Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Being alive for so long, let alone enslaved for the entirety of it, Charon has long since finely tuned the skill of mentally checking himself out from reality.

He does it mostly when ordered to stand guard and Ahzrukhal is a cruel enough bastard to make him do just that for an eternity and while he notices that someone has entered the Ninth Circle, his brain doesn’t at all register that it is a smooth-skin. A relatively young one too, if he paid them any mind.

He continues to not pay them any mind, merely noting the sniper’s rifle on their back, before going back into the sludge of time passing. A moment blurs into the next. He never bothers checking what time it is. What did it matter when his time was dictated by another? It was either night or day, but even then, he hadn’t set foot outside of Underworld in ages. The feeling of sunlight would need getting used to again, if he ever got the chance to see it.

What causes him to snap back into focus is someone slipping into his personal space. Blinking, he looks down and finds a smooth-skin standing just near him. A man. They’re young. Average height and on the skinnier side. Their hair is short, light brown and stops just below the ears, the ends curling up. There’s a smattering of freckles across their nose, cheek bones and forehead. A pair of green eyes, bloodshot and shadowed with dark circles, crease in the corners as the young man offers an exhausted smile.

Crooked teeth far whiter than most peek out from their chapped lips.

It is not charming in the least.

“Talk to Ahzrukhal.” He says preemptively, eyeing them up and down. Their youthful face clashes heavily with the well-worn recon armor they’ve got on. Paired with the sniper’s rifle and the genuinely manic look in their eyes, he isn’t at all surprised to feel his hackles rising at once.

“Just did.” They say and lift their left hand. Clutched between their fingers is his contract.

Nothing quite floors him anymore, but this comes close.

“You purchased my contract from Ahzrukhal?” He asks.

A nod.

“Then I am no longer in his service. That is good to know. Allow me one moment.” He breaks out into a steady stride towards the bar.

Ahzrukhal doesn’t turn to address him, not at first.

“Come to say goodbye?” Ahzrukhal asks when they at last peek over a shoulder to regard him.

“Yes.” A thousand times yes. Swinging his shotgun off his back, hefting it between both hands and pointing it towards Ahzrukhal’s back feels natural. So does shooting them. It only takes one blast to kill them, but he uses the second bullet anyways. Glass and flesh alike splatter and fly across the bar.

The patrons all scramble out, leaving just the two of them.

His new employer says nothing. Even when Charon turns around to gauge their reaction, he merely catches them meeting his gaze for a second before they slip behind the register and quickly unlock the wall safe to retrieve their caps, as well as the rest of the contents of the safe.

Surprisingly, the pouch of caps is tossed his way.

“That ought to cover the journey to wherever you’re going.” They say, nodding towards the pouch, before swiping the pack of cigarettes off the counter, picking one out and lighting it up with Ahzrukhal’s lighter.

“Buying my contract puts me in your service.” He explains. “And while I am in your service, I am to listen to your every command and to do whatever it takes to keep you alive.”

His employer’s face sours immediately.

“I’m no slaver.” They say with vehemency. “Here, just take the contract. Whatever you do with it is your business, but you can’t come with me.”

“I cannot be given my own contract.”

“What? Why not?” They ask

To that he has no answer. This is simply how the contract has always been.

“And if I destroy the contract?” They ask.

“The physical copy means nothing. If destroyed, I would still be in your service.”

His employer’s face lights up with ire and they open their mouth to perhaps shout at him but the shout never comes. Like a switch being flipped, all upset leaves their face. Taking a long, long drag on their cigarette, his employer closes their eyes, savors the burn of nicotine, and exhales the smoke through their nose in two streams. When he next blinks, his employer is looking at him head on. While still looking turbulent, they don’t look close to screaming anymore. It’s mild, but it is an improvement, nonetheless.

“I am way too tired to be dealing with this right now.” His employer says with a groan before scrubbing their face with their free hand. “Look, you can come with me for now while we figure this out. Is that good enough?”

“Yes.” He answers.

“Great. Grab whatever you need and we’re out. Probably shouldn’t come back for a while.” They say and snub out their cigarette.

“I have everything.” He says immediately.

“Right.” His employer says with a frown. “Guess Ahzrukhal wouldn’t have given you much. Gimme a second- I have a spare pack. It’s threadbare but it’ll work.”

He watches them walk over to a table, shrug off their pack and start digging around. He isn’t ordered to approach but he approaches anyway, stopping to stand just near them.

“How should I address you?” He asks.

“I’m Briar. Don’t call me anything asinine like sir, please.”

“As you wish.”

Silence, until Briar suddenly turns towards him again.

“I didn’t ask for your name because I already knew it- not because I don’t care.” They clarify quickly.

“Okay.” He says, blinking, utterly confused as to why they felt the need to overly explain something that would have been fine either way.

After a few minutes, Briar straightens and hands over his pack.

“I packed a good amount of shotgun shells, stimpacks, water and food. Let me know if you need anything else while we’re on the road.”

He accepts the pack with thanks and slings it over his shoulder.

“Can I ask where we’re heading?” He asks.

“I’ve been up for nearly three days, and I think I’m starting to go insane, so, for now we’re going to find somewhere to sleep for the night. Can’t stay here, obviously, so the sooner we head out the better. Once my brain isn’t mush, we can talk more.”

“I see. I will follow your lead, then.”

--

Leaving Underworld and slipping past all the mutants residing nearby is a cakewalk for any ghoul, so it comes as a pleasant surprise that his new employer is quick enough on their feet to sneak past undetected as well. The black of Briar’s recon armor paints their thin frame as part of the shadows and as nightfall crept closer and closer, his employer was even more difficult to spot once still.

The few super mutants and raiders that manage to spot either of them are killed before they can even really do anything about it. Briar talks more to their sniper’s rifle then they do with him, the young man mumbling quickly under their breath about something his ears can’t pick up on as they line up their sights with someone’s skull.

Home for that evening is an abandoned gas station that had served someone else prior, given the windows and all the doors except the front had already been boarded up. Prepping the place was half the work and now with that already taken care of Charon focuses on searching for a mattress or cot for his employer to sleep on. He finds a small mattress tucked away inside the gas station’s bathroom littered with empty jet and crumpled cigarette packs. He hefts up the mattress under one arm, the garbage falling to the cracked tiled floor and drags it out into the hallway.

As he’s lugging the thing into the main room, he spots Briar standing near a wall, one hand flat against it and their other hand pressed to their face as if feeling faint. He drops the mattress where he is and quickly walks over to their side.

“Are you going to be sick?” He asks, already taking off his pack and grabbing a bottle of purified water. He offers it to them.

“No, no, I’m fine.” Briar says, but its said laboriously as if they were struggling for breath. “I just need a second to sort myself.”

The dismissal is clear.

Nodding, he bends at the knee and leaves the bottled water on the floor near their feet before turning back and gathering the mattress from where he’d dropped it. He drags it to the corner furthest from the door and hides it behind one of the metal shelves that were screwed to the ground. No one coming from the main entrance would be able to spot Briar immediately.

The gas station grows darker every minute, so he works on making a small fire in one of the metal trash bins. None of the boarded windows had any of their glass intact so the smoke wouldn’t be a problem. He has the fire going in no time. The warm light attracts his new employer like a moth. He watches as Briar slips their hand from their face and straightens their back. They wait an entire three seconds before turning around and facing him.

“Thanks for getting the fire going.” Briar says as if they weren’t holding onto the wall for dear life mere seconds ago. They walk over to the fire and take a seat on the floor across from him. “You don’t have to wait on me to eat. I need to check a few things before I get comfortable.”

Before he can tell them that the gas station has already been cleared of hostiles or traps, he sees Briar look down towards the Pip-Boy on their wrist. Ah, so they had meant that. He can’t see the screen past the glare the fire’s light casts on it, but he can hazard that they’re either looking at a map or their digitalized inventory. Briar wasn’t the first smooth-skin with a Pip-Boy that he had seen, although they had been the first to step into Underworld in a very long time.

Whatever it is that Briar is doing, they finish it relatively quickly and pull food out of their pack. They peck at their dinner of Blamco and Cram with disinterest, either too tired to really notice their hunger or feeling put off with the uninvited guest that they were now stuck with. He eats his own meal in silence, keeping his eyes down to be polite.

Not too long after he’s finished his food, Briar stands to their feet and pulls their cigarettes out.

“I’m going to smoke and then head to bed. Are you okay with taking first watch?” Briar asks.

He nods, before adding: “Don’t forget to hide the ember.”

“Got it. Be back in a bit.” They say and take their leave.

In the meantime, he’s content to clean his shotgun and keep track of his own ammunition. Several minutes pass and he doesn’t blink an eye, chalking it up to Briar smoking an additional cigarette to stave off having to return inside, but when another several minutes pass he gets terribly suspicious. Grabbing his pack and gun, he stands up and quickly walks to the entrance.

Pushing the door open he quickly cranes his head left, then right, looking for any sign of his employer.

They were nowhere to be found and even when he checks the ground for a trail, he finds none- Briar had made sure to cover their tracks as they snuck off. Like clockwork, a migraine settles deep into his temple and his entire body tenses with anxiety and dread. The contract would continue this sharp, stinging pain and discomfort until he found Briar, but Charon wasn’t sure where to even start looking.

It was hard to formulate a plan of any kind while his brain was simultaneously feeling as if it had been stuck in a vice. Still, he reflects on what little he knows about his employer.

He knows their name and that they had come from a Vault, given their Pip-Boy.

Hadn’t there been something on the radio about a vault dweller?

Chapter Text

Listening to the radio yields more information about his new employer than the few hours he’d traveled with them had. Not only was Briar from a Vault, but by the DJ’s own words they were renowned as the quote-on-quote Lone Wanderer, who hailed from Vault 101.

A stupid moniker, and one that was made useless given the number of details the DJ offered about his employer. Anyone with two brain cells could put together who Briar was, though finding them would prove difficult, as they tended to not linger in one place for too long. Charon doesn’t know how long his employer has been traveling to get enough attention for someone to give them a moniker, but they were baby faced and fresh from a Vault, so it couldn’t have been all that long that Briar had been making a name for themselves.

Days of aimless wandering and listening to the radio awards him with one major detail: his employer was given a home in Megaton for disarming the bomb in the center of town that gave the settlement its namesake. Even if he ends up in Megaton and they aren’t there, the chances of them returning at some point was extremely high.

It’s a long walk, but with most, if not all things, Charon finds he doesn’t have a choice in the matter. He starts walking and doesn’t stop until he reaches the dusty, rundown entrance of Megaton and when he enters the town, he watches each shoddily built home like a hawk, watching just who entered and what time they did.

No sign of a recon suit or green eyes.

There are only so many homes in such a small settlement, so he figures out quickly which home is his employers. It’s a decently sized place seated on the second level of Megaton. Sheet and scrap metal are placed haphazardly together into the walkway leading up to the residence. He walks up to the front door, crosses his arms and leans his back against the rusted metal.

He lets his mind wander.

Charon stands outside of Briar’s home for two days. Waiting doesn’t bother him all that much. He’s been made to wait for much longer. Everyone that spots him looks at him with blatant suspicion- or trepidation. Some, like the sheriff, ask what he needed with the savior of Megaton. All he tells them is that he’s waiting for Briar and that he works for them.

“Scary guy like you? Doesn’t surprise me.” The sheriff tuts and they make no effort to disguise the way they eyeball him. If staring bothered him at all anymore, he would have gone feral ages ago.

Aside from the sheriff he’s left alone, although on the second day of his waiting they approach him again to kindly, but uselessly, warn him of the oncoming radstorm that had been steadily darkening the skies since yesterday. He says nothing to their warning and watches unfeeling as the sheriff shakes their head with a sigh and leaves him be once more.

The afternoon slips into evening. The pressure in Megaton was becoming steadily denser as the radiation began to spike. He watches the settlers all scurry into their homes, wary of their Geiger counters singing. He takes a deep breath and inhales the rads. Some of the older aches in his body are soothed momentarily. There was no fixing most of the abuse his body had been through over the years. Being immortal didn’t stop the pain or exhaustion. Time only meant that things dulled, and that included the good as well as the bad.

It was beginning to look as if he’d be stuck waiting for a third day, when footsteps sound off on the metal railing ahead of him. When he looks, he finds with relief that the one standing there is no one other than his employer at long last. They walk up to their house and stop just fifteen feet from it.

It’s clear they aren’t happy to see him.

Briar doesn’t look any better than they had days ago when he’d met them for the first time. If anything, they looked even more exhausted. Their brown hair was stained with blood and oil and there was bandaging meticulously wrapped around one of their thighs. Each hobbled step nearer to their home encouraged more blood to stain the fabric.

The trek home had not been easy- that was evident. All of Briar’s hard work pushing through to get home had only provided them with something unshakeable on their doorstep.

“Why are you here?” Briar asks with trembling fists and no shortness of horror.

“I am still in your employment.”

The simplicity of his answer makes his employer’s face go through a litany of expressions. It looked as if their brain was short circuiting.

“…It’s not just as simple as leaving you somewhere.” Briar finally says when they can string words together again. The gut-wrenching realization in their tone isn’t lost on him. “This contract, whatever it is, there’s more to it.”

“Yes.”

Briar tears their face from him to go and stand near the railing. They stare off at the rest of the town below, hands gripping the handrail tightly. They must be thinking about what to do, but they aren’t allowed much time before thunder booms loudly and a heavy downpour of irradiated rain crashes down.

“Shit!” They curse and run towards their home. The key to their place is dug out of one of their pockets and quickly shoved into the lock. Before they rush inside, Briar visibly stops and turns to consider him.

Uncertainty gleams like a jewel in either of their eyes.

After some internal debate, Briar opens the door to their home and slips inside, noticeably leaving the door open. It’s not quite an invitation and not quite an order at the same time, but Charon obediently heads inside either way. It was best to act fast in case his employer changed their mind.

Briar’s home is well lived in and well loved. The main room on the bottom floor yields a single comfortable looking couch against the wall nearest to the stairs, a wooden bookshelf partly filled with comics, pre-war books, and knick-knacks, as well as a small kitchen in a corner. The entire home is filled with yellow string lights and small lamps that flicker forebodingly with each clap of thunder.

His employer descends the stairs of the second floor with two towels in hand, one of which was already being used to dry their face and hair. Briar waits until he’s met their gaze before wadding up the spare towel and tossing it towards him. He catches it easily and starts to dry himself.

A Mr. Handy floats from upstairs a second later, informing Briar that the beds have been made and offering to get a meal ready. Upon noticing him, the robot inquires, “And for our guest?”

“Make him something to eat too. Please.” Briar says.

“At once, sir.”

The Mr. Handy hovers off into the kitchen.

It is only now that Briar seems to de-stress a bit, the realization that they were home at long last now settling in their brain. They shrug off their pack and sniper’s rifle, setting both on a coffee table in front of the couch. That’s as comfortable as they proceed to get, given they weren’t alone. His employer looked like they wanted nothing more than to sit on the couch and meld into the cushions but despite how long they linger near it, Briar refuses to take a seat.

Instead, they start to anxiously pace around the room in a stilted gait.

“Can you tell me more about your contract?” Briar asks.

“What do you wish to know?”

“Everything. I don’t understand any of it.” They say with acute frustration. “You aren’t the first slave I’ve met. There’s a ghoul in town- his name’s Gob, he mentioned originally coming from Underworld. On his travels he got caught by slavers and ended up working for the asshole that used to run the bar. Well, I took care of his employer and now Gob owns the bar. I took care of your employer, so why are you here?”

“My contract isn’t as simple as that.”

“And I’m asking why that is.” Briar presses. “What is the nature of your contract that even after being freed, you’re still hunting me down? You don’t strike me as emotionally unstable.”

“I was tortured.” He says unflinchingly and that stops Briar’s pacing at once. “Brain-washed would be the appropriate term. I couldn’t tell you what they did to me even if you ordered it. My brain must have blocked out most of the experience. Whatever memories that would have been left have been faded with time.”

Briar stands in the middle of the living room, stunned into silence. They blink rapidly and open their mouth repeatedly just to close it shut again with a click. The only thing that could make his employer look more upset would be if the radstorm outside blew the roof off their house.

“If you’re looking for a way to get me out of your hair, you could always hit me. Violence on either side invalidates the contract.” He offers.

“And what happens when the contract is invalidated?” They ask.

“Another part of my conditioning is to feel great duress and physical pain while not in active employment.”

He’s wrong- it hadn’t taken their roof being blown off to make Briar’s already miserable expression wilt further.

“Although, it is your right to do with my contract as you see fit. If there was another person you wanted to give my contract to…” He adds.

They shake their head firmly at the suggestion.

“It wouldn’t be right to force this on someone else.” Briar says. “Besides…I don’t have anyone I could trust.”

He says nothing to that because the answer, as it had been for days now, was very clear to him. This conversation was only putting off the inevitable, but Briar was evidently determined still to find a way out of this situation.

A break in the conversation comes in the way of the Mr. Handy at last bustling out of the kitchen and setting food down on the coffee table.

“Your dinner, sir. Shall I grab you a drink as well?” The robot announces, their well polished eye clicking as it stares at him. It is only now that Briar realizes that Charon has still been standing all this time.

“You don’t need to ask me to sit down. Take a seat anywhere. Eat as much as you want.” They tell him quickly, clearly flustered. He does as instructed and sits on the couch. When the Mr. Handy again pesters him about a drink, he tells them that whatever is fine and tucks into the food eagerly. He eats with the plate in hand and held close to his chest so as not to get food all over the couch, or worse, on the meticulously maintained sniper’s rifle on the table.

With him occupied now with eating, Briar resumed their pacing, the spot by the front door where he had been standing was now a part of their anxious circuit.

“Is there any way I can just have you stay here?” Briar asks. “Megaton is relatively safe. You’d be welcome to live here- there’s a spare room. Sure, you’ll get some looks since you’re a ghoul but if you say you’re with me, no one will bother you.”

He stops eating to look at them fully. “I cannot keep you alive if I’m made to wait here.”

“So, if I order you to stay here, you’ll eventually just break the order anyways?” Briar asks incredulously and when he nods in answer, they hiss out a curse before scrubbing their face with both hands miserably.

“Can I ask something?” He says after finishing the last bites of his food.

The Mr. Handy swoops in immediately to clear the table of his mess and without even asking it returns a with a second Nuka-Cola. Either it was programmed to be this attentive or Briar had asked it to be.

“You can do whatever you want.” Is their answer.

Fine, then.

“If I wasn’t burdened with a contract like this, would you still have rejected my offer to come with you?” He asks.

Briar stops walking just to give him their full attention.

“Yes.” They answer quickly. There isn’t a shred of doubt in it.

“Why?” He presses, eyes cutting into slits. “An extra gun, a free one, is something most wouldn’t turn down.”

“Maybe I’m just a weirdo who likes working alone!” Briar tells him with exasperation. “What does it matter, anyways?” Under the irritation is a tinge of genuine panic.

“It isn’t as simple as that, is it? You’re hiding something.”

“I’m not.” They huff.

He stands from the couch and walks over to them, stopping just in front of Briar and peering down at them with a scathing look. Briar visibly becomes uncomfortable, beginning to shift their weight from one foot to the other, and fidgeting with their armor. It was the textbook look of someone with a secret- a big one, too, if his gut instincts were correct.

“You could order me to drop the subject.” He reminds them.

“I’m not doing that!” They shout and it’s clear they hadn’t meant to, because Briar’s face colors with shame and they duck their face down. A sorry is mumbled almost too quietly to hear. The sudden rumbling of thunder, the loudest it’s been yet, rocks the entire house and startles another shout out of his employer.

The last thing he sees before the power cuts off is their frightened face.

Dark enshrouds the home like a blanket, but his eyes don’t have a chance to get accustomed to the dark before Briar is turning the flashlight of their Pip-Boy on. It’s bright enough to be blinding if he looks directly at their arm so he keeps his eyes on their face. While his employer looks less frightened now, the overall unnerved look remains.

“Sir?” The Mr. Handy calls from somewhere in the house. “Are you alright? The power has gone out, clearly, and I thought I heard shouting. Is there anything you and your guest might need?”

“No. No, we’re okay here, Wadsworth.” Briar calls out. “Nothing we can do about the power outage besides wait it out. Let me know if you notice any damages on the house, though, please?”

“Of course, sir.”

Briar nods, although the robot was clearly nowhere on the bottom floor, and he watches them pull out their cigarettes for the first time since coming home. Their hands are trembling so bad they can hardly pluck out a cigarette. What was it that had them like this? The radstorm, the lack of sleep, or him?

Whatever the case, he takes the pack and the lighter, and pulls out two cigarettes. He settles one between his teeth first and lights it with skilled ease before bringing the other cigarette to his mouth and lighting the end with the ember. He offers the lit cigarette to Briar.

His employer accepts it with quiet thanks, their fingers brushing so gently against him as they did that his nerves don’t even register the feeling. Smoking is the apparent cure to their panic, or at least a sufficient bandage for the time being. Nicotine goes in and nerves go out. A simple enough transaction- if only he could say the same.

“I have people looking for me.” Briar admits seriously.

“What kind of people are we talking about?”

“Ever heard of the Talon Company?” Briar prompts. “Bunch of jackasses with more guns than brains. They aren’t all too great with catching up with me, but when they do, it’s always a shit show.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard of them. Another gun would help with all the attempts on your life, you know.” He remarks.

“Another gun means another person I have to trust to not stab me in the back.”

It’s said with exceptional bitterness. Whatever betrayal his employer had experienced, it had happened recently.

“I am physically and mentally unable to betray you, if that helps.” He says without a shred of tact and as expected Briar looks at him as if he’d just disemboweled their pet mole rat. He tries again with a bit more delicacy. “What would make this arrangement easier for you?”

“Me?” Briar asks incredulously. “I should be asking you that, right? I’m not the one with a screwed-up contract.”

“I don’t want to deal with tracking you down again so I want to do everything I can to prevent that from happening.”

“You found me quick, too.” Briar notes with resigned respect, before something visibly clicks in their mind. “You said that you feel pain when not employed, does that conditioning apply to being separated from your employer too?”

“Yes.”

Their subsequent silence says a lot.

“Sorry.” They breathe a moment later, sounding remorseful. “Okay, I get it now. There’s no easy way out of this- not for either of us. All we can do is…learn to grit and bear it, I guess.”

At last, progress was being made.

“Again, what would make this arrangement easier for you?” He repeats.

“I don’t know. I’m used to working alone.” Briar sighs. “And besides, if I’m always worrying about having to tell you what you can and can’t do, it’s going to be a mess. I can barely remember to feed myself most of the time- I don’t want to accidentally forget to tell you to eat and you end up keeling over.”

“What do you suggest?”

“…I think this will only work if we act as partners. Equals. I know that’s hard to do, given the reality of our situation, but if we can’t break the contract, at least for now, then all we can do is learn to work around it, right?”

He crosses his arms and raises the remainder of a brow. “And being your partner means…?”

“We watch each other’s backs, split loot and make important decisions together. What we do in our free time is our business, but I make a point to not get drunk or high when I’m on the road.” Briar explains.

“Fair enough.” And because he won’t be tricked twice, he adds, “In case we get separated for any reason, where am I to wait for you?”

“Here works.” Briar says while gesturing at large to their home.

“And if in the unfortunate case that you perish, is there someone you would like me to work for in your stead?”

Their shoulders sag the second the question slips from his mouth.

“I meant what I said earlier- I don’t really have anyone I can trust at the moment.” Briar tells him. “If it makes you feel better, you could head back to Underworld if I die. At least you’ll be around people you recognize…”

It’s a good enough answer for the time being.

“That’s fine with me.” He decides.

“Okay. Good.”

The two of them continue to stand in the middle of the living room awkwardly, neither of them smoking. It would be comedic timing if the power were to now come back on, but going by the thunder and wind outside, he doubted the power would return until tomorrow.

“We can talk more about stuff in the morning. Don’t look at me like that, I mean it this time. Here, let me show you where the spare bedroom is. Come on.” Briar says, frowning at the way his eyes cut in accusation. He follows them up the stairs in the dark as instructed, mindful not to fall and break his head in.

They lead him to one of the two rooms available upstairs, the other, of course, presumably being theirs. Before he can fully enter the room, Briar makes a little coughing sound as if clearing their throat.

“Don’t freak out- I didn’t choose the bed, okay?” They say in warning.

When he steps into the room, he realizes immediately what they’re referring to. In the middle of the otherwise normal room is a large, heart-shaped bed adorned with red velvet blankets and off-white sheets. He makes a point to stare at the ugly thing for a solid minute before turning towards his employer.

“I’m not trying to be funny! It’s the largest bed in the house. And no, I haven’t been hosting any orgies on it.” Briar clarifies with a roll of their eyes.

“Do you host orgies in general?”

“What? No!” Briar squawks. “Even if I did, I thought we agreed on not talking about what we do in our spare time. Unless you’re volunteering to share some escapades of yours…?”

“No.” He says resolutely and walks past them to enter the room. Aside from the stupid design, he had no qualms about the mattress. The velvet blankets would be tossed somewhere else- he runs hot and the capital wasteland wasn’t exactly freezing.

“Have all the orgies you want. Just be quiet about it.”

“Oh my god.“ Briar starts, face bright red, and they clear their throat loudly. “I’m going to bed so I can forget about all this. If you need anything, ask Wadsworth, because I don’t think I’ll be conscious again until I get a solid fifteen hours of sleep.”

And with that they walk across the hall and disappear into the other bedroom.

Chapter Text

“The corpse stays outside.” Is the first thing out of the guard’s mouth as the two of them saddle up to the entrance of Rivet City.

He doesn’t even blink at the words. As is customary when approaching any settlement, even those he was unwelcome in, he puts the safety on his shotgun and lowers the barrel. His employer, Briar, stands beside him, sniper’s rifle lowered as well, but it is obvious the guard has pissed them off by the dark look in their eyes and the clench of their jaw.

That was something he learned quickly in the few days he’d been traveling with Briar; that they had a quick temper and did a terrible job of hiding it. But, just as quick as the anger comes, it leaves, either compartmentalized or genuinely gone for good. That was something he was still figuring out.

Briar inhales sharply before digging into their duffel and pulling out two things: their pack of cigarettes and a small pouch. His employer forces a stiff, almost nauseous looking smile at the guard while waving the items in hand.

“How about fifty caps and the rest of my cigarettes, and you let us both inside? You don’t have to worry about us making any trouble for anyone.” Briar offers.

The guard’s shoulders relax.

“Fine, you two can head in. Just watch it, alright?” They say and jut their chin towards the metal doors leading inside the ship. The guard holds out one of their hands expectantly.

Wordlessly, Briar walks over and puts the pouch and cigarettes into their hand.

“Have fun.” The guard says, already lighting up a cigarette and turning their attention elsewhere.

Briar makes a beeline towards the door, but as always, he beats them to it and holds it open. The glare he gets as Briar heads inside is exceedingly worth it. The entrance hallway to Rivet City is empty save for the two of them.

“We can’t afford to bribe every asshole.” He says and slips his shotgun strap over his shoulder to free up his hands.

“We aren’t bribing every asshole- just this one.” Briar follows suit by slinging their weapon over one shoulder. If they were an inch or two shorter, the sniper’s rifle would drag across the ground. “Anyways, we’re inside.” His employer says while taking in the soft, fluorescent lighting of the ship.

Rivet City is a maze of stainless steel and flickering lights. All the hallways look the same and save for the market, it was difficult to map out the place in his head. The market is where the two of them spend most of their time resupplying medical supplies and ammunition.

“Don’t forget cigarettes.” He casually mentions.

Briar mumbles a begrudging thanks and asks the merchant to add two packs to the order. He snorts and turns his attention to the man at the bar stall a few yards off that has been steadily growing louder and louder with each new drink they’re served.
There are several guards posted in the area, so he doubts the drunk will cause too much of a problem, but the idea of someone drunk off their ass and assumedly armed always raises his hackles. Charon steps closer to Briar, eyes still glued on the drunk. His employer says nothing. They probably didn’t even notice, since they were busy procuring caps out of their duffel.

The clothing store is eyed briefly by his employer, but either the merchant or the selection put them off.

The Church of Monica is given the grace of Briar briefly poking their head into the room, before losing interest entirely and moving on. The two of them pass a clinic, but with neither of them injured, it heralds little interest. All that was left, according to what the merchant from earlier had explained, was the science lab and hotel.

At the door of the science lab, Briar stops just short of twisting the doorknob and pulling. They turn around, sucking their teeth.

“Almost forgot- I was thinking we’d sleep at the hotel here tonight. Think you could get us a room while I check this place out? You can grab yourself a drink from the bar too, if you want. If you’re short on caps, just let me know. In fact, here,” And Briar starts to unzip their duffel to reach for one of their pouches of caps.

“Bribes don’t work on me. Either order me to wait somewhere or learn to make it less obvious that you’re trying to sneak off and do something.” He tells them.

Briar’s face reddens with humiliation.

“I didn’t know when I agreed to have you travel with me that you would be glued to my hip at every waking second,” They return with bite. “I just need to speak with someone- that’s the entire reason we came here.”

The dread of being abandoned hangs over his head like a noose. He casts his employer a look of resignation.

“I will wait here for you.”

“Fantastic.”

And with that, Briar slips inside.

He waits with his back against the wall, arms crossed and eyes straight ahead. The minutes tick away slowly. It isn’t wise to antagonize his employer, he knows, but Briar had yet to explain anything.

It had taken a near argument just to learn that Briar was here to talk with someone. He doesn’t like feeling around in the dark and chasing breadcrumbs just to know where he might end up the next day, but that was his life currently. While uncomfortable, he has suffered much worse at the hands of other employers.

The wicked thought of ‘just give it time’ always rears its ugly head when thinking upon his current employer. Briar, with time, could end up being just as horrible as the others. For now, they kept their hands to themselves, but how long would that keep?

That’s something he’s learned about people; they don’t start off as monsters.

Not usually.

It’s only been a week now since they’ve been traveling, but it has been back breaking. From where he’d tracked down Briar at Megaton, the two of them traveled east towards the Super-Duper Mart, then across the river, while carefully avoiding the Jefferson Memorial and all its Super Mutants with scarcely any breaks in between.

That was fine for him, because he rarely needed to sleep anyways, but for a smooth skin like Briar, sleeping only five hours a day, broken up into naps, was going to take its toll sooner or later, but whatever his employer was chasing after was evidently worth it.
The door reopening pulls him from his thoughts. It could only have been ten or so minutes.

He pushes off the wall and straightens his back.

“Did you get what you wanted?” He asks.

Briar brushes a hand through their short, brown hair. It doesn’t do anything to rid them of the cow licks and other wayward hairs.

“I did.” They answer tersely. “Let’s head to the hotel and grab our room for the night. We need to head out in the morning.”

He nods and follows their lead.

The Weatherly Hotel was a clean enough place and the owner, Vera Weatherly, didn’t bother with much small talk, which was always appreciated. The room itself is decent. There isn’t a lot to it, save for a singular queen bed, a dresser, and a chair. The walls and ceiling, like everything else on the ship, were made of dark grey metal and the room was colder for it. The door in the corner was presumably the bathroom.

Briar’s shoulders tremble with a shiver as they step fully into the room. Their green eyes fall upon the mediocre bedding.

“Just sheets? They couldn’t find a single blanket?” Briar laments with borderline disgust while approaching the bed.

“Should have brought that stupid blanket from your place.” He remarks while kicking the door shut behind him. “Give me the key or lock the door yourself.”

“The velvet one?” Briar turns around to ask. They toss the key over to him a second later. “What’s stupid about it?”

He makes quick work of the lock and walks over to the bed and sets the key atop the dresser before sitting down. He claims the side of the bed closest to the door. If he lays on his side facing the door, the size difference between them will effectively obscure Briar from view if someone were to break in.

“It’s boiling hot everywhere- why would you need a velvet blanket?” He returns finally as he starts to unlace his boots.

“It’s soft. I like soft things.” They insist.

“Even if you’re sweating all night?”

“Won’t be sweating in this ice box.” Briar points out. The bed hardly makes a sound as they take a seat on the opposite side. “We’re both mature enough to share a bed without being jackasses about it, right? Figured we’d save the caps.”

“Doesn’t bother me.”

“Good.”

The room lulls into a silence he wouldn’t quite call comfortable.

“Can I ask where we’re heading?” He asks in lieu of either getting up to shower or laying down to relax fully. For some reason, at that moment, being the first to move felt like losing, though he could not understand why.

“…A Vault. Ever been to one?” Briar answers casually, though they really shouldn’t. Stumbling into an open Vault wasn’t entirely uncommon but given the Raiders and worse that usually moved in, the dangers typically outweighed whatever remaining loot that could be salvaged.

“No. Those places are deathtraps.”

“Not all of them. If what I learned today is true, then the one we’re going to should be relatively peaceful.”

He decides to push his luck further.

“And why are we going?”

“…”

“All this talk of being ‘partner’s and you can’t even tell me where I might be dying tomorrow.” He scoffs.

There’s movement on the bed behind him.

“Nobody’s dying tomorrow! And I told you: a Vault.”

“Which one and why?”

“Vault 112.” Briar groans loudly. “And because…I’m looking for someone.”

That piques his interest immensely. After what felt like an eternity of staring at the hotel door, he readjusts on the bed to face Briar. His employer is seated on the bed with one leg crooked up and their chin propped on their knee. The other leg, the one that had the recovering limp, is stretched in front of them. Their arms curl around their bent leg in a loop.

“If it was some random bastard off the street, you wouldn’t be half as cagey about it, so I can guess it’s someone important to you.”

“Given the odds were fifty-fifty, that wasn’t a terrible guess.”

“Is it a loved one?” He prompts.

“Charon.” Briar says his name with quiet, steady resolve.

It is an unmistakable warning.

But it isn’t an order.

“Order me to drop the subject.” He challenges, eyes cutting into accusatory slits.

“You are such a fucking headache!” Briar says with growing volume and jumps off the bed as if it were on fire. “You know, I’m starting to think there’s no contract at all and you’re just some sort of freak who’s into having people order you around. Maybe I should have-“

“Should have what?” He interrupts, suddenly standing now too.

Briar watches him round the bed and walk over to where they’re standing at the foot of it, shoulders squared and back straight as a rod.

He stares down at them, blue eyes meeting green.

Briar returns his gaze unflinchingly.

“Maybe I should have left you back in Underworld.” His employer finishes.

“There’s still time.” He offers without missing a beat. “I told you back in Megaton: you can do whatever you want with my contract. If you want to sell it to some schmuck, that is your right. You could have sold me off days ago, but you’re holding onto moralities that aren’t going to last. Not in a world like this.”

“And I told YOU, that I’m not a slaver! Selling off your contract, selling YOU, is what a slaver does.”

“You’re saying you don’t regret it?” He almost laughs at the absurdity.

“Oh, believe me, I definitely fucking regret ever stepping foot into that place, but the regret I would feel knowing that I left you to rot in that shitty bar, with Ahzrukhal is…” His employer thinks for a moment. “I don’t think I could live with myself if I did.”

“You can’t save every slave.” He remarks.

“No shit, but I can try when there’s an opportunity.” Briar says, “And I wouldn’t count our situation as me having saved you. Not by a mile.” Briar sits at the foot of the bed and buries their head in their hands.

Frustration rolls off them in waves.

“I won’t ask about the person we’re looking for anymore.” He relents with a sigh.

Briar raises their face to look at him and their face isn’t wet with tears, so they weren’t crying, thankfully.

“Why the sudden change of heart?” They ask, brow arched.

“It’s late,” He says instead of admitting that seeing them looking so miserable had any effect on him, “And we’re leaving early in the morning. You need to sleep.”

Briar merely nods before crawling over to their side of the bed and pulling the sheets over themselves.

Before flipping over, they ask, “Are you going to sleep now too or…?”

“I’ll keep watch for a few hours. Do you want me to kill the lights?” He says while dragging the singular chair in the room over near the door.

“Yeah. Thanks.”

After grabbing his shotgun, he settles into the chair. He flicks the light switch and the room is plunged into darkness, save for the arc of light peeking in from the hallway. Not a minute later, and very quietly, Briar calls out for him.

“Charon?” They say in a tone just above a whisper. Almost as if they were unsure if he would answer.

It makes him anxious.

“Yeah?” He returns, waiting on bated breath for some degenerate request out of the blue.

“Goodnight.” Briar says, and that is all they say before he hears the sheets rustling.

In the dark, he blinks a few times stupidly, before relaxing.

“…Night.”

Chapter Text

The night is calm as he keeps watch.

He only stays in the chair for as long as it takes Briar to fall asleep, truly asleep, as they were prone to tossing and turning. Only when their body has stilled and their breathing evens, does he quietly get up from his post at the door and slip into bed.
He doesn’t bother throwing the sheets over himself. He simply lays on his side, one muscled arm crooked under his head, with his eyes pointed at the door. His arm did a much better job of supporting his neck than the limp, yellowed pillow did.

While he doesn’t need to sleep, resting was another thing entirely. It felt good to get the weight off his feet and back and his eyes always felt better after resting them, even if only briefly. The only thing that breaks the otherwise silence of their hotel room is the occasional chattering of teeth behind him.

Was the room really that cold?

Briar was thin, not skin and bones thin like most settlers, but thin enough for it to be one of the first things he noticed about his employer, aside from the extreme dark circles hanging under each eye. He also wasn’t sure if Briar wore anything underneath their recon suit, the material of which, while sturdy, was considerably thin, and ripped in several places, the spots having been fixed with duct tape.

Leaving the room to grab a blanket from the owner didn’t seem the greatest idea. He would only end up waking up and possibly scaring his employer and the idea of leaving them alone in a room, even a locked one, made the contract burn like brand in his skull. Left with only one other option, he resigns himself to his fate and carefully scoots himself nearer to the center of the bed. Briar doesn’t stir at the movement, so he moves closer and closer, until he can almost feel them at his back.

It takes a second, but like a predator smelling blood in the water, Briar starts to subconsciously move toward the warmth, their hands eager as they reach out for the source of it. A hand bumps against his back and his employer mumbles something he cannot understand. It’s not like he’ll wake them up to clarify. He ignores it and focuses instead on how they’re inching closer.

Something heavy presses against his left shoulder blade. Their head?

Briar had either developed a nose blindness to certain things or their chain smoking had all but killed their sense of smell, if a ghoul’s signature perfume of decay, even when subdued with showers, was tolerable.

Four hours later, morning arrives, and the alarm on Briar’s Pip-Boy sounds off with an annoying series of chimes. He feels Briar rouse from sleep. First, he feels their head lift from where it’s been smushed against his back all night. Then he feels them fumble to shut off their alarm a few times, before they sit upright in bed.

“Charon?”

“I’m up.” He answers immediately. There was no point in pretending he wasn’t awake. While his employer’s brain was still turning on, he swings his legs over the side of the bed and walks over to the door to turn the light switch on. The sudden bright light makes Briar hiss loudly, and they quickly shield their eyes with the back of one hand.

“Give me a warning next time.” They groan, and he watches as Briar wobbles out of bed and into the bathroom. He catches a mumble- something about a shower.

Alone for the time being, he brings both of their duffels onto the bed and begins to sort out the new supplies from yesterday, splitting everything down the middle, as agreed. That doesn’t take him much time, so he eats a quick breakfast of pork n’ beans. He uses a knife to pry the lid off and digs out the only utensil between the two of them: a metal spoon, one that gets more and more lopsided with each use.

Breakfast is long gone by the time the shower finally turns off.

Sparing a glance at the clock on the wall, he frowns. He gets up and walks over to the bathroom and knocks twice, loudly.

There’s a yelp from inside.

“D-Do you need something?” Briar asks.

“Shouldn’t we be headed out by now? I thought we were on a time schedule.”

Something falls on the floor with a clatter. It sounded like plastic.

“It’s not every day you find a place with hot water!” His employer returns haughtily.

“Yeah, and is there any of that hot water left?”

“…Maybe?” Briar says.

“…”

“Sorry! I wasn’t thinking about it.” They lament. “We could stay for a little longer so the water can heat back up.”

“Forget it. Just hurry up so we can head out.” He dismisses and sits back on the bed to wait.

Two minutes later, Briar exits the bathroom. Their damp hair was neatly combed and was already beginning to curl just below their ears. His employer stands there awkwardly for a second, probably feeling guilty about using all the hot water, before offering him a curt nod and walking over beside him.

Briar holds up their Pip-Boy and fiddles with it momentarily before offering the screen for him to look at. A map of the Capital Wasteland, painted in green, greets him.

“The Vault we’re heading to is across the river. We’ll be passing Megaton on our way to it, but I don’t plan on stopping by again so soon. The less obvious paths we take, the better.” Briar explains, before moving the map further west and pointing at a familiar landmark. “Let’s avoid Evergreen Mills and stick closer to whatever this place is. Could be a house or a gas station. Whatever it is, the Vault should be directly south of it.”

Evergreen Mills was the only surefire threat he knew of with the route they were taking, and if the place was being avoided altogether, he had no qualms about the plan.

“I’m ready to leave.” He nods at Briar, who immediately moves to throw their duffel over their shoulder, before adding, “But you should eat something.”

“I'll eat later.” They wave him off.

“You have time to comb your hair but not to eat something?” He remarks flatly.

Briar fidgets under his unrelenting stare, only lasting a handful of seconds before sighing loudly and practically tearing open their duffel.

“Fine, but I’m eating something that I can walk with. Happy?”

“I’m unfamiliar with the concept.”

Briar snorts at that, and it’s clear they hadn’t meant to, because they side eye him briefly before continuing to search their bag. His employer settles on a bruised apple, which they waste no time in taking a large bite out of, and then another, and another.

He gives them a knowing look.

“Shut up.” Briar says after another swallow.

A smirk finds its way on his face.

Nothing stops them on their way out of Rivet City and for the first half day of travel, they mostly backtrack the route they initially took, only differentiating their path after the river has been crossed.

There’s no more road, just soil and clay now, and his employer mutters under their breath about the stuff getting caked in their boots. He couldn’t care less, mind focused instead on finding shelter for the evening, as the sun was beginning to set.

“Wait a second. There’s something ahead.” Briar says suddenly, dropping to one knee to prop up their rifle and peer through the scope.

He drops down next to them instinctively and keeps an eye on the horizon. He thinks he sees something too, a structure, but can’t make out the details.

“Huh. Looks like the thing north of the Vault is a farm.” Briar remarks. “I see barbed wire fences, a brahmin, and a two-story house. Oh, and a few heads stuck on wooden pikes. That could mean Super Mutants OR Raiders. What do you think?” And they lower their scope to regard him.

“I think we should avoid the place altogether. There’s no telling what’s inside.” He answers.

“Hmm. You’re probably right.” And as Briar begins to stand to their feet, a sharp sound, like a whistle, sounds off.

A bullet collides somewhere behind him, towards his left.

Briar’s face blanches and they quickly tug at his arm.

“There’s a sniper- we’ve got to get behind that car over there, now!” They tell him, and Charon allows himself to be pulled along, all the while trying to block them out of sight as best as he can while running from unseen enemies.

The rusted skeletal remains of a car make for a poor hiding spot, but it was the only thing within a visible mile to hide behind. Another shot rings off as they run, but it doesn’t hit either of them, so he hardly cares where it ends up landing.
He ducks behind the car after Briar and presses his back to the hot metal before turning to them. No injuries, as he suspected, but Briar was shaking and red in the face.

“Are you okay?” He asks. He hoped they weren’t on the precipice of a panic attack.

Briar turns to him with an eerie slowness, a wild look in their eyes.

“I’m going to show this fucker how to really shoot.” They tell him with a crazed sort of enthusiasm, and he watches them slink onto their front, belly on the dirt and head barely peeking out from behind the car as they ready their sniper’s rifle.

Without any orders to abide by, he defaults to keeping a watch on his employer’s six. It’s agonizing waiting for Briar to line up their sights, all the while the other sniper was lining up theirs, but there’s nothing he can do because if the two of them try to flee, they’ll just end up getting shot at anyways.

Another shot sounds off- but it isn’t from Briar’s rifle. The bullet lands two yards from where the car is.

“Hurry up already.” He mutters to Briar, feeling antsy.

They ignore him.

Or maybe they just don’t hear him.

The fourth shot lands just a foot away from where Briar’s head rests, and the impact sends the dirt and gravel flying into their hair. None of it makes his employer flinch. They were as still as they were a minute ago. He wishes he could say the same, as he was feeling less antsy and closer to vomiting from dread with each passing moment.

“Briar.” He attempts, moving closer and fighting back the visceral urge to grab one of their legs and yank them back to safety before it was too late.

Briar’s shoulders jerk minutely after pulling the trigger and after a second, maybe even less, they slink back behind the car and turn towards him with a crooked, self-satisfied grin.

“We’ll be safe walking now, but they might start wondering what happened to their sniper. It’s best not to linger.” Briar stands to their feet and dusts off their knees before extending a hand down to him.

He swallows hard, still seated on the dirt with his back against the car. Adrenaline continues to flood his system and his heart jackhammers against his ribs like it would crack them.

“Charon?” Briar says, now sounding worried. “They didn’t land a shot on you, did they?”

“I’m fine.” He forces out. “Just be careful with a stunt like that again in the future.”

His employer relaxes somewhat.

“That’s a relief.” Briar says.

He accepts their help and stands to his feet.

They pull out their pack of cigarettes and shake it at him, clearly offering.

He takes one and settles it between his peeling, discolored lips. His employer does him the favor of lighting his cigarette, before pulling out one for themselves.

“Did that ’stunt’ of mine mess with your contract?” They ask while lighting up.

He kills half of his cigarette with one drag. Acrid smoke curls in his lungs and the nicotine settles lovingly in his veins.

“Yes.” Is all he says, not wanting to delve too deeply into the feelings he was trying to combat. He sucks down the rest of his cigarette before tossing the filter onto the dirt.

“…I don’t think there was any avoiding that, outside of one of us being clairvoyant. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have done that. I’m not toying with you or the contract.” Briar explains, sounding exactly as they had that morning when they admitted to using all the hot water.

“I know.” He says,

When he takes a step forward, Briar cuts in front of him.

“Wait, but how am I supposed to stop from making you feel like that in the future?”

“You can’t.” He answers. “Either accept that or start living a less dangerous life.”

Briar’s nose wrinkles and they open their mouth to argue, but he cuts them off.

“You said we shouldn’t linger, right?” He points out, “Let’s go before they get a replacement for the guy you just shot.”

With a frustrated huff, Briar motions for him to take the lead as usual and readies their rifle.

“After you.” They say sulkily, good mood as gone as quickly as it came.

Chapter Text

“I thought you said we were going to a Vault.” He feels compelled to point that out as the two of them arrive at what appears to be another rusted, abandoned garage.

The name was still preserved clear as day: Smith Casey’s Garage. Its name is etched just above the defunct garage doors, nearly black as ink with the many layers of grime and rust. Broken down cars sit like dying animals in snares across the garage’s front and speckled behind the building were handfuls of dead trees.

Briar flicks their spent cigarette off somewhere.

“We are,” His employer assures him with something akin to boredom. Their tone wasn’t too dissimilar to someone explaining arithmetic to a particularly stupid child. “Most Vaults aren’t in plain sight. There’s probably a basement somewhere inside. We won’t know until we go in, so let’s stop wasting our breaths and head in.”

They don’t wait for a response before brushing past him and walking ahead. He gives the back of their skull a withering look before obediently following behind. His employer had been in a testy mood ever since that morning and not even chain smoking had ironed out the nasty look that taken residence on their face.

The singular door at the front of the building is unlocked, and he hates that Briar enters first, he always hates when they do, but voicing it is useless, all it will do is lead to another argument, so he swallows down the prickling, uncomfortable feeling and enters the garage quickly.

By the time the door shuts behind him and his eyes have adjusted to the dim lighting of the lobby, Briar has already taken care of the only threats: two Radroaches, both of which are reduced to chunks by a single shot each from their silenced 10mm pistol. He takes advantage of Briar looting the barely functioning Nuka-Cola machine in the corner and approaches the large, doorless entry behind the counter that leads to the rest of the garage.

The main room yields a few metal cabinets lined against the west wall, some broken-down cars, and heaps of scrap metal. There didn’t appear to be anymore threats, let alone ones as unthreatening as Radroaches, but it wouldn’t hurt to take a closer look. He spares Briar a glance over his shoulder and finds them preoccupied with lockpicking the large trunk near the half looted safe behind the counter. He steps carefully into the garage, wary of the shadows and what might be lurking in them, but he’s walked the entire expanse of the garage and hasn’t spotted a thing other than junk and minor things to be looted.

He tells Briar as much when he returns to the lobby.

“And what about a hatch? Anything like that?” They ask while tucking away a magazine into their duffel. The green-yellow lighting of the lobby made them look sickly, and the harshness of their dark circles did nothing to help that.

“Didn’t see one.” He answers.

They hum and stand from the floor.

“Could be hidden under some crap. I’ve grabbed everything here so let’s check.” Briar nods and walks into the garage with their Pip-Boy’s flashlight on, pointing it down at the ground like a spotlight.

There are piles of junk everywhere to check, but between the two of them looking it takes less than twenty minutes to locate a hatch. Cigarettes hadn’t improved his employer’s mood, but this does. Briar looks up from the hatch to offer him a grin, not one of the queasy, inauthentic ones they plastered onto their face to get something, but a real grin.

Briar was young, no more than twenty if he had to guess, and when they smiled it made them look their age to a frightful degree. Maybe that was why they rarely smiled at all, typically defaulting to looking bored or mildly indignant about something.

They don’t even wait to clear the rest of the trash off the hatch before bending at the knees and curling both hands around the handle and yanking. There’s a lot of grunting, but the hatch remains shut. Rolling his eyes, he nudges his employer out of the way and yanks open the hatch with one arm with barely a blink.

“Oh. Thanks.” Briar says a little stupidly and he watches them put the safety on their sniper’s rifle before carefully slinging it onto their back. The metal ladder leading below is already extended and Briar takes each notch one at a time, eyes downward in case a feral or worse suddenly sprung out of nowhere.

At bottom, his employer gives the nearby area a quick glance before signaling for him to follow down. Mindful not to catch his fingers, Charon heads down the ladder and pulls the hatch closed after him. Below the garage is a large, one-way tunnel, and at the end of it is a large mechanical door in the shape of a circle, with the numbers one hundred and twelve painted on the front.

“This is it.” Briar says and they take a deep, shuddering breath before looking up at him. “Once we go inside, there’s no more hiding who I’m looking for. But, before we head in, I wanted to ask you something.”

He mentally prepares for the worst.

“I can’t afford to be double-crossed at a time like this.” Briar tells him with a severe tone. “I want you to swear to me that you won’t tell anyone about who we find and what we’ve been up to. If anyone offers you a deal, or if you’ve already accepted one, I’ll double, no, triple their offer.”

“I already told you the contract makes it impossible for me to betray you. If you don’t believe that, you can order me to keep your secrets.” He returns with a glower.

“Forget the contract.” Briar counters and stares at him with white-hot intensity. “I want you to swear to me as a man. I want your word.”

They extend one hand out to him expectantly.

He lets his eyes fall to it, sneering.

“My word means nothing. A slave’s word means nothing.”

“Agree to disagree. I’d like it anyways.” They insist.

Their hand, much like their gaze, doesn’t waver in the slightest.

He doesn’t understand why Briar would want something as useless as his word. Doesn’t understand why they insist on being partners when it would be more efficient to order him instead of wasting their breath asking in roundabout ways.

Ultimately, there was little reason to understand Briar. Would it change anything about their relationship? Not likely. He would be no freer if he knew the reasons behind their actions, yet the urge to understand remains.

Begrudgingly, he slips his right hand into their left and gives it a curt shake.

“You have my word.” He says at last.

Briar doesn’t grin again, not even remotely, but they looked significantly less like they were handling a live bomb.

“Thank you.” His employer says with no shortness of relief. Briar let’s their hand fall from his and shakes the tension from their shoulders like rain.

Their attention returns to the Vault 112 door.

“Okay. Let’s get a move on.” Briar nods to him.

The two of them approach the Vault entrance. Briar immediately goes towards the device that controls it and he watches them flip a panel on their Pip-Boy before pulling out an extendable plug of some sort. They plug it into the device with ease, clearly familiar with this, and it reminds him of something.

“What Vault were you from?” He asks.

“Surprised you didn’t hear from the radio.” Briar remarks. “I’m from Vault 101. We passed it on our way here.”

His employer’s Pip-Boy erupts in grating static, before quieting once more as it connects to the device.

“Vault Dwellers usually wear those stupid suits.” He comments.

Briar only had one duffel bag to their name. If their Vault suit had been tucked inside of it, he would have seen that glaring shade of blue by now.

“Trashed it. I didn’t want to make it any easier for people to track me down.” They explain bitterly.

He’s surprised to see them suddenly turn around.

“That wasn’t a knock at you. Not an intentional one, at least.” His employer assures quickly. “There’s this idiot on the radio that likes to talk about my business. Or, he used to, I should say.”

“Did you kill him?”

“Did I-,” Briar parrots, confused, before giving him an insulted look. “No, I didn’t kill him! That’s not what I was trying to imply. Jesus. They stopped reporting about me because I got better at concealing myself. Now they have no other choice but to talk about something else.”

“That DJ was how I learned you had a place in Megaton. You should reconsider killing him for that, at least.”

“It is tempting.” Briar hums, and their attention returns to the Pip-Boy. “Alright. You might want to cover your ears for this.”

The Pip-Boy makes a final chirp before a deep, metal groaning resounds in the passageway. It had almost felt like a tremor. Steam hisses out of the Vault door in great plumes. With a deafening screech, the door rotates, then lifts to give way to the entrance. One by one, utility lights flicker on, as if inviting them in.

The last thing he feels as he stares into the shadowy maw of Vault 112 is welcomed.

Peeking over at his employer, he finds them looking more relaxed than he’s ever seen them. Was it like coming home, he wondered.

“You still haven’t told me who we’re here for.” He says instead as Briar disconnects their Pip-Boy from the device.

“We’re looking for my dad.” His employer concedes. “This whole time, everything I’ve been doing, it’s been to find him.”

“Why did he leave?”

“That’s what I want to know, too. The scientists at Rivet City mentioned a project that my dad used to work on, but they were tight lipped about the details.” Briar explains.

The conversation gives him a lot to consider while the two of them traipse through the Vault. After clearing out a few stray mole rats and Radroaches, the only other feasible threat they find are the few Robobrains wandering the halls; thankfully programmed to be non-hostile. He still gives the machines a wide berth as he passes by, not liking the way the pink brains floated in the bubbling, green fluid.

The hall gives way to the apparent main room of the Vault, where a dozen or so metal pods sat in a circle around an electrical pillar. Upon closer inspection, he notices that there are people inside the pods, all varying in age and race, though he doesn’t spot any children. It thoroughly unsettles him, but Briar wastes no time running over to the pods. They press their face to each pod, fervently searching, before stopping at one.

“He’s here! I found him.” They call out.

When he approaches the pod and takes a good look at their father, he finds it impossible not to see the many resemblances; the thin nose that upturned the smallest degree at the tip, the thick brows and the almost delicate curve of their jaw.

“Should be simple enough to get him out of here.” Briar says more to themselves than anything and they push away from the pod to investigate the computers lining around the center. “It says he’s in some kind of simulation. ‘Tranquility Lane’. I don’t know if this has anything to do with his project, but I think it’s safe to interrupt it for the time being. He can complain about it when he’s out of the pod.”

Messing around with the computer only frustrates his employer.

“I’m not great with computers, but there’s no way I missed the ‘end’ input for the program. I checked every input, and it just doesn’t seem like there’s a way to stop the program, at least not from these computers.”

“Think there’s another computer controlling it somewhere?” He asks.

He takes their dejected shuffling as a maybe and decides to take initiative by checking all the other rooms while they remained by the pods. Not only were there no other computers, but there was nothing of value to loot, unless one was skilled enough to start scrapping all the tech laying around.

Briar perks up as he returns and stops their nervous pacing.

“Find anything?”

“Nothing.” He answers.

They visibly deflate. Sighing, his employer drags themselves over to their father’s pod and rests a hand over the glass, looking pensive. Their fingers begin to softly tap on the glass one at a time.

“You could check the computers again.” He offers.

Briar shakes their head, deep in thought.

Tap.

Tap.

Tap.

Then stillness.

“There’s an empty pod.” Briar realizes almost breathlessly.

He already hates where this is going.

“No.” He says, drawn over to Briar now as if pulled magnetically. Maybe it was the contract that compelled him to their side.

“What other option is there? I’m not leaving here without him.”

“Even if it kills you?”

“It’s not going to kill me. I saw his vitals on the computer, and it said he was healthy. I think what we really need to worry about is if I can even get out of the simulation after entering it.” They explain.

“Not being able to snap out of the simulation is just as good as dead.” He returns.

“I hate when you’re right.” Briar groans. “Fine, how about this? I go in the pod while you watch over me, and if after three days I don’t free myself, consider me dead.”

“I need more than that. Where do I go and who will the contract go to?” He crosses his arms, uncomfortable with the idea of having to get used to another employer in such a small amount of time. After serving under Ahzrukhal for what felt like a lifetime, his service under Briar felt miniscule.

Brief as it was, it was certainly the best he’s been treated.

His employer thinks in heavy silence about his request. It was reassuring that they put any thought into it at all.

“If I die, or can’t escape the simulation, then the contract will go to Gob, the owner of the bar in Megaton.” Briar explains placidly. “I don’t know if you knew him from his time in Underworld, but he’s a good guy. Weak, but a good guy. He could use someone like you for protection. It sucks that you’d be stuck guarding another bar, but I can promise you that it won’t be anything like the Ninth Circle.

“As for where you’ll live…” They continue, “Consider my home and Wadsworth yours. I think that’s a lot better than our earlier agreement to have you go back to Underworld. Not a bad inheritance, right?”

Their humor bounces off him and dies somewhere in the space between their feet.

“I don’t have any disagreements with your terms.” He answers.

“Good, good.” Briar nods, sparing their sleeping father a lingering glance before tapping the pod with their palm.

He follows them over to the empty pod. After setting down their things on the floor, Briar cautiously crawls into the pod, all the while giving the thing a look of trepidation. There’s a minute of them making sure the headset and many wires were set correctly, and it isn’t until the computer outside of the pod springs to life and reads off their vitals, that they try to pull down the lid.

Before they pull down the lid completely, he stops them.

“I have to do this.” His employer repeats, ready for another argument if necessary.

“I just need to say something.”

Briar relaxes.

“Oh. Okay. I’m all ears.”

He tightens his grip on the lid of the pod, unsure of how else to say what was on his mind.

“…If this thing ends up being your grave, and your last moments are with the slave you’ve been trying to get rid of, then I wanted to tell you that you deserved better.” He tells them seriously.

Briar gawks at him, thoroughly stunned.

“You deserved better, too.” They return weakly. “We were both stuck together. It’s not exactly an ideal situation.”

He isn’t sure what to say to that.

He is spared of making a choice at all.

“I’m going to shut the lid now.” Briar tugs at the lid until he removes his hand.

Stepping back, he watches them pull the lid down. The pod shuts with a click and whirs to life. Sleeping gas floods into the chamber and he watches as Briar’s eyes begin to slowly shut for what may be the last time.

All he can do now is wait.

Chapter Text

Vault 112 becomes a temporary home of sorts, although certainly not one he would ever willingly decide to stay in.

After Briar had entered the pod and slipped into oblivion, he’d tasked himself with setting up camp in the vicinity. He tosses all the Vault suits and laboratory coats he finds onto a pile on the floor to make a makeshift bed. It was a poor substitute, but any buffer between his body and the harsh, metal floor was appreciated, especially if he would be staying here for three days.

He hoped it was less than that.

The backup plan of returning to Megaton eases the constant buzzing of the contract a fair amount, but each time he walks past his employer’s pod, catching their sleeping, too still form, he’s forced to fight back the unbridled urge to tear open the pod with his bare hands.

Keeping busy staves off the feeling, but there isn’t a lot to do. He’s already counted his bullets more times than there have been sunrises. Pacing the eerie halls of the Vault was unappealing and straying too far from the pods only made him feel worse. He decides to dig out Briar’s copy of Paradise Lost and thumbs through it a bit. The entire time he wishes he could be listening to the radio instead.

He ends up watching Briar more than anything.

Though it calmed his nerves, the act itself made him feel like a lecher. A lot of people stared at his employer. There were a lot of reasons for that; Briar was visibly young, and they lacked the distinct malnourished look that everyone raised in the Wastelands had. They were lean, not starved, and the black recon suit they wore highlighted that. While average height, anyone with the misfortune of standing next to him was cursed to look petite by comparison. Together, the two of them struck an odd-looking pair; a jaded, towering ghoul and a cagey, smooth skin with a sniper’s rifle. It sounded like the beginning of a terrible joke.

His life, in many ways, was also a terrible joke.

Ruminating on that gets him through the rest of the first day and most of the second. It used to be easy to blank out and have hours, sometimes entire days, just blur in his mind. There were many years under Ahzrukhal’s service that simply melded together, with the only instances breaking up the sheer monotony being the times that Ahzrukhal mustered up the energy to order him to do something particularly humiliating.

A favorite of theirs had been to offer him a beer, only to then empty it out all over the floor before ordering him to lap up the stale puddle like a mongrel. No matter how often they ordered it, it still roused a good laugh out of Ahzrukhal. The humiliation had been sharp the first time, something that left him reeling, but after the second and then third, it became as simple as breathing.

Not even being ordered to do it with patrons still in the bar hindered his ability to crouch to the wooden, sticky floors, bow his head, and drink the piss swill that barely passed as beer.
When he became indifferent to one of Ahzrukhal’s sadistic games, they would create another, and another, always having an endless well of creativity when it came to the contract and how best to subjugate him.

Shooting them had been kind.

If given the chance to do it again, he thinks he would have made their death slower. He fondly imagines smashing Ahzrukhal’s face into the bar counter until all they can do is convulse. Pouring a beer over the gore afterwards would have been a nice touch. Still, it was a relief just to have the sick bastard dead.

The night of the second day leaves him restless. It has been thirty-two hours since Briar entered the simulation and they have not stirred once in all that time. He isn’t sure if that’s a good or bad sign. Either way, he checks their vitals more frequently. By now he can recite the first page of Paradise Lost from memory with the number of times he’s picked it up, tried to get interested, before inevitably getting bored and tossing the thing; doomed to repeat the process.

At hour forty, as he’s contemplating tipping over one of the Robobrains for entertainment, a loud metallic sound, like something unlocking, startles him to his feet. Peering down at the pod, he finds the lid partially open and his employer waking up bit by bit with each second.

Briar’s eyes flicker open slowly and the ball of dread that had sat in his gut leaves at last. They blink a few times, disoriented as their consciousness separates from the simulation. As clarity returns, so does panic. He holds up the lid for them as they tear off the headset and jump out of the pod with a noticeable wobble.

“Careful.” He warns.

“I’m fine! Is he…” Briar fusses while beginning to take a step. Their knees buckle almost immediately.

He slips an arm around their waist and prevents the fall he’d seen coming a mile away.

“Be careful.” He says again, voice a low rumble.

Briar lifts their face to meet his steely gaze and swallows hard, before nodding once.

The same loud, metal sound from earlier sounds off and they both watch as the pod at the end opens.

“Dad?” His employer says breathlessly as the man exits the pod. They slip away from his grasp and walk with clumsy eagerness over to their father. Before their father has even fully opened their eyes, Briar pulls them into a back breaking hug.

“Son? What on earth are you doing here? What’s going on?” They question with growing unease and when their eyes fall upon him, they sharpen with accusation. “And who is that?”

“I came here to find you, isn’t that obvious? Good thing, too, unless you liked being a dog.” Briar explains with a tone that made it clear they thought their father was an idiot. They separated after a moment and his employer gestured for him to come over. “This is Charon, my partner. We watch each other’s backs. Charon, this is James.”

It is obvious as he approaches the two that James dislikes a lot of things about the scenario being painted before them.

“I can’t say that I will miss the feeling of walking on all fours. Or wearing a collar.” James winces. “I must admit this is all rather…confusing. I don’t know how long I’ve been trapped in that pod. It feels like just yesterday I left Rivet City to investigate this place and while I’m thankful that you rescued me, I find myself despairing that you left the Vault.”

His employer balks at that.

“The entire reason I left the Vault is because YOU left without a word. Considering how things went, don’t you think it would have been simpler to do this together from the start?” They point out.

“And risk my only son’s life?” James retorts. “I was hoping that after my exit, the Overseer would have sealed the Vault, making it impossible for anyone to follow me. Including you.”

Briar gets this funny look on their face, like someone had their hand around their heart strings and was using them to play a morbid tune.

“What?” His employer warbles, taking a step back from their father.

“I wanted a different life for you! It may have meant that you spent the rest of your life hating me, but your safety was well worth it.” James confesses. They reach out to his employer, but the touch is easily avoided.

“My safety?” Briar parrots quietly, before growing much louder, “They tried to kill me when you left! People I had known my entire life! I-” And his employer lowers their face. “I had to kill Stevie. He was right by the exit, and he wouldn’t let me leave and he had a gun…”

“Son—”

“He had a gun, but I had one too.” Briar says with conviction. “So, I did what I had to, and I don’t regret it. I’d do all of it again if you needed me to because you’re the only family I’ve got, but if we’re going to move forward, I need you to promise me you won’t leave like that again. I won’t listen to another word you say until you can promise me that!”

One thing dear old dad seems to have in spades is patience. For all their son’s yelling, all James does is close their eyes and take a deep breath, before releasing it.

“I promise.” James says firmly. “And you’re right; I could have done this all differently, had I the foresight. I’m so sorry, son. You’re so much braver and tougher than I ever envisioned, and you had no other choice to be because of me.”

Next to him, Briar curses, and their eyes look suspiciously glassy as they look away.

James sighs knowingly, and they spread their arms out wide.

“Come here, sweetheart.” Their father invites, and Charon scoffs at the very notion that what they said absolves them of everything, but to his shock, Briar sniffs wetly once, before walking swiftly back into James’ arms.

There was no stopping family, it seemed. Rolling his eyes, he looks away from the two and stares at a wall. After a tick of silence, someone clears their throat.

“I know you have a lot of questions for me, but I’m afraid that they’ll have to wait until we reach Rivet City. I think it would be best if we head there now, unless Tranquility Lane is taking its toll on you.” James suggests.

Briar shakes their head.

“It’d be smarter to travel separately. Three people leaving the same Vault at the same time is bound to get someone’s attention and we can’t risk whatever this ‘project’ of yours is.” They explain.

“When did you become so crafty?” James blinks, before laughing softly. “As much as it pains me to admit, I think you’re right. I would hate for my aspirations to bring you any further harm- physically or mentally, and I trust that your…companion will keep your safety close in mind.”

Their father eyes him for perhaps the second time during the entire reunion. He rewards them with harsh silence.

“We’ll be fine.” Briar scoffs, insulted. “Are YOU going to be okay? If I find you in another pod somewhere…”

“You are relentless. Just like your mother.” James sighs and they set a hand on Briar’s shoulder, squeezing lightly. “I will see you at Rivet City. Be safe, my son.”

Briar sets their hand atop his and squeezes back.

“Same to you.”

James lingers momentarily to eye the Vault, the pods, and lastly their son, before offering a curt nod and walking off. His employer watches their father disappear further and further down the halls, until they take a sharp right and disappear.
Briar deflates with a sigh and shoots him a weary look.

“Sorry you had to see that.” They say first and foremost, a light flush on their cheeks. “How are you, by the way? Feeling okay?”

He leans against one of the pods, arms crossed.

“I’m fine.”

Briar shuffles from one foot to the other.

“Oh, okay. That’s good. How long was I out?”

“Forty hours.” He answers.

“Forty?? It only felt like I was in Tranquility Lane for a few hours... What a mind fuck.” His employer shakes their head, still a little pale in the face. “What did you do the entire time? I can’t imagine sitting around for forty hours was entertaining.”

He shrugs.

“Read that book of yours.” And he juts his chin towards their duffel.

