist on the table. "That's what I'm fucking talking about."

Frankie glanced across the table at Blue and noticed the worry flicker over her face. Her fingers were curled tightly around the marker as her smile faltered to one side. There was a faraway look in her eyes and absently watched Tom and Benny celebrate. She blinked and abruptly corrected her expression. Even though she appeared fine, Frankie could tell innately that something was bothering her.

It had become almost like a sixth sense. Over the last two months, he had subconsciously come to learn her tics and tells. She didn't even have to give a lot. To him, she was downright easy to read.

And right now, she was nervous. He suspected that her unease had something to do with Tom and couldn't really blame her. She had no reason to trust him or any of them for that matter.

"Will Molly be okay with that?" Preston's voice was almost as stiff as his spine, but Tom didn’t seem to realize.

"She won't mind," Tom said dismissively. It was likely. After retiring, Tom continued to fill in for a sick patrol or volunteer to clear out an infestation of ghouls. He'd jump at the chance to escape from Sanctuary. She must've realized those few hours outside the gates kept him sane. "Besides, as long as Blue's telling the truth, we should be back before dark."

When Tom looked away, Preston quickly exchanged a glance with Curie. The two of them shared an inscrutable look. Interesting. Maybe it wasn't just him who caught on to Blue's apprehension.

"Well, someone has to balance out the testosterone in this group," Curie announced casually. "So, I'll come too."

Blue snorted earnestly before flashing Curie a grateful smile. "I'd really like that, but-" she paused for a moment, her lips twisting to one side. “Won’t people find it strange that I'm tagging along?"

“We don’t think so,” Preston said. “But we did talk and decided if anyone asks, we’ll say you aren’t comfortable being here without the guys, just yet. That excuse should buy us a few months, at least.”

"Besides, everyone believes you grew up out there," Will added. "To survive this long, you'd have to be a pretty big badass."

She smirked at that, but her expression quickly turned serious again. "So, you don't think anyone will put two and two together? Even with finding a vault?"

Frankie could understand her concern, though it was highly unlikely for a few reasons. For one – the guys didn't even believe who she was when she was in front of them, donning a vault suit.

Secondly, nobody had any real reason to question the Council or their unit. They were both respected. Both were highly regarded throughout the entire Commonwealth. Even if there were rumors, Frankie doubted the gossip would include Vault-Tec. Not with his involvement. Just his seal of approval alone cleared her name.

Thankfully, Preston said something different than that.

“We told everyone about the synths in Lexington for a reason. They know we’ve been working hard on analyzing the chip,” he explained, glancing briefly at Tom. “It wouldn’t be the first time a vault’s been found that way.”

She was silent for a long moment – seemingly contemplating before she nodded and said, “Okay.”

That was it.

The meeting concluded with Tom laying out a plan.

“We’ll leave Sunday.” He looked in Blue’s direction and scowled. “After the morning patrols get back. I don’t want any fucking surprises.”

---

On Sunday morning, the patrols slowly trickled in one by one. The routes covered the area of Clifton, but you doubted they extended further than Phillip's Beach or Swampscott Mall. Waiting seemed like a waste of precious daylight for only an hour or so of clearance, but questioning Tom would surely piss him off. He was already in a sour enough mood.

For the last hour, Preston and him had bickered in the corner. The council lobby didn't offer much in terms of privacy, but neither seemed to care.

"All I'm saying is maybe we should postpone the trip another day or two," Preston had said, halfway pleading with Tom to reconsider.

It had been raining on and off since yesterday. Last night, it was so severe that it woke you up twice. Even though the storm had passed earlier, you glanced out the window at the sky, where a mass of blackness brooded on the very distant horizon. Traversing through a hostile wasteland was dangerous - even more so with sight lines limited. Preston made it sound like a death wish, but Tom seemed intent on asserting his dominance.

"It's just rain. We'll be fine." Tom's tone was harsh – final. "I'm not waiting another day to find out if she's telling the truth."

Preston must have realized that Tom would not budge because he went to a nearby linen closet and handed everyone a flimsy bedroll. He dropped it in your lap, and it smelled like mothballs. "Just in case."

Luckily, you'd been prepared and wore a field jacket with a hood. Clad in combat boots and tatty black jeans, the leather holster around your waist looked like something straight from an old western - Gunsmoke or something with Clint Eastwood. It was thoroughly shocking that Tom even allowed you to have a gun.

It was around 10 or so when the last of the patrols walked through the gates with another clean bill of health. Finally, the group left – Preston waving goodbye with a worried look in his ochre eyes.

Against the overcast skies, you could see it was storming in Lawrence or Andover. Somewhere out west. The clouds over there were smeared and bruised with a sickly green hue. The air was gummy and thick with humidity from the October rain, and as you walked down Tedscore Street, you could feel your tank top sticking to your skin.

It was strange being surrounded again by destruction. Inside the walls of Sanctuary, you could almost forget what existed on the other side. No - everything there was so clean and put-together instead of destitute.

You turned onto Eastern Avenue and saw it lined with decay. The houses and stores were comatose, rotted from time and weather. The uranium residue hung above the town, blending into the ozone. This once busy street was now full of holes.

Staring down at your feet, you carefully stepped around the debris - the pits and cracks that riddled the asphalt, making it undrivable. Inside the potholes, the fresh puddles carried a specific stink. It was earthy and sulfuric, overwhelming your nostrils like a hot shower in Orlando, Florida.

Funny – even the smell of petrichor was different than it used to be. Nothing was the same anymore. It was ugly. It was broken. The world was in utter shreds.

“Pick up the pace," Tom barked, knocking you back into the present. His hot breath and bits of spit pelted the back of your neck. He was right on your heels.

"I'm going as fast as I can," you sassed. You refused to look over your shoulder, not wanting to be that close to his face.

"It's slick here, man," Benny was quick to come to your defense. It wasn't like he was moving any faster than you.

