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Chapter Text

   The Comonwealth was full of irradiated fauna. Nick Valentine knew this. The General knew this. But that didn't stop her from patching up mongrels and bringing them back to the settlements she built. Sometimes they were mutts or guard dogs that had been ditched by their previous caretakers. Other times they were full-on mongrels, mostly feral and mistrustful. It didn't matter to her. Which was how Nick ended up babysitting four large mongrels that he'd seen tear a raider to pieces that morning. They were all wearing sweaters. One had a torn Minuteman's hat tied to her bare head.

   The General hated shooting anyone, let alone animals. Nick always found that bit of Pre-War humility endearing. Her solution was to pacify them in some way. For humanoids, tranquilizer darts or words. For animals, sometimes the darts, sometimes scraps of meat. Other times, their opposition was intimidated by the diminutive woman. Nick knew she didn't think herself as being particularly charismatic or menacing, just that she could inspire trust. 

   And now because of this trust, the detective was sitting in her old house, on Dog Watch until she returned later that night. The dogs needed to be kept indoors until all their wounds had healed, hence the sweaters. Only one of them detested the fabric traps placed upon them, Nick had been calling him Hancock Jr all afternoon. He couldn't quite place the resemblance into words, just that it was there. The faded red cardigan buttoned on him did add to the effect, though. Wait till Hancock finds out. He's got a mutt in his image to strut around Sanctuary with. The synth's lip curled.

...

   The General had been exploring near the Abernathy's farm when she'd encountered the pack. She didn't even draw her weapon. Instead, she'd opened a grenade pouch on her belt, which was filled with dried strips of mole rat meat. She'd won them over in less than five minutes. Hungry and desperate, just like everyone else, she'd thought. She led them back to Sanctuary in time to fend off a raider party that had followed a caravan in.

   The mongrels quickly proved their usefulness as they mauled a pair of unfortunate raiders. The sound of the attacks drew the fire of the others. It was a small group, only five, but that was five guns trained on four dogs and the General. Which became irrelevant as soon as the settlers on guard duty took the opportunity to emerge from cover and take aim. Four of the five raiders were dead, but the last was still trying to fight off the mongrels. He'd switched to the bladed knuckles that had sat forgotten on his hand. The General had finished him off, one shot between the eyes from Deliverer. And then she, Nick, Curie, and Preston had tended to the dogs while Hancock and Maccready admired their handiwork.

...

   Nick liked them. They were smart, they'd known who to attack, didn't turn on anyone after the raiders were dead. Sure they'd been irritable and snappy while they'd been getting bandaged, but really, Nick thought, who wouldn't be?

   He carefully changed their dressings and put the sweaters back on them. Hancock Jr looked at him with such sadness he almost couldn't bring himself to finish buttoning the old cardigan. But then he thought of how enthusiastic the General had been when Curie suggested the garments to protect the tape and gauze from prying teeth. "Sorry, pup," he apologized as he slipped the last button in place. He rubbed the mutt's head with his intact hand to distract him from gnawing the collar.

   Nick realized the other dogs would need names. Hancock Jr was obviously named, nearly hairless with pitch-dark eyes. He suspected the dog wasn't a chem user, but in this world? He couldn't be entirely sure. The next hound in line was the biggest of the bunch, the one in a patchwork sweater and the old Minuteman hat. It had belonged to one of the soldiers that regularly patrolled the western stretch of settlements, but she'd left it behind in favor of a less Dogmeat-mangled one. The General and Curie only got to play dress-up with her, since the others had fled after being tricked into the sweaters. She was very calm, with patches of golden fur scattered all over, and her ears remained tufted. She was missing most of her tail, it looked as though a mirelurk had snipped it off. 

   He so badly wanted to light a cigarette to help him think, but he was sitting opposite a "No Smoking" sign, and didn't want to be the cause of another coughing fit from the General. He recalled the first and only time he'd ever smoked in an enclosed space with her. He'd thought she'd started sobbing from the way she'd been tearing up and holding back shuddering coughs. But then he saw her fumbling the blue inhaler and realized his mistake, and rushed her out into the open. She'd waved away his apologies, saying it was her own fault for not telling him sooner.