Briar follows his line of sight before quirking a brow.

“Paradise Lost? How far did you get?”

“First page.” He says, expecting a smart-ass remark, but Briar snorts good naturedly and nods in agreement.

“Same as me. I bought it from Tulip back in Underworld and meant to give it a read, but it’s honestly not my first choice in books. Or second, for that matter.” And Briar begins to carefully stretch out their disused body, starting with their neck and shoulders, before giving their middle a twist.

He pointedly looks elsewhere while they warm up for the walk back to Rivet City.

“And what would be your first choice?” He prompts.

A pause.

“Uhm, it’s a secret.”

“You and your secrets.” He rolls his eyes. He mutters under his breath, purposely loud enough for them to hear it, “It’s porn mags, isn’t it?”

“It is NOT porn magazines!”

“So its something worse.” He remarks with an air of jotting something down.

“Ugh, no, it’s just—embarrassing.”

“…More embarrassing than porn?”

Briar shuts their mouth with a click, face reddening.

“It’s a different kind of embarrassing…” They mutter stubbornly.

“Uh-huh.” He tuts, mocking, and figures that by now they’ve stretched enough and starts lifting his bag and shotgun, before picking theirs up and holding it out for them. His employer accepts their things with begrudging thanks. “Are you ready to go yet?”

Briar adjusts the strap on their sniper’s rifle and blows some hair out of their face.

“We’d be gone yesterday if you’d stopped developing a sense of humor out of nowhere.” They deride.

“You always get bitchy when you’re embarrassed.”

“You—”

He smirks and breaks out into a brisk stride, following the same path James took on their way out of Vault 112. Briar has no choice other than to follow and the sound of their hurried footsteps rouses a gravely chuckle out of him.

His employer says nothing as they catch up, silently sulking. He digs his pack of cigarettes out, setting one between his lips before gently nudging Briar’s side with his elbow. They consider the pack briefly before making a great show of acceptance.

The two of them smoke on the way out of the tunnels, through the main garage, and once at the lobby of Smith Casey’s, his employer cuts into a run to get to the door first. It’s practically tradition at this point, and while it makes the contract pulse with warning, he doesn’t move to stop them.

With a shit-eating grin plastered to their face, Briar wrenches open the front door.

“After you,” They quip, not at all looking outside before a fist flies out of seemingly nowhere and connects with their nose.

Chapter Text

Blood spews from Briar’s nose like a shaken can and they stagger backwards drunkenly to the floor with a muffled yelp, dazed by the sudden punch. The contract demands that he move, demands that he pulls them out of the line of fire and tuck them somewhere safe, but even as it blares like an alarm bell in his skull, he is only so fast as he throws himself forward, propelled by an all too familiar brew of dread and adrenaline.

He throws himself at the door a second too late. A gun goes off and the next thing he hears is Briar howling in pain. As he’s pushing against the door, he lowers to the ground and grabs a large wrench. It fits just right between the pull handle and successfully barricades the only entrance for the time being. Various fists begin to bang against the metal, and from a glance he is not sure if the door was thick enough to block off any incoming bullets.

He drops heavily to his knees next to them.

The bullet had landed dead center on their left thigh and was gushing a steady flow of blood onto the floor. By the noise from outside, there were only a few precious moments before the door was busted down. Through the pain, Briar’s eyes shine with clarity. They were injured, but not shaken, and a small part of him is relieved, despite the sting of his failure to protect them.

“Help me over to the door. I’m going to set a mine, and then I need you to get us both away from it.” His employer hisses through clenched jaw. They swiftly reach into their duffel and take out a single frag mine.

His employer says nothing as he scoops them into his arms and just as quickly as he lifts them, he sets them down by the door, offering his own weight for them to lean against as the mine was delicately rigged.

The banging only gets louder.

“There’s no running away now, angel! You’re boxed in and we’re not leaving until we collect your head. You’ve been fucking us over for too long— no longer.” One of the them shouts, “If you come out willingly, we’ll make your death nice and clean. If you make me tear down this goddamn door, me and my buddies are going to break you piece by piece and toy with the rest of you. You don’t want that, do you?”

Briar’s hands falter.

“Focus.” He reprimands over the cacophony.

They nod quickly before finishing with the mine.

The high-pitched beep that would typically give away a mine was drowned by the noise of their assailants. If things went well, their assailants wouldn’t know what hit them. He picks Briar up again and minds his feet while running out of the lobby and into the garage.

“Put me behind a car. I’ll pick off whoever you don’t get.” Briar wheezes, pointing at the nearest hunk of junk.

“How many are there?”

“Five. Talon Company mercs wearing combat armor and—”

The door to Smith Casey’s is kicked open and the door triggers the frag mine. The explosion rocks the lobby, but from the safety of the garage all it does is make his ears ring. He jogs away from the car to not give away Briar’s position and falls into a crouch against the wall leading into the garage.

It’s hard to parse through all the noise and tell just how many of the mercenaries were left, but there was at least one, as they were cussing up a storm, furious at the sudden death of their teammates. They call his employer all sorts of names, footfalls thunderous as they grew closer and closer.

“You thought we were going to fuck you up before? I’m going to ruin that pretty face of yours! You’re going to WISH that mine killed me.” The merc barks, and their footsteps are so close now he can feel it more than he hears it.

He waits, shotgun ready.

A pair of jeans suddenly slips into view, and when the merc looks down, noticing him crouched, he empties the first barrel into their kneecaps. At point blank range the shot ruins not only their knees but brutalizes the merc’s thighs and lower legs.

Bits of bones and skin splatter against the wall and the merc drops their gun before dropping to the ground themselves. Finishing the kill is easy; he only needs to empty the other barrel of his shotgun into their skull. The mercenary’s head gives way to his bullet and becomes a red crater in the concrete.

That should have been it, but when he looks up he’s greeted with the butt of a rifle. It smashes into his jaw with enough force he’s nearly knocked out cold. Somehow, he catches himself against the wall instead of plummeting onto his ass. His vision is spotty as he attempts to straighten, but it isn’t so messed up he can’t see another attack coming: a knife.

It is by instinct alone that he raises an arm in time to shield his face from being flayed off his skull. The blade instead catches the length of his forearm, tearing open through skin and muscle like butter. He feels the blood coat his arm and prepares to feel a lot worse when the mercenary rears to strike again.

“Get your fucking hands off of him!” Briar shouts, and the bullet they send flying collides with the very hand holding up the knife.

All but two of the mercenary’s fingers are blown clean off and the knife falls to the floor with a clatter. They stare at their mangled hand in shock, watching as the severed blood vessels squirted out blood like a hose riddled with punctures.

When the pain kicks in seconds later, a deep gurgle starts in the back of mercenary’s throat before erupting into a spit riddled bellow, their attention now fully on his employer and the position they had just given away. He reaches out, clamoring to stop them, and earns a shove; succinctly knocking him down at last.

He watches uselessly as they abandon him in favor of stepping over their comrade’s corpse and making their way over to the car Briar is tucked behind. It only takes one hand to shoot, so the mercenary lets loose with as many bullets as they can before they had to reload, by the sounds of it. He peels himself off the ground, heaving and disoriented still, but left with no option but to stop this now before—

“Charon!” Briar calls out, and they sound terrified. Whatever they wanted to say next gets silenced and he hears something desperately banging against the floor.

He has only one option; finish this and finish it now.

He picks himself off the floor and readies his gun; murder on his mind as he stalks towards the bastard currently sitting atop Briar. Shooting them dead in the back risked the spray hitting Briar, so he cocks his gun and sends the first shot into the ceiling.

It works as intended and the lone merc jumps off them, faltering a bit as they stand up. They aren’t standing for much longer, not after he sends the second shot right into their chest, leaving a hole where their sternum used to be. The Talon mercenary’s eyes widen, mouth parting, and they look down at their chest in a stupor before falling forward. Their face makes a dull thud as it hits the concrete.

The garage falls mercifully silent.

Briar’s chest heaves up and down rapidly. Their eyes fixate on the still warm corpse bleeding out inches away from their shoes. When he approaches, they don’t look at him. Even when he crashes onto the ground next to them, their attention remains on the corpse.

“Briar.” He says, and when that garners no response, he pokes his head into their line of vision to block the body.

Their eyes lock with his. The blood, gore and fear made his employer look almost unrecognizable.

“It’s done.” He tells them in case their brain was still struggling to process the last few minutes of the strife.

Briar chews on that, nodding once, twice, eyes still locked, before blinking rapidly as the words truly sink in. Or maybe they blink to stop the tears that stubbornly well up.

“I—” They start, sounding panicked, “That was—"

“I know. I’ve got you.” He reassures, already setting his gun aside and taking out the medical supplies.

His employer was in bad shape; a shot thigh, broken nose, and from the raspy state of their vocal cords, he realizes that the last merc had been choking them with their singular good hand. Briar’s voice suddenly cutting out and the repeated thudding sound, the clamoring of feet as air was stolen, made a lot of sense now.

He almost breaks the plastic latch of the first-aid box in his sudden fit of vitriol. Briar casts him a wary look and he internally chastises himself before continuing in a more subdued manner. He pulls out a Stimpack, readies the needle, and injects it a few inches away from the bullet entry on their thigh.

The first Stimpack closes the wound and mends any fracturing on their femur, but it would take two to get Briar walking confidently on both feet, so he takes out another and injects a little further away.

It is the first time throughout their journey that he’s had to treat Briar with his own hands. It feels less like a casual observation and more like a mark being added to a ledger. His employer makes for a good patient. They’re quiet, save for their ragged, wet breathing and they take each injection without fuss, either too panicked to move or beyond used to needles.

He uses a third Stimpack on their neck to fix the broken nose. It was probably possible to inject directly into their face, but screwing up something like that didn’t seem worth the risk, especially when he wasn’t at all a man of science. Proper healing and a splint would prevent their nose from setting crookedly, but the Stimpack alone doesn’t do a terrible job.

“You’d think that was the first time I almost died.” Briar laughs, the sound uneasy, and they run a filthy hand through their hair. They swallow hard, eyes gleaming like marbles, and nudge his leg with their knee. “Are you okay? That’s a nasty looking cut. I can stitch it up for you, if you want. It’s the least I can do after you used all our Stimpacks on me.”

The calm his employer speaks to him with is forced, and the steadiness of it wavers off and on like a dying bird. There was no compartmentalizing the panic of their near death, not this time, but Briar stubbornly continued the attempt anyways.

If his employer wanted to pretend that they weren’t on the cusp of an emotional breakdown, he would do so as well and spare their dignity.

He offers his injured arm and watches them take out the suture needle, thread, and lighter. The needle is passed over the flame for about a minute before the thread is knotted in the loop. Briar stiffly adjusts to sit closer, offering their thigh as a table for him to rest his forearm. The feel of the needle going through his skin is easy to ignore. Half the nerve endings being jabbed at barely functioned.

He’s more uncomfortable with the tugging sensation than the blips of pain.

Having something to do calms Briar down. Every emotion eventually gives way to the work that needed to be done and it’s proven correct by how his employer’s hands miraculously steady as they patch him up.

When the last stitch is tugged into place, Briar uncaps the bottle of high proof vodka they carry around as disinfectant and pours a generous amount over the wound. THAT rouses a hiss out of him, but he’s not alone in that. Briar pours vodka over their thigh and hisses just as loudly, if not more, before capping the bottle and tossing it in their duffel.

Wounds dressed and equilibrium balancing out once again, he stands up for what felt like the dozenth time that day and tugs Briar along with him; always mindful to keep his touch firm, but light.

The frag mine from earlier meant that the only bodies capable of being looted were the two in the garage. He shuts down Briar’s offer to help and is surprised when they stay put by the car, leaning against it now while they start to smoke. They watch him make quick work of the merc by the garage’s entrance; stripping their salvageable armor like he would a Radstag’s hide.

It was dented here and there, but the combat armor would fit him perfectly, if Briar had no plans on selling it. Another boon was the Chinese assault rifle that still had most of its magazine left. The ammunition would be easy enough to find once that was used up and aside from some loose caps and chems, all that remained was a folded scrap of paper.

He gives it a quick read.

There isn’t much written, but what little there is sheds an ominous light.

“What’s this?” His employer says when he gives them the note. Their brows furrow as they begin to recite the neatly written scrawl. “Find ‘Briar’ and show how we treat people that fail to live up to Mr. Tenpenny’s expectations. Do not fail me. You know what will happen if you arouse my displeasure.”

“It’s signed off with a ‘B’. Any idea who that is?” He asks.

“…A pretty good one. When I first got to Megaton there was this guy at the bar who tried hiring me in hopes of setting off the bomb and killing everyone. He only offered his last name—Burke. I obviously turned him down, but I figured if he was crazy enough to ask someone a request like that point blank, he needed to be taken care of.”

“But?”

“I was stupid.” They confess with acute self-loathing. “I told the Sheriff about everything, and they escorted Burke out of town with a polite warning to never show their face around Megaton again. If I had been focused on anything other than trailing after my dad, I would have put the pieces together and realized that Burke would come back and bite me in the ass for ratting him out.”

“It’s not just him you have to worry about now. Burke is aligned with whoever this Tenpenny person is.” He points out.

Silence would have been kinder.

Briar stares at the note in an unseeing manner, hand trembling and eyes glistening with the same tears that have been recycled over and over the past several minutes. For a time, they don’t even seem to breathe, body so rigid with stress that they all but petrify.

“Briar,” He begins, only to stop when they hold up a hand.

“I’m fine. I’ll be…fine.” They say, slipping the note into their pocket. Misery gives way to exhaustion, and with an almost dead look to their eyes, they add: “We should get moving. I can’t stand being in this place for another second.”

“I’ll grab the door this time.” Is probably not the smartest thing he could say, and while Briar has ignored him for less in the past, all his employer does now huff quietly.

Maybe even softly.

“Lead the way, then.” They say.

Chapter Text

The journey back to Rivet City is a grueling one.

They stop at Megaton for supplies but only that before leaving just as swiftly as they’d arrived. Briar hadn’t even spared a glance at their lonely home, and they barely said a word to the handful of townsfolk that flagged them down for conversation. Back on the road, his employer’s vow of silence only breaks to warn him of threats on the horizon or to remind him of what path they were taking.

Taking proper rests for sleep is forgone in favor of Briar tucking themselves in the least auspicious looking pile of rubble and curling up as tightly as they can before utterly collapsing from the world for twenty minutes while he stands guard. They talk and twitch restlessly in their sleep, arms curled around their sniper’s rifle like they were hugging it. It wouldn’t shock him if that was intentional with how much his employer sweet talks the damn thing.

It takes three of those catnaps to finally set sights on the hulking ship that was Rivet City. The waters around the boat look inky black as the sun continues to set. The guard standing aside the entrance isn’t an asshole like the other one and only eyes the two of them with morbid curiosity before giving a thumbs up and returning to the magazine they were reading.

Inside, Briar tears into a hasty stride. He follows suit and picks up the pace, earning a few looks from the settlers as they blitz past. They roll into the science lab like a storm. Briar pushes the door open so hard it hits the wall and startles the scientists huddled in the center of the room. A severe looking woman opens her mouth to tell Briar off for the scare, but the opportunity is stolen when James slips from behind a partition.

“Son! You’re here at last!” James says with palpable relief and walks over eagerly to set their hands on either of Briar’s shoulder.

Their smile dims as they begin to scrutinize their son’s appearance.

“Are you alright? You look…terrible. If I’m not mistaken, your nose is more crooked than I remember. I hope that’s only the poor memory of an aging father, and not the harsh reality that someone has laid hands on my only son.”

Briar raises a hand and sets it over one of their father’s.

“Ran into some trouble—nothing two guns couldn’t fix.” Briar says neutrally. They squeeze their father’s hand reassuringly. “Now that we’re here, why don’t you tell us about this enigmatic project of yours?”

“You almost make it sound mystical.”

“I’d say anything capable of making my father disappear into thin air is a magic trick of itself.” Briar says without missing a beat.

The wince it garners out of James’ is deeply satisfying.

“A poor trick,” James blinks before lowering their head minutely with shame. “And one that I deeply regret. Allow me to enlighten you at last on what this has all been about and why it is so important that I finish it.”

Briar nods and allows themselves to be guided over to where the other scientists are all standing near a lab station. He tries to follow behind his employer, but one of the scientists, the severe looking woman, holds up a hand.

“I understand your son being here, but I think that allowing a stranger to listen in on our plans isn’t the best idea.” The woman explains, her dark eyes raking over his large form with scrutiny.

“Normally, I would agree full-heartedly, Madison, but—” James begins, but the woman shakes her head fiercely, unwilling to hear the rest.

“But what? More exceptions? Are we not following protocols for a reason? Every person that learns of the project is another risk to the project’s integrity.” Madison raises a hand to point a finger accusingly.

James pinches the bridge of their nose as if to ward off an oncoming migraine.

“With all the work that needs to be done, don’t you think we need as many helping hands as we can afford? We’re scientists; not weathered guns, after all. What about the work that needs to be done outside a lab? Outside the safety of a settlement?”

“Then we hire muscle and tell them nothing of the jobs assigned to them! Simple.” Madison retorts.

“I trust Charon with my life.” Briar speaks up at last. His employer eyes the room and its occupants with an air of thinly veiled revulsion. “You can accept we’re a package deal OR you can hire some goons and pray to God they don’t shoot up the place, but I’m not going to stand here and beg for the privilege of helping you.”

If his employer had a knack for anything, it was demonstrating how stupid they thought someone was. That, and shooting.

Madison stands rigidly in place, tiptoeing outright sneering at Briar. Behind her, the other scientists appear uncomfortable, but not wholly against the proposal.

“…I think it would be wise to pick up the conversation in the morning when we are well rested, don’t you all agree?” James smoothly intervenes.

They go so far as to make eye contact with each of their colleagues, nodding encouragingly, and when their eyes land on Madison’s, James allows his lips to curve into a reproachful smile.

Madison breaks after a few seconds, groaning loudly.

“You’re right, there’s no point in continuing at this rate.” Madison sniffs. “We’ll call it a day and make our decision tomorrow. Whatever the decision, we can finally get this project moving forward—finally.” And without farewell or preamble, she turns on heel and walks deeper into the lab, clearly wanting to be left alone.

“Thank you, Madison!” James calls out. They don’t get a response. Sighing, they look back over at their son. “I apologize, but I think it would be best if you two left for the time being. I am sure that everyone will come to their senses in the morning and you, my dear, look in dire need of some sleep.”

“…I could use some sleep.” Briar agrees quietly after a tic; their expression stormy as they shifted their weight from one foot to the other.

“As could I. We will talk in the morning.” James pulls his employer into a brief embrace. When they start to pull away a moment later, Briar clings, which makes them laugh softly. When they separate, James offers the two of them a polite nod. “Rest well.”

Upon exiting the lab, Briar kicks the door shut and leans against it. His employer has that manic gleam in their eyes again and when they gaze at him, the look only burns brighter.

“I need a drink.” They say with urgency.

He knows with certainty that the only alcohol between the two of them is the bottle of vodka they use as disinfectant. There were only a few swigs left, so they head down to the market.

It takes a blink to procure a single bottle of whiskey and gin respectively and the next several minutes are spent at the clothing store where Briar shops for a set of casual clothes for the two of them since they’ll be in Rivet City for the next few days. They don’t ask him his size, simply pausing their conversation with the merchant to eye his shoulders, waist, then his legs.

When asked about a preference on the clothes, he can muster no request other than that the material being black or an equally dark color. It saved him the time of washing blood stains out and helped his large frame not stick out like neon sign while he was trailing behind his shadow of an employer.

Clothes and booze in hand, they head to the hotel. Briar pays for a single night but makes sure to inform the owner that it is likely they’ll be needing the room for an extended amount of time. He gets the door unlocked and checks out the room first. It looked nearly identical to the last room they’d booked apart from an extra chair.

Briar spills into the room and dumps everything onto the bed, save for their new clothes, which they tuck under their arm on their way to the bathroom. The door shuts with a click and a second later the shower kicks on.

He stands there stupefied for a second before closing the door, locking it, and stepping inside fully. He shrugs off his gun, setting it on one of the chairs, and tosses his duffel onto the bed with the rest of his employer’s belongings.

The bed creaks weakly under his weight as he sits on the edge.

A hot shower would be nice, but just sitting down after the whirlwind of a week they’d experienced has its own merits. Little by little the tension in his body leaves him; soothed by the presence of four walls and a locked door. He peels off the combat armor he was still getting used to and sets it on the floor. It had been some time since he was able to just sit around in casual clothes. He finds the experience pleasant, if not a little unsettling.

The shower stops but it isn’t until several minutes later that the door opens; steam billowing into the room as Briar steps out, now dressed in their new clothes. Seeing them outside of the recon suit was a first. The young man standing in a cotton t-shirt, plaid long sleeve, and acid-washed jeans looked nothing like the sniper he’d been traveling with.

Like this, Briar could pass as one of the settlers roaming the ship. He sees now the life that James’ would have preferred for their son. A calm life seemed insulting to someone with his employer’s skillsets. Briar could accomplish more with a warm gun in hand than they would shut away in some rat’s cage for the rest of their lives.

“Something wrong?” Briar asks, now walking over to him with the beginnings of a frown. When they draw near the bed, he catches a scent other than the bar of soap in the bathroom.

It’s sweet.

Floral.

The smell only grows stronger when Briar takes a seat next to him. Their brown hair had been combed neatly but was already starting to curl up rebelliously, especially the longer bits that were growing out just underneath their ears.

“Nothing.” He answers.

Briar eyes him for a second, dubious, before moving their sights to the bottles of alcohol sitting on the nightstand.

“Find any glasses?”

“You need one to drink?” He challenges.

“No, but it’d be nice to be civilized every once in a while.”

He grabs both bottles, holding them up in askance until Briar takes the gin, leaving him with the whiskey. Briar tears the cap off the bottle and throws their head back to take a deep drink; eyes closed.

He watches their Adam’s apple bounce as they swallow the mouthful of liquor. They lower the bottle with a wet pop, lips glistening. He ignores how the sound affects the animal part of his brain in favor of cracking open his whiskey and drinking.

“Think the scientists are going to change their minds?” He asks casually as Briar starts to clear the bed of all their belongings. They could do it faster if they used both hands, but the bottle of gin remains glued to their palm.

Bed cleared, Briar lounges across the bed on their side, head propped up by one hand. He moves to sit at the head of the bed, so he doesn’t have to look over his shoulder to see them.

“I’d bet my house that they will.” His employer returns confidently, using the bottle to point at him. “And, in the rare instance I’m wrong, we have plenty of other things to do instead of being their errand boys.”

“Like finding out who the hell Mr. Tenpenny is?”

“Yeah. No matter what, dealing with the mercenaries is our biggest issue.”

“And you’re fine with leaving your dad here?” He asks.

“I’d be leaving him here anyways if we get the greenlight to help with the project. At least he’ll get a farewell when I leave—that was a lot more than I got.” Briar says testily before taking another sip.

“I mean, what the hell was he thinking leaving like that? James is smart, but my GOD, is he capable of being the dumbest man alive sometimes. Do you want to know how many times he’s had to be treated for accidentally drinking coffee he’d left out for days on end?” They continue, before not a second later bursting out:

“More than once! He’s a doctor! I have this man’s DNA—do you think that’s reassuring to me when I start getting old?”

“If he heard you say that he’d cry.” He smirks.

“He could stand to cry a bit after all the shit we’ve had to deal with. So could those scientists. UGH!” Briar exclaims before hopping off the bed and beginning to pace the room. “And the way they LOOKED at you?”

A meek group of scientists unable to decide between ignoring his existence or glaring daggers at him hardly registered as something that was his problem.

“You take everything to heart.” He remarks.

“Where else am I supposed to take it?”

“Do a better job of hiding it, then.” He shrugs.

“Noted. Any other glaring flaws I should be aware of?” Briar rolls their eyes.

“You’re a terrible liar.” He says so casually that Briar stops their pacing to stare at him. “You waste time on frivolous things. You have a stubborn streak a mile long and it gets worse when you think you’re right, which you always think you are.”

“…I can’t argue any of that.”

There isn’t a trace of insult readable on their features.

“And I know that if anyone other than your dad or I said any of that to you, you’d shoot them on the spot, so add a quick temper and an even quicker trigger finger on the list.” He concludes.

“Don’t be too sure about that— I’m already starting to think of ways to get back at you.”

“No, you aren’t. You’re lying.”

“How do you know that??” His employer asks exasperatedly.

“You start preening and fidgeting. You mess with your hair—you’re doing it right now.”

Briar lowers their hand immediately from where it’d been curling a lock of hair.

“Point taken, but it’s not like I need to keep my guard up with you. Not anymore, at least.” They explain.

“You meant it then. Earlier.”

“What? That I trust you with my life? Of course, I meant it.” Having their fill of pacing, Briar returns to the bed and takes a seat in the middle, legs crossed. The bottle of gin is tucked between their legs and their fingertips dance on the neck hypnotically.

“Back at Vault 112…” They continue uncomfortably. “I was sure I was dead. My vision was starting to black out, my lungs were burning and no matter how much I kicked or pushed, I couldn’t get that merc off me. After everything I went through to find my dad, just to die to some asshole soon after— it drives me insane thinking about it.”

“Glad you didn’t leave me behind in Underworld?”

“Ha! I deserve that.” Briar cackles, “And I am glad, by the way. I know you aren’t here because you want to be, but I should still say it, so…Thank you. For saving my life.” They finish awkwardly.

“Don’t mention it.” He says nonchalantly, when an idea strikes him, “Actually, I’ve got a question.”

“Shoot.”

“About the things the mercenaries were saying to you…” He tries for delicacy and fails miserably. The words tumble out just as blunt and tactless as usual and he can feel the indignity leaking out of his employer’s pores as they slowly lower the bottle from their lips.

“You mean how they were threatening to have their way with me after the fight?” Briar asks sharply, giving no room for misinterpretation, “What about it?”

He isn’t sure if he’s ready for the answer, but hesitating would accomplish nothing, seeing as how he’s already insulted them.

“Did they ever…?” He begins to ask.

“No! Absolutely not. God, why would you ask that? I almost upended my drink.”

He turns away from them.

“You were shaking. It was the first time I’ve seen you scared.”

“What you heard them say was polite in comparison to the shit they usually say to me.” Briar explains uncomfortably. “I can handle the name calling, the whistling, the insults—all of it. But the other stuff….”

“What ‘other stuff’?” He sets the whiskey down before he breaks the bottle and levels Briar with a scowl.

“Nothing any woman out in the Wastes hasn’t dealt with. It’s not worth bringing up every little thing some creep has done.”

He crosses his arms and deepens his scowl. There aren’t many people that can stand the pressure of his stare, he knows, but with Briar it’s nearly comical how quickly their resolve breaks when it comes to him specifically.

Maybe comical wasn’t the word he was looking for.

“Fine, fine!” Briar relents, flopping onto their back in what he thinks is a ploy to not look him in the face anymore.

“So, uhm, this one time, I got pinned against a wall by one of those assholes, right? I was expecting him to get a few punches in, maybe stab me, but I didn’t expect him to lean in and…smell my hair. He even managed to cut a piece off before I got loose and fled. The degenerate!”

The thought of some low life obsessively holding onto a stolen lock of hair, like it was some sort of trophy won from his employer, set his blood on fire.

“I’m going to gut him like a fish.” He manages to say instead of outright snarling like an animal.

“I appreciate the sentiment.”

“Not a sentiment. I meant it literally.”

“You’d do that for me?” Briar says incredulously, and a little slurred, he notices, as they push up on their elbows. The light flush that had started on their cheeks has now spread to the entirety of their face, the tips of their ears, and even across their neck.

“I’ll make them grovel at your feet before I do it, too.”

“That’s—!” They suck in a breath.

“Too much?” He smirks, always eager to poke fun at their moral standings, but finds for once that his assumptions are incorrect.

Briar isn’t appalled at his offer.

Far from it.

They look at him now as if he’d personally hung each star in the irradiated sky.

“I wasn’t expecting it, is all.” Briar says so quietly that he almost doesn’t hear it. They raise a hand to idly curl some of their hair; tongue peeking past crooked teeth to moisten their lips, before asking, “Since you asked me such a mood-killer of a question, can I ask something? I was wondering if you could tell me something about yourself…”

When he doesn’t answer immediately Briar is quick to clarify their request.

“It doesn’t have to be anything serious! It can be anything at all—even something small.”

The lip of the bottle hovers on his lips as he considers that.

“I think this whiskey is shit. Is that something?” He answers.

The bed shakes as a series of ditzy giggles slips from his employer. It’s an undignified sound, and the way Briar holds up the back of their hand to cover their mouth does nothing to detract from that.

“I DID say anything.” They concede.

Briar doesn’t push the conversation further, instead popping the cap back onto their gin and rolling half off the bed to set it on the floor. The sheets are momentarily draped across his lap as they settle in properly for bed.

Maybe it’s because he’s not pushed, that he finds himself offering a sincere answer.

“I like listening to the radio.” He answers just as they’re rolling onto their side.

“…Want me to turn it on?”

“Not going to keep you up?” He questions right back.

His employer didn’t sleep enough as it was—he wasn’t going to keep them up with a minor indulgence.

“It won’t.” They assure.

The radio flicks on to Galaxy News Radio, thankfully in the middle of a song, instead of the DJ’s insufferable preaching. Briar adjusts the volume a little before relaxing their weight completely against the mattress, back turned to him.

Sleep should have them in seconds, helped along with copious amounts of booze and miles of hot footing it across the Wastes, but to his surprise, Briar speaks up again to tentatively ask: “…Got a favorite song?”

“Go to sleep.” He says too quickly. And with too much emotion— it sounds defensive, even to his own ears and it earns another giggle out of his employer.

He hates that he isn’t annoyed in the slightest.

Hates more that he’s charmed by the sound of their unbridled laughter, the sound of which knocks around in his skull incessantly the rest of the night; unforgettable even with the radio still playing.

Chapter Text

It isn’t often he sleeps, and he means really sleeps, but there’s no helping it this time. The adrenaline, the fear, the alcohol, the exhaustion—it makes for a fine tranquilizer. Sleep claims him the second he turns the radio off, and his head hits the pillow.

It is a deep, dreamless sleep. One he rouses from only once, when Briar inevitably moves closer to leech off his warmth. He falls back asleep in seconds, unbothered by the face smushed into his back or the knee digging into the underside of his thigh.

Morning arrives with the tell-tale sound of his employer’s alarm. He stirs at the annoying beeping and sits up immediately to yank the cord of the lamp on the nightstand. Soft yellow light illuminates the room just enough for him to find Briar’s left arm and turn the alarm off. They don’t even stir at his ministrations, only mumbling a little as he eyes the time.

It was seven o’clock exactly.

Better to get ready and talk with the scientists as soon as possible. That’s the plan, at least, but when he starts to jostle Briar’s shoulder to gently wake them, they make the most pathetic whining sound he’s ever heard; face pinching in the same manner as someone being flogged, before moving away from him and rolling over.

He still needs to shower and change into his new clothes, so he decides to be merciful for the time being and lets them sleep in. He hardly makes a sound as he grabs everything he needs and slips into the bathroom. He sets the lock in place with a quiet click. It was nothing personal against Briar; merely something he did with every employer.

A locked door gave the same assurances as a loaded gun, at times.

He undresses with utilitarian efficiency; filthy clothes in one pile, clean clothes set atop the tank of the toilet. He cranks the water as hot as it can go and waits. In the meantime, he peels off the bandaging on his forearm and sets it on the rim of the sink. The stitches looked good, and the gash itself had no sign of infection. He would need to make sure it stayed dry when he showered, but other than that it would be fine.

He notices something else on the rim of the sink: a resealable bag with a few squares of white cloth tucked inside. The cloth looked damp with something and when he picks it up to inspect it, he catches a whiff of something floral. It’s perfume, and undeniably the smell that was on Briar last night. What was distinct about this one was that it lacked the spoiled undercurrent that most pre-war perfumes were found with.

He understands why they would be hesitant to bring such a rarity along with them and if he had to guess, the bottle was safely tucked away in their bedroom back in Megaton.

Appearances were important to Briar, that was obvious, but his employer made no effort to make their personality more digestible to those they met, so it had to be done for the pleasure of themselves alone.

‘I like soft things.’ He recalls them mentioning. He adds perfume and gin to the growing mental list of things they liked before slipping into the shower. The hot water stings momentarily, before his body adjusts, and his muscles slowly relax. He stays under the spray of water long after finishing washing up and only shuts it off when the temperature becomes lukewarm at best.

The entirety of his new ensemble is black, even down to the undergarments. He isn’t sure if he should applaud Briar’s effort in following his request to a T, or if they were being a smart ass. Either way, he doesn’t care. He has new clothes he didn’t have to pay for and readily throws them on.

The undershirt and plain button up fit him perfectly. He almost doesn’t need the belt but uses it anyways in case they need an emergency tourniquet. Dressed in no time, he briskly dries the few patches of red hair that remained on his head before tossing the towel to the floor and exiting the bathroom.

His employer’s soft snores greet him as he steps into the room. He walks over to them and admires the absolute bird’s nest their hair has been reduced to in their sleep. He shakes their shoulder firmly and doesn’t stop until their snoring cuts off abruptly and their eyes flicker open.

“I’m up, I’m up.” they say inelegantly, a trail of drool glistening at the corner of their mouth. They start to kick the sheets off and sit up but the second he starts to walk away he sees them lay back down. He marches back over with purpose and rips the sheets from the bed entirely. His employer yelps and curls inward like a dying, shriveling bug.

“I just need ten more minutes…” Briar pleads, face hidden behind the arm they’ve draped across their eyes.

“I gave you twenty already.”

He gets an insufferable groan in response.

Thankfully, Briar quits their whining and swings their legs over the side of the bed and stalks moodily into the bathroom. The door isn’t locked, nor is it shut all the way and from the small crack he can see his employer turning the sink on and beginning to wash their face.

He does some minor cleaning around the room as he waits, mostly just picking things off the floor or kicking things out of his way and when that’s finished, he sits on the edge of the bed and sparks up a cigarette. The nicotine helps his brain wake up and the smell of smoke lures his employer out of the bathroom while they’re still in the middle of combing their hair.

He takes out his pack of cigarettes again and begins to pull one out to offer it as Briar approaches, but they pluck the still burning cigarette from between his lips instead; humming contently as they puff from it while wandering back into the bathroom.

He blinks for a second, astounded by their nerve.

“Brat.” He sneers and takes out another cigarette for himself.

A few minutes later his employer exits the bathroom fresh-faced and looking mildly alert. They approach him again only to smudge out their stolen cigarette in the glass ashtray he brought over to the bed.

“Want to grab something to eat or head straight to the lab?” They ask.

“Lab. We can discuss plans over food later.”

With a nod, Briar slips their silenced 10mm pistol into their hip holster and pockets one of their switchblades. Their sniper’s rifle would remain in the room, along with his shotgun, but it would be foolish to be unarmed, even in the relative safety of a settlement. Minimally armed, the two of them lock up the room before heading to the lab.

There aren’t too many people up and about at this hour, but the same could not be said about scientists. He grabs the door to the lab and opens it for Briar with great flourish, even bowing his head a little just to mess with them. They roll their eyes so hard they nearly fall out of their skull and the thanks they offer him drips with insincerity.

The two of them shuffle into the science lab and aren’t surprised to find the entirety of the lab awake and working already. The smell of coffee is strong in the air—a pot must have just been brewed. James is standing near a whiteboard, mid sip of their own cup, when someone taps their shoulder and points over to where the two of them stand.

James turns around and eagerly waves over the two of them.

“Good morning. I hope you two slept well. Coffee?” They offer, raising their cup, and one of the scientists nearby coughs loudly before giving James a look. “Ah, it seems it is not my place to offer our limited supplies. You know how important caffeine is to men and women of science, I’m sure.”

That’s what they say, but as soon as the other scientists aren’t looking at him, James grabs another cup and fills it to the brim with piping hot coffee before carefully walking over and handing it over to their son.

Briar does a little jump of excitement at the prospect of coffee and eagerly accepts the cup from James before taking a few sips. He knows that his employer wants nothing more than to down the entire cup and maybe the rest of the pot itself, yet they lower the cup.

“Want to share?” They ask.

He takes a few sips and hands it back to Briar and the two of them repeat that process until the cup is empty, all the while James’ begins to look more and more uncomfortable. Their discomfort goes entirely unnoticed by their son.

Briar isn’t good at reading people, that was another flaw he could have mentioned the previous night, but where they failed in that aspect, he succeeded with flying colors. Years of being forced to deal with people—aggressive, conniving people— left him with no other option than to get good at reading mannerisms.

And right now, he can tell that James is wondering what exactly his relationship is with their son. ‘Partners’ is what Briar had told them initially, but he has the funny feeling that James will be asking for clarification on that.

Swift, high-heeled footsteps signal Madison’s arrival. The woman offers her colleagues curt good mornings, before grabbing herself a cup of coffee. Her face pinches at the dwindling amount left, but she makes no move to make a fresh pot of coffee after dumping the rest into her mug and turning towards the three of them.

Her dark eyes go to James first, before falling onto Briar, then himself.

“You’re here early. Good.” Madison says with resigned approval before walking over to them. She stands just at James’ side, a respectable distance between the two of them, but something about the closeness makes Briar’s shoulders tense. “I will cut straight to the chase and tell you that we have decided that it would be in our best interests, as well as the projects, to have you two assist us, in whatever capacity that you are willing and able to. I need not remind you that any lapse in secrecy towards our project is a lapse in the safety of the scientists here. Your father, included.” She explains.

Briar hums dismissively.

“Fantastic. Now, tell us about this project that we’ll be risking our lives for.” And Briar’s attention falls solely onto James.

“It started off as an idea, really,” Their father begins, breaking from Madison’s side to gently shepherd Briar over to one of the whiteboards. “Do you remember the bible passage that your mother was so fond of?”

The past tense doesn’t slip by him.

Briar’s face lowers a few degrees. Some hair falls into their face and shadows their eyes.

“Revelation 21:6.” His employer answers solemnly. “I am Alpha and Omega, the beginning and the end…”

“I will give unto him that is athirst of the fountain of the water of life, freely.” James finishes, their eyes looking a little shiny now as they regard their son. They clear their throat. “Apologies. I lost myself in the past for a second. A bad habit of mine, I’m afraid. Anyways, it was that very passage that was the inspiration for Project Purity.”

“And the purpose of said project is…?” Briar prompts, brow arched.

Their father’s eyes light up in a nearly manic way.

“Imagine free, clean water for everyone. What a difference it could make in the lives of everyone here in the Wastes! We already have such technology in the Vaults—technology which we take for granted— but it needs to be available for everyone, not just the lucky few plucked from the surface before the bombs dropped.

“And” James continues, “it needs to be on a grander scale, a purifier capable of purifying millions of gallons of water at once. We even found the perfect place: the Jefferson Memorial. Almost two decades ago, we were on the cusp of Project Purity coming into fruition. Two decades later, I find it within my grasp once again. I cannot let it go this time—not when I’ve been given a second chance.”

“You said you were close to finishing it back then. What stopped you?” His employer asks.

Madison excuses herself suddenly, mentioning something about needing more coffee. Her face had looked infuriated as she walked past.

“There were…many issues that stopped the project.” James falters through each word; at odds with himself and the reality of things and making a poor attempt to hide it. “There were constant attacks from both Mutants and Raiders. When results began to dwindle, so too, did people’s faith. We lost more and more funding, more and more men, until we were left with no other choice but to stop and just take what we could and run.

“Catherine and I fled to Vault 101. Madison—I mean, Dr. Li, left for what became Rivet City with the remaining scientists, and Project Purity has sat waiting ever since.” They finish with a withering sigh.

“Two decades ago, hmm? I can’t help but notice I’m nineteen.” Briar speaks up to say after a long, long while.

“Son—”

“It’s okay. From the sound of things, I wasn’t the deciding factor for the project’s success.” His employer quickly assures. “My question is this: why do you think you’ll be successful this time around? You have less than a third of the original number of scientists this project started with, and the Jefferson Memorial is currently infested with Super Mutants.”

Their father steeples their fingers together, a pensive, yet determined look to their face.

“While our odds are certainly against us and we have much work to do, we have one integral piece that we were missing years ago: Dr. Braun’s research notes.” James answers.

“Dr. Braun? That sadist?”

“The very same, unfortunately. Despite his crueler tendencies, he was undeniably a genius—one who discovered the missing factor we needed to get this project rolling: a G.E.C.K, otherwise known as the ‘Garden of Eden Creation Kit’.”

“And that is…?”

“It is a terraforming module that was designed to re-adapt environments for living after a nuclear war. I know it sounds like magic, or fantasy, but believe me, it is real, and it was sent to a handful of vaults before the bombs fell.”

“Not Vault 101 or 112, I’m guessing.” Briar says. James shakes their head, and his employer sighs in defeat. “Figures. Well, do we have a lead on where one might be?”

“We don’t.” Madison answers as she approaches the group again. “For now, our main objective is clearing out the hostiles inside the Jefferson Memorial so it can resume as our place of operations. Once that daunting task is finished, then we can worry about finding the G.E.C.K.”

“It won’t be done in a day, but we’ll get it done. Is there a timetable we should be aware of?” His employer asks.

“No, but I’d prefer it if this project didn’t take another two decades. I’m not getting any younger.” Madison sniffs, and James at least has the forthright to look sheepish, a light coloring dusting their stubbled face as they looked between Madison and their son.

“Nothing will stop us. Not this time.” James says, and while Madison regards him with dubiousness at best, she says nothing further, merely nodding. “Especially now that we have another great mind along with us. Isn’t that right, Briar?”

His employer huffs a little at that, embarrassed.

“A great mind? I thought I was here to be your hired gun.”

“You are my son, first and foremost.” James says seriously and they place both hands on Briar’s shoulders to study them. “Please keep that in mind, as you hazard the Wastes on my behalf. Each time you slip from my line of sight, I cannot help but imagine the worst. If anything were to happen to you…”

“I’ll be careful, I promise. I’ll even save the hop-scotch sessions on mine fields to a minimum.”

“You—” James’ says breathlessly, eyes like saucers, before they manage to say, “You have a terrible sense of humor.”

The quiet snort that leaves him draws James’ attention to him. It is probably the first sound he’s made in almost an hour.

“Charon, was it?” James says suddenly, letting their hands fall from their son to eye him reproachfully. “A quiet fellow, aren’t you? This is the third time we’ve been face to face, yet I find you are just as much of a mystery as you were in the beginning.”

He returns their stare with blatant disinterest, waiting for a point to be made.

“I was hoping to speak with you— if you had the time, that is.” They explain quickly and cautiously, as if speaking to an animal they were unsure would bite them or not yet.

“Speak.” He says gruffly, the word almost a demand, and James falters visibly, the color on their face deepening as Briar looks at them.

“I was hoping to speak with you alone.”

The satisfaction of his hunch being correct is overshadowed by the realization that he will have to stand here and listen to this man talk for longer than he has already. His employer visibly whitens at the idea, mouth falling slack as their brain quickly tries to formulate some excuse.

“Fine.” He says, sparing them from the poor attempt they would have surely made. When they lock eyes, he adds: “I’ll meet you downstairs to eat when I’m done.”

Briar lingers for a second, anxiety evident in the way they pick at loose threads on their sleeve, but after some ruminating, they offer a nod to him, their father, and Dr. Li, before leaving the lab. Dr. Li herself separates from the two with nary a sound, walking over to the other scientists and easily joining their conversation.

Alone together, James clears their throat and gestures to a nearby chair.

“Would you care for a seat?” They offer.

“No.”

“I see.” They say, and then it falls silent between them. He almost leaves, when James tries again a minute later, “…Can I ask how you and Briar began traveling together?”

It isn’t the question he’d expected, but it was by far the tamest.

“Your son got me out of a bad situation.” He explains easily enough.

“And in thanks of that, you…work together?”

“Did it seem like we were doing something else?” He asks with the start of a sneer, arms now crossing. He doesn’t at all care what James thinks of their relationship but seeing them squirm is always worthwhile in his opinion.

“No, no—heavens no—, I merely couldn’t help but notice how…comfortable, Briar seemed to be around you.”

“Comfortable.” He parrots, making no effort to hide his disbelief.

“Y-Yes.” James stumbles on, “Without speaking too much on my son’s history, they have always been reclusive, to say the least. They are slow to open themselves to other people, even slower to trust, and I fear that the way I left Vault 101 has only worsened that.”

He grunts, not really agreeing or disagreeing.

“Despite that, it is clear Briar has put their trust in you. It is no easy thing to learn to trust again, nor is it any easier to have earned said trust. For that, I wanted to thank you.” And James wipes their hand on their lab coat before offering it to him.

He eyes it warily.

“I don’t need your thanks.” He tells them.

Their hand doesn’t move an inch.

Sighing sharply, he takes a step forward, and slips his hand into theirs, shaking firmly once, before beginning to yank his hand back. James’ grip tightens on him, stopping him. He bares his teeth like an animal, incensed at the prolonged touch, but the anger turns to confusion at the open, vulnerable look on James’ face.

“Thank you.” They repeat and this time James is not so easily dismissed; not just a shape in the background of his employer’s presence, but a presence themselves.

He sees them for perhaps the first time—a scientist, a father, a husband. In all aspects, there is loss: the burial of a wife, the failure of a lifelong project, and the farewell of any hope that their son will live a sheltered, but ultimately safe life.

In the face of disarming sincerity, all he can do is nod.

Only then, does James relinquish his hand.

Chapter Text

He exits the lab and wanders downstairs into the quiet, bustling market. He sharpens his sights for brown hair and freckles. It takes only a second to spot his employer. Briar is standing on the outskirts of the market, leaning against a wall and fighting a losing battle against their dying lighter; an unlit cigarette dangling between their lips.

He’s too far away to hear them, but he can tell by the shape their mouth makes that they’re cursing up a storm under their breath. They don’t pay him any mind as he starts to walk over towards them, but when he’s close enough his footfalls sound off, Briar instinctively reaches for their holster.

Upon realizing it was only him that was encroaching on their personal space, Briar lowers their hands, but he can hardly say that they relax.

“H-Hey.” They greet in what he thinks is an attempt at nonchalance. Apprehension, as well as curiosity, burns like two coals in their eyes no matter how much they tried to snuff it out.

“Hey.” He returns, pretending not to notice, and remembering earlier, he plucks the cigarette from their mouth and slips it into his shirt’s breast pocket. “Nicotine can wait. You need food.”

The fact that they don’t protest highlights just how out of it they were. Growing impatient, but more than that, growing hungrier by the minute, he decides to have mercy on them for the second time that morning.

“You can ask about—”

“What did my dad want???”

He lets their too loud interjection hang in the air uncomfortably, a self-satisfied smirk working its way onto his lips. Noticing the look, Briar shuts their mouth closed with an audible click, face flushing scarlet.

He’s not sure there will ever be a day that he’ll tire of seeing them rendered speechless.

Or embarrassed.

“He wanted to thank me for traveling with you.” He tells them finally.

“…That’s it?”

“Was there something else he should have told me?” He hazards to ask, and just like their father, the second his tone becomes accusing, Briar folds like a house of cards in a particularly strong gale.

“No!” His employer says quickly, now straightening from the wall. “I was just worried he’d ask you something stupid. Or weird.”

“Weird?” He repeats with faux ignorance. “Like what?”

“I—I don’t know.” Briar stumbles, avoiding his gaze.

He doesn’t believe that for a second. Still, he can’t afford to stand there and rile them up all morning. Not when plans needed to be made.

“Fine, fine. Let’s go eat.” He tells them and points towards the stall in the back of the marketplace where a sign reads: Gary’s Galley.

They walk side by side to the stall, eyeing the merchants and few settlers doing shopping as they continued past.

At the Galley, the owner greets the two of them with a welcoming wave, gesturing for them to take a seat at any of the empty bar stools. Briar takes a seat at the end, and he takes the spot next to them. They start fiddling with their Pip-Boy and get so absorbed in looking at their map that they don’t even hear the owner ask what they want.

He nudges their arm with his elbow.

“I’ll have whatever you have.” Briar says without even looking at him.

That made things simple enough. He orders two Radstag steaks with a heaping of Mirelurk scrambled eggs on the side. There’s no coffee, but the owner has Nuka-Cola’s that are cold, so he orders two of those as well. He pays the tab ahead of time so the owner will leave the two of them alone after the food is brought out and contents himself with people watching in the meantime.

Several minutes later, the plates are brought over and set gently in front of them. It’s been ages since he’s eaten something freshly cooked. He can’t remember the last time he experienced it and his stomach grumbles loudly—so loudly it gets Briar to look up from their Pip-Boy and draws the attention of the owner.

“Go on, tuck in.” The owner smiles, jutting their chin towards the plate.

Briar hides their mouth with the back of their hand in a very telling way. Mild embarrassment does nothing to hinder his appetite and he picks up his own utensils and begins to eat with flourish. He takes his time to savor each bite, but still ends up clearing his plate in record time.

He’s full—mostly.

Before he can even entertain the idea of ordering seconds, Briar scoots their plate over to him, a decent amount of food still left.

“Not to your liking?” He asks.

It was difficult to tell, because his employer treated food, and by extension feeding themselves, as a chore. All food was picked at with an equal air of disinterest.

“It’s great, but if I eat anymore, I’m going to make myself sick.” They explain casually.

Shrugging, he picks up his fork and makes quick work of their leftovers. The plates get stacked and pushed aside and not a second later the owner scoops them up before turning their back and getting started on washing dishes.

“Want to take a walk? It’ll help me think.” They say, before slipping off their bar stool.

Nodding, he stands up and offers the owner a gruff thanks before falling into pace at Briar’s side as they leave the marketplace. It isn’t until the two of them enter an isolated hallway that his employer slows their gait and speaks up.

“The Jefferson Memorial is close to Rivet City,” Briar begins to explain, “And I mean FREAKISHLY close. It shouldn’t take us more than an hour to reach the place, if the road to it isn’t riddled with hostiles or blocked by debris.”

He grunts in acknowledgment, all while carefully eyeing the few people that entered and exited the hallway.

“I was thinking we scout the Memorial at night, see how many Mutants are patrolling, then once we get an idea of a number, we start taking down their formation bit by bit, before making a full attack on the inside. We’ll come back and resupply as needed, but other than that, we’ll only be returning here to sleep.” They finished.

“It’s a good plan.” He agrees.

“But…?”

“Good plans don’t usually win in the face of Mutants and their miniguns.”

Briar’s nose wrinkles at that.

“Are you suggesting it’d be better to go in with no plan at all?” They ask.

He crosses his arms and looks elsewhere.

“No. It’s just…” And he fumbles to finish the sentence, not really knowing what the problem is, even after he pauses to dissect his frustration. Briar stares at him patiently, letting him sort himself out. Even if it sounds stupid and they’ll mock him for it, he forces out:

“I don’t like it.”

“The plan?” They ask.

“Everything—it feels like too much of a risk for so little.” He says, “The chances of either of us making it out of that deathtrap is slim and even if we survive, there’s no guarantee the project will ever be finished.”

“I don’t like it either.” Briar confesses quietly, moving to lean against the wall across from him. “And I know you think I’m some beacon of morality, but if I can be honest—brutally honest— I don’t give a shit about making sure everyone has clean water to drink. I don’t think half of them even deserve it.”

“Then why are you doing it?”

“…My dad is an idealist. A daydreamer. Always has been.” Briar explains. “People like him give so much to others that they end up with nothing in the end. I guess you could say that I don’t want to see him empty-handed this time around. There are so many jaded, selfish assholes in the world—I want to see what happens when the little guy wins for a change. I want to see if the hope he has in people is worth it.”

“And if it isn’t?”

“Then I die a miserable death, as I would have at some point anyways, presumably.” His employer snorts. “That’s the difference, though: if I’m going to die in a horrible way, it might as well be for a just cause, right?”

“A cause you don’t really believe in.”

“I’m one of those jaded assholes. I’m working on it.” They huff, “On that note, I think we should count this plan as one of those big decisions we make as partners.”

“What’s there to discuss?"

“Just because I’m willing to die for a cause I don’t believe in, doesn’t mean you are. Don’t you think that’s something we should talk about?” They say with growing exasperation, “I’m not any more comfortable at the idea of you dying on my behalf than I was in the beginning. It keeps me up at night, for God’s sake. Not that I needed more things that did.”

Concern sits plain as day on his employer’s face.

It’s not that it shocks him that they’re concerned— it’s the intensity that astounds him. He’d expected some turmoil over the idea of his death.

Not world crushing anguish.

“I’m coming with you.” He tells them resolutely and the next time they blink he’s cleared the distance between them and now stands towering before them. His employer sucks in a breath at the sudden proximity, back knocking into the metal wall with a soft thud.

“Charon!”

“Our best bet of keeping each other alive is staying together.” He interrupts and pulls the cigarette he’d confiscated earlier out of his pocket and settles it between their lips. He pulls out his lighter, deftly flicking the latch, then the flint, before lighting the tip of the cigarette.

The meagre yellow light dances in his employer’s eyes as they obediently inhale.

“…And if you die?” Briar challenges.

“Then I’ll accept dying as a man by your side, then a slave at someone else’s.”

The words stun Briar into silence—and stillness. Even after a few inhales, all his employer does is stand there, mystified, staring up at him with utter enthrallment. They hadn’t expected an honest answer, let alone a sincere one, and in this instance, he’s relieved to find that they handle the emotion with as much grace as he tends to.

“Come on,” He says, starting to get unnerved by their prolonged silence, and he curls a hand around their elbow and pries them from the wall, “We’re wasting daylight standing around here. The sooner we prep, the sooner we can leave for the Memorial—together.”

His employer blinks owlishly, as if the concept was a little novel to them.

“Right.” Briar agrees, before repeating much more softly, “Together.”

Chapter Text

“I think we found the perfect spot.” Briar stops walking to tell him as the two of them approach an office building just as the sun was beginning to set.

He cranes his neck up to look at the ugly thing. It looks like all the other ruined buildings around D.C, except it had the privilege of being built just on the edge of the water cutting between the outskirts of Rivet City and the Jefferson Memorial. There was no guessing how many stories tall the building was originally, as all that remained were five floors, most of which he could tell were collapsing upon themselves just from a glance outside.

All the building’s windows, including their frames, had been either lost with time or blown out in the initial explosion when the bombs dropped, leaving for a very exposed and very poor choice of shelter, but it would make for a great sniper’s nest.

“Think it’ll handle the weight of two people?” He eyes them, and the building with an air of dubiousness.

“Only one way to find out.” They shrug.

The ground level of the building is nothing but rubble, but towards the back of the former lobby there’s a few filing cabinets that could be stacked atop each other to make the second floor and beyond accessible.

“Need any help?” Briar offers when he starts dragging one cabinet over.

He pauses to size them up, before huffing a laugh under his breath and continuing.

“Far be it from me to stop someone else doing the heavy lifting.” They sniff, and he hears one of their feet starting to tap.

He must have hit a nerve. He decides to keep poking it. It’s a good distraction from how the rusty metal cabinets dig into his palms.

“Seems like you’ve had a lifetime of doing just that.” He returns.

Whatever insult they say in response is drowned out by the heavy clang of the second cabinet being shoved atop the first. That doesn’t stop Briar from glowering at him the second he turns around.

It’s an impressive one, too.

“My size suits me, doesn’t it? I’m harder to spot. Harder to catch.” Briar explains, now walking past him to climb the cabinets first.

He holds out a palm just in case they lose their balance and isn’t surprised that it gets ignored. They grunt a little bit while pulling themselves up onto the second floor. Once standing, Briar settles their hands on their hips and makes a great show of looking down at him.

“You’re like a neon sign with how big you are.” They continue haughtily. “Any sniper worth a damn could see you coming from a hundred miles away.”

As if to cement their point, the cabinets make an unsettling groan as his weight presses against it, but thankfully his boot doesn’t cave through the metal before he pulls himself all the way up.

“Guess you’ll have to shoot them before they shoot me.” He says while straightening.

“Naturally.” They boast, grinning a little, “I’ll put a bullet between their eyes so fast they’ll think just looking at you killed them.”

They do an impressive pantomime of getting shot in the head, first flinching then rolling their eyes exaggeratedly into the back of their skull; mouth opening to let their tongue fall to the side limply.

It’s as stupid as it is charming.

Snorting, he bumps his arm into theirs before heading over to the surprisingly intact stairs that led to the rest of the floors. It seemed like the higher they went up, the less and less surface area there was. By the time they reach the fifth floor, there’s hardly enough room for the two of them to walk around.

The sturdiest bit of flooring was in a corner by three windows. It’s pointing northeast—right at the Jefferson Memorial. Even with his naked eye, he can spot a few hulking Mutants shambling across the grounds as they made their patrols. With a scope, the place would be stripped down and laid bare before his partner’s eyes.

Briar hops in place a few times, testing the foundations, and when they eye him, he follows suit and gives a jump or two. Satisfied that the entire building won’t collapse over their heads for the time being, his partner starts setting down their things. Both of their duffels take up a lot of precious space, leaving the two of them no other choice than to sit hip to hip as they get things sorted out.

Not wanting to just sit there uselessly, he grabs his own duffel and shakes out all the bullets that had gotten loose from their boxes during travel. Once a pile has been formed, he starts to methodically sort them out, putting the .308’s closest to Briar, who was doing quick maintenance on their sniper’s rifle.

“Where’d you learn to shoot?” He asks.

“Self-taught.” They say, and at least try not to sound too smug about it, “My dad gave me a BB gun on my tenth birthday, and I never put it down. When I wasn’t practicing my aim on cans or the occasional Radroach, I was flipping through ‘Guns and Bullets’ magazines. Oh, and military training manuals.”

He’s seen a few of those very same magazines on the bookshelf in their home back in Megaton. The spines had looked aged, but well cared for—much like the sniper’s rifle they were currently wiping down with a rag.

“You’d make a good mercenary. It’s something to consider for the future.” He remarks off handedly, settling more ammo beside them.

“…Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He returns, “You’re a crack shot, but your social skills are abominable. Working as a merc would fit you perfectly.”

“Couldn’t just let me have the compliment, hmm? Afraid my ego will get any bigger?”

“There’s nothing that frightens me more.”

“Fuck off!” Briar laughs, equally amused as they were insulted, before blinking curiously and mentioning: “…You know, I haven’t put any thought towards what I’ll be doing after we finish up with the project.”

“What were you planning on doing before all this?” He asks casually, sitting more rigidly now as Briar started adjusting their scope. Even the slightest bump of shoulders could set their sights completely off.

“According to my G.O.A.T results, I would have had the privilege of becoming my Vault’s newest cook.” Briar explains with no shortness of disgust. They pause now and then to hold up their rifle and look through the scope, before lowering their gun and adjusting it more.

Noticing his expectant look, they speak up again.

“Oh, right. G.O.A.T stands for ‘Generalized Occupational Aptitude Test’.” They explain. “It’s this asinine test that all Vault Dwellers take when they turn eighteen. It’s supposed to stop any infighting about who gets what responsibility and why, but honestly, the questions they ask make no sense at all.”

“Do you remember any of them?”

“A few, but the multiple-choice answers are a little fuzzy.” They hum, and satisfied with their scope, they move closer to the broken window and lay flat on their stomach. The nose of their sniper’s rifle is perched on the edge of the window, and he watches them wiggle a bit before they find the perfect position.

“Let’s see…” Briar says after another minute of thinking. “A frenzied scientist runs at you and yells: ‘I'm going to put my quantum harmonizer in your photonic resonation chamber!’. How do you respond?”

“I’d shoot them.”

“No hesitation. Respectable.” Briar remarks. “I think I answered something along the lines of just leaving very quietly and leaving that wacko to their ramblings.”

“Got anymore?”

“I’m surprised you’re interested.”

“Bored.” He shrugs, and while it’s mostly that, this also served as an opportunity for Briar to speak about their time in Vault 101, which was something they’ve yet to talk about in any length, aside from what was necessary.

“Fair enough. Uhm…You've been exposed to radiation, and a mutated hand has grown out of your stomach! What's the best course of treatment?”

He lets the question simmer, if only to have the rare chance of making them feel stupid.

“Right. Guess radiation isn’t a problem you’d have to consider.” Briar clears their throat.

“What’d you answer?”

“Bullet to the brain.” They answer quickly and it rouses a good chuckle out of him. At the sound of his rugged laughter, Briar turns away from their scope to peek over a shoulder to regard him.

“What?” He asks, cocking his head to the side.

“Nothing.” They say quickly, and after turning back towards the window they add, “I’m afraid that’s all the G.O.A.T questions I remember.”

“Would you have worked as a cook, if your dad never left?” It was hard to imagine them cooking at all. The most he’s seen Briar do is set an opened can of Cram over a fire and wait until the ‘meat’ heated up enough, usually signaled by the fat and grease rolling up to the surface and popping at them.

“Probably. But, seeing as how James was the only doctor in our Vault, and I’m his son, I’d probably take over his responsibilities, too.”

“Do you think you would have left at some point?” He continues.

“I didn’t even know leaving was an option, until very recently.” Briar explains in a grave, nearly breathless way. “I wasn’t content with the life that was laid out for me, but I was safe, and I was comfortable. I don’t even think most people out in the Wastes can really conceptualize what it means to be safe, TRULY safe; to not wake up to every little sound at night, wondering if it’s a Raider about to cut off your head and use it a decorative bowl for their Chems.”

“Is that why you always sleep poorly?”

“It’s one of the reasons, yes.” They answer, clearing their throat a bit, “It used to be worse, if you could believe that.”

“What changed?”

“Well, a seven-foot-tall ghoul showed up at my house, for one.” Briar snorts, “Did I ever mention how glad I am that you weren’t on my doorstep to kill me? Because I’m not confident I would have won that fight.”

“I’m not confident you would have, either.” He hums and moves to lean against the wall where the other broken window is to give his back a break. “You’re completely vulnerable in close combat. You’re sneaky, I’ll give you that, but you don’t have the muscle mass or core strength to save yourself when that sneakiness runs out.”

“Noted.” They snip in return, and they don’t even bother with glaring at him, so he knows they’re genuinely starting to get irritated.

“I’m not saying this just to be insulting.” He explains seriously. “There’s nothing anyone can teach you when it comes to marksmanship— I’ve never met anyone as efficient at removing a man’s head from their shoulders as you are, but when it comes to brute forcing your way to survival, I can teach you a thing or two.”

Is what he finishes with, though maybe he should have spent more time rewording it, as Briar stiffens up. The sniper’s rifle is blocking most of their face, but not the tips of their ears, which he sees are slowly reddening.

“Heh. For all your bragging, the second you get a real compliment, you don’t know how to deal with it.” He taunts.

“I don’t usually get compliments!” Briar fusses, side-eyeing him quickly, “…Especially from people I actually respect.”

“Not popular in your Vault?”

“Do you even have to ask?”

“Hmm.” He says, considering, “The people from your Vault sound like idiots.”

An incredulous giggle bursts out of them.

“Yeah, some of them.” Briar agrees, laughing still, “A few of them I got along with, like—” And the energy in their voice halts, before ultimately dying; buried under the uncomfortable swallow that followed.

Their eyes get a glassy sheen to them, and he sees Briar sink their teeth into their lip a few times, as if to stifle any further memories leaking out.

“You don’t have to talk about it.” He amends.

“No, no, it’s…fine. It’s just—I haven’t talked to anyone about this. Not even my dad. What I told him back in Vault 112 didn’t even cover a tenth of what happened that day.”

There was a certain pride that burgeoned with that admittance, but he keeps that to himself.

“I guess I should start from the beginning.” Briar says, wetting their lips and readjusting their position for the dozenth time, “My childhood friend, Amata, woke me up one morning looking terrified and I had to shake her by her shoulders to finally get the news out of her; that my dad abandoned me, and that HER father, the leader of our Vault, was now on a war path looking for me.”

“I don’t know how I slept through the noise—it doesn’t make sense. By the time she was telling me everything, I could hear guns going off and people yelling. She had to shout the news to me, it was that loud. And the entire time she was crying her eyes out. I grabbed my BB gun and knife and ran out of my bedroom. There wasn’t time to grab anything else.” They continue.

“I wasn’t as good at sneaking around as I am now. The security officers spotted me immediately and started shooting. Shooting! I had known these people my entire life. Nineteen years, and they couldn’t even spare me a word before aiming a gun at my face. I took care of them, grabbed their guns, which felt so much REALER than the BB gun I’d been using, and kept running. Everywhere I looked there were people panicking. Or dead. Or bleeding out.”

“Amata asked me to just leave, to avoid her father, the Overseer, but I couldn’t. Not after seeing what they did to Jonas Palmer, my father’s assistant, and…a dear friend. He was the only friend I had besides Amata, and he’d been shot to pieces by the security officers because they wanted to know if he was working alongside my dad. A fair accusation—but they didn’t have to kill him!”

“He was already dead when I found him. Still warm, but dead. It felt like I stared at his face for hours. The next thing I knew, I was in front of Amata and the Overseer, and he was dead. I don’t even remember killing him. I must have emptied the entire clip in him. She screamed, so, so loud, then she went silent.”

“Up until then, I had only ever killed Radroaches.” Briar confesses somberly, “That day, I killed eight people. I left the Vault with nothing but the stolen guns and ammunition I looted from their bodies. Feeling the wind on my face for the first time did nothing to soothe the fact that I was covered in blood.”

He’s quiet for a long time as he processes their story.

“…Why keep this to yourself? I think James should know how many people he’s gotten killed over this project.” He asks finally.

“I don’t know!” They answer exasperatedly. “Whenever I think about bringing it up, I—I cave. It feels too unspeakable to bring up. Part of me just wants to ignore that it happened. But I can’t. Ever since I left the Vault, I keep finding out just how much I was kept in the dark about everything! I never knew about the project, or that my mother worked on it. I didn’t even know Dr. Li helped with my birth until she told me herself!”

“If you died on your way out of the Vault, James’ would have never gotten out of that pod. The project he’s risked your life over, and kept secret from you, is only possible because you climbed over the flaming wreckage that he left for you. Saving his ass was just the cherry on the top of his long list of failures.” He reminds them.

“…You’re right.”

“There’s still time to abandon the project and start your career as a mercenary.” He says, and Briar shakes their head, disbelieving, until their eyes flicker over to his face and sees that he’s dead serious.

“Just because my father is a liar, doesn’t mean I need to stoop down to his level and project or not, these Mutants need to be taken care of. Rivet City is surrounded by Mutant camps on every side—let’s make traveling a little easier for ourselves in the future.”

“I don’t need an excuse to kill those knuckle-draggers.”

For the few hours of daylight left, Briar simply watches the Mutants coming in and out of the Memorial, keeping track of the weapons they used and if any guard dogs slept outside. When night falls completely and the distant shapes of the Mutant’s become too murky to spot, Briar huffs, and slips their sniper’s rifle from the window.

“I could really use a night vision scope.” They sigh.

“It’s hard enough finding ammo for your gun.”

“Ugh. Don’t remind me.” And with that, Briar starts packing away everything. Between the two of them, it takes no time at all, but descending the building with only the light of their Pip-Boy proves to be a little difficult, but neither of them break their necks, so he considers that a win.

“What now? Head back to Rivet City and repeat the same thing tomorrow?” He says while ducking out of the office building completely.

He avoids the orange spotlight of the flickering streetlight posted a few feet away to instead tuck himself against the shadowed side wall that his partner naturally glided over towards.

“Yeah. If you want, we can grab something to eat from the Galley.” Briar offers.

He shakes his head.

“We should save the caps.”

“Whatever we spend on breakfast and dinner will be shadowed by all the caps we earn from selling the weapons we loot off those Mutants.” They contend.

“IF we survive the Mutants.”

“Well, if we DIE, then it won’t matter if we have dinner tonight, will it?” They return cheekily.

There was no arguing that logic.

Not that he was too keen to turn down a hot meal, anyways.

“Fine.” He says and is pleasantly surprised to see they don’t rush to take the lead. When he eyes them, Briar must clue into what he’s thinking, because they shoot him a thumbs up.

“I’ve got your six.” Briar says, seemingly content to trail behind his shadow.