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed Frankie lightly grip Tom's arm and guide him three steps back. You were thankful for that. It was better than nothing, though you wished Tom wasn't here at all.

You knew he would ruin the entire vibe when he announced that he was coming along. Everyone seemed uneasy around him. Barely anyone had said a word over the last hour and a half.

You’d thought Frankie was bad in the beginning, but even he didn’t act this cold. At least Frankie had the decency to act a little sympathetically toward your situation. He didn't trust or like you but cared somewhat about your safety. He didn't leave you in Concord. He'd protected you from the bugs and ghouls. You doubted Tom would've taken a nasty gash to the arm for you.

Two or maybe closer to three miles left, the group stopped for lunch in a strip mall parking lot. You plopped down next to Benny on the curb and pulled out a sandwich from the front pocket of your bag. Molly had made one for everyone. This morning, she'd handed them out personally before kissing Tom goodbye. You'd talked with her briefly, a quick introduction, but she was nicer than you expected given her husband. There was something kind about her smile.

"So," Tom began as you took the first bite. "How exactly do you know where this vault is?"

Suddenly, you realized they'd never explicitly asked how you knew the location of the vaults. You supposed it was a small detail in the grand scheme of things. Perhaps they thought it was common knowledge back then, and honestly, they wouldn’t have been completely wrong.

Looking around, you wouldn't know it now, but there were billboards everywhere, cheesy late-night infomercials, and posters shepherding traffic to the closest vault in case of an emergency. Back then, everyone knew where a few vaults were.

You swallowed. "My family went to the grand opening." Took another bite. This sandwich was delicious. You needed the recipe for whatever this sauce was.

"You've been to this vault before?" Will sounded surprised and slightly confused. Suddenly, you noticed everyone staring at you and gulped.

"Only outside of it, but yeah." You absently picked at the bread crust. Once construction finished, barely anyone was allowed inside aside from a few high-ups, such as your parents. Not even Alice had that sort of clearance, much to her annoyance.

"Vaults are a fragile system," your dad would tell her. "They need to be kept in perfect condition. We must maintain their integrity."

"And every vault had a grand opening?" Santi clarified, and you nodded.

As a kid, you used to cut the big yellow ribbon. You could remember the first time – outside of Vault 85. It was in the middle of a blizzard. Your teeth chattered, tiny hands shaking so violently in your fur-trimmed gloves that your dad had to hold them steady as you grappled with the giant scissors.

"I don't get it." Benny scratched his temple with a quizzical expression. "If you couldn’t go inside, what was the point?”

You couldn't help but smile at Benny. It was funny how much things had changed. Of course, it wouldn't make sense to him. In this world, there was no PR or promotions. They had no idea that a brand needed media attention to thrive.

"The whole thing was just for publicity." The Boston Bugle was always front and center – their pictures were broadcast on WRVR evening news. “The only reason my dad brought me was for the photo op. He thought seeing a family unit was good for the brand.”

Tom made an ugly sound with his mouth.

"If your face was already selling vaults, sounds like you might as well have worked for them." Tom glanced at Frankie, who was awkwardly sitting next to him on the cement parking block.

"It's not like I didn't consider it." You did. Of course you did. That would've made things at home so much easier. It would've made your parents – God, your mom so proud. How nice it would've been to make her proud for once. You shoved that thought away and shrugged. “At the end of the day, I didn’t want a job dealing with the end of the world. It wasn't something I liked thinking about."

For good reason, you thought, scanning the strip mall. There were the remains of a Dunkin' sign – a pizza place – a quaint corner cafe. At lunchtime, this area would've been swarming.

Now, there was no one. Now, there was just brittle mineral dust. Ash and ghosts.

You sighed. "I would've rather focused on saving the world I had, not saving it in the aftermath."

"And that's what Vault-Tec was doing? Saving the world?" Tom hissed, the words gritting between his teeth.

"That's what I thought at the time," you said calmly, voice sad. "Turns out I was wrong."

—-

It wasn't much further now. You were passing St. Joseph Cemetery, where headstones were buried under a thicket of weeds and bright yellow dandelions. Amidst the river birch and flowering dogwood trees were mausoleums entwined in vines. The brass doors were dark and rich with patina.

“Blue!” Curie called out, snapping your attention away from the grand iron archway and to the front of the line. “Wanna come lead the way?”

“Sure.”

She ushered you to the front of the pack, walking at your side. You squinted at the street signs and storefronts. It was hard to orient yourself when everything looked radically different.

“Here, this might help,” Curie said, revealing a pip-boy from her bag and placing it in your hands.

“Is this a 3000 model?” You marveled at the pip-boy before latching the band around your wrist. The device was roughly the size of your foot. It was clunkier and heavier than the prototypes. Vault-Tec had advertised the device as lightweight – you won’t even realize you have one on. Just another one of their lies. It was no wonder Curie had kept it in her bag. It felt like a two-liter of soda pressed against your radius and ulna.

On the screen, there was a monochrome map. You messed with the control dial on the right side, flipping through the different tabs at the top: data, stats, and a radio that emitted pure static. The device must’ve been modded because it was missing the vault features. Even on the home screen, there was no Vault-Boy (or girl).

"I'm guessing your vault didn't hand those out." Tom's voice was even more grating than the static.

"Nope," you said simply as you switched back to the map, honing in on the vault's location and placing a pin.

"And you didn't find that odd?"

"No, not really," you replied. "Believe it or not, the last thing on my mind after watching the world end was a fancy computer for my wrist."

You could hear Tom let out a low growl but ignored it.

As you continued down the road, you wondered if Tom was someone who people didn’t usually fuck with. It seemed highly likely. He was intimidating, after all. Big and menacing in his build. He struck you as someone who didn’t want to be tested. Or bested for that matter.

