#still fuckin doin chem

[sweetsweetbumblebee]

put ur fingers in my mouth so i can bite them off

[grandlinedreams]

|| this man is an exposed live wire in my brain ok

|| notes: uhh prequel to [this] and [this], semi Canon compliant, pre-s1 but mentions of pre-war Cooper, I love the dynamic 😔👌✨️

|| warnings: hopefully IC Cooper, asshole x asshole dynamic we love to see it, weapons/supply dealer!reader, Canon typical violence, mention of blood/reader is injured kinda, spoilers? Abt Cooper's backstory, kinda enemies to friends/lovers

He doesn't know why he's here.

No, that's a lie ㅡ he does know why he's here, he just doesn't want to admit it. To himself, or to anyone else, for that matter. That he needs help.

Those fancy little bullets for his gun are hard to come by, few and far between when he can't get them by looting and places like Ma June's enjoy extorting as much as they can for so very little.

There's a difference between business transactions and highway robbery, even now. Which is why he's here ㅡ he'd gotten talk about a place that sold weapons and weapon-related supplies at a fair rate, and necessity had made him swallow his pride to go and find out for himself.

Which is why he's not just turning around and fuckin' leaving.

The building is crammed between two others, as ramshackle as the rest being made of recycled tin and wood that's rotted by time and rain in places, but still suggests a stability that won't crumble if somebody breathes too hard on it.

Cooper's spurs jingle as he walks, lost momentarily to the chime of something over his head when he pushes the door open. He looks up, forehead creasing.

Is that a bell?

Rusted but still in working order, it clatters again when he shuts the door, looking around. It's about as put together as any other kind of shop, an eclectic organization to it ㅡ a couple of rifles, a pistol or two, along with an admittedly impressive assortment of knives ㅡ but it's the shine of something on the floor that makes Cooper stop.

His head cocks as he studies the stain, the still-slick shimmer to it that makes him crouch and drag two gloved fingers against it, studying the residue. Coppery, with a hefty dose of some kind of chem to clean it, but still unmistakable ㅡ blood.

Well damn. He doesn't know what's happened here and he's pretty sure he doesn't care to, much beyond the fact that if the runner of this place is dead, that puts a damper on things. Or maybe not ㅡ if nobody's here, what's to stop him from taking what he wants?

"If you're thinkin' of stealing," comes a call that snaps his head up as it echoes from further back in the building, "I'd advise you not to. Less you wanna meet your maker, then I'd be happy to assist."

It's a flat bravado that both amuses him and piques his interest, and he leans against the counter to rap his knuckles. "Not stealin'," he drawls, "just wonderin' what kind of business model you've got if you make customers wait."

"The kind where patience is still a virtue, that's what." Foosteps, unhurried ㅡ and then Cooper is staring at you as you round the corner. You've got a jumpsuit of some indistinguishable color opened to rest around your hips, dingy tank-top underneath ㅡ and a stimpak in your hand. No doubt for the mess of your other arm, bicep wrapped with gauze that's already seeped into a bloom of bright red.

Well now. Cooper wasn't sure what he'd been expecting, but you still manage to surprise him. Enough that he's staring, which makes you scowl.

"I know that look," you challenge, "if you think I'm easy picking, you'll get a new place to breathe from, courtesy of the hole I'll put in your head."

Cooper's head cocks. "Well now sugar," he says, "that's not very nice now, is it? Wasn't even thinkin' of that." He turns, jerks a thumb at the half-assed cleaning of the mess on the floor. "That's your doin', I reckon."

You nod. "Don't get trouble much," you say, "but when I do, I make sure to prove a point." You jam the stimpak into your arm, and he watches the tension melt from your shoulders. "Now, what can I do for you besides point out the exit?"

Well damn, Cooper thinks again. You've got a pretty face, but it's at odds with the attitude coming from that nice little mouth of yours. About as welcoming as a rattlesnake and probably just as quick to anger, from the way you bristle as he eyes you.

"Need supplies," he says, and you snort.

"What a wellspring of information you are. What kind of supplies?" You eye him, brow furrowing. "You're a bounty hunter, aren't you? Get your kind in here all the time." You tap a worn boot against the floor, hands now on your hips. "Hope you got means to pay for shit, because I don't do tab and I sure as fuck don't do charity work."

Cooper isn't sure if he likes you or he hates you. Bit of both, he guesses. The like is tentative and the hate is more solid ground, because he hates just about everybody. Makes it easier to do what needs to be done.

"Well, sweetheart," he leans into the counter, tips his hat, "depends on what you got to show me that's worth buyin'."

You stare, unimpressed by whatever angle he's going for. He's handsome, you'll give him that ㅡ but not much else. He also reminds you of somebody, with that hat of his and the way he talks ㅡ the low, drawn out drawl that you've only seen in those movies you manage to scrounge up here and there for your amusement.

Rolling your eyes, you hold up a finger and shrug your arms back into the jumpsuit, though you don't bother to zip it up. "Gimme a sec."

You don't know why you're doing this. Entertaining the notion that if you show him good enough product, he'll become a regular. You like regulars, but most of what you get seem to run on about six months worth of visits and then vanish.

Probably dead. Such is the way of the world, and it's still enough to get by. But you like new faces.

To his credit, he doesn't flinch when you slap the first pack onto the counter, followed by a second, and then a third.

"This is baseline stuff," you explain. "Your usual grade of bullet. Black powder, the standard kick." You shove the first pack at him, let him inspect the bullets. "Then you've got these."

The second pack shoved over, thin fabric parted so he can eye the neat little row of what would be hollow-point bullets if they didn't end with a tiny, pointed bulb of red glass.

"Explosive rounds." Your expression is unreadable. "They do the job, but they need special packing. Unless you wanna be blown up before the damn things even get loaded into the gun."

Cooper hums, eyes the bullet he holds up, the barely there shift of powder in the glass. He watches as you push the third over. "And these?"

"Same, but they pack even more of a punch. I'd recommend only shooting them at shit you want up in smoke." You shrug. "Or people, deathclaws, whatever the fuck you do out there."

Cooper studies you. "Where did you get this stuff? Thought bullets were hard to come by."

You give him a flat look of annoyance. "I make 'em myself."

Cooper stares, then smirks. Another little tip to his head. "Really now," he says, watches you bristle like a viper, ready to strike. Wonders if those fangs of yours pack a punch, what he'd need to do to get you to spit at him. "How 'bout you show me, darlin'? Wanna make sure what I buy is good quality."

You should tell him to shove it. Tell him to get the absolute fuck out of your shop, take his fuckin' yeehaw personality to someone else in the mood to deal with it ㅡ but you don't.

Instead, you sigh and tug the packages back, moving away from the counter. "Well c'mon then," you prompt, irritated. "Don't have all goddamn day."

The back of your shop is half a home and half a workshop, sprawled mess of equipment rusted with time but otherwise well maintained, smell of grease and hot metal and gunpowder that clings to everything.

You don't have to look back to know he's followed you, the jingle of his spurs as he takes his time, eyes missing nothing. The boxes of empty casings and empty glass bulbs ㅡ and the Mister Handy that's slumped in the corner, sparks spitting from it.

"Poor thing got shot first with that...situation earlier." Your voice is quiet. "Gotta fix 'im if I can."

Kind of funny, you sound sadder about the damn machine than the fact you'd killed someone over it. Then again, they'd been trying to kill you, so...eh. Justified, in your book.

The rest of the room is a haphazard attempt at something like a house ㅡ a couch with blankets on it, a short stack of books gone yellow at the edges, a coffee table ㅡ and sitting on it is a shitty little television, staticy and without color ㅡ but that doesn't matter. What matters to Cooper is that he knows what it's playing.

Your flitting around fades a little as he watches himself on screen ㅡ forever ago, a lifetime ago. Before the bombs, before vault-tec ㅡ when he'd been happy.

He'd loved his life, his family ㅡ and they'd loved him too.

"I've got enough stuff to make another round of flash-baㅡ" You stop, blinking at the way he's staring at the television. "Somethin' wrong? I know this isn't much, but it's my way of living, soㅡ"

"Stop your yappin'," Cooper rasps, and you glare as he shakes himself out of whatever reverie he was lost in. You scowl.

"Look, I know this doesn't seem like much of anything, but this is my business, and my shop." Your eyes narrow. "So try to be a little fuckin' nicer if you want me to sell you anything."

Whatever patience he'd had left promptly snaps like a bowstring as he snatches your arm, grips it tighter than he should. "Listen, sweetheart," he hisses, "what exactly is stopping me from just takin' what I want and leaving?"

Something whirrs behind him, distracts him just enough for the cool, sharp kiss of metal at his throat.

"Do it," you taunt, expression unreadable, grip tight on the blade you hold to his neck. "You're not the first one to try, and you won't be the last."

And there, Cooper notes, are your fangs, ready to sink into his skin. The two of you stare at each other for a good, long minute while the Mister Handy spits and sputters. And then Cooper huffs something like a laugh. "Glad to see you've got some bite to you, darlin', but I still think I could handle you."

A threat and something a little less hostile all in one, even as you yank your arm out of his grasp. "You couldn't handle me even if I came with a fuckin' manual," you snap back, but there's a playful gleam to your eyes. "You gonna buy anything or just lookin' to be a pain in my ass?"

A crooked grin tugs at Cooper's mouth. "Both."

ㅡ

The truce between the two of you is tentative. An understanding in the barest sense, because neither of you are dumb enough to pass up a lucrative, beneficial deal. He gets his supplies, you get caps. Simple.

You won't go as far as to say you're even friends, up until the point that you greet him on a visit with, "You know, you remind me of somebody."

He eyes you. "Really now. And who would that be, sweetheart? You workin' with more ghouls than just me?"

You snort. "Careful," you tease, "you almost sound jealous." Your tone quiets as you drum your fingers on the counter. "Nah, you remind me of that one actor, Cooper Howard."

Cooper stills. Watches you warily, turning a spent bullet casing over and over between gloved fingers.

"He played a cowboy," you say, nodding to yourself. "Talked like you do, too. Good movies, at least the ones I've gotten my hands on." You eye him, playful light to your eyes. "Wouldn't happen to be a fan of him too, would you?"

Cooper debates. He's not sure if you've put the pieces together and if you have, you're polite enough not to say it. He appreciates that, makes that fleeting temptation of putting a bullet in your head all the more temporary. He likes you. Be a shame if he had to cut ties.

"No," he answers. "I can safely say he and I are nothin' alike." Not anymore. He lets himself lean over the counter, too close to your face. Intimidation, maybe, or perhaps just because he likes being able to look at you like this. "Got anythin' else to tell me?"

Your eyes flick over his face, down to his lips as you lean a little closer, the suggestion of your mouth just shy of his. "Yeah," you murmur, quiet. "Next time you come by, work on your fuckin' manners."

[kaydreamer]

The General of the Minutemen

Hope roused to the sound of voices and heavy footsteps outside the door. Light was spilling in through the one un-boarded window - she must have slept for a few hours at least. She pulled herself up on the couch with a stretch and a yawn as Fahrenheit and Hancock entered the room.

“What was that about not losing your fucking mind?” said Fahrenheit, sitting on the black couch opposite Hope. Her arms were crossed, but Hope swore there was some amusement beneath the scowl she wore.

“I haven’t,” said Hancock, sprawling onto the other side of the couch Hope had been sleeping on moments ago and shooting her a smile. “Mornin’, sunshine,” he said casually, before turning back to Fahrenheit. “I just need to get out for a while. Hope offered, and it’s not like I won’t be useful out there. We need allies, and we gotta scope out what those Brotherhood twits are doin’. And I could try lookin’ for opportunities to trade directly with the settlements. Be good not to have to rely on Bunker Hill. I know you got everythin’ in hand back here, you’ve done it before.”

Fahrenheit let out a sharp breath, flicking a hand through her hair. “Sure. Place’ll be better than you left it. I don’t dick around with fourth, fifth or sixth chances.”

“Don’t be too harsh on ‘em.”

“I won’t. This game has a balance. You taught me well.” She smiled then, a proper, warm smile, and the story she had shared last night with Hope struck home. Fahrenheit and Hancock really were family. The bond there was obvious when you looked.

“How are we staying in contact this time?” Fahrenheit asked, scratching Dogmeat's ears as he padded over to sit by her feet. “Traders, couriers?”

Hope cut in as an idea occurred to her.

“The Minutemen are setting up a radio relay between our allied settlements,” she said, brushing sleep from her eyes and sitting up properly. “There aren’t many yet, just a handful along the north-west, and any message still needs to be passed along the settlement chain through short-band transmitters, so it takes a while. But it’s growing. And clunky or not, it’ll be faster than traders or couriers.”

Fahrenheit looked at her, one brow raised, then nodded in approval. “Now that’s really fucking useful,” she said. Hope swore she saw a glimmer of excitement tucked away under the stoicism. “You’re cool with Goodneighbor being in on this network? We’re not one of your settlements.”

“You’re still an ally,” said Hope, firmly. “The only one we have in Boston, since Diamond City only seems to give two shits about itself. Goodneighbor doesn’t need to be a Minutemen settlement for us to work out how to help each other.”

“...Stimpacks,” said Fahrenheit, after a pause. “Not hard to make ‘em, not when this whole town runs on chem fumes. You get us in on that radio network, I’ll make sure any Minuteman who passes by Goodneighbor walks away with stimpacks.”

Hancock whistled approvingly.

“I’m not even outta the gate yet and you’re angling for my job?” he said, humour in his voice. “Good idea, though.”

“I don’t have the charisma,” said Fahrenheit with a dismissive wave. “You’ll always be mayor. The ‘job’ part of it though? I can do that.”

“Stimpacks will be a huge help,” said Hope, earnestly. “Thank you.”

“A radio network is a big fuckin’ deal,” said Hancock. “You sure whoever’s in charge of the Minutemen will be cool with the likes of Goodneighbor joinin’ it?”

“Well, technically…” said Hope, a hint of apologetic embarrassment in her smile, “I’m in charge of the Minutemen. The only other active Minuteman didn’t want the job, so he promoted me instead. So… yeah. If I say Goodneighbor is part of the radio network, you’re in.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” said Hancock. “You’re in charge of the Minutemen? I thought you said you joined up with them two days out of the vault?”

“It makes as much sense to me as it does to you,” said Hope, with a shrug. “But yeah. You’re looking at the shiny new General of the Minutemen.” She chuckled. “Putting a whole new spin on ‘on-the-job training’.”

A silence hung in the air between them before all three of them burst out laughing.

“Seriously?” Hancock chortled. “The General? Do I have to start salutin’ ya now?”

“Please don’t,” begged Hope.

“Why didn’t ya say you were in charge to begin with?” Hancock asked, sprawling out a little more on the couch he was sharing with her.