   Well, the old synth thought. She's already dressed half the part. Preston's the Colonel, we've got the General, and no Major. Nick rose from the old lounge chair drawing their attention, but none rose from their spots. The General had a whole shelf in the fridge dedicated to animal treats. She'd directed Nick to it before she'd left that morning. Give them plenty of treats, She'd instructed, if they're like any other dog, they'll follow you to hell and back for a biscuit. He picked out a plastic box full of radstag jerky. All eyes were on him as he walked back to the living area. Nick seated himself on the couch next to the smallest of the four, the one missing a front leg. Hancock Jr had taken his spot on the lounge chair. 

   He picked out a strip and handed it down to Major, who sucked it up like some kind of vacuum. Nick didn't think she'd chewed it. "Good girl, Major," he crooned, scratching behind her ears. Her stumpy, bald tail flopped against the rug. He tossed another strip over to Hancock Jr, addressing the spot-stealer by name. The mongrel next to him had sat up, and was leaning in for the box of jerky. 

   Nick tucked the box under his arm, and scritched her patchy head with his bare metal hand. He'd won the hearts of many an animal like this. He picked out her features, the missing leg was most obvious. But despite her size and missing limb, she'd been the first to latch on to one of the raiders. She had all the scars a little scrapper would have, and Nick recalled a story the General had told him about her own father. She had her name. He handed the dog a sizable strip of meat and said "Good girl, Halfstep!" She picked the jerky from his hand gingerly, and instead of gulping it down like the others, chose to hold it down with her one paw and gnaw it.

   That left the last dog, an average sized male with a broad head. Human Nick's memories provided the image of a rottweiler, large headed, docked tail, looked like a teddy bear when small. He knew the General thought they'd still looked like teddy bears when big. She said she'd practically been raised by rottweilers. 

   The dog had the broader head sure, but he also had blue eyes. Well, blue eye. He'd lost his left eye sometime fairly recent, the shallow five-fingered claw marks screaming feral ghoul. Nick figured the General (and Maccready) might try and name him something along the lines of Ghoulslayer or Captain Dogbeard. Preston had wrestled him into a faded gray sweater that had once been silver, the metallic strands in it barely lasting over the centuries. It had once been flashy and flowing, but now it had dog spit and antiseptic soaking into its fibers. Nick hummed as he came to a conclusion. Silver it is, then.

   Maccready, he knew, would try and hide the smile when he heard that the dog was named after one of his favorite comic heroes. Hancock, with all his baggage, would probably shed a tear or two of joy in private about Hancock Jr. The General had certainly brought out his soft side. Nick was smiling at Silver as he handed the long-awaited treat over.

   When the General quietly opened the front door not too long later, she was delighted to see Nick in the middle of the couch, his feet up on the coffee table, a dog cuddled up to each side of him. The other two were in the soft chairs opposite him. The treat box sat empty next to Nick's shoes. The couch was right by the door, so she leaned over and wrapped her arms around him from behind. "Looks like you got the kids all in bed by eight, nothing's on fire, Piper wasn't kicked out of her bed by wayward hounds again... Thanks, Nick." The General planted a kiss on his cheek before withdrawing. He was, once again, thankful he hadn't been made with the ability to blush. She sat on the floor in front of Halfstep, legs under the low table, and leaned on Nick's legs. She spread out a comic he hadn't noticed her holding and leaned back dramatically to meet his eyes. "So did you come up with any names while I was gone?"