On the last half-mile, it began to drizzle. Picking up your pace slightly, you glanced at the screen and turned right. Just a block ahead, outside the neighborhood, was Granite Park, nestled in a valley between rolling hills. Most people had no idea the park was funded by Vault-Tec. It wasn't anywhere on the sign.

The park was eerie with its empty benches and dead gardens. The monkey bars and jungle gyms had lost their paint and would undoubtedly collapse with time. A cool breeze rustled the swings. The melody was haunting.

It looked different than you remembered, and not in the way that everything looked different. The park had changed, but you couldn't pinpoint what exactly.

“So, where is it?” Tom slapped his thighs like an impatient child.

With an irritated huff, you pressed forward. Your boots slopped through the overgrown grass, hitting just below your knees. After passing the picnic tables, it was basically a swamp. It led to a pond filled with moss and trash, and the air stank of stagnant water. There were willow flies and golden drakes the size of your fist. The vault was around here somewhere.

Rubbing your chin, you spanned the shoreline and even went deeper, near the forest edge. Nothing. In a valley, the land was flat enough that you could see the expanse of open area fairly clearly. Your mouth began to dry as you backtracked to the picnic tables, then scanned the grounds, including the kiddie area and splash zone.

Again – nothing.

The vault was gone.

---

“Are we gonna keep going around in circles, Blue?” Tom taunted, and you could imagine the look on his face - his chin thrust out and eyes gleaming with insolence.

Holding your breath, you surveyed the pond, the soccer fields, and cracked pickleball courts. That was the fourth time: still, nothing. Your toes and fingers felt like static. Your heart was in your throat. Your anxiety was rising to a level that made it nearly impossible to think straight.

A strong hand grasped your shoulder, yanking you from the brink of a full-blown panic attack. Your feet swerved in a circle and when you tilted your chin up, Frankie’s hand dropped to his side. He shifted back a step to study you. His thumb dragged over his bottom lip, your eyes tracking the flicker of pink that appeared between his teeth.

“Are you sure it’s here?” Frankie whispered, glancing momentarily at the group. His brows were pleated, his jaw tensing. He appeared less upset and more worried than anything.

Tom was going to lose his shit any second.

“I don’t understand. I-” You bit down hard on your bottom lip, though let it go before drawing blood. “It was here. I swear.”

It was.

It was here.

The vault couldn’t just get up and move, so where the hell was it?

Cursing, you spun back around to observe the park for the fifth time. You scanned the perimeter of the pond. Something pulled you back to the cola cans and plastic bags floating in the water. A hairless duck had made a nest from diapers.

It became more difficult to focus as Tom’s voice rose, yelling and laughing as if this was a game he’d just won. “I knew it.” He repeated over and over again. “I fucking knew she was a fraud.”

“Shut up and let her concentrate.” Frankie snapped before mumbling. “Jesus Christ.”

“Fuck you mean concentrate?” Tom snorted. “The vault isn’t here. She's setting us up. She lied to you."

“Stop it,” Santi warned, voice stern and angrier than you've ever heard. Tom growled like a wild beast, clearly not in the mood for orders.

“This is fucking bullshit.” He roared as the rain began to fall harder. “For all we know, synths could be on the other side of that tree line."

“That’s not helping, Tom,” Curie cut in, which was mildly surprising. She barely knew you, after all. All of them, especially Curie, had every right to doubt you, yet…

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Frankie shift and reposition himself at your back. He was guarding you. Ben and Will also began to defend you. It made your chest feel warm, even against the chill of the rain.

You refused to let them down. Focusing, you gripped the edges of your hood and crushed it against your ears to drown out the fighting.

Think. Come on, think.

It didn’t make sense. If this vault had opened when you were a kid, you would’ve understood being turned around, but it had been relatively newer when the bombs fell. Its grand opening was the day after your 21st birthday. Your dad had dragged you here disastrously hungover, hair in a bun and makeup crusty from the night before. You'd spent the entire drive dry-heaving in the backseat of his Bentley Continental. Then a solid ten minutes with your head buried in a public toilet, swearing off Sea Breeze's and vodka in general.

You glanced over at the bathroom, a brick shack that was surprisingly in decent shape. The vault was just a short distance from the bathroom. Squinting, you inspected where you swore there used to be a gravel pathway. Amidst the weeds and greenery, something silver caught your eye.

It was a random metal pole near the outdoor fitness zone. It looked plain and unassuming, nothing special at all. However, it triggered a memory from the day you left the vault. Outside, one of the first things you’d noticed were silver poles. The last remnants of the fence.

Slowly, your hands fell to your sides as you spotted another pole a few yards off - two more on your left. They were scattered in seemingly random order, though none too far from...you rocked back.

“The pond.”

“What’d you say?”

You ignored Frankie, too busy perusing the hills surrounding the park. The pieces were rapidly clicking into place. Yes, you’d realized something was different. Something had changed, and it was this pond. This pond was not here before. A group of vaults had been built in a flood plain. You closed your eyes, visualizing the bulkier entrance that was reinforced with protective barriers to prevent it from bogging.

Obviously, those barriers were now gone. They’d descended underground, you guessed. Disappearing along with the men, women, and children when the vault was sealed.

Suddenly, you were seeing first-hand how deep Vault-Tec's corruption ran.

They’d clearly planned this when building the vaults, strategically placing them in places where no one could find them – places where the landscape could do the dirty work. The rain had covered their tracks. Marked on a map or not, no one would question a pond in the middle of a park. It was brilliant and frightening.

That was why these guys had struggled to find the vaults. That must’ve been why they appeared so frustrated – so desperate. They had searched this area before – they were in the right place this whole time. Everything was starting to make sense.

You spun around to find Frankie staring at you from the berm. Visibly anxious, his fist shook at his side. You slid over to him, leaving barely a gap. “It’s in the pond. It’s here. It’s under the water.”