“Because I don’t really feel like the title fits,” Hope admitted. “Not yet, at least. I’ve got no idea what I’m doing, not really. I just want to help make things better for people.”

“Mmh,” Hancock hummed. “I get that. Took a long time before bein’ called ‘Mayor’ felt normal. Had no idea what I was doin’ at first either.” He shrugged. “Still worked out.”

“How long have you been out of your vault, anyway?” Fahrenheit asked.

“About a month,” said Hope.

“Well, you’ve got potential if you got this far without being eaten or shot,” said Fahrenheit, stretching out along her couch like a lioness and leaning her head against the armrest. “I’m not a gambling woman. I like to plan. Know the board, know the game, know the pieces in play. You? You’re a wildcard.” She fixed Hope with an intense stare. “...I want to bet on you, though.”

“That almost sounds like a compliment,” said Hope, a teasing note in her voice.

“Don’t get used to it,” said Fahrenheit, though she wore a small smile as she took an inhaler of Jet from the many scattered on the coffee table between them.

“Don’t mind if I do,” Hancock rumbled, leaning forward to take one himself. He caught Hope’s eye as he did so. “You wanna join? No pressure.”

Hope considered the offer for a moment, her mind flashing back to Trudy’s son at Drumlin Diner. The last thing she needed was to get hooked like that, but the two people in the room with her didn’t seem to be suffering any ill-effects from what was obviously a regular habit.

Curiosity won out.

“What kind of high is it?” she asked.

A surprised expression flashed over Hancock’s face before a broad grin spread slowly across it. “What kinda high do ya usually go for?” he asked, his voice low as he leaned toward her.

“Daytripper and weed, mostly.”

“You like the chill vibes, huh? Well, Jet hits different to both of those.” He held out the inhaler. “It’s a quick high. Real quick. Makes everythin’ ya see all sharp and focused, like a rifle scope. World kinda slows down, but your mind is way clearer, like… all the distractin’ chatter up there just stops for a minute.”

“Should I worry about getting hooked?” Hope took the inhaler and examined it.

“Only gotta worry about that if ya overdo it,” he said. “Like, multiple-times-a-day overdo it.”

Hope considered the little red inhaler in her hand. She was no stranger to chems, not running with the counter-cultural crowd she had before the war. She knew the risks well enough, and she knew how to moderate her indulgences.

“Fuck it,” she said. “You only live once. How does it work?”

Hancock’s grin was pure Cheshire-mischief as he scooted forward and took the inhaler from her hands. “Oh, allow me,” he said, in a voice which set tingles all over her. He lifted the inhaler to her lips. “Just breathe in slow when I say so.”

Hope nodded. Hancock pressed down on the top of the inhaler and it hissed an earthy, acrid mist into her mouth.

“Breathe.”

Hope breathed, slow and deep. It was a harsh vapour, but not quite harsh enough to make her cough. Almost immediately, the world around her seemed to slow and grow vivid. The air took on a sparkling quality, every detail jumping out at her at once. She found herself staring into the last thing she had been looking at when the high took hold, which happened to be Hancock’s eyes. All the chatter and inhibitions in her mind cleared as she sat, admiring the way the light reflected from their glossy black. There was a slightly different, blueish tint where his irises were, and she tried to say ‘blue’, but her voice came out absurdly slow through a cloud of jet vapour, and she fell back along the couch in a fit of giggles.

She lay there staring at the peeling paint sparkling on the ceiling as the peak of the high drifted all too quickly away, leaving a warm and tingly afterglow, and a slight shimmer dancing along the edges of the world.

“That was absolutely delightful,” she said breathily, as she pulled herself upright. “Haven’t laughed like that in way too long. Thanks.”

“Sister, watchin’ you was almost as good as gettin’ high myself,” said Hancock, smiling. “What was it ya tried to say before ya lost it gigglin’?”

“Blue,” she chuckled. “I got stuck looking at your eyes, and I think they used to be blue.”

“They were,” said Hancock. “Big, bright, baby-blue peepers. Almost as pretty as yours.” He chuckled softly. "Well, glad that’s what you were fixed on. The rest of my face is a bit of a horror show.”

“Wouldn’t know it, from the swagger.”

“I work with what I got.” Hancock winked at her from where he was draped over his side of the couch, his own Jet inhaler still in hand. He stood, stretching, then took his own hit, breathing out the vapour slowly. Hope watched him. ‘Horror show’ was not exactly how she’d describe him. The twisted grooves of his flesh weren’t his finest feature, but he was still handsome. She recalled what he said when she’d first stepped into Goodneighbor.

‘Sexy king-of-the-zombies,’ were his words.

Well, he wasn’t wrong.

Hope realised belatedly that Fahrenheit was still there, and she tore her eyes from Hancock as her cheeks flushed with warmth. Fahrenheit, mercifully, had her eyes shut, enjoying her own high. Hope shook her head slightly to clear it. If she really was developing a crush on her new travelling companion, she certainly didn’t want anybody else to notice it.

She wasn’t going to act on it, if it was there. She’d made that mistake too many times, getting caught up in casual flings which never ended painlessly. And, considering Hancock had - quite casually - told her that the same apartment he’d given to the Minutemen was where he’d bring his paramours, she would bet her last dollar - her last cap - that ‘casual’ was the order of the day with him.

No, what she needed was a friend, and Hancock had the makings of a good one. Crush or not, she wasn’t going to jeopardise that.

Hancock’s own hit of jet took him off into a familiar flow, a state he often sought when his mind felt too busy. He closed his eyes, the mental echoes of Hope’s giggling still chiming in his imagination. She really was something. An old-worldly timelessness hung about her somehow, in her mannerisms and the way she held herself. She was brave - to have left a vault and then taken on so much in such a short amount of time. And she was funny. The rush of warmth he’d felt listening to her fall apart with laughter on the couch was heady, another layer to add to the attraction and curiosity he already felt toward her. He’d have to be careful, he realised. This was already more than surface level, and the last thing he wanted was to fuck up and ruin a good thing. His dalliances were typically short-term - shallow and safe - and he suspected he’d wind up wanting more than that with her. A woman like Hope deserved a respectable partner, not a messed up ghoul with poor judgement and a shitty past.

These thoughts came without the self-loathing that typically accompanied them, the clarity courtesy of the Jet. They floated through, harmless and objective - one of the many reasons he liked the drug.

He steered his mind toward the positive through the jet haze, another skill earned through years of practiced use. He was going to travel with a beautiful woman - the General of the Minutemen - helping folks around the Commonwealth, building bridges for Goodneighbor, and generally having an enjoyable romp through the wilderness. Said beautiful woman was also good to banter with, and so far hadn’t seemed to mind his impulsive flirting, which was always a fun game regardless of whether it led anywhere. He could enjoy her company and be himself without pushing things too far, and he was genuinely excited to travel with her.

The peak of a Jet high may be short, but the comedown left a nice afterglow. Hope was still enjoying hers as Hancock’s own high wore off. With a stretch and a yawn, he flopped bonelessly onto the couch. He turned to her, black eyes soft and sparkling.

“So… ya like it?”

“A lot,” she said, smiling. “Thanks for sharing.”

“Any time, sister. I make my own, I ain’t short on supply.”

“I see why people get hooked,” she mused. “The mental quiet in a world full of danger and grief is… nice.”

“Yeah, it’ll hook ya that way before any physical addiction kicks in,” Hancock said, a note of caution in his voice. “Like I said, don’t overdo it.”

“I know how to moderate.”

“Good, good. I keep a stock of Addictol, just in case.” He leaned a little closer, a sly grin on his lips. “Wouldn’t wanna be a bad influence on ya.”

“You’re not the first bad influence I’ve run with, don’t worry,” Hope replied with a laugh.

“Really? Wouldn’t have picked ya for a rebel,” he said, the sly grin widening. “I look forward to learning more about ya.” He stood again with another stretch. “Well, while I’m feelin’ clear and loose, think I might inform my community I’m headin’ out.” He tilted his head at her in an invitation. “Join me on the balcony? Be good for ‘em to see the new General of the Minutemen.” 

“Sure,” said Hope, standing. “I don’t have to give a speech, do I?”

“Do ya want to?”

“Absolutely not,” she said with a shudder.

“Then just leave it to me,” said Hancock, beckoning her toward the door.

---

There were a few people milling about on the square below as Hancock and Hope stepped out onto the balcony of the Old Statehouse. Hope leaned against the wall by the door as Hancock stepped forward, calling out across his town.

“Hey, everybody. Gather up. I got somethin’ ya all need to hear.”

A few heads turned up toward him, then back toward their own conversations as people slowly made their way out of buildings, alleys, and a few shacks on either end of the Main Street.“No rush, everyone just take your time,” said Hancock, leaning back against the door next to Hope. They shared a quiet laugh and a Tato Hills cigarette while they waited, passing it between them. Once the square was full, a process which took around five minutes, he stepped forward again to the balcony railing and the hubbub below tapered off quickly. 

“Look, everyone, I’m takin’ a walk,” Hancock began. “It’s time for your fearless leader to get back out there. Mix it up in the dirt before I forget what that feels like.”

“You can’t leave, Hancock,” came a worried-sounding voice. “We need you!”

“Hey, I’m always gonna be here in spirit, my man,” said Hancock, a hand to his heart. “Goodneighbor and I, we got a connection. But, like any hot and heavy relationship, sometimes you gotta spend time apart, let things cool off, remind yourself of who ya are.” He took hold of the railing, leaning forward over it and speaking with conviction. “And who I am ain’t the kinda leader who sits behind a wall, waitin’ for trouble to come beatin’ it down.” A cheer went up at that, and Hope saw Hancock stand a little taller as it did. He waited for the noise to die down again before continuing. “We all know there’s a lot goin’ on out there. And we all know some of those threats are bigger than what we can deal with on our own.”

A murmur of worried assent rippled through the crowd. Hancock looked back toward Hope and tilted his head, inviting her forward. She joined him at the railing.

“This here is Hope,” Hancock said, gesturing to her. “She’s the new General of the Minutemen. I’m gonna be travellin’ with her, on behalf of Goodneighbor, makin’ the kinda friends we need to deal with those kinda threats if they come knockin’. Learnin’ what’s goin’ on out in our great wide Commonwealth. Maybe gettin’ some more trade flowin’ through here as well. She’s even buildin’ a radio network so I can stay in the loop. It’ll be like I’m not even gone. Aside from missin’ my handsome mug on our fair streets, that is.”

A ripple of laughter and a few wolf whistles and catcalls followed his last remark. Hope wasn’t sure if they were directed at her or Hancock. Just as Hancock opened his mouth to speak again, Daisy’s voice called out.

“Come on Hancock, we all know you’re chasing after her ‘cause she’s pretty!”

More laugher and louder whistles followed that, Hope’s own sheepish giggle among them. Hancock grinned at her and winked.

“Yeah, that too, but don’t tell her that,” he shot back. “She’ll run off without me.”

The crowd was clearly enjoying themselves. Hope felt a twinge of guilt for tearing Hancock away from a community who really seemed to love him, though she soothed it with the knowledge that he’d jumped at the offer, and his reasons for wanting to accompany her were good ones.

“So, that’s why I’m leavin’,” Hancock said to the crowd below. “I’m still your mayor, I’m still gonna be here when ya need me, but it’s time for me to stop livin’ so damn comfortable. Because we all know,” he said, drawing himself up to his full height, “no one in power deserves to be comfortable for long!”

That line was fucking kerosene for Hope, poured fresh upon the smouldering fire which fuelled her in the protests and riots of the old world and flaring it anew. A surge of admiration flashed through her and she fought down the sudden, insane urge to grab him and kiss him in front of his whole town. Instead, she gripped the railing a little tighter as he raised a fist to the sky.

“Now - what’s the best town in the Commonwealth? Where can someone live free, with no judgment?”

“Goodneighbor!” shouted a powerful chorus of voices. “Of the people, for the people!”

“And don’t let no one forget it!”

Hancock finished by pushing himself away from the balcony railing, opening the door for Hope and beckoning her through first. The cheers of his people still rang in the street below.

“Holy shit,” said Hope, after he closed the door behind them. “You need to teach me how to deliver a speech like that. I might need it at some point.”

“It’d be my pleasure, General,” he said, tipping his hat to her. She shoved his shoulder, playfully.

“Call me that again and I really will run off without you, Mayor.” 

The sound of their laughter mingled once again in the air between them. Laughter… It had been rare for Hope since she woke to the ruined world, silenced with the bombs and the trauma of the vault. To be travelling with someone who so easily lit that spark of joy again was exhilarating.

“I’ll need the rest of the day to get prepped,” said Hancock as they reached the spiral staircase in the middle of the Statehouse. “Gotta talk to a few folk, let ‘em know Fahrenheit’s runnin’ things. You, uh… wanna meet me at the Third Rail later? Wouldn’t mind a few drinks to see us off. We can leave at sunup tomorrow.”

“Sounds good,” said Hope. “I’m going to enjoy the luxury of a warm shower one last time before we hit the road.”

“Wish I was joinin’ ya for that,” Hancock chuckled. “Guess I’ll just have to make do with havin’ the prettiest woman in Goodneighbor at my table for the evenin’.”

“Oh?” said Hope, innocently. “I hope you’re buying her dinner.”

Hancock just laughed softly, leaning on the railing of the stairs as she descended.

“See ya tonight’, sunshine.”

Chapter 4

Chapter 6

[satendou]

⟼  inopportunity is key

⍣ clueless chemistry series | previous | next

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⇢  pairing: bokuto kotaro/f!reader/kuroo tetsuro

⇢ au: clueless chem!au, college!au, poly!au

⇢ summary: kuroo has a conference call, but bokuto’s just come home from a week away. you really can’t help yourselves.

⇥  masterlist

⇥  requests are open! | rules

⇢  warnings: established relationship, polyamory, smut, fingering & oral, couch sex, teasing of kuroo, masturbation, voyeurism

⇢  word count: 3.7k

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⇢  a/n: this is technically posted the day after it was supposed to be but no one will notice right? thank you as usual to @keijiskitten​ for editing this for me, yk ilysm. uh...thinkin about redoing this header but it’s 3am and i’m not doin it tonight.

“Uh, remind me what this is for again?” you asked, glancing over your shoulder at Kuroo. You were standing at the counter stirring a cup of tea while he fixed his tie in the fridge reflection, mouth twisted into a frown as he fought with it. “That would be easier with a mirror.”

He groaned, glaring at you from the corner of his eye. It had taken him ten minutes to get the tie right the first time, and then Bokuto had kissed him just a few minutes after and screwed it up again. He was frazzled and annoyed. “It’s for a science conference with the rest of the group. We have to discuss the potential impact of praseodymium on the environment if used in industry.”