Chapter Text

   Nick Valentine sat smoking, minus his familiar overcoat, on a creaking plank, the last intact one in a set of steps that led to a ruin of a house. It had collapsed long ago, though the taller buildings surrounding it seemed, for the most part, to be structurally sound. The backyard was closed off by the neighboring buildings, some stone walls, and the pile of wood and steel that used to be someone's home. There was, however, a steep path down a hillock of rubble that had fallen out of one small section of a wall. It was the only way in and out of the hidey hole. Well, Nick thought, more of an oasis. He was positioned to keep watch over the entrance, his pistol next to him, loaded and ready. His coat covered a nearby lump, which breathed in a steady rhythm.

   Nick exhaled, watching the smoke drift and dissipate across the wild lawn. Half of a bird bath remained on its pedestal, the broken half on the ground filled with greenish water. A few old trees stood stubbornly on either side of the old porch. The grass had grown in during the spring, turned crisp in the summer's heat, and had fully dried out during the fall. He made a mental note to not start a brush fire. The General had been a military fire fighter in her previous life. He didn't want to be on the receiving end of the face, as Danse had been the one and only time he'd insulted Hancock with her in hearing range.

  "Hello, hello puppy-wup!" the General sounded as she suddenly slid down the debris. She had finally returned from scouting their intended route, and immediately was baby-talking to her new pet. Nick quickly stubbed out his cigarette and holstered his pistol, tucking it into the leather casing under his arm. He'd been under cover, at the ready, with the puppy-wup sleeping slightly upwind of him, covered up with his trench coat. 

   "What? No 'hello Nicky-wicky' too?" Nick teased as he slowly stood up. One of his joints popped and he wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not. The General had been in puppy-talk mode that morning and had greeted them both the same way. The synth had held back a snort but chuckled quietly as she realized what she had said, and watched as her face and neck burned bright red.

   "I'll call you 'Nicky-Wicky' if you want, but then you'll be at the mercy of our compatriots. It'll be like high school but with no dress code," her response was marred by her turning as tato-red as she had earlier. She pulled Nick into a tight hug before he could respond. Nick hesitated a moment in surprise before reciprocating. 

   A pair of hairless green paws stretched out from under Nick's coat and caught her attention. "Is my sweet lil pup awake now?" She asked, slowly untangling herself from the synth. 

   A disproportionately large head poked out from under the trench coat. She dropped her pack on the other side of the steps and sat down between Nick and the emerging mutant hound. They'd picked him up the previous morning, bleeding and surrounded by dead super mutants. The General and the detective guessed that a Brotherhood patrol had fired on them from a vertibird, otherwise the hound wouldn't have survived. She'd seen them cruelly finish off survivors before. Despite his mild protests (as he used a stimpack on the mutant,) she'd taken the mutant hound under her proverbial wing.

   Nick had been wondering which settlement she'd send him to live at. Murkwater, he'd figured, since it housed Mercer Safehouse these days. The Caretaker could use some extra peace of mind, even if it was in the form of a jowly, dangerous, mutant hound they'd found half-dead in a gutter. Sanctuary was overflowing with guard dogs already. If Nick ran diagnostics while seated, he always woke with at least one mutt in his lap. Though, on occasion, he'd wake with either the General or Hancock leaning on him. Sometimes it was combination of all three.

   Nick, being a resident of the Commonwealth for much longer than the General, could see that this yet unnamed hound was quite young. But, like every other living thing in this wasteland, the hound had been introduced to violence as soon as it could walk. Nick didn't actually know how super mutants made their hounds, but he knew that, despite their killer nature, the mutants cared for their attack dogs. He'd noticed stitch marks on one of his hind legs, and when they'd found him, one of the super mutants was draped over him, hand still on the stimpack stuck in the hound's flank. The General had caught his metal hand in hers, and they stood like that for what seemed like an eternity, until she'd noticed the hound was still moving. 

   He shook out his coat as the General wrapped one arm around the hound, and the other around his middle. "I found a clear route but we have to head northwest then turn south. There's a new raider camp in one of the apartment buildings and they really love turrets. Almost got ghosted when i came around a corner, and BAM! A buncha those explodey ones were set up around the perimeter. I really don't think we should test out our new pup's skills just yet." 