The expression on his face morphed from curious to puzzled. It took him a moment to digest the information. His gaze flickered from your face to the murky water behind your shoulder. “In there?”

You nodded, and Tom scoffed with his usual mark of disdain.

“Do you expect us to take your word for that?"

"Not at all." You moved to the side and dramatically motioned towards the pond. "Be my guest and check for yourself," you challenged, making his upper lip curl into a snarl.

You didn’t know how deep the pond went, but surely, if he dove down far enough, he’d find something. The yellow and white paint had likely thinned and peeled away, but the VT mullion would still be visible. Ponds weren’t metal at the bottom. Perhaps he could feel the steel ridges under his feet or with his hands.

As thunder rumbled in the distance, Benny stepped forward. “I’ll do it.”

“Are you sure?” Will asked, very concerned, but Benny was already stripping off his clothes.

His jacket and shirt were strewn over a bench. Gone were his boots, socks, and jeans. Clad in black briefs, your cheeks burned seeing Benny this exposed.

You'd seen a man shirtless before. Of course, you had, but they never looked like that. He was lean with muscle and much hairier than you expected. His chest and lower abdomen were swathed in dark fuzz.

Shit. You were staring.

Turning away, you caught Frankie eyeing you, his tongue pressing against his cheek. It was hard to read his expression. The rain dribbled off the brim of his cap and blurred his features – his revelatory eyes.

Almost immediately, he broke eye contact and glanced down at your wrist. "Benny will need the pip-boy," he stated, devoid of emotion.

When you finally managed to unhook the pip-boy, Benny was on the shoreline in all his farmer-tan glory. He was close enough where you could see every individual strand of russet hair between his muscled pecs. You cleared your throat and handed over the pip-boy.

"It should be somewhere close to the middle," you told him as he secured the device to his wrist and flicked on its flashlight. Smart. In this cloud coverage, visibility was going to be extremely limited.

"Don't worry, Blue. I'll find it." Benny winked before Will patted him firmly on the shoulder.

"Be quick." Will tipped his chin towards the dark, grumbly sky. They didn't need Ben dying from a lightning strike.

“I will,” Benny promised and descended into the sooty water. It must’ve been cold because the muscles on his back convulsed. The water ruffled as his head disappeared entirely under the moss.

The rain formed capillary waves, making it impossible to see where Benny was. On the shoreline, everyone stood in a single line except Tom, who was lurking in your shadow. Every breath, every scoff, every mumbled remark puffed against your pulse point like the hot breath of a dragon.

Benny emerged once – a second time, a few more yards out. He shook his hair out of his eyes like a wet dog. “I think I see it!” He sucked in a big gulp of air before diving back down again.

The storm was edging closer. Closer. The moody, pewter-green clouds heaved a low growl. A flash of white light snaked the sky as Benny resurfaced for a third time.

"Holy shit!" Benny slapped the water and hollered, "We've struck gold, bitches!"

---

The celebration was cut short by the storm. The rain pelted them as Frankie and the group fled to the nearest house with an intact roof - a split-level with a wood stove in the living room. It was a lucky find. Even though it stunk of mold, and radroaches had long-infested the master bedroom.

As Santi and Will treated the intrusion with double-barrels, Frankie worked on starting a fire. Searching the second bedroom, he found a stack of Grognak comic books and used the pages as tinder. Good thing he brought matches. His hands hovered around the fire for warmth, but the cold had seeped through his bones and made his teeth chatter. His fingers were chilled blue from the rain. His clothes were soggy and swamped, gripping his skin like mutant guts.

He undressed in the kitchen, hiding his bare ass behind the island. God forbid Blue come upstairs to see him in such a pitiful, shriveled state. Not just her – he would hate for Curie or any woman to see him like that. Even though it was completely normal. It was the cold, wet goddamnit.

After yanking on a spare pair of jeans and a t-shirt from his pack, he draped the sodden clothes over a dining room chair to dry. Time was already running thin before this delay, so there was no chance of returning to Sanctuary tonight.

Sighing, Frankie leaned against the sliding glass door and watched the steady deluge of rain. The backyard offered a small view of the park. In the gaps between the trees, he could see a glimpse of the swing set - the teeter-totters. Throughout the years, he’d spent countless hours ambling around these streets and even that goddamn park for a sign of a vault.

It was there. This whole time, the vault was right there.

He wondered how many other vaults they'd missed, overlooked, and walked right past without a clue. It was obvious they never would’ve found it on their own. They never would’ve thought to look at the bottom of a pond. Those people would’ve been stuck there forever if not for her: A woman whose skin was freezer-burned less than three months ago.

It was crazy how much had changed within a season – from a simple mission to explore further west. He could remember arriving in Concord defeated, drained, and covered in sweat and ghoul brains. Like the town before, the neighborhood had been swarming with undead. Throughout those muggy August nights, he'd desperately wished for a miracle while bunking in a brick mansion, unaware that its original owners had worked for Vault-Tec. Unaware of her existence at all.

Little did he know.

Frankie had never put much stock in the idea of fate. He would much rather rely on logic and choice than the idea that his life was written in asterism. However, there was no denying that meeting her felt almost cosmic.

Thinking about her like that made the hair on the back of his neck bristle. It scared him how fast his doubts about her were beginning to dwindle. He wanted to cling to them. Sometimes, those what-ifs felt like the only thing keeping him sane. It gave him an excuse to keep her at a distance. He didn't know what would happen if he didn't have a reason to keep her at arm's length.

A violent crash yanked Frankie from his musing. The first thing that came to his mind was Blue. As he wondered where she was, he remembered she was with Ben and Curie. She was safe with them.

Gun at the ready, he tracked the noise to the master bedroom. It was just Will and Santi moving an armoire to block a broken window, where the roaches were likely entering. Afterward, they decided to do the same for the rest of the house, checking and covering any entry points large enough for creatures to sneak through.