You hummed thoughtfully even though you had less than no idea what he was talking about. However he always sounded so passionate about it that you didn’t care, trying to be interested even though he always lost you six words into his tirade. You suspected he knew as much because he had started slowing down his explanations, taking the time to explain certain things when your brows furrowed in confusion.

“Just come here, Tetsu. Let me fix it so that you can get started,” you said, waving him over. He sighed in relief and stooped over in front of you, chin tilted up while you fiddled with the knot. After a few moments, you patted his chest. “All done. Go get ‘em, tiger.”

He kissed your forehead, sighing against it. “Thanks, babe.” Then-- “Bokuto.”

The third slice of your trio poked his head around the corner into the kitchen, looking every bit like his name sake. Yellow eyes wide and innocent but sparkling with yet undecided mischief. “Yes, Kuroo?”

You snickered behind your hand and turned back to your cup of tea, now cool enough to drink. Taking a sip, you listened to Kuroo lecture Bokuto, who was now leaning against the doorframe, nodding even though he had clearly spaced out. It was all going in one ear and out the other, his eyes locked on you and a small grin on his face. He had something planned but you couldn’t fathom what.

“...and this is really important so I really need you guys to behave. I know how you get when you get bored, but _____ please try to corral him.”

You put on your best serious face and nodded when Kuroo turned to look at you. But as soon as he turned around, you snickered. He had missed it, but Bokuto had given you a very corny eyebrow wiggle. He was not taking this seriously and you were going to have to find something to occupy him before he actually did interrupt Kuroo’s conference. You loved him, but Bo was all volleyball and that left no space for seriousness.

Kuroo stomped around him and into the living room. You knew his laptop was already set up and open to the chat app the group was going to be using. It had been agreed upon that you and Bokuto could watch TV or hang around in the living room so long* as you-- but mostly Bokuto-- didn’t create a disruption. Kuroo plugged his headphones into the computer and then you heard him talking quietly.

“So, what should we do? Movie?” you asked, moving to stand in front of Bokuto. He towered over you, all broad and rippling muscle and you wondered if you’d actually get through a whole movie. He had only just gotten home from an away game the day before and, after a week away, you had missed him. His arms came around you and you fell willingly into his chest, soaking in the warmth you had been missing for days. Nothing felt right when either of your partners was gone, and you nuzzled into his chest, breathing in the warm smell of fabric softener and your own vanilla body wash because he insisted on using it instead of his own.

“A movie sounds good, so long as you sit in my lap,” he pouted, rubbing his cheek on the top of your head, “I missed you and need cuddles.” It was hard since you were several inches shorter than him, but he wasn’t above bending in half to get affection. Away games sucked, and he had to get by with video chatting, which he demanded every night before the three of you went to bed. He absolutely could not sleep without hearing your voices and seeing your faces.

You led the way into the living room, pulling him along behind you by the wrist. Pausing to kiss Kuroo on the cheek while he chatted, you received a round of waves from the rest of his group and waved back before moving to the couch. Before you could sit, Bokuto caught you up in his arms and fell down, dragging you into his lap just like you promised.

“Alright, alright,” you said, trying your best to stifle your giggles as he peppered your neck and shoulder with kisses. “Tetsu is gonna get mad at us and we won’t be able to watch the movie.”

Bokuto whined in the back of his throat and nipped at your neck, right over your sweet spot, and you squirmed at the heat that it caused. He pulled away, resting his chin on your shoulder and grinning as he picked up the remote. The TV buzzed quietly in the background until he flipped it to Netflix, the familiar sound jarringly loud, and he glanced at Kuroo, who was staring at the two of you with a glare. Bo shrugged, letting a guilty grin slip onto his face as he turned it down in a hurry.

Pushing at him, you guided him to relax against the back of the couch as you got comfortable, sliding off his legs and crossing yours over his thighs. He whined and gave you a pout until you settled in right against his side, and he threw his arm around your shoulders, preening as you snuggled against him. 

He flipped through the movie list, humming in thought at a few until he landed on Terminator 2 and looked at you for confirmation. He knew you weren’t going to be paying attention but the way you laid your head on his shoulder, trying to cuddle closer, made up for it.

Kuroo’s voice covered the sound of the movie, except for a few of the louder sound effects from time to time, but it was as low as it could be without being unable to hear it, and the subtitles were already on. You shifted, crossing your ankles and catching Bokuto’s attention. You were still absorbed in your phone, giggling at something he couldn’t see, and you jumped when you suddenly felt his fingers drift up your calf.

“Ko, stop, that tickles,” you whispered, swatting at his hand half-heartedly, but he only snatched his hand away and did it again, eliciting another giggle. You had set your phone aside and wound one arm around his thick neck, tugging as you tried to pull your legs from his hand. 

He caught your ankle in his grasp and pulled your leg back straight, holding it in his iron grasp and looking down at you. Your face was twisted with amusement, a wry smile on your face as your eyes glittered with happiness. 

“_____, you’re so fuckin’ pretty,” he whispered, and watched the glitter intensify as your eyes widened, pupils blown wide as he let go of your ankle and swept his hand up to your thigh, squeezing it just below your crotch. You weren’t the only one who was pent up, and he had half a mind to take you to the bedroom.

You could immediately tell you were in trouble when Bokuto’s eyes narrowed-- that mischievous glint he always carried increasing tenfold as he asked, “Can you be quiet?”

Throwing a glance over his shoulder, you caught Kuroo looking at you with what might have been a glare, which was overpowered by the interest his eyes held. Something in the chat gathered his attention for a moment as they asked if he was alright. Tugging at his tie, he nodded, glancing at you quickly before trying to focus on his work.

If the two of you really wanted to play, he would be the adult and ignore it. Or so he thought, until another glance at the two of you revealed Ko’s fingers sliding underneath your shorts. Your lips were parted as he whispered something into your ear, your eyes fluttering while you nodded.

“You’re so wet already, baby. Did you miss me that much, _____?” Bokuto breathed, nipping the shell of your ear while your thighs clenched around him. You pulled at his hair, breathing out a shaky moan as one thick finger probed at your slick folds. “I missed you, babygirl. Need my cock in this tight pussy to make up for it, you want that?”

You nodded, a high whine leaving your throat as he crooked his finger, walls clenching around him when his thumb ghosted your clit. It wouldn’t take long for you to come undone; the way his finger thrust in and out of your tight pussy was mind blowing, and when a second finger forced its way in, you lost it. A sharp gasp escaped before you could help it, barely containing a moan and you bit your fingers to stifle anything more.

Kuroo lost track of the conversation again as he watched you come undone all over Bokuto’s fingers. He would never get tired of the flush in your cheeks and the arch of your back, and he already knew there was a mess in your panties.

You squeaked when Bokuto withdrew his fingers, drawing one into his mouth and savoring the taste. There was nothing better, in his opinion, than tasting you after he’d made you cum. It was like a reward for his hard work. “You taste so good, baby. Here, see?”

His other finger still glistening with your juices prodded your lips and you opened obediently, letting it settle on your tongue. He was throbbing as your tongue wrapped around his finger, sucking like you would his cock. He thought that sounded pretty damn good too, but Kuroo was watching, humming along with whatever his group was saying. He was just managing to give them some semblance of an answer to their questions, and Bokuto intended to give him a show.

Smirking at him, he quickly yanked your shorts off your legs and threw them, landing just beside Kuroo’s laptop. 

One of the members ask what that was Kuroo passed it off, saying you had dropped something on the table beside him and glared at Bokuto. He was aggravated that his partner had decided to play this little game, but there was no denying that he was enjoying himself too. Knowing that he had a show to occupy himself while his group sat oblivious, droning on about their work with no one to tease them. He was living the dream and he knew it.

But he was still annoyed.

As Bokuto pulled his shorts down his thighs, you pulled your shirt over your head, pinning Kuroo with a coy smile and cupping your own tits, pinching and pulling at your hardened nipples. As much as you tried to deny it, he knew you enjoyed teasing him just as much as Bokuto-- probably a product of spending too much time with him.

Kuroo almost moaned when Bokuto positioned the two of you so that you were facing him, Bo leaned against the armrest with you sitting just above his leaking cock, your back to his chest. You wrapped a hand around it, pumping a few times and smearing precum across the tip. Bokuto’s head was tipped back, eyes closed while you worked him up, fingers kneading and squeezing your hips.

“Can’t stand it, babygirl. I’m gonna cum if you keep it up and I wanna paint your pretty insides white,” he growled at last, using brute strength to lift you up and settle you over his cock. Your hand was still wrapped around him as you guided him in, your jaw falling slack as his fat dick spread you wide. As always, Bokuto was far too large to handle, but you wanted more, sliding down even as tears rolled down your cheeks at the intense stretch. 

Kuroo had a clear view of your gaping pussy, thighs trembling with a mixture of pain and pleasure and his fingers curled into his palm as he stared. He heard the call of his name and glanced at the screen, finding them waiting for him to answer the previous question still. 

“Um, yeah, three should be fine, but make it five if you can,” he said, knowing he should end the call early, but something kept him rooted to his seat and his mouth firmly shut. Maybe it was the taboo, or maybe he just had a voyeur kink. As much as he wanted to join you, to punish the both of you for your teasing, there was a larger part of him that was getting off on just watching.

A whine tore from your throat when Bokuto thrust his hips up experimentally, burying his cock fully in your tight heat and your eyes rolled back. It felt like he was dragging out of you, your tiny pussy clinging onto him so tight that you could feel every vein rubbing against your walls. 

“Fuckfuck,” you gasped before clapping your hand over your mouth.

In punishment for your slipup, Bokuto reached up and harshly pinched one nipple, his head falling back when you squeezed down around him in response. “So good, baby, so fuckin’ good. Do that again.”

To make you, he pinched your other nipple, hips still moving at a languid pace in and out of you. The slick noises your cunt was making was just barely audible to Kuroo, and he hoped the interference in the video chat prevented his group mates from hearing. They didn’t ask about it, only commenting on his lack of focus and asking if he needed to go. But he shook his head, forcing himself to pay attention for a few moments, watching you bounce from the corner of his eyes.

Your head was tossed back against Bokuto’s shoulder, the veins in his arms standing out as his muscles flexed, pushing and pulling you like you were his own personal fuck toy while you gasped and whined in his ear. In the back of your mind, you really didn’t* want Kuroo to get in trouble, but it was too good to stop and catching his eyes on you made you warm. They were filled with arousal and the promise of payback, and you shivered in Bokuto’s arms.

“Play with your clit, babygirl. Make yourself cum all over my cock while I fuck you,” he whispered, hips curling. He was slamming you down, forcing the breath from you with every thrust, watching Kuroo’s eyes follow his cock disappearing into you. He could feel the mess you were making all over his cock, dripping down his balls and to the couch and he moaned a little louder. Tangling his fingers in your hair, he littered kisses up your shoulder to your neck, and you bucked your hips up when his teeth sunk into your neck before he began to suck, working to leave as large a hickey as he could.

Even from across the room, Kuroo could see the vivid red mark on your skin, slick with saliva and shiny like Bokuto’s lips. His eyes met Bo’s, who was almost feral at that point, eyes wide and wild as he pounded into you. He followed the slide of your hand down to the juncture of your legs, thighs tensing as the first pass over your clit sent jolts of pleasure sparking through you. He wetted his lips at the way your lips parted, wanting to slide his aching cock between them and punish you for torturing him. But it could wait, he decided, discreetly adjusting himself below the view of the camera. He knew you were close, knew your tells. The way your back would arch, your toes would curl, breath leaving you in pants--

You almost shrieked when Bokuto flipped you forward without warning, leaving you empty for just a moment before he was forcing his thick cock back into you. You swallowed him so easily, already fucked open and the head of his cock met your cervix with the new angle. His large hand met the center of your back and pushed, forcing your back to arch and your chest to meet the couch. With your ass up in the air, he wasn’t taking care to keep quiet anymore, his hips pistoning into without mercy and forcing broken moans and whines from your lips.

You were too fuzzy with your looming orgasm to care about Kuroo’s partners hearing, nails scrabbling for purchase on the cushions while Bokuto held you in place with one strong hand.

Kuroo was quick to realize he couldn’t hide it anymore and muted his mic, typing into the supplied chat that he wasn’t feeling well and had to go. It took his computer far too long to register that he had exited the chat and he groaned in relief when it closed, slamming the laptop shut. His belt buckle clanked as he undid it in a hurry before pushing his slacks down to his knees. He was so hard it was painful and he moaned when he wrapped his hand around his weeping cock. There was a wet spot in his boxers where his precum had soaked in, and he had no trouble coaxing more out with a few thrusts, but it wasn’t enough. 

Spitting on his cock, he grunted, squeezing his length tighter and forcing his cock through the tight ring of his fingers. Eyes locked on you, listening to the slick noise of Bokuto fucking your tight cunt and imagining it was him pounding you.

“TetsuTetsuTetsu,” you cried, his name falling like a mantra from your lips and it sent a jolt through him, his hand squeezing his shaft and the dam broke. 

“Fuck, princess,” he snarled, drinking in your fucked out, wide open expression. Focusing on the sensitive spot just underneath his head, he worked himself through his orgasm, drawing it out and splattering cum on his dress shirt. “You’re so pretty, taking his cock. You gonna come for him? He’s treated you so good, it’s the least you could do to cream all over him.”

You whined at his dirty words, watching him slump back and relax, his softening cock rest on his stomach and his arms slung across the back of the couch. His eyes were narrowed and teasing as he stared at you, licking his lips and smirking, looking very much at ease. 

“Gonna cum, Ko, please make me cum. You fuck me so good, baby, I can’t think, can’t think fuck,” you babbled, clenching down on him. A twist of his hips had him rubbing along that one soft spot inside you, head slamming into your cervix and you toppled over the edge with a scream of his name. 

He didn’t stop as he chased his own high, eyes locked onto his glistening cock covered in your cream, groaning as he forced himself into your clenching pussy again. You were whining with overstimulation, still squeezing around and he choked out a curse as he hilted himself inside you and came. He doubled over, resting his forehead on your back as he pumped you full of his cum, hips rocking to jerk himself off with your tight pussy.

“Fuck, babygirl, you’re so amazing,” he whispered, voice hoarse. He swept your hair to the side and pressed open mouth kisses all over the back of your neck and shoulders, tasting the salt on your skin. You shuddered as he pulled out of you, the mess of his cum spilling down your thighs, and he helped you to lay down.

Kuroo was already there with a wet cloth and together they cleaned you and then Bo up, Kuroo’s rough hand gently running the cloth over his soft cock and the mess you had made all over it. Dropping the cloth, his hand trailed up over his abs, watching them twitch and flex until he could cup his chin.

Pressing a kiss to the corner of Bokuto’s lips, he grinned, a feral, manic look in his eyes as he whispered, “You two are in so much trouble. Better rest up now, because when I’m done you won’t be able to walk or practice for days.”