Briar might be the only person he ever feels comfortable with showing his back. That shouldn’t be surprising, he guesses, given they sleep pressed against it every night.

He’s still not sure when or if he’ll tell them.

He’s not even sure if he’s withholding the information to spare their pride, or if he’s wanting to prolong what few, nonsexual and nonviolent touches he’s been granted in what felt like a lifetime.

The thought alone is complicated enough to stop him dead in his tracks.

“Charon?” Briar speaks up, and they place a hand on his bicep, their touch so light it would be unnoticeable, if not for the warmth of their palms.

“Nothing. Let’s hurry before anyone notices us and decides to pick a fight.” He dismisses and leads the way back to Rivet City.

Chapter Text

He ends up having little choice in the matter of when or if he’ll address the sleeping “situation”. On the morning of the third day of this ‘job’, he awakes flat on his back, eyes cracking open blearily to stare at the darkness of the ceiling, and feels something warm pressed to his side.

And draped across his front.

Blinking a few times, he uses what little light spilled from underneath the door to make out the vaguest of shapes in front of him. Briar was curled on their side, face settled on his bicep, and their right arm was tossed across his stomach. Their snores were quiet and rhythmic, and remained so even when he moved the slightest to pull the cord of the lamp on the nightstand.

Even the halo of yellow light that spills across him and the bed isn’t enough to make his partner stir. He stares at their face for a while, noticing how the dark circles under their eyes have lessened to an extent, thanks to him. The perpetual frown that sat on Briar’s face was nowhere to be seen, tucked away in favor of a more serene look.

Their warmth, the weight of their smaller body, and the subtle scent of their perfume, present even after a night of drinking and smoking, soothed him, though he hated to admit that.

He was comfortable—the most comfortable he’s perhaps ever been.

But it wasn’t right.

Not wanting to have to have them wake up in the middle of him moving them, and have the gesture interpreted as something sinister, he calls out their name a few times, to little avail. Sighing, he curls a hand around their shoulder and gives them a firm shake.

Their snoring crescendos, before stopping completely. Little by little, he feels their body stiffen as awareness comes to them. Using the arm draped across his front, Briar pushes themselves up groggily. They eyed the door first, making sure it was still closed, before turning towards the nightstand and blinding themselves by looking at the lightbulb dead on.

Cursing, they clench their eyes shut, shaking their head and groaning. It feels like eons before Briar opens their eyes again, and this time, when they do, their attention is on him at last.

“W-What?” Briar stutters, eyes growing wider and wider by the second, and when things finally click in their brain, they make a loud sound, like a yelp or a shriek, before tearing away from him in a whirlwind, their legs tangled by the sheets. They nearly fall off the bed, but he catches them by grabbing a handful of sheets and his weight anchors them to the bed.

“Careful.” He warns, a little irritated at himself for not seeing such a reaction coming.

They interpret the annoyance in his voice as anger over the situation, and Briar’s face breaks out into a nervous sweat. They refuse to look at him now, stuck awkwardly between hanging off the bed and trying to cow the embarrassment that rolls off them in waves.

“Sorry. That won’t happen again.” Briar says with utmost seriousness, and they force themselves to look at him now.

“It’s been happening every night.” He decides to just tell them, and their face morphs into one of dread. “Ever since we first got here, you’ve been sleeping close to me.”

Their hands move to cover their face so quickly that they end up slapping themselves. The sting of that was preferable to letting him see whatever expression was on their face.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner? I would have grabbed us a room with two beds.” They ask with no shortness of agony.

“You shiver in your sleep.”

“Then let me shiver!” They retort. “If it means making you uncomfortable every night, then I’d rather freeze.”

And that led to the source of the issue.

“It doesn’t bother me.” He admits, still looking at them; never one to turn away out of embarrassment or shame but finding it difficult to stop himself from emoting his discomfort in other ways. Namely, curling and uncurling his hand into a fist on his lap.

And clenching his jaw.

“It…doesn’t?” They ask, eyeing the rigid fist he’s making, before setting their green eyes back to his face.

“I should have told you the first night it happened.”

“It’s embarrassing. I don’t blame you for stalling.”

“No, it’s not that.” He shakes his head. “I don’t mind you sleeping so close to me. It’s…pleasant. I was hesitating to tell you because I enjoyed it. I should be the one saying sorry.”

“O-Oh.”

“Yeah.”

Speaking about it made things no less awkward, but Briar at least looked less like they wanted to find a hole to crawl inside and hide forever in.

“I’ll pay for a room with two beds.” He offers, standing up from the bed and readying to grab his bag of caps to speak with the hotel owner.

“No, no, that’s—!” Briar starts loudly, and realizing their volume, they cringe, before clearing their throat. “It’s fine. I’m not uncomfortable.”

“You can be.” He reminds. “You can be angry, too.”

“Well, I’m not.” They huff, sounding more like themselves at last. “I’m more curious than anything. You never struck me as a touchy-feely person, after all. It’s a little shocking that you’d like having someone drooling all over you.”

“I’m not repulsed by touch.” He clarifies, “It’s just the touches I’m subjected to usually lead to a blood bath. Or something unsavory. Or both.”

Briar’s eyes sharpen noticeably at that and the color of them is shadowed by how deeply their brows furrow.

Their expression is one of utmost hatred—not towards him, but to the ‘abusers’ they’ve conjured up in that head of theirs.

“With you, it’s different.” He continues, fascinated and flattered by the wrath in their gaze. “If it’s someone I trust, I don’t mind touch. I can admit I even like it. But I’ve never had someone I could trust until very recently.”

“…I’ve made up my mind on something.” Briar says quiet, but firm, and having enough of teetering on the edge of the bed, still entangled in sheets, they quickly kick the fabric away before standing up and rounding the bed to walk over to him, a determined set to their jaw.

“Oh, yeah? What about?”

“What I’ll be doing after we finish the project.” They answer, “Mercenary work sounds appealing, and that’s probably something I’ll look into at SOME point, but…”

“Out with it, already.”

“I want to look into freeing you from your contract.” They spit out at last.

“Hmm.” He says, thinking of just how futile that would be. “Might be impossible. All the people involved with my conditioning have died by now, unless a few of those unlucky bastards turned into ghouls, too. Even then, that’s betting on them not being feral, AND betting that they survived for as long as I have.”

“And if one of them survived?” Briar hazards to ask.

“Even if we’re lucky enough to find them, I doubt they’ll want to undo all their ‘hard work’. They might try to kill you and take me back for more conditioning. Who knows?”

“If none of them survived, then the organization they worked for still might. I doubt it was just a random group off the street that did… all of that.” And they roll their hand in the air a few times as they broadly gesture at him. “There must be a team of people, doctors and scientists, probably therapists too, that worked on this ‘conditioning’.” Briar says, now starting to go about their morning routines on autopilot as they continued to think aloud.

He can’t remember a thing, so their guess was as good as his. He follows their lead and starts putting on his armor and organizing his duffel.

“I doubt that you were the only person they did this to. There had to have been more—just with varying successes. Whatever this organization is, they aren’t unique. There’s always been shady groups testing on people, even pre-war. Especially pre-war. Some of the military books I’ve read…you wouldn’t believe what they do to people.” And they stop brushing their teeth to look at him, jaw slack and a mildly stupid look about them.

“Well, maybe YOU do.” They amend. “What I mean is, even if we can’t find the organization, individual people, or even research notes, I don’t think we’re completely hopeless. A conditioning is only that: a conditioning. There are ways to trick even the most stubborn of brains. Maybe all it will take to free you is finding a really, really good psychologist.”

“Wouldn’t hold my breath on it being that simple.” He returns.

“Oh, I don’t expect it to be. It would just be a nice change of pace, that’s all.”

“I could live for another hundred years. You only have about half of that, if we’re being generous and assuming you don’t step on a land mine in the next week. Think about all those years you’d be wasting on a possibility.”

“I don’t consider any of that as time ‘wasted’.” Briar says sincerely, setting down their comb on the edge of the sink. “If it takes my entire life, I don’t care—as long as you’re free. Truly free.”

“Hmph.” He sighs, accepting that there was nothing he could say to convince them otherwise, at least for now. “We’re making our attack on the Memorial today, right? Skip the perfume—it’ll alert the guard dogs.”

Briar’s hand flinches from where it hangs in the air just over the small baggie with cloths.

“R-Right. Good thinking.” They say, blushing a little.

After packing up their duffels, weapons, and dawning their armor, the two of them head out of the hotel and make a beeline to the market, grabbing a few extra clips of ammunition, as well as medical supplies. As tempting as it was to grab breakfast at the Galley, the work that needed to be done sat over their heads heavily and left them in no mood to eat.

The perfect thing to steady their minds, as well as their hands, was nicotine. When he offers one from his own pack to Briar, they perk up instantly, accepting the cigarette with an eager thanks and settling it between their lips.

“Should’ve bought another lighter back at the market.” They complain before leaning over and lighting the tip with the ember he offers.

“No point.”

“It doesn’t bother you that I have to keep stealing your light?”

“Not any more than you drooling on me.”

“You know, I think the real reason you don’t mind me using you as a pillow is because you can use it to humiliate me. Nothing seems to bring you more joy than that.”

“Is that what I’m doing? Humiliating you?” He presses knowingly, and when Briar avoids his gaze and their mouth sets into a pout, he smirks.

They rendezvous at the crow’s nest in the abandoned building on the fifth floor, just as the sun is beginning to fully rise.

Days prior, there were always at least five Mutants patrolling the outside of the Memorial, typically accompanied by a guard dog or two. One by one, Briar had taken them down via head shots, but stubborn as ever, more Mutants would come outside to dutifully replace the role of their fallen comrades. The Memorial seemed akin to a Radroach nest, with every three Mutants killed, several more would break out from the woodwork.

After three days of picking off their numbers, only one Mutant stood outside to patrol the property—and without any guard dogs, too.

“We must be finally dwindling their numbers. This is it, then. No better time to make our attack.” Briar says, lowering their scope and looking at him.

“Is there a plan?” He asks.

“Hard to make one when we don’t know what the inside of the building looks like.” They hum, thinking. “We should stick close, stay low, and watch out for traps. My sniper’s rifle will be useless in close combat, so I’ll be switching to my other gun and my grenades once inside. Some of the Mutants have miniguns—we either need to blow their brains out or cripple their gunning hand as fast as possible. That’s our biggest threat, I think.”

“And what about it?” He says, nodding towards the lone Mutant patrolling the metal railing around the Memorial.

“Simple: I dedicate this head shot to you.” Briar winks at him, before lowering their eye to the scope once more and taking a deep breath. When the wind dies a moment later, he hears them exhale, and from his spot next to them, even without a scope, he sees the Mutant suddenly lurch, blood spewing from the hole in their fat head, before their eyes rolled to the back of their skull.

The Mutant falls dead in a heap.

“Nice job.” He remarks with a smirk, amused at position the Mutant died in. They died on their knees, as if praying that in their next life they would be something other than a knuckle-dragging brute.

Briar tries not to look too happy about it and fails entirely. A grin quickly spreads across their face, despite their best efforts and their eyes crease in the corners affectionately, sparkling like the freshly disturbed surface of a lake. They nod at him, probably in thanks, before gathering their things and gesturing for the two of them to leave.

It’s a peaceful walk across the bridge leading to the small land mass that homed the Jefferson Memorial. The dull, red metal platforms strewn across the property resembled the dried out vascular system of a long-dead beast. The hulking, stone monument that sat behind the platforms certainly brought forth the image of one.

At some point, the Jefferson Memorial had been a pristine white. Now, it was a sickening mixture of green and grey, much like the clouds that rolled in before a radstorm. He KNEW the place was massive, but now as he clears the platforms and gets nearer to the beast, the magnitude of it fully dawns on him.

Briar approaches the dead Super Mutant while he’s still ogling the place. They slip into a graceful crouch, balancing on the balls of their feet, and make quick work of relieving the corpse of its bullets and singular stray Chem. The bulky, wooden club at the Mutant’s feet would remain where it was—useless in either of their hands and not even worth lugging around to sell for the meagre caps it was worth.

They descend the platforms and wander towards the side of the property, where a door catches his attention. The words ‘gift shop’ are still visible on the door.

“You killed a lot of those Mutants, but there’s no telling how many of them are waiting for us inside.” He speaks up as the two of them cautiously approach the door.

“I know.”

“I’m saying it’s the last chance to listen to your common sense and leave.”

Briar inhales slowly, and sharply.

“I know.”

“Good.” he says and bumps his arm against theirs. “We’ll go in on your cue—not a second sooner.”

“Thank you.” They nod, taking another deep breath, but this time holding onto it. Briar rolls their neck, then their shoulders, giving themselves a fully body shake as if to rid themselves from nerves. Their sniper’s rifle gets slipped onto their back, and their silenced 10mm pistol is removed from its holster.

A dozen grenades are moved from the bottom of their duffel to the top for quick access. The Stimpacks and Med-Ex get the same treatment, and though he sees Briar’s hand waver on their cigarettes for a moment, they ultimately think better of it.
Looking at him, Briar offers a nod.

“Let’s do this.” They announce.

Shotgun in hand, he nods once, before opening the door to the gift shop and stepping inside. Briar slips in, glued to his back, and the two of them eye the long hallway that greets them. It’s quiet, with no threats in sight. Before them, at the end of the hall, was some rubble, but nothing else.

The two of them share a look before beginning to walk down the hallway, guns in hand and bodies hunched low to the floor. It’s hell on his back but sneaking around like this is as natural as breathing for his partner, who shows no signs of discomfort as they practically crawl alongside him.

At the end of the hall, Briar peeks their face around each corner, before quickly hiding behind the wall again.

“There’s a turret on the ceiling towards the right. It seems like the way to go deeper into the building. The left hall looks like it just leads to the bathrooms. And more rubble.” Briar whispers to him.

“We have the benefit of a quiet entry. If we want to keep that advantage, it’d be better for you to take care of the turret with your gun.”

“Right.” They agree and move to peek behind the wall again. Their silenced 10mm lacks the scope of their sniper’s rifle, but the iron sights and Briar’s keen eye is plenty enough to land a hit on the turret. It takes three bullets to destroy the turret, versus the singular bullet it would have taken with his shotgun, but not a single sound had been made.

The two of them wait a moment, just in case their activity has been noticed by anyone or anything, but the hallway remains as quiet as it was minutes ago. Turning to him, Briar nods, and the two of them head down the right hall. The hall branches out into three paths, straight ahead, to the right and to the left.

No matter what direction they looked, it simply led to more halls. The Memorial was far larger on the inside than either of them had guessed. The right hall leads to a large, open room, with some sandbags set up as barricades. Unlike every room so far, it isn’t empty—two Mutants stand with their back turned towards the double-doors, completely unaware of their presence as they discuss something.

One Mutant was armed with a wooden club and the other with a far more threatening weapon: a minigun.

They tuck themselves behind the remnants of the wooden double doors, and he looks to Briar, whose fingers are tapping against their 10mm as they think. The bullets from their gun and the distance they were at would mean that a headshot would be almost impossible with how dense a Super Mutant’s skull tended to be.

A direct hit from a minigun would mean assured death for either of them.

He can tell when an idea comes to mind when Briar’s eyes light up. Slowly, they unzip their duffel, using both hands to eradicate any noise it may make, before taking out a grenade. They pantomime throwing it towards the Mutants. It would be noisy, but it would create enough distraction to focus on the Mutant with the minigun.

Only after he nods, does Briar tear off the tag of the grenade before rolling it across the floor towards the two Mutants.

When the grenade bounces just at their feet, the Mutants stop talking and look down, and at that exact moment the grenade explodes with a mess of smoke, debris, and gore. One of the Mutant’s legs gets blown clean off, while the other is crippled heavily, leading to them to collapse on the floor, blindsided completely.

The Mutant wielding the minigun has no choice but to drop the heavy artillery to the floor with a resounding clatter, as the left arm that had once been hefting it up was now a mangled mess of bone and exposed tendon. Before the idiots can process what has occurred, he stands to his feet and rushes into the room, shotgun ready, and blows the brains out of the Mutant on the floor, before making quick work of their comrade.

The explosion, and subsequent shotgun shots alerts nothing. After the bodies settle, no one else enters the room, save for Briar, who eyes the ceiling and corners for any hidden threats, before joining his side. The Mutants hold nothing of value, save the minigun, and to prevent the gun from being picked up and used by someone else, his partner removes the firing pin. In the case that wasn’t enough, they tear open a nearby sandbag and scoop some of it generously into all four of the gun’s nozzles.

Room secured, they exit past the double doors and back into the hallway.

Taking a left leads to the full gift shop and lobby, which held nothing of immediate interest, and left with no other options, the two of them head north down the hall. A metal door sits at the end, and the sign painted on the wall next to it confirms that it’s a stairwell leading to the lower floors.

He takes the lead, pushing the door open as quietly as he can, before peeking his head in the stairwell. It’s quiet, which is reassuring, but it smells awful—like rotting meat and spoiled blood. He takes a few experimental steps into the stairwell, mindful of tripwire or a bouquet of grenades, and finds the source of the smell as he rounds the first staircase.

A bag made of rope netting sits slouched in a corner, the contents readily on display and eagerly oozing out of its confinement. Viscera, bone, and half-gnawed human limbs fill the bag to the point of bursting. He spares it no more attention than needed, but the smell, or the visuals of the gore bag is so offensive that it pulls Briar’s attention completely and they end up bumping into him as he’s surveying the next flight of stairs.

‘Careful’ almost slips out of him out of habit, but he catches himself. As much as he’d like to put some distance between himself and the foul stench emanating from the bag, he thinks he might have just heard something.

It wasn’t talking—that he was certain of. It wasn’t the heavy footfalls of a Super Mutant, either. As he sharpens his senses, the sound becomes clearer. It was like something was being dragged up the stairs below.

Something heavy.

Behind him, his partner’s Geiger counter starts to buzz and crackle.

“Start backing up. Quick!” He whispers sharply over his shoulder just as a fleshy, maroon tendril slips into view past the corner of the stairs below.

There was no chance in hell he was going to fight a Centaur in such a disadvantageous place— not that Briar needed to know what the threat was just yet. If the two of them were quick, they could fight this abomination on a flat surface, if it had the attention span to remember to follow them, that is.

“What is it?” Briar asks, taking the stairs two at a time. “Toxic waste?”

“Worse. Get to the top floor. I need you to get some grenades ready.”

Try as he might to keep up with them, he’s simply too heavy to move as fast as them. Briar’s waiting at the top of the stairs for him, an impatient, uncomfortable twist to their face. All the color drains from their face suddenly, and their mouth falls open in abject horror just as he hears gurgling behind him.

Knowing already what threat was lurking behind, he doesn’t bother with turning around and instead tries to clear the rest of the distance of the stairs.

No such luck.

One of his legs gets captured by the Centaur’s tongue and with one tug, he’s pulled to the floor, his right ribs slamming into the sharp corners of the stairs. Briar’s Geiger counter starts chattering again, but that noise is immediately drowned out by his partner firing their 10mm in quick succession at the creature.

The bullets harm it, clearly, but it would take far more than that to stun it, let alone kill it. The mounds of misshapen flesh and limbs acted like armor and piercing it would be a difficult feat with such a small caliber firearm. It works enough as a distraction, and as the Centaur climbs higher up the stairs, the distance between it and him lessens, but so too does the tautness of the tongue pinning his leg.

He didn’t need to be standing to shoot, and as long as Briar keeps distracting the thing, he should be able to land a few clean hits with his shotgun. He readies it immediately, pointing the nozzle at the Centaur’s face—if it could even be called that. One blast blows their ‘face’ and most of their mouth to pieces, freeing him at last, and the second shot he unloads at them cracks open a rift in their thick hide, finally exposing their skull.

As he reloads, the thing wails and shudders, mindlessly thrashing in its desperation, but its tantrum is soothed by a single bullet from Briar’s 10mm, which lands dead on with their exposed skull, shattering it, and mushing up their brain. The Centaur lays still, now nothing more than an extremely annoying roadblock in the staircase.

Briar is at his side at once, peeling the disgusting appendage from his leg and helping him stand.

“Are you okay?” they asked while holstering their gun. Briar looks him over for visible injuries but can’t help but cast sidelong glances at the abomination near them, which continues to set off their Geiger counter.

“My legs fine. Ribs might be bruised.” He answers. “We just made a lot of noise. Whatever’s waiting for us at the bottom knows something’s up by now.” And looking at their face, he notices that the color still hasn’t returned. “What about you? Feeling alright?”

“Nauseous.”

The reason for that was obvious enough. If the Centaur’s horrific countenance didn’t turn his partner’s stomach, the Rads it was emitting would do the job. He reaches into his duffel and pulls out a single dose of Rad-x and Rad-Away and all but shoves it into their hands. Briar takes it without fuss, only needing half a minute to administer both.

After catching their breath, the two of them descend the rest of the stairwell and reach the bottom where another metal door awaits. Briar presses their ear to the door, listening, and after hearing nothing, moves to quietly open the door. They open it a crack to observe what lay ahead, and finding nothing of immediate threat, they open the door fully.

Another long hallway, but now that they were on the lower levels of the Memorial, the stone and wood of the building was now replaced with metal and wiring. Fluorescent lights lined the hallways but seemed to make them no less dim and foreboding. He walks in front, taking the long stretch of hall one step at a time.

The whirring of electronics and machinery is distracting as he tries to parse out footsteps or speech. The hall breaks into a large room with some kind of mechanism in the middle, shielded by a fence on all sides. It holds little interest to him, or Briar, and the two of them pay the thing no mind as they slip further into the room.

A large, mechanical door sat to the left of the room, unresponsive unless the proper button or computer could be found. To the right, another hall. The Memorial was beginning to remind him more and more of a Vault with how serpentine and endless its hallways felt. Hoping this hall would lead to the last stretch of the property, he makes a beeline towards it.

At the end of the hall, another door. This one has a plaque on the wall that reads: ‘Rotunda’.

There is only silence on the other side of the door, so he opens it quickly and looks. A large, circular room with a high ceiling greets him. Metal ramps lead up to round structure—a lab? There were a lot of electronics and pumps, but he doesn’t get to take in the finer details when a door on the other side of the rotunda opens and a Super Mutant, the largest he’s ever seen, barges in with a minigun in hand.

“I found you!!” The Mutant cackles, gnashing its teeth like an animal and its brutish face brightens with glee as it starts to rev up its minigun. Unlike the time in Smith Casey’s garage, he manages to shut the door before any of the bullets even leave their chamber.

The metal door isn’t thick enough to withstand an onslaught of any kind, but the hallway is straight, save for the initial curve, so any bullets that made it through the door had a risk of hitting them in the back.

There was no other option than to be fast and make it back to the main room. Briar runs ahead, pulling him along by his arm desperately as if that will propel him faster, and the Super Mutant’s sadistic laughter is muffled by the roar of their minigun coming to life. He hears metal being punctured, then feels a bullet graze his hip. Another bullet hits his shoulder.

Ahead of him, Briar sucks in a breath sharply, also catching a stray bullet.

All that matters is that their spine, heart and brains stay intact. Everything else was negotiable.

They spill back into the main room, and thankfully none of the bullets bouncing in the hall ricochet. The door is obliterated in seconds and the Super Mutant’s heavy, eager footsteps sound off. It would only be seconds until they burst into the room and let loose another rain of bullets.

Clenching their teeth through the pain of the bullet wound in their shoulder, Briar whips out another grenade, pulling the tab off with their teeth, before lobbing it down the hall leading to the rotunda. It bounces towards the left, and he hears the Mutant’s laughter abruptly stop, before the grenade ignites.

It’s satisfying for all three seconds, until more footfalls sound off down the hall. Another Mutant storms into the room, but they aren’t alone. The pair, one wielding an assault rifle and the other, holding a chunk of rebar, flood the room with both their sizes and their insurmountable bloodlust.

He doesn’t give the one with a gun any time to use it, quickly pointing the nose of his shotgun at their right bicep and shooting. It blasts their arm off messily and the assault rifle clatters to the ground as the Mutant caterwauls. Being disarmed doesn’t stop it from charging forward and using its own body to crush him against a wall.

The ribs he’d bruised earlier crack under the abuse, sending a shock of pain up his side just as his temple knocks into metal wall. The pain blindsides him completely. The Mutant’s large, meaty fist suddenly wraps around his throat with enough force to hold him in the air by a foot or two, his feet now dangling in the air uselessly as his windpipe starts to cave in like an aluminum can.

His shotgun drops to the floor as the feeling in his arms gives out. From over the Mutant’s shoulder, he sees Briar carefully dancing in between the other Mutant’s chaotic strikes, looking for any opportunity at all to make an attack that wouldn’t cost them their head being caved in the next second.

He can’t even call out for help if he wanted to, the most he can get out is a hiss of air. When the other Mutant slams the rebar club into the wall, missing his partner entirely, the weapon gets stuck there, giving Briar enough time to fire off their 10mm. The bullets catch the Mutant in the eyes, blinding them completely, and as they lash out, Briar finally turns towards him.

When their eyes meet, he thinks it might be the last thing he ever sees, as darkness starts to cloud his vision. It was astounding that he was running out of air before his windpipe was crushed. The strength of the Mutant choking him must have been dwindling from all the blood loss.

A miracle, if there ever were one.

With the other Mutant blinded and now preoccupied with rolling around the floor in a frenzy, Briar turns their attention to the one accosting him. They unsheathe the knife on their thigh and rush over to him. They slip out of his vision, only to return with a vengeance as they jump and cling onto the Super Mutant’s back. One arm is curled around its neck for leverage, the other, raised high in the air, the blade of the knife pointed at its throat.

He sees the blade drag across the brute’s neck with lightning speed and gets blinded by the spray of blood that gushes out. The hand around his throat finally loosens. His body plummets to the ground, the fall buffered by nothing, not even the corpse of the Mutant.

It upsets his cracked ribs even more, and the rush of oxygen feels both relieving and excruciating. He can’t see what’s happening, but he can guess by the sounds that Briar picked up the discarded assault rifle and was currently ending the other Mutant’s miserable life.

After some firing, the room at last falls silent.

Anxious footsteps sound off, and then in the darkness he feels one of Briar’s hands on his shoulder.

“I need to make sure there isn’t any more waiting to ambush us before I treat you. I’ll be back in a second. I promise.” Briar tells him.

All he can muster is a weak nod of his head. He listens to them leave, unable to do anything other than that. He’s not sure how much time passes, but as promised, Briar comes back.

“Buildings clear. We’re safe.” They announce and their voice becomes clearer as they approach. He assumes they kneel at his side and start digging through their duffel for medical supplies, judging by the sound. “God, those fuckers really did a number on you. Your armor is riddled with bullets.”

He grunts in agreement, then winces.

“Careful.” Briar fusses. “I’m going to turn your face to the side so I can pour some water over your eyes and rinse the blood out. Try to keep your eyes open while I do it.”

Their hand gently turns his face to one side. There’s a plastic popping sound, before cool, purified water is poured across his face. As instructed, he opens his eyes, and immediately hisses at the sting of the water and blood on his eyeballs. Even after the blood has been flushed out, his eyes are so irritated that it isn’t until minutes later that he can see anything without it having a double.

Briar’s face comes into view at last. Their signature frown is the most pronounced he’s ever seen it.

“I’m going to take off your armor. Can I unbutton your shirt? Don’t speak—just shake your head or nod.”

He doesn’t like it, but it’s necessary. After a moment of hesitation, he nods.

“Thank you.”

He hardly blinks at his combat armor being tugged off. When its set aside and their nimble fingers move to his chest, he tries not to think too deeply about the sensation of someone unbuttoning his clothes for him, but with his mind as disoriented as it is, it proves impossible.

“…You’re shaking.” Briar remarks.

He almost wishes he’d died earlier, if only to spare him from the overwhelming mortification that rises within him now.

“I’ll leave your shirt on.” They assure quickly. “There’s a bullet hole in your shirt— I can use that hole to inject any chems I need. You’ll need to let me know if there’s any internal injuries, though.”

Very weakly, he raises one arm to point at his right ribs.

“Is that the side you bruised on the stairs? Just our luck those mongrels had to slam you in the same spot. If you have a cracked rib, I think I should give you a Med-X, before anything else. You must be in agony.”

He watches them slap on a pair of nitrile gloves, before plucking out a single syringe of Med-X. Their hands disappear and the prick of the needle in his shoulder barely registers as painful. They must have given him the entire thing, because the roaring pain swiftly becomes dulled; more of an ache, than something that demanded his full attention.

“Cracked rib, gunshot to the shoulder, strangled…” Briar thinks aloud, now preparing a Stimpack. “And did a bullet graze your hip?”

He nods.

“I need to outfit you with better armor. The stuff we looted from the Talon mercs is barely holding up.”

We need to fight less Super Mutants, he thinks. The armor held up just fine against ferals and Raiders. There was nothing, save for Power Armor, that could withstand a minigun or the Super Mutants that typically wielded them. It takes three Stimpacks to get him standing again, but he still ends up leaning his weight on Briar a bit as they lead him over somewhere.

“Forgot our things.” He rasps, as the two of them leave the main room and walk down the hall towards the rotunda. Beside him, sweating from the exertion of helping carry some of his weight, Briar speaks up.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll grab them in a second.” They assure, before lifting a hand to point. “The door over there where the Mutants came from loops to the other half of the Memorial. I found a small room with a bed. We can rest here for a few hours before heading back to Rivet City and giving everyone the good news.”

Exiting the rotunda through the other door and turning right leads them to the room Briar was talking about. A twin sized mattress sits on a wooden frame pressed against one wall. There’s a small metal desk, a wooden chair, a lamp in one corner, and a few boxes and folders. They help him over to the bed and his equilibrium is so off-kilter that he almost pulls them down with him.

“There’s no way that the Med-X has someone your size this loopy.” Briar remarks when they straighten. “Are you sensitive to Chems? Or is there another injury I should know about?”

It occurs to him now that he forgot to tell them about his head slamming into the wall earlier. When he strings along the words to tell them, Briar sucks in a horrified breath and flicks on the flashlight of their Pipboy, before shining its light at his face and blinding him for the second time that day.

“Your pupils are dilated. You probably have a mild concussion. Fuck.” They suck their teeth and lower their Pipboy. “I’ll need to stay up and watch over you while you rest. Here, let me help you get settled in.”

The bed is missing pillows, but Briar makes a makeshift one out of a few stray lab coats they find in a nearby storage closet. After bundling the fabrics into a pile, they help him to gently lay across the bed. His feet hang over the bed comically, but it’s not something either of them can appreciate as funny at the time.

When he’s finally settled in, Briar walks over to the desk and drags the chair over to the bed, but they don’t take a seat.

“I’m going to bring our stuff in here. I’ll be back.” They assure, before disappearing again. It’s only now that he notices they’re walking with a limp.

He’s almost asleep when labored footsteps startle him. Twisting to look at the doorway behind him, he sees its just Briar lugging both of their duffels; their sniper’s rifle and his shotgun hanging over their back. Everything gets deposited onto the desk, save for their duffel, which they set on the floor at their feet as they take a seat near the bed.

“Don’t mind me.” They say, pulling out the medical supplies again. Despite saying that, he finds himself unable to do anything but watch, engrossed as they begin to tend to their own injuries, all of which he was ignorant of.

He tries to say something. Maybe ask. It comes out slurred and undecipherable. Frustrated at his inability to articulate what he wants; he tries to reach out with his left hand to touch them. His hand misses their knee and flops over the side of the bed. Noticing his plight, Briar picks up his hand and settles it over his stomach neatly. They even pat the top of his hand once, as if to soothe him.

“I’m okay.” They tell him. “None of the injuries I have are anywhere close to what you’re dealing with. If you want, I can tell you out loud what I’m doing. Maybe it’ll help you fall asleep.”

He must make some kind of affirmative sound because their eyes flicker over to him briefly.

“A bullet caught my left ankle and I’ve got some deep bruising from where the rebar tapped me, but I managed not to get hit full on with the thing. Pretty sure one hit from that would’ve killed me.” They explain. “It’ll only take me a second to wrap up my ankle and use a Stimpack. After that, I’ll have to find some way to entertain myself while you snooze. Oh—I’ll have to wake you up occasionally, to make sure the concussion isn’t worse than it seems. Try not to be too annoyed with me.”

He only catches half of that when his eyelids start to close.

Chapter Text

The smell of cigarette smoke rouses Charon from his slumber, and this time when he cracks open his eyes and sits up to look around, he finds that he’s in bed alone, although not a bed he remembers ever crawling into.

He doesn’t need to search for his partner, he finds Briar easily enough; they’re sitting on the floor, legs crossed, as they dig through a carboard box. Various documents and schematics have been dug out and scattered across the floor of the small room. Beside them, like a hound at its master’s side, sat their sniper’s rifle; freshly oiled and gleaming menacingly.

An empty can of purified water has been crushed into an ashtray. Several cigarettes sit in a graveyard of ash, with the latest hanging limply from Briar’s bottom lip as they turn to regard him.

“Hey,” they greet, tapping the ash of their cigarette before standing to their feet and approaching the bed. “How are you feeling?”

They hold out the cigarette for him. He accepts it with mumbled thanks; taking a drag as he considers their question.

“Sore.” He answers, handing back the cigarette.

“Anything else? Nausea? Spotty vision?”

He nudges them out of the way so he can stand up and see for himself. There’s a deep ache in his muscles that would only go away with further bedrest, but other than that, his brain just felt a little foggy. The nicotine helped.

Coffee would be better.

“I’m fine.” He says, rolling his shoulders, “What time is it?”

Briar’s face sours. While clearly not trusting his opinion on what was considered fine, they don’t press him any further.

“It’s just shy of three a.m. You’ve been asleep off and on for six hours.” They bend down to snub out the dwindling cigarette. “Do you even remember being woken up?”

He doesn’t.

He remembers the entirety of the trek through the Memorial all the way down to the basement, then the rotunda, and remembers the firefight with the pair of Mutants that had overwhelmed them. Things were crystal clear until his head collided with the wall. From that point on, things were fuzzy at best. If he really digs his memory, he can remember a few things: water being poured over his eyes, the warm feeling of Med-X being administered, then…

Life had a sick way of messing with him. He can’t remember getting into bed, but he can remember with startling clarity the way he’d freaked out when his partner started unbuttoning his shirt.

Self-loathing bubbles inside his chest like acid.

Briar did it out of necessity, and they’d only did it because he’d given them express permission to do so. Still, he can’t find it in him to apologize for the overreaction. That seems worse, somehow.

Better to just not address it, he decides.

“I don’t remember much after slamming into the wall.” He answers.

“That’s okay. I can fill you in while you eat. Here,” Briar says, now pulling out a can of Blamco Mac and Cheese and the spoon the two of them shared. A can of water is handed to him next, and he takes a seat at the desk in the corner, tucked away from the view from the hall.

His memory is hazy, but he distinctly remembers this chair being somewhere else. He doesn’t care enough to think too deeply on it and pulls the metal tab on the can. He tosses the lid on the desk and eats the lukewarm, fake cheese with disinterest.

Briar starts picking up all the papers off the floor and returns them to the cardboard box near the ashtray and drags another box from the corner over and starts delving into its contents. They could sit on the bed this time around, since he isn’t hogging it, but they’re happy to sit back on the cold metal floor.

“There’s not much that happened after the fight. I patched you up, we somehow dragged you over here without me dropping you, and then you slept. I woke you up every half hour to make sure the mild concussion stayed just that—mild.” They explain wearily.

More papers are pulled out, but this box yields something of interest the first hadn’t: holotapes.

“How are you feeling?” he asks, pausing to give them a good look over.

They looked exhausted, but there was no sluggishness in the way they picked apart the box and carded through folders jam-packed with documents.

“Better, now that you’re up. I was worried you’d die in your sleep.” They confess with an uncomfortable laugh.

He sets his spoon down and stares at them.

“Sorry. I should have kept that to myself.” They cough into their fist. “Anyways, I’m glad you’re feeling better.”

“I was going to die back there.” He says without waver; unwilling to let the subject drop. Their eyes widened in shock as if a bucket of ice water had just been dumped over their head.

“I-I know.”

“You saved me.”

Briar lowers their face, unable to face that admittance for one reason or another.

“It was CLOSE.” They hiss with no shortness of bitterness. “If I had been a few seconds slower, you would have—” And they pause, unable to voice the words again. “I saved you, but you didn’t see the state you were in. There was blood all over you. I knew, rationally, that most of it came from the Mutant’s throat I slit, but with your eyes closed… God, you looked dead.”

“You think too much.” He decides with a scowl. He sets his food aside and turns his attention to them completely. “Come here.” He says, and while the request shocks them, they still stand up and walk over to him, doing a piss poor job of looking anything but nail-bitingly anxious.

He holds out his right hand, palm up.

Unsure of what to do, Briar’s eyes dart between his bored face and his hand. After a few seconds of just standing there, his partner dares to slip their hand atop his. As soon as they do, he captures their hand in a firm grip; enough to startle, but never to harm.

They jump a little, which is satisfying.

“I’m alive, aren’t I?” He challenges, squeezing their hand lightly.

“Y-Yes.”

“There’s no one to thank for that but you.”

“But—”

He cuts his eyes into accusing slits, daring them to keep arguing.

Briar’s mouth closes and they turn their face away meekly to stare at the doorway.

They squeeze his hand back tentatively. For some reason it didn’t occur to him that they might. Surprise isn’t visible on his face, but behind his ribs, his heart skips a beat.

“…I’m glad you’re still here.” They say quietly.

He knows what they really mean; what they’re too scared to utter twice.

“I know.” He says and feels deep disappointment when their hand slips out of his. He’s quick to move on from THAT observation, and goes on to ask: “What’s with all the papers?”

“Oh, these?” Briar perks up, walking back over to the box. “The Jefferson Memorial used to be where my dad and all the other scientists were working, before the project went south, remember? They left behind a bunch of notes—stupid of them, seeing as how this project is supposed to be secret. But now that I’m noticing it…”

They flip through a folder at seeming random, looking for something specific.

“This handwriting is my dad’s, I’m dead certain.” They explain and hold up a sheet of paper for him to see. It’s not like he’s familiar with James’ handwriting, but he nods anyways to encourage them to continue. “It’s on all the papers in this room. I must be more tired than I thought if it took me this long to realize.”

“Think this was his room?” He asks.

“Yeah.” They nod, and remembering something, they scoop up the orange holotapes and take a seat on the edge of the bed.

“None of these holotapes are labelled, but I bet they’re his. Do you care if I play one?” They ask.

He shrugs, then watches them slip one of the tapes into their Pipboy with practiced ease.

There’s static, until:

“The team has made plans to scale back our work once the baby is born.” James’ voice speaks suddenly, and the man’s voice is laden with frustration. “We're also trying to compensate for the increase in mutant attacks; no one is really talking about the implications of it. There are more of them than before. We know it, and the Brotherhood soldiers know it. Our relationship with the Brotherhood is straining…”

“None of the scientists mentioned that the group they were working with before was the Brotherhood of Steel.” He sneers, repulsed at the idea of being involved with those tech-nuts.

“They’re okay, from what I’ve seen. When I had to fix the satellite at the Galaxy News Radio, I ended up being caught in the middle of their standoff with a bunch of Super Mutants. A Behemoth showed up, but that still wasn’t as scary as whatever that thing was in the stairwell.” They return.

“They’re called Centaurs. I don’t know why.” He answers. “And as for the Brotherhood, they’re good for killing Super Mutants and that’s about it. They have a reputation for disliking ghouls—feral or no.”

“I vaguely remember Willow mentioning that.”

It’s been a while since he’s thought of Willow, and by extension, Underworld. The Ninth Circle seemed like a far-off memory now. Ever since working with Briar, the two of them have never returned to the ghoul settlement. He’s never asked why that is, just accepting that Underworld had nothing to offer in the search for their father.

If he’s honest, he’d prefer to never set foot in the place again. There was no separating his time in servitude under Ahzrukhal from his memory of Underworld, because the entirety of his life in that place was tainted by that fact alone. He could never believe anyone there would see him as equal, not after decades of humiliation and servitude.

He doesn’t even want to give them the opportunity, either. There was no one, save for maybe Willow, that he held a single care for, and the care he had for her was more akin to resigned respect at the duties she provided for the settlement.

The tape stops, and like clockwork Briar pops it out and sets it aside neatly, before putting in the next. Since the holotapes are unlabeled, the story of how Project Purity failed is given to them in disjointed pieces that they must stitch together.

“Even in Vault 101, my work on Project Purity never really stopped.” James explains, “One night, after half a bottle of scotch, I broke into the Overseer's office. It was easy enough to hack his console, gain access to the restricted files. Most of it was garbage. But there was one thing, one name that stood out amongst all the others -- Doctor Stanislaus Braun.”

The mere mention of Dr. Braun makes his partner’s jaw clench. Briar doesn’t bother listening to the rest—they both knew how the story of Vault 112 played out.

Briar changes out the tape with something akin to disgust. The next tape plays and it isn’t James speaking this time.

The voice belongs to a woman.

“...that batch of tests was inconclusive, but Madison and I are convinced it's a problem with the secondary filtration system.” She says, and the way she says Madison’s voice with a hint of indignation is familiar, oddly enough.

He can almost imagine her nose wrinkling.

“We’re going to re-calibrate the equipment and try again tomorrow, so that— James, please, I’m trying to work! Now’s not the time...” The woman continues, and the second James’ name spills from her lips, Briar’s mouth parts in a wordless gasp.

The tape continues to play, but he’s certain his partner isn’t processing any of it. Their eyes become two large, gleaming marbles, so full to the brim with tears that all it would take is someone blowing air in their face to make them spill over.

He’s seen them upset before, but this is beyond that. Their mouth opens and closes uselessly as they look around the room, stopping to look at him, the boxes, their Pipboy.

“Briar?” He calls out, standing up, but before he can get too close to them, they raise a hand to shield their eyes.

“That’s Catherine’s voice.” They say shakily, and in growing volume, continue, “That’s my mother’s voice! T-This—” A pitiful sound leaves them; something like a whine or moan. “This is the first time I’ve heard her voice...

“I never knew there were recordings. He never told me! Why didn’t he tell me?” They agonize, and he watches, uselessly, as tears fall onto their lap. “I could have died without ever hearing my mother’s voice. Why did he hide this? There’s no reason for it!”

Their breath hitches.

“…I could deal with James abandoning me without a word and I could accept him lying about Dr. Li, and maybe one day I could even be okay with the number of bodies he left behind in pursuit of Project Purity, but THIS? This is just…pointlessly cruel.”

“I don’t understand.” Briar says and their voice cracks pitifully as the despair becomes too much. “I just don’t understand! I’ve lost so much because of him and now all he does is treat me like this. It’s like he doesn’t care if I die. Am I that disposable next to his project?”

The misery swiftly turns to vitriol.

They lower their hand from their face; uncaring if he sees the tears that freely spill down their cheeks.

“I need a moment alone.” Briar suddenly says, standing. Their chest heaves up and down sporadically, a wild look in their eyes. They had the look of someone about to do something reckless.

It was beyond stupid to leave them alone in such an emotionally volatile state.

“Please.” They add, when he still hasn’t moved an inch.

He’s never heard them this desperate.

“I’ll be back in twenty.” He concedes and takes his shotgun before quickly exiting. He’s not even fully down the hall before he hears something being thrown against a wall with a resounding clatter.

Picking up the pace, he enters the rotunda, shuts the door behind him, and takes a seat on the lowest step of the metal platform circling the lab.

He takes out a cigarette and starts smoking.

The closed door and the distance he’s put behind him does nothing to drown out the noise. There’s sobbing, followed by loud banging. Something breaks, he’s pretty sure. He’s also pretty sure nothing, save for the metal desk, would survive the whirlwind of trauma and stress that’s been compartmentalized, sealed shut, and threatening to burst ever since the early days of their partnership.

He counts the minutes manually, since there’s no clock or Pipboy at his disposal. He almost loses count at the seven-minute mark when a cacophonous sound, like wood splintering into a thousand pieces, makes him jump. He eyes the door with annoyance, before picking up his dropped cigarette and continuing to smoke.

Even after it falls quiet, he remains on that step, diligent in his counting. He promised Briar twenty minutes, and he was going to give them that.

He thinks about what tomorrow morning might bring. It’s only a few hours away, but he’s interested in knowing if the two of them will be returning to Rivet City at all, or if they’ll just leave James and the other scientists in the dust.

It might be satisfying to let their father think they’d died in the Memorial, if only to give them a taste of their own medicine, but he’s not sure if Briar is that vindictive.

They might be, after today.

After twenty minutes, he snubs out his cigarette and exits the rotunda. The hallway leading back to James’ former room is disconcertingly calm. It makes his stomach twist with dread. He starts rethinking the decision to leave them alone and walks faster as he rears towards the bedroom.

He puts a hand on the doorframe and steps half inside.

Sitting with their back against the wall, tucked into the tightest ball he’s ever seen and with their face hidden into their folded arms, Briar sits in the center of wreckage, barely moving, apart from breathing.
Every box has been emptied of its contents.

Documents blanketed the floor. Folders were wrinkled and bent. Littering the floor in varying chunks were pieces of the wooden chair he’d been sitting on not too long ago. What remained of the chair sat like a dismembered corpse in one of the corners; most of its legs missing and the backrest barely holding on.

He’s relieved to see that Briar had the foresight to move both of their things to the top of the desk, where he notices they also tucked away the holotapes.

The one hand that’s visible to him from where he stands is shaking. The knuckles were split, the skin scratched raw, and he could tell even in the low light of the room that bruises were already forming. The repeated, thudding sound from earlier must have been them punching the wall.

Wordlessly, he walks over and sits down next to them.

Not trusting himself to say something reassuring, he starts humming instead. He doesn’t have the voice for it, no ghoul does, but he still likes doing it anyways. His attentions on the wall straight ahead, but when he feels Briar move a moment later, he casts them a sidelong glance. Their arms have relaxed enough to allow the top half of their face to peek out.

A steady stream of tears continues to fall from their bloodshot, sleepless eyes. Their light brown, curly hair slips into their face, casting an eerie, almost threatening shadow to the way they stare up at him.

The hate in their eyes isn’t for him, he reminds himself.

“You should sleep.” He says casually, as if remarking on the weather. “It’s been almost twenty-four hours since you have. You should eat, too. All you’ve had is cigarettes.” And he turns to look at them fully, now. “And your knuckles need bandaging.”

They don’t move to do any of that. Sighing, he stands up and walks over to the bed; using one hand to sweep off the chunks of wood from the broken chair to the floor, before returning to Briar’s side and bending at the knee to effortlessly pick them up.

They’re rigid as they’re held against his chest and carried over to the bed, where he deposits them carefully on the side of the bed nearest to the wall.

“Sleep.” He all but orders, taking a seat on the edge of the bed and setting his shotgun flat across his lap. He waits for a minute to see if they’ll tell him off with a curse, maybe storm out of the room to sulk in peace.

The mattress moves. Looking over his shoulder, he finds Briar laying down on their side facing him, body curled around where he sits. The warmth from their stomach bleeds into his back. Their expression is dull in its misery. The exhaustion must finally be getting to them, but a part of them was still stubbornly fighting against it.

“…Can you hum again?” Is not what he expects Briar to ask him just now, as they scootch over to curl themselves closer around him.

He picks a song at random and starts to clumsily hum it. It doesn’t take long for the small body against his back to grow heavy with sleep. It doesn’t do his aching back any favors sitting upright like this, but after what felt like a lifetime of standing in the same spot at the bar in the Ninth Circle, this was nothing in comparison.

Time passes in relative peace. Odd, considering the place had been crawling with Mutants not too long ago. Briar must have felt the same when they sat vigilant over his concussed body. The mechanical whirrs and hisses that emanated from within the halls of the Jefferson Memorial put him on edge the first few times, but now it blends into the background perfectly with his partner’s light snoring.

After three hours, Briar startles awake, their snoring cut off by a gasp. They sit up quickly, feeling around for their sniper’s rifle, before they quickly realize where they are.

“Buildings still empty. It’s just us here.” He assures.

Swallowing hard, Briar blinks, nodding in an off-kilter way, before peeling themselves from his back and slipping off the bed. They don’t pay the wreckage in the room any mind, uncaring if their boots crumpled any research papers as they wandered over to the desk and grabbed themselves another can of purified water.

A second can is tossed over to him.

There’s not a lot of food between the two of them, because neither of them had expected the job at the Memorial to result into an impromptu sleep over, but the box of Sugar Bombs that gets passed back and forth between them staves off the deepest of his hunger.

Finished eating, he wipes the sugar dust off his fingers on the bed sheets and starts gathering his things.

“What’s the plan?” he asks, breaking the silence at last.

Briar walks over beside where he stands at the desk and packs away the holotapes with the medical supplies, using some torn fabric to protect the delicate plastic. With that taken care of, they gather the rest of their things with far less gentleness, carelessly tossing their duffel over one shoulder, before their sniper’s rifle, which is benched for now in favor of the assault rifle they’d stolen from the Super Mutants.

“We’ll return to Rivet City, inform the scientists that our work here is finished, and then pay our tab at the hotel.”

“And then?”

“…I’d like to head over to Megaton. Maybe stay there for a few days while I try to figure out where Burke and his mercenaries are hiding.”

He has no complaints about that plan.

“We’re running low on supplies.” He mentions. If his math was correct, they only had a handful of ammo left for their sniper’s rifle. Maybe that’s why it was on their back in favor of the assault rifle. “The Mutant’s didn’t have as many weapons as we thought. We’ll be tight on caps for a while.”

Briar shakes their head.

“I forgot to tell you, since you were concussed, but I found their weapon’s cache in the supply closet nearby. The same closet I grabbed those lab coats.” They explain, turning to point towards the bed where the makeshift pillow was. “Should be more than enough to sell to restock our ammo and get you a new set of clothes. And armor.”

It’s all explained flatly, not a single spark of light in their eyes.

He’d almost prefer if they were still bubbling over with anger, if only to get SOME reaction out of them that wasn’t apathetic.

After looting the cache, they walk away with two assault rifles, a dozen frag grenades, a hunting rifle, two sets of pipe-pistols and a veritable bounty of Chems and ammunition. None, unfortunately, were the .308’s needed for Briar’s sniper’s rifle, but that was to be expected; what use would a brute like a Super Mutant have for a weapon that required such precision?

The only brutes that wielded a sniper’s rifle, and not even with half the finesse of his partner, were the higher-ranking paladins of the Brotherhood of Steel.

With nothing to impede their exit, they leave the Jefferson Memorial and its too quiet halls in record time. Slipping out of the gift shop, the two of them are greeted by the blue-pink sky as the sun rises. Briar stops to watch it for a moment, the breeze that rolls in making their hair sway.

They close their eyes and take a deep breath of air no longer tainted by blood or gunpowder. Upon exhaling, their eyes reopen, and they turn towards him.

“Ready to go?” He asks.

A nod.

No one, not even a stray Raider dared to cross their paths that morning as they trekked the debris strewn streets leading back to Rivet City. The place almost felt void of life, as if even the smaller, less mutated bugs had decided the surface was no longer viable and had buried themselves in the dirt for good.

It makes his hackles rise, when instead it should be relieving to have such an uneventful walk. That was the pleasure of having hired men on your tail, he supposes, and glances at Briar out of habit at the thought.

Their jaw is set rigidly in place and their eyes look on ahead with scathing purpose; flickering from one direction to another, hunting down anything that moved. It jogs his memory a bit—he gets a flash of the anger that had been on their face as they climbed the Super Mutant choking him.

The ruthless way they had slit its throat for his sake will be hard to forget, now that he’s remembered.

The guard at the entrance of Rivet City recognizes the two of them and doesn’t bat an eye as they head into the ship covered head to toe in blood and guts. Even the locals barely pay them any mind as they walk to the lab. Once inside, they spot Dr. Li talking with two men. Or, rather, two men were talking AT Dr. Li, seeming to get more and more impatient by the second, and in turn, making the scientist look outright hateful as she flung words back.

The two men in question were of no immediate threat from a quick glance. One had the air of a mercenary. Middle aged with black hair and brown eyes. A revolver sat in one holster and a serrated knife sat in another, strapped to their left leg. Next to them, doing most, if not all the talking, is an elderly man wearing a dark suit, with matching dark framed glasses.

Something like a snarl leaves Briar, and they break out into a jog over towards the trio. He was more than ready for that, and followed swiftly to their side, shotgun ready. Their arrival is noticed immediately, and the conversation dies as the group’s attention turns to them. Dr. Li, while undeniably disturbed by their appearances, looks relieved at their arrival.

“Are these men bothering you, Dr. Li?” Briar asks at once, sliding in front of the woman to shield her from view of the unwanted guests. The assault rifle wielded in both of their hands is held with confidence, and although pointed towards the floor, he notices that the safety is already off.

“Y-Yes,” She says, perturbed, but like a light switch being flicked, her annoyance returns, “I have asked them several times now to leave, but they insist on interrogating me about some little experiment of theirs.”

“It is no ‘little’ experiment.” The elderly man interjects with an insulted look. “Not that you, or anyone here could comprehend the real magnitude of my vision. You don’t understand what is at cost here!”

“What YOU don’t understand is that neither of us has the patience right now to entertain a stubborn, old fool and their hired help.” Briar corrects, and they lift their head to look down their nose at the two, a sneer on their face as they take a step forward.

“I don’t care about whatever crap you’re trying to peddle to the scientists here. Get out of this lab before I introduce your brain matter to the wall behind you.” They finish, each word laced with indisputable authority and dripping more venom than the last.

He punctuates their demand with the very audible sound of his shotgun’s safety being flipped off.

The merc next to the old man eyes him for a second, waiting to see if he does anything beyond that.

He doesn’t need to.

Common sense finally floods their system, and the elderly man, looking between Briar, himself, and Dr. Li, shrinks in on themselves, as if just remembering their own very real mortality.

“I’ll see myself out, if you don’t mind.” They say, sniffing haughtily as to put on airs of them still being in control of the situation. It would be somewhat convincing if the papers on the desk nearby hadn’t been blown off the table in the whirlwind of their hasty exit.

The merc follows the man awkwardly a second later.

Briar doesn’t take their attention off their retreating forms until the door to the lab has been slammed shut behind them.

“Thank you for…that.” Dr. Li says, blinking rapidly. “It’s good to see you two in one piece. I take it the job went well?”

“Place is cleared.” Briar agrees, tone still peppered with lingering hostility.

“I see. Did you happen to notice any damages to the machines in the basement or rotunda? I’m sure you were busy with more important things—I was just curious.”

“Everything seemed like it was working. There were no flickering lights or alarms. There’s some minor damage from the fight we had, but nothing terrible.”

“It sounds like we’ll be able to move our things over to the Memorial as soon as possible, then. Project Purity is officially back in order, after all this time. I’m very grateful for what you two have done. I know I can be… difficult to get along with, but I hope that you know that, at the very least, I appreciate all the efforts you’ve made on our behalf.” She says, stepping forward to offer a hand to each of them.

“…Thanks.” Briar says, sounding a little thrown off by her admission, and wipes their right hand on the pants of their recon suit stubbornly before shaking her hand primly, once.

There’s nowhere on his clothes that aren’t just as caked in blood as his hands, so he doesn’t bother copying them and simply gifts the scientist with as short of a handshake as possible to reduce the amount of filth he transferred over. In her defense, she doesn’t even blink at the blood or his own necrotic, rough touch.

“I’m afraid I’m the only one up this early. I made a fresh pot of coffee a few minutes ago. You’re more than welcome to it while we wait for the others.” She explains, gesturing to the steaming machine atop the table surrounded by chipped porcelain mugs.

“I’ll stay for coffee, but we have to take care of some things, if we want to hit the road on time.” Briar tells her casually, already pouring themselves a cup.

He’s mistaken. The first cup is handed over to him, with the second being for themselves.

“You’re already leaving?”

“We had to put some important things on hold because of the project. Now that it’s back in your group’s hands, I’d like to focus on those things.” They explain neutrally as possible.

“Very well. I must admit that now that I’ve seen you in action as our ‘hired gun’, I’m sad to see you go. But we’ve taken up enough of your time, I think. If you’re under a timetable, I can go and grab James. I’m sure he’ll want to speak with you.”

Briar visibly tenses, an uncomfortable twist to their face.

“That’s okay. You don’t need to do that.” They tell her.

Her thin, painted brow arches.

“…I see. Well, whatever your reasons, they’re yours, but I hope you realize that it will fall to me to answer James’ incessant questions on why his only son left without sparing him a single word.”

“He didn’t spare me any parting words when he fled our Vault. You can remind him of that fact if he bothers you too much about it.” They return coldly.

Dr. Li nods out of politeness, but it’s clear that she isn’t going to relay that message word for word.

“Good luck to you, wherever you go.” She offers later when the two of them finish their coffee and return the empty mugs.

“Thanks. Good luck with the project.” And although Briar attempts sincerity, it comes off as robotic, just a motion they were forcing themselves through in their attempt to surgically extract themselves from the lab, the project, and by extension, their remaining familial ties as quickly as possible.

The two of them take their leave.

In the hall, Briar closes the door to and leans against it, as if holding back a flood. They run a hand through their hair and grimace at the filth and tangles.

“Hey,” Briar calls out, tone nowhere near as harsh as it’d been in the lab. “I know we already agreed on going to Megaton, but are you feeling well enough for the walk? I don’t want you to push yourself after a head injury.”

“I feel fine, but we should stop and eat something if we’re going to be walking for two days.”

“Ah. I forgot about food.”

He isn’t surprised.

After eating breakfast at the Galley, they head to the weapon stall and spend a long time debating the prices of the guns they decide to sell. Only one of the assault rifles is kept, with a handful of grenades staying too. Buying a new set of clothes takes no time at all; he buys something almost identical to the bloodstained, torn outfit he’s currently wearing.

The combat armor he looted from the Talon merc is in too bad shape to be repaired, but it was too heavy to carry back with them to Megaton where Briar could salvage it for parts, so they end up selling it for dirt cheap to the tailor. There’s another set of combat armor being sold that was sparkling by comparison, but the price the owner wanted for it made his head spin.

“We’ll take that armor, too, please.” Briar asks the owner, not even looking at them as they count caps.

He turns to them, unable to stay silent.

“We won’t have caps for anything else.” He warns, not liking the idea of more than two thirds of the money they just made going to something SOLELY for himself.

“We already restocked on everything else. What more could we need?” They ask, and strangely enough when the question falls from their lips, their attention is caught by something.

Hung up on the stall wall, tucked between a golfing outfit and a church dress, is a red, skimpy nightgown. It looked like silk, but he didn’t have the eye to know if it was genuine.

It’s one of the few things that had gotten a reaction out of his partner since leaving the Memorial. He’s unsure of the significance of the nightgown. Maybe it made them remember something. He’d ask about it if he wasn’t more concerned about the hundreds of caps they’re about to throw away on his behalf.

“A-Anyways,” they blink rapidly, as if breaking from a stupor, and tear their eyes from the nightgown to look at him. “Money is meant to be spent. There’s no point in sitting on it when we can always make more.”

“I agree whole-heartedly.” The owner pitches in with a saccharine smile.

He doesn’t remember asking them a fucking thing. The sentiment must show on his face because the owner’s smile wilts, now lopsided and queasy.

Crossing his arms, his eyes flicker back to Briar. He’s hellbent on convincing them to save the caps, or at least pick some of the cheaper armor, and that too must be evident on his face, because his partner glances at him once, briefly, before ignoring his existence wholly as they hand over a bulky pouch of caps.

“It is a pleasure as always doing business with you.” The owner says, handing over the new combat armor carefully to Briar with some noticeable struggling. His partner fares no better when handed the armor, wincing a bit, before muttering a thanks.

It’s held out to him with shaking arms.

Internally fuming, he accepts the armor wordlessly, tucking it underneath an arm. It’s not like he’ll put it on in the middle of the market. The straps on the inside would need configuring and he still needed to change into his new clothes.

He remains silent during the walk back to the hotel, barely even sparing the hotel owner a glance as Briar paid their tab. Back in their room, he sets the armor down on the bed and excuses himself to grab a hot shower. Door locked; he tosses his old clothes unceremoniously into the garbage bin in the corner before he steps inside the shower stall.

Beyond the spray of water, he hears Galaxy News Radio being switched on from his partner’s Pipboy. While muffled, he appreciates it anyways. Cleaned and dressed in his new ensemble, (black on top of more black), he exits the bathroom and notices something strange.

Well, sort of.

Briar’s sitting on the bed, as expected, but their face is noticeably flushed. There’s some sweat on their brow, he thinks, as he walks over to them while toweling off his face and neck. They’re fiddling with their Pipboy—not with the screen, but with the belt that tightened around their wrist and kept anyone from stealing it.

Their duffel sits behind them, instead of next to them, he notices, which, while harmless, gave the impression that they were guarding it. The holotape with their mother’s voice was delicately packed away inside it, so that made sense to him. He still couldn’t figure out why they looked as if they’d just ran a marathon.

“There’s still hot water left.” He tells them, and they nod, not quite as enthused as they usually would be at the aspect. “Is it busted?” He asks, and when they look up at him, he juts his chin towards their Pipboy.

“No, it’s working fine. I’m just putting it back on.”

Back on? Shouldn’t they be taking it off to shower? What was the point of taking it off and on?

He didn’t know anything about Pipboys or the technology behind them, so if they said it wasn’t busted, he’d take their word. Deciding that their flushed face must have been caused by pacing the room in one of their anxious circuits and nothing more, he drops the subject.

When they go to shower next and he’s left alone, there isn’t really anything to do besides reorganize things in his own pack for the dozenth time and then try on his armor; adjusting as needed until it sat snugly on his frame.

He’s still irritated about the purchase, but there was no use in bitching about it, seeing as how he was already wearing it.

Half an hour later, the bathroom door swings open. There’s some life back to Briar’s eyes, but not much. The filthy recon suit they had to change back into after showering is visibly discomforting them. They pinch and pull at the fabric as if to pull it away from their skin. If they weren’t in a hurry to leave without their father noticing, they could have washed and dried the suit.

Even he knows better than to voice that observation.

“The sooner we leave, the sooner we can get to Megaton.” He tells them, maybe uselessly, but the idea is to motivate them to return home—where nearly limitless hot water, a tub, and fresh clothes would be waiting.

Briar hums thoughtfully, maybe already envisioning some of those things.

“Let’s hit the road, then.” They say, grabbing their things.

The two of them exit the hotel, slipping down the many halls of Rivet City and sparing none of the people a second glance as they skirted past them towards the entrance.

Step by step, anxiety worms its way into Briar’s features.

Maybe they think James’s ought to have woken up by now and heard the news from Dr. Li.

Maybe they’re waiting for the sound of hurried footsteps; the shout of ‘son!’.

Nothing like that comes.

He can't tell if the expression on his partner's face is one of disappointment or resignation, but whichever it is, the emotion remains, settling in comfortably like black mold.

Chapter Text

“Welcome to Megaton—friendliest town around.” Greets Deputy Weld, a Protectron, from their post just a yard off from the metal shutters of the settlement.

While he can’t SEE the additional security that’s presumably posted on the ramps high above where he and Briar stands, he can still feel their eyes on him. There’s nothing to worry about, he knows, and is assured when the shutters lift with a metal roar a moment later, but he’s never liked a threat he couldn’t pinpoint.

The shutters are closed behind them, followed by another loud screech. At last, the glaring sun that had been radiating against his back and neck all morning was eclipsed by the high walls of Megaton. He felt ten degrees cooler just by that alone. Wearing all black made concealing blood and slipping into shadows easy, but it did him no favors in broad daylight.

He’s just relieved to not be wearing leathers anymore. His new attire was much more breathable, but the same could not be said for the expensive combat armor he was wearing. The materials were almost as hot as the sun’s beams. He could probably crack a Mirelurk egg over one of the chest plates and have it cooked in a minute or two.

Unlike Rivet City, Briar’s arrival is not only noticed, but warmly welcomed. Many people wave and mutter hellos as the two of them walk across the middle of town where the disarmed bomb sat in a puddle of radiating sludge. His partner’s Geiger counter sings, but they pay it no mind. To their credit, they manage to respond to most of the greetings with at least a curt nod or a polite wave, but their shoulders become more and more rigid as people continue in their attempts to socialize with them.

Briar picks up the pace as they head up the metal ramp leading to the upper layer of Megaton. The closer he sticks to his partner the less inclined people were to try and start a conversation. At the end of the platform, their house sits waiting for them dutifully, not a single sheet of metal out of place.

Digging the key out of their pocket and opening the front door takes a blink. The urge to rush inside first and check for intruders is only kept at bay by the swiftness in which Briar’s Mr. Handy, Wadsworth, comes jettisoning from the upper floor to eagerly greet their master. If there were any hostiles inside, the flamethrower or buzzsaw the robot was equipped with would make short work of them.

Relaxing, he follows Briar inside and kicks the door shut, taking the key from them to lock it, as they listened to Wadsworth’s extensive greeting.

“Welcome home, sirs! It has been some time since you last returned. I have to say, you are looking quite…tired. You do mean to stay here for a while, I hope?” Wadsworth entreats, the whirr and hiss of their machinery increasing in volume a bit here and there, as if they were breathing heavily from excitement.

“For a while.” Briar agrees, stiff and polite. “Thank you as always for taking care of the place. How have you been feeling? Need any repairs?” And despite their exhaustion, they still reach out to set their hand on Wadsworth’s central chassis, their hand just on where the metal curves, as if they were holding its cheek in their palm.

“I am in tip top shape, sir. Not a bolt out of place.”

Briar gently pats their chassis once, nodding, before taking their hand back.

“And the house? How are supplies? Does anything need repairing?” They ask.

“The oven has been giving me quite some trouble. None of the minor repairs I have done seem to fix it. We are running low on perishables, as well as canned goods, but if you or your companion are hungry, I will do my best to whip something up.”

Briar thinks for a long while.

“I should take care of the oven now, so it’ll be ready for dinner.” They conclude, tone neutral, but they start pinching and pulling at their filthy recon armor. It’s obvious what they really want to be doing: sitting neck deep in boiling hot water, scrubbing away the filth and emotions from the past few days.

They hadn’t even shrugged off their gun or taken two steps fully into their home before they were preparing to jump headlong into another project.

“Don’t worry about that stuff.” He speaks up for the first time since arriving in Megaton. “You can go shower.”

“Seems a little stupid to shower then get myself filthy fixing the oven right after.”

“I’ll take care of the oven and supplies.”

“Really?” They balk.

“I can do basic repairs.”

“That’s reassuring, but what if the oven needs repairing that ISN’T basic?” They shoot back.

“Then, and only then, I’ll drag you down here to fix it. Satisfied?”

They clearly weren’t.

Growing a little irritated with their lack of faith, and worst, their stubbornness when it came to taking care of themselves, he places a hand on their lower back and nudges them towards the stairs with a scowl on his face.

“Go.” He repeats, and with a scowl of their own, Briar huffs and trudges up the stairs.

He turns towards Wadsworth, who under his gaze seems to stand at attention, despite floating.

“Sir…?” It prompts, slightly wary of him.

“Do you have a list of the things we need?” he asks, setting down his duffel and procuring his bag of caps, but nothing else from it.

“I can certainly make one for you. Just a moment.” And it floats off to the kitchen, where he hears the fridge and various cabinets being opened and closed. Three minutes later, as he’s leaning against the front door, arms crossed, Wadsworth returns with a slip of paper, a decent sized list written in neat, almost perfect script.

“Back in a bit.” He says, before slipping out the front door.

On his first visit to Megaton, he hadn’t at all taken in the sights; too focused on locating Briar’s residence and relieving himself of the unending ache of the contract and its wants and needs. Now, on his second visit, he finds that there weren’t that many sights to be enjoyed anyways.

Each residence was a patchwork of sheet metal in varying degrees of ware, with most looking as if one good gale was all it would take to knock it over. The shops and bar didn’t fare much better, the only improvement being the size and maybe the steadiness of their foundations. It would take two gales to knock them over, instead of one.