When they finally finished securing the house, it was dinner time. Everyone was gathered in the living room around the rekindled fire. Luckily, they were prepared for the worst and brought mason jars of chili, which was just vegetables and beans, no meat. Despite it being cold, Frankie preferred this to sleeping on an empty stomach.

“So, give me a timeline - how long does this whole freeing the vault thing take.”

Frankie turned to his left, where Blue was beside him, criss-cross on the moth-bitten rug. She shoveled a handful of dry fruit into her mouth. Her and her damn dried fruit.

“It can be a lengthy process,” Frankie answered, and she bobbled her head for him to elaborate. He snorted at her dramatics. “Depends on the season, the weather, the geographical location of the vault. Sometimes, it takes weeks - other times months.”

"Alright, but what about this one?"

Probably a while. Frankie shrugged. “I don’t know.”

The raggedy couch cushion whined under Curie as she leaned forward. “Typically, the process starts by hacking into the vault's main control board using the Pip-Boy's adapter plug. We install a backdoor attack, which allows us to remotely access the vault doors without tipping them off."

“Damn.”

“And not just that,” Curie continued. "We also gain access into the Pip-Boys registered to the vault, which offers us a headcount for the MRO.”

Doors and Pip-Boys. It was strange how those were the two weak spots in the system. Everything else, though, was locked down and encrypted. As a young cadet, part of their duties included ciphering the coding - or at least, attempting to. Frankie thought back to those weekends spent at the base's information room in the dark basement. Afterward, his head would hurt from the mess of letters, numbers, and mysterious dates: September 7th, 2041, January 3rd, 2045, and more that he couldn't fully recall. Once in a while, a random word would be thrown into the mix, like Sugar Plum Fairy or Peanut.

Goddamn peanut was everywhere. In fact, the intelligence team had been thoroughly convinced that it must have something to do with elephants. One of the best units in Sanctuary's history - Frankie's idols growing up - were deployed to Franklin Park Zoo. It was one of the worst missions ever. The unit returned home down two arms and an entire person after a blood bath with mutant lions and pygmy hippos. It was a miracle any of them survived.

The crackle of thunder pulled Frankie from his thoughts. As he slugged back a bite of chili, he figured Curie would launch into one of her usual tangents. He was fully expecting Curie to tell Blue about the ability to communicate with the Vault Dwellers as well. It made more sense when Curie explained it. She knew better than all of them the logistics behind sending messages to individual Pip-Boys. She was on the intelligence team that would spend days, even weeks, cold-calling until someone got curious enough to take the bait.

Breaking into the vault without an early warning was risky. It was essential to form trust for a smooth rescue. After all, these people had kids – families that they would want to protect. Even though it was shitty, the vault was the only home they'd ever known. That was their entire world.

Curie's mouth opened as if to say more, but she must've noticed Tom glaring from the dusty recliner because she took a drink from her canteen instead. No one wanted to deal with Tom's wrath, and knowing Curie, she'd likely tell Blue later - when Tom wasn't around to give her hell.

Will finished off the last of his chili, screwing on the lid of his jar. "This time will be harder, though," he said in his typical methodical tone. "Since the main control board is embedded into the entrance-"

“Which is underwater,” Blue finished before Will could.

Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, Will hummed. "So, we're gonna have to figure out how to drain the pond."

“Well, maybe-” Blue abruptly cut herself off, wrenching her jaw shut. Her expression switched into something conflicted, her gaze diverting to her lap, where the cloth bag of dried fruit was twisted like a water knot in her grasp. She bit down on her lip, chewing it thoughtfully.

Frankie wondered what was going on in that head of hers as the wind rattled the windows. The rain continued to pour down in sheets, leaking from the various water stains in the popcorn ceiling. Underneath, the wooden floorboards were bent and warped and gnarled. He forced himself to focus on the plop-plop-plop instead of trying to figure out her brain. He didn't need to know the interworkings of her mind - he didn't understand why he even cared.

In the quiet room, the fire crackled and spit, casting the room in shadows. Blue drew in a breath as if savoring the smell of burning paper. The resin buttons on her shirt slowly relaxed as she exhaled. “I don’t know if you noticed the metal poles around the pond, but those used to be a part of a fence that went around the vault."

“The fuck does that have to do with anything?” Tom interrupted, very confrontational. Could he let her finish?

“I’m not completely sure,” she answered Tom more calmly than he deserved before choosing to focus on Frankie. "But if Vault-Tec wanted to wipe themselves from the surface, why leave those?"

Intrigued, Frankie's body dipped into the space between them as he licked his lips. "They wouldn't."

"Exactly." Her bright eyes reflected the orange light from the fire – her lips curved into a pleasing smile. “Now, those poles could be integral to the vault structure or something. But, maybe, there’s some type of wiring inside.” She shrugged, shaking her head as if worried to say something stupid. "I mean - I don't know much about that kinda stuff, but in order for computers and Pip-Boys to work, they gotta be getting a signal from somewhere, right?"

That goddamn head of hers.

This was the second time today she'd left him dumbstruck. She looked unsure of herself - almost insecure - and even though they didn't know if she was right or wrong, it was a sound theory. She was full of surprises.

"Blue!" Benny revered, hugging her around the shoulders and lightly shaking her. "You might be the smartest girl I've ever met."

She giggled girlishly as Benny rocked her back and forth a few times before finally releasing her.

"Thanks, but I find that hard to believe when Curie's legit the reincarnation of her namesake."

Curie clicked her tongue in disapproval. "Everyone has their strengths and weaknesses."

"That sounds like something a genius would say," Blue said, and Frankie tilted his head, his lips pursed as if deeply puzzled.

"Does it?"

She scrunched her nose at the sarcasm in his tone and answered, "A humble one, at least."

"And how many of those do you know?"