The grin Bokuto gave him screamed mischief, and Kuroo laughed under his breath as he realized his partner had planned this. Carefully, he scooped you up in his arms and you snuggled into his chest, leaving lazy kisses to the underside of his jaw and down his throat. The tie had long been undone and flung somewhere behind the couch, and your nimble fingers plucked open the top buttons of his shirt, your lips blazing a trail on the newly exposed skin.

He could hear Bokuto’s heavy footsteps behind him as he walked down the hall, kicking the bedroom door open with his foot. 

Depositing you on the bed, Bokuto crawled in beside you while Kuroo undressed, watching the two of you cuddle up and whisper together, giggling like co-conspirators and it dawned on him that the conference call was never going to end any other way.

“You two are such little shits, you know that?” he growled, kneeling on the bed and towering over the two of you. “Hope you’re ready, _____. You have to make it up to me.”

Your answering smile was as brilliant as it was devious. “Come and get me then, daddy.”

⇥  return to masterlist

⇥ taglist: @umihami​, @kunimwuah​

[dromaeo-sauridae]

(if you're still doin' the weird ask game) how abt 18 and 38? and a question not on the roster: how's your day going :]?

OHHH yesterday we had a bigass rainstorm and i got stuck in the porch w my dogs and that was fuckin PERFECT. heavy rain and thunder are the best

and mmmm im gonna say lemonade especially pink lemonade. like? after workin all day in summer lemonade is SO GOOD

also my day is p ok had a guitar lesson and studied for my chem test!

[returnn-of-the-mac]

(Love your stuff!) A sad ask: Romanced companions fo4 reactions to sole buried alive in a tunnel or deteriorated vault?

Um. This is probably the saddest thing I’ve ever written. But I enjoyed writing it. It was angsty, but fun to write. I’ll spell check & add the read me once I get home; I’m currently driving (well, passenger-ing) into Boston, so I don’t have laptop access right now. I’ll add a pic of the location I used for...visualization, I guess. Thank you so, so much for the request, I love writing them! Please enjoy! 🥰

FO4 (Romanced) Companions React: Sole Being Buried Alive

Sole and their lover were departing from Sanctuary when Sole noticed a small cave just outside the Red Rocket Truck stop. The pair went to inspect the cave, much to the reluctance of their partner:

MacCready: MacCready watched his partner prepare to crawl into the little cavern and rolled his eyes. “Come on. This is a waste of time. There probably isn’t anything valuable in there anyway,” he said, trying to talk his lover out of crawling into the rat-infested burrow, “It’s just a stupid molerat hole.” Sole ignored their companion and continued inching into the obviously unstable cave. MacCready tried again. “If you think I’m crawling in after you, I’m not,” he declared, turning on his heels, “I’m going to Concord. Come find me when you’re done exploring.” When he saw that Sole was still working on crawling into the burrow, he anxiously pleaded with his lover. “[Name], it’s not safe. Please don’t go in there. Whatever you’re looking for in there probably isn’t worth the risk.” Suddenly, there was a loud rumble and the dirt and rock facade of the cave collapsed. “[Name]!” MacCready scrambled to the cave, desperately digging through the fallen debris to save his partner. “Oh no! Oh no! Oh my god. Say something, love. Anything!” After about 20 minutes of trying, MacCready realized his efforts were going to prove fruitless. “Fu—“ MacCready hesitated, “No...” Sole was gone. He’d let another loved one down. MacCready angrily kicked some stones off to the side before sitting down and burying his face in his hands. After about an hour, he stood up. He fished through his bag and pulled out his toy soldier, placing it on the dirt pile that covered his former love. “I’m sorry, beautiful. I...I’m sorry I let you down. I love you so much.” He wiped away a lone tear and began his solo trek to Goodneighbor.

Cait: “What’re ye doin there? Pretendin to be a mole rat?” Cait teased as she watched her partner attempt to crawl into a dirt cave. “I know ye like to role play, but this ain’t the time or place...and I ain’t got a rodent kink, darlin.” Sole continued to burrow into the cavern. Cait noticed a few rocks tumbling down the sides and suddenly became alert. “Ye sure that’s safe? Doesn’t look too steady to me...” the redhead commented. Sole disregarded the warning. “Doll, I love ya, and I knew yer havin yerself a ball with all that crawlin and diggin, but I think you should stop now,” She continued, “Why don’t we head to Concord, yeah? Heard they got some fuckin good loot.” Before Sole could respond, the pair head a loud rumbling. “Deathclaw?” Cait asked, looking around frantically and loading her shotgun. Suddenly, the walls of the cave collapsed and Sole was buried alive. “SHITE! DARLIN!” Cait shrieked, sprinting over to the heap of dirt and rocks that buried their lover. “Oh please no this can’t be fuckin happenin. Why?” The redhead cried. “Mother of fucking Christ why?” Cait screamed at the top of her lungs and then completely broke down. “I’m fuckin cursed.” Cait frantically dug through her inventory and pulled out a syringe. “For the first time in my life I was truly happy. I didn’t need chems. They were makin me sick. And This...this [beautiful/handsome] [woman/man] took me under their wing and helped me break free from my shackles. And now they’re gone forever. Like any other good thing in me life.” She studied the needle. “This life...my life. It’s an absolute fuckin joke,” she commented before injecting herself with a lethal amount of psycho. “I’m sorry, darlin. But I love ye. I love ye so fuckin much.”

Hancock: “Come on, babe. I don’t think you’re gonna find anything useful in there.” Sole ignored their companion and continued crawling. Hancock tried again. “What are you looking for, exactly? Armor? Weapons? Chems? Whatever it is you need, I can hook ya up. Ya don’t need to be doin this risky shit.” Sole ignored their companion and continued borrowing. When Hancock noticed rocks beginning to tumble down the facade of the cave, he knew he had to act quickly. He didn’t want to panic Sole, but he needed to get them out quickly. He had an idea. “Hey, doll. Why don’t we do somethin else instead? I think I saw a mattress a little further back if you’re catchin my drift.” Sole looked back at their companion and Hancock winked. Just as they began to crawl out, the walls began to collapse. “Shit!” Hancock yelled, running over to their panic-stricken lover. Before he could make it over to them, they were buried by dirt and stone. “[Name], oh my fucking god.” Hancock frantically dug through the dirt. “Stay with me, babe. Stay with me. You’re okay. We’ll getcha out of this sand pile.” Hancock proceeded to inject himself with several hits of Psychobuff before tunneling through the dirt pile. Even with the chems, there was too much debris to break through. The chems wore off and Hancock was left exhausted and dejected. He placed a weak hand on the mound of dirt Sole was buried under. “I’m sorry I couldn’t save ya, babe. I love ya so damn much.”

Curie: “[Madam/Monesieur], please be careful. That formation looks extremely insecure.” Sole continued to burrow deeper in the cavern and Curie put a gentle hand on their back. “I’m sure we can find whatever you’re looking for in a safer manner. Additionally, mole rats are notorious for hoarding junk. We can probably find a caravan near concord with more useful items.” Sole turned around to respond to their partner when the walls began to cave in. “Oh non! My love!” Curie tried to pull Sole out from the crumbling cavern, but the force of the falling debris was too strong. Curie fell face down into the dirt. She was covered in scrapes, but she continued to desperately dig through the rubble to save her lover. “Please, please, oh please, please...” she dug for several minutes to no avail. When she realized that Sole was gone, she let out a devastated cry. “Je suis désolé, my love. I wish I could’ve done more.” Curie’s voice cracked as she wept, “T’es l’amour de ma vie.” After about an hour of mourning, Curie stood up. She gathered some wildflowers and created a bouquet which she laid on the pile of debris that covered Sole’s body. “Adieu,” Curie whispered as she gently pet the dirt. She wiped away her remaining tears and began her journey back to Vault 88.

Gage: “Boss come on. What do those rats have that could possibly be of value to us?” Sole continued to push themselves deeper into the cavern. Gage grew more irritated. “Yo. Quit ignorin me. I’m serious. You’re puttin yourself at risk for no good reason.” Sole continued to burrow. “What’s the matter with you? What could you possibly want that those rats have? I can get it for you; I‘ve got connections, hot stuff.” Gage sighed, “Look, I’m not tryna be a jerk, okay? I’d just hate to see those walls cave—“ just as he was finishing his sentence, the foundation of the cave collapsed, crushing Sole under a mountain of dirt and stone. “BOSS!” Gage yelled, charging over to the former cave. “Fuck, fuck, fuck. This ain’t happenin. This ain’t fuckin happenin right now.” Gage began to furiously dig through the dirt. “God fuckin dammit!” He threw a rock out of frustration and fought back tears. “Nah, ya ain’t gonna cry over this, Gage. It happens all the time. Part of this lifestyle.” One single tear managed to escape from his eyes and he desperately wiped it away. “Fuck. I loved ya, boss. Really did.” The raider picked up a piece of scrap wood and began to carve it using his switchblade. After a few hours, he had successfully crafted a sculpture of a Nuka Cola bottle with the words Rest Easy, [Name] etched around the base of the bottle. He laid the sculpture down near the dirt pile that covered his lover’s body and began his hike back to Nuka World.

Preston: “I trust your judgment, General, but I don’t think I understand the purpose of exploring this cave. It seems dangerous.” Sole ignored their partner’s warning and continued to dig. Preston grew nervous. “Are you sure that’s safe, babe? These dens tend to be infested with mole rats.” Sole continued to burrow deeper into the cave. “Come on, [name]. It’s not worth it, especially when Concord is only two miles away. Let’s go.” Despite Preston’s pleas, his lover didn’t give up their endeavor. Before either had any time to react, the dirt walls of the cave crumbled and crushed Sole. “BABE! Oh my God!” Preston rushed over to the rumble and waited for some indication of life beneath the rubble. But everything was eerily still and silent. “B-babe?” Preston called, tears rolling down his face. When there was no response, he knew his partner was gone. “I love you, [name]. I’ll never forget everything that you’ve done for me. You’ve had such a positive impact on my life I...I don’t know if I’d still be here today if it weren’t for you.” By banging two rocks together for several minutes, Preston was able to craft a stone heart. He laid the monument down on the dirt mound that covered Sole’s body and returned to Sanctuary to report the tragic news.

Piper: “Hey, cut it out. That rat’s nest isn’t safe.” Piper called to her companion. Sole ignored the journalist and continued to crawl into the cave anyway. Piper grew more frustrated. “Blue! I’m serious. Stop it. You’re going to get hurt—or worse!” Sole, yet again, disregarded their companion’s warning and continued into the cavern. Piper rolled her eyes. “Fine. Whatever. You win. I’ll help you explore the stupid cave. But don’t get all huffy when you don’t find anything useful in there.” The reporter crouched down and began to crawl into the crevasse. “Damn Blue, this cave is tiny. You sure we’re both gonna be able to fit in there?” Just then the pair heard a loud rumble and the ceiling started to cave in. Piper shot backward out of the cave entrance, but Sole was too far in to escape. The dirt and stone walls buried them alive. Piper gasped and tears rolled furiously down her face. “[Name]! [Name]! Oh, Christ please answer me! [Name]!” Piper crumbled to the ground and sobbed violently. She knew her partner was gone forever. Before heading back to Diamond City, she gathered drew a heart in the dirt pile that covered Sole’s body. “Rest In Peace, Blue. I...I love you.”

Danse: “Soldier, these mole rat dens are notorious for being structurally unstable and severely radioactive.” Danse continued, “Those vile creatures are also festering with disease. I strongly discourage you from crawling in there.” Sole ignored their partner’s warning and continued borrowing into the cave. Danse had a premonition that something bad was about to happen, and his usual composure was overridden by a rare feeling of anxiety. “[Name]! This is blatant insubordination,” he yelled out, much harsher than he had intended, “Evacuate that craven immediately. That is an order.” Sole, alarmed by their partner’s sudden acerbity, looked back at the Paladin. Suddenly, a loud rumble shook the air. “Soldier!” Danse bolted to collapsing and grabbed his lover’s hands. Before he could fully pull them out, however, the cavern caved in. “Soldier? [Name]? [Name], you can’t be gone. Hang in there. Please.” Danse clenched his teeth as he tried to absorb what had just happened. Just hours before, Sole was laughing, talking about the future, and showering him with hugs and sweet kisses. And in an instant, they were gone. Forever. Using a piece of scrap wood, he ingrained an epitaph to honor Sole and the tremendous impact they had made on his life. “You fought hard soldier. Thank you for your service...” he paused, “And...thank you for everything you’ve done for me, [name]. You’ve changed my life for the better. I love you.” He laid the piece of wood down on the pile of dirt that covered Sole’s body and began his journey back to Listening Post Bravo. The memorial read: Two roads diverged in a wood, and I -- I took the one less traveled by, and that has made all the difference.

[fallout4holmes]

Journal 51

None of us slept well. At the first sign of morning, we made our way toward the Old North Church. Danse, Preston, and I compared notes on the Mechanist’s robots; they’d encountered a group of them on their way east from Sanctuary. I described meeting Ada, and explained that robobrains might hold the key to tracking down the Mechanist.

“Robo-what?” Preston asked, his eyes wide.

“Robobrain,” Danse said, as if it should be obvious. “Before the War, they were supposed to be the next generation of robotic soldier, but they were never fully implemented into the Army. They’re multi-purpose robots, with programs stored inside an organic brain contained in a domed shell atop their chassis.”

“They’re disgustin’,” Cait said.

“Sounds like it,” Preston said, indeed vaguely disgusted by the idea.

“How do you know about them, Danse?” I asked, surprised.

“They’re not an uncommon sight in the Capital Wasteland,” he said. “The Brotherhood Outcasts used them. Some were repainted in Brotherhood colors when Elder Maxson brought the Outcasts back into the fold.”

“Outcasts?” I asked.

Danse nodded, “They thought Elder Lyons, Maxson's predecessor, had lost sight of the Brotherhood's true mission. He was too focused on aiding the local populace. The Outcasts saw themselves as the true Brotherhood, devoted to the recovery and preservation of advanced pre-War technology instead of charity.” Preston made a sound. Danse looked at him, “You would hate them, Garvey.”

“Yeah, I would,” Preston stated. “And they had these robobrain things?”

“Since they couldn't increase their numbers through recruitment, they supplemented their forces with a variety of combat robots. Robobrains may appear clunky, but they are more durable, accurate, and dangerous than any protectron.”

“Even more so now that the Mechanist has modified them,” I said.

Cait grumbled, “Covered in armor, with a… what did ya’ call that sparky arm thing?”

“Tesla coil,” I supplied.

“That shite,” she nodded. “Not to mention all the other walking scrap piles fightin’ with it.”

“The main problem with fighting robots is they never know when to surrender,” Danse said.