He supposes that with an active bomb in the middle of town, (now thankfully disarmed), it would discourage people from building better, permanent houses, but now it just seemed people were content with what they had. Megaton wasn’t the worst of settlements he’s seen. It had a steady trade route of supplies, by the look of things.

There weren’t a lot of people in Megaton, but none of the few there were starving or miserable, he notices. Even the children that ran across town seemed healthy enough. He spots one of them peeking out behind a wall to stare at him while he’s buying groceries from the sister counterpart of the Stahl siblings.

“It’s not her first time seeing a ghoul. You’re just a lot tougher looking than the guy who runs the bar.” Jenny Stahl explains to him as she packs his purchases away into an empty Nuka-Cola crate.

He spares a glance over his shoulder at the child—a small black girl, probably around seven or eight, wearing a t-shirt and shorts several sizes too big and needing to be tied at the waist with a rope. She makes an audible gasp when he notices her, and promptly disappears.

A second later, as he’s still staring, her face peeks out again.

Caught in the act, the girl hides herself again and this time does not come out again. Snorting a little under his breath, he returns to Jenny, who’s finished packing his things. The woman had looked strained, but welcoming when he’d first arrived in her store, but after seeing him act with the kid, she’s a lot more at ease.

After the errands are finished, he returns ‘home’.

Stepping into the living room, he’s relieved to still hear the water running. His partner would be in there for a good, long while. That was a relief. It meant he wouldn’t have them standing over his shoulder while he worked. With some help from Wadsworth, the groceries are put away. After he announces he’ll be fixing the oven now, the robot excuses themselves to the living room to start dusting the bookshelves and knickknacks.

Finding a toolbox is easy enough—there are several littered around Briar’s home on the first floor alone. The one he grabs first even has a working flashlight, so he wouldn’t have to annoy himself with asking Wadsworth to shine a light. He hefts it over to the kitchen and crouches on one bent knee. Pulling the oven door down and flashing a light on the innards, he drags his eyes scrutinizingly over each section, looking for an obvious problem.

Nothing catches his attention, so he pulls out the greasy, burnt metal racks and sets them aside so he can stick his entire head in the oven and look more closely. The problem becomes obvious enough: the pilot light used to fuel the gas oven was busted. If that was where the entirety of the problem lay, all he would need to do is replace it.

Besides toolboxes, there are also crates of scrap metal and other machinery stacked near the bookshelves in the left corner of the living room, opposite the stairs. He digs through them all and doesn’t find one. Sighing, he washes the grease and filth off his hands, grabs his pouch of caps, and leaves for the second time that afternoon.

Moira, the owner of Craterside Supply, has pilot lights in bulk, which is nice, but having to listen to hear ear grating, overzealous attempt at friendly conversation makes him wish for a sudden flashbang to be thrown through the window of the shop. He returns home with two pilot lights and the start of a headache caused by how relentlessly he’s been clenching his jaw.

It’s a little warm in the house, but he’s only got this one shirt and nothing underneath it, so he resigns himself to feeling stuffy and maybe ruining his new shirt with grease. By the time the water turns off upstairs, he’s already got the door to the oven unscrewed and has most of his head, shoulders and arms buried in it as he rips out the old pilot light and its wires.

He hears footsteps on the stairs, then hears the bare padding of feet on tile behind him.

“You trust me with your life, but not your oven?” He remarks flatly, beating them to the punch on asking if he needs any help. When he pulls himself out of the oven to look at them, he sees that Briar is dressed in plain clothes: a dark green T-shirt with an unbuttoned long sleeve tossed over it, and a pair of well-worn jeans.

There’s an indignant wrinkle to their nose, so he knows he’s right.

“I do trust you!” They protest, “I’m just—”

“A control freak?” He offers, standing up now to walk over to them. He crosses his arms and leans against the wall, looking down at them with a thoughtful expression as they chew over his comment.

“…Maybe.” They say at last, sounding a little thoughtful too, as if just realizing an aspect of themselves. Briar crosses their arms and leans against the wall, mirroring his position, and it’s now that he realizes how close the two of them are standing.

“You don’t have to do everything just because you can do it better.” He tells them.

The stunned look on their face implies that it is the first time anyone’s ever told them that.

“…I’m being insulting, aren’t I?” They ask, face bowed.

“A little.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s fine.” He says, almost alarmed by how quicky his annoyance fizzles out and dies. “Anyways, the oven just needed a new pilot light. I’m almost done replacing it.”

“And the groceries…?”

“Already done.”

“I see.” They bite their lip a little, anxious, but pleased.

The conversation dies, but neither of them moves. The oven wasn’t going to be fixed with him just standing here, yet…

It was difficult to think of the oven, or anything, really, when all he could think about was how strongly he could smell their perfume this close. It must have just been put on—it completely overshadowed any hint of bar soap. The entire kitchen was starting to smell like it, the longer his partner stood there.

“That perfume you’re always wearing…” He starts, nonchalantly, but Briar whips their face up and looks at him with a mixture of surprise and horror.

“Y-Yes?”

“What is it?”

“The name’s been chipped off, but it’s supposed to be roses. The bottle is shaped like one, so that’s how I know, but I’ve never smelled a real one, so I don’t know how it compares.” They explain, beginning to ramble now under his continued staring. “…Does it bother you?”

“No,” He can admit freely, but it takes some effort to force out the rest, “I like it. It suits you—briars and roses.”

Sharp, yet sweet.

“T-Thank you.” They say, raising one hand to play with a curly lock of hair, unable to keep eye contact with him for long, before needing to stare at the oven, or a wall instead; the red dusting their cheeks becoming more and more noticeable.

“I guess I got lucky. Most, if not all perfumes you find now are either spoiled or dried up. Or shattered into a million pieces. I managed to find this one in a department store that was half buried in rubble. The place was barely looted—probably because the foundations were crumbling, and a sneeze could collapse the place.” Briar explains.

“Yet you went inside anyway.”

“It was…a calculated risk.”

“Is that your way of saying you just really, really, wanted it?”

“No comment.” They answer guiltily, before continuing, “Even from outside the building I could see the perfume section. All the shelves had been destroyed, glass was everywhere, but there were a few unopened boxes behind the counter stacked up. I had to squeeze through some dubious spots, but I made it in, and I started checking the boxes one by one, getting more and more disappointed with each destroyed bottle I found.”

“But then I opened a box and there was a bottle that was perfectly intact—and full! The liquid inside wasn’t cloudy or specked with mold. The bottle wasn’t even yellowed! It was the most gorgeous shade of red I’d ever seen. I know its…beyond stupid to risk my life for something like that, but…”

“You like soft things.” He says, remembering them saying exactly that weeks ago.

“I do.” They admit a little meekly. “…Did you want to see it? The perfume, I mean. I know you probably don’t care, but—”

“Show me.”

A little smile works its way onto their lips. It’s the first smile he’s seen from them in days.

Sliding off the wall, Briar exits the kitchen. He follows them up the stairs and towards the bedroom on the left, opposite where his own sits. It occurs to him now, as they’re opening the door, that it is his first time seeing their room.

Their bedroom is smaller than his, but more furnished. There’s a twin sized bed up against the wall in the left corner, the sheets and blankets made up, and their duffel bag and sniper’s rifle lay across it. Next to the bed is a small wooden nightstand, a few books and a pack of cigarettes sitting atop it. In the right corner of the room, near a doorless closet, is a dark wood vanity with the mirror surprisingly intact.

Like in the living room, there are yellow string lights hung up from the ceiling and draping across the walls, which would be otherwise bare, save for a few salvaged posters of pin-up girls. A black haired one winks at him from where it hung over their vanity like a patron saint.

A hairbrush, bobby pins, and a shiny .44 magnum with a box of matching ammunition sit atop the vanity’s surface. When he spares the closet a glance, he’s stupefied by the amount of clothes hanging up AND neatly folded into boxes.

He’s not sure what took up the most space in the house: the books, the machinery, or the clothes.

Briar takes a seat at the vanity and reaches down to pull open the bottom drawer on the right. A medium sized carboard box is pulled out and they set it atop the vanity. He quietly steps behind them, ignoring his reflection, and watches as they use both hands to carefully pull the bottle out.

It’s exactly as they described it. The bottle is designed like a rose in full bloom; about the size of one of their fists and a deep shade of red.

“Pretty.” He remarks.

“Isn’t it?” they say, smiling wider now, and the bottle of perfume sits cupped between their palms; the pads of their fingers tapping lightly on the ‘petals’. The scrapes and bruises on their knuckles are still healing, the scabs an angry, dull punctuation to their thin, almost delicate, fingers.

Even two days later, the sound of their anguished sobbing as they utterly fell to pieces in front of him echoes in his head just as acutely as when he’d seen it with his own eyes.

“How are you feeling?” he asks them a moment later as they’re tucking away the perfume back into its hiding spot.

Their eyes suddenly catch his in the reflection.

“…Like I need a lobotomy.” They answer earnestly, wincing at how defeated their voice sounded, and they place an elbow on the vanity and rest their cheek in their palm, eyes downcast as they ogle the things strewn across its surface as they continue. “If I think too much about what happened over the last week, I start vibrating out of pure, unceasing anger. Is that normal?”

“I’d only worry if you start frothing at the mouth.”

“Well, I can’t say I acted any better than a rabid animal back at the Memorial. God, how embarrassing. I’m sorry you had to deal with that.” And they cringe at the memory outwardly, eyes closing tightly and mouth scrunching into a disgusted grimace.

“You were justified in being upset.”

“Sure, but I didn’t have to have a tantrum over it.”

“You’d like nothing more than to micromanage each emotion and thought in that head of yours, wouldn’t you?” He cuts his eyes and tells them seriously. “Give yourself some slack and stop holding yourself to some impossible standard.”

“Anything ELSE I need to do?” They huff, a gleam of irritation peeking out now.

“Yeah.” He says, not missing a beat. “After I finish fixing the oven, you’re going to sit down with me and eat dinner. I even grabbed some booze if you were in the mood for a drink.”

The irritation in their face disappears, quickly turning into confusion, then surprise, then settling into a sheepish look.

“Hmph. That sounds…nice. I’d like that.” Briar admits finally.

“Then I better hurry up and finish.” he says and heads over to the door. As his hand curls around the doorknob, they speak up again.

“Charon?” They call out, soft and wavering.

“Yeah?”

“Thank you. Really, I—” And they pause. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

It’s said with no shortness of guilt. Their moral compass must be agonizing over the fact that the only person they could trust was also the only person that couldn’t refuse a direct order from them.

“Probably starve.” He says in hopes of lightening the mood.

Usually, his attempts just make things worse, but it earns a small laugh this time around.

“Probably.” They agree.

Chapter Text

“You’re up early.” Briar greets quietly when he trudges down the stairs the next morning.

They’re on the couch, dressed in a t-shirt and pajama pants, and they’re sorting through boxes of clothes. There are a few piles sorted out, and the pile closest to them is folded neatly. Their face is a bit pale and the dark circles underneath their eyes were so deep it looked closer to bruising.

“Did you sleep at all?” Charon goes right to asking as he clears the stairs and approaches the couch. Wadsworth was already in the kitchen cooking something, by the noise—and the smell. He glances at the robot briefly as it zooms around the kitchen, before trying to find a spot to sit on the couch that wasn’t littered with clothes.

He sits on the left armrest, back against the wall. It’s not comfortable, but it’s better than standing.

“No,” Briar answers, sighing, “I don’t know why, but I just couldn’t fall asleep last night, even after all the wine. Instead of tossing and turning all night I figured it was better to just get up and start doing stuff. Look, I even ended up finding a bunch of things that will fit you.” And they wave a hand to the neat pile of clothes that he’d had a feeling were for him when he first noticed them.

“Thanks,” He says, and while meaning it, he quickly moves on to what he really cares about, “But the clothes can wait. You should try to get some sleep after we eat.”

“It’s better if I just keep working.”

“Is it?” He challenges. “I think you’ll be able to sleep just fine now.”

“Why is that?” They say, quirking a brow and lowering the shirt they were folding.

“I’m up now.”

“And?”

“And you sleep better next to me.” He points out, “It felt weird not sleeping next to each other last night, right?”

“I—” Briar flushes, mouth agape, “I am not answering that!”

“It felt weird for me, too.” He says unflinchingly, and his admittance of that looks like it short circuits their brain. He laughs quietly, the sound a little deeper and rougher from sleep. “I already told you I don’t mind if you sleep next to me. You could nap on the couch for a few hours. Hell, you could sleep the entire day if you wanted.”

“The entire day? Won’t I be bothering you?” They ask.

“I could read.” He shrugs. “It’s not like there’s anything urgent we need to do.”

“Besides investigating the men trying to kill us? I suppose not.”

“Is that what’s keeping you up?” He hazards a guess.

“It’s one of many things.”

“Figures. I still think you should try to sleep.”

“Maybe for a little bit.” Briar agrees, a guilty look on their face, and when Wadsworth announces that breakfast is finished cooking, the two of them clear off the couch and table of the clothes and eat in silence.

He’s starving after all the booze he drank last night and finishes his food first as usual while Briar picks away at theirs like a bird. He thinks the only reason they eat it all is because it gives them a distraction. Plates cleared away, Briar excuses themselves upstairs to grab a pillow from their bed.

By the time he hears them coming down the stairs, he’s already grabbed a book from the shelf and seated himself on the far end of the couch; left arm crooked on the armrest and propping open his book and the other braced on the back of the couch. He stretches his legs across the table, one crossed over the other. In the corner of his eyes, he sees Briar reach the bottom of the stairs, freezing when they see him.

He’s fine with acting like he doesn’t notice them there standing at the foot of the stairs, hesitating, but it seems they’re content to stand there for eternity, stewing in their indecision.

“You think too much.” He announces with a sigh and adds: “And too loudly. I already told you it was fine, now get over here already.”

After another second of internal debate, Briar walks over, carefully tip toeing over his crossed legs instead of rounding the table before taking a seat next to him on the couch, about a foot apart. They’re staring at the front door, hands fidgeting nervously over the pillow on their lap.

Rolling his eyes, he snatches the pillow from them and sets it on top of his right thigh. The message is clear enough, he thinks. Slowly, as if a gun was pointed at their face, Briar lays down on their back, and settles their head onto the pillow; their legs dangling off the other armrest. They aren’t putting their full weight on him, he can tell. They were far too tense.

Pointing that out would only make it worse, so he ignores them for the time being and starts reading. Or he tries to, but Briar speaks up.

“Don Quixote is a good choice.” Briar remarks suddenly, their eyes flitting up towards the book. “I’ve read it dozen times—that’s why the spines all messed up.”

“Is it your favorite?” He asks.

“No, but it comes close.”

“And what is?”

“Not telling.” Slips out of them instinctively—and petulantly.

He briefly remembers having a conversation like this back in Vault 112.

“Can I try guessing it?” He says, trying a different approach this time.

“It’d be hard guessing the book, but you can try guessing the genre. I’m not going to give you an infinite amount of tries, though. You get three, and that’s it.”

“Fine.” He agrees and thinks for second. “Murder mysteries?”

Briar gave him the impression of someone who figured out the perpetrator early and took great pride in bragging about it.

“Nope.” They answer breezily.

“Sci-Fi?”

“You get one more shot.”

“…Comedy?” He hazards a guess.

“Incorrect. You lose.” Briar says smugly.

He scowls but otherwise takes his loss gracefully. As he returns his attention back to his book, Briar notices something, and when he glances at them again, he finds Briar staring at him with a hint of fascination.

“You’re holding it really close to your face.” Briar remarks curiously. “Are you slightly farsighted?”

He thinks for a second.

“Is that the one where you can see stuff fine from far away—”

“But things up close are blurry? Yep.” They confirm.

He hums lowly in response, not really liking that discovery of himself. Picking up on his disappointment, Briar adjusts their face a little so they can peer up at him better. With their face craned up like that, all the longer bits of their hair that usually fell into their face now drapes across the pillow and lap in a half-halo of brown curls.

“Is it only with reading? Or is my face blurry this close too?” Briar continues.

“I can see your face just fine.” He tells them, starting to feel defensive.

“Hard to tell what’s ‘fine’ in someone else’s case.” Briar notes, blinking, and they still don’t sound all too convinced about his answer.

“You have freckles. Your nose is slightly crooked at the bridge. You have green eyes. What else should I point out to make you believe my vision is fine?”

“Maybe you just need reading glasses.” Briar concedes, turning away from him to now obsess over the insecurity he reminded them of. Their hand reaches up to delicately feel out the shape of their nose.

“Not wearing them.” He returns immediately, feeling a little petulant himself now.

“Huh? Why not?”

“Stupid.” He mumbles.

“I didn’t expect such an immature answer.” His partner balks, shaking their head as they stare at the ceiling. “You know, people with glasses are usually seen as smart, right? They make some people look chic.”

“I don’t know what that means.”

“I read it in a magazine. It’s French. It means ‘stylish’.” They explain with flourish.

“Uh-huh.”

“Not impressed?” Briar says, wilting a little.

“Shouldn’t you be sleeping?”

“Wow, okay.” They huff. “I wish I knew the French word for 'jerkass'.”

He doesn’t make a sound, but the way his body shakes gives his laughter away.

At some point he feels their body finally relax against him. When he glances at them, he notices that their eyes are starting to droop and become unfocused.

“Falling asleep?” He asks.

“Definitely not.” They say primly.

Not even a second later Briar’s eyes flutter shut, and he hears them snoring.

Hours blur together peacefully. He’s almost finished with the first part of his book. Needing to give his eyes a break, he mentally jots down what page he was on and sets the book on the armrest, and then closes his eyes.

“Charon?” He hears Briar say sleepily.

They practically slurred his name.

“What?” He says and gets no answer. Cracking open one eye, he looks down and sees that they’re still asleep, only now their face was lolled to the side, facing his stomach. Their lips were parted, and he could see a trail of drool in the corner.
They had only called out his name in their sleep, nothing more.

He isn’t delusional enough to think that they were dreaming about him—maybe deep down in Briar’s subconscious, they wanted to make sure he was still there; that it was safe to continue sleeping. That, or their sudden twitching and mumbling was a prelude to a nightmare.

It feels natural slipping his arm off the back of the couch and draping it across their chest. The added weight of his arm anchors them visibly, and their twitching stops at once. The only other sound out of them is a wayward snore.

Briar’s said multiple times now that they trust him, but it was in moments like these where he really felt the weight of that.

Whether he really wants to or not, a smile works its way onto his face. He doesn’t fight it—there’s no one else to see it now that Wadsworth had gone upstairs to its charging station.

Sometime when the sun sets, Briar stirs awake. He pretends to be asleep himself as they rouse, letting them save face for once, and he doesn’t crack an eye open until after his partners crawled off him, the couch and made their way upstairs, where he now hears the water running.

Standing up, he stretches and goes to the kitchen to grab two Nuka-Cola’s from the fridge. He grabs the glass ashtray and his pack of cigarettes too and sets it all on the table. To his surprise, Briar returns faster than he’d anticipated. The water running upstairs must have been the sink, instead of the shower.

They look leagues better than this morning, but still looked fatigued.

Briar’s thrown on a pair of jeans, but the t-shirt from earlier remains; now wrinkled from sleep.

“Oh, good you’re up.” They say, returning to the couch and easily moving to sit beside him. He cracks open their Nuka-Cola for them as they light up a cigarette. “Thanks. I was going to ask some questions about Burke at the Saloon. Did you want to come along?”

“Fine with me.” He shrugs. “Could use the walk.”

“In that case, I could give you an unofficial tour of the town. You’ve probably already seen most of it, and the rest isn’t all that impressive, but the offer stands.” Briar offers, perking up a bit at the prospect.

“Sounds good.”

After they’ve killed their drinks and cigarettes, he leads the way out the house, holding the door open for them and Briar gives him a quick, polite smile, before they duck under the threshold and step outside.

He locks the door behind them and pockets the key.

“Where did you go yesterday?” Briar turns around to ask.

“The Brass Lantern.” He answers and nods at the stall outside the metal trailer. “…And Craterside Supply.” He remembers a second later, a scowl working its way on his face.

“I should have warned you about Moira. She’s great at fixing things but she’s worse equipped to deal with people than I am. If she asks for your help about making a guide, just tell her no. She tried asking me to go survey a mine field. As if anyone’s insane enough to agree to that!”

“I’m not stepping in that place again.” He tells them resolutely.

“Not going to make you.” They huff, indignant, and lead him past the Brass Lantern. They point at the small building adjacent to it. “That’s the medical clinic that Doc Church runs. He’s quick to rush people out once he’s done treating them, so you won’t have to worry about him talking your ear off.”

“I’m not letting some random doctor poke and prod me.”

“Yeah, that’s my job.” They joke, and when he turns to them, balking, they giggle. “I only meant that there’s no point in paying to see a doctor with me around. Same with repairs.”

“I can’t argue that.” He says a little dumbly.

Briar ascends the ramp past the medical clinic that leads up to the Craterside Supply, which the two of them pointedly avoid, and continue up towards the bar, which he notices that the original name, Moriarty, was crossed out with red paint, and a new name took its place: Gob.

He’d forgotten until just now that someone else from Underworld was now living in Megaton. It’s enough to stop him dead in his tracks, just as his partner is about to push the door open to the Saloon.

“Something wrong?” Briar asks.

“Nothing.” he says defensively, shaking away a memory. He could have sworn he heard Ahzrukhal’s brittle, malicious laughter just now and it put him on edge. “Let’s head inside.” And after a second of consideration, Briar nods, and opens the door.

He follows inside after them, eyes adjusting to the dim lighting of the small bar.

A whistle rings out sharply, immediately making him tense, before he realizes it came from the bartender; a woman with short, scruffy hair that was dyed bright pink. She’s dressed in leathers and leans against the bar top, her cleavage on full display as she smiles almost sleepily at the two of them.

The whistle had caught attention of the few other patrons on the first level of the bar, and Briar stiffens under the unwanted attention, a scowl working its way on their face immediately as they quickly approached the bartender.

“I am not a fucking dog to be whistled at.” Briar tells the woman at once, no shortness of annoyance or insult in their tone, but to the woman’s credit, she doesn’t even bat an eye, seeming more amused than anything at their anger.

“Was wondering when you’d show your face.” She returns, voice either naturally husky, or made that way from years of smoking. The tip of the cigarette hanging loosely from her lips burns like a neon sign as she inhales. “Who’s your friend?” She continues, and her dark eyes flicker to him as he approaches.

“This is Charon.” Briar says sharply while finally taking a seat in a stool. He takes the one next to them, even though he’s already thinking about just getting up and leaving. “Charon, this is Nova, co-owner of the Saloon.”

When he doesn’t say anything, they nudge him, and only then does he force out a disinterested grunt.

“Nice to meet you too. Boy, you two are a match made in heaven.” Nova says, utterly at ease in the face of both of their sour dispositions. “Well, can I get either of you a drink?”

“I’ll pass, thanks.” Briar says, and when Nova’s eyes fall to him, he wastes no time in answering.

“Beer.”

“Coming right up.” She snorts, turning her back on the two of them for all five seconds as she grabs a beer from the fridge and pops the cap off. She sets it in front of him with a welcoming thunk, winks, and then turns her full attention onto Briar.

“What can I get you, if not a drink? We don’t have a lot of options. This is a bar, after all.” She says to them.

“I wanted to ask you a few questions.” Briar says casually enough, queasy smile set in place now that they needed something.

Underneath the bar top he sees their right foot bouncing against their stool.

“Not any good ones, by the sounds of it.” Nova tuts. “Fine, ask away.”

“Do you remember that sleazy guy, Burke? The one who asked me to detonate the bomb in town?”

“Oh, yeah. What about him?”

“He put a fucking bounty on my head. I have mercenaries chasing me down.” Briar tells her in a furious whisper, now eyeing the other patrons in the bar with open suspicion.

“Christ. Maybe you and the Sheriff should have just killed him while you had the chance.” She winces, squishing her spent cigarette in the ashtray.

“I know.” Briar groans, raising one hand to comb it through their hair. “Believe me, I know. If I could rewind time and put a bunch of holes in his stupid suit, I would. I was hoping you might know something—a rumor, some gossip, ANYTHING. The only other information I have is that he’s working alongside someone called ‘Tenpenny’.”

Nova blinks.

“Isn’t that enough? That Tenpenny guy has this huge tower he lives in. It’s even named after him.” She says, giving his partner a funny look.

“What?” Briar says with so much surprise they stand up with enough force to almost knock their bar stool over. It probably looks like he isn’t paying attention, with his face pointed elsewhere, but he easily reaches out with his left hand and stops the chair from falling.

“Show me your Pipboy—I can probably point out the place.” Nova continues, grinning at his partner’s reaction. After some fiddling with the map, she taps a finger over the screen. “There. See, it’s not all that far from here. You’re in luck.”

“About a day’s walk if we head directly southwest from here.” Briar muses, the gears in their head audibly whirring. “I thought it was going to take us a while to figure it out, but you’ve made things simple. Thank you. Here, let me.”

And when Briar starts digging out their caps, Nova vehemently rejects his offer, even going as far as pretending not to see the pouch that his partner’s trying to push towards her.

“Not even for the beer?” Briar asks, confused.

“I don’t take caps from strange men anymore.” She says, and Briar looks legitimately offended. “Besides, it wouldn’t feel right asking you for payment after everything you’ve done for us.”

“I’m strange?” Is the only part that makes it through Briar’s head.

“The strangest.” Nova laughs. “That’s what I like about you, though. Normal people are boring. The weirder the better, am I right?”

“You’re a regular freakshow, yourself.” Briar returns softly, relaxing a little. There’s a small smile tugging the corner of their lips as they tuck away their caps.

Rolling his eyes, he goes back to staring at the wall and sipping his beer.

“How long are you planning on staying in town, by the way? I’m sure Gob wants to talk to you at some point, but he’s busy in the back tending to the books right now.” Nova asks casually, back to leaning over the bar top, this time resting her cheek in her palm as she chatted with his partner.

It was mildly relieving to know that the other ghoul wouldn’t be coming over to chat, at least for the time being.

“I’m not sure. Maybe a week. Maybe more.” Briar hums.

“Plenty of time for us to have a drink together. How about you two come over after closing next time? That way all four of us can drink.” She offers.

“That sounds fun. What do you think?” And Briar turns towards him.

Sharing drinks with a stranger that acted too friendly with his partner wasn’t appealing in the slightest and adding in someone from his past only deepened that opinion, but as much as he wants to shoot down the idea immediately, maybe even be nasty about it, Briar is looking at him with a smidge of hope in their eyes.

“I’ll think about it.” He ends up saying.

“Really?” Briar says, surprised that he’s even entertaining the idea.

He grunts and takes another sip of his beer, emptying it. Without a word, another, crisp and cold one from the fridge is set in front of him.

Other than that, Briar and Nova don’t really pay him any attention, as they were keen on gossiping. Not that anything truly interesting happened in a shitty, no nothing town like this. Whatever they discuss promptly goes in one ear and out the other, but he can’t stop himself from suddenly checking back into focus and glancing at the two whenever Nova leans against the bar to speak something too quiet to make out into Briar’s ear.

She’s done it twice now, and each time, his partner’s face has flushed.

She even catches him staring the second time, and he’s not sure what he’s more pissed off about: the fact that she was clearly trying to rile him up or the fact that she caught him looking.

He should have asked for whiskey, instead of beer, if only to curb the worst of his irritation. By the time the two of them leave the Saloon, the stars are fully visible in the night sky above the town.

Aside from the Church of Atom, there was nothing notable left to point out, so the tour concludes and the two of them start walking back home.

On the ramp down, he can feel Briar casting him sidelong glances, probably picking up on his foul mood at last, despite how much he was trying to keep it to himself.

“If I ask if something’s wrong this time, will you actually answer me?” They ask.

“No.”

“I expected as much.” Briar sighs loudly. “Nothing’s ever easy with you.”

“That’s rich coming from you.” He derides, taking out his cigarettes and noticing he only had one left. He crushes the empty pack and shoves it into his pocket before digging out his lighter and lighting the tip.

As he’s lifting his head and taking his first inhale, Briar nimbly snatches it from his lips and settles it between their own, already breaking out into an all too pleased fit of giggles.

“You’re a fucking brat.” He seethes, and to his annoyance they wink at him, which only reminds him of why he was annoyed in the first place. He tries to swipe it back, but as soon as he thinks about it, his intent must show on his face, and Briar hops a step backwards, before breaking out into a small run towards the house.

They grab the doorknob, all the while laughing outlandishly at him, but that laughter dies suddenly when they realize who has the key to the door.

His footsteps sound off behind them, and Briar jumps, quickly turning around. He’s already so close, but he takes another step until they’re forced to press their back against the front door, their hands braced on either side of their hips. He puts a hand on the wall just a little to the right of where their head is, and they glance at it briefly, before their attention is drawn to how he’s leaning in.

He doesn’t have to be fast when he steals the cigarette back this time. They’re too shocked to react.

“You’ve never been able to get away from me.” He mocks, looking down at them as he smokes.

All they can do is switch between staring in his eyes, or at the cigarette, the yellow light of the porch making it difficult to tell if they were blushing, but he’s dead certain they are.

“Tell me something I don’t know.” Briar argues weakly, sounding a tad breathless. “As a matter of fact, you could tell me what I did that pissed you off so much.”

“Not pissed off at you.”

“So, you ARE pissed off.” They observe, crooking their face to the side to study him, “What about?”

“Tell me what books you like, and I’ll consider telling you.”

“Don’t tell me you’re still hung up on the fact you lost earlier.” Briar sneers, crossing their arms now. “I’m not telling you.”

He turns his face away to exhale smoke before leaning even lower, face hovering near theirs.

“Charon…” Briar warns, the back of their head bumping into the door as they try futilely to back away.

“Tell me.”

He maintains eye contact with them, hardly even blinking, and Briar swallows hard before their tongue peeks out to wet their lips.

“R-romance.” They admit with a heaping of shame and frustration.

“…Really?” He says, astonished, and inadvertently backs off a little.

“Yes, really.” And their face twists into a defensive glower. “Spare me the insults— I’ve heard it all before. Especially from the guys back in my Vault.”

“I shouldn’t be surprised considering the other things you like. It seems obvious now. I should have guessed.”

“Yeah, well, you didn’t, did you?” Briar gloats. “Now are you going to answer MY question?”

“Didn’t care for all the whispering and secrecy earlier.” He admits tersely and takes a full step away from them so he can continue smoking.

“Whispering?” They parrot, before realization hits them. “You mean what Nova was telling me? Trust me, you’ll be glad you didn’t hear any of it. She has a very weird sense of humor and likes to humiliate me. She’s like you, in a lot of ways.”

“So, she was what? Teasing you?”

“She likes crude jokes. Don’t ask me to repeat any of them.” Briar makes very clear. “Are you satisfied now?”

He grunts, feeling stupid now that he was considering everything. He ashes the cigarette and slips the remainder between Briar’s lips in lieu of giving an actual apology for his behavior and starts digging the key out his pocket as they smoke.

He expects them to stay outside and finish smoking so they can get a break away from him, but they follow him inside the house and simply idle near the living room table where the ashtray remains from earlier. He needs a second to think, so he excuses himself upstairs, but before he can make it up all the way, Briar calls out for him, suddenly remembering something.

“Take these,” they say, waiting at the bottom of the stairs and holding the cigarette away from the pile of clothes in their arm. “I’m going to sort through the rest now.”

He meets them halfway, accepting the clothes, and when he doesn’t move afterwards, they scoff.

“What now?” They ask testily.

“If you can’t sleep later tonight, you can grab me.” He offers after a tic, not sounding as nonchalant as he’d like.

“Hmph.” Briar tuts, turning away and only sparing him a glance from over their shoulder. “…Only if it won’t bother you.”

“It won’t.” He assures.

They take another puff from the cigarette and nod meekly a second later.

Unable to say anything either, he nods too, before heading up the stairs and walking over to his room. He kicks the door shut and locks it and makes a beeline to the ridiculous heart shaped bed and takes a seat at the edge; feeling as if the bed itself was mocking him.

He’s never hated any other piece of furniture more in his life.

There’s not a whole lot of things in his room to distract him from it. The bed takes up most of the space in the room, there’s a small dresser next to it, and on one wall there’s a closet that he’s got nothing hanging up in. There are string lights along the wall and ceiling, but there’s no wall décor of any kind.

He’s not sure if that bothers him or not. What the hell would he even put up?

Pin up girls were out of the question.

Or were they? He hasn’t put any thought into what he likes in that way since…

He’s not sure. It feels like a topic he’s avoided for an eternity. In his long history of serving people, both men and women had abused him sexually in varying ways. Was sex even something he wanted anymore?

Could he even stomach it without an old memory rousing and just ruining everything? There had been plenty of times now where he could have jerked off in complete privacy, but he’s never felt the need to.

The fact that he was a ghoul was its own complicated, fucked up thing, but his contract was another thing entirely. The history of sexual abuse and mental fuckery was just the wretched cherry on the top.

If he scrounges his brain and tries to really think about what he likes, he suddenly smells perfume.

Suddenly he doesn’t care enough to wonder about what he might like. The effort it would take navigating all of that wasn’t worth it, he decides.

Chapter Text

The next couple of days in Megaton are miserable as the temperature rises.

It’s times like this where he realizes just how fucking stupid it is that everything was built out of sheet metal. To keep the house from becoming more of a hot box than it already was, during the day either Briar or himself pries open all the windows on the top and bottom floor and leave the front door open to let in any breeze that decides to grace the settlement.

He could barely stand to sleep on his bed with the sheets and blankets ripped off, so sleeping next to another person, even someone that ran considerably cooler than he did, was out of the question. It was starting to get on his nerves. He wasn’t alone in that—each passing day of poor sleep and extreme heat darkened his partner’s mood too. He catches Briar cursing and bemoaning under their breath about sweating and feeling disgusting countless times as they try to distract themselves from the weather.

Their hair, which was normally at least somewhat tamed, had been noticeably out of control; the longer curls stick out every which way no matter how much they slicked it back or tucked it behind an ear, and the heat made the tips of their hair frazzled, like it had been singed with a flame. They wear a t-shirt and mechanic’s jumpsuit most days, with the jumpsuit being unzipped halfway and the sleeves hanging by the sides of their hips.

Everyone in town has their front doors open to get the heat out, but someone takes it as an open invitation to visit. The little girl from the Brass Lantern winds up peeking into the doorway as Briar is bringing him a cold can of water from the fridge. He notices the kid first but doesn’t point them out to see how his partner usually treats sudden visitors.

Feeling eyes on them or seeing the small silhouette of the girl from the corner of their vision, Briar pointedly sets the can on the table in the living room before slowly turning towards the front door.

“May I help you?” Briar asks with a resigned sort of politeness, straightening now and walking away from the couch in slow, casual steps towards the front door. He watches them lean against the door frame, one ankle looping over the other, and funnily enough the girl looks past Briar to stare at where he’s currently sitting on the couch, midway of bringing the can to his mouth.

He locks eyes with her and says nothing as he drinks.

Without a word, the girl pulls her arm from behind her back and for a sick moment he imagines her pulling out a grenade, or something even more ridiculous, but all the girl pulls from behind her is some kind of toy—a clunky looking robot that looked battery operated. It was baby blue, and the paint was chipping off everywhere.

“It’s broken.” The girl explains, barely looking at Briar as she mumbled, all her attention on him instead. “My dad told me you fix things.”

“I do,” Briar agrees, “But so does Moira. Why’d you come here instead? Your house is closer to her shop.”

The girl shrugs.

He thinks he can guess why. For whatever reason, the girl seemed enamored with him. Kids were like that, he knew, but he didn’t think the same thing applied to ghouls, especially ones as uninviting as himself. There’s some relief in that realization, although he’s not sure why. Maybe it assured something about his humanity, he supposes.

“I guess it doesn’t matter, since you’re already here. Let’s have a look at it.” And Briar extends their hand down so the girl can put the toy in their palm. “Do you want to wait inside or outside?” They ask.

Unsurprisingly, the girl decides to wait inside, sitting in a wooden chair Briar dragged over to the living room table. She looks at the house, mostly, but when she thinks he isn’t looking, she goes back to staring at him. He doesn’t really know what to say to children, so he just stays quiet and sips his water and tries to forget how stuffy his shirt feels.

Briar exits the kitchen with another can of water and a toolbox, which they bring over to the table before taking a seat on the couch a respectable distance away from him.

“That’s for you, I should have made clear.” Briar explains while scooting the water over to the girl. “What’s your name?”

“Thanks. I’m Kelsey. Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise.” And after giving out their own name and his, (a habit he would never correct), Briar slips on a pair of gloves and pulls out a screwdriver before prying off the back off the robot; using their lap as a table and the emptied ashtray to hold the screws.

They take one look at it and frown.

“The problem is simple—the batteries are corroded. Next time the batteries die, tell your dad to take them out or else this will happen again. See all that blue stuff? It’s blocking the receptors.”

Kelsey nods, fascinated by the bright color.

“Can you fix it?”

“Of course. The corrosion isn’t too bad, and I have a fresh pair of batteries. It’ll only take a bit.” They explain before getting to work.

Only now does Kelsey give his partner her full attention; watching as Briar applied baking soda to the toy’s receptors and letting it sit for a second before rubbing the area with a moistened swab. After making sure everything was dry and popping new batteries in, Briar screws the back panel back on and hands the toy over, an expectant look on their face.

Kelsey picks up on the message at once and presses the big button on the robot’s chest. The eyes and mouth light up and the toy starts to sing a little tune. Her eyes light up just as brightly, and she offers Briar a huge grin.

“Do you want caps?” she asks, digging into her pocket, and his partner almost falls over themselves as they stand up from the couch and make it clear they do not want payment. “But the batteries. And the water—” Kelsey insists.

“No, no, no, it’s fine, believe me. It looks worse on me if I charge you, do you understand?”

“Oh. You’re being nice.” She realizes.

“It’s a matter of principle, really. Nothing nice about it.” Briar coughs into their fist, not able to stand two sets of eyes on them now. “Anyways, feel free to bring your toy back if it acts up again.”

“Okay, thanks.” She nods, grabbing her water and hopping off her chair. She gives a nod of farewell to Briar, but its him that she waves her little hand at, and when he lifts a hand to return the gesture, she ducks her face down before swiftly leaving.

“What was I doing before?” Briar blinks, their train of thought from earlier completely gone.

“You were going to buy more cigarettes.” He reminds them.

“Oh, right.” They say, and head upstairs to wash their face and hands before heading downstairs again. “Need anything else?”

He shrugs.

“An eclipse?”

Briar snorts.

“Or maybe a nuclear winter.”

He rolls his eyes and watches them leave, content to do absolutely nothing in the face of this heat. Despite how thin his t-shirt is, it’s still stuffy and clings too much to him. Ghouls didn’t sweat properly and consequently, couldn’t cool off properly.

It was only the patches of intact skin on his body that were still able to sweat, but most of his skin, the rough, frayed edges where the necrotizing exposed the sinew and tendon sat, those parts were impossible to cool off. The choice was to either keep taking cold showers throughout the day or wear less clothes.

The discomfort he feels towards having his body on display is completely overshadowed by the new, current discomfort of his shirt sticking onto his back for the hundredth time over the past three days, and fed up with it, he heads upstairs to his room and practically rips his shirt off: wadding it up in a ball and tossing it in a random corner.

He grabs a white tank top from the pile of clothes he’s yet to put up and throws it on. It fits him perfectly—maybe a little too perfectly, he notices, when he sees himself in the bathroom mirror before he rinses his face.

The tank top clings to his pecs and abs tightly, accentuating the broadness of his shoulders and the narrowness of his waist and hips. If there was anything to feel prideful about towards his own appearance, it had to be his height and build. It wasn’t like there was anything else worth looking at, in his own opinion.

Cold, blue eyes. A ruined, decaying face. Patches of red hair riddled his scalp, but otherwise his face and head lacked any hair.

He looks away from the mirror; mood soured. When he steps out of the bathroom, he looks at his room and considers putting another shirt on, even if it means feeling like he was suffocating, but he resolves himself to just stick with his decision and goes downstairs to read instead.

It’s as he’s grabbing a Nuka-Cola from the fridge that he hears footsteps. He exits the kitchen just as Briar is walking into the house, a wooden crate in their arms and their face flushed with sweat.

He doesn’t even think as he sets his drink down and walks over to them. Their eyes widen as he approaches, brows almost touching their hairline, and as he gets closer their line of sight falls from his face and very noticeably sweep across his chest.

“That’s a lot more than cigarettes.” He remarks casually, but his stomach was starting to twist in knots as Briar continued to do a poor job of deciding on where to direct their eyes.

Were they simply surprised to see him in something other than long sleeves and double layers, or were they stunned at the deterioration his body had gone under?

It was hard to tell—they already looked closing to fainting from the walk outside.

“Remembered a few things.” Briar says after a long pause, swallowing hard, and their fingers rap against the wooden slats of the crate.

“A few, huh?” He says and takes the crate from their arms easily. He brings it to the kitchen and starts unpacking things. A carton of cigarettes, Nuka-Colas, cans of water, bubble gum and at the very bottom some cuts of meat that were wrapped in newspaper and tied with a thin rope.

After things are put away, he goes back to reading, and Briar heads upstairs, mumbling thanks on their way up. They don’t come downstairs until night falls and the temperature of the house has dropped to something tolerable.

The two of them eat dinner on the couch, as is tradition at this point, but there’s not a lick of conversation to be had. Briar holds their fork and knife in an unnaturally rigid way as they eat, as if charging up to leap up at someone and gouge their eye out. When he feigns looking elsewhere, they waste no time in stealing a look or two at him.

Nothing about the flushed, guilty look on their face struck him as disgust or macabre fascination. They were looking because they liked what they saw and liked it enough to risk getting called out on it. Briar hadn’t done that at the bar with Nova. Not once had they looked at her cleavage. That either says something about their type in women or that women weren’t their type at all.

“Are you free?” He asks out of the blue after the plates have been cleared and they’re both just sitting on the couch, idling.

Briar jumps a little, but they do a decent job of recovering.

“I don’t have any plans.” They answer, “Why?”

“Could show you a thing or two about hand-to-hand combat.” He offers, shrugging.

“Hmm…” They say, considering something beyond just the weather as they repeatedly tug at the collar of their shirt to fan some air against their chest. “Okay. Let’s close the door though—I don’t want an audience.”

Neither does he. Briar shuts and locks the front door while he moves the table away from the couch. He sets it near the entrance of the kitchen, which now gives the living room plenty of space for movement. His partner stands in the middle of the room, arms looped behind their back, looking a little out of their depth already, despite nothing starting yet.

“Any of those military training guides say anything about fighting?” he asks, stopping two feet in front of them and crossing his arms loosely.

“Of course, but I usually skipped them in favor of the parts about guns, but, if it’s all the same to you, I’d rather hear what you’ve learned.”

“That so.” He says, secretly pleased, “Fine. That was my intention from the start anyways. To get straight down to it, do you work out at all in your spare time?”

“I do push-ups occasionally, and I always make sure to stretch. Is that something?” They say, blinking sheepishly.

“Let me see your definition of a push up.” He returns, casual in his rudeness, and taking the challenge with open enthusiasm, Briar takes a few steps back and lowers gracefully into a kneel, before slipping into the position. Their back is straight as anything, and their shoulders and hands are evenly apart.

In one smooth motion they lower to the floor and rise, before repeating once more for good show.

“Well?” Briar says, standing up and putting their hands on their hips smugly.

“Good form.” He says readily, and then just as easily asks, “How many can you do?”

The self-confident smile on their face falters.

“Maneuvers and form are important, but core strength is good to have. I think we should focus on how to break out of being pinned. If we get separated and I’m too far away, you’ll be screwed if someone heavy is on you. Practicing with me is perfect, now that I’m thinking about it—I’m practically your weakness.”

“Odd phrasing, but I get what you mean.” They say while casting him a dubious look.

“Put your hands up,” He instructs, doing it himself so they see what he means. “I’m going to grab your left arm firmly enough you can’t escape me, but I’ll keep my pressure light.”

Nodding, Briar watches him do exactly that.

“Try to pull out of my grip. Use as much force as you want—it won’t hurt me.” He says.

Rolling their eyes, they tug away from him. When he doesn’t even budge an inch, Briar digs their heels into the floor and pulls away with more force, their face reddening a little, and when he still doesn’t move, their brows furrow.

Without exerting himself at all, he pulls them closer.

“You don’t need to be strong to get out of this.” And he lets them go, this time offering his own arm. “Grab me.” After they do, he continues, “I’m going to roll my hand and wrist around yours. You won’t have any choice but to let me go, or else you’ll twist your arm.”

And like that he’s free. He makes them do it a few times, before he grabs their arm and has them break free. It’s simple enough he doesn’t dwell on it for long.

“You could go straight in for a retaliatory hit after breaking free. Don’t waste energy trying to punch them. You’ll end up breaking your hand before you do any real damage. You’re better off elbowing them in the ribs or putting your thumb in their eye.”

Briar absorbs it all with genuine intrigue and nods along encouragingly.

He’s not used to speaking so much, but talking about something he was proficient in made it easy.

“Your legs are strong. Take advantage of that and sweep someone off their feet when the opportunity shows up.” And he moves to stand behind them. “This is another reason why aiming at the knees is good. They’re vulnerable on the front and back. Put any pressure here, and…” He raises his socked foot and lightly pushes against the back of their knee, making them buckle and almost fall to the floor.

“R-Right.” Briar says, as he steadies them. “What if I get pinned to a wall? Or on the ground?” They ask while looking over their shoulder.

“Don’t let that happen.” He says at once. “If it can’t be avoided, there’s a few ways you can try to break yourself free. Here, move over to the wall. I’ll show you.” And he points at the spot he wants them to go to.

When Briar has their back flushed to the wall, and their hands hanging loosely at their sides, he walks over and stops in front of them.

“I’m going to take your arms and pin them over your head.” He tells them and doesn’t move until Briar nods that it’s okay to do so. He captures their wrists in both hands and raises them over their head. “Before I tell you what to do, what would you think about doing in this position?”

Briar licks at their lips, eyes suddenly flighty.

“Probably kick you between the legs.” They answer belatedly.

“Good answer. You could also kick my knees or stomp down on my feet. If you angle your kick between the knee and ankle, you can even break someone’s leg. The pain from that will give you plenty of time to figure things out.”

“What if there’s no space for me to use my legs?” They ask, “What if I’m pinned too tightly to move?”

“You have teeth. There’s no shame in trying to rip someone’s jugular out with your teeth.” He answers.

“Jesus.” They suck in a sharp breath. “I’ll do what I have to, as revolting as that is.”

“You can also try knocking me over. Try hooking your leg around my ankle—if you can get the person pinning you to at least ease off a bit, that’s good too. Any opportunity to put distance between yourself is what you’re looking for. Now try tripping me,” He instructs.

Briar copies his demonstration and manages to make his balance wobble a little as they curl their leg around his own.

“Do it again with more force.” He instructs, and this time when they execute the move, he falls to one knee. “Good, good. With them lowered like this, you could put all you power into shoving your elbow into their nose. If you aim your blow right here, at their jaw, you’ll knock them out.” And he taps the spot on his own jaw, before standing up.

“Anything I teach you won’t matter unless you remember to use it, so we’ll practice it as many times as it takes for your body to remember. The main thing to remember is to stay calm when you get pinned. Panicking will lessen any of the chances you have of escaping.” He continues.

“Panicking in general doesn’t do anyone favors.” Briar agrees.

“That’s enough for today. Whenever you want to practice, just tell me.” He says, backing up to give them space. “And if you were interested in getting some muscle mass, you’ll have to eat three times as much as you currently do. You burn calories like crazy with all the walking we do.”

“I’d like to strengthen my core, but other than that, I’ll pass.” They say, still leaning against the wall.

“That’s fine. You still need to eat more in general.”

“I’m more than aware of how scrawny I am.”

“Not the word I would use.” He sighs.

“And what word WOULD you use?” And Briar emphasizes the question by gesturing down to their body with a wave of their hand, as if showcasing a product. “Lanky? Emaciated?”

“Delicate.” Slips out of him before he can really think about it.

His partner’s face goes through a slew of emotions: shocked, confused, then overwhelmingly insulted.

“Think of it like glass.” He amends, trying to explain himself. “If tempered right, it can be bullet proof. If not, it shatters, but even in its destruction, it does a lot of damage; blinding eyes, tearing apart faces.”

Sharp and gleaming magnificently in the light.

“That doesn’t sound like you’re making fun of me…” Briar admits, their voice uncertain as they steepled their hands together; fingertips tapping together in a nervous rhythm.

“It’s because I’m not.”

“Most men don’t like being called delicate, you know.” They point out.

“I don’t consider you to be like ‘most’ men.” He combats, “Does it really bother you?”

Briar lowers their gaze to the floor; teeth sinking into their bottom lip to worry it. The tips of their ears are bright red.

“No,” They admit softly after a while. “I don’t mind it. I-I think I like it. But only if it’s you saying it.”

His fingers twitch. He wants to grab their chin and guide their face back towards his.

He knows better not to.

“Uhm,” Briar speaks up again, which is a relief because he doesn’t know what the hell to say. “If you’d like, I can teach you some medical stuff in thanks for doing this. I’m nowhere as skilled as my father, but I’m actively studying to get better at it, so for now, I’m afraid major surgery is still out of my league.”

“Sure.” He says, equally as awkward, and nods.

“Okay. Want to grab the first shower?” They offer.

“Yeah, thanks.”

He brings the table back over to the couch before heading upstairs and grabbing a towel and a new set of clothes. Before he’s even got the shower on, he hears Briar head into their bedroom and close the door.

He even hears them lock it, which they never do.

They’ve been staring at him all day and blushing just as much and now, after getting pinned and grabbed at for almost an hour, they’re quick to disappear behind the privacy of a locked door. They could be stripping down to their boxers to cool off in privacy, he knows, but he just as easily imagines them hastily jerking off instead; jumpsuit unzipped and pulled down to their ankles, their bare legs, which he’s never seen before, shaking weakly as they got closer and closer to the edge.

Where do the freckles end, he wonders, gut coiling with heat. Was his partner’s cock as pretty as the rest of their body, he continues, and the image of their thin, elegant hands frantically pumping their flushed, weeping erection makes him clench his eyes shut with a hiss.

He was beyond fucked—he’s accepts that now.

Leaning his forehead against the cool tile of the shower, he reaches down and curls his hand around his dick and starts to pump firmly, tightening his grip as he gets to the tip. The skin here is as ravaged as the rest of his body, with a lot of the nerves dead as well, but all he needs to do to remedy that is add more pressure.

It takes forever to cum as a result, a fact that had been remarked upon by a previous employer, and thinking about that now makes his stomach drop and bile suddenly rises to his throat.

His dick completely softens.

He doubts he could get hard again now that his brain was in the mood to fuck with him, so he just turns the water as cold as it can get and goes about showering himself, seething the entire time. Dried and dressed afterwards, he heads downstairs, grabs his pack of cigarettes and throws his boots on before slipping out the front door.

He forces himself to think about nothing as he smokes. When he eventually drags himself back inside the house and locks everything up for the night, he’s unsurprised that Briar isn’t waiting for him in the hallway like they usually did to signal they wanted to sleep together. It’s gotten a lot cooler with the sun setting, but it was still too warm to lay against each other on the couch.

The shower earlier pissed him off and the fact that he was sleeping alone again tonight only irritated him more.

The heatwave lingers for two more days before the Waste’s decided to give Megaton a break and send a couple of dense, gray clouds over from the south. The shade the clouds bring drops the temperature by a considerable amount and is cooled even more by the steady breezes that roll into town.

He hopes a Radstorm comes, but he was happy enough with this. He’s watching the clouds from the window near the front door one afternoon when Briar heads downstairs noisily. When he looks over at them, he’s taken aback by the excited grin on their face.

“What?” He says, suddenly anxious.

“Did you ever make up your mind about wanting to come drinking with me?” Briar asks, “It’d be a good night for it—it’s finally cooled off, after all.”

He forgot about that.

Sure, he felt better about the prospect of seeing Nova interact with his partner, now that he’s figured out they aren’t attracted to her, but he was still dealing with the internal turmoil about seeing someone from Underworld—someone who could bring up the past abuses Ahzrukhal put him through publicly.

Briar had spent so little time in Underworld that they never got to see Ahzrukhal’s cruelty in action. He considers himself extremely luck for that. The idea of them being told any of it makes his blood run cold. He doesn’t know how he’ll react if Gob decides to just bring it up without warning, although rationally he doesn’t know why they would.

Thinking about it rationally doesn’t stop him from feeling nauseous. Still, his partner looks excited about going out—better yet, they look excited about him coming along, too. If things got uncomfortable, he could always just leave without a word and deal with it later. If anyone other than Briar followed him to press the matter, he’d punch their teeth out.

“Fine by me.” He answers finally. “When did you want to go?”

“Nova said to visit when the bar was closed, but she’ll probably close a little early whenever we do decide to show up. How’s ten thirty sound to you?” They say.

He shrugs.

“Perfect!” Briar says, that manic shine to their eyes, “I’ll see you then.” And they disappear back upstairs.

The hours pass by uneasily. He cycles between reading, staring out the window, chain smoking, and listening to the radio. When the sun sets outside and he hears Briar hop into the shower, he heads to his room and thinks about whether he’ll put any effort into how he looks. It wouldn’t hurt, he guesses, not wanting to ruin Briar’s good mood by making it seem like he didn’t’ care.

He already showered that morning, so he tosses on a new tank top and grabs the least wrinkled dress shirt from his closet—a dark gray one, and slips into the only jeans he owns that don’t have a tear somewhere on the legs. Nice as he’s trying to look, he refuses to keep the sleeves down on his shirt and hastily unbuttons the cuffs so he can roll the fabric up a few times above his elbows.

He does decide on tucking in the shirt, but other than that he’s not sure what else he can do to improve. He wastes the rest of the time dissociating on the couch in the living room.

Right as the clock on the wall strikes half past ten, Briar’s bedroom door opens and closes and a second later they descend the stairs.

“…You cut a striking figure.” Briar compliments meekly, fidgeting with their hairdo as they looked him up and down.

Briar’s hair was combed and pulled back into a low, small ponytail—if it could even be counted as one, and all but one of the longer curls that usually fell into their face were pinned away. They’re wearing dark, straight cut slacks, with a dark red button up shirt loosely tucked into it, the sleeves of which they keep down.

Their usual steel-toed boots have been scrubbed clean of the gore and mud that had accumulated over the past couple of weeks. He wished he thought to do the same. Their perfume wafts from their wrists and hair as they casually move to sit on the arm of the couch next to him.

The .44 revolver in their right holster gleams shiny and impressive as any luxury watch; more of an accessory in town, then it was a weapon—or so he hopes. Megaton seemed peaceful enough, but trouble seemed to follow his partner wherever they went.

“Thanks.” He says, and it’s almost painful how clumsily he sounds when remembers to say a minute later: “You too.”

Their grin doesn’t falter in the slightest despite his weak, low effort response. If anything, they seem to be smiling a little more now.

“Ready to go?” Briar asks, and he nods, making sure to bring his pack of cigarettes and lighter with him before locking the house up.

The walk to the Saloon is pleasant, but it would be better if he wasn’t being internally eaten alive by his own nerves. In a blink, the two of them are there. He opens the door for them before heading inside himself, accustomed to the dimness of the bar from the last time and easily navigating past what few people were hanging around.

It’s Gob that’s working as bartender that evening, with Nova either doing something in back room or attending to something upstairs. When the two of them lock eyes as he approaches the bar, his heart slams hard against his ribs and his guts tie into knots.

Gob looked healthier than they did in Underworld. More present, in a way. The other ghoul stood up taller and had gained considerable weight. Their gray eyes and thin mouth were still perpetually set into a worried, half quirked smile, but there was a genuine liveliness to them that hadn’t been present before.

He should nod, or at least wave, but he freezes.

“Hi there,” Gob says without stutter, the friendliness in their tone genuine, surprisingly. “Welcome on in, you two. Sorry I didn’t get to chat last time. It’s nice to see you.” And they extend their hand out towards him, sparing Briar a simple nod.

“…Same to you.” He returns, and he keeps his handshake light, shaking once, before seating himself on a stool.

Briar sits beside him on his left, resting their chin over their clasped fingers, almost looking as if they were praying, if only their eyes weren’t wide open.

“I hope we came by on a good day. I was hoping you and Nova would be free to hang out.” Briar explains, and Gob brightens at the mention of that.

“You did,” They nod earnestly. “I can close early—business has been good. Do either of you want a drink to start the party early before I start sending the other patron’s home?”

“Do you have anything fancy?” Briar asks with a mischievous curl to their lips.

“Hmmm, is cranberry moonshine fancy?” Gob asks, rubbing their chin.

“Absolutely!” His partner says at once, “I would kill to try some. Please and thanks.”

“You’ve already earned the first drink, if death is the currency.” Gob winks, not quite as smoothly as Nova, but it gets a very loud snort out of Briar, who covers their mouth politely when another almost slips out. The other ghoul turns their attention to him now. “Interested in the moonshine, too, or can I grab you something else?”

“Whiskey.” He answers, finally loosening up a little and resting his arms on the bar top; one arm propped up so he can rest his jaw in his hand as he surveys the bar.

“Coming right up.” Gob nods, before walking over to the fridge where he grabs a frosty whiskey glass and a shot glass.

Briar’s face lights up at the special treatment; their eyes sparkling.

Gob grabs a bottle of whiskey off the top shelf and pours him two fingers worth generously. It’s satisfying watching the surface layer of whiskey almost turn into ooze, never freezing, but coming close to it.

They grab the bottle of moonshine next, using both hands to grip the rotund glass jug. The liquid inside sloshing around was almost as red as Briar’s shirt.

“It’s strong.” Gob warns, pouring the moonshine into their shot glass. “But it’s also sweet. I think you’ll like it.”

Briar lifts their glass primly and turns towards him.

“Cheers.” They say, clinking their glass against his, before downing the drink as he takes a sip from his whiskey. When they set the glass down and audibly swallow, their eyes immediately water. “Good God! It burns just like a chemical fire.” They manage to say before coughing loudly into their cupped hand.

“Oops. Is it too much?” Gob winces.

“If I drink any more of that I’m going to start speaking backwards. I think I’ll settle on a gin and tonic, thank you very much.” Briar says weakly, and he fights back the smirk that wants to slip onto his face.

Once settled with their new drink, Gob calls out the last round for drinks and gets busy tending to the patrons who want to grab their last drink before walking home.

Briar traces a finger around the rim of their glass when they aren’t actively sipping from it; casually watching Gob work, while also taking in some of the new decorations that had been put up. When there’s no one else in the bar aside from the three of them, Gob locks the front door and turns the jukebox a little louder before disappearing upstairs.

When the other ghoul returns minutes later, it’s with Nova, whose hair and makeup look neater than the last time he saw her. She and Gob are walking arm in arm, her face leaning on his shoulder as they approached the bar.

“Oh hey, you two. Glad you could swing by after all.” She greets, and when her eyes fall on Briar, she frowns a little. “Maybe I should head back upstairs and change. I feel underdressed.”

“Your face is pretty enough that you can wear whatever you want and look good.” Briar tells her with far more ease than they’d had when complimenting him, “I’m sure you’d make a burlap sack seem flattering.”

If he didn’t know better, he’d say his partner sounded slightly envious about that fact.

Nova lets out a singular, highly satisfied ‘ha!’ to that, before motioning for the two of them to come sit at one of the round wooden tables instead of the bar. He isn’t going to argue against sitting in a chair with an actual back this time, so he trails after his partner and sits beside them, with Nova and Gob seated on the opposite side of the table.

Gob only leaves momentarily to bring over the bottle of whiskey, two more glasses, and an ashtray, which gets scooted towards the middle of the table for communal use.

“I think our first toast ought to go to the one who made this possible in the first place.” Nova announces, already lifting her glass of whiskey as she winks at Briar.

“There’s no need for that—” Briar starts to protest, embarrassed at the sudden attention.

“No, no, she’s right,” Gob agrees readily, lifting their glass too, “Without Moriarty breathing down both our necks, we can finally live a decent life. There’s no one to thank for that but you.”

“But—” His partner protests, and without a single flicker of emotion in his face, he gently knocks his boot against theirs under the table. Briar closes their mouth.

When he lifts his own glass and brings it towards the others, Briar looks at him with disbelief, shaking their head and laughing a bit incredulously, before at last lifting their own glass. The four of them clink their glasses together in a toast.

“To our new life!” Nova and Gob echo one another, with the former leaning over and popping a wet smack of a kiss on the other ghoul’s cheek.

He feels stupid for being jealous earlier, but there was no knowing the two of them were together. By the look on Briar’s face, even they hadn’t been aware of this new development.

“You two—” Briar starts, before getting interrupted.

“We made it official last week. Don’t worry, you’re the first to know.” Gob explains with an apologetic air.

Briar relaxes, then smiles brightly.

“Congratulations. You two make a cute couple.” They say, positively beaming at the news.

“I always had my eye on Gob, but the work I was doing with Moriarty kind of made dating impossible. Guess it’s just another thing I should thank you for.” Nova says wistfully as she sips her drink, and the casual admittance of that makes the other ghoul cough and choke on their own drink.

“I-I didn’t know that.” Gob says, their eyes like saucers. If they could blush, they would be, he knows.

“I love happy endings.” Briar confesses without a lick of embarrassment. “It also makes me wish I killed Moriarty sooner.”

“How DID you kill him, by the way?” Nova asks.

Briar pauses mid drink to consider that question.

“One of you mentioned him having a nightcap before bed at the end of the day; how he always kept a bottle of good stuff in his bedroom for personal use. Well, taking your word on that, I snuck through the backdoor one night while he was busy closing up and I poured an entire box of rat poison into his scotch.” Briar explains with clinical detachment, running their finger around the rim of their glass again.

“I didn’t want to risk anyone getting poisoned by accident, so I used one of the Stealth Boys I had lying around and stayed in his room as he poured himself a drink. He threw back the entire glass, and minutes later he was convulsing and clawing at his throat. There are only two people in town medically trained to pronounce a man dead and Doc Church had zero interest in doing it himself, so the Sheriff simply had to take my word that Moriarty had simply drank himself to death.” They finish explaining.

Nova whistles lowly.

“You’re a bit crazy, aren’t you? Barely knew the two of us and you were more than happy to kill a man on our behalf.” She says, astonished.

“I hardly think Moriarty counted as one and I have no issue with putting down wild animals unfit for society.” Briar sniffs neatly before clearing the rest of their drink and setting the glass down.

He curses internally, hopelessly charmed by their ruthlessness.

“Another gin and tonic?” Gob blinks a second later, not knowing what to say to Briar’s scathing words, so they default to being polite. “I won’t offer the moonshine again, don’t worry.”

“It’s not THAT bad.” Nova scoffs.

“You’re right—its worse.” Briar agrees readily, handing over their glass to Gob. “It’s fit for punishment, and not much else.”

“Punishment, hmm?” She parrots, thinking. “You know, we DO have a dart board. How about we all play and the one with the lowest points each round has to take a shot of moonshine?”

“What? Absolutely not—you won’t get me to drink that swill twice!” Briar shuts down the offer immediately, insulted.

“Sounds fun.” He says casually, swirling his drink.

Briar turns to him, mouth parted in shock.

“I—” They say, fumbling, “Fine! But I won’t have mercy on any of you when you inevitably lose and end up drunk beyond relief.”

“Oh! Big talk, there.” Nova praises.

It’s not big talk at all—she just hasn’t seen Briar at work. If they could shoot a cigarette out of a man’s lips from miles off, landing a dart in the center of the board ten feet away from their face wouldn’t be hard at all.

That becomes extremely obvious after the first two rounds, when only HE comes close to even matching Briar’s score, and the three of them have to take shots of the cranberry moonshine. It’s strong, he’ll give his partner that, but it’s the tartness that’s unbearable. It makes his jaw almost want to lock up—if only to stop more of the foul stuff being poured down his gullet.

“This is bullshit!” Nova protests at the beginning of the third round, when her first dart lands sloppily against the board. “I forgot you were a sniper—you should have to make your shot farther away from the rest of us.”

“Want me to close one eye and put a hand behind my back, too?” Briar offers with a self-satisfied smirk, and when it’s their turn, they do just that, even moving half across the bar to put more distance between themselves and the dart board. “If I hit anything other than the bull’s eye, I’ll take three shots.”

“You’re insufferable.” Nova says, sucking her teeth and rolling her eyes.

“So, I’ve been told.” Briar hums, and quiets as they focus on their aim. Under the pressure of three sets of eyes, his partner doesn’t even flinch, their brain seemingly switching off to allow their body’s instincts to take over. Their right-hand twitches once, twice, before they launch the dart.

It hits the bull’s eye dead in the center, with enough force that it makes the dartboard wobble a little.

Nova slips both hands into her hair and curses loudly, infuriated at the result that seemed obvious to him. Gob rubs her shoulder soothingly.

“Maybe next time pick cards?” The other ghoul offers sheepishly, and as Briar walks over, their pompous cackling only gets louder.

There would be no more convincing Nova to play now that she’d been fully humiliated, and he’s already had his fill of darts anyways. When the four of them return to the table to sit, he’s content to stay that way for the rest of the evening as the alcohol increasingly takes effect, but all the drinking seems to make Nova livelier, and she refuses to sit now.

“Anyone want to dance?” she suddenly asks, her head already lulling to the beat of the song currently playing. She looks towards Gob first, of course, but the other ghoul declines for now with the excuse that their feet were too tired from a hard day’s work. She looks at him next, and he doesn’t even bother giving her an answer, he just returns her stare while he lights up a cigarette until she sticks her tongue out at him petulantly and moves her attention along.

It’s when he’s lighting the tip of Briar’s cigarette for them that she speaks up again.

“What about you, Mr. Sniper?” She challenges. “Is your footwork as good as your aim?”

Briar leans back against their chair, taking a deep, deep pull of their cigarette while they think.

“I only know one way of dancing.” Briar says, which isn’t a no, and the fact it isn’t shocks him—badly. He burns his fingers on his cigarette which he’d forgotten to ash. “Let’s wait until a slow song comes on.” They say, noticing his plight and scooting the ashtray over to him.

“Fine, whatever.” Nova says, interpreting that as his partner dismissing her, and she takes her seat to also start smoking.

Minutes later, when a slow song starts playing on the jukebox, Briar neatly snubs out the remnants of their latest cigarette, before scooting the chair back and standing up.

“Need the toilet?” Nova asks indelicately, and it makes Briar’s nose wrinkle.

“Did you forget already?” They sigh, dusting off their hands and rounding the table to stand at her side. “I thought you wanted to dance. If you changed your mind…”

“No, no!” Nova says, standing up quickly. “I’m game if you are. What kind of dance do you know?” And she squeezes Gob’s shoulder lightly, offering them a smile, before continuing the conversation while she follows Briar over towards the jukebox in the center of the bar.

“Nothing flashy.” Briar answers, stopping so that their back was towards the table where he and Gob remained seated. “Just something I was taught.”

His partner tucks their left arm behind their back and leans their head forward a little, back bowing gracefully into an arch.

“May I have this dance?” Briar asks after clearing their throat.

From the table, Nova’s incredulous look is as clear as day.

“Are you kidding??” She snorts.

“Oh, I’m as serious as a heart attack.” Briar lifts somewhat to say, “Take it or leave it.” They say with bite, now offering their hand.

“I-I don’t know how to dance fancy.” She admits, sounding much more humbled, and her eyes even flicker over to Gob, clearly looking for reassurance. The ghoul beside him shoots her a thumb-up, even nodding encouragingly.

“I was planning on showing you.” Briar huffs. “It’s easy—you’ll be good at it.”

It takes a second, but Nova nods, and she slips her hand into theirs.

“Okay, now what?” She says, and her face gets somewhat obscured as Briar steps closer to her. She’s only an inch taller than him, after all.

“Can I put my hand on your hip?” They ask.

“Sure. Just not any lower.”