   The 'new pup' was cuddled up to her, his bandage tape sticking to her overcoat. It was cooling off rapidly, and Nick knew it wouldn't be long before the General put some kind of garment on the unsuspecting hound.

   "Did you want to rest a while before leaving?" Nick saw that she was pale underneath the sunburn and grime. She'd been out for hours and he suspected she'd gotten hurt, if the stiff way she was holding herself was any indication. "How are you feeling, sweetheart?"

   She slumped a fraction, knowing the detective had seen right through her. "The explodey ones really love to send shrapnel in every direction. It took me almost an hour to find and dig out all the bits." The hound nudged her side with his snout and she winced. "I'm fine!" she blurted when she saw the worry crease his worn face. "The stimpack fixed most of it. All that's left is the soreness. It's like the time i fell out of a vertibird during training, but without some recruit thinking they'd accidentally killed me." She pursed her lips, rethinking the comparison. "I guess I should mention I only got bruised up like a banana before you short out, huh?" 

   He dearly wanted to pull her in closer, but was already wondering if she'd been hurting when she'd greeted him earlier. So he settled for pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "We should set up shop here for the night, you and the mutt need some rest." She tensed slightly, a sure sign of an argument, but he spoke quickly. "You're both hurt, and you've been going nonstop for days. If you were a synth we could push it... but you're not." At least as far as they knew. Nick wouldn't put it past the Institute to have a whole game set up.

   Nick reached away and dragged her discarded pack in front of him, freeing her blanket roll. She still clung to him with one arm, the other scritching behind the mutt's nubby ears. He unrolled it, careful to avoid planting an elbow in her face, and laid it down in front of them to air out. "Still got that rope and tarp? We could make a camping trip out of this."

   "I knew you were a Boy Scout at heart, Nick."

   As the light faded, they set up their camp for the night. The surrounding structures ensured protection from the wind, but most had enough internal flooring left to allow rooftop access, so no fire tonight. Thankfully the season remained cool and dry instead of cold and wet, like the expected winter that the General had missed due to the world ending. Nick helped her string the tarp up between the trees framing what was left on the porch, covering the step where he'd re-positioned her bedding. The hound was curled up on a nest of salvaged shirts next to the General's bed, also wearing an unbuttoned flannel shirt to ward off any chill that might befall them in the night. He'd fallen asleep gnawing a meaty femur that had previously been attached to a radstag. 

   The General finally sat down, the old wooden step groaning as she watched Nick settle on the ground a few feet away. He'd offered to take watch for the night, with a look that said don't bother arguing, doll. She yanked her boots off and set them on top of her pack, the hound seemed to know that backpacks were off-limits for chewing. Nick had caught him trying to nibble his shoes not too long after they'd found him. While Nick was wearing them. The hound had been rather confused about the glowy-eyed synth, but had decided he was friendly when a chunk of raw mole rat had been offered.

   Nick drew his pistol once again and the General crawled into her sleeping bag. Time passed, and eventually Nick turned around to see her on her side, fast asleep, one arm stretched out over the hound. He turned back and scanned the rooftops, picking out constellations in the background as he did. Old Nick had only known the common knowledge constellations, Orion, the Dippers, and that weird dolphin. But many a night had been passed with the General pointing out dragons, horses, and scorpions. Settlers and companions alike would gather, and try and make sense of what she was saying. Cait, especially, had been enthralled by space.

   Nick recalled that he had agreed to let her name whatever beast they brought back to Sanctuary next. He wondered if she'd name the hound after an individual star or planet, or perhaps the constellations? Maybe she'd go big and name him for a nebula.

Chapter Text

   Nick Valentine and the General of the Minutemen had been exploring the Glowing Sea for two days when they found the deathclaw nest. They'd spotted the spheres of an old reactor site, and the General had suggested they check it out, since Mother Isolde had mentioned missing Children. The Geiger counter in her pipboy clicked wildly as they entered what was left of the structure.