“That’s the main problem?” Preston asked, skeptical and surprised.

“Of course. Robots aren’t much of a challenge otherwise; they’re so predictable.”

“I disagree,” I laughed. “At least, the ones we fought held no discernible pattern of combat I noticed, but then again I was preoccupied with keeping my limbs intact.”

“And yet,” Danse said with some amusement, “you consistently refuse to wear power armor.”

“How would I achieve any of my infiltration and stealth work in armor?” I said with a grin, glad to see Preston’s fond eye-roll at his soldier.

“So,” Preston cut in, “Nick’s with this Ada you mentioned? The robot with the plan to find this Mechanist person?”

I nodded, “He is.” I switched on my Pip-Boy’s radio and tuned to the Valentine Agency signal. No messages were there, so I switched to Radio Freedom. My companions remained silent as I attempted to ascertain the status of my partner. There was indeed an alert, but not exactly what I was expecting to hear.

 “You’re listening to Radio Freedom, Voice of the Minutemen. We have a special alert! Keep an eye out for a robobrain near the Mass Fusion building. General Holmes needs a piece of it to track down whoever has been making the robots terrorizing the Commonwealth. If you confront it, be careful! It’s keeping dangerous company.”

Preston cranked a charge into his musket, “Guess that’s us, huh, General?”

“I wasn’t aware that I needed a piece of another robobrain,” I started, and then I realized what must have happened. “Oh, the beacon,” I hurried forward, “I hope we’re not replacing the first one, but I presume this is Valentine and Ada’s doing.”

“Mass Fusion is still a Brotherhood outpost,” Danse stated.

I nodded, “I know. Let’s hope Maxson’s agreement to work with the Minutemen regarding the robots extends to his men on the ground.”

Cait scoffed, “Assumin’ he told anyone in the first place.”

“She’s got a point,” Preston muttered, then he said, “General, unless you got a way to fly or sail across the bay, we aren’t going to get to Mass Fusion in time.”

“I'm aware, but what else can we do? We’ll make it as far as we can.”

We made it as far as Bunker Hill before we needed to stop and rest. Danse and Preston took advantage of Mr. Savoldi’s bar while I asked Old Man Stockton if he could inform our mutual business partner I would be arriving with guests. He said if he saw them, he would let them know.

Cait initially wandered toward the bar, but soon joined me as I purchased some ammunition, a bottle in her hand. “That Danse fella sure knows how to make a girl feel welcome,” she sarcastically commented.

“I wouldn’t waste time flirting with either of those soldiers,” I said.

She smacked her forehead, “Fuckin’ idiot, of course.” She helped herself to the pack of cigarettes in my pocket, “Don’t get excited, I know you ain’t interested, either.” She lit her cigarette and walked with me back toward the bar, “You’re worried about the brain on wheels gettin’ away, aren’t ya?”

“Yes.”

She drew deep from the cigarette and drank from the bottle, “We could just keep movin’.”

“My men are tired and, though I am loathe to admit it, so am I.”

“I’ve got somethin’ that could fix that—”

“No.”

“If it’s so damn important that you get this piece," she demanded between gulps, "then why not?”

“Do not tempt me, Cait.” I breathed deep, and when I spoke again I sounded level, “Please. I know how easy it would be. That’s why I can’t.”

“You’re not makin’ any sense.”

She sounded honestly confused. So I honestly replied, “Once that door is opened again, I don’t know if I’ll be able to close it.”

She huffed, exasperated. “Where is Mass Fusion, anyway?”

“South of here, north of Goodneighbor. The gentlemen who run the bar here also rent a space to sleep. We’ll start first thing in the morning.”

Cait was gone at sunrise. Preston and Danse had noticed her missing, but hadn’t thought much of it. She’d purchased some chems, they assumed she was somewhere using them. The traders around Bunker Hill were unhelpful, though one mentioned he saw her going for a walk. We had no choice but to continue on.

A few hours later, she found us.

“Here,” she said, hurrying up to me out of breath. “This the thing?”

She handed me a device identical to the one I took from the first robobrain. The implications terrified me. “Cait. What did you do?”

“You’re welcome!” she scoffed, offended. “I went down and grabbed the thing, what the hell do you think I did? I had a bit of trouble makin’ sure I wasn’t leavin’ anything behind, but I had to work fast what with them Brotherhood bastards roamin’.”

“It seems complete.”

“Look, if you’re worried about me startin’ somethin’ you have to clean up later, don’t. They didn’t see me. The robobrain was just lyin’ there, along with all the other piles of scrap. Looked like the Brotherhood had been doin’ clean up of their own all day, so they weren’t about to start scavenging.”

“I’m not worried about the Brotherhood.”

She was startled, “Oh. Now don’t be dumb, might as well use what you’ve got, right? You needed it, I got it for you, because you couldn’t. Gonna be a mite twitchy today, but what else is new? But, uh. I figure this makes us even.”

My concern shifted to confusion, “Even?”

She nodded, “I’m stayin' behind. You don’t need me. I’m not ungrateful," she hurried to add. "You've been damn decent to me, which is more than I can say for most people in me life, but I feel pretty damn useless runnin’ next to you with those soldier boys. I’m used to lookin’ out for number one, you know? Your circle keeps gettin’ bigger and bigger. I like you, you don’t take any shite from anyone and I respect that, but I don’t want to be just a hired hand, tagging along because I have to keep bullets off you. And that's the way I see this headed.”

"I understand," I said, and it was true. "Where are you going to go?"

"Figure I’ll head down to Goodneighbor. I can find work that suits me there," she said, and then she smiled. "If you ever want to get piss drunk and pick a fight, come find me."

I shook her hand, “If you ever need assistance, whatever it may be, come find me.”

"Pff, I doubt you'll feel that way if I ever show up at your door, but thanks." She walked away.

“Too bad she didn’t stay,” Preston said.

“Really?” I was surprised. “I thought you’d be glad to see her leave.”

He shrugged, “Honestly, I am. But, at the same time, you’ve got a way of helping folks if they just stick around long enough.”

“She knows where to find him,” Danse said.

“If she lives that long.”

I sighed, “Our priority right now is to get to the Church without the Brotherhood realizing where we’re going. If Maxson was telling the truth and they really have discovered the location of the headquarters, then it is imperative they do not see us step inside it. We don’t want to announce that the Railroad has been warned. If Maxson was bluffing, then it is even more important that we not be discovered.”

“Then we wait for night and proceed under cover of darkness?” Danse asked.

I shook my head and lead the way, “We don’t have time. Instead, we’re going in the back door.”

I led them to the Railroad’s escape tunnel, all of us taking cover at every sound of a vertibird’s engine. Waiting for us inside the tunnel was a particularly formidable woman with white hair holding a minigun.

“Ah, Glory. Good afternoon.”

“Where do you think you’re going?” the Railroad agent demanded.

“I have to speak with Desdemona. It is important.”

“You think you can bring a soldier in power armor through our back door and not raise any eyebrows?”

I frowned, impatient, “Considering I’m attempting to save you and everyone else’s life, yes as a matter of fact I do.”

She thought about debating me for a solid three seconds. “Fuck. Fine, hurry up.”

We followed. As we entered their headquarters, Glory announced, “The power armor was with Detective! Or General, whatever you want to call him. Says he needs to see Dez.”

Desdemona was in her usual place at her table, looking over reports. “General. Stockton told us you would be coming. He didn’t mention you’d be bringing a suit of power armor with you.”

“This is Lieutenant Colonel Danse,” I introduced him.

Danse removed his helmet, “Had I known my presence was going to incite panic, I would have left my armor at the door.”

“We’re constantly spied on by Brotherhood of Steel soldiers, you understand we’re a bit cautious when it comes to suits of armor outside,” Desdemona said.

“Caution can often be misinterpreted as hostility.”

“I think a little paranoia is justified in her line of work, Danse,” Preston said.

“I didn’t say it wasn’t.”

“The man’s sense of humor is drier than the Mojave,” Deacon said from the corner. He was wearing a white t-shirt and jeans, a pompadour wig on his head and the same sunglasses as always. “But to what do we owe the pleasure?”

Desdemona rolled her eyes, “We don’t have time—”

“You don’t have time for anything right now,” I interrupted. “Elder Maxson claims to know where you are located. The only reason he hasn’t ordered an attack is because he knows the Minutemen would immediately retaliate, because of my association with your organization. I believe he wants to strike firmly at once, and obliterate the Minutemen and Railroad as one.”

Everyone had gone silent, listening closely.

“Maxson is likely putting his soldiers in place as we speak,” I continued. “You have to evacuate. The Brotherhood only know of one location for certain, assuming they aren’t bluffing in the first place.”

“And may I ask, General,” Desdemona spoke carefully neutral, “why the Minutemen haven’t shot the Prydwen out of the sky by now?”

"There are children on board.”

Desdemona blinked. “Children.”

“They’re called Squires. It’s not their fault they were born into the Brotherhood, raised among its ranks, and brought to the Commonwealth.”

She sighed, "This is war. Collateral damage—"

“Is never acceptable," I fumed. "Do not presume to lecture me about war, madam. I have seen first hand its horror wrought on the world, both before and after the apocalypse it birthed. It should be avoided at all costs, and yet remains a tragic product of human nature." I forced myself to calm, "That’s why I need Deacon.”

“Boss?” Deacon asked, unreadable.

“I need you to get those children off that damn ship.”

For the first time, his falsely modest charm was grating, “Hey, as flattered as I am by your faith in me to infiltrate the Brotherhood base of operations—”

Danse spoke over his objection, “I still have my Brotherhood of Steel uniform back at Sanctuary. It won’t fit you perfectly, but if you move quickly and with purpose you won't be questioned. The Squires remain on a strict schedule that I don’t imagine Lancer-Captain Kells will have seen any reason to alter. They’re accustomed to following orders, and are often assigned to a soldier for the day to observe them in action. There are only a few of them, but even so the greatest difficulty will be bringing the whole group out of the airport without being questioned.”

Deacon was quiet a moment, then shrugged. “Sure, I’ve gone into ops with less.”

Danse smiled, small but approving. “I can give you any intel you need regarding the layout of the Prydwen and the airport,” he turned to Desdemona, “provided your leader approves.”

Desdemona stopped the protest that had been forming on her lips and glared. Glory spoke, “We don’t have time for this. If our position is compromised, our first priority is getting everyone out of here.”

“Glory’s right, Dez,” Deacon said, “we gotta get everyone out of here for now. But you don’t need me for that. Holmes isn’t going to fire on the Prydwen without at least trying to get those kids out of there, and right now the Minutemen are our best hope. We’ve lost all our other windows of opportunity. I’ll go in, find the kids, try to get them out, and if I can’t, I’ll blow the place to hell.”

Danse’s jaw clenched at the sound of that, but he said nothing.

“Where are you going to take them once you get them off the ship?” Desdemona asked Deacon.

“Uh… away?”

“Cambridge,” Danse said.

Deacon was alarmed, “Whoa, what?”

“Someone needs to disable the communications dish in Cambridge, or else the Brotherhood will be able to contact the Capital Wasteland for reinforcements.”

“So you want me to deliver a bunch of kidnapped Brotherhood kids into their western base and then say 'mind if I look at your dish?' Man, this mission just keeps getting better and better.”

"If it were easy, Deacon,” I said, “anyone could do it. You are one of the Railroad’s best.”

"Flattery will get you nowhere, Detective. Ok, that's a lie.” Deacon turned to Tinker Tom, “Hey Tom, before the Institute became an irradiated swimming pool, you were working on the vertibird thing, right? You ever figure out how to fly one?”

The Railroad’s inventor nodded, “In theory. Never had a chance to practice, for obvious reasons.”

“Good enough, just give me all you got. I’ll figure it out as I go. Can’t be too hard, right?”

“Vertibird thing?” I asked.

“We were going to hijack a vertibird, get onboard, set some explosives, and blow the Prydwen out of the sky,” Deacon explained. “Harebrained scheme, but I had high hopes for it. Then the Institute exploded and we suddenly had a bunch of panicked synths to look after, so Operation Red Glare was abandoned. Oh, I won’t need your old uniform, Danse, we nabbed a couple already.”

Danse's voice was strained, "I'm not a pilot, but I can at least tell you if there are any grievous errors in your… research."

Tom gestured to his desk, "Step into my office, my man."

Desdemona regained command, "Alright people, while Deacon helps the Minutemen with the Prydwen, the rest of us have to get out of here. Standard evacuation, take only what's necessary. There haven't been many patrols reported over the Boathouse, we have to hope that it hasn't been discovered. We’re going to move everyone out in waves through the day.”

She detailed the order of evacuation, and the Railroad Headquarters became a whirl of activity. Danse, Tinker Tom, and Deacon remained in tense discussion. Deacon seemed to know how much Danse hated the idea of handing his former home over to a Railroad spy, and kept somber. Preston and I helped with the preparations when we could, and tried to stay out of the way when we couldn't.

In a few hours we'll make our departure.

[quinzelade]

Making One’s Bones (chpt 12)

Chapter List

--

Porter Gage is in a pickle. Nuka-World needed a new boss and some woman just killed her way to the top. But a pre-war Mafia boss on the theme park's throne? Well...at least she'll have experience.

--

Hello, everyone! Welcome to my newest fanfic! While this is technically a ‘sequel’ of By No Constraint, you don’t need to read BNC to read this. It can be read as standalone.

--

Consigliere

--

Night had fallen. Bossanova and Gage sat outside on the balcony of the castle, staring into the great blackness below that was Nuka World. A campfire crackled lazily in front of them, washing the scene in warm light and illuminating Bossanova’s gaunt features, while Gage took the last of his radiation medicine banish the aftermath of the battle with Oswald. Bossanova looked terrible. She hadn’t really spoken since she’d cut Oswald down, sealing off their refuge for the evening and settling outside in total silence.

If Gage didn’t know any better, he’d say she was avoiding Oswald’s body.

For the umpteenth time that night, he thought back to that last, brutal fight, and held back a smile. He didn’t want to piss off the boss right now. But every doubt he’d had, every worry, every bit of distrust fell away the second she’d plunged her knife into Oswald’s neck. That one moment had been revolutionary to him.

Gage couldn’t deny it. He felt proud of her. After a moment, he decided to test the water. “Boss?”

Bossanova stared straight ahead, black eyes gleaming in the firelight as she held her sword and a soft cloth in her hands. “Yes, Gage?”

“Can I ask you something?”

For a second, he thought she might say no, but she shrugged. “Sure.”

“Do you feel bad?”

She looked at him for the first time in hours, and he noticed how pale she was. “For what?”

“Killing the ghoul.”