"Sadly, I've met more arrogant idiots," she said before trying to open her jar of chili. It didn't budge. She grunted, trying and failing for the second time. She frowned.

He gestured at the jar with two fingers. "Let me see it."

Stubborn, like always, Blue ignored him and instead cranked the lid as hard as possible. The muscles in her neck flexed, but when it still didn't give way, she groaned and begrudgingly handed it over, finally accepting his help. It took one solid twist for him to pop the lid.

"Show off," she huffed under her breath. He'd never met someone so determined to prove themselves as capable. Even with small things.

When she snatched the jar from his hand, it was Deja Vu. He was instantly transported back to her first few days in Sanctuary when cooped up in her house, they'd spent hours in her tiny kitchen. She'd put herself in charge of cooking, but he was always there, propped against a nearby counter to watch her zest lemons and mince garlic cloves. She insisted that she didn't need his help, but five minutes later, she would turn around and ask him to open a jar, stir the sauce, or grab some spices off the rack. "Whatever you say, chef."

She was a far better cook than he anticipated. Every dish, even the most basic, had her own little flare.

One night, she whipped up some brownies, licking the gooey batter off the beater. Her tongue twisted, curling around the metal rods to get every drop. It had made his breath catch.

The memory of her pretty tongue flashed behind his eyes, making his blood simmer in his veins. Frankie dug his fingers into the musty rug. His focus abruptly dipped to the jar pressed against her lips. She tipped back her head, eating the chili like a pull of whiskey.

His gaze was glued to her mouth as she thumbed some juice off her bottom lip and sucked it from her fingertip. It made something hot unfurl in his gut that he had to jam into his intestines before it could take root. He looked away, suddenly remembering where he was. This wasn't her kitchen. Other people were in the room.

Curie and Will might've been lost in each other, but Santi and Ben were staring at him. In the dark, the firelight obscured their faces - their expressions indistinct. When he thought of looking in Tom's direction, the heat of shame burned his cheeks.

It was stupid. He'd done nothing wrong at all.

So, why did he feel caught?

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transman-badass · 1 year ago

Text

Betrayal

Whump + Cthulhu Mythos - 2.8k words

CW: mild (period typical) transphobia and misogyny, graphic descriptions of violence, blood and gore, eye horror (not gore), major character death

The men were gaining on them.

Outside thunder roared, but over it, Lazarus Core still heard the footsteps behind them, pounding louder than the rain. His pulse beat against the skin of his throat. Sweat slicked the hand holding his gun. It’d just take one mistake, one little mistake, and he’d be dead, dead, dead. And it wouldn’t be the end of the world, if he died, but the last thing he wanted was to leave Sadie all alone.

He gripped her hand and did not look back.

A sharp turn, a shout from behind. The men pursuing them seemed to have no trouble in the darkness. Lazarus did not look back, he kept running, and Sadie’s fingernails dug into his hands. If they could make it back outside, back to where they’d hidden the car, he could hide Sadie within it, and go back around to find Niel. And if he didn’t come back, well, maybe Niel did. And if Niel didn’t come back either…

Sadie twisted in his grip, grabbed him by the shoulder, jerked him free from his thoughts. Her hand slammed over his mouth, Lazarus blinking, the stack of wooden crates sturdy against his back. He followed her lead, crouching down, holding his breath.

The footsteps grew closer. Closer still. Away, away, mumbling voices silenced by the rain.

Lazarus looked around, squinting in the darkness. There, that door, still cracked open - He tapped her on the shoulder. She jerked her curly haired head towards him. In the darkness, she nodded.

Without a sound, the door opened. Lazarus looked behind them once more before stepping into that new darkness.

Not quite dark for long. A light flashed, Lazarus threw up an arm against it.

“Niel!” Sadie whispered.

Lazarus lowered his arm, the light lowered to the floor. Niel hugged Sadie back, the electric torch almost falling from his hand from the force of it. His smile soothed something in the private eye’s heart, tension falling from Lazarus’ shoulders.

“You sly dog,” Lazarus whispered, stepping up to clasp his friend’s hand. “And here I thought I’d have to track you down.”

Niel grinned, but the tension didn’t fade from around his eyes. He drew in a breath, and then another. Lazarus opened his mouth to speak, but did not have a chance to.

The other man carried a faraway scent of spices and flowers on his clothes. Lazarus breathed in as Niel’s arms wrapped around him in a tight, burdensome hug. Memories, faded like paper in the sun, drifted. Memories of home.

“Niel-” Lazarus pulled away.

“I’m sorry about all this, my friend,” Niel said, gripping Lazarus’s shoulders. “I know you won’t believe it, but I am. I’m so sorry.”

“What do you mean?” Lazarus said. Niel’s grip tightened. “Niel, none of this was your fault. You couldn’t have known O’Tipp would be here.”

Niel looked down, towards the golden pendant around his neck.

“Niel?” Lazarus repeated.

“That’s not it,” Niel said. “Not the thing I know you’ll hate me for.”

“Niel,” Sadie cut in. “What did you do?”

The door swung open. Lazarus turned, and raised a gun he no longer held. Something cold brushed against the back of his head, pressing through his dark red hair against his skull. His heart sank.

A dim lightbulb clicked on, illuminating the empty room. Nathan O’Tipp stood beneath the bare bulb, his smile stretched wide over his handsome face.

“Evening, gentlemen! And you as well, Miss Goode.” He tipped his hat to Sadie.

Sadie backed away, glaring behind her glasses. O’Tipp didn’t seem to notice, stepping towards her. The men behind him, three in all, followed into the room, staring at Lazarus, and his empty hands. They were all at least a head taller than him, maybe more, shoulders broader than his own, bigger, stronger, crueler. And O’Tipp just kept smiling as he took another step towards Sadie. But his eyes, they never looked away from Lazarus.

“Don’t hurt her,” Lazarus said.

O’Tipp laughed.