“I wasn’t thinking about it!” His partner bristles, and they step even closer to Nova. “You can put your hand on my hip, too. Just not any LOWER.” They retaliate, and Nova pinches them after she does as instructed. “I’m going to take the lead, if that’s okay with you. Your job is to work in tandem with me. When I step forward, you step back—that kind of thing.”

“Doesn’t sound too hard.” She says, relieved.

“Right?” Briar agrees, probably smiling by the sound of it. “Imagine we’re walking inside of a box. I’m going to take a step forward, then take a step right, then take a step backwards. Like this,” And they take a step forward towards Nova slowly, slow enough that she figures out she needs to take a step back to accommodate, all the while not stepping on their feet.

“Now to the right,” His partner instructs, just as slow and patient, “Now you’ll be taking a step towards me as I taking one back and there, and once we move to the left the box is complete. Well done! You have now learned how to do a standard waltz—now you’re set for any ‘fancy’ parties.”

“Like I get invited to any.” Nova says, shaking her head. “Is that all there is to it? Just leading and following?”

“Pretty much, but you can get even fancier with it.”

“Like how?”

“Well, it’ll be more fun if it’s a surprise. Do you trust me?” Briar says.

“Sure,” Nova agrees.

His partner leads her into another waltz, but this time, they pause mid-step to raise Nova’s hand so they can help her twirl, easily righting her when she stops and slipping back into the waltz. Briar’s attention is on Nova, but their eyes keep flickering over to the table, as if gauging his reaction. He’s not sure what that means.

“You’ll have this memorized in no time. Then you can have Gob lead you instead.” Briar remarks while spinning her again.

“Maybe I want to be the one leading.”

“Do whatever you want.” Briar shrugs.

“What about you? Do you prefer leading? Or following?” She asks mischievously.

“I have a strange feeling that you’re asking something else.” Briar says frostily. “Maybe this will make you remember to mind your business.” And they raise the hand on Nova’s hip to glide it towards her lower back, supporting her weight as they suddenly dip her so low to the floor that her forehead almost touches the ground.

Beside him, Gob whistles sharply, impressed. Nova shoots the ghoul a queasy wink, probably feeling a little lightheaded being suspended like that. Despite basically being the same height, Briar carries all of Nova’s weight without a single limb shaking, looking well practiced in dancing with someone like this.

His partner isn’t looking down at Nova to gloat, or even looking at Gob, maybe to make sure they didn’t overstep any boundaries just now—Briar is staring at no one else but him, their mouth slightly parted as they breathed lightly, face flushed from exertion and the drinks. Some more of their curls have escaped the rubber band they were using to tie their hair back.

They looked painfully hopeful about something.

It couldn’t be that they were going to ask him to dance next. He doesn’t want to entertain the thought too much, but what other explanation could there be?

He hates dancing. He hates doing things in front of an audience even more, but he thinks that if it’s with Briar, he wouldn’t care that much.

If they asked, he would dance with them, he knows that for a fact.

When they eventually lift Nova up, commending her dancing prowess, Briar excuses themselves to the bathroom, and even after they return and sit at the table with the rest of them, they don’t breathe a word about dancing to him. The hopeful look has vanished, tucked away, and while they just look tired now from hours well spent drinking and fooling around, there’s an underlying somberness.

He isn’t imagining that.

It confuses him greatly. Not wanting to be stuck in his own head more than he was already, he drinks more whiskey than he probably should, and Briar doesn’t behave any better; slinging down gin and tonics like they were trying to impress someone.

The more he drinks the more he deludes himself into thinking that someone is him.

Around three in the morning, he calls it quits, now teetering on the edge of true drunken stupor, with Briar now almost fully slumped against the table, giggling ceaselessly as Gob tells them some sordid gossip about one of the town’s people.

“Time to head out?” Gob says when they see him standing up. The other ghoul didn’t look anymore drunk than they had hours ago. Either they hadn’t been drinking as much as he thought, or their tolerance was considerably higher than even his. “Need any help with him?” They offer.

“I’ve got it. You’ve got your hands full already.” He tells them, motioning over to where Nova was leaning against their arm, eyes glazed and mouth half open as she struggled to stay awake; practically holding onto Gob for dear life.

He nudges Briar’s shoulder.

“Can you walk?”

“Maybe.” They say, giggling at that, too. “My balance won’t be the best.”

“Guess we’ll take our chances. Come on,” And he holds out a hand for them, which Briar wastes no time in accepting and standing up shakily to their feet. When they take a step forward, their leg buckles, and they fall towards him, face smushing against his chest.

He tries not to think about their hand clawing at the fabric of his shirt in a different context.

“Sorry.” They say, before sloppily turning around and saying farewell to Gob and Nova.

He leads them out of the Saloon with one hand on the middle of their back to keep them steady as he shepherds them home.

The night air clears his head, but only a little bit. He exerts just as much focus keeping his own, much less nimble body upright, as well as making sure Briar didn’t suddenly plummet off the highest point of Megaton.

“Stick close to me.” He admonishes when Briar gets distracted by the glowing lights over the sleeping town. He snakes his arm around their waist and tugs them closer, keeping them hip to hip as the two of them clear the final ramp towards the house.

Funnily enough, as he’s trying to fish the key out of his pocket, Briar decides to follow his words to the letter, not budging an inch now that he couldn’t remember which pocket exactly had the key.

Once inside, he locks the door, checks it twice, and then guides Briar upstairs, making sure to stay just a step behind in case they trip and fall backwards. It only happens once, thankfully, and he’s pushing them inside of their bedroom within a blink; their drunken, sloppy walk over to their bed the last thing he sees before he shuts the door.

He quickly heads into his own room, locking the door behind him, and only bothers with kicking off his boots before throwing himself into bed where he spends a long, long time staring at the ceiling. If he had drank just a bit more, he’d be sound asleep—same as Briar, presumably, as there was no sound coming out of their bedroom, not even snoring.

If he was any drunker he wouldn’t have been able to get them both home, he realizes, but still sulks about being awake. An hour passes, maybe more, and he’s starting to consider just going downstairs and reading on the couch, when he hears something that freezes him to the bed:

A giggle.

That wasn’t the noise someone passed out could make. For whatever reason, Briar had either woken up, or had been awake this entire time, just doing something so quiet he couldn’t hear them. It’s peaceful for a while after the initial laugh, but it’s not long until there’s more noises coming from their room.

It sounded like they were messing around with something—opening and closing drawers or taking something out of their closet. He can’t really envision what could be the cause of all that noise when most of it is muffled by their own, clumsy gait as they stumble across their room.

There’s another giggle, before a loud clatter, and a resounding thud. The silence that follows is ominous. Worried that they knocked out whatever sense they had left, or worse, concussed themselves before they had taught him how to deal with one, he jumps out of bed and heads into the hallway.

He looms in front of their door, heart hammering.

“Briar?” He calls out, and he knocks on their door loudly.

There’s no answer.

Starting to feel anxious, he tries the door handle. It’s unlocked, surprisingly. Whatever they were getting up to before didn’t warrant any privacy or secrecy. Or maybe they just forgot to. Either way, he slowly cracks the door open and calls out their name again.

When the door is pushed fully opened, he sucks in a sharp breath and finds himself taking a faltering step backwards; overwhelmed by what he sees. Briar is curled on the floor around the chair in front of their vanity, body facing the door, but their eyes are obscured by the loose curls that fall over their face. Their outfit from earlier has been shrugged off and was now thrown haphazardly across their room and all they were dressed in now was a silky, red nightgown.

A strikingly familiar one, too.

At their feet, with only one still hanging on, is a pair of heels that were almost matching in color but were clearly a size or two too small.

Briar’s mouth hangs open and steadily trails drool on the floor. Their arms are tucked towards their chest, one of the straps of the nightgown falling over their shoulder. Their legs are spread out messily, tanned and freckled, and the hem of the nightgown barely does its job of covering the curve of their ass.

He thinks back to Rivet City, where the two of them had first seen that nightgown, and wonders when Briar had the chance to sneak off and buy it. He thinks about them looking sweaty afterwards, that same night, and had thought they’d been pacing the room, anxious, but now it makes more sense that they had turned on the radio as a distraction so he wouldn’t hear them making a run for the market while he showered.

He feels like his head is going to explode at the realization.

He lowers to the floor beside them, trying to look at their slender, attractive body with detachment as he moves to check the back of their head for a bump. He doesn’t find any, so he assumes the chair broke their fall. Neither of their ankles looked red or swollen, so they hadn’t sprained anything either.

They’re fine, he realizes, and he could spare himself any further torment if he just left them on the floor to sleep all night, making his exit just as quiet as his entry.

But it doesn’t feel right doing that.

He should at least tuck them into bed.

Resolving himself, he adjusts the spaghetti straps on Briar’s thin shoulders and makes sure the nightgown is pulled down all the way before he carefully lifts them into his arms. The singular high heel clinging to their foot falls to the floor unceremoniously.

Their head flops back limply, exposing the delicate curve of their neck.

In one smooth motion he walks over to the bed, ripping the top sheet aside, before lowering Briar carefully onto their mattress and bringing the sheet up to their neck. He turns around and picks up the high heels, not knowing where to really put them, so he lines them up next to each other on the vanity’s counter.

With that, he leaves, closing the door quietly behind him. Heading back to his own room, he throws himself into bed, feeling like his hands were burning and wishing desperately that he had been too drunk to hear them fall in the first place, because he will never be able to get the image of Briar in that skimpy nightgown out of his head, now that’s he’s been cursed to see it.

He throws an arm over his eyes and tries to think about any other color but red.

Chapter Text

He needs a lobotomy. Or another concussion—anything to get the image of Briar’s soft, freckled skin out of his brain.

There’s some relief in knowing that he won’t be thinking about any of this out on the road, but he isn’t sure when the two of them will be leaving Megaton and in quiet moments like this, as he reads on the couch watching the rising sun, he knows that his guard will slip and he’ll think about it all: the nightgown, dancing, and the sound of his name being called out in their sleep.

Beyond fucked didn’t even cover it.

Still, he’s holding out on the fact that his partner won’t remember any of the tail end of last night. They don’t come out for breakfast or lunch, but he rationalizes that as them being hungover. When nightfall comes and Briar hasn’t stepped out of their room to even use the bathroom, he starts to suspect that they may very well remember everything, or at least enough to piece the rest together.

That made things complicated. He isn’t exactly the best at navigating delicate social situations like this. As soon as he heads to bed that night and his door audibly locks, like clockwork Briar’s door opens and closes and he hears them head to the bathroom, then downstairs.

The next day he gives them all the space they could want, doing them a favor by isolating himself in his own room, but even then, his partner only leaves their room to shower or eat, disappearing back into their bedroom without a single sound.

By the third day he’s sick of it and when night falls, he decides to just get things over with. After eating dinner alone again, he heads upstairs and looms in front of Briar’s door, knocking once firmly.

There’s no answer, but he isn’t surprised.

“I’m heading to bed.” He lies, walking over to his room and opens then closes the door without entering it. He tiptoes downstairs and slinks in the darkness, taking a seat on the couch.

Ten minutes later, Briar’s door opens. He sees their silhouette descend the stairs; utterly unaware of his presence as they head straight to the kitchen to presumably grab a drink. They know their home well enough to not need a light to find the kitchen, but while exiting they decide better on chancing things with a cup and flick the light on.

“F-Fuck!” Briar shrieks when they notice him sitting on the couch. The porcelain mug in their hand slips out of their grasp and shatters into a dozen pieces on the tile and across their bare feet; the water quickly being joined with weak trickles of blood.

Maybe sitting in the dark wasn’t the best idea, he realizes belatedly.

He’s so stunned by his own stupidity he can’t even move. He keeps staring at the blood on their feet.

“God, I wish I could die. Anything is better than this—anything!” Briar laments, voice cracking, and he’s made it impossible for them to leave this spectacle unless they wanted to lodge more glass in their feet.

They were unkempt, hair a mess of untamed curls, and they’ve neglected shaving, their delicate jawline uncharacteristically shadowed with stubble.

The longer he stares at them from the couch, the redder their face becomes and in one terrible sequence he watches their eyes become glassy with tears and their lip start to wobble. He isn’t permitted to see more before Briar curses weakly and covers the top half of their face with their hand.

Out of all the times he’s been tactless, this takes the cake, easily. He tears off the couch to quickly go into the kitchen and grab the broom and dustpan. He drops down to his knees in front of Briar and starts carefully sweeping the glass off their bleeding feet.

He ignores the few tears that land on him.

“We can pretend it didn’t happen.” He offers.

“Neither of us are stupid enough for that to work!” They reprimand sharply, and the bite of their tone is dulled by their hiccupping. “I am never drinking again…”

“It’s not any of my business what you do in your free time.” He tries again, standing up and heading into the kitchen to dump the remains of the cup into the trash. He grabs the medical kit from under the kitchen sink and returns.

“You’re right, it isn’t any of your business but that doesn’t change the fact that you know, now, does it?” They despair, “You must think I’m such a degenerate.”

“I don’t.” he says.

“You don’t mean that! You’re lying to spare my feelings.” They return bitterly, shoulders trembling.

With their eyes covered, Briar has no way of predicting him abruptly picking them up and carrying them over to the couch.

He sets them down gently.

Briar moves their hand down from their face slowly, looking shell-shocked.

“You don’t get to decide how I feel.” He tells them sternly. “I don’t think of you any less for what happened the other night. I just regret seeing something that was obviously meant to be private.” And he sits on the couch and puts their feet on his lap, already tearing the medical kit open.

“…It’s worse that you’re being nice about it.” Briar sucks in a breath, and they lean the back of their head on the armrest to stare at the ceiling; fresh tears spilling down the corners of their eyes and disappearing into their hair. “You’re the one person I want to look the best in front of, the ONE person I’d like to impress, but it seems like you’re destined to always see me at my lowest.”

He keeps silent, the only noise he makes is the steady drag of fabric as he wraps bandaging around their feet.

“It drives me crazy! For God’s sake, sometimes we work so well together that I forget that you’re only here because of your fucked up contract and then I feel guilty for even allowing myself to forget that in the first place. How pathetic is that?” They say with no shortness of self-loathing.

“It’s not.” He insists, setting their feet on the couch now that he’s finished. “I forget, too.”

“…You do?” They say, lowering their face from the ceiling to look at him.

“Yeah. I don’t even think about it most of the time.” He admits, leaning his back against the opposite armrest. Breathing in deeply, he crosses his arms and says, “Back at the Saloon, when you asked me if something was wrong—there was.”

“What was it?” They ask, sitting up straighter now.

“…I was worried Gob would bring up Ahzrukhal in front of you.” He says after a minute of internal debate. “I didn’t want you to learn about some of the things he made me do. I didn’t want you to think less of me.”

“I wouldn’t!” Briar insists fiercely, forgetting their misery for the time being and scooting closer to him on the couch, their gaze intense. “And I wouldn’t let anyone bring up your history. Not even Gob. I—I admire you so much. That’s why I was trying so hard to impress you the other night, but then I just had to get too drunk and…Promise me you won’t bring it up, please?”

“Promise.” He says, already having made that decision himself and he slips off the couch. “And you DID impress me. You always do.” He adds, walking past them so he can set his hand on their shoulder for a moment. “Get some sleep. Sorry about scaring you.”

They sniff wetly, nodding, and he spares them one last look before heading upstairs.

It’s unbearably still in the house that night.

Things are somewhat better in the morning. Briar leaves their room when they know he’s up, but they talk to him with the same stiff politeness they reserve for strangers, and they can only stomach looking him in the eye for a few seconds at a time before they either fidget with their hair or pretend to busy themselves with something.

It pisses him off to no end.

He doesn’t have the patience to keep dealing with their awkward behavior and wanting to give them privacy, he leaves the house by noon—nowhere particular in mind. He walks a full cycle around Megaton and then stops at the Brass Lantern to check out the new inventory.

“Looking to earn some caps?” Andy Stahl offers up after he purchases a pack of gum and nothing else.

“What’s the job?” He asks.

“Couple of Radscorpions made a home east of town. We’ve been getting more and more sightings of them. It’s no threat now, but it’d be better if we had it taken care of before they wander too close.” They explain. "150 caps if you clear out the nest. 200 if you bring back the souvenirs to prove it and destroy any eggs you see.”

“Fine.” He agrees. “I’ll take care of it now.”

“There’s no rush.”

He grunts, dismissing their words, and pops a stick of gum in his mouth as he exits.

He’s home long enough to put on his armor, grab his shotgun, a grenade and a few medical supplies just in case Andy Stahl was downplaying just how many there were. He doesn’t see Briar, so they must be in their room. He should go upstairs and tell them what he’s doing, but he decides to just head off, figuring it was better to just leave them alone.

He heads out the house, down the ramp, and past the medical clinic, sparing a glance at no one as he made his way to the entrance of the settlement. Outside of Megaton, the Protectron waves a claw at him, wishing him farewell, but he doesn’t waste effort returning the gesture; already walking east.

Twenty minutes of walking leads him to a bunch of dead trees and a pile of wrecked cars. There’s disturbed earth everywhere and the tell-tale holes of where Radscorpions had tunneled through, so he knows he’s at the spot or getting close. When he approaches the wrecked cars, which are stacked almost in a way that made it look like a cave, something stirs in the inky black shade.

A bulbous stinger rears out of the darkness and the dirt at the lip of the ‘cave’ unsettles to reveal an impressively sized Radscorpion, it’s carapace shiny and almost blue from a fresh molt. It’s multiple, beady eyes shine in the sunlight wickedly, and judging from the size of it, it was probably the mother; a little bit bigger than a Brahmin calf, but if he was dealing with the giant variety of these pests, the adults could easily dwarf a full-grown Brahmin.

It's the eyes he aims for first, and he doesn’t pull the trigger until the Radscorpion has scuttled a few yards closer. The blast blinds it, only one eye left somewhat intact, and its disgusting blood flecks across the ground. He empties the second shot into its tail, not in the mood to be poisoned, and he makes sure to turn his face away at the last second to avoid any of that venom splattering into his eyes or mouth.

Turning back around quickly, he notices that it’s still alive, annoyingly. He backs away as he empties out the spent shells and reloads, keeping his eyes on the Radscorpion the entire time. It’s close enough now to try and pinch his leg, but he’s already got the nose of his gun aimed at his head and is emptying both barrels again.

It stops moving, only twitching here and there now.

He eyes the stack of cars, waiting for more movement, but none comes. He knows there must be more, but Radscorpions weren’t stupid—they probably felt all the movement above ground and knew better not to come out.

He climbs the stack of cars and takes a seat and starts smoking.

As expected, the babies start coming out in search of their mother, each of them around the size of a cat and he blasts them into paste one by one until nothing else rears its ugly head out of the nest underground. He’s certain he’s killed them all, but he waits another handful of minutes just in case before hops off the cars and approaches the shaded innards that led to the nest. He flicks his lighter and holds it under the cars, looking around.

There was an uncovered tunnel—wide enough that he could fall in or be dragged inside. There are no eggs lining up the entrance, but he doesn’t like doing a job half-assed and he isn’t going to do something as stupid as go inside the tunnel, so he bites the pin off his grenade, rolls it towards the hole, and runs like hell; stopping to stand behind a dead tree.

Three seconds later, the grenade goes off. He gives it a minute before he turns around and when he does, he’s satisfied to see that the wrecked cars have toppled over, no longer a cave at all. He pulls out a metal coffee tin and wraps his hand with a raggedy shirt to protect himself while he salvages the Radscorpion venom sacs and pincers.

Finished up, he wastes no time standing around and starts heading back to town. On his way, he notices some flowers growing at the foot of a dead tree. The petals are white, the centers yellow. He eyes them for a full minute before walking over and crouching, plucking them from the ground and tucking the bundle into his breast pocket.

He didn’t trust his hands to not ruin them.

Back in town, he hands over the coffee tin to Andy Stahl as proof and collects his payment without much conversation or fanfare. A Radstorm would probably land in the town by nightfall, judging from the gray-green clouds and the pressure in the air.

As he’s stepping through the front door, he notices Briar waiting for him on the couch, their arms crossed and expression as stormy as the sky outside.

“I know it might be awkward between us right now, but I thought we had a silent agreement not to sneak off and do dangerous things without telling each other.” Briar greets him frigidly, index finger tapping their bicep as he closes the door behind himself and steps fully into the house; pants and boots stained with Radscorpion slurry.

He’d rather have them bitching at him then have more of the treatment from this morning.

“I wanted to give you space.” He says evenly, expecting this reaction but still not liking it.

“That’s kind of you, but there are better ways of doing that, don’t you think?” Briar returns, standing up from the couch and approaching him. “Are you hurt?”

“No, I’m fine. I was just dealing with a couple of Radscorpions. Nothing serious.” He explains, wilting under their scrutinizing gaze as they looked him over for hidden injuries.

“Can you take me with you next time?” They ask, brows furrowed, “Even if you think it’s nothing serious. Please.”

“Right. Yeah.” He agrees, swallowing hard. “Sorry.”

“Thank you.”

He shifts his weight from one foot to the other.

“Here,” He speaks up again, and reaches into his breast pocket to carefully pull out the flowers.

“For me?” Briar asks, blinking.

“Who else?” He grouses, holding the flowers out.

Briar shuts their mouth with a click, face reddening. Very meekly, they take the flowers from him, turning them this way and that.

“…Do you like them?” he asks.

“I do. They’re pretty.” Briar remarks softly, brushing their fingers against the petals with a thoughtful air. “I’ve never been given flowers before.”

It’s one of those quiet moments again, he realizes with a mixture of dread and excitement.

“Can I ask you something?” He asks suddenly, and Briar’s eyes snap up.

“Y-Yes?” They say, expecting the worst by the looks of it.

He sorts his thoughts for a moment.

“…The other night,” He begins, and Briar’s eyes widen in apprehension.

“You promised!” They interrupt, genuinely hurt at his supposed betrayal.

“The other night at the Saloon—” He continues louder this time, glaring at them, and Briar mumbles an apology before quieting. “…Were you going to ask me to dance?” He asks as neutrally as he can, now watching every feature of theirs; refusing to let himself miss any signs of disgust or insult.

Their gaze leaves him to fall upon the window.

“Briar.” He says again, pressing, and his partner clenches their eyes shut tightly.

“Yes.” They answer in a hiss, sounding ashamed.

“What made you change your mind?” he readily asks, wanting to squeeze every secret out of them; tired of breadcrumbs and overthinking.

“…”

He sighs.

“I’m going to shower.” He announces, walking past them to head up the stairs. Before going all the way up, he pauses to say: “I would have said yes, by the way.”

He doesn’t turn around to see their reaction. Instead, he continues upstairs and heads to his room to grab clothes before disappearing into the bathroom. After showering he fills up the tub and soaks for a long time, listening to the thunder start up outside. It would be a real pain in the ass if the power shut off.

Later, he eats dinner alone in the living room, his partner already vanished off into their room unsurprisingly.

It’s only when the house has been locked up and he’s in bed, staring up at the ceiling with his arms behind his head, that he finally figures out why Briar changed their mind about asking him to dance: they were still hung up on the power dynamics involving his contract.

‘It wouldn’t be right for me to ask’, he can imagine them saying.

Ever the fucking gentleman.

That trait was equally as charming as it was irritating. A lot of things about Briar could be categorized as such.

He knows Briar finds him attractive. He knows that they trust him, and he thinks they probably even have feelings for him, but he’s also certain that they’ll never act on those feelings out of fear of abusing their partnership.

If anyone was going to take things further, it would fall to himself.

He doesn’t mind that.

It gives him control in a situation where he technically shouldn’t have any.

His train of thought is disturbed by the sound of Briar’s bed creaking, followed by footsteps. Their bedroom door opens and closes, and he hears them go downstairs.

They don’t return immediately after, so they aren’t just getting something to drink or checking that the front door is still locked. His partner would be downstairs for a while. Sitting up, he grabs the t-shirt he tossed aside and slips it on and tightens the cord of his sweatpants before getting out of bed and heading to the door.

He makes certain to make noise as he leaves his room and heads to the base floor, not wanting to scare them again.

He’s going to be ruminating over that blunder for a while.

The kitchen light is on; the yellow light paints the bottom of the stairs, the wall, and half the living room, with the couch and beyond swallowed in complete darkness. Turning right, he sees the entirety of the kitchen save for the corner of the wall where the fridge and oven are tucked. He can see the counter just fine, and that’s where Briar is seated, the window in the kitchen cracked open as they smoke a cigarette.

It’s raining hard, and the thunder rumbles forebodingly outside.

Briar stills when they notice him.

“Did the storm wake you up?” They ask timidly, guard visibly raising under the intensity of his prolonged study of them. They readjust to uncross their legs, tapping their cigarette against the ashtray.

He doesn’t say a word as he walks over, each step slow and measured. Briar lowers their face, chickening out immediately. They puff from their cigarette with an air of urgency, hand slightly trembling. The downpour outside muffles the curse that spills from their lips as he stops in front of the counter, hips nudging their slightly parted knees.

He plucks the cigarette from their fingers and takes a single drag before setting it down in the ashtray. A blush has been steadily creeping up their neck, but their entire face erupts in color when he braces his hands on top of either of their thighs and spreads them apart; taking a step forward so he can slot himself as closely as he can to the counter.

All he would have to do to have them pressed flushed against him is tug them forward an inch more. The ghost of the touch was heart racing.

He glides a hand up the side of their neck, stopping to cup their cheek. Their entire body arches up towards him.

“Charon…” Briar whispers, pleading, eyelids heavy as they stare at his mouth—sick with want and unable to hide it. Their hands twitch restlessly at their sides.

Briar could have what they want. All they needed to do was allow themselves—but they won’t.

That was okay.

He’ll give them exactly what they needed.

He hovers close enough to their face that he can feel their nervous panting. He brushes his thumb against their cheek, dragging it lower, and lower, until he’s toying with their bottom lip.

“Tell me to stop.” He challenges, voice rough.

They don’t say a word.

“Thought so.” He smirks, leaning forward to kiss them. Briar’s head knocks lightly against the cabinet, and they moan, eyes fluttering completely shut. Their lips are soft, and a little chapped, tasting like smoke.

He breaks away momentarily to gauge their reaction, but that’s not allowed apparently—Briar’s legs tighten around his hips like a snare, and they shoot forward to kiss him again. They’re clumsy and inexperienced, missing the mark entirely, and their lips land at the corner of his mouth instead.

He laughs lowly and cups their jaw, craning their face to the side so he can kiss them properly. Briar hums, delighted, and places their hands on his shoulders, squeezing experimentally before they glide the flats of their hands down his pecs.

Their lips parts slightly, letting him drag his tongue across their front teeth, teasing their mouth open wider. Their mouth is warm, wet velvet and utterly pliant as he deepens the kiss and Briar reacts noisily to the littlest of his touches.

It gets under his skin like nothing else.

When he glances downwards, there’s no mistaking the burgeoning erection starting to tent their pajama pants. All it took was some kissing to get his partner this worked up, but he can't really make fun of them for it, seeing as how he was starting to get just as hard.

It was better to stop now while he could still think clearly. He wasn’t going to fuck them on the kitchen counter the first chance he got, as appealing as that was.

He pushes them away gently, one hand braced on the middle of their chest. Their heartbeat pounds at an alarming rate and they suck in mouthfuls of air.

“Sleep in my bed with me tonight.” He says, not giving any choice at all, “And take care of that before you do.” He adds, letting his eyes drop to their lap; barely fighting back the urge to take care of it himself.

Following his line of sight, Briar curses.

“R-Right.” They agree, clearing their throat, and they unlatch their legs so he can take a step back.

“I’ll wait for you.” He smirks, moving closer to kiss their cheek. “Don’t take too long.”

“Oh, that’s funny—like I’m not about to lose my fucking mind entirely. Christ.” Briar says, sighing shakily, and they shoot him a look of exasperation as they hop off the counter and make a beeline for the stairs.

He heads upstairs a minute later, amused at the sound of the sink running in the bathroom upstairs—a decent enough cover up for someone jerking off as discreetly as they can. He heads into his bedroom, leaving the door purposefully ajar, and remembering something, he walks over to the chair that he threw the velvet blanket on. He unfurls it, giving it a shake to rid it of any dust, and lays it across half the bed.

He lays on his side, jaw in his palm, and watches the door. There was little else to look at in his room, but that would change soon enough. It’s not long at all before he hears the sink shut off and the bathroom door open.
Briar knocks on the door to his room despite it being open.

“Get in here already.” He sucks his teeth, impatient and the door opens fully so Briar can slip inside. “Lock the door, too.” He adds, and they roll their eyes before doing as asked and walking over to the bed.

He watches them carefully crawl onto it, bottom lip sucked into their mouth so they can worry it, and they tuck themselves against his front, face level with his chest. Slowly, slow enough he can tell them not to, they slip an arm around his waist, pulling themselves as close as they can. Their forehead nudges his pec, and their legs tangle with his.

He slips his hand into their hair so he can comb his fingers through it. They shiver, melting against him.

“Charon?” Briar speaks up quietly, and he hums, too lazy to give a real reply. There’s a long, contemplative pause, before: “I think that I’m in…”

He freezes, heart jumping out of his chest.

He can guess what they’re going to say next.

“I know.” He interrupts, unable to tell if the pounding in his ears was coming from his pulse or the thunder outside. “I know. Me too.”

“I didn’t want you to think this meant nothing. I wouldn’t do this with just anyone.”

“And have you?” He asks, flattered.

“You’ll be my first in every sense.” Briar confesses, “I hope that’s not disappointing. There aren’t enough romance books in the world to substitute actual experience. Unfortunately.”

“You’ll be a first for me too.” He remarks, instead of voicing his possessive glee on the fact that no other man or woman has touched them.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re the first person I’ve decided to be with, so it’s not like I’ll be any better at relationships. You’re probably better equipped with all those books you read.”

“I’m not so sure about that.” They say, sounding thoughtful. “Still, I’m honored to be the one you picked.”

“You’re a sap.” He rolls his eyes. “Go to sleep already.”

“Could I have another kiss?”

“Needy thing, aren’t you?” He teases, leaning down to kiss the crown of their head.

“Can’t help it.”

“Then don’t.” He says, “I wasn’t complaining. Be as needy as you want.”

“You’ll never know peace now that you’ve said that.” Briar warns, tracing nonsense patterns into his shirt with their finger. Their voice was a little deeper now that sleep was starting to sink its claws into them.

“Like I get any peace already.” He scoffs, watching their hand slow bit by bit, before it falls limply to the bed as his partner’s eyes fall shut. “Forgot to say goodnight.” He adds, chastising, and adjusts their arm so it doesn’t lose circulation.

He gets a snore in thanks.

The corner of his lips tug into a smile.

Chapter Text

The next morning when Briar rouses from sleep hours after he’s already woken up, he feigns sleep and remains where he’s laying—curious about how they’ll act.

The bed adjusts as his partner sits up, their arm sliding off his waist and legs untangling from his. They watch him ‘sleep’ for a minute, before there’s movement and one of their hands tug at his own, pulling it towards their face.

A gentle kiss is pressed atop his busted knuckles, before being released.

Briar’s weight shifts off the bed, and his bedroom door unlocks before they quietly exit, leaving him alone. As soon as the door shuts, he sits up ramrod straight in bed, eyes open and heart beating too quickly.

He scowls, more flustered by a chaste kiss to his hand than he’d rather admit.

When he heads downstairs after showering, he finds Briar seated on the couch, two plates of hot food on the table, accompanied by water and an affectionate, expectant look on his partner’s face.

“Sleep well?” Briar greets, shy, but unmistakably happy. Their eyes were sparkling, and there’s a too pleased smile on their face they seem unsure of how to deal with. They bite their lip a little to subdue it.

They may have forgotten to say goodnight, but they make sure to wish him a good morning.

His heart skips a little. He can’t take them looking rosy-cheeked and eager this early in the morning.

Or ever.

He sits on the couch next to them, hip to hip, and only allows himself to kiss their cheek, before grabbing his plate and digging in.

“Yeah.” He replies coolly, voice not wavering at all, but if Briar set a hand on his pulse, they’d feel how out of it he was.

Briar hums, blushing a little, and picks up their own plate and starts eating too.

Things fall back into normalcy—mostly. The two of them eat every meal together, smoke together, and usually do at least one activity together, either reading side by side or working on their guns when one of them already has the equipment pulled out.

When he heads to bed first, he leaves his door ajar each night, inviting, and there hasn’t been a night yet where Briar has picked sleeping in their own bed. It always seemed like exactly an hour after he announces he’s going to bed, they finish whatever they’re doing and slip into his room, always making sure to lock it behind themselves, which he appreciates as much as them keeping their hands to themselves when he’s sleeping.

He enjoyed the kiss to his hand, but he thinks in his sleep addled state that anything more would set off the alarm bells in his head and lead to a very different reaction to what they were expecting.

They still bicker with each other, quite often in fact, but there’s a sort of tension now that prevents either of them from letting things turn into a real disagreement. One of them always caves first, and if he was keeping track of the score (which he wasn’t), he’s been the one to cave the most. The last argument the two of them had was over math, of all things.

Briar had been calculating the pricing for ammunition among the few settlements the two of them were aware of, standing in the kitchen, leaning against the counter with a pencil between their teeth as they mulled it over; eyes set on the yellowed parchment covered in neat scrawl.

He’d shuffled right behind them, slipping his arms around their waist in an embrace, and took one look at the paper before saying:

“Those numbers don’t look right.” He’d said to them and that’s all it took for Briar to turn around in his hold and look up at him with a challenging gaze.

In one smooth motion, Briar had slipped their pencil in his hand and placed their own over it to puppeteer him through the same equation they had finished, and it only takes a few seconds for him to realize he’s wrong, but Briar walks him through the entire thing, not satisfied until the same number they had ended with before comes out again.

They’d even use the calculator on their Pipboy to prove just how wrong he was.

He hadn’t wanted to admit he was wrong, and he also hadn’t wanted to suffer through their gloating, so before they could rub it in his face that he forgot something as basic as PEMDAS, he had kissed them to shut them up.

It worked like a charm.

After a shower one evening, wanting to smoke, he’d grabbed his pack of cigarettes from the kitchen only to find them empty. There were two left last time he’d checked, and there was plenty of time to buy another pack, but Briar had either been lazy or forgetful. He went to their bedroom, finding them organizing a few things, and had pointedly shook the empty pack at them.

“I knew I forgot something.” They’d tutted.

“Don’t just leave the pack next time.”

“Right. Sorry.” They’d said, looking at their Pipboy for something abruptly. “…The stores should still be open.”

“Heading out?”

“Do you think you could? I’m in the middle of something.”

He'd given them an unimpressed look.

“What, so you smoke all my cigarettes, leave the empty pack so I get my hopes up, and now I’m the one who needs to run out to buy more? I just showered.” He’d argued.

Briar had gotten up from their vanity and walked over to him to slip their hand into his, fingers entwining. They’d looked up at him through their lashes, practically batting them at him, and their front teeth worry their bottom lip.

“You’re not mad at me, are you?” They’d asked demurely and squeezed his hand, and that’s all it’d taken for him to suck his teeth, admitting that ‘no’, he wasn’t mad at them, and that ‘yes’, he’d go to the store, despite how much he really, really, really, didn’t want to.

They’d smiled, eyes brightening, and stood on tip toe to meet him halfway for a kiss.

“We’re out of Nuka-Colas, too.” Briar added afterwards, licking their lips without thinking about it, but days later he’s still thinking about it.

He thinks about Briar’s mouth a lot. It’s a topic his brain drags him kicking and screaming back to. He likes the crookedness of their teeth. He likes how they worry their lip with those same teeth, and he likes how soft their lips are, even when they were chapped to hell from smoking or dehydration.

Most of all, he likes their voice, and the way their lips move to form his name. His partner can talk so eloquently at times, but nothing was more attractive than having them trip on their words as he riled them up.

They haven’t gone farther than kissing, which he doesn’t mind, and if Briar does, they have been doing a very good job of keeping that fact to themselves. He likes taking things slowly. Besides, there was no fun in rushing things, and he respected them too much to cut corners just to get his dick wet.

Thinking about his dick and their mouth in the same train of thought wasn’t the best of ideas, especially when he was currently posted outside of Megaton, shotgun in hand and armor on, as he takes over guarding the settlement in Deputy Weld’s stead as the Protectron undergoes maintenance at the Craterside Supply.

It felt good working on his own, but periodically as he takes breaks to drink water and sit in the shade, his mind wanders to the two-story house he now calls ‘home’ and the man waiting for him.

Maybe it was presumptuous of him to assume they were just sitting around waiting for him to finish with the job, but when he imagines Briar seated on the couch, impatiently tapping a foot as they tried to read, all the while listening out for his return, he finds himself comforted a startling degree.

Nobody comes to Megaton that day, and when the sun sets Deputy Weld returns, its metal looking polished and its hat sitting a little straighter atop its head. When it greets him with its default catchphrase, its voice is noticeably clearer. He nods a little at it, although he doesn’t know why, and heads into town, eager to rest his feet after he grabs his payment from Lucas Simms.

As he heads up the familiar metal ramp towards the house, he freezes when he sees that the front door is open, as well as all the windows, and from here, he can see right into the house, where Briar and Wadsworth are talking in the kitchen. He steps inside the house quickly, anxious, and as soon as he’s stepping through the doorway, the conversation dies, and Briar turns to him.

“What’s burning?” He asks immediately, because there was no ignoring how strongly the house smelled of smoke.

“Dinner.” Briar says through clenched teeth, looking acutely pissed off, and they point towards the sink where a skillet sits with black, charred bits stuck all over the bottom. Whatever ‘food’ that had touched that pan resembled charcoal more than it did something edible.

“You were trying to cook?” He asks, blinking.

“Emphasis on trying.” They bemoan, pinching the bridge of their nose. “I asked Wadsworth to show me how to make something simple, but I’m incapable of even doing that, it seems. Now we have no dinner, and you get to come home to a house that smells disgusting.”

Briar isn’t just pouting—they looked genuinely distraught at having screwed this up.

“We can eat dinner at the Brass Lantern. It’s not a big deal.” He tells them breezily and leans down to kiss their cheek. They’re still sulking, but it looked like they had to put effort into maintaining it now. “Let me take off my armor and we can go.”

“Of course. Take your time—and welcome home.”

He heads upstairs to his room and finds the door open, so Briar must have been in there at some point. He pushes the door open and steps inside fully and sees a medical textbook laying half open, one page depicting the nervous system of the human body.

Taking off his armor only takes a moment, and with his shoulders feeling much lighter, he heads back downstairs and the two of them leave the house, letting the front door remain open since Wadsworth would guard the house.

“How was the job?” Briar asks while the two of them descend the metal ramp and make a beeline towards the Brass Lantern.

“Boring.” He answers immediately, rolling his shoulders. “What’d you get up to while I was gone?”

“Besides almost burning the house down? Not much.” They answer.

As they approach the Brass Lantern, Briar leads him inside, not wanting to eat outside with eyes on their back and radioactive sludge only a few feet away. It’s a few degrees warmer inside, but a window’s cracked open to let in a breeze into the small store.

Noticing their arrival, Jenny Stahl stands up from where she’s seated in a corner, zoning out to the radio that plays quietly.

“You guys looking for a bite to eat?” Jenny asks after pleasantries are exchanged, grabbing a rag and quickly wiping the section of the counter that the two of them sit at. “Anything you’re in the mood for?”

Briar shrugs, indifferent, already making the decision to just get whatever he asks for. He decides on noodles and fried Mirelurk cakes. It’s greasy in a satisfying way, and as expected his partner only ends up eating about half their serving before scooting the plate over to him.

They’re content to stare out the window, face resting in their hand as he finishes eating. Underneath the counter, their right-hand brushes against his thigh, which almost makes him choke, before he realizes they’re looking for his hand. He helps them out a little and when their hand finds his, he sees the corner of their mouth curl up minutely.

The house smells okay enough when the two of them return home later, so they lock up everything before heading upstairs and separating; Briar going to their room to change into fresh pajamas while he heads to the bathroom to shower. Finished, he heads to his room and finds them already hogging one side of it, laying on their stomach as they continued reading their medical textbook, legs looped over one another primly, and his eyes linger on how the position accentuates their ass.

He shuts and locks the door, and the sound of the lock going into place makes them jump a little.

“That was quick.” Briar says, looking over their shoulder as he approaches the bed and wordlessly tosses himself atop it, making the bed jump and shaking them for a second time.

He settles on his back, head turned to the right to look at them.

“Want me to stop reading? I don’t mind—we can talk.” They offer when he keeps staring at them.

“Just looking.” He shrugs, and their cheeks redden slightly.

“I see.” Briar hums, fingers tapping on the pages, “Well, look all you want. I don’t mind that either. And I should say sorry. About dinner, I mean. That was a royal screw up I won’t be making again any time soon.”

“You hate cooking. Why even bother? That’s what Wadsworth is for.” he replies.

“Consider it a random whim.”

He doesn’t buy that for a second.

“You were trying to impress me again, weren’t you?” He says.

“Yes, to a degree, but I also wanted to just do something nice for you.” Briar sighs.

“What WERE you trying to make?” He inquires, thinking again of the incomprehensible mess in the kitchen sink.

“It was a recipe I got from Gob. He’s a great cook, according to Nova.” Briar explains, nose wrinkling with clear disdain over their own lack of skill.

“I don’t care if you cook for me.”

“I’m glad to hear that because I think Wadsworth was genuinely upset that I ruined that pan. I should find another when we head out…” they say.

“When are you thinking about leaving?” He asks.

“In two or three days. If that’s alright with you, of course.”

“Whatever works. The sooner we take care of Burke and Tenpenny, the better.”

“Agreed. It’s odd thinking that at one point, I DIDN’T have hired thugs chasing me.” Briar says thoughtfully, and the conversation dies a natural death; his partner’s attention getting sucked back into the textbook, and his own attention drifting off to random tangents about nothing at all important, his eyes still focused on the profile of their face.

He thinks of something he’s read in a book before.

“I’ve read that the quickest way to a man’s heart is their stomach.” He says, suddenly in the mood to talk again, and Briar’s lips stop forming the words their eyes are rapidly flicking across and they raise their face and turn towards him, a bemused expression on their face.

“I’ve heard that, too. It’s wrong, unfortunately,” Briar says, snorting, and they stretch out their right hand towards him, hovering it just over his chest. “The quickest way to a man’s heart is a bilateral incision on the upper left region of the sternum.” With one finger, they trace a line across his pec.

An involuntary shiver runs down his spine. Briar notices it, face crooking to the side minutely as if fascinated.

He doesn’t understand the shapes they start to trace now, but he doesn’t care. It feels good— ticklish, but also soothing. Their fingers begin to move across the rest of his chest and shoulders, and his partner names the bones aloud as they do so.

“One of these days I’d like to give you a full check-up,” Briar says, hand pausing to lay flat on his abs, “It makes me anxious thinking about all the problems you could be dealing with, without even realizing. Your threshold for pain is intimidating, and I am sorry to bring it up, but I doubt that any previous employer cared enough to take you to a doctor. Not that I think you’re all that fond of doctors, because of, well—my God, I am really bad at this, aren’t I?” They wince.

Clearing their throat, they try again.

“What I mean to say is…I care about you a lot, and I want to make sure you aren’t suffering needlessly.” Briar finishes.

He stares at them for a while.

“I’m fond of one doctor,” he says belatedly.

“Are you now?” They say, flattered, and they smile wryly, adding, “So, you wouldn’t mind, then?”

“I don’t care, as long as it’s you.”

“Keep it up and I won’t be able to sleep next to you tonight.” Briar warns, leaning across his chest now, face inching closer and closer to his own.

“All it takes is some sappy line to get you hot under the collar, huh?”

“Only when it’s from you.” Briar says without missing a beat, and they kiss him needily, mouth parted and breath ghosting over his lips and chin. He’s so focused on kissing them back he doesn’t think about their hand moving to his wrist, where two of their fingers press firmly. “Your heart rate is faster than mine. What do you think that means?” They tease, moving away from him to make sure that he sees the smirk on their lips.

“Fuck you, that’s what.” He answers snippily, heart only beating faster now that that they were starting to laugh prettily.

They kiss him again, still giggling, and he doesn’t know why he finds it so stupidly attractive, but he does. Unable to help himself, he flips Briar onto their back and pins both of their wrists in one of his hands, knocking a gasp out of them.

Their eyes are absolutely smoldering in the dim light of his room.

“You’re so hot I can’t think.” They complain breathily.

“What the hell do you need to be thinking about right now?” He challenges, lowering his face to their neck so he can lightly bite the curve of their jaw.

They don’t even try tugging their hands out of his grip, more than happy to be pinned down to the bed like an insect. He drags his lips up the curve of their neck, thinking about how soft it is, and how much he’d like to cover up the entirety of it with marks.

Their recon suit wouldn’t cover any marks just under their jawline, or their ear. As he’s weighing the pros and cons of leaving a hickey somewhere visible, mouth opening just the slightest, he startles when loud knocking starts downstairs.

Their eyes meet and he backs off immediately.

“Pretty late for visitors.” Briar remarks, already slipping off the bed and beating him to the door. They head to their bedroom first, grabbing their silenced 10mm as he hovers just behind, and the two of them descend the stairs. “Just a moment!” They call out when they reach the bottom floor, and he watches them peek through the window by the door, moving the curtain so subtly that whoever was outside wouldn’t notice them checking.

Briar’s face whitens and their mouth falls open in horror.

“What?” He asks immediately, whispering, and walking over to them quickly just as they slip a hand into their hair and drag it through roughly.

“There’s a Talon merc at our door. They aren’t wearing the armor, but I recognize their face.” Briar explains, beginning to look nauseous. “…It’s the creep I told you about. The one that cut my hair. I don’t think he’s here just to collect a bounty.”

Not in all the seventy years he’s been slogging through this merry ‘life’ of his has anger filled him this quickly and so fully before. He moves suddenly to go upstairs and grab his shotgun, but Briar stops him, a pleading look on their face.

“I am not having this turn into a shootout in the middle of night. There are women and children nearby and these houses are made of sheet metal—all it takes is a single stray bullet.” Briar explains in a fervent whisper, “He’s been waiting at the door for a minute now. Take my gun, and I’ll sneak out through the kitchen window and knife him while he’s distracted by you.”

Their 10mm feels comically small in his hands, and he’s too furious to speak, so he just nods and takes the gun. Briar moves silently into the kitchen, unlocking the window and slipping halfway through it with ease, and when they nod, he goes to the front door, gun in hand, and makes his footsteps as loud as possible.

He unlocks the door and yanks it open, gun pointed straight ahead, and the Talon merc’s eyes widen a large margin when they see that it’s a pissed off, seven-foot-tall ghoul, and not his partner. The merc is in their late thirties with tan skin that was sun-burnt in a few spots, with blond, cropped hair. Unassuming, if not for the readied syringe in their hand, which he can only assume was for Briar.

Before the merc can even speak, or move to use that syringe on him, Briar flies out from behind the side of the house and has their knife pushed to the merc’s neck.

“Keep silent.” Briar warns frigidly, and their eyes flicker up to meet his in silent askance to disarm them while he has them still.

He snatches the syringe out of their hands, as well as the gun and few grenades fastened to their hip, before dragging them into the house by their shirt, where he throws them to the ground. They land on their front and before they can push up, he sits atop them and twists their arms behind their back.

Briar enters the house and shuts the front door, locking it with an ominous click.

“Can you hand me his bag, please? I’d like to see what he had planned, and I don’t trust a word that comes out of his mouth.” Briar says, and he cuts the strap of bag off the merc before sliding it across the floor to them.

Briar crouches to the ground and starts carefully looking through the bag.

A medical kit is pulled out first. He watches his partner inspect each item one by one. There’s a lot of the same syringes that were in the merc’s hand, and Briar lowers the plunger on one to get a single drop of the liquid on their fingertip, which they smell, before taking an experimental lick.

“It’s Med-X. All these syringes are, I’m certain. There’s enough here to supply a clinic.” Briar announces, sliding the medical kit aside and digging around the satchel again. A bundle of rope is pulled out, then a small glass bottle filled with what looked like cooking oil, and oddly enough, a camera—one that looked well maintained.

“Let me make sure that I understand the implications of all this,” His partner begins, “You were plotting to drug me in my own home, use me, then take pictures so that you could have a memento to celebrate the occasion later on—is that what I’m understanding?” And they stand up and walk over to where he’s got the merc pinned underneath him.

“Just say the word and I’ll carve him open.” He growls, feeling like he was vibrating from anger.

Briar shakes their head quickly in protest of dirtying the house with this mongrel’s blood, he thinks, but he’s not really reading their body language all that much, too focused on the blood pounding in his ears and the degenerate wriggling underneath him.

“Could knock him out with some Med-X, take him out of town and give him a live burial.” He continues, brain moving a mile a minute as he thought of every method in the book to make their death as gruesome as possible. “Might be better to skip the burial part, if you want to see the last miserable expression on his face as life leaves him.”

If he wasn’t so focused on his own anger, he’d notice that with each word from his lips, Briar looks queasier and queasier, face now so pale that they looked bloodless.

“I can do it for you. I could kill him with my bare hands.” He offers, fingers twitching eagerly.

“I don’t want any of that!” Briar exclaims, distressed, and they crouch down to where he set their 10mm, before leveling it at the merc’s head and pulling the trigger once. The body that had been fighting underneath him grows limp, and a steady pool of blood starts to seep out of the hole in their head.

He stares at the blood, before looking up. Briar’s chest heaves up and down quickly, their face covered with a fine layer of sweat. They don’t allow him to see their horrified expression for long, quickly bringing up a hand to cover their eyes.

They don’t look any better after the merc is dead and it takes him a minute to realize that he’s the reason for that.

What was he thinking, pressuring them like that?

He jumps off the body, standing, but doesn’t move towards them.

He doesn’t know what to do. He feels too many things. His entire body felt like it was simultaneously on fire and being dunked into an ice bath, his breathing ragged and his heartbeat racing a mile a minute. He feels nauseous, too, suddenly feeling the ghosting of many hands all over his body.

“I need to talk with the Sheriff.” Briar says suddenly, and when they lower their hand, their face is almost perfectly neutral, just looking tired as usual. He hates that they’re getting better at compartmentalizing their feelings and hates that they feel the need to do so with him, but that’s what he gets for acting like that.

They don’t even wait for him to say anything before leaving the house.

Alone now, he watches the blood pooling on the floor, feeling less like a person and more like a heap of trauma and anger pushed into a mold.

He shuts his mind off completely and picks up the corpse off the floor, lugging it over one shoulder, and heads out the house, not bothering with locking it. There’s no one awake to question the dead man he’s carrying. Deputy Weld might not even recognize the unmoving lump as something ‘human’.

The eerie, dead silence of the Wastes greets him, and it’s only now that he realizes he doesn’t have any armor on—or even shoes.

He’d rather slit his own throat than give a would-be rapist a proper burial, so he dumps their body unceremoniously onto the dirt when he’s enough of a distance away from town that the rot won’t be picked up along on the wind.

He kicks it a few times. It’s satisfying, but not enough.

He wants them to be alive still, so he can show them what it really meant to hurt, but that was exactly the problem. It should be enough that they were dead, yet he’s still ruminating on the lost opportunities to torture them.

The walk back to the house is a blur. He knows Briar is back, because he can hear them retching into the toilet upstairs. There was still blood that needed to be cleaned up, so he grabs a bucket and fills it with hot water in the kitchen sink, before grabbing the box of Abraxo and gloves.

He sinks onto his hands and knees and starts mopping up the blood.

He wants to go upstairs and hold their hair back for them, wants to tell them that things were fine now, that it’s over, but he doesn’t feel like he has that right. He doesn’t think he could look them in the eye right now. He doesn’t think he could bear to touch them, or be touched, despite how badly he wants to, and Briar probably felt the same.

He freezes when he hears footsteps on the stairs and eyes on his back. He sits up, balancing on his bent legs. Briar looks at the blood, the gloves, then somewhere just behind his head. Maybe the window.

“We’re leaving tomorrow night, unless there’s anything urgent you need to take care of.” Is all they say.

He nods, not trusting himself to speak.

They look like they want to say something. They ultimately keep silent before heading back upstairs. He heads to his own room shortly after and when he lays across his bed and catches the slightest hint of their perfume, he feels loneliness so acutely that it punches the air out of his lungs.

There was no way he was getting any sleep that night, and the same goes for Briar, who he can hear pacing back and forth in their room, occasionally leaving altogether to check the front door and the windows.

He tosses and turns for hours, unable to quiet his mind. Sick to death of it, he rolls out of bed and wrenches his door open with the full intention of heading downstairs and chain-smoking until dawn, but he falters, taking a step back, when Briar’s bedroom door swings open and they enter the hallway at the same time.

Briar stares at him, eyes wide, and he does the same, not knowing what the hell to say or how to approach what happened earlier.

They look hurt. They look unsure. But something clicks in their mind—a decision is made, and their jaw sets determinedly as they take one step, then another, before slipping their arms around his waist and hugging him tightly.

He freezes, face still pointed straight ahead where they’d been standing, but after a moment he thaws and takes a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

He looks down, heart pounding.

He starts to feel present in his body again and eventually lifts his arms to return the embrace, holding a little more tightly than he means to.

“…Do you think I’m weak for giving him such a clean death?” Briar asks at some point, he can’t tell how long the two of them have just been standing there in the hallway, glued together and hearts pounding with leftover adrenaline.

“No,” He says at once, “I respect that you stuck to what you felt was right. I shouldn’t have said any of that stuff. It was way out of line.”

“You were really adamant about it.” Briar tells him, fingertips dancing across his back nervously.

“I know. I’m sorry.” He agrees, and he could maybe just leave it like that, and not explain his thoughts, but he finds that insulting, so he steels himself before saying: “I think this fucked with my head. Brought up some old memories. I kept thinking about what I would have done to the people who put me through that kind of shit if I ever got my hands on them. I know for a fact it’d bring me joy wringing every breath out of them.”

He takes a deep, deep breath, before releasing it.

“But you aren’t me.” He says, “And it was wrong to tell you how you should handle things.”

Briar squirms in his arms, but only so they can crane their face up and look up at him.

“I just wanted it to be over with.” They explain somberly. “I just wanted to go back to bed with you and maybe steal a few more days of normal living before we went back to getting shot at and God, now I can’t even feel safe here, of all places, but it’s too expensive to move and, and—”

“Easy,” He cautions, feeling their pulse skyrocket.

“—and I like living here! It’s a dump, but I’m getting attached to it.” Briar laments shakily, burying their face into his shirt.

“We aren’t moving,” He says, and kicks his door open before picking them up, “And we can STILL go back to bed,” he continues, entering his room and walking over to the bed to set them down gently. He locks the door, checks it twice, and heads back to bed before laying on his side next to them and pulling them to his chest. “And in a week, or however long it takes, the fuckers after us are going to be six feet under, and we can do everything you want to do.”

“…What about you?” Briar asks tentatively, looking up at him again, “What do you want to do?”

“Not sure.” He says, but then rethinks his answer, “Actually, there’s one thing, but let me bring it up when I’m ready.”

What he wants to do is a surprise; one that he’ll have to push the timetable along on, since the two of them were leaving tomorrow night. Briar accepts his answer as is and the steam behind the conversation extinguishes and his room falls comfortably quiet.
He runs his fingers through their hair until they fall asleep and then gets caught off guard by his own exhaustion just as the sun begins to rise.

Hours later, when the two of them wake up, they agree to leave at midnight, not wanting a single living soul seeing their exit, and Briar leaves at some point to grab a few things from the store, before heading to the Saloon so they can ask Nova and Gob to keep an eye out on the house.

Half an hour until midnight, he stops moving things around in the living room and heads upstairs, where he knocks lightly on Briar’s door, which is cracked open enough he can see them hastily packing away things in their duffel.

“Come in,” Briar says, not even looking up, and he pushes the door open fully so he can lean against the doorframe. They’re dressed in their freshly washed recon suit. It was like dawning a façade as much as they were dawning armor; their features becoming more guarded, hands looking deadly, instead of delicate.

“Busy?” He asks, not quite as casual as he was hoping for, and maybe that’s why Briar stops packing to look at him now, their brows furrowing with concern. “There’s nothing wrong. Just asking.” He clarifies, and they relax.

“I’m free. What do you need? And why aren’t you in your armor yet?” They ask.

“Follow me downstairs.” He says, ignoring all their questions and holds out his hand. He internally beams at how quickly they accept.

He leads them carefully down the stairs, and they speak up behind him.

“Is that music?” Briar asks.

“Maybe.” he says and continues down the stairs.

At the base of the stairs, he nudges Briar in front of him towards the living room. The table’s been pushed against a wall to make room in front of the couch. He bought a few chunky, off-white candles in town earlier and they sit in a huddle atop the table, the embers dancing from the wayward drafts in the house.

The portable radio is playing in the kitchen, where it’s accompanied by the ashtray and his pack of cigarettes. Two ice cold Nuka-Cola’s sit nearby, waiting to be cracked open.

“Charon?” Briar says, confused, and when they turn to him, he holds out his hand again.

“I was thinking we could dance.” He says.

“Now?”

“I didn’t want to leave on a bad note.” He explains, starting to regret this, “If you don’t want to, that’s fine.”

“No, no, I want to! I would love nothing more than to dance with you, it’s just—I wish I was wearing something nicer than armor; you know?” And they laugh awkwardly.

“Next time.” He promises, and Briar nods, a soft smile on their face as they slip their hand into his.

He leads them to the middle of the living room, raising their entwined hands, and setting his left hand on their hip, fingers curled around their lower back.

“You’re going to lead?” Briar asks, pleasantly surprised, and now that he’s got their hopes up, he starts panicking even more about his performance.

“Going to try to.” He admits, jogging his memory for the exact steps Briar had demonstrated at the Saloon with Nova.

He has a good memory, but executing the motions was an entirely different thing. His timing is off, and sometimes he gets so worried about stepping on their feet that he just freezes entirely.

He is fucking terrible at this.

“You look like you stepped on a landmine.” Briar remarks, the smile on their face wilting. “I’m not making you uncomfortable, am I?”

“I’m fine.” He says automatically. “I’m thinking too much.”

“I thought that was my job.” They joke, squeezing his hand, “And if you’re worried about performance, don’t be, you’re doing gre—”

He forgets which direction to step and loses balance, accidentally pulling Briar along for the ride as he crashes backwards against the floor and couch, his back knocking into the wooden frame painfully. Briar falls on top of him, but they’re dexterous enough to catch themselves partly, one hand landing on the couch cushion near his shoulder and their other hand planting against his chest.

“Are you okay??” Briar asks, pushing off his chest so they can sit back on their folded legs between his spread thighs.

“Fine. I’m just a fucking idiot.” He grumbles, letting his head fall back on the couch so he can glare holes at the ceiling.

“Don’t say that.” Briar chastises softly, and they press themselves flush against him purposely this time, hands reaching out to cup both sides of his face. His face is loosely guided to look at theirs. “I thought it was sweet,” they tell him, the corners of their eyes creasing with unbridled affection, and their fingers brush against the high points of his cheek bones, uncaring of uneven patches of skin or the severity of the degradation.

“Consider me thoroughly impressed.” They say with a knowing smile and lean forward to kiss him on the lips—or so he thinks, until they press a kiss just to the corner of his mouth, then his chin, his jawline, anywhere but directly on his mouth.

“I thought we were leaving soon.” he says, humming at the sensation.

“Tell me to stop.” They challenge, leaning their forehead against his so their mouth can ghost just a centimeter or two away from his.

Fucker, he thinks, and grabs a handful of their recon suit so he can kiss the smirk off their face.

Chapter Text

“Charon, Charon, Charon!” Briar calls out repeatedly, panicked, and turning around from where he’s standing in the middle of a Super-Duper Mart, shotgun in hand and emptying out one of the chambers into a Raider’s face, Charon sees his partner colliding into a wall as they slide from their gathered momentum, before pushing off the wall and running quickly towards him, eyes like saucers.

The wall they had collided into is engulfed in flames a nanosecond later and giving the main room of the Mart a quick glance, he finds no immediate hostiles, and turns all his focus on the Raider that was tailing his partner. A few feet away from colliding into him, Briar ducks to the floor and slides between his parted legs on the balls of their knees.

“Shoot the flamer tank! There’s three more behind her.” Briar says mid slide, and he reloads his shotgun, readies his aim, and shoots the base of the Raider’s flamer, causing a small explosion that engulfs that hallway Briar had fled from.

The screams of three people now being burned alive is sickening, even to someone as weathered as him, and despite how fearful they had been for their life, Briar makes quick work of shooting them all one by one after. As they catch their breath, he checks the Mart for remaining threats, but the place is void of life apart from them now. That was a relief, because his lower back and feet were killing him after walking all day.

When he returns to the center of the Mart, Briar is leaning against a metal shelf, breathing hard as the adrenaline works its way out of their system.

“Any injuries?” They ask.

He shakes his head.

“You?” he asks, unable to stop himself from glancing at the mildly charred bodies across from where the two of them stand. The color of their skin matched his almost perfectly. He doesn’t know why his brain decides to gnaw on that observation.

“Not a scratch.” They say, lip curling in the corner, “That went smoothly, wouldn’t you agree? We make a great pair.”

“The part where you were between my legs was really good, too.” He agrees and leans down to kiss their temple.

“Ha!” They say loudly, pleased, “Liked that, did you?”

“Yeah.” He says, stepping closer so he can crowd them against the shelf, “But not half as much as I liked hearing you saying my name over and over.”

Their face blooms with color.

“It’s a little fucked up that we’re flirting so close to burnt bodies…” Briar says, but they’re content to remain where they are.

“Only a little? I must be rubbing off on you.”

“God, I wish you were.” They retort with a smoothness that floors him, and his jaw goes slack for a second—but just that, before he blinks and levels them with an intense look.

“Watch it. Thought we agreed no fooling around on the road?” He reprimands, although he’s not really helping the matter with the way he grabs their jaw with his hand, thumb brushing their bottom lip.

“I was fucking stupid for making that rule.”

“It’s a good rule.” He protests, and Briar’s mouth opens to swipe their tongue defiantly against his thumb. Cursing, he takes his hand off and glares at them. “Should have known you were going to be a brat about it.”

“Yes, you should have.” Briar gloats.

The tension between them arcs; becoming so thick he can feel it.

Unfortunately, he’s too level-headed to keep kindling it. Taking a deep breath, he steps back from them.

“We should stay here for the night. We’ll reach Tenpenny Tower by morning with the distance we covered today.” He says, changing the subject with the same ease he reloaded his shotgun.

“I can take first watch, if that’s the case.” They say, only sulking a little at his sudden conversation changer.

“I slept enough back home. We don’t need to take shifts.”

They seem very disappointed about that fact.

“…If you say so. If you do end up getting tired, feel free to wake me up.”

“Sure.” He says, shrugging.

The main room of the Super-Duper Mart reeked of burned hair and skin, so after barricading the front entrance of the store, the two of them holed up inside of the employee lounge in the back. Garbage is kicked aside to clear the floor enough for Briar to set out their bedroll, which they set up in the corner of the room furthest from the door. After a quick dinner, he walks over to the knocked over metal desk and sits on the floor with his back against it, positioned about ten feet from the doorless entry with his shotgun held in both hands, the safety on for now, as he starts his watch. The only light source in the room comes from the oil lantern one of the Raiders had been using, casting the room in a calm, yellow light as they both settle in for the night.

Briar goes to bed with an inconspicuous ‘goodnight’, simply offering a small smile before tucking into their bedroll and rolling over to face the wall, back turned to him. He stares at their back for a few seconds, before turning his attention to the doorway, where it will remain for the next five or six hours.

It’s a peaceful beginning to his watch. Briar falls asleep not too long after they rolled over, and he busies himself worrying about what tomorrow might bring. Time passes, although he’s not sure how much without checking his partner’s Pipboy, but it couldn’t have been more than two hours when he hears a sharp inhale towards his right, where Briar was sleeping.

Glancing at them quickly, he sees that their shoulders were now trembling minutely.

“Briar,” He calls out loudly, and they visibly jump, before growing eerily still.

Despite being up now, it is a long time before Briar moves. Slowly, as if someone had a gun pointed at their back, they roll onto their stomach in a way that’s just completely awkward, arms crossing together so they can bury their face. Their back rises and falls as they steal breaths in rapid succession.

“Nightmare?” he asks, glad to have woken them up before it upset them any further, but he was growing more concerned by their quiet with each passing second. Just as he’s thinking about getting up and checking on them himself, Briar’s head adjusts so that the top of their face peeks over their arms.

Beads of sweat glisten like jewels on their forehead.

The look they were giving him was not of a man who was frightened—it was an expression of absolute hunger, the look of a caged man with bread sitting just out of reach.

“Sorry,” Briar forces the word out through clenched teeth, brows furrowed as if in great pain, “I was trying to be discreet. I think I should have just excused myself to another room…” They explain, and their flushed face and the odd way they’d rolled over makes a lot of sense now.

“No need. Come here.” he says, setting his gun on the floor and patting his thigh invitingly.

Briar uncrosses their arms so they can push up, now looking at him with the beginnings of a guilty frown.

“But the rule we agreed on—"

“Not repeating myself.” He cuts in sternly, and Briar shuts up, staring at him now as they pensively bit their bottom lip.

Resolving themselves, or simply too horny to feel self-conscious, he watches them stand up from their bedroll, noticing the erection tenting their recon armor immediately and swallowing hard instinctively. His staring only serves to make them blush more, but he doesn’t stop looking at them for even a second as Briar tentatively walks over to him, stopping to stand near where his legs are splayed out in front of him.

He parts his thighs, making a spot for them to sit, and holds out a hand, palm up.

Briar slips their hand into his, and he pulls them down with their back pressed to his chest so he can keep his eyes on the doorway.

“That’s better,” He compliments as they settle against him, and he can feel their warmth bleeding out of their armor. “Is that why you wanted watch earlier? To jerk off?”

“Don’t say it like that…” Briar whines, scandalized, and sucks in a breath when he slips both hands onto their chest and starts to feel them up greedily.

“Why not? I’m only saying how it is, right?” He teases, kissing the side of their neck. He licks a trail of sweat that’s gradually making its way down the nape of their neck and Briar shivers, their hands moving to sit atop his, not to stop him, but encourage his exploration. “Even if you got first watch, did you really think I wouldn’t hear you touching yourself?”

“I-I was hoping you would be polite and pretend to sleep.”

“When have I ever been polite?” He scoffs, dragging his lips up and down their neck, teasing his breath against the shell of their ear. He moves his hand upwards, gliding his palm up their chest, and his fingers grip the tag of their zipper before pulling it down the metal teeth achingly slowly, and Briar arches against him in anticipation, their ass grinding against the front of his jeans, and it rouses a pleased hum out of him.

He uses both hands to pull the zipper all the way, not wanting the zipper to catch the fabric of their boxers, which is the only article of clothing Briar has on under their recon suit, which is…interesting. The knowledge that he could have them practically naked in a singular zip would ricochet in his skull for the foreseeable future.

Wasting no time, he hooks a thumb under the band of their boxers before shoving the fabric downward and taking a greedy eyeful. Their dick is perfectly average, but they almost looked a size bigger with how swollen with blood it was; the tip flushed red and leaking precum like a busted faucet. Just having their dick exposed and having him staring is enough to make Briar start panting hard, one of their hands instinctively going to their mouth so they can bite down on the crook of their finger.

“You’re wet like a girl.” He says without thinking, admiring the way the light brown curls at the base were trimmed neatly. He counts fifteen freckles on their inner thighs, but he knows there’s got to be more.

Their dick twitches; another bead of precum tearing up before dribbling up the slit and following the curve of the tip. He curls a hand around their dick, gripping the base, before adding some pressure and gliding his hand up towards the tip, the glide made so easy with the excess precum.

Something as small as that is enough to make their back arch taut against him and draws out a high-pitched whine from the back of their throat. It was loud enough to hear in the next room over, let alone a person sleeping a few feet away.

“If this is how loud you usually are, you had zero fucking chance of sneaking behind my back.” He tells them up front, squeezing his fist around the tip and moving it up and down to give them something to shallowly fuck into. Briar gasps, voice cracking halfway, and their other hand claws at his thigh desperately, looking for something to anchor them through the pleasure.