“No.” She returned to polishing her blade. Gage wondered how truthful she was being. Her answer was too abrupt, too clean. She’d been in one of her funny moods all night, leaving Gage a lot of time to think. Truthfully, he didn’t mind whether she felt bad or not—it didn’t matter to him anymore. She’d saved him regardless of the cost. She would step up when she had to, and that made all the difference in the world.

“I don’t regret killing him,” Bossanova said suddenly, and Gage looked up at her. She turned her sword over in her hands. “I kill when I have to. But how it happened...that was too much.”

“I don’t follow.”

“He was in the way. He was going for you, and he had to be stopped. But...he hadn’t actually hurt you.” She gripped her sword tight to her chest. “It was supposed to be clean. I didn’t want him to suffer.”

For the first time Gage wasn’t angry with her sentimentality, but instead trying to make her see reason. “Well, what the fuck could you have done?”

“Nothing. But it shouldn’t have gotten to that point. I should have seen it coming, should have realised what was going to happen. I should have listened to your advice and just let you shoot him from the start. It would have been cleaner. Instead, I go through life making the same stupid mistakes over and over and over again—I always try to talk things out first. Two hundred years on and I haven’t learned a damn thing.”

Gage frowned at her. Her breath was coming out in shuddering gasps, eyes overly bright in the firelight. Every inch of her spoke of pain, from her tense, hunched shoulders, to her clenched fists and sickly pallor.

“Boss…”

She didn’t answer.

Gage decided to carry on. “Sometimes I think you don’t like being overboss. You’re good at it, don’t get me wrong, but...why you doin’ this? You coulda left at any point and let us all go to shit, but you stayed. What’s behind all this for you?”

She turned her head slowly to him, breathing deeply. “Do I need a reason?”

Something in her tone said he was in dangerous waters. He quickly skirted around the topic. “Nope, guess not.”

Bossanova didn’t say anything for some time, drawing her knees to her chest and blanking Gage out. Then, finally, when Gage began to wonder if he should just quit while he was ahead and go to sleep, she mumbled, “Nicky. Everything is because of Nicky.”

Gage let the silence hang, waiting for her to make the next move. She seemed far more relaxed now, almost her normal self, and yet he was still wary about asking the question. He didn’t do people talk, but whatever was going on in her head was long overdue to be shared.

“He wasn’t a good man, but I loved him very much. He stayed by my side right to the end.”

“Husband?”

“What?” Bossanova sat up straight, momentarily distracted.

“Alright, boyfriend then. Fuck buddy. Whatever.”

“Oh God.” She started laughing, despite herself. “He was my brother, you idiot.”

“Oh.” Gage blinked. “Oh.” He felt his cheeks going hot as she broke out into a fit of giggles. “Well I don’t fuckin’ know!”

She grinned, but then the smile faltered and she shook her head. “Nicky would have told me to kill Oswald from the start too.”

Sounds like he had his head fixed on right.

“You ask me,” Gage said, picking up a piece of wood and tossing it carelessly into the fire, “this whole damn world is just here to tear you down.”

“That’s a dreary outlook.”

“True though. Deck’s stacked against you from the very beginning. Most folks just stumble through, scraping some shitty little life for themselves. They struggle on, until something catches them off guard, and then that’s it.” He picked up another bit of wood and threw that in as well. “Lights out.”

Bossanova stared at him. “Are you talking about Oswald?”

“Maybe. He could have taken over the park. Moved his people to a better settlement before they all got fucked in the head. Coulda done anything he wanted, amount of bodies he had workin’ for him. Instead he stays here, too fucking frightened to do anything else. He stagnated. Then he fucked with the wrong person.”

She said nothing, returning her gaze to the fire.

“See, he wasn’t smart enough to do anything different,” Gage went on, “an’ he never saw what he was doin’ wrong either. But some folks are too aware of how fucked everything is, y’know? And they can’t handle it. So they gotta have it all, right now. All the booze and the chems and the caps, and if they can take it from someone else, that just makes ‘em feel like they’re gettin’ the upper hand. Only they ain’t.”

Gage thought of all the gangs he’d witnessed tear themselves apart. He remembered his ‘friends’ from the early days, before Connor stabbed him in the back. “Fucking raiders...they get so greedy, so focused on ‘right now’ they make shitty mistakes and wind up dead. Hell, maybe some of them are trying to get killed.”

“So which one are you?” Bossanova asked, still not looking at him. “Trying to get yourself killed, or just trying to get by?”

“I ain’t neither,” Gage said. He fixed her with a piercing stare, staying silent until she met his eye. “You’re the same as me—you know how to walk the line between control and getting your piece in the world. You know how to pick your fights, when to back off, and when to wait...and then strike.” He frowned at her. “You tried to save both our necks today by avoiding a fight. Did it work? No. Would I have preferred to jus’ kill him from the start? Yeah, because it’s easier. But easy don’t always mean right. You got that figured out.”

She stared shrewdly at him for a moment, and said, “I don’t understand you, Porter Gage.”

“What’s to understand? I kill people who get in my way and I prefer stealing to honest work. That’s pretty damn straightforward if you ask me.”

“You don’t trust raiders. Hell, you just said they’re stupid and suicidal. Yet here you are, working with them. Why?”

Gage opened his mouth, but no sound came out. It was a question he could easily answer, but was so personal that the mere thought of sharing gripped his throat, choking the words away. He looked at Bossanova. Really looked at her. The anxious hold on his throat relaxed, and he let out a long, slow breath.

“I had shit figured out early,” he said, trying to sound calmer than he actually felt. “Grew up in your average crap-hole settlement with parents that meant well, but...they were pushovers.” God, they were such fucking pushovers. “Watched them get smacked around by raider gangs for years, handing over whatever they had to keep their lives. One day, I’m watching them cower in front of some punk with a gun, and it just hits me. ‘I ain’t gonna end up like this,’ I says to myself. So I bail. I’m what, twelve years old?” Gage shrugged. “Didn’t matter. I’d seen enough of the world to know how shit works.”

Bossanova’s eyes widened and he felt a twinge of regret. He didn’t like the hint of shock and disappointment in her face. She chewed her lip and said, “Where are they now?”

He shrugged again. “Who the hell knows? Dead, I’m sure. Probably a long time ago. Doesn’t matter; hasn’t mattered in decades.”

“Why doesn’t it matter?”

“I...what?”

“You don’t hate them. So why doesn’t it matter?”

“Well, fuck, why would it? I was a kid when I went. All they ever did was fail. Fail to stand up for themselves. Fail to put food on the table. Fail to keep a fuckin’ roof over our heads at one point. I nearly died from starvation more times than I can count. So no, I don’t hate them. But I don’t give a shit about them either.”

It took Gage a moment to realise he was standing up and pacing. Somewhere below them, the ghouls shrieked and growled in the darkness, but none of them tried to climb up to the top of the castle. Slowly, he sat down again.

“Maybe,” Bossanova said gently, “they were trying to avoid you getting hurt. They were your parents. They obviously loved you and tried their best, even if their best wasn’t...all that great.”

Gage grunted in response, his arms folded tight across his chest. The decision to leave all those years ago had been a rash one, a child’s choice. He didn’t regret it, but he remembered all too well the battle that raged with him for years after—should he return? Or should he stay away? In the end, Gage opted to stay away. If he went back, he might never have left again.

Bossanova apparently took the hint. She changed the topic. “So what happened after you moved on?”

Gage shrugged. “Bounced around for a few years, taking whatever jobs would pay for food. I was a runner for a caravan for a while—did some scavenging, did odd jobs for settlements. No matter what, one thing never changed. When the raiders came through, everyone rolled over. Raiders took what they wanted, moved on, and that was that. Didn’t take long before I finally figured out where I’d really been heading all along. Next time a gang came through, I joined. Worked my way up over the years, and now here we are.

“Raiders are pieces of shit, but no one fucks with them. They get what they want, when they want, and they don’t bow to no one. I wanted that freedom and I got it. And as it turns out, I’m good at it. I don’t have to trust no one to use 'em.”

Bossanova laughed. “Nicky said something similar when we joined the Mafia. ‘No one will mess with us again,’ he promised. ‘We’ll take what’s ours. We’ll get what we deserve.’ He was right in that respect at least.”

Gage watched her for some time while she stared into the fire, the flames dancing in her black eyes. “Tell me about him.”

Bossanova’s head jerked back in his direction, and she looked as surprised as Gage felt. But he did want to know more about her. Not just how good she was at killing, or whether she could keep the raiders in line, but as a person.

She opened and closed her mouth a few times, and then nodded. Bossanova cleared her throat. “Nicky was...probably the only person I ever depended on. It had always been that way, right from when we were kids. We grew up in a bad neighborhood. Our parents moved us from Italy to Boston when he was a baby and I was still in diapers. They always told us they came to this country searching for something. I never really understood what they were looking for.” She shrugged. “What they found was crippling poverty.”

A scowl settled on her face, and she went on. “Didn’t take my dad long to fall in with the gangs. By all accounts, he was pretty good at it. Money came in, and Nicky and I grew up only vaguely aware dad was doing something he shouldn’t. But...well. He got greedy.”

She gave Gage a pointed look. “Moved in on the Irish Mob’s territory. So they shot up our house.” Her voice was light, casual almost. But there was the slightest shake. “Mom and dad died. I was hospitalised. Nicky was unharmed.”

Gage raised an eyebrow. “What good was killin’ your old man? Can’t learn a lesson if he’s dead.”

“It was a quick, messy solution,” Bossanova replied. “Stupid, really. Sparked a gang war, all for the sake of one lousy street corner. And it changed Nicky.”

“Was he pissed?”

“Extremely.”

“Good. Bit of anger never hurt anyone.”

Bossanova laughed and shook her head. “First thing he did after the funeral was contact one of Dad’s old friends. We knew they worked together. Nicky asked for a chance to get revenge for the Bianco name, and they gave it.”

“Bianco?”

“My surname was Bianco. I changed it to Bossanova after I went into hiding,” Bossanova said with an impatient wave of her hand. “Anyway, Nicky didn’t tell me about any of this for months, even when I’d recovered. But eventually the truth came out.”

“Bet that caused an argument.”

“No.” Gage blinked as she smiled and went on, “I was angry he’d lied to me, but for joining up? No, I didn’t really mind.”

“It got your parents killed.”

“Raiders bullied your parents for years. Didn’t stop you.”

Gage opened his mouth and then closed it again. She had a point.

“Besides, the Mafia was supposed to be the means to an end: revenge—oh, don’t look at me like that,” she added, as Gage scowled. “We were barely twenty. Let youth have their bloodlust.”

He snorted.

“Besides, the Mafia were more than happy to accommodate us, once I’d argued my way in. They dragged their heels, tried to block me because I was a woman, but we got there eventually when Nicky reminded them they’d let our father in. Thankfully they never figured out we were mixed race, else we'd have never made it.”

She grinned at Gage’s confusion, but he’d already decided not to question the weird shit the Old World did back then. Trying to comprehend it made his head hurt. “So did you get ‘em?”

“Oh yes. We were ‘associates,’ you see, so not properly inducted. We could be killed without causing a war. Perfect for us. It meant we could request their lives as our chance to be made. Two birds with one stone.”

Gage vaguely remembered her explanation of ‘being made’ and nodded. “Smart.”

“Very. I did the talking and Nicky grabbed one of them. When my mark went to his friend’s rescue, I shot him in the head. Then Nicky finished his side of the job with a wire.”

Wires were messy from what Gage knew. Nisha would probably approve. But something else drew Gage’s interest. “Wait, you used a gun? You can’t aim for shit!” The memory of her firing the Thirst Zapper at Colter and missing was firmly in his mind.

“It’s not exactly hard to put it to someone’s forehead and pull the trigger,” Bossanova retorted. “I used firearms a lot in those days. Had to practice to keep my aim up to scratch, but when the bombs fell, I didn’t see the point anymore. Ammo runs out. A blade can always cut someone up.”

“Sounds like you’re just being stubborn.” He would never understand her refusal to use anything but swords and knives. Why bother skewering someone when you could just fuck them up from afar? Although he had to admit he appreciated the personal touch.

“Anyway, we killed them,” Bossanova went on, “and became soldiers for the family. My capo at the time—”

“Capo?”

“Captain. At the time he told me, ‘Susanna, there are workers and there are earners. Workers do the grunt work. The dirty work. But the earners make the family a lot of money. They climb the ranks. They’re the smart ones. Nicky’s a worker—but you, Suzie, you’re an earner.’”

“You remembered all that?” Gage said, studying her ravaged, peeling skin and gnarled body, and wondering how she could have a name as normal as ‘Susanna.’

Bossanova grinned. “I might have embellished. But it’s rare for someone to be good at working and earning in the family. Most people stay stuck doing the violent jobs, because they aren’t intelligent enough for anything else. But when Mikey Franzese told me that, I knew I wouldn’t stop until I was in the upper ranks. I had ambition, and I was going to get there or die trying.”

“What did Nicky think of it?”

“He supported me, as I knew he would. I came up with the schemes, and he helped me with the legwork. We were unstoppable, and when I finally made it to the top, he was my right hand man: my consigliere. My closest ally.”

“Sounds like a guy who knows his shit and don’t let anyone fuck him around.”

There was a long silence. Bossanova opened and closed her mouth several times, as if trying to force something out. Finally, she stared at her hands, which were twisting in her lap, and said,“You remind me of him.”

Gage gawked at her. “What?”

She shrugged, avoiding his eye. “Nicky stopped me from being too soft. He knew how things worked, and would tell me when I was wrong.” Bossanova bit her lip. “You’re tough, Gage. But you’re no idiot either. You expect trouble and you’re usually right. You know how to make the hard decisions, and you don’t let emotions cloud your judgement.

“It was me and Nicky against the world. No one else mattered. Even when I ignored his advice and tried to make peace with the Irish Mob, he stuck by me.” Her voice was suddenly thick, as if she had something stuck in her throat. “I got him killed.”

Gage wasn’t repulsed by this, which confused him. In truth, he didn’t know what he felt. Something was writhing in his chest, smothering him. It reminded him of the day he left his parents. He had been so angry at first, hungry and bitter and sick of their bullshit. But when the anger faded, the pain set in. A dull ache of loss and regret, leaving him hollow and twisted, almost longing to go back.

But it waned eventually, as all hurts did, to be replaced by the brutality of survival and the thrill of violence. Killing others meant he was alive. Killing meant he was on top, and no one would push him around.

He was not his parents.

“What did you do to them?” Gage asked, keeping his voice casual as he tried to distract himself from the turmoil raging in his head. “The ones who killed him, I mean.”

He half expected her to say ‘forget about them’—the damage was done, and vengeance would only risk her own neck again. It’s what he did with Connor. Instead, a dark, deep pleasure spread across Bossanova’s lips, and she stared back into the fire, watching something he couldn’t see.