   They found one of them for sure, the dead follower slumped against a partially buried barrel, surrounded by a collection of gnawed human bones. The days-old corpse showed clear signs of blunt trauma, dried blood crusted heavily around the mouth and nose. There was also a massive dent in their chest that could be clearly seen through the rags they were wearing. The General gave them a once-over, and declared that the poor soul had died due to their sternum being lodged in their lung. She asked if any of the large predators tended to smash their prey and stash it whole for later. Nick couldn't give her a clear answer, since, like most wastelanders, he avoided the dangerous beasts of the Commonwealth as best he could.

   Nick checked the body for any identifiers to bring back to Isolde, and was rewarded with a timeworn golden locket, the hinges jammed closed, likely from the same blow that had killed its owner. He tucked it into one of his coat pockets and turned back to find the General, who was already inspecting the ruins of the neighboring tower.

   She'd carefully squeezed her hazmat suit through a gap in the panels, Nick could see her squatting in front of some kind of mound.... a mound that looked an awful lot like a nest. The detective quickly tucked himself through the opening, prepared to grab her and run in case any brood mothers happened to be in the area. The General had a tendency to stand her ground against charging animals, and Nick didn't want to risk her suit being compromised this far into the Sea.

   "Nick?" he heard her ask his name as he came up behind her. "I think this nest belongs to that deathclaw we saw earlier. Look," she shuffled some litter around, revealing an intact egg. He noticed that they were still alive and not shredded to pieces. "What's gonna happen to this lil critter now?"

   He thought back to the deathclaw in question. She'd been fighting a pair of unusually large radscorpions that had invaded her territory. The brawl had been in her favor until a third arachnid burst from the earth behind her. She lost her footing, went down, and didn't get up. Nick and the General had laid down mines behind them as they retreated before they were noticed. They heard a few distant booms as they beat feet in the opposite direction.

   And now they were in that deathclaw's nest, with her single surviving egg, and Nick was not looking forward to dragging the General away from this rescue. The last thing he wanted to do wa-

   Nick's thoughts were completely derailed as the egg started wiggling in place. He could hear scratching from inside it. 

   Oh no.

   But the General positively squealed with excitement. "Have you ever seen a deathclaw hatch before? Do you think they have egg teeth or do they use their claws? Or their horns? Nick oh my god look at-" 

   "Uh, sweetheart, I don't think we should stick around." He cut her off before she could get worked up any more. She turned to look at him, presumably in disbelief, since the mirrored helmet hid her face. Her shoulders started to slump but then she rocked forward to rest on her knees. She was too close to the shivering egg for Nick's comfort.

   "Nick, it's not even hatched yet. It can't hunt on its own. It'll be killed before the day ends, we can't just leave it here. I don't think it's got a surviving parent like that egg the Gunners stole a few months ago." 

   He'd nearly forgotten about that. She and Piper had gone to investigate the Museum of Witchcraft, found an egg, and returned it to its nest while its father waited nearby. He and Piper both appreciated the sentiment, giving it a chance to live on its own terms. Nick knew he couldn't resist her softheartedness, so rare in this world.

   "Alright," the synth grumbled. "We'll take the lizard with us." 

   "Yes!" Her exclamation was quiet, seeing how cracks were appearing in the egg's tough shell. From the motion, she guessed the hatchling was using its horns to push on the interior of the shell. The General so badly wanted to intervene, help the deathclaw hatch, but Nick could see her holding herself back, gloved hands hovering in anticipation.

   "Any thoughts on where you're going to keep this little guy?" The detective inquired. "I think if you try to bring any more pets back to Sanctuary, Preston might give us the boot."

   Her hands fluttered around the egg as she thought, her face unreadable under her suit's helmet. "Sunshine Co-op, maybe. They've been needing some guard animals and that cabin missing the back wall could be like a deathclaw house. We'll need some extra bathtubs for food and water when they're bigger... Hmm..." The General seemed to be struck with something. "Hey Nick?"