Swirling his thumb around their wet tip earns an honest to God shout, one that even echoes, and the strangled, lust-hazed sound of it makes his head spin.

“We aren’t home,” He warns, eyeing the doorway, “You need to keep it down, otherwise I’m stopping.” He adds, but Briar didn’t need to know he wasn’t serious about it.

Nothing could stop him from touching them right now, save for another bomb falling over their heads, but the threat of stopping reduces Briar, who was so reserved and put together, into a sobbing, needy little thing that squirmed in his lap.

“S-Sorry!” They say, forgoing biting their finger in lieu of cupping a hand over their mouth. It barely helps to muffle their moans as he starts to pump their dick at a steady, rhythmic pace.

Whenever they got used to the pace he set, he would speed things up or grip his fist tighter, making them fail their vow of silence each time with growing success.

“God!” Briar curses suddenly and sharply, ass pressed right against his dick, and he curls his other hand around their hipbone, tugging them even closer to chase the friction.

“Wrong name.” He admonishes smugly. “And I thought I said you need to keep it down.”

“I’m trying. It feels too—”

He pumps them faster.

“Feels too…?” He prompts, certain he could hear their eyes beginning to cross.

“I can’t keep quiet if you’re going to keep teasing me like that!” Briar squeaks.

“Don’t care. Keep it down.” He says, and continues to jerk them off, hand soaked in their precum.

“You’re so mean to me, ah, ah, ah—” Briar complains, the words breaking off into sweet, desperate moans that were growing steadily in volume.

It’s so fucking hot how loud they are.

“Yeah? I’m so fucking mean when I make your brain leak out of your ears.” He laughs lowly, grinding against their ass in tandem with the hand he’s got pumping around their dick. Their thighs start to shake, a breath catching sharply in their throat. The back of their head thumps against his chest and their eyes clench shut tightly. “Close?” He whispers into their ear, making a full-body shiver run up their spine.

Their answer is intelligible through their moaning. Or maybe that was their answer.

“Pretty boy.” He hums, tightening his grip and Briar reacts to his words like they’re hard wired straight to their dick; their hips suddenly thrusting erratically into his fist as they cum suddenly, a hoarse cry ripping through them. Their dick pumps load after load all over his fist, their boxers, and even their armor in a few spots.

He grinds against their shivering, moaning body, unable to really stop himself as Briar says his name over and over like a prayer. Their body goes slack a second later, but the shaking takes far longer to subside.

He’s painfully hard, dick so strained against the front of his jeans he thinks it’ll pop clean through the fabric, but he’s beyond used to ignoring his desires. If he thinks about something awful for long enough, it’ll clear his head and he can continue his watch as Briar heads to sleep properly this time.

A minute later when the chemical cocktail in their brain fizzles out enough that they can rub two brain cells together and formulate a thought, Briar carefully stands up on their knees before turning around carefully to face him, uncaring of the mess or the way their softening dick was hanging out of their boxers.

Their hands curl on either of his shoulders to help them balance. Like this, they’re looking down at him, and he’s not used to ever having to look up to meet someone’s gaze.

“May I?” Briar asks while licking their lips as their eyes fall to the bulge in his jeans.

He almost scoffs at the absurdity of how they word their offer, but it’s difficult to find it funny when they keep eyeing his dick and salivating; Adam’s apple bobbing as they swallowed audibly.

He wants to say yes, badly, yet insecurity spikes through him.

“Next time.” He decides after a pregnant pause, “For now you can watch.”

Nodding, Briar leans forward and kisses him once, before resting their forehead against his and watching with rapt attention as he reaches down and unlatches his belt before popping the button and tugging the zipper down. He shoves his jeans and boxers down in one go—just enough to free his dick.

A small, pleased noise escapes them, something like a hum, and the hands on his shoulders twitch eagerly, but remain firmly planted where they are. Their eyes drag across the length of his dick, studying it with threadbare hunger.

“You’re big,” Briar observes, not at all surprised, but seeming to consider something. “I don’t think I could fit you completely in my mouth even if you let me, but…” And they pause as they watch his every movement: how his right hand, slick with their cum, curls around the base of his dick and pumps it once. “—I’ve always liked a challenge.” They sigh against his lips.

“That why you like me so much? Cuz I’m a challenge?” He returns, not sounding as steady or as confident as he’d like.

“There are many reasons why I like you. Do you want me to list off a few of them?” They ask, and while he hadn’t expected a real response to his flirting, it is very welcome. So are the soft, open-mouthed kisses they smother him with, stealing each small hitch of his breath and swallowing it down. Their lips move from his mouth, dropping to his jaw, which they follow the curve of with their lips, brushing them against his rough, uneven skin.

They don’t wait for his approval, surprisingly, and they press a kiss over his pulse, before continuing, “I like how uncompromising you are. I like how you never back down, how fiercely proud you are in the way you don’t let anyone disrespect you, me included. I like your stubbornness. I like your sharp wit; your scathing humor.”

He expected a compliment or two, not…this.

His dick throbs in his hand, and he realizes he’s been so distracted by the affection dripping from the sweet words they speak into his ear, that he hasn’t even been moving his hand; too stunned by everything.

He thinks he feels their lips curling into a smile.

“It’s not just your personality, either.” Briar says, and he tenses when he feels their mouth open and their tongue curiously swipe against the side of his neck. They make a subtle noise of enthrallment before curling their tongue and dragging the tip across the cord of muscle connecting his neck and shoulders. “I wasn’t kidding when I said you’re so hot I can’t think. Why do you think I couldn’t sleep earlier? I was so worked up from watching you fight earlier. I kept thinking about your big, rough hands—how you can bring so much harm to others, but you’re so soft with me. I think about your hands a lot. More than I’d care to admit.”

His heart jack hammers, and he sucks in a breath through his teeth. It only eggs them on further, and Briar laps their soft, wet tongue up and down his neck, sometimes ghosting their teeth over his collarbone.

He quickens the pace of his hand, even though he’s not anywhere near close to finishing.

“Close?” Briar asks, blinking, and he’s a little frustrated that he needs to explain himself, but there wasn’t really any other way to handle this.

“No. Trying to hurry up because it takes forever usually.” He explains roughly.

“I’m not in a rush if you aren’t.” They say.

“You should be sleeping. By the time I finish you’ll—”

“I want you to feel good.” Briar shushes him with a gentle kiss. “Take as much time as you need. I like this—I like kissing you, and I like watching you.”

He shuts his eyes, feeling a shiver run up his spine, and starts to fuck into his hand at a slower pace, letting himself enjoy the feeling fully now instead of forcing it. Briar’s hands fall from his shoulders to grope each of his pecs, squeezing firmly a few times, and when he cracks open his eyes, he confirms that they ARE in fact smiling.

He wasn’t just being appeased—they were genuinely enjoying taking care of him. The realization of that feels almost better than the pleasure licking at his heels. He breaks the kiss to suck down mouthfuls of air, his eyes flickering back open just in time to see Briar greedily lick the trail of saliva that had briefly connected the two of their mouths.

Cursing, he speeds up his hand.

“You can touch me.” He tells them hoarsely, thoughts starting to fuzz around the edges as pleasure snuck up on him like a thief in the night.

Their eyes widen with delight.

“Really?” Briar asks, and when he nods, they get that manic look to their eyes, so he should know something is up, but he’s too busy bracing himself for the feeling of another hand gripping his dick that it takes him a second to realize that Briar isn’t just moving their hands off his chest—they’re moving themselves entirely, their face lowering towards his lap.

Their breath fans the head of his dick and all thought leaves him. Briar lowers just a fraction more and their kiss bruised lips brush against the tip, tongue peeking out to taste his precum, and his hips jerk wildly, thrusting his dick against their closed mouth. He grits out an apology, but Briar ignores it in favor of pressing a kiss to the tip of his dick.

He stops breathing, chest getting tight.

They take the tip into their mouth shallowly, tasting, and swirl their tongue around his slit to tease more precum out, only bobbing their head enough to take in the tip fully and maybe half an inch more as he continues to jerk himself off desperately. Sometimes his fist bumps into their chin, but they don’t complain.

Just how long had they been thinking about him in their mouth? His taste on their tongue?

Was it what they were thinking about earlier, when they were trying to masturbate?

The pleasure was all-consuming in its intensity now, and he can hardly remember to fill his lungs with air as he continues to watch his partner make out with his dick. They looked nothing short of happy, too focused on making him feel good to let themselves feel embarrassed.

His hips jerk forward suddenly and Briar, mouth still around him, smiles knowingly around his dick, their eyes creasing in the corners affectionately, and he will never admit it for as long as he lives, but he knows for certainty as he comes now, almost violently hard, that it wasn’t because of their mouth on his dick, but because of that smile.

He tries to gently push their face away as his vision is getting spotty, but Briar stubbornly keeps their face where it is, whining in protest almost possessively, and the vibrations ease his orgasm along. He thrusts into their mouth with threadbare control, filling it with his cum, most of which they swallow down, but some spills down the corner of their mouth and stains his jeans.

Only when he’s limp and breathing hard, do they slide their mouth off his still twitching dick and sit up a little straighter.

They had the nerve to look meek, of all things, now tucking a loc of hair behind an ear while they try to subtly lick the rest of his cum from the corner of their mouth.

“Was that…okay?” Briar asks, clearing their throat a little.

Growling, he grabs a handful of their armor and pulls them forward for a kiss, dizzy at the thought that they taste like him.

“More than okay. Say goodbye to that rule about no fooling around.” He says after releasing them, knowing that there was no way now that he could keep his hands off this man.

“What a pity.” Briar huffs a little laugh, “And again, it was a stupid rule. I don’t know what I was thinking.” They say and stand up on wobbly legs to walk over to their duffel and pull out a ragged t-shirt, which they use to clean him up first, then themselves, before tossing the spoiled fabric onto the ground and zipping up their armor.

They drag their things over closer to him, bedroll positioned right by his hip, and they tuck themselves into it before flopping onto their side, so they can press their face against his thigh.

This felt much more natural than them sleeping all the way in a corner.

They don’t stir in their sleep even once.

Hours later, when he nudges them awake, the second Briar’s eyes open their face pinches into an expression of pain.

“What’s wrong?” He asks, not liking the way they had one arm gripped around their stomach, as if suffering from a stab wound.

“Nauseous. Don’t know why.” They heave pitifully. “It doesn’t feel like food poisoning—and I’m not hot enough for it to be a fever.”

He realizes exactly what the problem is, and unable to help himself, he starts to laugh. Not a quiet one either, but a rumbling, amused laugh that shakes his shoulders.

“What?” Briar says, confused, and they try to push themselves up to sit up, but the movement makes them look queasier. He grabs their duffel and pulls out the medical kit, looking for the bottle of Rad-X, which he shakes out into his palm, before grabbing a can of water and handing over both to them.

“So excited for dick, you forgot to take your pills.” He explains, only just now remembering the amount of radiation in his cum, which they eagerly lapped up before.

Briar doesn’t dignify that with a response. Their nose wrinkles, and they throw back the pills before washing them down quickly, before laying back down.

It’ll take a little while for the nausea to leave, so he gets busy with making a small fire in a metal trashcan so he can heat up breakfast.

The color returns to their face not long after, and the two of them grab everything before heading out of the Super-Duper Mart. Briar lifts their left wrist, tapping at their Pipboy, and after checking the map they set back off towards Tenpenny Tower, silently hoping nothing happened on the short trek that was left before they reached their destination.

They walk due south for an hour until a big, sepia tower with dull red accents makes itself known, the only building, let alone structure of any kind, within the foreseeable distance. Besides a few wrecked cars, rubble and dead trees, there really wasn’t anything in the area. The two of them walking up to the front gates would be noticed by all, and there was no telling if this Tenpenny person had outfitted their abode with security.

Briar eyes the tower with a frown, probably thinking the same thing, and after some consideration, they point at the largest pile of rubble towards the left and he follows them to tuck himself behind it as they take their sniper’s rifle off their back, messing with the scope for a second, before peeking around the rubble to observe the tower.

“There’s some kind of commotion,” Briar notes, wetting their lips as they peered through their scope. “The security guard at the front is arguing with someone on the other side of the gate. A ghoul. It’s strange that there’s only one guard posted. Maybe there’s more inside waiting at the foyer, and Tenpenny doesn’t want to give away just how much fire power he has.”

Sucking their teeth, Briar lowers the scope and turns towards him.

“We can’t just show up at the front gates—the men after me have been told what I look like and using a Stealth Boy in broad daylight would be stupid. Everyone would be able to see the air rippling.”

“They don’t know about me.” He points out. “The merc that showed up at our place didn’t. We could use that to our advantage.”

“Hmm. You could approach the front gate, see what’s going on under the guise of being a drifter looking for a job or a place to stay for the night. The security guard will probably tell you to fuck off, but maybe the other ghoul can shine a light on just what’s going on in that place.”

“Sounds good. Wait here.” He nods, already beginning to stand, but Briar stops him.

“Absolutely not. I’ll be trailing just behind you with this,” They explain, pulling out a Stealth Boy from their duffel and clipping it onto their recon armor. “If I stay behind you and keep still, they won’t notice me. I’m not going to give them the chance of taking a free shot at you because they think you’re alone.”

He waits until the Stealth Boy is activated, watching Briar suddenly disappear into thin air, the spot they were previously occupying now just dirt and rubble that minutely wavered as they stood up.

“I’ll be right behind you.” They say, and nodding, he takes the lead towards the tower.

Tenpenny Tower is so tall that once he’s close enough to hear the ghoul and security guard arguing, the entire horizon has been engulfed by the building, the sun itself being blocked out and a great shadow being cast in a singular line for miles upon miles. The security guard notices his arrival immediately, and their already temperamental disposition deepens.

“You’re like rats—every time I blink there’s more of you.” The security guard spits, just as the other ghoul turns around to see just who the hell else has shown up.

The ghoul is tall, but he’s still several inches taller than them. They were dressed in unassuming clothes, jeans and a t-shirt, but they’ve got an old police bullet vest strapped on over it. It looks ancient, and is frayed and stained, but in great shape.

It wasn’t just something the ghoul had found, it was something that they maintained with expertise, the same as the weapons on their belt. They had blue eyes, same as him, but they were milkier, as if the ghoul was starting to lose their vision. He can tell that their hair had been black, before losing it all, because there’s some of it left on their eyebrows, which they furrow deeply, scowling at the supposed newcomer, before relaxing a little for some reason.

“You’re not one of mine.” The ghoul remarks, eyeing him up and down, but before they can say anything else to him, the security guard speaks up again.

“I don’t give a shit where you two flirt, but you can’t do it here. Mr. Tenpenny has already made it crystal clear that your kind isn’t wanted here.” They say.

“Tell Tenpenny he can kiss my ass! We’ve got plenty of caps—let us in, Goddamnit!” The other ghoul snarls, grabbing one of the slats in the metal gate and shaking it threateningly.

“Last warning before I start shooting.” The guard says, hefting up their assault rifle, and with a curse, the other ghoul kicks the gate, the metal vibrating loudly, before eyeing him.

“Follow me.” The ghoul says, inviting, and stalks off towards the west side of the tower, out of sight of the front gate and the single security guard. He does so wordlessly, and after rounding the side of the building, they lean against the wall and pull out a cigarette and start smoking. “You looking for a place to stay, too?”

“Need a job.” He answers simply.

“Don’t we all.” The other ghoul scoffs. “What are you, some kind of drifter? You picked a good day to show up—usually Tenpenny is on the roof with their sniper’s rifle taking shots at whoever approaches his precious abode. He’s landed a few shots on my people. Fucking asshole.”

He shrugs.

“Any good with that shotgun of yours? We could use more fighters—I’m the only one with combat experience in my group.”

“Pretty good.” He answers. “Are the rest ghouls?”

“Fucking obviously. You wouldn’t catch me traveling with a smooth skin. I’d rather choke on my own vomit.”

He doesn’t say anything to that, acting as if he was considering their offer instead.

“Another gun would serve us well, but what we really need is supplies. If you wanted to join us, I wouldn’t say no to a little gift to help get us more familiar with each other. Got any Stimpacks or Chems in that bag of yours? I got someone that’s real sick.”

“I’m fine with that. How injured are we talking?”

“Bad. The wounds are infected.” They explain.

“A Stimpack isn’t going to stop that.” He points out.

“No shit, but what else am I supposed to do? I don’t have any medical training and I doubt there’s a single fucking doctor out there that will help us.”

“Consider this your lucky day,” Briar speaks aloud suddenly, and the other ghoul jumps, choking on their cigarette smoke and reaching for their gun as his partner suddenly slips from behind him and deactivates their Stealth Boy. “I just so happen to have medical training, and I would be more than happy to help. In exchange for something, of course.”

“What the fuck is this? A set up? Has he been here this whole time?” The other ghoul accuses, hand still reaching for their gun, but since they’re outnumbered, they don’t take the chance of whipping it out and shooting just yet.

“You aren’t the only one that wants in on that tower.” Briar explains, “We need information on Tenpenny, and you seem very acquainted with him. I’d like to propose a deal.”

“And why in the fuck would I want to make a deal with a snot nosed, little shit like you? I should shoot you just for sneaking up on me.”

“You’re more than welcome to try.” Briar returns, nonplussed, “Just as you are more than welcome to refuse my offer and let your companion die.”

The other ghoul glares at Briar for a long while, fingers itching to reach for their gun still.

After some consideration, the ghoul lowers their hand and starts to laugh in a mean, inauthentic way.

“You’ve got some guts, kid.” The ghoul says, and while it sounds like a compliment, he knows it’s not. Briar perks up at their words, relaxing a little, probably thinking an understanding of some kind had been made. “Let’s say I forget this little trick you and him played on me. You want information on Tenpenny in exchange for patching up my people? Fine. But don’t expect any of us to thank you with tears in our eyes. It was one of you smooth skins in the first place that got us hurt.”

“Then it sounds like we have a deal.” Briar says, and they hold out their hand towards the ghoul. “My name is James, by the way, and this is my friend Scott.”

He internally grimaces at the fake name he’d been assigned, but he’s impressed by the smoothness in which his partner lies.

“Roy Phillips.” The other ghoul introduces, refusing to shake their hand.

“Is your group nearby?” Briar asks.

“Yeah. Since Tenpenny refuses to let us live here we’ve been forced to take refuge at the metro station. It’s full of ferals—no problem for us, but its fucking annoying watching those mindless freaks trip over themselves and make a racket while I’m trying to sleep.”

“If you lead us there, I can treat your friend now.”

Roy chews that over for a while.

“Fine. Sick of this stupid ass conversation anyways.” Roy says, pushing off the wall and leading the two of them west, where Briar’s Pipboy picks up the location as ‘Warrington Station’.

The metro station looks like any other, but just as Roy had confirmed, the tunnels were absolutely packed with ferals, who would otherwise leave them alone, if not for Briar, and so they end up taking them all out.

“Finally. Some peace and quiet.” Roy comments after Briar takes out the last one, and the other ghoul looks down at the unmoving corpse of the feral with sick satisfaction.

He wasn’t particularly empathetic with ferals, but he didn’t get any satisfaction when it came to their deaths either.

After being led down a long series of tunnels, the three of them finally enter a large room packed with several other ghouls, men and women. They look relieved upon seeing their leader return, as well as another ghoul tagging along, but when their eyes fall to his partner, the room becomes tense.

“Get your panties out of a bunch. He isn’t going to do anything.” Roy tells them all curtly, and Briar seems to appreciate that, but the way that Roy had said it made it very clear that he did not think Briar was capable of any real threat.

“Then why’d you bring him?” A ghoul woman speaks, standing up from her spot on the floor to stand closely with Roy, her hand landing on his forearm.

“He’s a doctor. Supposedly.” Roy explains, glancing at the injured ghoul laying on the floor, back pressed to the wall and eyes clenched tight in pain. They lift a finger and point at the ghoul, as if his partner were too stupid to realize who needed medical treatment.

Wordlessly, Briar nods, and readjusts their duffel on their shoulder as they walk over to the injured ghoul, who was wearing a helmet and dressed in a jumpsuit, thick bandaging around their right thigh.

“Hello,” Briar says politely as they slip onto their folded legs next to the ghoul, setting their duffel down so they can take out the medical supply box. “Do you mind if I give you a look over?”

“Don’t bother asking. He’s too sick to give you an answer, anyways. Just hurry up.” Roy says, and curses when Briar ignores him completely, face still pointed towards the injured ghoul, who struggles to open their eyes and regard his partner.

They were delirious and in pain, but not completely out of it.

Slowly, and with much effort, the injured ghoul nods.

“Thank you.” Briar says, wiping their hands with alcohol wipes before putting on a pair of nitrile gloves. The entire room watches as his partner gently begins to unroll the bloodied bandages around the ghoul’s thigh. The deep gash underneath is an odd color, with pus oozing out of the wound.

He can smell the injury from here.

“You are very lucky to still be alive. This is a severe infection.” Briar remarks, nose wrinkling at the injury. “I need to clean and dress the wound. It will hurt and it will be uncomfortable. If we were fortunate enough to have antibiotics, this would be much simpler, but for now all I can give you are things to help with the fever and the pain.”

The injured ghoul nods, despite the fact the gesture seems to bring them discomfort.

Muttering under his breath, Roy tears their eyes from his partner and puts all their attention towards him.

“What business do you have with Tenpenny?” Roy asks him.

“We want him dead. Simple as that.” He answers.

“No kidding?” Roy says, irritation subdued, now looking pleasantly surprised, “Don’t bother telling me why—I don’t care. I’m just happy to hear someone else is in line to strangle the fucker.”

“It’s not just Tenpenny. We’re here for his right-hand man, too.” Briar speaks up, perfectly able to concentrate on the task at hand while talking. “And I don’t plan on leaving until they’re both dead.”

“This really is my lucky day.” Roy says, getting that nasty smile on their face again. “We’ve been trying to move into the place. We have the caps to pay our way, but Tenpenny and Burke, hell everyone in that stupid fucking place, is a bigot, and they refuse to let us in.”

“Assholes,” Briar agrees, scowling, and the anger in their gaze intrigues Roy, who now stares at his partner fully now, as they unflinchingly clean a festering wound. “The tower is big enough to house a hundred people. Them turning you away is practically signing your death warrant.”

“They look down on us. They don’t see us as people.” Roy continues, anger spiking, and their hands curl into shaking fists. “They all deserve whatever happens to them.”

“I’m sure they could be convinced.” Briar says thoughtfully. “Once Tenpenny and Burke are out of the picture, there won’t be any authority on who lives here. As long as both groups can reach some kind of mutual respect, I’m sure it will be fine.”

“Are you fucking stupid? Mutual respect?” Roy spits, “These people have been laughing at us this entire time from their ivory tower, and you want me to shake their hand and call them neighbor?”

“You’re so certain that these people despise you, but you’ve never even set foot in the tower, so how would you know?” His partner challenges.

“They could have vouched to their leader if they cared so much about our well-being.”

“Their leader, who owns the very tower they live in and could kick them out just as easily? Oh, I’m sure they were very keen on doing that.” Briar snorts, and rage flashes in Roy’s eyes, their hand twitching for their gun again, and his hand twitches in response.

He’s had quite enough of this fucker, and he’d be more than happy to put a hole in their chest.

“I don’t mind sticking my neck out for you and ironing out the stupid preconceived notions the inhabitants have about ghouls. There aren’t many problems that can’t be solved.” Briar shrugs, now finished dressing the wound and was now helping the injured ghoul eat a few bites of an apple, which they carve slices out of with a knife, before tentatively feeding it to them.

“You sound so sure of everything working out.” Roy says with irritation.

“And you sound so sure of everything going to shit. I guess that evens things out, doesn’t it?” Briar returns breezily, now slipping some medicine into the ghoul’s mouth and helping them drink water. “You can rest now.” They say, beginning to stand to their feet, but the injured ghoul grabs their leg, stopping them. “Yes?” Briar asks.

“T-Thanks.” The ghoul says, and Roy shoots them a scathing look, absolutely revolted at the modicum of respect that they extend to his partner.

“Don’t mention it. I hope you feel better.” Briar says and walks over to him to stand at his side, before addressing Roy. “I’ll leave some medicine. Someone remind him to take two pills every four hours, with a meal, preferably, or else he will be nauseous. Now, for your part of the deal.”

Roy begrudgingly tells Briar everything they’ve learned about Tenpenny, either from passing conversations the security guards at the front gate had, or from the few merchants that visited the tower to drop off supplies, whom they had bribed for the information, along with food and water for their group.

“This is just what I’ve heard. It’s not like I’ve been allowed inside the fucking place. Otherwise, we wouldn’t be standing here.” Roy concludes, before pointing again at the injured ghoul in the corner. “That’s Michael Masters. He used to vacation at Tenpenny Tower before the war, and now he’s not even allowed to step foot in the place. What a fucking joke.”

“He’s been around since before the war?” Briar asks, genuinely fascinated by that.

“Doesn’t look like much right now, but he’s been kicking around for almost as long as I have.” Roy says.

Briar considers that, and a good number of other things for a while.

“I’m here for my own purposes, but I’d like to help, if I can.” Briar says, shocking him, but he schools his emotions for the time being, unsure if this was a scheme of some kind.

“What’s in it for you?” Roy scoffs, hands on their hips as they glowered down at his partner.

“I’m not fond of bigots either.” Briar answers easily.

“And I’m sure you’re doing this from the goodness of your heart. What do you want as payment? You can take a fucking look around and see that we don’t have anything to spare. Barely even have any fucking food for the next couple of days.” Roy spits.

“I don’t want a thing.” His partner says, but then thinks better on that. “Actually, if you could let us take one of the other rooms, that’d be payment enough. We need a place to stay while we make out plans and with us nearby, I could keep an eye on Michael’s condition. I need time to think of a plan to kill these fuckers, and I think best out of the blazing heat.”

“You know what? I had you all wrong, smooth skin. You’re not so bad.” Roy says, suddenly far more eager to work with them, and his hackles rise.

After getting nothing but insults, Briar looks floored at the attitude change, but to his disappointment they aren’t suspicious, or confused—they’re pleased, smiling brightly now at the other ghoul.

“I’m glad to hear that. We both want the same thing, ultimately, so it’s easier if we work together, right?” Briar says.

“It is.” Roy agrees, looking down at Briar with a smile of their own. “Take any room you want. Make yourselves comfortable.”

“Thank you.” Briar says, perfectly ignorant, and they turn towards him. “Let’s go rest up. We need to start making plans, after all.”

Wordlessly, he nods, eyeing everyone in the room one last time, before following his partner out of the room and down the tunnel towards one of the other rooms they’d seen.

“We’re here for Tenpenny and Burke. Not sticking our noses in other people’s business.” He tells Briar the second the two of them are out of earshot.

“What’s the harm? We’re already here, aren’t we?” Briar says, nose wrinkling at his tone.

“He hasn’t changed his opinion on the people in that tower. He was just saying whatever it took so that you agreed to help him.” He explains.

“How do you know that?”

“I can just tell.” He says, starting to get defensive.

“We don’t know Roy, we just met him, just like he doesn’t know the people in the tower—not really. He just thinks their bigots, and maybe they are, but what if that isn’t the case?”

“He doesn’t respect you. He’s tried to pull his gun on you three times now. Why are you so eager to help him?”

“It’s not about HIM. There are several people in dire need of refuge, and you want me to turn a blind eye?”

“It’s not our mess to clean.”

“It isn’t.” Briar agrees.

“But you want to deal with it anyways.” He says the quiet part aloud for them.

“…I do.”

“This isn’t going to end well.” He feels he must say.

“You don’t know that.” They say stubbornly—and dismissively.

“Briar,” He tries again, but they give him a funny look.

“Who’s that?” They say, blinking with faux confusion, before their expression turns serious. “Look, I don’t like Roy either, but he’s got other people with him that need help. Hell, one of them might be dead in a few hours if that infection doesn’t leave. It’d keep me up at night if just let them all rot down here because I was only focused on our goal.”

He scowls, looking away from them, and with a sigh, Briar quickens their pace so they can slip in front of him, stopping him from walking ahead.

“Do you trust me?” They ask, brows furrowed.

“That’s not the problem here.” He shoots back.

“You haven’t answered.”

Sucking his teeth, he takes a step forward.

“Yes, I trust you, but I don’t trust any of these fucking people and I don’t like that we’re bending over backwards to help someone who’s tried to pull their gun on you three times now.” He explains hotly.

“He’s just acting like that because I’m not a ghoul. I don’t really blame him. I won’t pretend to understand the hardships that ghouls face on a day-to-day basis.” They say, and the last thing he wants to hear from his partner is them making fucking excuses for some asshole they’d only just met, but there they were doing exactly that.

Seeing as how they’ve already made up their mind, he gives up on trying to convince them.

It was obvious he wasn’t being heard.

“Fine. We’ll do whatever you want.” He says, absolutely fuming inside, but keeping it to himself.

Briar relaxes a significant amount.

“Thank you.” They say, and they reach out to slip their hand into his. “…I’m looking forward to not being a wanted man anymore.”

He squeezes their hand back.

“I know.” He returns, hoping that for their sake every red flag he’s seen thus far was just a trick of the light.

Chapter Text

Hours later, the alarm Briar had set on their Pip-Boy chirps, and his partner startles from where they’re seated beside him in the ‘room’ the two of them have claimed in Warrington Station. It clearly used to be a storage closet of some kind, and its only big enough for his partner to be able to lay down and rest properly—not that they were keen on doing that just yet, especially now that it was time to check up on Michael Masters, who was sorely in need of another round of meds.

He doesn’t trust any of these other ghouls as far as he can throw them, and he’s positive he could heft Roy up by his collar and the loops of his jeans and toss him a fair distance, so when his partner gets up, he gets up as well and follows behind them quietly as they walk back towards the room with the others, the medical kit clutched in one hand.

Briar waits before entering the doorless room, knocking on the wall with their knuckles and making sure that Roy, who was sitting in the only chair in the room, cleaning his nails with a switchblade, barely bats an eye at them, before returning their attention to their hand. The less they looked at Briar, the better, in his opinion. The other ghoul’s default to warily eyeing his partner as they approach Michael once again.

The injured ghoul is sleeping as Briar settles onto their knees again, but after persistently shaking their shoulder, Michael’s watery eyes flicker open.

“You again.” Michael greets, sucking in a sharp breath.

“You’re able to speak this time around.” Briar remarks, relief evident, “That’s good. It means the fever is dying down. I need to give you your next dose, but you need to eat first.” They explain and take out another apple and their knife so they can carve slices out of it again.

Someone’s stomach growls.

Loudly.

It’s loud enough that Briar stops cutting the apple, lowering it, and they visibly consider something, before waving him over. He wordlessly approaches and lowers enough that they can whisper into his ear.

“I won’t ask you to dip into any of your resources, but I don’t mind sharing some of mine with them. Do you think you could heat up the box of Instamash and toss in something else? If we portion it right, we could feed them all.” They say quietly.

He gives them a look.

“Please.” Briar says, not bothering to whisper that, and that only gets everyone’s attention more focused on them. Not wanting to make his partner seem suspicious and have anymore attention drawn to them, he sucks up the argument he made in his head and does as asked: grabbing their duffel from them and grabbing a metal trash can to start shoving kindling in it. There’s a big stainless-steel pot on one of the tables, which is probably how the other ghouls have been cooking all the meals they’ve been buying from the traders.

He focuses on cooking, but most of his attention remains on Briar, who goes back to feeding Michael the bits of apple. He can feel Roy watching him from where he’s seated, but if they have anything to say, they can go ahead and say it. He isn’t going to talk to them unless it was needed. And maybe not even then.

He stirs dried bits of Brahmin meat into the mash, all the while envisioning he was stabbing Roy’s switchblade in their eye instead.

“How’d a smooth skin doctor and a ghoul end up working together?” He hears Michael ask around the bite of apple they’ve been fed.

“Is it so rare?” Briar asks, brow quirking up, “I met Scott on my travels like I would anyone else. We found we work well together, so we decided to team up. It’s much safer with someone else watching your back, ghoul or not.”

“Pretty rare.” Michael answers. “But not unheard of. One of the people in the tower has this show that gets played on the radio sometimes. It’s about his adventures with his ghoul ‘man servant’.”

“Man servant???” Briar repeats, nose wrinkling distastefully. “I’m not sure I like the implications of that.”

“Yeah, that’s how I felt too, before I gave it a listen. The show’s not all that bad. The smooth skin, Daring Dashwood—he sounds like a bumbling idiot. All the stories end the same way, with his ‘man servant’ saving his ass.”

“Typical.” Briar snorts, “Maybe I’ll give it a listen. It sounds good for a laugh, if nothing else.”

“You could play it on your Pip-Boy.” Michael suggests.

“I could,” Briar agrees, nodding, “Would that make you more comfortable while I check your injury?”

“It’d be a good distraction.” They wince before swallowing down their pills and being fed some water.

Briar fiddles with their Pip-Boy for a moment, toggling the various radio stations before they find the one Michael mentioned. An old man’s voice speaks enthusiastically from their Pip-Boy’s radio, far too loud for a second, before the volume is adjusted. Despite playing the radio for Michael, the other ghouls noticeably perk up now that they have a distraction from their own hunger.

“Oh, you were right,” Briar says at once as they slip on a pair of gloves, “He really does sound like an idiot.”

“S-See?” Michael says, breath hitching as the bandaging is removed from their thigh. They force their eyes closed, unable to look at the wound, which even from the distance he’s sitting at looks far better than it had hours ago.

“I need to disinfect the wound again.” Briar explains, pulling out a bottle of high proof vodka and twisting the top off. They offer their left hand to Michael, a remorseful look to their face. “It is going to hurt quite a lot. You can squeeze my hand, if you’d like. I don’t mind.”

Michael eyes the alcohol, their offered hand, and then his partner’s face, looking conflicted. Their eyes even flicker to Roy, who’s stopped watching him cook just to look at Michael now. He thinks every ghoul in the room is now watching Michael, and the pressure must be unbearable.

“There’s no shame in it.” Briar assures, even smiling a little now, and his partner pays no one else in the room any mind, their attention solely on their patient.

Swallowing hard, Michael returns Briar’s stare, ignoring everyone else now too, and after some internal debating, they slip their hand into his partner’s.

Roy’s face crumples into one of deep resentment. They even suck their teeth, before going back to sitting on their ass and wasting oxygen. The ghoul woman next to him rubs his shoulder soothingly—they must be an item. None of the other ghouls dared to even approach Roy with a fraction of that familiarity.

Since she’s so keen on taking care of others, once the food is finished, he waves at her to serve everyone and goes over to his partner and leans against the wall behind them, pulling out a cigarette and smoking it in annoyance.

The radio doesn’t muffle the series of curses that spill from Michael’s lips as Briar dumps a generous amount of alcohol over the wound on their thigh. The pain it elicits from the injured ghoul brings Roy more relief than his girlfriend’s massaging had.

Sadist, he thinks, almost chewing his cigarette.

Of course, Briar doesn’t notice any of this, they’re too busy having the bones in their left hand squeezed into dust. He knows it hurts, because their shoulders are tense, and while the contract nags at him, he can bulldoze through the feeling, knowing it won’t last long.

“The worst part is over now. You did very well.” Briar compliments, voice a little tight as they continue to smile at Michael, who’s still clenching their hand. Realizing that, the injured ghoul quickly lets their hand go, and they even eye it for a second, noticing the red marks.

“Sorry.” Michael says, ashamed for a multitude of reasons, but his partner gets right to work on rebandaging their thigh.

“Hmm?” Briar hums, pretending to be unaware of what they mean, “Oh, you mean my hand—don’t worry, all that squeezing you did is a surefire to improve my circulation. I should be thanking you, really.” They explain nonchalantly, already finished with dressing the wound and now tossing their used gloves to the side where the other pair sat from earlier.

After patting Michael’s shoulder, Briar stands to their feet.

He holds out his pack of cigarettes, and they gladly accept one, leaning towards the lighter he procures a second later before taking a deep inhale.

They deserve the smoke break, but as if reading his mind, Roy’s attention moves over to his partner.

“Did you think of a plan yet?” Roy asks with an air of impatience.

“I have,” Briar says primly, and he smirks at how that throws the other ghoul off. “I’m very good at multi-tasking. Tending to nasty injuries always inspires me, I suppose.” They explain, rolling their cigarette between their index and middle finger before taking another puff. “There was hole in the wall on the west side of the tower, wasn’t there? Right near where you were standing.”

“What about it?” They grouse, probably remembering how Briar had scared them, and that only makes him smirk more around the cigarette in his mouth.

“I could fit through it, easily.” Briar explains. “With a Stealth Boy, I’ll be undetectable. All I would need to do is wait for the security guards to change their shift so I can sneak through the front door when they head back inside.”

“That covers getting inside.”

“You said Tenpenny was an eccentric recluse who rarely, if ever, left his suite. If that’s the case, then it would be exceedingly easy to sneak into their bedroom and kill a feeble old man in their sleep. It won’t take me more than a second—the real difficulty will be dealing with Burke. He’s able-bodied and sneaky. It’ll be hard pinpointing where he is in the tower, unless…”

They think for a moment, killing their first cigarette and working on a second now.

“Scratch that. Killing them both will be simple.” Briar corrects, realizing something now, “Once Tenpenny is killed, I’ll make it look like Burke was the one who did it. I know how Burke writes—I can forge a letter explaining his ploy about wanting to take over the tower. As long as one of the security guards finds it, then sees Tenpenny’s corpse, they’ll have no reason not to believe that Tenpenny’s murder was anything other than a dispute about power.

“Tenpenny is the one paying for everything: the security guards, the cooks, the traders who visit. With him gone, the security guards are going to be out of paycheck. They’ll either kill Burke for us or kick him out of the tower in retaliation. If the latter is the case, killing him out in the open will be easy. With no authority on who lives here, all I would need to do is speak with the inhabitants inside, educate them a little, and then as long as you can pay your rent, there shouldn’t be any major disagreements.” Briar concludes.

It's a brilliant plan—if it works exactly as described.

He isn’t fond of Briar doing all of this themselves, but there was no way someone his size could fit through the gap in the wall and there was no way he could enter through the front gate until security had been dealt with. He’ll voice his opinions later in private, refusing to undermine them when they’ve already been given so little respect.

“That’s a tall order. You sure you can handle all that, doctor?” Roy challenges.

“Yes,” Briar answers simply. “And I intend to get to work as soon as possible. I’m thinking of sneaking in tonight, if possible. I’ll take care of Tenpenny, and then in the morning, when he’s presumably brought his food, because I can hardly imagine a rich person like him waltzing downstairs to grab his own meal, the hired help will notice the murder and the note I left behind damning Burke.”

His partner turns towards him.

“I’m really hoping the security guards just take care of Burke for us, but in the case they don’t, and they just kick him out, we should be outside waiting in the morning. We could hide behind that junked car on the west wall, too. It’d give me a perfect vantage point of him leaving the front gate. It’ll be hot as hell, but…”

“Not a problem.” He answers, a little relieved to be included in the plan in any capacity now.

It would feel deeply satisfying to watch his partner kill the very man that started all of this.

“Thank you.” Briar says breezily, and their hand twitches towards his, but they abort the gesture, remembering where they were at the last second and instead making it look like they had meant to fidget with a wayward thread on their recon armor. “Then I should start making my preparations, unless there was anything else…?”

No one, not even Roy, speaks up. He doesn’t like the other ghoul’s sudden quiet, and he gets the feeling that they’re weighing something in their mind. Whatever the case, it’s Roy’s girlfriend that speaks up at last.

“I think that’s everything.” She says, offering a small smile, and Briar relaxes.

“Good. I’ll poke my head in before I leave tonight to check up on him.” Briar says, nodding towards Michael, and with that settled, the two of them slip out of the room and walk down the tunnel leading to the storage room they’ve claimed.

“Say it,” Briar speaks up again as the two of them spill into the storage room and they start digging through their duffel. “There’s something on your mind.”

“There’s a lot of things on my mind.” He says, “I don’t like you doing this all by yourself, but I can’t think of any other way for this plan to work. What happens if you get caught?”

“Simple, I won’t get caught and we won’t have to figure that part out.” They answer, taking out their bag of caps so they can empty it all into his and use the pouch to hold the few items they could sneak with them into the tower. Their silenced 10mm and its matching ammo, three sets of Stealth Boys, a singular Stimpack, and their knife is all that would be brought inside.

He hates everything about this.

What he hates the most is how powerless he feels to stop any of this from happening. It was like watching a runaway train going straight for an orphanage. The sooner this is dealt with, the sooner the two of them can leave and never think of this place again, he rationalizes.

He would just need to grit his teeth and bear with it for another day or so at max.

“Take my lighter. You could set something on fire as a distraction if things go south.” He says instead of all the other things swirling around his skull.

Briar perks up at that, accepting his lighter with a fond look.

“A good luck charm,” They remark, and bring the lighter to their lips to kiss it, their eyes raising to meet his. “It’s like I’m bringing you with me, in a way. It’s comforting.”

“Are you nervous?” He asks.

“Of course,” They answer easily. “I’m very confident I can pull this off, but I’d be out of my mind to not realize just how dangerous this is. I promise that if things get ugly, I’ll bail. I won’t wait until my life is on the line, either. If I think I’ve been caught, I’ll leave and try again.”

It’s the first thing they’ve said all day that’s brought him any semblance of relief.

“You can do this.” He agrees, nodding, and he eyes the doorway before grabbing their hand and squeezing it, rubbing his thumb over their knuckles.

Briar hums and raises their joined hands to their mouth so they can press a kiss atop his hand before letting it go.

The two of them wasted the hours away until night by going over the plan over and over, chain-smoking while they did it, and sneaking kisses and grabbing each other’s hands in growing frequency as their nerves increased.

He makes sure that Briar eats at some point, but finds himself too anxious to eat, despite being starving. He’ll eat when they return safely back to him and not a second sooner.

Around one in the morning, Briar checks up on Michael as promised, and once the injured ghoul has gone back to sleep, his partner turns their attention to Roy.

“I’ll be leaving now. If all goes smoothly, I should be back in under three hours.” They explain not just Roy, but the room and its occupants in its entirety.

“Wish I could be there to see Tenpenny’s face as he croaks.” Roy remarks with no shortage of disappointment.

“Feel free to ogle his corpse when they drag him out later.” Briar says dismissively, before checking the time on their Pip-Boy again. They turn towards him. “Will you walk me outside?”

“Sure.” He says casually, happy to get away from these people.

The two of them walk side by side down the tunnel towards the entrance of Warrington Station. He’s carrying both of their duffels, as well as Briar’s sniper’s rifle, but despite how full his arms are, when they get to the door, he moves things around so he can maneuver enough to pull them into a one-armed embrace.

From this angle, no one can see how he leans down a substantial amount to kiss the crown of their head.

“Be careful.” He tells them, so close to outright begging. “I’m not going to lose you over something stupid.”

“You won’t.” Briar assures, standing on tip toe to get a proper kiss this time, and he can’t stop himself from holding onto them tighter, squeezing a small noise out of them. “I’ll be back before you know it.” They breathe against his lips.

They break away from the kiss first, taking a piece with him along the way.

Or at least it feels that way as they smile at him, nodding, before slipping out the door and leaving the station.

He doesn’t bother with returning to the storage room, or worse, the room with all the other ghouls in it, and instead takes a seat on a pile of rubble near the door.

Time ticks by like sludge, each minute taking an eternity as his nerves eat away at him. He imagines the worst over and over; Briar being caught by a group of security guards and being beaten senseless, their pretty face busted and bruised, their mouth full of blood as it pitifully calls out his name for help.

He thinks of them making a noise by accident, giving away their location and forcing them to retreat while bullets are being launched at their back. It’s beyond easy to imagine one bullet catching them in the back of the head—or their spine, making them fall limp to the floor, paralyzed, before a guard finished off the job.

The image is so striking it makes him stand up and approach the door, his hand curling around the handle.

It happens several more times.

He’s never been one to pace, but he takes up the habit rather well, probably influenced by Briar and how they often circuited a room to help themselves think. Thinking is the last thing he wants to do but moving around at least provided some kind of outlet for his nervous energy.

He should have went with them, he thinks suddenly when his thoughts become too much; when the contract and its demands become too much, he finds himself at the door again, clutching the handle like a lifeline, and he bangs his forehead limply against the metal door.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

It does nothing to quiet his mind, and it is less physically stimulating than pacing.

He can’t even guess how long it’s been—he’s too frazzled. It could have been ten minutes or two hours by now.

He reaches for his pack of cigarettes, before remembering that he doesn’t have his lighter and shoves the pack back in his breast pocket with enough force that one of the seams rips. He hates Tenpenny, Burke, he hates this stupid fucking tower and this stupid fucking metro station and—

The door tugs against his grip. Something is trying to get in.

Shaking himself from his meltdown, he releases the door and takes a step back. Relief washes over him as Briar slips inside and he pulls them into a hug immediately, needing a moment to sort through his head.

Briar squeezes him tightly, humming contently, and he tugs them further into his arms, now lifting them into the air and making their feet dangle uselessly. He buries his face in their neck and engraves the sound of their pulse into his brain.

“I know.” They say, sounding exhausted, “You must feel awful. I’m sorry.”

They let him cling for as long as he needs to until he can breathe comfortably again.

He sets them down and takes a good look at them, looking for any injuries, but finds none. Their recon armor is splattered with small traces of blood, but otherwise not a single hair was out of place.

“Tenpenny’s dead. I found his room easily and put a bullet in his brain as he slept. Left the incriminating note and all we must do now is wait for the morning staff to notice the murder and see how we’ll handle Burke next.” They explain.

“Any problems?”

“Not at all.” They answer, “I was in and out like a wraith. If anyone noticed something amiss, they wouldn’t at all be able to tell that it was a person sneaking around. I thought the place would be crawling with security, but it’s only the front gates and the floor that Tenpenny’s suite is on that has guards and they aren’t a sharp bunch. Oh, and a souvenir,” they say, tugging the strap around their shoulder which he’s only just now noticed.

They hold up a sniper’s rifle that’s several shades lighter than their own; the material bleached by being in the sunlight so often.

“Tenpenny’s?” He hazards a guess, and Briar nods enthusiastically, before pointing towards the scope, which he notices has a green lens. “And you finally got that night-vision scope you wanted.”

“It’s going to make traveling at night a breeze.” They say around a stubborn yawn, their jaw cracking a little.

“Let’s hurry up and tell them the news so you can sleep.” He says, bumping shoulders with them, and Briar nods before trailing behind him at a leisurely pace.

He saves his partner the energy of repeating the news to Roy’s group, allowing them an opportunity to check up on Michael, who wakes up after hearing all the movement in the room.

“So that’s it then? He’s dead?” Roy says, and when he nods, that nasty smile spreads across their face. “Well shit, I didn’t think you had it in you, smooth skin. I guess you doctors are as good at snuffing out lives as you are preserving them.”

“I’m a man of many talents.” Briar says, not really paying Roy attention as they tended to Michael.

“We’re waiting on Burke.” He continues explaining. “If the guards don’t kill him, we will.”

“And once he’s out of the picture we can move in finally. About fucking time.” Roy says gleefully, looking at their girlfriend with a cocksure grin.

That gets Briar’s attention, and they snap their face towards the other ghoul.

“After Burke is dead you need to wait a day or two before trying to go inside.” Briar says, and that sours Roy’s mood immediately.

“Why?” They demand.

“Try thinking for a moment, will you?” Briar says scathingly, eyes cutting with irritation, “How suspicious would it look for you all to move in the very second both of their leaders have wound up dead? Don’t you think that puts a pretty big target on your back? You said it yourself, you’re the only one in your group with combat experience, so if the security guards or any of the inhabitants think you are responsible in any way for their deaths, they’ll gun down all of you. The note I left behind will incriminate Burke, yes, but let’s not give them any funny ideas.”

“We finally get a chance to move in, and you want us to wait even longer? We’re going to run out of food—do you want us to starve?” Roy argues, volume growing louder, and he is waiting for his partner’s signal to shut them up for good, but when Briar stands up and faces Roy, all they do is point a cigarette limply at them, not at all threatened by their aggression.

“And just who gave you that chance? Hmm?” Briar tuts knowingly, “Allow me to quote you from before: don’t get your panties in a bunch. If we do this the smart way, like I’ve intended from the beginning, then everything will be fine. And I’m not so stupid as to come back empty handed—I stole some food on my way out. It’s in a bag outside, I just wanted to give you the good news first before dragging it in.” They scoff, before adding, “Is there anything else I missed, aside from aligning the very stars themselves?”

Roy fumes wordlessly from where they stand. They don’t reach for their gun, which is more suspicious than if they had.

“No.” Roy says tightly after some deliberation.

“Fantastic.” Briar smiles manically around their cigarette, “In the morning, Burke will be dead either by our hands or the security guards, and then all that’s left is me talking to the inhabitants and making your groups transition inside as painless as possible.”
They explain, before remembering one more thing, “Oh, and feel free to grab the bag outside yourself. I’m going to take a well-earned nap.” They finish, now offering the room a polite nod before leaving.

He trails just behind them with a shit eating grin on his face that he doesn’t bother to conceal.

Back in the storage room, he fixes himself something to eat, his stomach only now relaxed enough to entertain the idea of a meal, and after finishing up he seats himself against a wall as Briar pulls out their bedroll and starts to get comfortable beside him.

After setting another alarm, this time for eight a.m. on the dot, Briar curls up on their side, back facing the door, and shuts their eyes.

Waiting this time around goes far more smoothly. It’s morning before he knows it, and he’s nudging Briar awake just as their alarm starts beeping. His partner sits up groggily, hair a mess, and they pack up their bedroll and ready their belongings sluggishly before standing up and stretching. They skip checking on Michael for the time being so that the two of them can head out and camp behind the wrecked car near the west wall of the tower.

Despite it being relatively early in the morning, the sun was already harsh as it glared down on his back and neck as he slipped into a crouch beside Briar, who was already seated on the dirt and gravel and fiddling with their rifle’s scope. With the scope fashioned how they needed it to be, Briar crawls onto their stomach, rifle readied, and sets their sights on the front gates of Tenpenny Tower.

An hour passes, and there’s nothing, not even a wayward breeze to disturb the dirt. Another ticks by without fanfare, and his lower back is starting to protest sitting on hard surfaces so much, but he can easily ignore it—the heat, not so much. He watches sweat form on Briar’s forehead and watches it trail down their cheek and drip onto the ground; the only moisture the land has felt in this area for weeks, presumably.

He hears shouting suddenly, none of the voices familiar to him, but Briar perks up noticeably.

After a minute, the arguing becomes clearer, and with a naked eye he can see the front gates suddenly opening and someone being shoved past it—a man in his forties, light-skinned, wearing stupid looking sunglasses and an even stupider looking beige suit and hat. The man falls forward onto their knees from the momentum of their push, but they catch themselves by the palm of their hands before face planting into the dirt. The man pushes up to his feet swiftly, their face beet red with humiliation and indignation.

“Will you neanderthals listen to me for a second? I had nothing to do with his death! You cannot remove me from the premises without giving me a chance to fully defend myself—it’s ludicrous.” The man, Burke, shouts at the security guards that are out of sight from this angle.

When Burke tries to step towards the gates again, an assault rifle peeks into view and the man throws their hands up, freezing in place.

“You’re lucky we don’t put a bullet in you just for murdering the guy who was paying us!” One of the security guards returns.

“If its caps you’re worried about—” Burke tries, forcing themselves to calm down so they can try to turn this into a deal of some kind, but the assault rifle pointed at them stays firmly in place.

“There’s plenty of people inside willing to pay us to stay here and I’d accept a price cut if it meant I didn’t have to worry about some murderer getting a wild hair up their ass and killing me next.” The guard says, “Now get the fuck out of here or I’m going to riddle that suit of yours with bullets. Understand?”

The front gates are slammed shut with a resounding BANG.

He glances down at Briar; sees the way their eyes are gleaming with anticipation.

Burke stands there at the front gates, stunned for a second, before adjusting their hat, cursing, and turning on heel and stomping the opposite direction of Tenpenny Tower. His partner could kill them now and it wouldn’t risk anything towards their plan, but they wait until Burke is a fair distance away before they line up their shot and take a deep breath.

“One way ticket to Hell, coming up.” Briar says quietly before curling their finger around the trigger.

In one moment, Burke is stomping off towards the horizon. In another, a bullet catches the back of their skull, the force sending their hat flying, before the man collapsed to the floor with all the grace of a sack of flour.

His partner watches the corpse for a second, before their shoulders relax and they sit up.

“That’s it, then.” Briar remarks a little breathlessly, before a laugh sneaks up on them. “Did you see how his hat flew off?”

“I did.” He says, laughing a little too now. “Nice shot,” He adds, leaning over to tuck some of their sweaty hair behind an ear. “How do you feel?”

“…Good.” Briar answers. “Really good. It feels like I can breathe now—like I don’t have to keep looking over my shoulder. The news of Tenpenny’s death is sure to make the headlines. It won’t be long before the Talon mercenaries learn that no one will be paying them for the bounty on my head. They can hunt down some other poor bastard.”

“We should keep our heads down for a while, then. Wait until it reaches the radio.”

“Agreed. Now for the really difficult part.” Briar sighs, swiping the back of their hand against their forehead to get rid of some of the sweat.

“Orchestrating all of this wasn’t the difficult part?”

“To a degree, but I’m much more skilled at killing people than I am talking to them, and now I have to waltz into the tower and convince the majority that a group of people they’re prejudiced against should have a place to live beside them.” They lament.

“It’s a bunch of rich people.” He remarks. “You’re polite and you’re witty. They’ll like that.”

“Think so?” Briar hums, before falling completely silent as they think. “Oh!” They exclaim, eyes brightening, and they grin at him. “I’ll make up some sob story about being injured and needing help, and how Roy’s group gave me supplies and patched me up despite not trusting smooth skins. That’ll be sure to make them sympathize with them.”

He nods encouragingly.

“Doesn’t that Daring Dashwood guy live in the tower? He had a ghoul with him at some point. Might be easy to convince him first, then have him talk with his neighbors. That saves you some work.”

“You’re right! God, what would I do without you?” Briar says, and they crawl over to kiss him. “Let’s head back to the metro station and give it until nighttime before I head inside, this time through the front gate. I’ll probably need to take all over our caps with us in case they hate poor people more than they do strangers—or ghouls.”

The two of them head back to Warrington Station and make a beeline for the room where Roy’s group is and it’s immediately evident as he steps into the room that something happened in the few hours after they’d been gone. None of the ghouls meet his eyes, save for Roy and their girlfriend, and even Michael is hesitant to look at Briar, who’s moving to crouch near them to check their injury again.

“There’s no need to be nervous. Everything went well. Burke is dead.” Briar says to no one in particular, thinking that the frigid atmosphere was due to the anxiety over the plan they’d made. “I’m going to head into the tower tonight and pretend to be looking for a place to stay. I’m going to feed them a story about how you all aided me in my time of need, how ghouls are people too, yada, yada, yada. Depending on how they react, you might even be able to move in tomorrow.”

Michael’s eyes flicker towards Roy briefly, brief enough that only he catches the gesture, before the injured ghoul offers his partner a queasy smile.

“That’s g-great.” Michael answers, swallowing hard. “It’ll be refreshing to see the place again after all this time. And not just from the outside…”

“I’m sure,” Briar agrees, finished tending to their injury in record time. “Since I’ll be meeting Daring Dashwood face to face, do you want me to grab you an autograph? You seemed to really like the show.”

“You don’t have to do that. You’re already doing so much.” They say quickly.

Briar waves him off.

“Oh, it’s nothing. I’m sure he’ll be excited to hear that he has a fan. Maybe you two will be neighbors. Wouldn’t that be something? I wonder if the ghoul he worked with was pre-war like you too. I’d love to sit and listen to a conversation between you three.” Briar says, smiling now, and that only makes Michael look queasier.

“Yeah.” The injured ghoul says, “Yeah, that’d be something.”

After a friendly pat on their shoulder, Briar stands up and turns towards Roy.

“Do you have enough food for tonight? It won’t be much longer you have to wait, but I can bring back food on my way out.”

“We’re fine.” Is all Roy says, and their lack of anger is a relief to Briar, but it makes him unbearably suspicious.

“Alright. Hopefully you can move in tomorrow, but if it takes an extra day of convincing, don’t be too surprised.” And with that, Briar exits the room, their polite nod only reciprocated by Michael, who looked like they were close to vomiting.

He doesn’t follow immediately after Briar when they leave the room. He stares at Michael for another second, able to read their anxiety and discomfort, but unable to parse the source. Roy’s face and body were guarded, but they were always like that—he learned more from them when they were spitting and cursing, not sitting solemnly.

“We’re very thankful.” Roy’s girlfriend speaks up to say, “It’s just a lot for us to process. We aren’t used to smooth skins who are…like that.” She explains, meaning Briar, but it’s obvious she’s just saying something to get him to leave already. She looks just as nervous as the rest of them.

“Whatever.” He says, knowing that he won’t get a real answer out of them, and at last follows Briar into the tunnel. He catches up to where they’re standing a few yards away, messing with their hair. When he approaches, they perk up, but he holds up a hand immediately to stop them from speaking. “They’re planning something.”

“Roy?” They ask.

“All of them.”

“…What do you think it could be?”

“Nothing good.” He answers, “Tenpenny and Burke are dead. We should just leave now.”

“I said that I would help!” They protest loudly.

“You’ve done enough. We don’t owe them—especially if they’re going to be cagey.”

“Do you think they’re worried about the people in the tower accepting them?”

“I don’t fucking care what they’re worried about. My only concern is you.” He answers, crossing his arms.

Briar’s nose wrinkles as a deep scowl settles onto their face.

“Well I care,” They return, “And I always keep my word. I’m not going to leave this half-assed.”

“You would benefit in caring less about a lot of things.”

“Would I now?” They ask testily.

“I’m not trying to start an argument.”

“You certainly could have fooled me.” They snip, and he blinks, stunned for a second.

“You know what? Fine. Do whatever you want.” He says and takes the lead towards the storage room.

Briar makes a huffy sound behind him, but he doesn’t care. He walks into the storage room, plops himself down on the floor and smokes, completely ignoring them as they enter the room just behind him a moment later. The tense atmosphere that had been in the room with Roy’s group had now infected theirs.

He silently fumes for hours as Briar tosses and turns in their attempt to nap before going inside the tower. They had dragged their bedroll over to a corner as far away from him as they could in such a small room, and he hates that it bothers him as much as it does.

As soon as the clock on their Pip-Boy hits ten o’clock, Briar worms out of their bedroll and hastily washes their face, hands and hair, before grabbing their duffel and readying their things. They don’t look at him at all while they do it, still just as mad as he was, but when they’re finished and move towards the doorway to leave, they pause, one hand on the door frame.

“…I’ll be leaving now.” Briar says neutrally.

“Be careful.” Is all he says.

Their hand falls limply from the doorframe and without looking at him, they nod minutely, before heading off.

A second passes.

Sucking his teeth, he grabs his stuff, stands to his feet and breaks into a jog to catch up to them.

“I’ll walk you to the door.” He says.

Briar stares at him, before blinking rapidly and lowering their face.

“Thank you.” They say and walk beside him silently.

Just like before, after they leave, he sits on the pile of rubble and contents himself with waiting, although this time he feels more at ease—and he even has his lighter so he can smoke. There was no real danger Briar would face in the tower now, and they were more than equipped to take care of anyone that tried anything.

They’re gone the entire night, which surprises him. He wonders if the people inside the tower allowed them to sleep in one of the unoccupied rooms, or if Briar had spent the entire time talking with everyone.

Whatever the case, when morning comes, the door to the metro station is pulled open.

He glances in its direction, and once he sees that Briar is unscathed, he goes back to glaring at a wall.

“Everything go according to plan?” He asks brusquely.

“Yes,” They say, “The people living in the tower weren’t as ignorant as I thought. They were pleasant to talk with, if not a little uppity. After a lot of talking, they seemed more than happy to have additional people with caps to keep the place running.”

‘A little uppity’ is exactly how he’d described his partner. That was probably why they got along with the inhabitants, although he isn’t stupid or mad enough to voice that and kindle the argument from last night.

He just wants to get the hell out of this place already.

With that in mind, he stands up, body making a slew of pops and creaks as he stretches and follows Briar as they lead the way to Roy’s group. The tension from before had only increased, and as Briar knocks on the doorframe, alerting the group of their return, Roy even jumps, startled, before hissing under their breath and straightening.

“You can move in as soon as possible.” Briar announces as casually as they would the weather, despite the reaction it earns. Every ghoul in the room other than him stiffens, eyes widening in surprise—and something else.
Something he can’t place.

“What?” Roy says, stunned for once.

“It seems like Burke was the only one really enforcing the no ghoul policy. I don’t even think Tenpenny cared about who lived here, so long as they could pay their way in.” Briar explains, shrugging, and remembering something, they dig into their pocket and walk over to Michael. “I even got that autograph,” They add with a smile, waving a little slip of paper before holding it down for the injured ghoul to take.

This was more than just looking queasy—Michael looks up at his partner with large, watery eyes, mouth agape.

“I—I can’t accept that.” Michael says, breaking eye contact, and Briar frowns before crouching onto the balls of their feet, balance immaculate as they again offer the paper.

“Of course you can.” They say and gently take the other ghoul’s hand before placing the paper into their palm and manually curling Michael’s fingers over it. “Consider it a parting gift from your doctor, if that helps.”

Michael stares at Briar in an unseeing manner, before nodding limply and accepting the autograph with stifled thanks.

“Are you going to need help bringing him along to the tower? I assume you’ll be going there now.” Briar turns towards Roy to ask.

“We can handle it.” The other ghoul says.

“If you say so. Well, I’m happy for you all. I’m sure you’re excited to leave, so I’ll get out of your way.” Briar says.

“You’re leaving now?” Roy’s girlfriend asks.

“Yes, unless…?” Briar prompts, and she shakes her head insistently.

“No, no, I was just wondering! It feels strange saying goodbye, in a way. You showed up so suddenly and did so much for us…” She explains.

“I understand what you mean.” Briar nods empathetically. “Scott and I are going to start packing up so we can leave. If anything goes wrong and we’re still here, please feel free to grab me.”

“Thank you. It means a lot.” She says, looking a little sad.

Taking a deep breath, Briar looks around the room before nodding once.

“Alright then. Good luck.” They say, and he follows them out of the room.

Alone together in the storage room, the two of them get started on reorganizing their packs and doing maintenance on their weapons.

“There was a clothing store in the tower.” Briar mentions casually as they polish their .44 magnum revolver from where they sit cross legged across from him as he counts the ammo he has left for his shotgun.

“Is there even any space left in your closet for more clothes?” He hazards to ask.

“It wasn’t an outfit I was looking at…” They say it in a telling way, and he flicks his eyes towards their face.

“Yeah?” He prompts, setting his gun down and giving them his full attention, “What was it?”

Their face floods with color despite being the one to bring up the topic.

Briar coughs into their fist.

“P-Panties.” They sneak the answer into another cough, before lowering their eyes from him and solely focusing on their revolver.

“…I thought we weren’t talking about ‘that.’” He says, voice strained.

“I’m talking about it now.” Briar huffs, and it was impossible for them to get any redder. “In any case, it’s not like I had a chance to buy them. Too many eyes.”

“There’s still time before we leave.” He points out.

“I-I can’t do that. It’s too embarrassing.”

He crawls over to them on his hands and knees, stopping so that his face is right in front of theirs.

“You’re going to buy them.” He explains roughly, face as serious as the grave.

“Y-Yes sir.” Briar says, clearly meant to be a joke, but the way they say it or maybe the fact that he’s addressed with any authority at all makes him almost dizzy with the want that spiked through him suddenly.

“Good. Now finish up.” He says a little awkwardly and returns to his spot.

It seemed liked the more and more he travelled with them, the more he learned about himself, although something like this was a lot better than learning he was far-sighted. He doesn’t comment on how hastily Briar moves to finish up everything, but he doesn’t bother hiding his smirk either.

With things packed, the two of them have breakfast. Roy’s group passes by the storage room at some point as they leave, and a few of the ghouls offered a curt nod, but most just ignored the two of them. Michael, who’s being propped up by another, shoots Briar a desperate look, but they’re quickly shepherded along out of sight.

“What was that about?” Briar asks him when the group is gone.

He’s already turned his brain off when it comes to that group, so he simply shrugs and continues eating.

After an hour or so, fed and rested, the two of them haul all their stuff and head towards the exit. The walk to the tower is short, and when they approach the front gates, Briar pauses for a moment, noticing something.

“Gustavo isn’t here.” Briar remarks, before looking at him, “It’s the name of the guy that was shouting at Roy when we first got here. He’s head of security—I wonder if he’s busy talking with all the new guests.”

They lead the way inside, pulling open the door and slipping into the lobby.

It is oddly quiet in Tenpenny Tower.

Briar notices that, and they stop dead in their tracks as they notice the next obvious thing: the smell of gunpowder and blood. It was so thick in the air that it seemed to coat their lungs.

What was impossible to ignore was the trail of blood leading into the immediate room to the right. Briar follows it wordlessly, boots not once slipping on the slick blood, and the trail leads them to a utility room. The trail stops at a closed door in the room. An endless amount of blood seemed to seep from under the doorway.

Briar curls their shaking hand around the doorknob before twisting and opening it slowly.

He hisses at the gory sight.

A dozen unmoving human bodies were heaped onto a pile. Men, women, it didn’t matter—all had been gunned down and now bled out like gutted animals. It wasn’t just the inhabitants either, the security guards had been killed as well. They were probably the first to be murdered, the only real defense the people here had. With them out of the way, there was no stopping a sadistic asshole like Roy.

They couldn’t have done it solely themselves. There were far too many people.

He understands why Michael Masters had looked so conflicted before.

He knew this was a possibility, but being right had never felt this dissatisfying before. For Briar’s sake, he was hoping that he’d been wrong.

“No, no, no,” Briar says in a voice that is far too small, “N-Not again.” They whisper, shoulders beginning to shake, and he’s confused by what they mean, but there’s no time to think too deeply about it—there’s footsteps sounding off in the lobby.

Turning around, he isn’t surprised to see Roy and the others. Their police vest was drenched in so much blood the original color was now impossible to pinpoint. He doesn’t think he’s seen anyone this elated in the presence of so much carnage.

“Thought you two were leaving. Ah, well, not that it really fucking matters now, does it?” Roy says, the epitome of smugness, and behind them, looking as if they’d seen a ghost, Michael eyes his partner as they continue to stare at the corpses. “Look, smooth skin, whatever they told you—they were never going to accept us. Life doesn’t work that way. Just how long until one of them decided to kick us out? Start a fight they can’t win? I wasn’t going to wait for that day to come.”

Briar’s eyes clench shut tightly, and a hand slips to cup their mouth.

Their entire body was shaking.

“What?” Roy continues, so far up his own ass they don’t see the next obvious thing about to happen, “Got a problem with that? I don’t have a problem adding your prissy ass to the pile.”

He has his shotgun’s safety flicked off and finger on the trigger in a blink.

He’s been waiting days to do this: he aims the nose of his shotgun at Roy’s face and empties a round into it.

Their smug, self-satisfied face erupts into blood and chunks.

Roy’s girlfriend screams and Michael freezes to the spot, their eyes widening like saucers. The other ghouls behind them scramble for the exit, but he raises his gun and points it at them. His message is clear: move and die like your leader.

In the corner of his vision, he notices that Briar stops shaking. They stop doing everything—breathing, blinking. It was like time had paused for them alone. The way they lower their hand and slowly turn around is eerie.

“He couldn’t have killed them all himself.” Briar says first and foremost, voice grave, “So I’m going to ask this exactly once: Who. Helped?”

It was funny how quickly the group moved away from Michael Masters, leaving the injured ghoul no choice but to lean against the doorframe to stay upright.

Briar’s mouth falls open in wordless shock.

“It’s not like what you’re thinking! He—He pressured me. Said if I didn’t help kill them, he wouldn’t let me live here.” Michael explains.