“Tracked them down. Killed them, one by one. Left the guy who actually did it ‘til last. ‘Just business’ they told me. I didn’t care. The family didn’t mean a damn when they took Nicky from me.” Bossanova drew a shuddering breath and slowly turned to look at Gage.

“I locked Joey Gallo in a room,” she said, her voice flat. “Beat him. Tortured him. Starved him. Towards the end he was crying to God.” Her voice took on a whiney quality as she imitated her victim. “‘Oh please God, save me,’ he wept. So I said to him, ‘You got thirty minutes to pray to God to save you. If he does, I’ll let you go.’” Her expression was hard and cold as ice as she gripped her sword. “He prayed. God didn’t show.”

Gage nodded. “Gave the fucker what he deserved.”

She looked away from him, fixing her gaze on her knees. “I failed Nicky. I didn’t want to run another gang ever again, because I was scared of the past. Scared of the ghosts. The idea of Nuka World terrified me. I could see him, Gage. I could see the blood, hear his screams as they tortured him in front of me. But now…” Bossanova shifted where she sat. “You asked me why I’m doing this—what’s in it for me.” Hesitantly, she met his eye. “Nuka World feels like another chance. I don’t want to make the old mistakes again, but I need someone to keep me on the right path. I want you at my side, whatever happens. You and me against the world.”

Gage considered this. Bossanova had many fine qualities: she could lead as well as she could fight. She was violent, but knew when to hold back. She had her flaws—caring about people too much in his opinion—but it was precisely this flaw that made her fight for him—bleed for him. She gave a damn without asking anything in return.

Gage grinned, unable to stop himself. He lay down on the floor, staring up at the stars. There was a lightness he couldn’t place—a warmth and security burning stronger than any fire. He glanced at her, smiling faintly. “You an’ me, boss. Fuck everyone else.”

Bossanova laughed and settled down next to him, gazing at the sky above. They didn’t speak again after that. There was no need—everything had been said. Gage was warm, comfortable, and...content. How long had it been since he was this relaxed? The heavy haze washed over him, and he fell into an easy sleep.

He dreamed of his parents.

--

Bossanova decided to leave the ghouls as they were. “I have plans,” she said to Gage’s questions. “I’ll tell you about them when I’m a bit closer to figuring them out.”

He was curious, and a little stung she wouldn’t share right away considering their talk from the previous night, but it didn’t bother him too much. It sounded like she just wanted to work out the details first.

They crept out of the exit, avoiding the ghouls as they went, and into the park wilderness beyond, before relaxing into a walk. However, they’d barely been going for a minute, when Bossanova stopped dead. It took Gage a few seconds to realise this, and he looked back over his shoulder to see her staring down at the ground. “What?”

Bossanova motioned him over, and he strode back, glancing down to where Bossanova was pointing.

Half concealed in the dead grass was a small ghoul. Gage blinked. He recognised it as the one Colter enslaved instead of handing over to the Disciples. Gage warned him what might happen if Nisha was denied, and earned a black eye for his troubles. Colter wanted her alive, and what Colter wanted, Colter got. Gage snapped the collar on himself.

That had been the beginning of the end, really. Within hours, Nisha dragged Gage aside, pressed a knife to his throat, and demanded Colter be taken down.

All in all, Gage wasn’t sure if the kid was a good omen or a bad one.

Bossanova kneeled down, brushing her hand across the girl’s back, and then put two fingers to her neck. She turned to Gage. “She’s alive.”

“So?” The word left his mouth before he could stop himself, and judging by the boss’ scowl, was not the right answer. He shrugged. “She’s half dead anyway. What use is she?”

“Use?” Bossanova hissed, her black eyes lighting up with fury. “Use?”

Gage gave another half-hearted shrug. If the boss wanted to pick up a dying stray, that wasn’t his problem.

Except it really is.

The girl’s eyes flickered open. She looked pretty bad by all accounts. Her face was messed up, even for a ghoul, and she was covered in deep cuts and swollen bruises. The raiders had probably handed out one of their regular beatings. Bossanova pressed a hand to the girl’s cheek, and the girl smiled weakly. At least she still had all her teeth.

Bossanova carefully lifted the girl into her arms and stood up. “I’ve got you. Don’t worry. I’ve got you.”

Gage sighed.

[inkedcinders]

Missing (Chapter 2)

Also Available on AO3

X6 paced within the Director’s quarters, his boots making a soft click, click as he turned. He could be utterly silent when the situation called for it, but he found the sound soothing, something to match his heart rate to.

He was finding it difficult.

Night had come and gone, and Tesla had yet to return. On the surface, it would be approaching midday. In the Institute, time was a little murkier. X6 had been quietly getting in contact with the Institute’s various surface-side resources, but no one could tell him where Tesla had gone. Everyone had orders to keep a look out for her, and to send word as soon as they could if she were spotted.

You are worrying too much, he silently chastised himself, one hand clenching the other behind his back as he made another turn. She has spent far longer than this away from the Institute, even without you being there. There is little to worry about.

And yet, he still worried.

Empathy was not his strong suit. He understood that, and even preferred it; emotions were messy and seemed to only serve to get in the way of things. Even so, he understood that Tesla was not well. If she felt that she couldn’t handle her grief...

His mouth thinned into a grim expression, stopping in the middle of the room. Suicide, while not as common as on the surface, wasn’t unheard of in the Institute. He’d seen a few attempts, both successful and unsuccessful. The thought of Tesla doing something similar was unspeakably unpleasant.

He decided not to examine that thought any closer.

X6 mentally ran down the areas Tesla would most likely go. Sanctuary was his first thought; it was her home, the most peaceful of the settlements she’d established with the assistance of the Minutemen, and far away from the lingering remnants of the Brotherhood of Steel and the Railroad. This was the most likely option.

His second thought was Nuka World, but he dismissed that almost instantly. From what he’d gathered, Tesla and the raider who’d dragged her into that whole mess hadn’t parted on the best of terms. She was surprisingly tight-lipped about the subject.

He knew she wasn’t in Diamond City, the Institute’s agents would have sent that news along if she was.

Tesla was also close with that ghoul, the mayor of Goodneighbor. Hancock, was it? He rubbed his thumb against his hand, thinking. With Tesla’s current abuse of drugs, the ghoul mayor would certainly be a tempting choice, and Goodneighbor in general would make it too easy for her to procure more drugs, even without the mayor.

A short sigh passed his lips, and he closed his eyes briefly, centering himself. He had a lot of preparation to do to get ready for his excursion to the surface, if Tesla did not return by the time night fell.

And he was certain that she wasn’t going to.

- - -

Tesla stirred, her mind foggy with sleep and the remaining dregs of her drug cocktail. Her limbs felt like they were weighted down with concrete blocks, and she spent a few minutes just lying there, focusing on her breathing.

She should have been getting up immediately to take charge of the situation, but she felt curiously safe, wherever she was. At the very least, she could afford a few minutes to let herself fully wake up.

There was something familiar about the smell of the place. The smell of old, treated wood and furniture mixed with the newer smell of dirty bodies, a faint strain of chems filtering through it. The smell of chems made her mind itch, addiction clawing forward, demanding to be fed, along with the desire to obliterate all those painful memories.

I’m in Goodneighbor. How..? She slowly sat up, her head screaming pounding pain as she did so. She was laid down on a couch in Hancock’s “living room”, as he sardonically had called it. Some of the furniture had changed, but it was still familiar. She slid her legs off the side onto the floor, leaning forward with her head in her hands as she groaned. She wasn’t sure if it was the comedown, or withdrawal.

Vague memories began to filter through the haze, of being dragged through Goodneighbor’s gates. She may or may not have been fighting Hancock the whole time. I’ll need to apologise to him...

She blinked a few times, rubbed her eyes. There was a bottle of water and some med-x on the table by the couch, likely from Hancock. She gratefully drank the water, suddenly aware of savage dehydration, then eyed the med-x warily.

She knew the drug use was bad. She took too much, made dangerous combinations. It would end up killing her one day.

Would that really be so bad?

The water had eased her headache somewhat, but it still throbbed painfully as she leaned forward to pick up the chems, her hands shaking slightly as she did so. My head hurts, med-x dulls the pain, that’s what it’s for, it’s not the same...

She stared at the syringe, wishing that it dulled mental pain, too.

As she contemplated the drug in her hands, one of the double doors leading to the room opened, and Hancock stepped into the room.

“I see yer awake, Sunshine,” he drawled, kicking the door closed behind him.

“Hancock,” she said hoarsely, absently putting down the syringe.

“At least y’remember my name,” he said, hands in his pockets as he sauntered over. “You were pretty fuckin’ high there, Tes.”

“Guess I was,” she said. Why do I feel so awkward?

“I never took y’fer a chem kinda gal. Never touched the stuff when we ran together,” he said, watching her.

“I thought I’d pick up a new hobby,” she said flatly. “You made it seem to appealing.” Why are you being so antagonistic, Tes?

He let out a bark of laughter. “A guy like me makes everythin’ look appealin’, Sunshine,” he grinned, but it didn’t meet his eyes. “You were a fuckin’ mess, though. Didn’t anyone teach ya not to mix yer poisons?”

Tesla stood, a little unsteady, uncomfortable to be sitting down while he was standing up. Too easy to get the drop on me... but Hancock was a friend, right? “I wasn’t really thinking about it. I’ll keep that in mind.” Trying to do a lot less thinking right now, thanks. “How... how long have I been..?”

“Passed out in a drug-laden stupor?” He finished for her. “I found ya around... 2 in the mornin’, I guess? You passed out once I’d dropped you on the couch. It’s midday now.”

I lost half a day? Fuck. “I... thanks, Hancock.”

“What’re you doin’ out here, Tes?” He sounded almost accusatory.

Good question. “Just... needed to get away for a while,” she said, not quite willing to go into specifics. Not yet.

“I’m gonna need a little bit more than that, Tes,” he said. “I got people here t’protect, and I can’t have the Institute come crashing in here cuz you pissed them off.”

She bristled, at that. “I didn’t do anything to the Institute.” I did everything for them, and what has that gotten me? “You don’t have anything to worry about, on that front. I just need a... a vacation.”

“Why not go to Sanctuary then? Nice an’ peaceful up there, far away from everythin’ that could bother ya.”

Her skin crawled at the thought. Even before fully throwing her lot behind the Institute, she hadn’t stayed in Sanctuary. She couldn’t bear it, seeing the house she’d bought with Nate in ruins, so close to his eternal tomb...

“What does it matter, Hancock?” She sighed, looking away from him as she moved past, towards the doors. “This place is as good as any —”

If she’d continued watching him, she would have seen his change in expression. As it was, she was caught completely off guard when he cut her off.

Hancock had her against the wall, switchblade lazily swinging in one hand while the other found balance on the wall beside her, trapping her. She was two inches taller than he was, but he was a force of personality, and she was so very tired and broken, he might as well have been 10 feet tall.

Tesla kept her expression calm, neutral; she’d gotten very good at it under the constant surveillance of the Institute, specifically X6. She kept her eyes on Hancock, but she was very aware of the switchblade in her peripheral vision.

She remembered Finn.

“So you fuck off, slum with those Institute guys for months without so much as a hello, then suddenly show up literally out of nowhere,” he said easily, almost cheerfully, in utter contrast to the words he was speaking and the expression on his face. “And yer asking me for... what? Take you up for a bit? Hide you? Why would I do that?”

Tesla took a slow, steadying breath, not breaking eye contact for a second. Not making that mistake again. “We were friends, once. Hoping we still were. We’ve been through a lot, you and I; that means nothing to you, then?” And, you know, you’ve already helped me out a bit here.

Hancock chuckled. “That was before you threw your lot in with a bunch of crazies who have little respect to the idea of free will and who want everyone up top to die.” The switchblade spun around his fingers, and Tesla couldn’t help but to briefly twitch her eyes towards it. “That isn’t the sort of thing t’get a guy all charitable, Tes.”

“And what would, Hancock?” She asked.

“Hmm, what would?” His stance changed subtly, but enough, closing in the distance between their bodies, pushing her further against the wall as she attempted, and failed, to maintain a comfortable distance. “You could always spend a few nights with me.”

Oh for fuck’s sake. He’s fucking playing with me. “That’s hardly a fair trade, Hancock.”

She felt the cold metal edge of the switchblade against her cheek, and she kept herself absolutely still. “I could always stop making it a request.”

She stared at him flatly, impervious and cold. “John,” she said sharply, and he actually flinched. “We both know you’re not that kind of man, so stop fucking with me already.”

The ghoul laughed, stepping back and hiding the switchblade back up his sleeve with a flourish. “Hey, I hardly ever get to play the bad guy, can you blame me?” He shoved his hands in his pockets, looking down at his boots as one scuffed at the floor. “I wasn’t bein’ entirely dishonest, though. You’ve been gone an awful long time, Tes, without a word. Like you said, we were friends, once, so why the silence?”

She finally looked away from him, staring at the thin light filtering through a window to weakly illuminate the room. “Shaun... my son... he...” It still hurt. It hurt so badly, and no one seemed to care about what she’d lost. “He died. Cancer. There wasn’t... wasn’t anything they could do.”

Hancock looked up. Her voice was shaking, so very uncharacteristic of her. Her eyes were dry, but there was a strange deadness to them that he was all too familiar with. How many people had he seen with that same expression?

How many times had he seen that expression staring back at him from the mirror?

“They don’t get it, John,” she said softly, barely above a whisper. “They lost their Director, but I lost my son, that I spent so long searching for, who was ripped away from me after my husband was murdered. They had a lifetime with him, I had... I had barely any time at all.”

“Tes...”

“It hurts, you know?” She continued, still staring at the window. “Worse than any bullet or stinger. It doesn’t stop, doesn’t heal. It’s just... there, constantly.” She laughed, a dull, wooden sound. “I tried coping, you know. In the worst way. A few drinks before sleeping, just so I could sleep. But I’d wake up remembering, so I’d drink some more.”

“Tes.”

“Next thing you knew, I was drinking all the time.” She said it so matter-of-fact, one could almost think she was talking about someone else. “Those scientists, they knew something was up. But I hid it pretty well, so they never figured it out. They probably would have, eventually, if it weren’t... if it weren’t for X6. He helped hide it and cover for me when it was... bad.”

“Jesus Christ, Tes.”

“Eventually he got sick of it. Can’t really blame him, I guess. He threatened me, to turn me out to the scientists and expose everything, if I didn’t stop. So I stopped drinking, sure, but I just picked up... worse habits. It’s not hard to leave the institute when you’re the Director, you know? Pop out every once and a while with the guise of hunting down a runaway or recovering captured synths. It’s so easy, I could do it without X6. He was suspicious of how often I would go out without him, so I started buying a lot at once when I didn’t bring him along and hiding it.