   "Yeah, Sweetheart?"

   "Do you think deathclaws imprint like birds do? 'Cause I remember these things being created by the government, kinda. They were mostly chameleon, and Curie's been hearing all kinds of crazy shit about where modern deathclaws came from." Nick knelt down next to her. "Something to do with 'the Master' and FEV?"

   "Don't think I've ever heard of this 'Master' character, but FEV being involved doesn't surprise me. But I do know these things usually live in packs, so they've gotta imprint on whoever takes care of 'em." Something struck him. "You remember deathclaws being created?"

   "Yeah, it was one of those secret-but-not-secret things. They were always trying to replace ground troops with something 'better.' Though that'd've been pretty sweet if I'd been assigned a deathclaw instead of a search-and-rescue dog. Huh, I guess we have a potential career for this baby."

   A small chunk of shell popped off suddenly, small claws poking through the aperture.

   "Here they come," Nick whispered.

   "Hey, Nick, I have an idea, but I need you to promise not to get mad."

   "What could possibly be worse than adopting a deathclaw and bringing it to live in the middle of a small town?"

   "This," the General said as the upper half of the egg was dislodged, the baby within lifting it's horned head for the first time. She reached up and had her helmet off before Nick could process what she was doing. 

   Times like this made Nick grateful he didn't have an organic heart, because cardiac arrest would've taken him out years ago.

   The newly-hatched deathclaw opened its eyes and fixated on the General, then it swiveled its little head to do the same to the startled detective. It chirruped at him curiously. 

   Oh no.

   It's adorable.

  The hatchling looked back to the General and started to clumsily climb from the remains of its egg. She lifted it under its arms like it was a human baby. "Hello, little one!" she cooed. It wiggled to get closer to her, and she nuzzled it; cradling it, again, like a human baby. Nick didn't want to ask her just yet about the coping mechanism of adopting every orphaned creature during the search for her son.

   A few moments passed and Nick was starting to get very agitated. She'd had her helmet off for only about two minutes, but they were in the Glowing Sea, and really, that was all it could take.

   She remembered her missing armor when Nick gently laid a hand on her shoulder. The General handed the newborn to her companion so she could display her helmet before placing it upon her head. Like many babies, it was quickly enthralled with its own reflection.

   "Nick I think this one's a female, should we name her before Deacon finds out?" She pulled her pack off, careful not to tangle any hoses, and started rummaging for some of the mole rat meat she'd stashed an hour prior. The General quickly fed the squirming, chirping infant in Nick's arms. "I'm thinking something like Doris or maybe Meatball."

   She watched Nick's lips curl up. "I think 'Doris' fits this one just fine. Oh, and Sweetheart?"

   "Yeah, Nick?"

   "She's got your eyes."

Chapter Text

   "Hey!" a voice sounded from further up the road. "Over here!" 

   The General squinted through the thick mist and decided the voice was sourced at the small building up ahead. They'd just left Covenant, recently repurposed as a settlement and way station for Minutemen patrols. Brotherhood patrols also had permission to use it, as long as they behaved themselves. The mystery person calling them must be one of the new settlers.

   The doorless building came into view through the early morning fog. There, a person wearing a faded blue parka waved their arms frantically at them to come closer. The General and Nick glanced at one another before quickly coming to the conclusion that yes, it might be a trap of some kind. But, it might also be a hapless settler lost and in need of a helping hand. 

   Which, in their experience, it was a 50/50 shot when it came to mystery people yelling for them to come closer. The incident at Hardware Town not too long after the General became the General nearly ended in her and Preston getting their heads blown off. If the General hadn't caught her boot on a stray shopping basket and fallen, taking the Minuteman down with her, their journey would have prematurely ended at the Number 3 register.

   The pair approached warily, ready to draw their pistols, but relaxed when they saw that the settler had no visible weapons, and was blubbering out gratitude. The General nudged Nick and stealthily directed his attention to the settler's trousers, which were torn and bloody. The wounds they could see through the fluttering fabric looked like bites. Nasty ones.