“Is that supposed to make me sympathetic? You gave up your morals just to have a cushy place to live. Was it easy killing all those people? Did it feel good, I wonder? Not half as good as stabbing me in the back once I set this all up for you.”

“James—”

Briar’s face contorts in an ugly grimace, and they tear their revolver from its holster and point it at Michael’s bandaged thigh before shooting. The ghoul shouts, then falls to the floor, clutching their thigh.

“My name isn’t James.” Briar sneers, and when they empty out the next chamber it’s between Michael’s eyes. The injured ghoul slides limply onto the floor beside Roy. It’s not enough—Briar pulls the trigger again and again, emptying all six chambers into Michael’s unmoving body. When they run out of bullets, they curse, before throwing the gun at their corpse.

Breathing shakily, Briar looks towards the rest of the group with revulsion.

“Get out.” They spit, eyes wild.

Roy’s girlfriend looks between the corpse of her lover, her former friend, and the door.

“But…” She starts wetly, “We’re unarmed and we don’t know how to protect ourselves. We’ll die!”

Briar whips out their 10mm and shoots at the spot just behind her.

“The Wastes will show you more mercy than I will.” Briar snarls, lip quivering, and like water coming to a full boil, their next words explode from their lips with a hatred that sears. “Get out! Get out, get out, get out!”

Sobbing, she leaves, and the others follow.

The second the front door closes, Briar steps over Roy and Michael’s body and exits the utility room before cutting into a run, not towards the exit, but deeper inside the tower. They were running with purpose—they were looking for something only they knew the location of.

Cursing, he chases after them, but he doesn’t have to chase for long. Briar enters the bar at the back right of the lobby and fills their arms with bottles and bottles of alcohol, leaving the room just as he almost slides into it; his boots slippery with blood.

“What are you doing?” He asks, righting himself and following just behind them.

Briar throws a bottle of alcohol against a wall and he flinches as it shatters. They repeat the process until all the bottles in their arms are destroyed. Glass and high proof alcohol join the blood on the marbled floors. They pull out a book of matches—one they must have grabbed from the bar as well.

“I’m going to burn this place to the fucking ground.” They say through angry tears, hand trembling around the matches.

“You’ll be destroying the only safe haven for miles around.” He makes very clear, and Briar whips their face towards him, furious.

“So, I should reward them for being spineless, manipulative cowards? After they lied to my face and used me? They’re going to move back in here the second we leave!” Briar argues, voice shrill.

“It’s not just them you’ll be screwing over.” He explains, “This was only ever going to end one way. That’s why I told you we shouldn’t have poked our noses into it. Roy had every intention of slaughtering them from the beginning.”

“You don’t know that!” Briar sobs, “Maybe if I had done something differently…Maybe if I hadn’t antagonized him—”

“If you want someone to blame, blame Roy. Blame Michael. If it makes you feel better, burn the place down, I don’t care, but it’s not going to bring any of those people back.” And it’s cruel, but he points back over to the utility room.

Briar agonizes over his words for an eternity, stuck between their anger and their grief, but eventually their shaking hand lowers and the matches fall from their hands limply and hit the floor; soiled by alcohol and now unusable.

They walk back into the utility room and return to staring at the bodies; unable to do anything else. It’s not long until they end up vomiting, and they almost step and trip into the mess afterwards, so shaky from crying and adrenaline that they’re barely holding themselves upright.

“We should go.” He tells them.

Briar falls to their knees like a puppet that’s had their strings cut.

“I-I can’t leave them like this! They deserve a burial—anything! Being piled on top of each other like heaps of garbage…” And they retch again, but there’s so little food in their stomach that it’s just water that spews across the tile now.

“It’ll take hours burying them all.” He explains, and that only makes them cry harder.

Taking a deep breath, he leaves the utility room and explores the rest of the rooms adjacent to the lobby until he finds a large, white tablecloth. He even finds some flowers in a vase and takes those too. His partner doesn’t even notice him reentering the room and they don’t notice the cloth being carefully spread out over the pile, obscuring the gore from their view.

Blood slowly seeps into the fabric.

“You could say something for them,” He suggests gently, lowering on one knee beside them and holding out the flowers.

Briar slowly looks up from their hands, their face the very definition of misery.

They stare at the bundle of flowers in his fist with unseeing eyes for a minute before unsteadily accepting them. He offers one hand to help them stand up, but they ignore it in favor of nearly throwing themselves towards the doorway, holding onto the frame like a crutch.

The flowers are set down softly atop the mound.

Briar’s hands clasp together tightly, their grip so taut it makes their knuckles white.

Their eyes close and he hears them begin to whisper fervently under their breath; fat tears rolling down their cheeks as they prayed to a God he’s not even sure they believed in.

Chapter Text

The walk back to Megaton is somber to say the least.

They do it all in one go, not bothering with stopping at the Super-Duper Mart to sleep when night falls. When morning comes and the settlement is on the horizon, the shape of it waving hypnotically in the rising heat, he internally breathes a sigh of relief. His back was killing him, but his feet weren’t that much better either. The first thing he’s going to do after showering is lay completely flat on his back.

Or the second thing, he corrects, thinking again about how he’ll have to force Briar to eat something before they inevitably lock themselves in their bedroom. Even if it turns into an argument, he’s already made up his mind. They slip into town early enough that no one greets them, save for Deputy Weld, and he’s home before he knows it, already unlocking the door and stepping aside to let his partner in before shutting and locking it just as quickly.

He winces a bit when Wadsworth descends the stairs noisily and crowds Briar immediately.

“Welcome home, sirs,” Wadsworth greets, prim and friendly as usual, and he nods at it with a grunt while he leans against the wall and unlaces his boots one by one before setting them by the door. “Shall I prepare anything? A meal? A bath?”

Briar shakes their head, regarding the robot without a flicker of emotion in their face before gently patting their chassis in greeting twice, before heading upstairs with all their things, bloodied boots still on their feet.

The door to their bedroom opens and closes quietly. It’s so quiet in the house he hears the lock turn in place.

His eyes drop from the top of the stairs back to Wadsworth. Its mechanical eye whirrs rapidly—like a camera taking multiple pictures, or someone blinking nervously, as if not knowing what to say.

“A meal would be good.” He answers belatedly as the two of them just stand there.

“Of course. Right away.” Wadsworth says, floating off towards the kitchen.

Going up the stairs is an unexpected hell he hadn’t mentally prepared for. Each step makes him hiss, and when he reaches the top, he must stop for a moment as all his aching joints fall back into place. He’d really wanted to shower, but after he grabs some clothes from his room and reenters the hallway, he finds he only has the energy to sit down.

It takes forever filling the tub with water, but he appreciates how hot it gets. He overshoots how much the water is going to raise when he finally sinks in and a lot of water splashes on the floor, but he already doesn’t care by the time he’s sank down far enough the water reaches his chest. That’s as far as it’ll go, unless he got a lot smaller. His legs were already hanging over the rim by a substantial amount and he had to switch between which leg he submerged, and which one hung out to dry.

He adds a bigger tub to the growing list of things he wants.

Afterwards as he heads downstairs, he finds breakfast already finished; two plates sitting neatly on the counter next to one another. He thinks for a moment, wondering if it’d be easier to convince his partner to come back downstairs to eat with him on the couch or if he should just bring the plate up to their room.

Remembering that he would have to walk back up the stairs, he gives the duty to Wadsworth instead and seats himself on the couch and eats with a boredom that he typically wouldn’t—his appreciation dulled by the absent seat next to him. Thankfully when the robot returns downstairs it’s with empty claws, so now he just had to hope that Briar actually ate the food instead of just leaving it to get cold.

He reads on the couch after, and it’s the couch where he decides to sleep later that night, only going upstairs to grab a sheet and a pillow from his room before returning. He doesn’t really sleep. He’s grown more and more used to sleeping next to someone. It’s pathetic, but despite knowing Briar needs space to sort their head, he wishes they wouldn’t take all that long. He’s over Tenpenny Tower in its entirety—he just wants things to go back to normal.

He’s more than aware that’s selfish, and probably insensitive, and maybe he’s only feeling impatient because he knows there aren’t any words that he can offer his partner to relieve them of the pain of their second, visceral betrayal.

Briar was paranoid and cagey on a good day—now? He can’t imagine how they’ll approach anyone they aren’t already familiar with.

Morning arrives and he goes through the same motions as last night: washing up, eating alone, then making sure Wadsworth brought up a plate for his partner, whom he hasn’t heard a peep out of, even when he’d purposely made his ascent upstairs noisy, in case they wanted to talk but were unsure where he was.

He makes himself available the entire day; leaving his bedroom door ajar as he half-heartedly reads a book while lying in bed in sweatpants and tank top. When his eyes need a break from reading, he rolls out of bed and does a few sets of push-ups, switching between using both hands and then only one.

There’s a knock on the door.

He freezes for a second, mid-way through a push-up, before finishing it and taking a seat on the ground to look at the doorway.

“…Are you busy?” Briar asks, leaning against the doorframe with their arms crossed. They were still wearing their blood and vomit stained recon armor. Their hair was untidy, and their jawline was darkened with stubble. The boots still strapped to their feet carried bits and pieces of Roy, Michael, and however many people that had been in that pile.

He stretches an arm behind him, hand flat on the floor so he can lean back a little as he pulls one leg up to rest his other arm on his knee.

“I’m free,” He answers, dragging his eyes up and down their front again, “Need something?”

Their face bows downward; their chin touching their collarbone.

“Can we talk?” Briar asks tentatively, unable to look at him.

“Yeah,” he says casually, and he’s relieved to see them take a seat on the floor near him, leaning their back against the wall and pulling both of their knees up to their chest.

They were close enough to touch. All he would have to do is reach over, but he’s unsure if that’s what they wanted right now. He could ignore the mess on their armor if they could, but it’s becoming clearer that Briar’s mental state was directly reflected by their hygiene and presentation of themselves.

Briar opens their mouth to speak, but they stop, conflicted by something. Or maybe unable to decide on what to say first. Whatever the case, they stare at the wall on the other side of the room, the gears in their head visibly turning and halting to a screech repeatedly.

Their tired eyes suddenly flicker to him.

“I’m sorry.” They say morosely, “You were right about Roy. It seems so obvious to me what his intentions were now, but I’m at odds with myself for not only being unable to see it myself, but for not taking your word. I’m not sure which is worse.” They slip a hand through their hair, cringing at the filth, and their brows furrow even more. “I wanted things to go exactly how I planned it in my head. If everyone had done exactly as told…” The hand in their hair curls into a shaky fist around a clump of hair. “It could have been perfect!”

“Could have.” He agrees.

“I get this sort of tunnel vision when I’ve made up my mind about something. I’m realizing it happened when I was chasing after my father—it’s what led to me dismissing Burke’s threat and him putting a bounty on my head. And it’s what happened now, I think. If I stopped and listened to you for a second, I would have saved us both a lot of grief. And a lot of people’s lives.”

“With or without you there, it was only a matter of time before there was an altercation of some kind. Roy was right about that—but everything else he said? Ramblings of a sadistic fuck who’s better off dead. You said the people inside weren’t bigots. I believe that. But I don’t think there was ever going to be peace. Not with someone like Roy as leader. The happiest ending those people could have gotten without us ever coming there was if the security guards gunned down all the ghouls first.” He tells them bluntly.

Briar makes a contemplative sound at that, nodding weakly. Their hand unclenches and their finger picks at dried blood on the knee of their armor.

“Thank you for talking me out of torching the place.” They say, “Burning Tenpenny Tower down wouldn’t have just screwed over Roy’s group, it would have screwed over anyone in the future that needed a place to stay. And it’d be destroying one of the few standing pre-war structures in the Capital Wasteland. I’d be taking away a piece of history.”

They take a deep breath and reach out to tentatively brush their fingers across the hand he’s got on the floor.

“Are we…okay?” Briar asks, peeking at him through the hair that falls into their face; index finger curling around his pinky.

“Yeah,” he says, turning his hand over so they can hold it properly. “I’ve already put it behind me. Sick of thinking of that place.” And he squeezes their hand.

Their shoulders sag with relief, looking as if a monumental weight had been lifted and he feels kind of bad about what he’s about to bring up.

“Can I ask something?” He starts, and while they look nauseous when they nod, he convinces himself that it’s worth asking, so he continues. “You said something back at the tower. You said: ‘not again’. What did you mean by that?”

The blood drains from their face.

They look like they’re going to add a new stain to their armor.

“Forget I asked.” He says quickly, realizing he fucked up by being tactless again, but Briar shakes their head vehemently.

“I-I said that? I don’t remember.” They lament awkwardly, taking their hand back so they can cross their arms over their knees and partially hide their face in the sleeves. “…I think I had an episode of some kind. When I first saw…the bodies—I swear, it was like I was back at my Vault and James had just left all over again. I’m running past unmoving, bleeding bodies, all the while bullets whizz past my ear. It’s so vivid, all of it.” They continue, voice breaking, and their eyes get glassy.

“I’ve killed so many people since leaving my Vault. I used to think I wouldn’t care, but I do. I care a lot—and I regret so, so much. I wish I hadn’t killed the Overseer. I wish I hadn’t killed any of the others on my way out. I wish my father hadn’t left and I wish…I wish Jonas hadn’t died. I don’t think I’ll ever get over that.”

And they hide their face completely in their arms now, shoulders starting to shake.

He takes a deep breath, knowing that they wouldn’t like the next thing he says either. HE doesn’t like what he’s going to say, but he forces himself regardless.

“I think you should talk with James.” He spits out as neutrally as possible.

Briar’s shoulders stiffen. Slowly, they peek their face out, eyes wet and the tip of their nose red.

“About?” They ask.

“Everything.” He shrugs, “It’s not right that you’re the one agonizing over this, while he isn’t even aware of the damage he’s caused over Project Purity. I think you’d feel better if you told him all of this.”

They hate the idea, clearly, but Briar doesn’t immediately shut him down as he would have expected them to. They mull his words over carefully, chewing on their bottom lip.

“…I agree.” They decide at last, expression becoming even more somber as the conversation with their father now hung over their head. “Do you mind if we leave tomorrow?”

“I don’t mind, but we need to take breaks if we’re walking that far.” He explains.

“Right. Of course.” They blink, looking ashamed, “I wasn’t even thinking on our way back. Are you—”

“I’m fine now. Back was sore.” He assures quickly, pushing to stand up now because sitting on the floor like this was only going to make him feel worse. He offers a hand down to them and is pleased that Briar accepts.

They look a lot more present now, but they were still visibly shaky at the foundations.

“I need to do…a lot of things.” They explain, looking hyperaware of the filth on their person now, “But when I’m finished, can I stay in here tonight with you? I haven’t been sleeping well, and—”

“Stay with me.” He interrupts, and uncaring of the grime on their face he grabs their chin and makes Briar look up into his face.

Sniffing wetly, they nod, and he lets them go, watching them meekly slip out of his bedroom.

He flips open his book again and sincerely reads the words this time around; the shower running in the background serving as pleasant white noise.

A shape slips into the doorway. Lowering his book, he looks straight ahead.

“Feel better?” He asks, liking how soft Briar looked in well-worn pajama pants and a black t-shirt; their hair damp, but starting to curl up in odd places in rebellion.

“Yes, thank you.” They say, still a little stiff, but it wouldn’t be long for them to thaw. They don’t need to be given permission to crawl into his bed—they do it wordlessly, making sure to kick the door closed on their way. He shuts his book and sets it aside, watching as they settled onto their back to stare at the ceiling.

“Still thinking?” He asks.

“I’m trying not to. It’s always been difficult shutting off my brain. It seems like whenever my hands are idle, my brain isn’t. It’s the opposite of how the phrase goes.”

“Pacing is only going to make your feet tired before we head out.”

“That’s true,” they say, sighing, before turning to look at him. “That reminds me…Do you want a massage? I’ve been told I’m fairly skilled at giving them.”

“Who the hell have you been massaging?” He asks roughly.

“The elderly, mostly.” Briar blinks, stunned by his attitude change, before they relaxing again, lips quirking up the faintest with amusement. “There was an old woman in my Vault—she had bad shoulders. Oh, and my father, when I was younger, but mostly he just had me walk on his back after he would sit hunched in a chair for hours on end.”

“If you’re offering,” he says awkwardly after a long moment of internally kicking himself for allowing his jealousy to flare up. He wished he wasn’t jealous at all. It was probably easier to just keep hiding it, then it was to get rid of the trait entirely, he knows, but he’s still pissed off at himself about it.

“I am,” Briar assures, sitting up on their folded legs. “Can you roll onto your stomach?”

He does ask asked, situating himself in the center of his bed and crossing his arms before laying his face to the side. Briar scoots a little closer, their left thigh pressing against the side of his stomach.

“You said it was your back that was sore?” They ask, fingertips dancing lightly across his spine.

“Legs too. And my feet—though not that much anymore.”

“Why didn’t you say anything? I know I wasn’t exactly myself, but…”

“I can deal with it.” He shrugs.

“You shouldn’t have to,” they say with a miserable sigh. “I need to get my head together. I can’t be like THAT on the road. It’s going to get us killed.”

“Do you think something like that will happen again?”

“Oh, most certainly. That was the worst panic attack I’ve ever had, but I’ve had quite a lot.” Briar explains, starting to massage his lower back, “I used to have night terrors as a kid. I even used to sleepwalk. That was terrifying, but this—this was something.”

“…I think I’ve had something similar.” He admits with dread after much thinking. “Sometimes, I can hear things—Ahzrukhal’s laughter. Or an old order, one of the routine ones, being shouted. When it’s bad I can even smell the exact stench of the Ninth Circle. Or the lab I woke up in. When it’s really bad, and my brain starts screwing around with me, I start feeling hands that aren’t there—hands that are all too familiar. It usually happens when I’m undressing, or when I wake up at night, but it happened other times too. It’s vivid, like you said. Like reliving a day.”

Briar’s hand still, and he feels them lean forward so they can rest their face against his shoulder blade. He thinks they’re listening to his heartbeat.

“This doesn’t sound like we’re just having panic attacks.” Briar says, voice close to a mumble. “I think this is out of my depth. I should talk to someone about this.”

“…You aren’t going to ask James, are you?”

“ABSOLUTELY NOT.” They say, gripping his shirt a little.

“I was just making sure.”

“I was thinking of asking Dr. Li,” Briar says a moment later, and he scowls.

“That’s somehow better?”

“I’m not going to a stranger to talk about this—and there are only so many SKILLED doctors in the Capital Wasteland. Rivet City holds a good percentage of them. And don’t worry, I won’t bring you up. I’m sure whatever Dr. Li says about my experience will help with yours.”

“...Fine.” He says.

They press a kiss to his back in silent thanks. It’s quiet now as they finish massaging his back and move lower on the bed to work on his legs.

“Do you think you could fall asleep like this?” Briar asks with amusement peppering their voice, the words shaped around the smile he imagines to be on their lips.

“Maybe.” He slurs, eyes falling shut.

When he wakes up later, he notices Briar resting on their side, cheek in their palm as they thumbed through their medical textbook. Noticing him awake, their eyes flicker towards him. They immediately look smug about something.

“What time is it?” He asks sluggishly, and that only makes the smugness more pronounced.

“Five in the afternoon.” Briar answers, and he makes a stupid ‘huh?’ in response, and they snort before leaning over and kissing him before hopping off his bed. “Slept well, didn’t you? You must be starving—I’ll go downstairs and ask Wadsworth to cook us something.” They say with a crooked grin and exiting the room.

He sits there in bed, brain mush, for a long time.

He can’t remember the last time he slept that much. Or that deeply.

When he finally peels himself from his bed and heads towards the bathroom to shower, his body feels noticeably lighter in a way. Loose. When he’s finished and heads downstairs, he hears the radio playing softly, and notices Briar sitting on the couch, the plate in front of them already cleared, but they were still in their pajamas as they sewed various spots in their recon armor, which looked leagues better after a thorough washing.

“We can head out whenever you’re ready,” He says after clearing his own plate, and says ‘thanks’ more out of habit, than politeness, when Wadsworth floats over to gather everything.

After they’ve finished with their suit, Briar heads upstairs and redresses while he does some last-minute packing. He waits downstairs, duffel over his shoulder, and shotgun in one hand, nozzle pointed at the floor.

Briar comes downstairs at last, but they look upset.

“I forgot my revolver at the tower! God, I loved that thing. I’m never going to find one as nice as—”

“You mean this?” he says, shrugging off his duffel and pulling it out. He walks over to them and offers it. “I grabbed it on our way out.”

They let out a huge breath of relief.

“You even cleaned it.” They remark, looking starstruck as they slipped the revolver into its usual holster. “Thank you.” And they stand on tiptoe, the typical way they expressed asking for him to lean down so they can kiss him. “It’s very difficult not to say it, you know.” They sigh against his lips when he steals another kiss.

“What?” He hums, squeezing their hip, completely distracted.

“Nothing at all. I’m just being silly.” Briar amends, kissing him sweetly for another moment before lowering. “Ready to go?”

“Guess so.”

It takes three days reaching Rivet City, but the walk is easy. A couple of Raiders and a wayward Super mutant are all that interrupt the otherwise scenic route. Briar gets visibly more and more anxious as the settlement comes into view, and they freeze completely at the bottom of the metal stairs leading up to the bridge.

“Can we…stop for a moment? I need to smoke.” Briar says, fidgety, and he obliges, taking a seat on a step and pulling out his lighter; patiently waiting for them to fumble out one of their own cigarettes and setting it between their lips.

“I’ve never been this nervous to talk with my father before,” They remark while shaking their head, but then they remember something, “Oh, there was this one time—I stole from medical ward, and he caught me immediately.”

“What’d you steal?” He asks, genuinely curious.

“Mentats.” They answer. “Plenty of scientists and doctors pop them like candy. Helps them ‘think’—stimulates the mind, so they say. I know the REAL reason why they take it, and it’s the same reason why I stole it in the first place.”

“Well?” He nudges them, tapping the ash of his cigarette against the step.

“It doesn’t just stimulate your brain.” They explain sheepishly, blushing now. “I think I jerked off for five hours straight. It got to the point where I was so dehydrated nothing was even coming out. I think I lost five pounds in sweat—and other stuff.”

He eyes them with disbelief before laughing quietly around his cigarette.

“Was it worth it?” He asks, shoulders shaking.

“It really was.” Briar says, laughing too, “But dear God, I couldn’t touch anything down there for days after. I was so raw.”

“Ever use any other Chems?” He asks, flicking the butt of his cigarette into a pile of gravel.

“No, I never had any interest. I don’t have the time or patience to deal with another demanding vice. Smoking and drinking are enough. What about you? There’s no shame in having some fun. I only hope you avoid the nasty stuff—like Jet.”

“Not interested. I don’t like feeling out of control.” He answers at once.

“You don’t even let yourself get fully drunk most of the time. That makes sense.” They return, standing up to stretch and their attention turns to the dead tree a few feet away, although he’s not sure why.

It looked like every other tree they’d seen. Wordlessly, Briar walks over to the tree, taking out their knife, and they start to etch something into the brittle, dying bark. He can’t tell what it is from here, so he stands up and approaches them, settling to stand just behind them.

A heart has been etched into the tree, with a ‘C’ on the left side and a plus sign being scratched into the middle currently. He watches Briar neatly carve out the first initial of their name next, before adding an arrow piercing the heart.

They turn around, the grin on their face blinding as they look up at him.

He hefts them up and pins them against the tree, their legs wrapping around his waist, and he kisses them until they’re a giggling, blushing mess; the knife falling from their hand limply, its existence immediately burned from their memory.

“Someone could see us—” Briar protests, a high-pitched squeal leaving them when he gropes their ass and covers the soft curve of their neck with rough kisses. “C-Charon!” They laugh, legs squeezing tighter, and he only keeps up the harassment for another second before lowering them.

“Fine.” He sighs, only marginally annoyed, “Let’s head inside. I’ll grab the hotel room for us while you head to the lab.”

“Perfect.” They agree, straightening out their recon armor and tidying their hair.

He reaches out and messes it up with one hand and they squawk loudly, and he walks on ahead towards the bridge, laughing again. Inside Rivet City, they walk alongside each other until they reach the hall that forked towards the hotel and the science lab.
He takes their duffel and their sniper’s rifle, lugging it on his unoccupied shoulder, and Briar idles near him, hands clasping together pensively. He rolls his eyes and sets a hand on their lower back, nudging them forward.

The owner of the hotel seems a little happy to see him, although that’s probably because she knows he’ll inevitably be staying here for a while. It was never just one night at Rivet City, unfortunately. He gets checked in and heads to the room at once, tossing all their things onto the floor and locking the door before he takes a shower.

After, he lazes in bed, resting his eyes, and considers leaving to get something to eat, but he feels too comfortable after the hot shower and he always likes eating with his partner present, if possible. Maybe that was partly because he could make sure they ate at all.

What interrupts him from his meandering thoughts is a familiar ditzy laugh in the hall. One that is getting louder and louder as the seconds pass, and the laughter is punctuated by hushed talking.

He’s already out of bed and standing at the door, hand around the doorknob, by the time there’s a knock on the door. He unlocks it, cracking the door open, and sees James, looking overwhelmed as Briar hung onto them desperately, red in the face and giggling. They both reeked of alcohol, but it was obvious who drank more.

He pulls the door open all the way and looks down fully at the two of them.

“Hello again,” James says with strained politeness, readjusting their hold on his partner, “He insisted on being brought here.” They explain, sounding pointedly disappointed about that.

There is a red mark on the high point of their jaw that was steadily darkening, he notices.

“That so.” He remarks flatly, secretly overjoyed, and his eyes drop down to Briar, who perks up upon hearing his voice and gives him a sort of cock-eyed look, their smile lopsided. He opens his arms wide, inviting, and they wriggle out of their father’s hold to flop into his, their face smushing against his solar plexus and knocking a small breath out of him.

Their arms snake around his waist and squeeze tightly.

“Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer being brought to the lab?” James tries again, looking increasingly uncomfortable the longer they watched Briar cling to him. “There’s coffee, and plenty of medicine to help with your inevitable hangover.”

“Why would I want to hang around a bunch of old bastards—” Briar asks loudly, words half muffled because they’re talking into his shirt, and James’ face crumples like their heart has been torn in half.

A snort escapes him despite his best efforts.

“—when I can be with my boyfriend?” They finish in sing-song, and his amusement promptly dies a swift death in the face of the metaphorical wolves he’s just been thrown to.

He’s never been great at dealing with stuff like this, especially unexpectedly like this, so he ‘deals’ with it by staring at James, shrugging, and then shutting the door of their hotel room.

That should do it, he rationalizes, now dragging his partner into the room so he can sit them down on the bed. He gets their boots off and brings them a change of clothes and shepherds them into the bathroom so they can change. He waits outside the door in case they fall and crack their head open.

Despite being shit-faced, when Briar exits the bathroom ten minutes later, they’re fully dressed, although the t-shirt he gave them is noticeably backwards. Good enough, he decides, and leads them back to the bed so he can give them pain killers, a glass of water, and watch them force down some jerky.

He brings the trashcan over to the bed in case they feel nauseous and then plops himself back in bed, seated upright against the backboard with his arm outstretched invitingly. Briar crawls over to him and smushes their face against his pec, already getting comfortable.

They don’t have an alarm set, so he lets them sleep in late, only getting up from the bed to use the bathroom before he returned to being their pillow. With a loud snore, he feels Briar stiffen as they finally wake up. Last time he checked the time on their Pip-Boy, it was half past noon. When they push up off him, they make an intelligible sound—or was that them mumbling something? He can’t tell. He grabs the glass of water from the nightstand to his left without even looking and offers it to them.

They make another noise—a thankful hum, before sitting up in bed on their folded legs and throwing their head back as they chugged the water.

“You called me your boyfriend in front of James yesterday.” He tells them casually.

Briar spits out the last mouthful of water in a messy spray and he flinches with a scowl, holding up an arm to block it, albeit too late.

They’re stunned for a second, before they wince with remorse.

“Sorry!” They say, leaning over him to set the glass on the nightstand before rolling their shirt over their head and hunching over him to gently pat the water off his face. “Did I really…?”

“Would I lie?”

“No, of course not,” They amend, leaning away now, wringing their shirt between their hands nervously. “I wanted to ask how you felt before I told anyone we were together. I didn’t really give you a choice in the end, did I? Sorry.”

“Tell as many people as you want. The more people that know you’re spoken for the better.” He shrugs, “How was the talk?”

“Unsatisfying,” They admit dejectedly. “After I told him everything, he just said sorry a lot. I told him that if he was hiding anything else, I’d like him to just tell me now.” Briar shakes their head, biting their lip again, “And it turns out he did have something else he was hiding. He slipped sleeping pills in one of my drinks the night before he left. That’s why I didn’t wake up when everyone started shooting.”

“Are you sure he’s not trying to kill you on purpose? There’s no way he’s this fucking stupid.”

“It’s all really stupid, isn’t it?” Briar agrees with a dark expression. They hold up their right hand and he notices just now that their knuckles are bruised. “I punched him. Knocked him clean out of his chair. Dr. Li had to help him up. It was embarrassing.” They sigh heavily.

He reaches over and takes their hand in his, gently rubbing his thumb across their knuckles.

“Did any of that help? Do you feel better?” He asks.

“I’m not sure,” They say, “Oh, and I managed to sneak in a chat with Dr. Li before I had that talk with James. You’re not going to like what she had to say.”

“Just spit it out.”

“She’s pretty sure what I’m dealing with is post-traumatic stress disorder. And if our symptoms are similar, then…” Briar explains, allowing him to connect the dots.

“You were right— I didn’t like that.” He agrees, swallowing a little hard. He already doesn’t want to be thinking about this. “What are we doing today?” he asks, changing the subject gracelessly.

Briar gives him a sympathetic look, squeezing his hand, before speaking up again.

“Dr. Li and the other scientists wanted to speak with us. You can guess what about,” They preface, rolling their eyes. “I’m only bringing it up because they said they can actually pay us this time around.”

“We aren’t fighting anymore Super mutants.” He says right off the bat.

“You’ll find no argument from me.” And with that they roll out of bed and start getting ready for the day.

When the two of them saunter into the lab, it’s just in time for another pot of coffee, the smell so strong that it hastens his partner’s footsteps. James is seated at a desk, legs crossed as they morosely sipped from a cup, and next to him, standing, is Dr. Li, who notices their arrival immediately.

“Welcome back, you two,” She greets, “I hope you slept well.”

“Like the dead.” Briar remarks, eyes shooting straight towards the pot of coffee, and rolling her eyes, Dr. Li walks away from James to pour them a cup. He’s offered a cup too, but he turns it down, content to share sips with his partner all the while James does a poor job of hiding how much it upsets them. “What’s the news on Project Purity?” They ask, cutting straight to the chase, and Madison sighs loudly with relief.

“I’m not fond of small talk either,” She says, looking far less tense now, “And things are going well, but we’re at an impasse now. Without the G.E.C.K, we won’t be able to finish the project, even with all the new progress we’ve made.”

“I completely forgot about that—the thing Dr. Braun was researching, right?” Briar says.

“Yes, the very same,” Dr. Li nods, “As you’ll recall, they were sent to a select number of Vaults. Navigating them should be simple for a native like yourself, and while the caps we’ll be paying you isn’t at all impressive, I am sure that the goods you find from the Vaults will fill in the gaps.”

Briar hums around the next sip of their coffee.

“What do you think?” They ask, turning towards him.

“Fine with me.” He says breezily. “We should take the job. Exploring Vaults will be easier than what we’ve been dealing with lately.”

“You are abso-fucking-lutely correct about that.” Briar laughs sharply.

“So, you’ll help?” Dr. Li asks.

Funnily enough, the two of them end up nodding at the same time, and when they both notice that he snorts a little, and Briar bumps their arm into his, before clearing their throat.

“Yes,” They answer belatedly, “Should we meet with you here, or the Jefferson Memorial when we make progress? You seem like you’re still in the middle of bringing things over.” And they glance around the lab, taking in the clutter that’s been rearranged.

“I like to think in a day or two more we’ll have everything moved, so meeting us at the Memorial would be ideal, preferably,” She explains, getting a thoughtful look on her face, “There are plenty of rooms for you two. It would save you the caps of renting a hotel room every night if you stayed with us.”

“That’s kind of you,” Briar says, lips curled into a small, genuine smile, “But we’re going to need to resupply often, and the shops here are perfect for that. Not to mention we’ve grown accustomed to having breakfast at the Galley. It just wouldn’t feel right without it.”

“I see,” Dr. Li nods, “I hate cooking. I can understand your reasoning—the Galley is very good.”

“Isn’t it?” His partner hums, taking a seat across from James and beginning to fiddle with their Pip-Boy; pulling up the map and making a list of Vaults the two of them have already visited. They take out their pack of cigarettes without thinking, setting one between their lips, and when they turn to him for a light and he stubbornly doesn’t provide one, they finally realize their mistake.

“Oh, shit. Forgot where we were—contaminants and all that. Lab protocol.” Briar curses softly, tucking the cigarette back into the pack, and their attention goes back to the map.

James blinks a little, looking sheepish. The bruise on their cheek looked significantly worse than it had last night.

“I wasn’t aware you took up the habit,” James speaks up for the first time other than their initial greeting.

When Briar’s eyes flick up from the Pip-Boy and to their father, the man visibly wilts under the intensity of their stare.

“I reek of cigarettes all the time. Did you think people were blowing their smoke at me?” His partner asks, sounding bored, and they cross off another Vault and add the number to their list. “And before you warn me of the dangers of smoking, or something equally as condescending, I just want to remind you that statistically it is far more likely that I will die from a bullet between the eyes than it is that I end up living long enough to develop cancer.”

They don’t leave any room for arguments. Or further discussion.

The lab is silent as Briar continues fiddling with their Pip-Boy, but he’s unbothered by the tense atmosphere. He’s not the one in the doghouse, after all.

“Alright. We need to prepare before we head out tomorrow. We’ll be around if you need anything.” Briar says after everything’s been squared away, and they bid Dr. Li and their father farewell with a tight-lipped, slightly menacing smile before ducking out of the room as he follows behind.

“There’s a Vault a day’s travel from here, but” And they frown as they walk beside him down the hallway, “It’s not numbered. Or if it had a number, my Pip-Boy isn’t showing it. Odd. I guess we can figure out the number once we find a Vault suit.”

“I never had a chance to see you in yours.”

“Does that keep you up at night?” They huff, blushing.

“Yeah, and what if it does?” He challenges.

They look away, biting their lip.

“Don’t start anything you can’t finish.” He chastises, and lowers his voice, “I’ve thought about you in that night gown, bent over your vanity while I fuck you senseless more times than I can keep count.”

“S-Stop talking for a second. Please.” They plead, covering their face with their hands.

“Too much?”

“Maybe, I—I think I almost fainted from how fast my blood rushed to my dick.” Briar amends with a shaky laugh, lowering their hands slightly so he can see how red in the face they are.

“Poor thing.” He teases.

Chapter Text

The ‘mystery’ Vault, as Briar was calling it, is a day and a half walk southwest, across the river and sandwiched by a metro station and an undiscovered structure neither of them are familiar with, despite passing the area so frequently. They walk all night under the shroud of darkness, the moon hidden behind clouds, and the only light source they have between them is the flashlight on Briar’s Pip-Boy and his lighter, which was useless in comparison.

He didn’t like having a spotlight on their position, but not being able to see a threat right in front of them was a stupid ass way to die. Briar fluctuates between keeping the flashlight on and off, probably feeling uncomfortable too, and from a distance it probably looked like morse code. In the periods of dark, Briar hefts up their sniper’s rifle, now outfitted with a night vision scope, and checks the horizon.

“There hasn’t been another living thing for miles,” Briar tells him quietly, sounding nervous. “Do you think that means anything? Or is this just a dead zone?”

“Not sure. It’s creepy, though.”

“I-It’s not just me then? That’s a relief.”

“I know we agreed on walking until morning, but I think we should find a place to stay.”

“No complaints here.” And they look down to check their Pip-Boy. “Huh?? My map is screwed up.”

He steps closer and peeks at their arm. The map isn’t just ‘screwed up’, the entire screen was buzzing with green static.

“I can’t do maintenance on it out in the open like this.” Briar sucks their teeth, tapping the screen of their Pip-Boy incessantly. “And without a map, we shouldn’t stray off the path we’ve been taking—I think we might have to keep going.”

“…Fine. Stick close to me.” He agrees after a second, eyeing the area.

The entry to the mystery Vault is tucked into unassuming cliffside they find two hours after continuing southwest. There’s a regular door that leads into a muddy tunnel that barely gives him enough space to walk through comfortably, and at the end of the tunnel there’s a metal latch. He pulls it open and waits for a moment, peering down.

“The lights are motion activated. We won’t know if there’s power until one of us goes down there and takes a few steps. I can shine a light down there first, so we make sure we don’t climb down into a monster’s mouth.” They say, and flick their flashlight on, turning their wrist towards the hatch.

It’s a stone and metal tunnel very similar to the one in Vault 112. There’s no one and nothing at the bottom. He drops a rock down and waits, and there’s still nothing.

“I’ll go first,” Briar says, slipping their rifle over their shoulder and pulling out their revolver. “The ladder’s going to creak a lot if you do it. No offense.”

“Make it quick.”

They’re down the metal ladder in a blink and seem to disappear in total void, other than the halo of light emitting from their Pip-Boy. Briar turns around in a three-sixty, gun readied, before walking a few steps down the tunnel. As they said, the lights all turn on at once. They give the tunnel another glance, before looking up and offering a thumbs up.

Shoulders relaxing, he heads down the ladder and makes sure to shut the latch behind himself. They find the Vault entrance south of the tunnel, with the north leading to a dead end that yielded a storage closet and not much else. The big yellow numbers that should have been on front of the gear-shaped door have been sanded off purposely. There wasn’t enough left to even attempt a guess on the number.

“Odd,” Briar says, frowning, “Oh, well.” And they pull a wire from their Pip-Boy and connect it to the dusty console beside the door. When the Vault door rolls aside, the lights inside take a minute to turn on.

They walk inside the control room of the mystery Vault, side by side, guns ready, and finding nothing of value and no threats, they slip through the only other door in the room and enter a hallway. A pristine looking one, too. There was no trash or corpses. There weren’t even any skeletons. Yet there were no people either—or mutants of any kind.

“It looks untouched,” Briar remarks uneasily, and paranoia growing, they sniff at the air a couple of times, “No chemical or gas leak. The air filtration seems to be working just fine, too. It’s not as musty as I expected it to be. This would be a great place to live,” They continue, and their mouth sets into a deep frown, eyebrows bunching together. “So, why isn’t anyone in here??” They ask him as the two of them walk down another hallway and find nothing that would show human life, aside from the furniture and amenities intended for them.

“Are there Vaults that never got used? Maybe they had a surplus and not enough people could afford to buy their way in.” He suggests.

“Maybe.” They say.

There’s more loot than either of them can carry, so they must decide on what has the most immediate use, over value. It still feels really shitty to leave behind so much, but they could always come back, he guesses, although he’s not sure he wants to. He’s been tense ever since going inside the place. Every Vault bewilders him to a degree, but it was never anything like this.

After exploring the kitchen, dining area, and the female and male wings, the two of them head to the medical ward and when they step inside Briar’s eyes light up.

“It’s in great condition!” They tell him while eagerly slipping further into the clinic, taking in the gurney that was still dressed in paper, the tray with tools near it, and the various cabinets and equipment. There’s a doctor’s coat hanging over a chair. Fingers twitching, Briar holsters their gun and takes the coat, whipping it out to get the dust off it, before pausing. There’s a black leather suitcase on the floor they almost knocked over.

Crouching to the floor, Briar flicks the latch and opens it. They let out an excited gasp before shutting the suitcase and standing up quickly.

“What?” He says, unsure if he should be nervous or excited.

With a wry smile, Briar quietly exits the clinic with both items in hand. Their face peeks into the doorway a second later, and they knock on the doorframe before reentering the room, now wearing the doctor’s coat and holding the briefcase with purpose.

“Good evening,” Briar greets, walking over to the gurney. “I will be your doctor today. Please, have a seat.” And they wave him over, an eager shine to their eyes.

Amused, he walks over and hefts himself on top of the gurney, setting his gun aside. They move to stand between his spread thighs, setting the briefcase down on one corner of the gurney and opening it.

“How are you feeling today?” They ask, taking out the stethoscope and slipping it around their neck.

“Better, now that you’re here.” He answers and they grin.

“I’m glad to hear that.” Briar hums, pretending to check something on their Pip-Boy. Or he thinks they’re pretending, until they notice him staring and show him what they’re doing. “What kind of doctor doesn’t make a file on their patient?” They wink, and he relaxes. “You’re scheduled for a checkup today. May I begin?”

They don’t move an inch until he nods, which he appreciates.

He thought being in a setting like this would make him a lot more uncomfortable, but this clinic isn’t at all like the lab he woke up in—Briar isn’t like the doctors that poked and prodded him. The things they do to him are calming, which is weird to admit.

“Your heart sounds healthy.” Briar says, pleased, and readjusts the stethoscope on his left pec slightly. “It’s strong. No irregular rhythm.” And they lean forward a little to reach around him, putting the stethoscope over one of his shoulder blades. He’s asked to breathe in and out deeply a few times, then to cough. “No rattle or wetness.” They tell him, turning on the flashlight on their Pip-Boy and adjusting the brightness a little.

They shine a light into both of his eyes, his nose cavity, his ears, and they ask him to open his mouth so they can peer down the back of his throat.

“Your tonsils have been removed.” They remark, shutting the light off and writing down that tidbit into his file.

After that his reflexes are checked, first his hands, with him catching a pen they drop from above his hand, then closing and releasing a fist, both of which he does with ease. Briar retrieves a small rubber hammer no bigger than the pen they’d just used, and they explain that they’re going to hit him on his knee—just enough for the reflex to act, not to hurt him.

He doesn’t think it’s physically possible for anyone to do genuine harm wielding such a wonky looking thing.

He watches them whack the top of his right knee with the hammer and nothing happens. They do it again with a bit more pressure, and still, there’s nothing.

They frown and write something down. Probably something he doesn’t want to hear.

“Now for the last part,” They say, waving him over to the corner nearby where a manual scale and some other equipment sat. He’s asked to stand on the scale first, and he watches Briar move the metal notch along, waiting for it to balance out. “Two hundred and five,” They hum, writing that down and they point at the part of the wall that has a bunch of numbered lines painted on it and he stands flush against it while they peer up at the number he clears out at. “Six feet and eleven inches.” Briar tells him, and they remember something now, “I just realized I did all this a little backwards. You’re supposed to ask for the name, race, age—that kind of stuff first. I guess its fine either way.”

“I only know two of those things.” He realizes. “My memory begins after my conditioning. I’d say it’s been around…seventy years since then.”

Their eyebrows furrow as they think.

“It’d be easier to tell with blood work and running some other tests, but before your conditioning, I don’t think you would have been any older than forty, at the most. Add seventy years and technically, you would be around one hundred and ten. Give or take a few years.” Briar explains, while studying him. “As for race, I think it’s clear you were either Caucasian or something adjacent. Red hair, blue eyes—it’s a combination that’s rare. And quite handsome.”

They smile up at him, looking right into his eyes, but he finds himself unable to return the look. His stomach twists uncomfortably.

“Would you prefer it?” he asks quietly, feeling pathetic.

“Prefer what?”

“If we met before I was like this.”

“With ‘this’ being the fact that you’re a ghoul?” They clarify.

“Yeah.”

“No,” Briar answers without hesitation, expression softening, and they capture both of his hands in their own, holding them up between where the two of them stand. “The only thing I would change are the circumstances that led to our meeting. I always imagine what it would be like if we met normally—if I hadn’t been on the run and you weren’t stuck working for assholes.”

Staring at their joined hands serves as a great way for him to slowly process his stunted feelings.

There is a stark difference between their hands. His hands are twice the size of theirs, marred and decayed, the texture the furthest thing from smooth, and the coloring varied between dull shades of red, brown and tan. His hands have always looked clumsy to himself, although he can’t pinpoint why. He doesn’t have all his fingernails. He’s missing two nails on his left hand—the pinky and ring finger.

He can’t really remember how that happened.

Briar’s hands are probably the darkest part of their body. It’s the only part of themselves besides their face that they always have visible and despite never wearing gloves any thicker than nitrile or rubber, their hands remain soft. Even the callouses on their palm and fingers felt soft, in a way. Their fingers were long. Delicate and nimble.

“If things were different we might not have met.” He says after what must have been ten minutes at least.

“It’s terrifying in retrospect,” Briar says while leading him over to the gurney so they can take off the doctor’s coat and shove it in their duffel before gathering the rest of their things, briefcase included. They shift their weight from one foot to the other, “…Do you think it would be okay for us to spend the night here? I know we have a few rooms left to check, but it’s so little we can do it on our way out tomorrow.”

“Tired?” He asks.

A nod.

The two of them retrace their steps back to the living quarters and decide on venturing to the female wing, sticking their heads into each unit until they found one with a queen-sized mattress. Its jarring being in such a place—each unit was like a miniature house, outfitted with a bathroom, kitchen, a small living room and equally as small bedroom.

There was an emerald-colored carpet that covered most of the floor in the living room, with yellow shapes tossed here and there. It’s ugly, but he kind of likes it in a way. Everything in this unit was boldly colored: the yellow loveseat in the living room, the shiny red kitchen appliances to match the fridge and oven, and when he gets around to entering the bedroom he notices with a wince that everything was either pink or blue and there were a lot of Teddy Bears on the bed. Enough to make a small pile. He walks over and pushes them all off the bed before taking a seat and getting comfortable, setting his shotgun on top of the dresser near the bed.

He's staring at the ceiling, thinking of the conversation from earlier when Briar reenters the bedroom, their face looking freshly washed. They offer a small smile as the door shuts behind them. He watches them take off their boots, unholster their gun, and unsheathe their knife, depositing all that next to his gun, before crawling into bed. They lay atop him, chin propped over their folded hands as they stared up at him with unmistakable affection.

“Need something?” he asks quietly while meeting their gaze.

“Just admiring.” They explain, smiling warmly.

His heart skips a beat.

He reaches out to cup their cheek, brushing his thumb against their cheekbone.

“You’re too cute for your own good.” He remarks. He counts the freckles across their cheekbone and quickly loses count, more interested in inching his thumb lower towards their soft mouth. Their lips part invitingly, tongue peeking out to swipe against the pad of his finger slowly, their eyes not once leaving his.

He sucks in a breath.

Their mouth opens wider, and he slips his thumb fully into their wet, pliant mouth. Briar makes a pleased sound, humming, like he’s given them a treat. He shallowly pushes in and out of their mouth, the pad massaging their tongue in circles as they hollow their cheeks and suck around him.

He can feel them getting hard. Their dick is nudging against his stomach and every time he thrusts his finger back into their mouth it seems to throb. Briar mumbles something intelligible around his thumb, so he takes his hand away.

They crawl up a little higher so that both of their faces are level, their hands planted on either side of his head as they stare down at him with a heated expression.

“Can I use my mouth?” They ask breathily. Their lips are wet and shiny, their hair tussled from a day’s travel. He can barely see the green of their eyes because of how blown out their pupils are. “I didn’t really get to last time. Which is okay, of course, I just…really want to.” They explain, swallowing hard. “I want to make you feel good.” And they lean down to kiss him.

He shuts his eyes tightly, hissing out a breath they suck down greedily, licking open his mouth and tasting his teeth.

“Please.” Briar sighs against his mouth, separating from another kiss with a wet pop, and in a desperate whisper, they say, “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it.”

“That what you want?” He asks, breathing hard, and they nod eagerly. “Fine, then. Take what you want, but when you’re finished, I’m taking whatever I want. Understand?”

“Yes,” Briar says quickly, kissing him again, but he firmly grabs their jaw with one hand and pushes them back enough so that they can look at him.

“Yes what?”

Their face blooms with color and they suck their bottom lip into their mouth.

“Y-Yes sir…?” Briar guesses meekly.

“Good.” He hums, pulling them into another kiss and they make a gorgeous ‘mmmpth!’ sound, the noise sweet enough to taste. He unbuckles his belt with his other hand with ease, and the clinking of the metal catches Briar’s attention. They’re torn between kissing him and trying to peek down to watch him pull his dick out.

Briar readjusts to lay between his legs, stomach on the bed and their arms braced on his thighs. He sits up a little, resting on his elbows, with his eyes glued to the way their hand curls around the base of his dick and grips firmly, guiding it towards their mouth. Their tongue swirls around the tip, teasing, and they drag it down, trailing the thick vein that ran underneath. He lets out of the smallest of noises and their eyes flicker up, gauging his reaction, but when their eyes lock their face reddens and they look away.

Their tongue lathes at the underside while they take another inch into their mouth. He doesn’t even think they’ll be able to fit half in their mouth, but it was fucking hot watching them try. He’s not even touching them and they’re sighing and moaning.

Briar swallows around what little they’ve managed to take into their mouth, and they lean forward to take some more before gagging and pulling off him with a series of coughs, their eyes misting with tears.

“That’s what you get.” He says, but he still wipes the tears from the corners of their eyes. “Slow down, alright? I’m not going anywhere.”

They clear their throat a few times, embarrassed, before nodding and taking him back into their mouth, this time with subdued enthusiasm. He relaxes into the feeling of wet heat sucking around him, slipping a hand into their hair to cup the back of their head, gently guiding them into the pace he wants as he starts to fuck shallowly into their mouth.

They relax their jaw and take it obediently, moaning loudly.

“Pretty boy.” He compliments, and their eyes flutter shut, brows creasing as another noise escapes them. “Squeeze your hand tighter.” He instructs, and they do, but it is just shy of being perfect. “More,” he says, and their hand grips tight enough to draw a true jolt of pleasure up his spine as it pumps around the length they stubbornly try to force into their mouth to no avail. His hips jerk into their mouth a little roughly. “Just like that. Good.”

He can’t decide what he enjoys more: the sight of them needily stuffing his cock into their mouth or the feeling it elicits. They seem to get just as much pleasure out of it as he does. He stops moving his hips and lets them take full control, lowering his hand from the back of their head so he can gently tuck a lock of hair behind their ear.

A few minutes later Briar makes a noise but this time it sounds uncomfortable.

“Jaw getting sore?” He asks.

“A little. It’s fine, though.” They slip him out of their mouth to say, wincing a little. Before they can get back to it, he pushes their face away, sitting up more. “But—” They protest.

“You’ve had your fun,” He says firmly, setting a hand on their chest and pushing them down to lay on their back as he moves to loom over them. “Now I get to do whatever I want, right? That’s what you said.” And he slowly unzips their recon armor, kissing them to shut up whatever other protests they have.

Their hands clutch his shoulders, digging the nails in lightly in anticipation as he pulls their armor off their shoulders and tugs it so that the excess sits at their waist, leaving the entirety of their torso bare and their band of their boxers peeking out. Briar shivers, both from the sudden cold against their skin and his intense staring. It’s twice now he’s seen them shirtless, but it’s only now he can take his time to appreciate it.

“I’m going to leave a mark,” He warns them, kissing just under their jaw, “And it’s not going to be in a place that you can hide. Is that going to be a problem?”

“No.” They sigh, arching against the bed.

“People are going to stare. They’re going to wonder who’s been fucking you.” He continues, breath tickling their neck and another shiver runs up their spine.

“Is that what you’re going to do?” They ask, “Fuck me?”

“You want your first time to be a in a creepy Vault?”

“I want my first time to be with you. The rest is just…extra.”

He thinks about that, staring down as they squirm, their expression unbearably hopeful.

“We don’t have anything to use as lube and we have a day’s worth of walking tomorrow.” He explains, but the hopeful look doesn’t leave.

“We could make it work…” Briar says, sighing, and they grab fistfuls of his shirt and pull needily. “I can take it. Fuck me—please.” And they kiss him again and again, “Please, please, please.”

“I’m not fucking you here.” He chokes, burying his face into their neck, blood pounding in his ears. His dick is brushing against their clothed thigh incessantly. “It’s not safe, it’s weird, and you deserve better.”

He’s thankful to feel Briar nod weakly, finally giving in at least for now. His resolve had been threadbare at best.

He litters their neck in kisses before sucking the spot just under their jaw into his mouth. Briar squirms against him, and when he adds more pressure the whine that’s been building up in the back of their throat turns into a loud cry.

“Feel good?” He speaks into their neck, admiring the angry red mark that would now peek out from the collar of their armor for at least a few days. They nod rapidly. Smirking, he turns their face to the side and works on leaving another mark to mirror the one he’s just made.

He lets his hands wander, hands feeling up their delicate, freckled chest. His fingers catch on a crooked, horizonal scar on their ribs.

“What’s this from?” He asks, gently massaging the scar.

“Knife fight back in my Vault.” They say, and he stops kissing them, anger suddenly spiking through him. “Don’t worry, I won. They just took me by surprise.”

“They?” He repeats, “How many were there?”

“Three. Don’t give me that look—I told you I was unpopular.”

Scowling, he lowers his face to the scar and kisses it.

Rising a bit, he opens his mouth and drags the flat of his tongue across one of their pink nipples and Briar yelps loudly, instinctively clamping a hand over their mouth to muffle any other sounds but he swats it away.

“Be as loud as you want. Might be the only chance you get.” And he sucks their nipple into his mouth, teeth grazing it, and their back arches hard off the bed as a high-pitched whine drags out of them.

“It doesn’t bother you?” Briar cracks an eye open to ask.

“Bother me?” He asks, scoffing, and pinches their other nipple between his thumb and index, rolling it firmly. Their eyes shut tight again and they toss their head back, face scarlet. “Your mouth and all the noises it can make is half of what I think about every day. Does that fucking sound like it bothers me?” And he sucks their nipple into his mouth again, swirling his tongue around the pebbled tip.

Their dick is so hard the flushed tip is peeking out of the band of their boxers, leaving a trail of precum against their stomach. He hooks his fingers into the band and tugs down, taking a second to admire just how wet they are. He leans all his weight onto his left elbow, freeing his other hand so he can grab both of their dicks and thrust into the fist.

Briar moans, shoulders shaking, and raises their hips off the bed to better the angle, the two of their dicks now perfectly aligned as he thrusts slowly. It’s hot and slick, and the rough texture of his hand against their soft skin seems to excite them.

“Imagining me fucking you instead?” He whispers knowingly into their ear and Briar’s eyes open so they can glare at him stubbornly, which is all the confirmation he needs. “I’m so terrible for not taking your virginity in some random hellhole.”

“The worst!” Briar says, a breath catching in their throat when he tightens his grip and pumps faster. They give up on trying to match his pace and simply lay there and take it, soaking in the feeling of their cocks dragging against each other and his mouth sucking bruise after bruise onto their neck. “O-Oh—!! They gasp, arms clinging around his shoulders and back.

“Yeah? Close?”

“Mmmhmmm.” They whine noisily.

He wants to eat the sound.

“Me too.” He tells them, pumping faster, and there is something beautiful in the way they fall apart right in front of his eyes; brows furrowing as their mouth hangs open wide, drool trailing down the corner of their mouth as they stutter out his name repeatedly.

He’ll never get sick of hearing it. It was like their mouth was made for the sole purpose of crying out his name.

Briar comes with a breathy shout, trembling all over as they came messily, still saying his name but sounding more like a toy running out of its batteries now, half the syllables coming out slurred or not at all, their brain screwy from endorphins.

“You’re mine.” He can’t stop himself from saying.

He can’t stop sounding helplessly possessive either.

“Yours,” Briar assures him, leaning up to kiss him. “Only yours.”

He jerks his hand roughly a few more times before he shuts his eyes and comes hard with a ragged breath, the pleasure so good it left him feeling ungrounded, and needing a few minutes to just lay there before he could process anything else.

He wants nothing more than to just fall completely limp against them, but he’s too heavy and they’re covered in an ungodly amount of bodily fluids and he does not feel like scrubbing those stains out of his shirt later. Sighing, he pushes up and rolls out of bed, exiting the bedroom to go to the bathroom in the living room and quickly cleans himself up before returning with a damp towel.

Briar sits up expectantly, holding out a hand, but he ignores it and takes a seat on the bed and starts cleaning the mess for them. They sit still under his ministrations, clearly uncomfortable to a degree with all this, but allowing him to do it anyways. It makes sense, he supposes. His partner never so much as belched in front of him, so him doing something as crude as spot wiping their shared cum off their chest would probably take getting used to.

Hours later, as the two of them finish exploring the Vault, he keeps stopping every few minutes to look behind his shoulder, feeling eyes on his back for the dozenth time now. Scowling, he turns around completely and raises his gun, eyes scanning for anything out of place in the Overseer’s office Briar was currently plundering.

There’s nothing amiss in the hallway leading up to the room. He keeps his gaze on the hallway for another minute, just to be sure, before entering the room.

“Something wrong?” Briar asks while pulling out all the drawers at the desk in the console stationed in the middle of the room with one hand while simultaneously typing away at the computer with the other. “God, I hate computers. At least they had their password written down.” They mutter under their breath as he walks over and stands behind them.

“I think the quiet is getting to me.” He says, giving the room at large a suspicious once over. The large, circular window situated on the east wall made him uneasy—he kept envisioning something slowly crawling across the glass surface the second he looked away.

They pause to look over their shoulder and give him a sympathetic look.

“We can leave after this. There’s nothing mentioned about a G.E.C.K on the records on the Overseer’s computer. In fact, his records are a mess—there’s hardly anything about the Vault recorded, aside from his own personal accounts of some disputes about…moving?” Briar explains, attention sucked back into the paper they’re holding up.

“So they left.” He says, feeling a lot more at ease now.

Briar shakes their head, holding up a hand to quiet him so they can finish reading.

“They weren’t arguing on leaving the Vault,” They say after a minute of tense silence, “They were arguing on whether they should follow through with this Vault’s experiment. And they did end up going through with it…” They say, starting to sound faint, and his anxiety spikes.

“What do you mean by experiment? Do these things all have experiments being done in them? Did yours?” He says, turning them around and shaking their shoulder.

Briar shushes him, looking sick.

“I’ll tell you more about Vaults later,” They whisper to him, hand moving towards their holstered revolver. “As for this one, the people never left—they’re here. Watching and listening.”

“Where?” He hisses, eyes darting around the room.

“The floors. The walls. The ceiling. Vents and shafts.” Briar lists off shakily.

“I believe you, but I don’t fucking understand.”

“I’m going to try something. Maybe this is all just a silly misunderstanding.” They say, and walk over to the nearest wall, which is the one directly behind the two of them, before raising a fist and knocking lightly against the metal.

Silence—

Then a singular knock.

Briar’s eyes get glassy with apprehensive tears, their mouth falling open in horror.

“I—I don’t,” His partner stutters, swallowing repeatedly. “I don’t understand. Are you okay…like this? Knock once for no and twice for yes.”

Silence again.

It’s unbearable.

Two knocks.

“T-That’s good! That’s…a relief. I think we’ll be leaving now. Sorry for intruding.” Briar says, choking out the words, drenched now in nervous sweat and they turn away from the wall to look at him with huge, bewildered eyes.

He grabs their hand and the two of them run out of the place, suddenly not caring about all the great loot they were leaving behind. He feels eyes boring into his back from every direction. The entire time they run he’s braced for an attack, but one never comes. They reach the control room for the Vault door and take a second to catch their breaths, even though it looked more like Briar was trying not to be sick instead.

Briar leads the way towards the hatch with the ladder leading up to the surface. They help him up, and once the two of them are back in the earthy tunnel, Briar makes a point of kicking the latch shut before they kick the wall a few times.

“What the fuck!” They bemoan, hiding their face in their hands.

“Going to explain things now?”

“…How much do you know about Vault-Tec?” Briar asks, taking a deep breath and letting it go with a shaky sigh, their hands falling from their face.

“Same as anyone else—not much.” He shrugs.

“Well, they didn’t build these Vaults out of the kindness of their hearts, to put it lightly. People paid a hefty fee to have a spot reserved for their families and in return they would be sheltered from the bombs with the idea being that those underground, unaffected by radiation, would eventually be the ones to rehabilitate the Earth.” They explain.

“What no one signing up for these Vaults knew was that each was made with an intended experiment to be carried out. Inhumane, despicable stuff.” They spit, nose wrinkling. “The experiment in this Vault was to see if it was possible for humans to eventually adapt to a place lacking light and much room. That’s why all the furniture looked barely touched. It wasn’t that long before the Overseer enforced the experiment.”

“The Overseer’s know about the experiments?”

“Some of them.” Briar shrugs, “The Overseer in mine did, but from what I’ve seen in other Vaults on my own, even the Overseers were unwilling participants most of the time.”

“…What was the experiment in your Vault?”

“It was never supposed to reopen.” Briar says, “I learned that the first Overseer of Vault 101 tricked everyone into thinking the surface was unhabitable, convincing them that there was no leaving the Vault—that it would be certain death. That didn’t stop people from leaving. The entrance to 101 opened a few times: once when James first arrived with my mother, and again, when he left. I think there were a few more incidents involving other people, but the details are escaping me. Either way, it led to a lot of Radroaches infesting the place. It gave me something to shoot, but the day James left there were a lot of people getting attacked by them. It feels…kind of pathetic to think about dying to such a non-threat, but…These people didn’t know any better. I only got lucky because I was a gun nut who had more military manuals then friends.”

“What was the goal in all of this? What happened if everyone just died? Went crazy and killed each other?” He asks.

“In some Vaults they did,” Briar explains tiredly, “And I’m sure we’ll see evidence of exactly that in the next Vault we waltz into.”

“I felt better exploring these places before I knew there was experimentation happening.”

“Try living in one your entire life and then learning about it. Although, I guess as far as Vault’s go, I got extremely lucky.” And they head towards the door at the end of the tunnel, before stopping as if remembering something. “Vault-Tec would be sick enough to do something like fund an experiment to make people into ‘perfect’ slaves, like with your conditioning. We might be able to find some information about it in one of these Vaults. Even an experiment that was similar would be a great find.”

“You think I could have been a Vault-Dweller?”

“Anything is possible. We don’t know anything about who you were. You being in a Vault where the experiment was to condition people to follow orders unquestioningly wouldn’t be the oddest thing. Especially compared to this place,” And they cringe again, shivering. “God.”

“Glad we didn’t fuck?” he asks casually, and Briar gives him a wild look and he makes the smart decision of not saying another word on the matter.

Chapter Text

Every Vault afterwards is a dud as well.

He’s starting to think the G.E.C.K doesn’t exist at all, and this was some backwards, manipulative way for James to get their son to keep paying any attention to them. Maybe he’s just looking for an excuse to punch the man himself, although he really doesn’t need any further validation—just an opening, really. He contemplates how much effort it would take hefting James up by their lab coat and chucking them into the murky river surrounding the Jefferson Memorial.

It wouldn’t take much effort at all. Not half as much effort as the two of them were wasting crawling through increasingly weirder and weirder Vaults, which was not something he thought was possible. People abandoning their perfect furnishings to live inside the walls weren’t even in the top three weirdest things they’ve seen thus far.

The Vault full of clones that were extremely hostile and only able to say the name “Gary” had been a trip, but killing them all had been a breeze, although at some point Briar had lowered their gun and looked nauseous, and he had to take care of the rest. It must have been the fact they were wearing Vault Suits, he realizes later.

The two of them happen upon a lonely shack with an elderly woman living inside of it, and after Briar finishes scolding her for leaving the front door unlocked, the woman, Agatha, had politely offered the two of them a meal, succinctly shutting his partner up.
The food isn’t poisoned—he made sure to take the first bite, and it’s not human meat, which is another huge relief. It’s only after he makes sure that he lets Briar start to tuck into the stew they’ve been offered. The woman had watched the interaction carefully, eyes soft—and sad. He doesn’t remark on it, too interested in eating what was pretty fucking good stew. Briar talks more than they eat, politely encouraging Agatha to speak about herself.

They learn she’s a widow, and while her husband has passed on a while ago, she’s still grieving as much as she had when he initially died.

“It’s just so difficult to move on when you’ve lived together your whole life. Everything reminds me of him. It would be better to leave, maybe, but I couldn’t bear to let it go either.” Agatha had explained wistfully, not really eating.

She mentions looking for a violin, and he can tell Briar is starting to think of a way to politely turn down the job, until she mentions the exact place it could be—a Vault.

“A Vault, you say,” Briar says, their eyebrows lifting, “In that case consider this your lucky day.”

The entrance to Vault 92, just like the mystery Vault from a week ago, is tucked into a rock formation he cannot tell is natural or not. If Vault-Tec hid their Vaults under garages, and in old mining tunnels, then he guessed making artificial rock formations to conceal an entrance wasn’t that out of this world.

The place is full to the brim with bloatflies, which he learns that Briar is deathly afraid of when they shriek and hide behind him upon seeing the first one. The embarrassed look on their face afterwards had been irresistible and he’d grabbed them for a kiss before continuing onward.

The bottom half of the Vault is flooded with water that is strangely unaffected by radiation.

“Must have been an underground lake deep enough that the surface radiation hasn’t seeped into it. What luck—we should still boil it just to be safe. There could be parasites.” Briar explains, bending down to fill up their canteen and a few empty bottles with water.

Briar is more than fine with slaughtering Mirelurks, which is a relief because other than bloatflies that’s what seemed to fill up the Vault. Mirelurks were stubborn bastards to kill, but the yield was great: meat and eggs by the pounds. Briar even finds a Stealth Boy tucked away in one of the rooms. There’s no G.E.C.K, unsurprisingly, but the two of them do find the violin in what appears to be a recording studio. It’s tucked away in a case and after Briar gives it a quick peek to make sure it isn’t broken, they shut the case just as quickly and stand to their feet.

“That covers it.” They say.

“Are we out of here?”

“…Soon. I’d like to read more about this ‘white noise’ experiment they were doing. The Overseer’s office should have everything I want.”

He keeps guard at the door while they stuff their duffel full of documents, holotapes, and whatever else they find from the desk. When he glances over his shoulder minutes later, he sees they’ve connected their Pip-Boy to the computer, probably downloading even more information.

“Why are you so interested in this experiment?”

“The experiment was about passing on subliminal messages via white noise. That’s a form of conditioning. It could be related to what was done to you.” They explain.

With nothing left of interest, they leave and return to Agatha’s shack. She cries upon seeing her family’s long-lost heirloom, and Briar, ever the gentlemen, clears their throat, before tentatively offering their hand for her to hold. She stares at it momentarily, before slipping her wrinkled hand into theirs.

As thanks, Agatha gives them her late husband’s ammo stash and plays a song with the newly acquired instrument after tuning the strings. The warm, resonating sound of the violin is soothing. He’s fascinated by anyone able to understand the odd shapes and symbols on a music sheet; able to move their fingers to make a pleasant sound, instead of a screech. Their brains must be wired differently, he thinks.

Agatha plays her violin on the radio daily, and having a new station to listen to was refreshing, but part of him tuned in every day to make sure the woman was still alive. He knows sooner or later the music will stop. He just hopes she passes on in her sleep.
And that she remembers to keep locking the door.

On their travels, Briar’s Pip-Boy picks up the location of Vault 87, but when they near the coordinates they end up at an ancient tourist attraction, the original sign somehow miraculously still clinging atop the singular shack that was posted just outside of a cave entrance. There are dozens of poles strung up with string lights and he suddenly thinks of their house back in Megaton and finds himself looking down at Briar.

“What?” They say, lowering their gun.

“Nothing.” He says, kissing their temple. “Let’s check out the place.”

Checking out the place turns out to be stepping five feet into the cave, noticing a wooden structure that served as a lookout, and then having a bullet land just near their feet as someone at the top suddenly stands up from where they’d been hiding away.

“Not another step mungo’s or I’ll blow you to fucking pieces!” The shrill order comes from a child, a boy, one that couldn’t be any older than ten, and the only thing he can make out from this distance is their face: tan skin, smudged with dirt, with tips of dark hair peeking out of whatever cloth they’ve got wrapped around their head. He cares less about their face and more about the gun they’re pointing down at them.

“Mungos?” Briar repeats, unsure if they should be insulted or not as they hold up their hands in the air. “Am I supposed to know what that means?”