“Why, who do you think I am?” O’Tipp said. “Wouldn’t that be such a waste of a woman?” His men traded glances. “No, sir, I’m not going to lay a hand on her. I have better things in mind than that.”

Sadie swallowed. O’Tipp’s gloved hand wrapped around her upper arm, and held on tight.

The men said nothing. Lazarus closed his eyes.

“Niel,” Lazarus whispered, “Why?”

Behind him, Niel sighed.

“He’s got Mother,” Niel said.

“And even if I didn’t,” O’Tipp said, “I paid him quite handsomely for his help.”

Lazarus breathed in.

“You were spying on us,” he said at last.

“Don’t know what you expected to happen,” O’Tipp said. “You lead a man desperate for work to my speakeasy, and think he’ll stay on the straight and narrow? In Arkham, of all places?” His voice lowered. “You and I both know who really runs this town, Core. They put whoever they want into that mayor’s seat, but I’m the one who calls the shots around here.”

Niel said nothing.

“And Chambers, he did a damn good job, didn’t he?” O’Tipp said. “Made a best friend out of you, and your lady friend here. Didn’t make you think twice, did he, even though he worked for me, you idiot!” O’Tipp shook his head. “I don’t know why I’m surprised. Of course, you’d miss that. You were stupid enough to challenge me, weren’t you?”

With one hand, he gestured to the men. The one in the middle stepped forward. The other two hesitated.

“Mr. O’Tipp-” one of them started.

“It’s fine,” O’Tipp said.

“But you’re sure…” the man said. “I mean. He doesn’t look that much like a man.”

“It’s fine,” O’Tipp said. “It needs to be done. There’s no shoving this one into a brothel, and pretending it’ll all go away. Besides,” he looked into Lazarus’ eyes now. “He hasn’t been a woman for a long time now, has he?”

Lazarus clenched his fists.

There wasn’t anything to say, as the men circled him. Niel stepped back, closer to the far wall, clutching Lazarus’ gun in one hand and the pendant around his neck with the other. His lips moved, mumbling something Lazarus could scarcely catch over the thunder and the rain. Between the moving bodies Sadie stared at him, tears in her eyes.

There was so much to say, and no time at all. Lazarus could only hope she’d understand.

“Hope it doesn’t offend you much to say this,” O’Tipp said, “But you weren’t even the worst of the pests I’ve had to crush. You’re not even the most annoying. Insects like you come and go like the bugs you are. You’re just the latest in a very, very long line.”

Two brutal hands grasped Lazarus by the arms and yanked him back. He grunted, instinct kicking in, but all the struggling in the world wouldn’t get him out of this.

“Rest peacefully, Core - your lady friend is gonna be in better hands than yours ever were.”

One of the men stretched his fingers. Nathan looked towards the man by the wall.

“How about taking the first blow, Chambers?”

Lazarus looked towards the man he called a friend. Niel shook his head. He didn’t meet Lazarus’ eyes. Nathan shrugged.

“Suit yourself, kid.”

The fist burrowed into his cheek. Blood smeared on Lazarus’s tongue. His hat knocked to the ground, exposing his blood red hair. Another fist, the other cheek. His teeth rattled, his mind reeled. Another punch in the same spot, blood bursting from the bruise birthing on his skin.

Fist to the stomach, Lazarus gagged, choked on air. The tears flowed down against his will. One of the men hesitated. The other’s fist kissed his nose. Blood drooled over his lips, his chin. Lazarus gasped for air through his lips, before another blow landed on his mouth.

Sadie screamed his name.

Through the smack of fists on flesh and cartilage, the agony of another punch to the gut, a boot to the foot, a kick to the leg, a slam to the womb, Lazarus heard Niel pray.

Maybe it was his imagination, a hallucination drawn from the depths of his subconscious by pain and the acceptance of approaching death. How would Niel know those prayers from his homeland? But where else Lazarus could have dreamed them from, he couldn’t imagine - he’d only heard them spoken once, back then, as a child. His mind spun through pain, and the prayer, it was all he could focus on.

Sadie wept.

Nathan laughed.

Lazarus took every blow.

His blood coated the men’s hands, smearing on his cheeks, on the dark fabric of his suit. Every punch to the gut sent stars flashing over his vision. Something broke, Lazarus was sure something had broken, the stabbing pain shooting through his body as familiar as the prayers he swore fumbled out around him in Niel’s voice. One of the men spoke, taunting him, but Lazarus couldn’t focus on it. He didn’t hear anything but the blood in his ears, and over it, Niel.

Why Niel? Why not his mother? Why not the woman who actually taught him those prayers?

Was their god still listening?

A kick to the stomach, and the strength in his legs gave out. The man holding him released his arms. Lazarus dropped to the floor, blood and grit digging into his skin. A foot slammed into his back. If he’d had any more air in his lungs, he would’ve screamed. Something kicked his side, someone laughed above him. Shoe polish scent on his nose, residue on his tongue. His vision blurred with blood, tears, pain, acceptance.

Lazarus accepted it. Death did not come as a friend, but like a blanket, warm and soft on his pain-filled body. Every breath hurt, hurt his sides, hurt his chest, hurt his lungs, hurt his nose and mouth and eyes. His fingers twitched, nerves on fire. His body wanted to live. Shit, he did too. But it was all over now. Nothing would save him now.

“I’m going to kill you!” Sadie shouted.

“Course you are, sweetheart,” O’Tipp said. “Chambers, give me the gun.”

Sadie sobbed. Niel said nothing. Footsteps walked away from Lazarus’ fallen body. He set his aching jaw, shifted his arms to push him upright. Death approached, O’Tipp’s familiar steps coming closer, and closer, and closer.

Gloved fingers buried into Lazarus’ hair and pulled. Lazarus didn’t feel the pain this time. His wet eyes met O’Tipp’s. Lazarus exhaled through his broken, bloodsoaked lips.