   "I'm with the Minutemen, what can I do to help?" she interrupted, pointedly motioning at the settler's injuries.

   "Oh, that's why I called you over here! This place is infested with molerats! I-I'm Tomas, my wife and I just moved into Covenant. I thought I could pull some choice scrap outta here, but then those bastards came after me." Tomas helplessly waved his hands at his chewed-up limbs. "I think those things are rabid, too! I can't just go and die on her, no one will ever hear the end about how her damn fool of a husband got killed by vermin!" 

   "It's all right," She said soothingly. "I have a few packets of rabies vaccines. Let me take care of the wounds and I can inject the first part of the vaccine course." The General ushered him into the building, which had a caged area with an old first aid kit on a wooden box, a steel desk, and a burned out terminal atop said desk. Tomas didn't protest as she instructed him to sit on the desk, but he did make a squeak of surprise when she told him to remove his shredded pants. "Relax, I'm a medic. And besides, these aren't covering much anyways." He made a face so she continued. "I've got a spare pair that should fit you. You won't have to walk home in your skivvies."

   Nick decided to get the man's story while the General untangled herself from her pack and began working. "So what exactly were you looking for in there? This place is more like a compost heap than scrap yard."

   Tomas winced as the General sprayed antiseptic on his shins. "There was supposed to be some caps and ammunition and weapons in there somewhere." He redirected his gaze sheepishly to the cage in the corner. "I wanted sell the extras to buy my wife some nice dresses from the next caravan." He started turning pink.

   Well, Nick certainly hadn't been expecting something so... innocent. He usually ran into people only looking out for themselves. Tomas's face was like an open book, Nick could see easily that he was telling them the truth.

   "That's real sweet of you," The General piped up from sanitizing her syringe of med-x. "Although you should tell us more about the molerats while I stitch this up. It helps for you to be distracted."

   Tomas let out a nervous sound and tried not to look down. Instead, he settled his gaze on the detective, not intimidated by his inhuman appearance in the least. "Uh, I, ah," he stammered. "The molerats, there's at least ten of 'em. I think one is a brood mother. She's the one who grabbed me by the damn ankle and let the rabid ones have at me." 

   "A brood mother, ya say? She might just be protecting her nest."

   Nick immediately wanted to snatch those words back, so the General wouldn't hear that there were baby molerats in the trash heap behind her. He glanced down hoping for her to be engrossed in her stitching. 

   She wasn't.

   Goodness. Nick mentally shook his head. 

   Tomas, oblivious, and showing signs of wooziness from the med-x, continued his recount. "I couldn't even get in the tunnels, they blocked all four entrances when I tried to go in. I only nailed two of them before I dropped my pistol in the entrance right behind this shack." His gaze slid down to Nick's shoes. "I needed that for guard duty," he finished, covering his face with his hands.

   "Alright, Tomas," The General said, injecting a stimpack into one thigh, and a pinkish fluid in a syringe into the other. "You should be good, just keep these clean and dry, the town doc'll probably take the stitches out tonight and if you give her this packet, she can continue your vaccinations. As for your pants..." She dug through the top layer of miscellaneous items she'd been picking up and carefully yanked out a roll of blue fabric. "Part of a postal worker's uniform, looks like it should fit well enough for you to walk home."

   Nick knew what she was going to have them do: clean the place out, and give the man as much of the loot as he desired. Something he'd realized about her fairly quickly, that she let go of material objects easily. She had stashes across the Commonwealth, sure, but he hadn't seen her hesitate to give it to someone who needed or even asked for it. Same went for the animals she kept adopting. She'd take care of them, instruct others on their proper care, and leave them in a place they could call home. Settlers and Minutemen had been asking about the feral dogs she kept taking in. Most Minutemen patrols had at least one mutt with them now. 