Hancock was staring, shocked at the story he was hearing. This was Tesla, sole survivor of Vault 111, who’d taken on the Commonwealth and won, right? She’d appeared so strong and focused, it was hard to believe there was this much pain underneath it all.

“Eventually I couldn’t stand being there anymore,” she said dully. “I gathered up some supplies, took a few hits for the road, and chose a random destination to get teleported to. My luck I ended up so close to Goodneighbor, I guess. Or maybe I didn’t, and I just wandered here out of... I don’t know... instinct. I took a lot of drugs before hitting that teleporter, it’s kind of hazy.”

His decision to take a walk outside of Goodneighbor was certainly turning out to be rather serendipitous. “Shit, Tes, why didn’t you come to any of us? We don’t got any of that fancy Institute tech, but...”

“I recall very few of you being happy with my decision to throw in with the Institute,” she said dryly. “Piper and Nick in particular had some very... vocal opinions. I didn’t think... I had a place here anymore.”

Well, fuck, now I feel super shitty for my earlier behaviour. You gotta stop with the snap judgements, Hancock my boy. “Listen, Tes... you’ve always got a place here in Goodneighbor. I can’t speak to the others, but I ain’t gonna kick you out in your time of need.”

“No, you’re just going to pin me against a wall and threaten me,” she said pertly.

“Uh, yeah, that was uncalled for,” he admitted sheepishly. “I was just... angry, I guess. Kinda felt you were only dropping in cuz you needed something, after abandoning us for so long.”

“Well, considering, you’re not totally wrong...” Tesla sighed.

“I think after hearing about your particular circumstances I’m willing to forgive it. Seriously, you can stay as long as you want.” He paused. “Do you want your stay here secret..?”

“Not sure how secret it can be, considering a dozen or so people saw you half-drag me here earlier...”

“You were high as a kite and being very uncooperative, what else was I supposed to do?” Hancock grumbled. “I won’t say anything though, and I’ll make it known that you’re “not here”, if you want.”

“Thank-you, John,” Tesla said wearily. “It’s only delaying the inevitable. The Institute is going to come drag me back eventually. It’s not even that I don’t want to go back there, I just... can’t be there. Not yet. It hurts too much.” She glanced down at her arms. Even though she couldn’t see them, she was very aware of each track mark, and she suddenly felt ashamed of herself for it. What am I doing with myself? “And I should... probably get myself clean anyways.”

[lazarus-hope-project]

『天空』 『MIKOKO/JACKPOT』 『TRIAL ⚃ ⚅ ⚀』『RE: CYRIL, ATSUKO, DAICHI, DAN, KAZUKO』

Those words from Dan and that hand on her back are a steadying influence, even if she still thinks people are too hard on Dan for doing what all of them are trying to do here: gathering evidence. Mikoko offers a small, understanding smile over her shoulder at the touch, and wordlessly drops the subject of defending her.

…And promptly goes back to lashing out at the comments directed her way.

To Cyril:

“...Uh, yeah, it’s my problem. Pretty sure you made it everyone here’s problem by wasting so much trial time you could get someone innocent killed. If you picked today to grow a set of principles, I’m sayin’ it was on you to figure out a way to break the news better, that didn’t go against his dying wish. Or at least, y’know, don’t have the fuckin’ gall to jump on random people like Karoshi when there are more suspicious people here, after creatin’ the whole situation that led to folks like him gettin’ accused.”

And, to Atsuko:

“And Fujimoto, let’s not pretend that you give a fuck about what Clement asked for when you were just rushin’ the culprit with a knife five seconds ago. We both know his dying wish for you was to not do wack fuckin’ shit like that, but whatever. Let’s pick and choose.”

It seems like Jackpot’s still deciding on her words for Aria, when the subject returns back to investigation. (There’s Kazuko’s expression too, which she briefly winces at as though physically hurt. But guess it fuckin’ figures.) While she won’t hesitate to speak her mind on the other matters, it’s clear she’s still eager to return to this for now.

“...Well, for starters, let’s think. Ricin’s a fine powder, deadly in even tiny amounts, so maybe it was just on the outside of the fuckin’ teabags. Nobody’s sayin’ they were doin’ an arts and crafts project on the little bitches.”

She’s trying so hard not to call Cyril a dope again directly. Are you so proud of her right now, Dan? Are you smiling, Clement’s ghost?

“I’m gonna suggest we assume it was the teabags, or the teapot like Karoshi said, unless we hear a strong reason otherwise. After all, someone other than Clement put all the other teabags in the trash, and Clement still said he drank the poison.

“Dan’s goin’ in the useful direction here. Even if we didn’t see anyone go into the chem lab, there’s two people in particular I don’t think would risk goin’ into a closed room full of dangerous chemicals since the hallucinations started: Tsukiko and Dan herself. So that’s two more off the list.”

[desertbroad]

"You lookin' for chems?" she asks before her eyes lift toward the door. It's commonplace for strangers to seek out Goodneighbor's local medic. She's no true physician, but she can get by on curing the basic ailments of life in the Commonwealth, following the War. "Might wanna check one of the other shops..." Something tells her that this one isn't here for chems so she offers a smile through naturally tired expression. "Unless there's something else I can help you with?"

     ‘ somethin’ like that. ’ kaj kicks the door closed behind her with her foot, scanning the place. the medical equipment, though sparse, looks recently used—not a coverup, or if it is, one that’s at least doing some good. she makes eye contact with the clerk and smiles reassuringly, despite her very obvious optical shakedown of the clinic. everything’s fine, that smile says. trust me.

            ‘ i’m sorry to take up your time. i know how valuable a doctor’s minutes are. i was just wonderin’ if you could do some identifying for me, see if you remember anything about a person coming through here. he’s missing, see. ’ kaj digs through her pocket and pulls out the sketch she’d gotten from her tip—a man, teeth rotten, wearing a cap with three bullets in it and a faded overcoat. ‘ may’ve had a boy with him, young. would’ve been looking for medicine, stimpaks. ’ kaj lifts her eyebrows, hoping something rings a bell. anything at all. if this lead turns up dead, she’s fucked, and she may as well have just stayed fuckin’ home. this place doesn’t even sell chems, so the trip will have been truly worthless. 

     still, kaj keeps her irritation off her face and instead summons up some melancholy from somewhere deep inside. ‘ it’s … my husband and son, y’see … they’ve gone missing, ’ she says, a tinge of faux sadness dripping off her tone as she spins the web—the lies come easy, running off her tongue like water from a spigot. ‘ i’m desperately tryin’ to find ‘em, but, well …  i’m not doin’ too hot. i know they’d have to stop for supplies, at least. my son, he’s … sick. ’ though she doesn’t intend to, real sorrow rises in kaj’s heart, remembering how her namesake had looked near the end of their life; weak, swollen. every movement had hurt them, every breath wheezing. 

       she takes that emotional wound and stabs it, tears spilling over as she covers her mouth. it’s embarrassing, but it saves her some caps, and she’s not big on intimidating her way into information. ‘ boils, blue boils … worse and worse. and this terrible cough— ’

[paige-writes]

I Like You, Okay? (part 2)

"Yo, Hunk, where's Glasses?" Anita questioned Hunk as they sat at their desks waiting for class to start.

"Glasses? Oh, wait, you mean Pidge! She's sick, so she stayed home today. How come?"

"Eh, no reason. Sick, huh? That sucks ass." There was a pause until Hunk spoke. "Hey so, uh, I'm not sure if I'm supposed to be saying this to you, but Pidge told me, Keith, and Lance about what happened the other day between you two."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. And I'm sure you had your reasons, but I think you could've handled it in a less violent way. So....yeah. Just wanted to say that."

Anita stared at Hunk for a good fifteen seconds before nodding. "Okay, sorry," she said. "And you're right. I'm just really sensitive to personal shit like that. Lashing out was my first instinct." Hunk smiled at Anita and patted her on the back. "It's okay. You just have to tell Pidge that."

It was time for study hall, and Anita followed Rubi to the library where most of the students hung out before lunch started. They took a seat on the small couch in a secluded corner of the room. Anita had been in a sour mood all morning, mostly because Pidge wasn't in school. Rubi noticed her unchanged angry expression and nudged her with her elbow. "Jesus, Anita," she said, "who pissed in your cereal this morning? You look like you're about to murder someone. Or is that just your resting bitch face?"

Anita nudged Rubi back. "Shut up. I'm not that pissy. Today just sucks."

"It's not even twelve yet and you're already complaining about today?"

"Hey, I've got my reasons!" Rubi laughed, and Anita let a small smile slip onto her face. Rubi was a good friend. The matching colors for her eye shadow and lipstick, pink-dyed tips, and snarky personality were what made her the one and only Rubi. Anita didn't know how she did it so much, but Rubi was always taking care of her friends, whether it be cheering them up or making sure that they took their meds. Growing up in a foster family gave her that power, and Anita respected that.

"Is it because Pidge is out sick?"

"Rubi, are you like, a mind reader or some shit?"

"Aha, hit the nail right on the head!"

"Yeah, yeah, you guessed correctly, whoop-dee-fuckin'-doo. Yes it's because Pidge isn't here! I've been ignoring her for three days, and the one time I wanted to actually talk to her, she's sick! God shits in my dinner once again!" Rubi pat Anita's thigh. "There, there. All will be well. You wanna Skype call her?"

"Holy shit, really? Um, yeah, that would be fucking amazing!" Anita sounded a bit too excited as Rubi pulled out her phone and opened Skype. "I usually Skype Pidge for help on geometry, so a random call might be quite a shock to her."

The familiar Skype ringtone went off a few times, and Anita's knee bounced in anticipation. Finally, the screen revealed Pidge's face. Her glasses were off and she looked extremely tired. She probably just woke up.

"Well this is a surprise, Rubi," her nasally voice said. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Actually, it's for Sourpuss over here." Rubi gave Anita her phone so that she and Pidge were now facing each other. Pidge's eyes widened a fraction. "Oh....hey, Anita."

"Sup Glasses? Heard you were sick."

"I am. It's just a cold, though, so I'll be fine by tomorrow probably."

"Cool....well, feel better, I guess? Oh, and I have notes and a copy of the lab report we have to do for chem." Oh yeah. Pidge almost forgot that Coran had assigned Anita as her partner for chemistry projects. "Oh, thanks. You didn't have to, though."

"That's what partners are for, Glasses. I'll bring 'em to you after school."

"Couldn't I just get them tomorrow?" Anita's brows furrowed. This girl was so damn stubborn. "You might still be sick tomorrow, so text me your address and I'll bring you the notes!" Pidge seemed to hesitate for a moment, then she sighed in defeat. "Fine, okay." Anita smiled victoriously. "Atta girl, Glasses! See ya after school!" Anita and Pidge exchanged their goodbyes and hung up, and Anita couldn't help but feel a little over the moon about visiting Pidge.

Rubi noticed how Anita was feeling yet again and grinned slyly. "Awww," she cooed. "You like her!" Anita's tan cheeks flushed and she glared at her friend. "What? No....fuck off!"

"You do like her!"

"How the hell do you know all of these things!?"

"It's second nature, Anita. Second nature."

"Well your 'second nature' scares the crap outta me! I get attached quickly, okay? I wanted to apologize to her so bad and I realized....I fucking missed her already. She's also really fucking cute and I don't know how to handle that! Love at first sight or some bullshit."

Rubi sighed. "I know some guys who'll help you."

Anita slammed her hands down on the lunch table, making Lance, Hunk, and Keith jump. "I need your help," Anita said. Keith was quick to reply. "Why should we help you with anything? You almost beat up Pidge!"

"Yeah, I know, and I've been feeling shitty about it since then. But now I need your help. I have notes to bring to Pidge after school today, but I'm in a sort of predicament. I....think I like her." Both Lance and Hunk nearly choked on their food while Keith just looked between astonished and confused. "And I have no idea how to talk to girls because she's my first girl crush," Anita finished. She was patient as the three boys collected themselves. They all gave her a wide-eyed stare. "You like Pidge!?" Lance near yelled, to which Anita glared at him. "Maldito infierno, shout to the whole fucking world, why don't you! I don't need to make my situation even more embarrassing than it is!"

"Uh, I think it's too late for that," Hunk said, "because Nyma's coming over here. She probably overheard, and you know she loves student gossip."

Anita rolled her eyes and groaned. She heard about Nyma from Rubi. "My codename for her is TBB; Tall, Blonde, and Bitchy," Rubi had joked. Nyma was nosy and loved to get information on people for her own benefit. Her nice girl act was a façade, as she used people to get what she wanted, then cast them aside when she was finished. Anita had zero tolerance for those types of people.

The four of them watched as the tall, blonde girl sashayed over to their table and sat down on an empty chair, a fake sweet smile on her face. "What's this I hear about a crush?" she questioned.

"None of your business, Nyma," Hunk said. Whoa, he became annoyed super quick. "Yeah, so beat it, blondie," Anita chimed in. Nyma's smile just grew. "Aw, but I wanna hear all about Anita's little crush on the tech junkie."

"Pidge is her name, you know," Lance hissed. "And Hunk said it's none of your business."

"Just go away, Nyma," Keith added. Wow, these guys are really against this girl!

Nyma shrugged her shoulders and turned her attention towards Anita. "Honestly, what I don't understand is what you see in her. She's barely social and has, like, four friends. She doesn't even look the romantic type! And don't even get me started on you. You've been here, what, almost a week and you're already on the hunt. Is that what you did in prison? You bitched a girl there and now you're doing it here?"

Keith, Lance, and Hunk were about to say something when a loud laugh from Anita cut them of, grabbing the attention of them, Nyma, and a few other students. Rubi's voice could be heard saying, "Ohhhh, shit! You done fucked up, Nyma!" Anita soon calmed down and wiped a tear from her eye. A grin formed on her face when she looked at Nyma, although it was far from friendly.

"Oh man, you're a character alright." She leaned closer to Nyma, who inched back. "Y'know, I call girls like you 'Heather Chandler'. Not because you're blonde and popular, but because you're just a stone cold puta who thinks she can get everything she wants." Anita grinned more, closely resembling the Cheshire Cat. "And if you've seen Heathers before, you'll know that girls like Heather Chandler get a taste of their own medicine! See, Heather ends up drinking some toxic fluid and dies after about, mmm, ten seconds? Because she was so bitchy and manipulative that someone had to get rid of her! The point here is, you're lucky I'm on probation, or else you would've ended up like Heather Chandler after school, except my two fists would be doin' the killing. Can you process all of that, Nyma dear?"

The smile on Anita's face never faltered as she stood up to leave the cafeteria. "Oh, and one more thing. Talk shit about Pidge again and I'll beat your fucking face in." With that, Anita left, leaving the three boys and Nyma with their mouths hanging open. "I....would die for her," Lance finally said.

part 3 coming soon!

Translations:

Maldito infierno - fucking hell ; puta - bitch