The cold metal of the gun - Lazarus’ own gun - pressed against the soft underside of his chin. O’Tipp smiled, satisfaction playing on his lips, those eyes.

“Any last words, Lazarus?” O’Tipp said.

Lazarus blinked, swirled his tongue around in his mouth. His eyes narrowed.

The bloody spit hit the mark. Landed right in the bastard’s right eye. O’Tipp reeled, a hideous noise coming from his throat as he gripped his face. His hand covered his eye.

Lazarus smiled.

The fingers of O’Tipp’s hand spread open wide. Veins throbbed within the bloodstained white of O’Tipp’s eye. The iris, so close to Lazarus’s own color, trembled. From within the pinprick pupil, purple tendrils shot out, stretching out, coating the iris as O’Tipp shook. The iris split, another purple iris folding out from the first. And then another. Two more. In a breath the eye was full of them, purple irises, the faded red-white darkening to black. Black like a hollow within the skull, black like the void of space that lingered over the city. Black like something Lazarus had seen before.

O’Tipp blinked, he struggled to breathe. His eye, now solid gold.

O’Tipp blinked, panting slowing down. His eye, returned to gray.

O’Tipp blinked. O’Tipp breathed.

The syndicate’s leader stood, the gun held loose in his hand. He did not look away from Lazarus, not for a moment, his eyes, so human, so perfectly human, locked onto the fallen man. Lazarus met his gaze, his own eyes wide. He’d seen that, and they both knew it.

O’Tipp snapped his arm out, finger on the trigger.

The gunshot echoed. Sadie screamed.

Niel’s body dropped, dead before he ever hit the floor. Sightless eyes met Lazarus’s, blood and worse dragging down from the bullet hole in his forehead.

“You-” O’Tipp said. He trembled, the blood and spit dripped down his handsome face, that handsome face contorting with rage. “I’ll do something special for you after all, Lazarus Core. You think you know what it’s like to suffer now? You think you’re gonna die the hero? I won’t give you that satisfaction. I’ll drag you to somewhere worse than hell, you son of a bitch.”

O’Tipp’s shoulders shook. A laugh broke free from his body.

“I’ll show you the real reason you were born. And you’ll wish every last day of your life, you never crossed paths with me.”

His head snapped towards the men. “Get out. We’re leaving.”

Without looking at either of his enemies, O’Tipp turned on his heel and marched out of the room. The men looked between each other, clothes soaked with blood and fumbled over themselves to follow him.

As the footsteps vanished into the raging storm overhead, Lazarus stared at Niel. His body twitched, nerves still fighting against death, even though it’d long won. He closed his eyes, he breathed through his mouth.

He saw it so clearly. O’Tipp’s eye dividing, folding out into a thousand copies of itself, transforming into something impossible. Something horrible. Something Lazarus knew on sight, just like he’d been told.

You will know the enemy when you see him, someone once said. You will know them because they are not of the King.

“Lazarus!”

He opened his eyes, raised his head.

“Sadie,” he said, and reached his broken hand towards her. “Are you okay? Did he hurt you?”

Sadie collapsed by his side, and wept.

The strength came back to his body eventually. With Sadie’s help, Lazarus guided his body back to his feet. O’Tipp should’ve let his men finish the job, but he’d been too eager to do it himself. The beating hurt, would hurt for weeks, but he was alive. Somehow, he was still alive.

“What happened?” Sadie said, as Lazarus limped forward. “Why did he - oh Niel… That piece of-” Her fists clenched so hard, they shook.

Lazarus sighed.

“My own fault,” he said, stepping towards the corpse. “He wasn’t wrong, about me being stupid. Stupidly kind.”

“What are you doing?” Sadie said.

“Saying goodbye,” Lazarus said.

Niel’s body, still warm, the breath still clinging to his lips as Lazarus slid his eyes closed. In the warm spring night, soon the body would be unbearable. Someone would report that gunshot, call the police, send them on the way. By then, he and Sadie would need to be gone. Niel would go to whoever wanted to claim him.

But there was something Lazarus needed to do first.

“Flesh is feeble, soul eternal… Rings of life, they ever circle…”

He’d seen the back of the pendant before, with the lesser Yellow Sign. Maybe, Niel had gone back there, back home, even before tonight. Had to get something like that somewhere, after all.

“Fair is the land where the cloud waves break, the twin suns sinking beneath the lake… Fairer still, our soul’s true fate… ”

It seemed only fair, to mumble the prayer he’d heard in what should’ve been his last moments. He needed to improvise a bit. It’d been a very long time, after all, since he’d learned these words. Since he and his mother walked the streets of their true home.

“No heaven awaits, all screams unheard… to die unheard, your last breath, here with me. Fate returns you, the lost now found… to live forever, called back by the shepard, there with him, in sweetest Carcosa.”

Lazarus breathed. Niel didn’t. And it hurt to acknowledge it, that old longing he’d never chased away. Why couldn’t he go home, too, as Niel did? When he died, he would not return to Carcosa, he knew this. But it ached, to know it. That some things were lost, and would never be found… and some lost things, were lost for a reason.

“Lazarus,” Sadie began, but he shook his head.

“Later,” Lazarus said.

He reached into the inner pocket of Niel’s jacket. Against the fading warmth of Niel’s body, he found the item, and slipped it free. Lazarus smiled, and it hurt. Niel’s little book of friends, all the contacts he had in the city, written down in Niel’s familiar handwriting. This would help them a lot more than it’d help Niel now.

With effort, Lazarus stood. The ground swayed. Sadie’s hand wrapped around his shoulder, and he breathed normal again.

“Let’s go,” Lazarus said. He looked down at the body, one last time. “Goodbye, Niel.”

“Goodbye,” Sadie said. “And good riddance.”

Outside, the rain fell and did not stop until morning.

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