   Nick wondered what the hell she was going to do with molerats. She might surprise him and have the settlers raise them for meat. She also might have them follow them along like lemmings. Really big, bald, irradiated lemmings. 

   "Nick? Check your pistol, we're going in."

   "Already halfway there, sweetheart."

...

   Clearing the adult molerats wasn't too difficult, Nick teasing the General with one of his favorite lines. Didn't even break a sweat. Not that it's an option...

   Locating the nest, however, proved to be far more challenging. Once the General had confirmed there was a brood mother in the pile of bodies, she and Nick had started scouring the small apertures in the junk. Nick wondered how the smell wasn't overpowering her as she stuck her face into a large opening in the rusted frame of a car buried in the composting garbage. 

   "Ugh," Nick complained. "Did we stumble into a crime scene or what?" His shoe disturbed a globule of... something. He was about to suggest they scram, bring what they found back to Tomas, when the General made a curious sound.

   He turned around, pistol ready, to see his partner holding a small, pink lump. A squirming lump. A squirming lump that was making a quiet squeaking.

   "I found one!" she announced with a grin.

...

   They arrived back at Covenant, having escorted Tomas back home, handing him the crude cloth sack that held the valuables they'd found in the rotting landfill. Nick and the General brought him to the doc first, a woman by the name of Darcy. She scribbled down a strict schedule for Tomas's vaccinations. And one for the litter of molerats he'd quickly become smitten with. The General left her entire supply of vaccines with her.

   Nick had also taken part in the cooing over the orphaned babies. For the best he'd thought, as the General had realized that all the adult molerats were completely rabid. The brood mother had shown early-stage symptoms when they observed the pack before the ambush. The babies could be saved, with the vaccinations Curie had cooked up.  

   Tomas was excited, he couldn't wait to show his wife. They'd made their home in the old office, in the recently expanded porch. "It's not much," Tomas said as they'd reached the front gates. "But it's home," he smiled, holding the bundle of rags as they walked in. "Diana?" he called.

   "Tomas! Where have you been?" a tall, muscular woman emerged from the porch. She had deep brown, almost black hair and obsidian eyes, and Nick couldn't find a better description of tall, dark, and beautiful. The General seemed as enthralled as him at the woman in overalls before them.

   But none so enthralled as her husband, who gazed at her with doe eyes. "At the landfill down the road. Look what we found," he unfurled the top layer of rags, exposing the wrinkly molerat pups to the cool air of the house. They started squeaking their complaints and Diana made a quiet squeal of delight.

   "Molerats! Oh, look at them!" She carefully lifted one from the cloth. "They're brand-new! Look at this little one, already opening her eyes." 

   She gathered up the bundle and carried them through the porch door, disappearing into their small home. "Diana's from way out west," he said, still lovestruck. "She and her family raised molerats as livestock, since they couldn't afford to keep brahmin. She really misses the farm life." He chewed his lip a moment, meeting the General's and Nick's eyes. "Thank you, for all of this. I think we have a livelihood now, a real chance at a new life."

   Diana reemerged, writing furiously on a scrap of paper on a clipboard.

   "What's that?" The General asked.

   "Shopping list," Diana replied. "They're still too young for solid food, so we need to find some formula." She tapped the eraser against the thin piece of wood. "Or a wet nurse." She wrote something else down and underlined it several times. "We're gonna need to build a nice sturdy pen for them when they get older."

...

   Nick and the General said their goodbyes, leaving the couple to care for the pups, both assured that they were in capable hands. The other settlers didn't seem too bothered by the presence of the rodents, other then one man. He was quickly silenced by a terrifying glare from the General. And then, once again, the detective and the General headed down the road towards the landfill, arm-in-arm.

   "Sweetheart, are you planning on collecting more molerats for them?"

   "Sure am, they're gonna need to diversify their stock. Plus Preston and Hancock said 'no molerats.' So. They have to go somewhere where they're wanted."

   "S'long as I don't have to babysit them." The General giggled in response and Nick's chest felt comfortably warm.