#the base scene isnt anything us fo4 veterans havent seen a thousand times --

[taffingtons]

WIP meme

i got tagged by both @fablewritesnonsense and @notanandalitebandit so y'all are gonna get... hm... y'know what, let's go with the current draft of my prologue for let the moss gather, the first fic in my series but i can't stop

fun fact: if you go to the memory den before the main quest takes you there, you can go through a trial to see if they'll take you as a client! it, uh, doesn't go well. that hidden quest serves as the inspiration for this opening

just in case tumblr eats the formatting, the text in asterisks is supposed to be indented...

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"This one — Here."

"Open it."

She remembers. The cold, bone-aching. The frosted window. The shadows, deep and swallowing. The stark light. The echoes — The voices.

She has a good memory.

"Is it over? Are we okay?"

"Almost. Everything's gonna be fine."

Riley. She can't bring herself to look at him. This isn't... This isn't how she wants to remember him. Confused. Desperate. Soon, in pain.

Focus.

Those hazmat suits aren't Vault-Tec design. That man is wearing leather and armor. The way he carries himself —

"Come here... Come here, baby."

"No! I've got him."

Riley. She remembers. She can't help but remember. He is —

He was so full of sunlight he couldn't hold it in, no matter how he tried. Always gentle, with her, with the dog, with Shaun. The kind of heart the wasteland sees so rarely, and needs more than anything. Riley cares — cared — so much, he —

"Let the boy go. I'm only gonna tell you once."

"I'm not giving you Shaun!"

That gunshot.

*"Oh my god...!"*

Explosive. Echoing. Made only louder by all the cold steel around them.

That — That's what she's here for. That clue. That gun.

She saw it back then, of course she did, and she remembers the size of it, but not the make. There — Revolver. It was a revolver. If she's to guess, .44 Magnum? Bull barrel, ventilated. Synthetic grip, not wooden. Clean, but well-used. Post-War.

"Goddammit. Get the kid out of here and let's go."

That man's face, so close to hers —

"At least we still have the back-up."

She has a good memory. She remembers. She remembers his face. The length of his nose, the curve of his jaw, the color of his eyes, his stubble. That scar.

That's not what she's here for.

It’s not just the gun. It’s — Every little thing matters. The unusual design of those hazmat suits. The way they spoke. The condition of their clothes. If they left dirty or muddy footprints.

Details she lost in the haze, the rush, the fear, the shock. The grief.

"Cryogenic sequence re-initialized."

Riley. Slumped back in his pod. Hole in his chest. (The size of that entry wound matches her .44 estimate.)

Was there still a small part of him awake in there when the door closed? Did he feel Shaun sliding out of his arms? He'd already lost his wife, months before the bombs fell. Was he still alive, even if barely, to know he lost his son, too? Riley —

He didn't deserve this. He didn't deserve a vault. They were going to be left there on ice forever, even if this didn't happen.

She knew better. She knew they couldn't trust Vault-Tec. How many times did she see it? Vault 11. Vault 19. Vault 22. Vault 34. Even Vault 21.

Why didn't she beg Riley to stay at the house? Why did she think she could protect them once the door closed? Why —

*"Elle! Try to calm down. Your blood pressure is spiking."*

It's her fault he died like this, alone and afraid and so, so cold.

It should've been her. It should've been her. She should've paid the price. She's never the one to pay the price. It isn't right. It isn't fair. It should've been her. It should've —

*"We're reaching the end of the memory. Hold on."*

No —

She can't leave him again —

*"I'll have you out of there in three... two..."*