Another bullet hits the ground near their feet and his hand twitches towards his gun. He isn’t going to kill a kid, but he has no problem scaring them if they were going to keep fucking around.

“M-U-N-G-O.” The kid spells out loudly, as if the word was common knowledge and his partner was brain dead. “It’s what YOU two are. Now do you have any other questions before I send your sorry asses back where you came from?”

“Yes, actually,” Briar continues, “Is Vault 87 nearby?”

“And if it is, why would I tell you?”

“I can pay you for the information. We need to get inside of it.”

“You’re shit out of luck. There’s no way you two are getting inside of it.”

“So it IS nearby.” Briar hums, and the kid pauses for a moment, furious, and they look ready to fill his partner full of bullets.

“Get out of here already! We’ve got enough problems as it is without you two jackasses stinking up the place. I’m going to start counting down and if you aren’t out of here by ten you’re done for!” The kid warns, and he eyes Briar, who hasn’t moved a muscle.

“One, two, three, four…”

“You’re counting way too fast.” Briar tuts, before doing something that’s odd enough that it baffles him AND the kid. They turn around, showing the kid their back, where their sniper’s rifle is hanging from its strap. “I noticed you had one too. Why aren’t you using it? It’s better than the gun you’re currently using. There would be no need for you to show yourself next time someone shows up. You could shoot them and avoid the conversation entirely.”

“…What do you care??” the kid asks snottily.

“Consider it friendly advice from a fellow sniper.” Briar explains, before looking at him and beginning to leave. He’s not sure what they’re planning, but he follows behind them.

When the two of them are almost out of the cave, the kid makes a noise of frustration, before calling out, “Wait!”

A huge smile spreads across Briar’s face, but they force it away before turning around.

“Yes?” They ask, purposely clueless.

“Why do you need to go to the Vault?” The kid asks.

“I need something inside of it. It might not have it, but I need to check anyways. Have you changed your mind about letting us see it?”

“Don’t get full of yourself, mungo. I’m the one asking questions here.”

“Fair enough.” Briar returns and the kid falters at how calmly they say it.

“If you two want to go inside of the Vault, you’re going to have to help us first.” The kid explains gruffly.

“What do you need?”

“Slavers came here and fucked up the place a few days ago. We fought them off, but they escaped with some of the others.”

“Do you know where?” Briar asks.

“Paradise Falls.”

His blood runs cold.

“Fuck no. We are not agreeing to this.” He says immediately, pulling Briar away by their arm to lead them out of the cave, but they fight against him.

“What?” They say, confused, and shake out of his grip. “Why?”

“Death is the nicest thing that can happen in a shithole like that. It’s the central pub for slave auctions. Those kids will probably have been sold off by the time we reach the place and it’s armed to the teeth.”

“If we’re careful and make plans we can do it. We need to check every Vault—”

“This one can wait. We can check the others we know of first. I’m not letting you step foot into a slaver settlement.”

“Oh, you’re not letting me, are you? What happened to us discussing things?” Briar returns sharply, putting their hands on their hips. “And you don’t know that those kids have been sold off. We might be able to get to them in time.”

“Like I didn’t know about Roy?” Slips out of him naturally in his nervous desperation to get them to drop the subject at any cost, and he knows it’s cruel, he knows it’s only going to make them want to listen to him less, but there’s no taking it back now. He stands there, internally wincing as Briar looks at him like he’s slapped them; their brows raised to their hairline and their mouth parted.

They let his words linger in the air for a painfully long time. Not even the kid speaks up to break the horrible tension.

“I see.” They tell him frigidly. “If you aren’t even willing to discuss the matter then I’ll go there myself if I have to.” And they turn their attention to the kid. “If I bring back your friends, will you let me into the Vault?”

“Yeah.”

“Then we have ourselves a deal. Who will I be looking for? And what’s your name so they know I’m someone to trust?” Briar continues, ignoring him.

“They took Sammy, Squirrel and Penny.” The kid explains, giving a brief description of their friends, before begrudgingly offering their name, “I’m Macready—the mayor of Little Lamplight. Everyone reports to me. Including you two mungos.”

“We need to rest and make plans. Is it okay if we camp out the night here?” Briar asks, gesturing to the cave entrance and its plethora of space for their bedrolls and even a fire.

“Fine. But if we catch you trying to sneak in, we’re going to shove grenades up your ass and watch the fireworks for sport. Got it?”

“Got it.” Briar repeats.

“Briar.” He calls out when they walk past him to start unpacking things to get camp set up. “I shouldn’t have said that. It was a low blow.”

“Then explain to me why you felt the need to say it.” They shoot back with venom, tearing open their duffel to take out their bedroll.

“It’s too dangerous. If it was just about life and death, that’d be one thing, but being captured and sold—living the rest of your life as a slave, passed from one owner to the next…” He explains but must stop because he feels his stomach churning and his heart starting to jack hammer.

Briar stares at him, eyes sharp, but they can’t maintain it for long. They ignore the hurt caused by his remark earlier and stand up to approach him to offer him some water.

“That’s exactly what’s going to happen to those kids. I can’t live with myself if I don’t even try to help them.”

“You still don’t get it.” He says, refusing the water. “I can’t—”

“Charon.” They say, shushing, and they set the water down and slip their arms around him. “Our best bet of keeping each other alive is to stick together. That’s what you said before, remember?” And one of their hands begins to rub soothing circles into his back. “We can do this. I know we can. Let’s put our heads together and think of a plan. Okay?”

Weakly, he nods.

Later, as the two of them eat, although he’s barely picking at his portion, Briar shows him the map on the Pip-Boy, trying to figure out the best direction to enter the place. He tunes out all their planning. He’s beyond familiar with the place—he’s visited it often with former employers. It was rare for a slaver to only keep one slave. They always got a second or more, and for some of his employment he was accompanied by others.

Some died. Others were sold off again.

He wonders if he’s outlived them all.

It’s not like he cares about any of them, but a part of him will always hope they had a clean death, at the very least.

“Does that sound good to you?” Briar asks him after they’ve explained their plan.

“Yeah.” He says neutrally, and they look relieved.

They shouldn’t, but he’s glad he’s fooled them.

He takes watch, of course, and Briar falls asleep quickly, soothed by his presence nearby. The kid from earlier, Macready, hasn’t left, he knows they haven’t, so he won’t really be leaving Briar behind alone, he rationalizes.
It was better this way, he continues to rationalize, now unzipping their duffel quietly so he can steal all their Stealth Boys and a few of their Stimpacks. He takes one final look at them before standing up and leaving the cave silently.

It takes two days of walking to reach Paradise Falls. His feet carry him towards the familiar path he used to take. He’s been dealing with a migraine and a twist of dread in his gut ever since abandoning his partner, but it was nothing compared to the fear he had of them getting captured here.

This will be worth their anger, he repeats over and over. In the distance he spots a telling sight: two men leading a woman in chains. That made getting inside simple. He lobs a grenade not anywhere near the group, just close enough for the noise to scare them, before he jumps out from behind a car and kills both men, blasting holes into their chests.

“Are you letting me free?” The woman asks, hysterical, and he feels even worse about what he’s about to do.

“Not yet.” He says. “I need to get inside. You’re going to pretend to be my slave. Don’t say a fucking word or you’ll get us both killed.” He tells her roughly and she nods rapidly.

He gives her some water and a bite of food before leading her towards the front entrance of Paradise Falls.

“Christ. You’re still kicking around, ya fucking zombie? I thought Barb died.” One of them says to him as he saddles up to the entrance. Barbara, or Barb, as she preferred, had been his employer before Ahzrukhal. She’d been an older woman, but no less as nasty as Ahzrukhal—only dumber. Ahzrukhal had swindled her easily in a few rounds of cards and won his contract. The very first order Ahzrukhal had given him was killing Barb and everyone else in her hideout.

Barb fucked enough slaves that her visits to Paradise Falls were so frequent that even his face had become well-known, but he thinks the last time he was here was well over thirty years ago.

“She did. Doesn’t stop my current employer from needing the same services. I’ve been ordered to make a trade for this one.” And he roughly shoves the woman forward so the guards can leer at her.

“Don’t know why I bother asking. I don’t give a fuck. You know where to go zombie, so make it quick.” They say, and the gates are pulled open minute later.

He knows exactly which building to walk over to for trades, but he’s focused on the open pens where the people being prepared for auctions all awaited with bomb collars on their necks. He spots three kids immediately in the pen. It must be the three he’s here for but there was no grabbing them and leaving with the bomb collars still around their necks.

“We just got them. You’ll have to wait until they’re processed if you want to get a sneak peek at the goods.” The guard by the pen tells him, interpreting his staring in the worst of ways.

“One hundred caps if you let me talk with them for a minute. My employer has specific tastes.”

“I bet they do.” They huff a laugh. “Fine. Pay up.”

He hands over the caps, willing his hand not to shake with how badly he wants to strangle this person. He goes over to the pen with the kids and crouches onto the balls of his feet, leveling the three of them with scathing look. They wilt under his gaze, shivering and huddling closer to each other.

“Macready sent me.” He whispers, keeping his expression aggressive in case the guard decided to look this way. “Are you Squirrel and—”

“Yes!” One of the boys whispers back eagerly, before sobering when he gives them a sharp look. “How are going to get us out? The collars—”

“I’m familiar with this place.” He interrupts right back, giving the area a quick glance again before turning back towards them. “Just tell me where the power source for the collars is and I’ll take care of it. I need you to make a distraction so I can do that.” He quickly unzips his duffel and pulls out a Stealth Boy and some grenades. “Run around throwing these. Space them out as much as you can. When you run out, return here and wait for me to get you. I might be invisible too, but you’ll know its me.” He explains and briefly explains how to use a Stealth Boy.

He turns towards the woman he’s been pretending to own.

“Feel free to run off as soon as the collars are taken care of. I came here for them—you’re on your own.” He says.

She looks unsure, but thankful.

With that out of the way, he leads the woman towards the auction house and waits. Five minutes later there’s an explosion and people start to panic. None of the guards pay the slaves any mind as they pour out, wondering if Super Mutants had begun attacking. He gives the woman one last look before slipping into a corner out of sight and activating his Stealth Boy.

The kid, Squirrel, told him where the power source was: a cable junction box behind the bar he past on his way to the pens. Nothing and no one pays any attention as the metal lid of the junction box is pried open mysteriously; the wires all severed by the edge of his knife. He can tell immediately that it worked; there’s an audible cry of relief as dozens upon dozens of slaves realize their bomb collars are now deactivated.

Paradise Falls turns into a riot, one he wants no part of, and he uses the last of the juice in his current Stealth Boy to make his way back to the pens early as the second to last explosion sounds off.

“It’s me.” He whispers to the two kids in the pen. “Follow behind me when your friend returns.”

Another explosion, and then a few minutes later there are ghostly footprints in the sand. Another minute, and the Stealth Boy runs out of juice and reveals Squirrel, who is red in the face and shaking all over with adrenaline.

“Good job. Let’s get the fuck out of here.” He says, instructing all three of the kids to walk behind him as his own Stealth Boy runs out. They use the mass fighting to carefully sneak around the perimeter of the base, with him picking off the few slavers that noticed them with ease, only suffering a few gunshots here and there, all of them missing his vitals.

As they head to the front gate his large frame is noticed immediately and someone tries to take a shot at him, but they’ve got shit aim and hit the girl, Penny, in the back of the leg and she cries before crumpling to the floor. He can’t help her right now—he turns around and shoots the slaver nearest, blasting their head into chunks before turning a few degrees to the right, ignoring the bullet that hits him in the chest so he can shoot them in the dick, the shock of the hit freezing them to the spot while he reloads and sends the next one into their chest.

Any of the other slavers in the vicinity are too busy fighting for their own lives and do nothing to deter the four of them from leaving.

He hefts up the girl into his arm, her blood spilling on his clothes as she sobs into his chest, and he ushers for the two boys to follow quick behind as he cuts into a run out of the place. He doesn’t stop running until Paradise Falls is a hazy shape in the distance, and he only allows the four of them to stop when there’s something to hide behind—the same car he hid behind when he killed those slavers bringing in the woman.

He sets Penny down and administers a Stimpack quickly, then eyes Squirrel and Sammy for any major injuries. They were bruised up and malnourished, but nothing serious.

“What about you?” Penny asks, pointing at him, and he realizes only then that he’s been shot to hell and was bleeding profusely.

Is that why his vision was getting spottier? His words more slurred? He got shot in the shoulder, the thigh, his arm, and—his chest. He sticks a finger into the crook of his ruined armor and feels around for his pec, grunting when he feels the bullet that lodged its way in just next to his heart. A few inches more and he’d be dead.

Coughing wetly, he jabs a few Stimpacks into himself and feels most of his injuries knit themselves back together, but that did nothing for the blood he’d lost and the miles and miles of walking ahead of him. Not to mention the discomfort and pain from being away from Briar had only increased the longer he’s been away.

He could use more Stimpacks, but there could be anything lying in wait as their group finished the walk back to Little Lamplight and he couldn’t risk one of the kids needing it instead after he’s used them all carelessly.

Spitting some blood into the sand, he stands up.

“Let’s keep going.” He says.

When night falls he refuses to keep traveling and chance another encounter with slavers even though he wants nothing more than to get back already. He can tell the kids feel the same, but he still makes the decision to sleep in an abandoned shack that night, keeping guard as the kids anxiously ate the food he’d given them while he keeps an eye on the door.

When dawn breaks, and as he’s preparing to leave, the door of the shack is suddenly kicked in, the old wood splintering into a thousand pieces and blinding him momentarily, before his vision clears and he sees two men standing just outside where the front door used to be.

Penny recoils behind him, recognizing the men, so they must have been slavers that followed them. He’d been sloppy and forgot to hide his trail and now they were going to pay for it—but not if he was quick enough.
He isn’t. The blood loss and multiple half-healed injuries makes him sluggish to the draw. Both men already have their guns readied and pointed at him. He watches their fingers curl around the trigger in slow motion, bracing for the pain that’s coming and hoping none of the kids behind him catch a stray.

The man to the left suddenly lurches, something catching them in the skull and their eyes roll to the back of their head before they fall forward, nose breaking as they slam face first into the ground and blood weeps out of the hole in their head. Their cohort looks at him, the body, then to their immediate right, and this time he sees the bullet that catches them between the eyes.

He stands there, hunched over in pain, bloodied hands limply gripping his shotgun, and waits for whatever threat is waiting outside. One of the kids is latched onto his leg, tugging incessantly in their anxiety, but when he tries to say something to calm them down he coughs.

A shape moves past the broken window—dark clothes, too fast for him to notice the details, but it doesn’t matter because this stranger is already in the doorway. Their face and head are entirely covered with a cowl made of rags, a pair of goggles strapped over their eyes and obscuring the color. Whatever clothes or armor they have on is mostly hidden underneath a large piece of fabric they were using as a cloak to shield themselves from the harsh sun.

There’s an assault rifle between their hands and a sniper’s rifle peeking out from behind their back.

“Don’t shoot.” The stranger says, voice muffled, but familiar, and his heart leaps. They raise one hand to their face and tug the goggles up, before also pushing down some of the face coverings. Briar shakes some of the hair out of their face before quickly walking over to him and helping him sit down. They set their gun aside and pull out their duffel where it’s been hidden from view underneath their makeshift cloak.

He reaches out for them weakly, wanting to cup their face. He’s so relieved to see them.

They set his hand down firmly.

“Briar—” He says weakly.

“Save it.” They tell him with barely restrained fury. “I don’t want to hear it—and keep your hands to yourself. I need you to sit still while I…” And their voice shakes when they see all the blood covering him and the bullet holes riddling his armor. Their bottom lip wobbles. They suck in a sharp breath, eyes shutting tight for a moment. They take a deep, shaky breath, and when they reopen their eyes, their face is statuesque. “While I tend to your injuries.” Briar finishes clearing their throat, and they begin to take out the medical supplies.

That’s the last thing he sees before he blacks out.

He wakes up with a hoarse wheeze some indeterminable amount of time later, still in the same shack from the previous night and its nighttime again, he notices when he turns his head from where he’s lying on the floor and sees right outside into the shadowed, sandy Wastes because the doors been kicked in.

Looking to the right, he sees the legs of the wooden table in the center of the shack, and sees all three kids huddled underneath it, staring at him as he wakes up. Their eyes are shiny and alert. They must have had some water and something to eat. He notices that all their feet have been bandaged and the bullet wound on Penny’s leg has been dressed as well.

“Where’s…?” He asks while going through the laborious task of sitting up.

“Outside.” Penny tells him, frowning when she sees him clutch his side. “He’s keeping watch. Umm, shouldn’t you be laying down?”

He grunts, still sitting up anyways. That is, until a shadow cuts across the doorway and he sees Briar entering the shack.

“Yes, he should be.” His partner says, voice firm, and when their eyes fall on him, he slowly lays back down, resigning himself to stare up at the rotting ceiling. They sit in front of the table, blocking the kids from view of the doorway while simultaneously keeping an eye on it while they check his injuries.

Looking down, he realizes that his armor has been removed and his shirt has been unbuttoned. The tank top underneath has been neatly cut down the middle and pushed aside. There’s bandaging wrapped around his chest and on his side.

“There was no avoiding it.” They explain curtly.

“It’s fine.” He says, ignoring the uncomfortable feeling of still having his shirt open. It was just Briar and the kids here.

Briar checks to make sure his bandages are still neat and that none of his injuries have reopened. Satisfied, they give him some more Med-X and help him eat some dried jerky in between sips of water. Afterwards, they cut up and apple and tentatively feed him each slice, and his brain wanders over to Michael Masters, and then Tenpenny Tower, and he thinks of the shitty remark he made days ago and feels acutely like scum.

He wants to touch them, but he doesn’t want to piss them off any more than he has.

Briar buttons up his shirt efficiently, eyes on their hands and hands alone, and he feels better once his chest is covered up but feels guilty about still needing them to tip toe around him in such a way. They’ve never complained about all of his hang ups before: how he only allows them to touch certain parts of his body, how they’ve never seen his bare chest until now, and it was because he almost died.

He's a shitty boyfriend, he thinks as Briar spares him one last look before turning their attention over to the kids, who they hand out food and water to, before quietly asking them about their injuries.

With everyone settled, Briar returns outside to keep watch.

Sammy peeks their head out of the doorway sometime later and he hears them ask his partner, “Aren’t you sleepy?” In a timid way, like they’re expecting to be yelled at.

“I’m fine, thank you.” Briar says stiffly.

“O-Oh. Okay.” And Sammy crawls dejectedly away from them.

He hears Briar curse under their breath before they stand up and reenter the shack, pulling off their cloak and laying it across him and the kids, who are kind of all lying on the floor near him.

“How did you know I was cold?” Sammy asks, sitting up a little as the others adjust under the cloak.

“Your shoulders were shaking.” Briar says, and they eye him again briefly, “Let me know if you need anything else. We’ll have to start traveling at dawn so sleep as much as you are able to.”

He watches them leave again.

It’s a little hot as he falls asleep again with the kids sleeping around him like a bunch of orphaned wolf pups and a cloak draped across half his body, but he feels better than he did just laying exposed on the floor. In the morning, Briar wakes them all up, dresses everyone’s injuries and makes sure everyone eats, with their own breakfast consisting of two cigarettes and a swig of water.

It won’t be an easy walk back to Lamplight, but he can do it. He expresses exactly that to Briar.

“We’ll take as many breaks as we can afford but its preferable to just toughen it out and keep walking. We can make it there tonight if we really try.” Briar explains, and after everything has been packed up, the five of them leave.

Walking in a group like this is like having a spotlight on their backs, but there’s no avoiding it. The kids stay in the middle of him and Briar, all sharing the cloak so it’s less obvious that they have three kids with them and it looks more like they might have some kind of misshapen dog hidden away.

“Get behind him,” Briar orders the kids suddenly, jutting their chin at him as they notice something in their scope. He watches them slide into a kneeling position, using the top of their knee to brace their elbow as they aim.

He can’t see anything yet.

A second passes and a figure slips out from behind a large dead tree—a Raider, just one, but she’s got a grenade in her hand and is readying to pull the pin. She never gets the chance. Briar does her the favor of igniting the grenade by shooting it while it’s still clutched in her palm, and the Raider is rendered into segments from the explosion. Her limbs sit around like a doll that’s had its joints tugged off.

When their group reaches the body a few minutes later, Briar looks around for the Raider’s bottom half and digs through her pockets. They find a pack of bubblegum and that’s it. There’s only three pieces left, too.

Sighing, Briar hands it over to the kids.

Their group stops at a gas station to take a break in the shade. All the windows have been blasted to bits, so they can all tell its empty upon first looking. There’s no food left, and there’s only a few swigs of water left from the last can of purified water, which Briar stares at with a conflicted expression, before making the decision to have him finish it off.

“Umm,” Says Squirrel, and both he and Briar turn to look down at where they’re sitting, massaging the bottom of their feet clumsily. “I think my blisters popped.” They say, needlessly pointing at the spots of blood flecking the soles of their bandaged feet.

“…So they have.” Briar agrees gravely. “We don’t have any more Stimpacks, I’m afraid.” And they check their Pip-Boy, probably looking at the map. “We can’t risk checking places for supplies right now. The last thing we need is to stumble upon the Raider camp that woman came from.” They look over at Penny. “And how’s your leg?”

She looks at the floor meekly.

“It’s been hurting a lot the past hour.” She admits morosely.

Briar raises a hand to their face, shielding their eyes.

“I see.” They say, voice strained. “I’m sorry.” They speak up after a minute of uncomfortable silence. Briar lowers the hands from their face, and they offer a queasy smile to all three of the kids before kneeling to the ground. “Squirrel, you can ride on my back for the rest of the walk.”

“Are you sure?” They ask, standing up with a wince.

“Positive.”

Squirrel stares at them for a little bit, before finally walking over and looping their arms and legs around his partner’s torso. Briar stands up with a small breath, readjusting their hold on their sniper’s rifle. With their duffel also slung over one shoulder, their face was already pink from the exertion.

“Do you think you can carry Penny?” Briar asks.

“Not a problem.” He says, already picking her up and sitting her on his shoulders. Her legs were too short to ride on his back. He looks down at Sammy. “What about you?”

“I’m fine.” They say, although they seemed a little jealous about not being carried.

That’s remedied when Briar hands Sammy their knife.

“We’re vulnerable like this—having someone watch our backs would be a great help.” Briar explains.

Nodding eagerly, Sammy accepts the knife.

“If you see anything, say something. That knife is a last resort.” His partner finishes, and with a nod, the five of them all head out.

As estimated, by nightfall, the string lights of Little Lamplight become visible in the distance. All five of them breathe an audible sigh of relief, and the walk goes a little faster now that their goal is in sight.

Macready notices their group immediately.

“Holy shit—you mungos actually did it!” The kid says, before whistling sharply for someone else to open the wooden gates below. “Wipe your feet before you come in.” Macready adds snottily and disappears out of sight.

He hates that little fucker.

Deeper in the cave, in what was officially Little Lamplight, there are dozens of those same string lights from outside hanging from the mossy riddled ceiling, stalagmites stabbing out of the cave like teeth in a mouth readying to shut. There are wooden cabins with rotting wood scattered on the bottom floor of the cave and the top. The top area is connected by rope bridges he sincerely doubts will support someone of his weight, so he’s thankful they aren’t led that way by Sammy, who takes charge of leading them somewhere where they can all rest.

Sammy takes them to a cabin at seemingly random on the base floor, much to his relief, and there’s a bare lightbulb with a drawstring in the center of the ceiling. He tugs it, and the lightbulb flickers a few times before lighting up the cabin with yellow light.
Briar sets down Squirrel immediately, along with their duffel, before taking a seat and breathing hard. Their hair was flattened with sweat, which dripped down their face visibly.

“Sorry.” Squirrel says, looking ashamed.

“I’m just tired.” Briar waves a hand dismissively. “Haven’t slept in days.”

It’s not an intended jab at him, but it still stings.

“I can grab some medical stuff. Macready won’t mind. Just tell me what you need.” Sammy offers.

“A few Stimpacks, bandaging, tape, and rubbing alcohol. Or any kind of high proof alcohol.” Briar lists off easily, wiping their forehead on the sleeve of their recon armor. “And a lot more if any of these three get an infection. But we’ll worry about that bridge when we cross it.”

Nodding a little awkwardly, Sammy exits the cabin, audibly repeating the list so they can remember everything.

Penny and Squirrel sit down near each other, looking elated to be back and unable to stop from smiling at one another and bumping their arms together playfully. He looks at where Briar is sitting, their expression dark and their eyes unfocused.

He isn’t sure if he should sit next to them, but he does, leaving a respectable amount of space between them.

Sammy returns in no time at all, carrying a wooden crate in both arms. Once all the kids are taken care of, they thank the two of them profusely, but leave quickly with the explanation that they wanted to go see their friends.

The cabin door shuts and it’s just the two of them now.

“Your turn,” Briar says with zero inflection to their voice. They move to sit in front of him and reach out towards his shirt, before pausing. “Would it be easier if you unbuttoned your shirt yourself?” They ask.

“Maybe.”

They do a gesture with their hands as if saying ‘go on, then’, and wait patiently.

He forces his mind to think of nothing and unbuttons his shirts as quickly as he can. There’s no point in still wearing the bisected tank top anymore, so he grips one side of the fabric and pulls it hard enough to tear it off. He balls it up and tosses it in a corner.

“Thank you.” Briar says, and they peel back the bandaging on his chest, clean the bullet wound, and place new bandaging. The same is done to the side of his stomach and his other shoulder that had been shot.

He forgot just how many bullets he ate the other day. There was a bullet lodged in practically each region of his body, save for the delicate parts like his head and his dick. There wasn’t a Stimpack in the world strong enough to repair a dick blown to bits.

Finished, Briar packs things away and he buttons his shirt quickly.

“How are you feeling?” They ask.

“There’s some pain still.” He shrugs. “Sore, too.”

“Do you want some Med-X?”

He shakes his head.

“It’s fine—we have plenty.”

“I don’t want to be loopy.” He explains. “I want to talk.”

“Oh, do you now?” Briar scoffs loudly, sounding disgusted, and they stand up. “Well let’s talk, then! Let’s discuss what fucking sense there is in having rules if we don’t follow them.” They continue hotly, starting to pace the small cabin, but they don’t make it three steps in before stopping to whip their face towards him again. “You said back in Megaton that you wouldn’t sneak off without me!” And they raise a finger to point at him. “That’s what YOU said.”

He opens his mouth, trying to think of something to say, but there’s nothing.

He shuts it with a click, and looks down at his lap, ashamed.

“I know.” He says, swallowing hard.

“Why should I trust you when you pull shit like this? We’re supposed to be partners.” Briar says, voice tightening. “You said that I was yours—does that mean nothing? Is it that easy to leave me behind? Is that why everyone leaves me?” And their voice breaks and they cover their face.

He scrambles off the floor, heart sinking to his gut, and he goes to them but when he reaches out Briar shakes their head, rejecting his touch for the second time now.

He’d been prepared for the consequences of his betrayal, thinking it would be worth it, but now he isn’t so sure.

“I’m sorry.” He says, probably uselessly, but he’s compelled to say it anyways. “I couldn’t risk it.”

“Risk what?”

“Losing you.” He answers. “You don’t know the kind of things they would have done to you if they caught you.”

His explanation only serves to piss them off more. They stop crying completely and lower their hands to offer him a look of absolute fury.

“Of course, I know what a bunch of slavers and rapists would have planned for me. That’s why we were going to do this TOGETHER. Thank God I decided to follow you, because otherwise you’d be dead in some shack somewhere.”

He holds their stare.

“I’m just glad you’re safe and that you never had to set foot in that place. If the price is you being pissed off at me, then be as mad as you want.”

They look like they’re going to have an aneurysm.

“I’m glad I have your permission!” Briar returns furiously, voice pitched high, and they swiftly turn on heel and stomp towards the cabin’s entrance.

He follows closely behind, starting to panic.

“Don’t go off somewhere.” He says, and they ignore him. “Please,” He adds, and Briar freezes, rooted to the spot, their hand on the doorknob.

It’s hypocritical.

It’s unfair.

It’s more than he should be asking after everything that’s happened the last couple of days, yet he still found it within himself to be selfish.

He hears Briar take a deep breath.

“…I’m going to sit somewhere inside. Alone.” Briar says with bite a moment later, before slipping out the door and shutting it with a slam that rattles the windows.

He doesn’t see them for hours, but when Penny comes to visit him later and he asks about Briar’s whereabouts, she tells him that they’re around, just keeping to themselves.

He can deal with them needing space.

Or so he thought. Hours turn into days, and it’s been two days now since he’s even seen them and he’s starting to go just a little fucking crazy. He has everything he needs in the cabin: food, water, medical supplies, but none of it brings him the comfort that having the side next to him filled would.

Loneliness is a novel feeling. He’s never had anything to miss until now, and he was missing it fiercely. He feels Briar’s absence like he would a knife being twisted into his gut. He thinks if he goes to sleep one more time alone, he might go feral after all this time, and feeling like an animal pacing its cage he exits the cabin and explores Little Lamplight with an air of desperation.

“I-Is something wrong?” Squirrel asks him when the boy notices him passing through the middle of the settlement.

“Where’s Briar?” He asks brusquely.

“Probably in the same spot they’ve been.” The kid explains, pointing northwest towards the back of the cave’s bottom floor.

He doesn’t give an answer, already walking over to where they said.

He spots Briar sitting in a mossy alcove, back hunched as they use their lap as a table to mend his armor. It’s what they must have been busy with all this time—his armor looks halfway decent again. The glowing fungus growing out of the wall above them casts a faint green light to their hair.

They notice his arrival but don’t look at him.

They continue buffing dents out of his armor, leaving him to make the first move.

He grips his hands into fists and relaxes them repeatedly, thoughts churning in his skull.

“Hey,” He says, faltering, and he’s never felt this unsure with them before; this out of sync. It was like there was a stone wall between them and each attempt he made to break through it just led to the wall becoming more fortified.

“Hello,” Briar greets politely, setting down the hefty can of beans they were using to beat out a particularly stubborn dent, “How are you feeling?”

“Better. Thanks.” He answers awkwardly.

A hum, then silence.

He can’t help the step he takes forward.

“I’ve missed you.” He blurts out.

Briar’s face lifts slightly so they can give him a flat stare through their lashes.

“You wouldn’t have to miss me if you never leave.” They try to say meanly, but it comes out breathless and insecure and just as desperate as he feels.

“I won’t.”

“I’m not entirely convinced of that, if you’ll forgive me.” Briar snips, upset, and they stand up and set his armor in the spot they’d just been sitting in, looking as if they were preparing to leave.

If he’s not allowed to touch them, he decides to box them in so they can’t leave. He raises his hands and presses them on the wall on either side of their head.

“I won’t leave you again.” He says, and they shut their eyes, unable to meet his gaze. “I won’t.” He repeats, voice almost a whisper, and a pitiful sound slips from the back of Briar’s throat. “Let me convince you. Tell me what you need from me.”

Briar opens their eyes slowly, chest rising and falling rapidly.

Their expression steels.

“I want to touch you until I’ve convinced my brain that you’re back here alive and I haven’t just played some horrible trick on myself.” Briar tells him with grave seriousness, “And I want you to tell me exactly what you did out there—every step, from start to finish.”

Swallowing hard, he nods, backing off so they can lead the way back to the cabin.

There is something unnerving in the way they open the door and step aside and wait for him to enter first before following inside and locking the door. He left the light bulb on, but after he sits down in the spot against the wall where Briar points, he watches them pull the cord and shut the light off, filling the cabin with darkness.

Their Pip-Boy flashlight flicks on, and he hears a small hiss as the armband loosens so Briar can slip it off. They walk over to him and set their Pip-Boy down, facing away from the two of them. He eagerly hopes that they’re going to sit in his lap, but Briar positions themselves to stand on their knees, hovering OVER his lap instead.

“Can I touch?” He asks, looking up at them.

“No.” They say stiffly, and he begrudgingly keeps his hands to himself. Their hands reach out, settling on each of his shoulders, squeezing lightly, and that little touch alone makes him relax, now leaning his full weight against the wall of the cabin. Their hands glide up his neck, then cup both of his cheeks. Briar leans their forehead against his, eyes boring intensely into his. “Tell me what happened.”

He tells them everything. How he stole from their pack, how he used a slave to get his way in, the fact that he was familiar with Paradise Falls and a lot of the slavers that were still working the place, despite the decades that had passed. He mentions Barb, his employer before Ahzrukhal, but they don’t press for details about the excursions she made him do.

Briar takes his right arm between both of their hands, running their fingers up and down, starting from the tips of his fingers to his shoulder, fingertips dancing lightly. They curl two fingers around his wrist, feeling his pulse and how hard his heart is racing. The sensation varies in pleasantness, with him preferring how their fingers felt over cloth, instead of on the bare, ragged skin of his forearms, which he always left uncovered.

They trace nonsense patterns into the uneven plane of his palm. It sends a shiver down his spine, and he trips over his words. They repeat the entire process with his other arm, and by the time they set it down he’s breathing hard, and his gut is burning with heat.

He thought it would be discomforting to be touched so much and so intimately, but it feels frustratingly good. He wants more, even though he’s already getting so much—it feels like there’s a gaping hole in him waiting to be filled.

“You stopped talking,” Briar chastises, moving their hands back to his chest where they start feeling up his pecs, hyperaware of the injury on his left, and purposely keeping their touch light. They don’t really allow him to correct his mistake because as soon as he starts talking, they start groping his chest like they would a pair of tits and it makes his breath catch in his throat.

It takes him a while to spit out any words that make sense. Especially when he looks down and catches Briar lowering their face to his right pec, their mouth opening so they can sink their teeth in lightly. They don’t flinch away from his gaze when their eyes lock, and it makes his hips buck up erratically, his dick straining painfully in his jeans.

“I know the rest.” Briar interrupts later when he starts talking about the abandoned shack he stayed the night in. “You know, I am getting very sick and tired of getting left behind only to end up saving the ass of the very person that left me.”

“I can’t lose you.” He argues weakly.

“And I can lose you??” They ask, distraught, and their hands start to shake; their knees giving out and plopping them into his lap. The sudden contact is dizzying, but he’s more concerned about the way they’re hiding their face in his chest. “You are not my meat shield, and I am not some damsel in distress that you need to trip over yourself to protect! We’re partners!”

One of their hands curls into a fist and bangs weakly against his chest as they start to weep pitifully.

“I’m sorry,” He says again, heart clenching, “I won’t leave you behind anymore. Not for anything. I promise.” And he feels them shake their head against his chest, disbelieving. “I promise,” He repeats, swallowing hard and hands twitching, “Can I touch you? Please.” After a long moment of consideration, he feels Briar nod weakly. He wraps his arms around them and quickly scoops them into his arms, burying his face into their neck.

“You’re mine.” He breathes into their neck and Briar shivers against him. “I missed you so fucking much. Let me show you.”

He's in no shape to be hunched over someone or standing, so he gestures for Briar to stand up, their boots now bracketing his thighs.

“Unzip your suit.” He instructs, voice husky, and Briar chews on their lip as they bring up their hands to tug down the zipper all the way down. They shimmy their arms out their suit and tug it all down past their thighs, blushing the entire time. He shoves their boxers down roughly and curls one hand behind their thigh and pulls them closer, their half hard dick a breath away from his mouth.

He doesn’t bother with working them up to full hardness with his hands. He opens his mouth and takes their dick completely into his mouth, tongue flat underneath it, and the salt of their precum eases a content hum out of his throat. Briar sets a hand on the wall. He feels them get harder in his mouth, nudging against his throat now. He drags his nails up and down the back of their thigh, liking the peach fuzz there and they whine.

He guides them into fucking his mouth, encouraging them to use whatever pace they wanted, but they keep it at a relatively slow pace. He doesn’t have a gag reflex—they could be as rough as they wanted. Still, they treat him gently, even raising their other hand to card their fingers through the wayward patches of his hair.

It’s hot. He wants to feel their touch forever.

He takes his dick out, spits the excess spit and precum in his mouth into his palm, and starts to jerk himself roughly while hollowing his cheeks more. Briar thrusts into his mouth suddenly, moaning loudly, and they apologize, but he’s not sure for which. Their soft, pale thigh was great to fondle, but he slips his hand further up and squeezes their ass firmly and they whimper.

He rubs his hand over one cheek, massaging, and Briar arches their back, partially slumping against the wall now, their ass sticking up like they want him to stand behind him and fuck them. He can’t wait to—there hasn’t been any time and every place they’ve been to lately is too dangerous or too weird. It was bad enough they were fooling around in a place like this, but it’s so easy to forget about everything when Briar sobs his name, sounding like they desperately needed something just out of reach.

He slips his hand between their cheeks and traces the pad of a finger around their hole and they sing—there’s no other word for it, the sound is long and wavering. Sweet, and just for him. They always make so much noise for him. Like a songbird, he thinks.

One he wants to keep all to himself.

“C-Charon,” Briar sighs prettily, arching against his finger, still fucking into his mouth. Their legs are beginning to shake. He hums around them, jerking himself off at the same time while he nudges their entrance with his finger and when he adds the barest amount of pressure, not even slipping his finger in, their hips lurch and they cum with broken cry. He swallows it down greedily, not a trace of cum on their still twitching dick as they weakly pull out of his mouth.

Briar collapses beside him and kisses him. It’s the first kiss in days and the softness of their mouth, the way they taste themselves on his tongue, pushes him over the edge and he curses and curses while he spills into his hand.

They sit in a heap of limbs, sweat and feelings afterwards.

Briar even falls asleep atop him, still hugging him, and the last thing he wants to do is wake them or have them leave, so he carefully scoots down off the wall until he’s lying on his back. He curls an arm behind his head to use as a pillow, keeping his other arm around their waist.

A calm falls over him like a shroud and his eyes shut.

Chapter Text

Briar sleeps the entire day away atop him.

He lets them, because it’s his fault that they were as sleep deprived as they were currently, but even if it wasn’t, he’s more than content to stay like this. He only moves them when he needs to get up to use the bathroom, or eat, and each time they wake up enough to grab onto a part of him, his arm, his retreating ankle—anything, and it wasn’t until he explained what he was doing and had returned that they allowed themselves to knock back out.

What wakes them up now is someone knocking on the door of the cabin.

Briar makes a miserable sound, cracking open an eye and clutching a handful of his shirt.

“It’s Penny! Can I come in?” The girl asks, voice pitched loudly. The doorknob jiggles as she impatiently tries to force her way in.

Briar hides their face into his chest and groans. He rolls over onto his side and gently slips them off his chest so he can stand up and answer the door. He unlocks the door, pulls it open and finds Penny looking relieved.

“Oh, you’re okay!” She says, which confuses him, and at his dumbfounded look she continues, “We weren’t sure if your friend was going to beat you up or not. He seemed really, really mad.”

“I’m still mad.” Briar finds enough energy to speak up, voice rough from sleep.

He stiffens a little at that, not sure if he wants to look behind him and see what kind of expression they’re making at him. Penny peeks her head around him to peer into the cabin to look at Briar, not at all bothered by the foul mood radiating from within the cabin like a miasma.

“Macready wanted to talk with you.” She tells Briar.

“Me? Right now?” His partner clarifies, and when Penny nods her head, he hears them curse under their breath. “I’ll be up in a few minutes. Where is he?”

“At the guard post.”

“Understood.” Briar huffs with annoyance, sounding like they were beginning to sit up now. Penny leaves with a wave, and he shuts the door and heads back inside to sit beside his partner while they take out a can of water and get started on washing their hands and face, having to do the process twice because they were so caked in sand and sweat.

They even dump some over their head and scrub furiously at their scalp, before taking out their comb and going through the grueling process of detangling their rebellious hair. He knows that typically Briar likes to spend their time and enjoy the process of getting ready each morning, so seeing them grip and pull at themselves so roughly was jarring—and a little bit worrying.

“Let me,” He says, when their comb gets stuck in their hair again and they look two seconds away from just yanking it out, uncaring if a clump of hair gets pulled out. He moves to sit behind them, and the comb is handed over to him with a frustrated huff. He doesn’t use the comb just yet, setting it down on his lap so he can finger comb their curly hair. His fingers get caught a few times, but he works out each tangle gently.

It takes several minutes just getting their hair sorted but by the time he’s finished Briar’s shoulders have relaxed a fair bit. He hands them back the comb, but not before leaning forward and kissing the crown of their head.

“Thank you.” Briar says, sounding tired, instead of angry, and they stand up before they grab something from their duffel: their pack of cigarettes. He pulls his lighter out and has the ember waiting for them before they’ve even got a cigarette between their lips.
They notice the flame and lower enough to light the tip before inhaling deeply.

“I’ll be back. Make sure to eat and drink something. I’ll check your injuries when I return.” They announce, straightening, and exit the cabin with a trail of smoking following them.

They haven’t put their Pip-Boy back on yet, so he grabs it and turns Agatha’s radio station on. Sometimes he tunes in too early, or too late, and there’s only static, but he’s in luck this time and finds her already in the middle of a song. He goes about his own ‘morning’ rituals with far less care than his partner.

His body still hurts a fair amount, and his muscles and joints are almost rigid with how stiff and overworked they are. The stiffness might rival the pain itself—he can barely bend over to pick up anything. He can’t imagine walking any kind of distance today, but he can suck it up if needed. He’ll suck up and deal with a lot of things today if it means he sees Briar emote in any other way than looking three seconds away from shooting something.

Or crying.

A new wave of guilt rolls over him and he finds himself losing interest in the food he’s eating. ‘Is that why everyone leaves me?’ echoes again in his brain, Briar’s miserable, broken voice as clear as day. Whatever he prevented from happening at Paradise Falls was tarnished by the fact that he’s only made their trust issues worse.

Twice now they’ve been abandoned in their sleep. No wonder they kept waking up every time he got up. The only difference between him and James is that he wasn’t fucked up enough to drug them before he left. That, and Briar knew exactly where he was going, not needing to follow breadcrumbs when he left such an obvious trail.

The door to the cabin opens quietly while he’s engrossed in thought.

“What did they want?” He asks while they walk over to him and drag over their duffel and medical supplies.

“Macready gave us permission to go into the Vault whenever. He has one of his friends working on a terminal to open the safest route for us.” Briar explains while waiting for him to unbutton his shirt for them.

“There’s more than one route?”

“Yes, apparently the other route is called ‘Murder Pass’ so I’m relieved we won’t have to take that one.”

“No kidding.” He says, and begrudgingly asks what he’s been avoiding: “Are we going there today?”

Their hands completely pause so they can give him a flat look.

“Absolutely not. You’re still in bad shape, we’re low on supplies, and I don’t feel quite all there myself.” They explain. “I think we should rest for a few more days and then check out the Vault. Macready has already said it’s okay for us to keep using this place and there’s no rush, after all.”

“What are we going to do about resupplying?”

“Tomorrow, I’d like you to stay here with the kids to fend off any visits from slavers while I head out to check the places nearby. I won’t be gone the full day—a few hours at most. I’ll write down the places I plan on going to in case I don’t return.” They explain delicately, as if expecting an argument, but as much as he dislikes them leaving by themselves, he is really in no position at all to shoot down the plan.

They were sorely in need of supplies, of which he was consuming the majority of, and while using the supplies the kids here offer them tides things over, he couldn’t deny that he felt guilty relying on them at all.

“Sounds good.” He says, knowing he’ll be regretting it tomorrow when they leave and the contract starts up its bullshit, but he can handle it. It would only be six or seven hours at most, or so he hopes.

Briar hums their response and finishes checking up on him. When he starts buttoning his shirt back up, he winces, the joints in his shoulders protesting.

“What is it?” Briar asks immediately, moving his hands away so they can finish doing it for him with far more ease.

“Body’s stiff.” He admits through gritted teeth.

“Can I help you stretch? It’s going to be annoying and painful, but you’ll feel worse if we don’t loosen up your body.” They say. “I can give you a massage afterwards. Your shoulders are probably in terrible shape.”

He doesn’t know if he should accept. Even though it’s for his well-being, he feels like he ought to decline.

“You want to?” He asks, not looking at them.

“I do,” They say, “You pissing me off doesn’t negate the fact that I care about you.”

He lowers his face completely, now staring at his lap.

Silently, he nods.

Briar is as gentle as they can be as they start helping him stretch out his arms, having him roll his shoulders clockwise and counterclockwise, but it still hurts. Each movement makes him tense, letting out a hiss, and it gets worse when they have him lay flat on his back so they can take one of his legs in both arms and slowly bend it towards his chest.

His knee, hips and lower back scream in protest and he clenches his eyes shut tightly and tries not to make a big deal out of it.

“We can take as many breaks as you want.” Briar tells him, letting up for now so he can breathe for a moment. They steal his lighter and light up another cigarette. He wants one too, but he thinks if he tries to sit up right now, he won’t be able to and he doesn’t want to smoke lying down and have ash fall all over his face.

Noticing his eyes lingering on the hand clutching the cigarette, Briar takes another puff before crawling over him and hovering their face above his. They lower slowly and kiss him, smoke teasing out of their mouth. When his lips part and he kisses back, their mouth opens wider and they breathe more smoke into his mouth.

They feed him the rest of their cigarette this way. It’s probably the best smoke he’s ever had in his life. It’s hot, but there’s also something extremely vulnerable about this. Something that makes him feel like he’s been cut open and laid bare.
His chest twinges painfully behind his ribs when they let up, the cigarette finished now.

Briar gets back to work on his legs, then has him flip over onto his stomach once that’s taken care of. It’s as they’re massaging his back that the door to the cabin suddenly opens, with Squirrel, Penny and Sammy all standing there with a bunch of clothes in their hands.

“It’s customary to knock first.” Briar chastises from where they’re kneeling beside him, hands working on a particularly stubborn knot in his lower back. “Do you three need something?”

“You’re a doctor, right?” Sammy asks, stepping into the cabin and dropping a few clothes from the mountain in their hands. They bend down to scoop up the wayward shirt but end up dropping even more clothes, much to the amusement of their friends.

“To a degree,” Briar answers, “Why?”

“Doctors know how to do stitches right? So you know how to sew, too?” Penny speaks up.

Briar’s hands still on his back.

“I think I can guess what you need.” They say with a sigh. “If those clothes need mending, leave them in a pile and I’ll take care of them when I’m done.” And as soon as the words leave their lips all three kids dump the clothes unceremoniously onto the floor, already rearing to head back out and do whatever it is kids do in a place like this. “Just a moment!” They call out, and the kids stop. “I’ll do it, but I’m teaching you how to sew so you don’t have to rely on drifters to look presentable.”

“You’re going to teach us?” Squirrel blinks while looking thoroughly stunned.

“Yes, but only after I’m finished.” They assure, moving their hands again and he hums. “Come back in half an hour. And knock!” And the kids run out, already talking excitedly amongst themselves. “I need another cigarette.” They say as soon as the door shuts.

The difference in his body is night and day when he stands up and stretches again later.

“You should stretch every day if you can remember to. You’re tall—all your body’s gravity is on your feet, knees and lower back.” They say, and remembering something, they speak up again. “Can you take off one of your boots? And your sock—I want to see something.”

He gives them a look before leaning against the wall with one hand and tugging his half laced boot off. He rolls the sock off with one finger and sticks out his foot so they can look.

“You can set your foot down. I want to see how it sits against the ground.” And when he does as instructed Briar lowers their face to the ground so they can see something. They make a disapproving hum. “You have flat feet.”

“Does that matter?”

Briar takes off one of their own boots and approaches to stand in front of him, standing to the side so he can see how their foot sits against the floor.

“See how the arch in my foot stops it from completely touching the ground? You don’t have that. Do your feet tend to hurt more than other parts of your body?”

“Somethings always hurts.” He shrugs. “Hard to tell.”

His answer makes their eyes soften and Briar slips their hand into his and squeezes.

“Always?” They ask again and he nods. Their lips turn downwards in a frown. He hadn’t meant to upset them. “I’m going to study to see what I can do to relieve the pain. For now, the only thing I can think of is administering small doses of Med-X as needed, but we would have to be careful about you building up a tolerance—and an addiction. Is this something that you’ll let me discuss with Dr. Li?”

He wasn’t expecting such an answer.

“I can just deal with it like I always have.” He says.

Their eyes sharpen.

“Absolutely not.” They say fiercely and swiftly bring up their joined hands to press a kiss atop his hand. “We’ll figure this out together.”

He meets their gaze, utterly transfixed.

He ducks down a significant amount and steps forward to cup their face with his other hand, leaning in to kiss them.

A bunch of excited knocking stops him when his lips are just a breath away from theirs.

Sucking his teeth, he straightens.

Or he tries to, but Briar grabs a handful of his shirt and tugs him back down so they can kiss him ravenously, practically climbing him like a tree, before they jump off him like they’ve been burned and go to open the door of the cabin, leaving him standing there reeling.

“Now wait just a fucking second,” Briar says, sounding exasperated, and when he finally looks at the doorway, he realizes why. It wasn’t just Penny, Squirrel and Sammy at the door—there were a bunch of other kids. “I thought I agreed on teaching you THREE, where did the rest come from?”

“But wouldn’t it be better if you just showed a bunch of us?” Penny says, pushing her way past his partner and heading into the cabin. She smiles at him in greeting before plopping down and taking a seat at random.

“The idea was that I show a few of you, and then you teach the rest—”

“That’s boring! It’s more fun this way.” Someone interrupts.

“Oh, for God’s sake,” Briar says, pinching their nose as they walk away from the door and head to where their Pip-Boy lays discarded, still faintly playing the radio, which they shut off before slipping it onto their wrist. “Fine.” They agree at last and there is a mass murmur of excited thanks.

Briar seats themselves in the center of the room, legs crossed so they can use their lap as a table. All six of the kids that had poured in seat themselves in a half crescent around his partner, their eyes glued to the way Briar takes out a needle, scissors and a spool of thread from the medical supply box.

For all their complaining, once the kids are settled down and Briar can walk them through step by step the process of them patching a hole in a shirt, his partner looks like they’re enjoying themselves. The kids listen, which helps, and the first attempts that many of them make to patch up their own shirts are halfway decent.

“Oww!” Sammy yelps, and when his eyes flick over to the boy he sees that they’re holding up a pricked finger.

“You’re doing it too fast.” Briar explains while handing over a band aid.

“How come you can do it fast?”

“Because I’ve been sewing my own shirts since I was your age.” Briar explains with a hint of humor, “And I don’t have to worry about pricking my fingers.”

“Why’s that?” Sammy asks, curious, and Briar sets the shirt and needle down to hold out both of their hands palm up.

“Callouses.” They say, and Sammy reaches out and pokes some of them.

A good amount of the clothes in the pile gets fixed up, and while Briar looks geared up to tackle the rest, their body protests; their stomach growling so loudly that everyone in the room stops what they’re doing and turns towards them, himself included.

“…Do you need some food? We can give you some.” One of the kids offers and Briar’s face turns scarlet with embarrassment.

“I have food!” They protest, “I just forgot to eat.”

“How do you forget to eat?” Penny asks, giving Briar a strange look.

“Good question.” He agrees, already grabbing an apple out of his duffel. He polishes it clean on his sleeve before making eye contact with Briar and tossing it over.

They catch it with one hand and take a bite.

“You aren’t supposed to stare at people eating.” Briar sighs when all the children are just sitting there gawking at them. “Speaking of which, where do you all get your food from? Do you send out a group for supplies?”

“Yeah, but it’s really risky, so sometimes we just eat whatever.”

“Whatever being…?”

“Mushrooms, moss, Radroaches—you know, whatever.” A kid shrugs.

Briar stops eating their apple at once, only half of it gone, but now looking so horrified that their own appetite is the last thing they can focus on.

“Are you okay? Are you full already?” Another kid asks, frowning.

“F-Fine.” Briar says weakly, and they shoot him a meaningful look, before finishing up the apple quickly, core and all, and they neatly spit out the stem and seeds into their palm before tossing them to the ground. “I think I’m going to head out while there’s still daylight.”

“What? Why?” He asks.

“Hunting.” They explain, grabbing their sniper’s rifle, knife, and a few other things from their duffel. “We have everything to make a stew, save for meat. I spotted a few animals on our initial trek here so there must be some in the area.”

So had he. There had been a family of Radstags he spotted when they were looking for Little Lamplight but there wasn’t any time to hunt, let alone process an animal.

Briar refused to eat insects— not that he blames them. No one of sound mind with other options available would choose to eat bug meat as their first choice and bug meat and moss looked exactly like what these kids had been eating the entirety of their childhood. They were so small for their age. Malnourished to a degree that was uncommon even amongst other kids out in the Wastes.

They don’t act like they’re starving, but he thinks that’s just because their bodies were already so used to eating so little and so infrequently.

“If you catch anything I’ll gut and clean it for you.” He offers, and their shoulders sag with visible relief. “And if we’re going to be cooking, let me do it.”

“You can cook???” Penny asks.

“Most people can.”

“I can’t.” She shrugs, and now he’s the one sighing.

“You can watch me later. If he brings back something, that is.” He tells her, but the invitation is open to any of them.

He walks Briar to the entrance of Little Lamplight, Macready missing from his post, or hiding, he can’t tell, and he doesn’t care as he pulls Briar up into his arms and kisses them. He hears a minute sound of disgust, so the kid must be hiding.

“Be careful.” He tells them, and Briar doesn’t smile but there’s a hint of one on their lips.

He waits at the entrance, throwing rocks against the wall and counting the minutes in his head. A few times in the corner of his eyes he sees Macready peek out from the wooden post to stare at him.

“You’d have an easier time spying on me without that stupid ass hat giving you away.” He remarks almost too quietly for them to hear, and Macready takes the bait and pops into vision fully, their face pinched with irritation.

“Who says I was spying, you fucking mungo!” They berate, and he huffs a laugh at how their voice cracks.

They go back to ignoring him and he goes back to throwing rocks.

Twenty minutes pass and the only noise in the cave’s entrance is the wind kicking up sand.

“Is it just you who guards the place?” He asks, bored enough now to entertain whatever asinine remarks they might have.

“Who else do you see coming up here?” Macready returns, “I’m the best with guns and I’m the mayor so it’s MY job to protect the place.”

“Ever get scared?”

“Who fucking doesn’t? Are you stupid?”

“Good answer.” He says, nonplussed. “Any jackass who thinks they’re above fear is always the first one to die. Fear is good to have. It keeps your senses sharp.”

“What about you then, mungo—ever get scared? I doubt you run into anything scarier looking than yourself.”

“I’m scary looking?” He mocks, and their face flushes with embarrassment.

“Not to ME! I have no problem shooting your ass.” Macready huffs.

“Uh-huh.” Is all he says.

He feels them glaring down at him with the sheer intensity of the sun.

He doesn’t pay Macready any further attention, even closing his eyes to nap a little while he waits.

Three hours later he spots Briar walking through the dirt towards the settlement, a young Radstag hefted over their shoulders with both arms looped around the legs to keep it stable. Their face is red with exertion and they’re dripping with sweat by the time they make it to the cave’s entrance, and he shoots up to take the carcass, which he notices has a singular bullet wound in its skull.

“Nice work.” He says, kissing their sweat slicked forehead and taking the carcass from them to lay it on the floor.

They mention something about bringing him a rope and bucket before disappearing and returning with said items, and then handing over their knife before disappearing again, this time to presumably wash up—and hopefully eat another apple, or SOMETHING, while they waited for the stew to be prepared. He thinks they might have lost a pound or two over the past week.

He thinks about how skinny they are, then thinks about how skinny the kids are too while he gets started on hauling the carcass and rope outside so he can tie up the Radstag to a pole. It hangs there limply, and while he’s outside of the cave now he’s certain Macready is still there watching as he now grips Briar’s knife in one hand and steadies the Radstag’s neck in the other.

He makes a clean cut across its neck and blood starts to gush out in a river into the bucket below.

Once the blood has been completely drained he picks up the bucket and walks a small distance away from Little Lamplight to discard the blood, not wanting to attract any large animals to the settlement. When he returns he braces one hand on the Radstag’s flank before sinking the knife deeply into its gut and then working it down towards the sternum. When he glances over to the guard post he notices that Macready looks a bit green in the face from watching him work, yet they’re still forcing themselves to watch.

“You don’t need to see this.” He says while sinking his hands in deep to cut away the digestive tract first, making sure not to puncture it and spoil the insides with filth. He drops it unceremoniously into the bucket, hands and forearms caked in animal blood.

The rest of the organ meat not worth eating goes into the bucket as well, save for the liver, which he tucks away into a bunch of parchment, same for the best cuts of the meat which take a lot more effort cutting away.

It takes him all afternoon processing the Radstag, but by the time he finishes there was meat, bones, a hide, and plenty more to be used. The cabin being used solely for food storage has a working fridge thankfully, so he doesn’t have to break his back salting and preserving all this meat. He puts everything away that he won’t be using for the stew and he exits the place, going back to the cabin he and Briar have been staying in to wash all the blood and gunk off before heading to the extinguished campfire that sat in the middle of the base floor of Little Lamplight, looking as if it had never been used.

Briar hadn’t been in the cabin when he went there to wash up.

He wonders what they’re up to but doesn’t think too deeply about it as he goes back outside to grab kindling for the fire before grabbing everything he needs for the stew: a pot, some water, and the rest of the ingredients from his duffel. When the fire is roaring and he’s peeling some carrots and potatoes, a few of the kids start to peek their heads out from the cabins they’re staying in and cautiously approach to sit around the fire and watch him. They relax a lot when Penny, Squirrel and Sammy show up, with the three of them cutting the silence by eagerly asking him questions about what he’s doing.

With the vegetables simmering at the bottom of the pot with some oil and flour, he waits for it to thicken up and gets started on cutting some meat into chunks. He tosses that in next and the pot sizzles loudly before quieting again. He forgot to bring a rag to clean his hands. Realizing he was going to have to get up and go back to the cabin for the dozenth time that day, he sighs and starts sitting up.

He pauses when he’s half standing, just now noticing Briar standing a few yards off, leaning against the side of their shared cabin where they had presumably been watching him cook this whole time. They’re smoking. Without a flicker of emotion, they slip into the cabin before reappearing with a rag, the bar of soap they shared, and a thing of water before walking over to the campfire and handing over everything to him.

How long had they been staring? He must be more tired than he realizes if he hadn’t felt someone’s eyes on him.

“Thanks.” He says, a little off kilter under their intense gaze. “Something up?”

“No. Just lost in thought. Don’t mind me.” Briar dismisses, still smoking, and realizing that their smoke was wafting towards the kids, they swat the air aggressively and move away.

“You aren’t going to sit with us?” One of the kids asks.

“In a minute. You shouldn’t inhale smoke.” Briar explains.

“Then why are you?” Penny challenges.

“Because I like it.”

“It smells gross.”

“Even more reason for me not to smoke around you.” They return, and Penny pouts as Briar walks off and finishes their cigarette. He thinks her intention was to get Briar to snub out the cigarette early, not wander away again.

She stops pouting two minutes later when Briar returns and Penny gets up from her spot next to Squirrel and Sammy and seats herself hip to hip with his partner, sitting up eagerly and looking cleaner than she had earlier. Every time Briar spoke, or moved, the girl’s eyes drank it in eagerly.

Someone was getting a crush, clearly.

He bites back a smirk.

The stew takes an hour to finish but the time passes quickly as the kids ask Briar and himself about a thousand questions each. There aren’t enough bowls for everyone, so some must use cups. He serves all the kids first, then Briar, then himself. The stew is pretty good, but he kind of wishes he asked Agatha for the recipe of hers before they left.

He sets his bowl down immediately when Briar stands up instead of eating beside him.

“What’s up?” He asks.

“I need to bring Macready his portion. He deserves to take a break to eat so I’ll take over guard duty.” They explain.

You deserve a break, too, he thinks, but he keeps it to himself and simply hands them an additional cup of stew. He watches them leave. His disappointment must show in his features or in the way he boredly returns to eating.

“Are you two best friends?” Sammy asks. “Is that why he didn’t beat you up?”

He snorts. He doesn’t understand why the kids are so certain that Briar can knock him on his ass, despite the unmissable size difference.

“Yeah. That’s why.” He says, shaking his head with amusement.

“Macready said he saw you kissing him.” Squirrel remarks and Penny makes a horrified expression before turning to stare at him, her mouth wide open and her eyes alarmed.

He stops eating and turns towards Squirrel.

“Tell Macready to mind his fucking business.” He huffs, even though he knows they won’t.

“Are you together? Like…how my mom and dad were?” Penny asks morosely, and the mention of her parents causes a domino effect; all the kids start looking glum, some of them even looking close to crying.

“Yeah.” He decides to just answer honestly. She nods meekly, clearly disappointed. “Where did you all come from? Why is it just you here?”

“We came from the Vault!” Sammy says as if that was obvious. “Uhh, not us, but our parents and the big kids that left. We used to live deeper in the caves, I think, and someone tried to get into the Vault, but some mungo on the other side said they wouldn’t help us! It’s kind of the reason we don’t let mungos inside—other than you guys, of course! You’re different.”

That didn’t explain what happened to their parents, but he isn’t going to push the topic and end up with a bunch of sobbing, grieving children that needed to be soothed.

“What happens when you kids get older?” He asks, just now noticing that there wasn’t a single kid that looked older than thirteen, unless there were some he hadn’t met yet.

“Macready sends them off to Big Town. Get it? We named it that because its where all the big kids go.” Squirrel says.

Big Town? He thinks he remembers passing a settlement with a sign painted with that name when he and Briar had first found Agatha’s home. Calling it a town was generous—the place looked inhabited by three or four people, tops, and there were no defenses other than the person that sat at the entrance with a poorly maintained gun. There had been no soil tilled, no plants growing, and no water sources nearby.

He keeps what he thinks the fate of that place will be to himself.

“If you let the big kids stay here, you’d have more people to send out for supplies and more people to teach you stuff.” He explains.

“It’s not allowed! No mungos!” Penny tells him stubbornly. “And the big kids didn’t teach us anything while they were here anyways!”

“They probably didn’t know anything to teach you.” He points out and that comes as a huge revelation to all the kids. “Who was supposed to teach them? The other big kids you sent out who also know nothing?”

“But…” Penny says, but he remains firm.

“There’s strength in numbers. There’s strength in experience. This place has neither of those.” He tells them flatly. “I’m not your leader. I’m just saying what I think.”

The kids fall quiet as they mull that over. Despite the dampened mood, it doesn’t stop the kids from falling asleep later in the exact spots they were sitting; too full of what may very well be their first cooked meal in their lives. He mulls on THAT observation for a while, trying not to feel even more cynical about the world.

He gets up from his seat and heads towards the guard post at the entrance of the cave. He climbs up the ladder and heads to the top for the first time and finds Briar seated next to Macready, a little closer than he expects the mayor to let them be, but he notices that the kid’s face is red, and their eyes are puffy, clearly from crying.

Upon noticing his arrival, Macready’s face cuts into a scowl.

“What are you staring at, mungo?” They spit hotly, but Briar reaches out and sets a hand on their shoulder. Macready looks down at the hand, then up at his partner. Sees something in their face that he can’t from this angle, because their back is towards him. Macready sucks their teeth and looks away, temper fizzling out.

“I made the mistake of smoking up here thinking that the wind would carry it off. A big cloud went right in his face and caught him off guard.” Briar explains smoothly, looking over their shoulder to regard him, but the meaningful look they shoot him confirms that the mayor had in fact been bawling their eyes out over something.

“Rude.” He says, playing along, and takes a seat to rest his back against the rotting wood.

“I’m unfit for society.” Briar agrees sagely. “Did the rest of the kids finish eating?”

“Yeah. They’re conked out by the fire.”

“It was very good stew. Thank you for cooking.” Briar says, smiling the faintest now, and he subdues the urge to lean over and kiss them.

“Thanks for hunting.” He says, and feeling sympathetic for once, he turns his attention towards Macready. “We could keep watch tonight if you wanted to sleep with the others.”

“I’m the mayor—” They protest stubbornly.

“Having one night off isn’t going to change that.” Briar interrupts. “You can trust us. Why would we go through the trouble of risking our lives to bring back your friends just to screw you over now? It seems a little silly, doesn’t it?”

“…” Macready is silent for a while as they chew that over, their face visibly conflicted. “Fine. FINE. You better not make me regret this.” And they push up and grab their gun before stalking off.

Briar takes a deep breath, sighing, and then moves over to him so they can also lean their back against the wood. The wooden railing is low enough that even seated both can see the entrance of the cave just fine.

“What was he crying about?” He asks.

“A lot of things. He’s stressed out about being mayor. He feels bad that Penny, Squirrel and Sammy got captured. He feels even worse about relying on ‘mungos’ to save them.” Briar explains.

“I’m surprised he admitted to any of that.”

“It kind of just…burst out of him? After we finished eating, I looked at his gun and fixed it up a bit. Something about that just put him in the mood to speak, I guess. Maybe he was just so stressed out he had no other choice and figured it was better to cry in front of a stranger than the other kids.”

“Probably.” He says, agreeing to that last part. “It’s a wonder how any of them survived this long. Did he tell you that they send out all the older kids? They go to that shithole we passed on our way to Agatha’s.”

“Big Town?”

“Yeah.”

“The guard we saw sitting in the front looked younger than me, so that makes sense. What doesn’t make sense is why they’re sending off all the older kids when they need as much protection and working hands as they can afford.”

“That’s what I said.” He agrees, “And its because of some stupid rule. An adult told the kids to fuck off when they needed help and now they refuse to deal with adults at all. It’s going to get them all killed.”

Briar hums, face pinched as if a migraine was starting, and he can hear the gears in their head whirring as they mull over everything. They settle into staring at the entrance of Little Lamplight. Their eyes are unfocused as they lick their dry, peeling lips. Dehydration makes itself known elsewhere—their frazzled hair, the gaunt coloration underneath their eyes and painting their cheekbones.

He gently slips his arms around them and pulls them to sit into his lap, their back pressed against his chest now instead of the harsh wood. They don’t say anything. They just let themselves be moved. Even when he rests his chin atop their head and holds them a little tighter, his partner remains as silent as the grave.

“I hate it when you’re quiet.” He admits.

Briar stiffens a little, as if just now realizing they’d been moved.

“…You are perhaps the first person in history to share that opinion.” Briar speaks at last, sounding a little rueful, “Usually people are falling over themselves to find a reason to shut me up.”

He sucks his teeth and holds them tighter.

“I like listening to you. I could do it for hours.” He argues.

“You do already—even when I’m bitching.” They point out with an iota of amusement in their voice now.

“I like hearing you bitch.”

“Do you, now?”

“You’re really good at it.” He says and they let out a quiet laugh. “Whatever’s on your mind—you can say it. You’ll feel better if you voice some of those thoughts you’re ruminating over. Even if its about me—especially if its about me—you should get it off your chest. It’s not good that you always bottle things up.”

“There’s never any time to deal with things.” They sigh.

“We have time now.” He says. “You’ve been taking good care of me and the kids. Let me return the favor. I know you’re still pissed off at me, but,” And he fumbles, growing less confident than when he’d started, “…Don’t shut me out. Please.”

Briar takes a deep, deep breath, finally relaxing against him fully.

“…Where do I begin?” They say with exasperation. “I haven’t been sleeping well. My diet has been even worse. I’ve been smoking like a chimney and every time I close my eyes to sleep, I feel like I’m about to have a heart attack. Maybe it won’t be a bullet that gets me in the end—it’s a fair bet on my blood pressure or my heart giving out first.

“I can’t shut my brain off. There’s too much to think about: finding the G.E.C.K, finding a cure for your conditioning, if there even is one, and now we’ve stumbled across a settlement full of children who know nothing of survival. Oh, and we both just got the news we have PTSD, and I still haven’t had the time to learn more about how we should cope with it—and that’s not even including your chronic pain, which is something else I’ll need to study about. I can’t stand the thought of you dealing with this for any longer than you have. Decades of pain and…”

He shushes them when they start to breathe erratically.

“Take a second.” He says calmly, and they nod. “…It’s been easier to forget how awful my life has been. It gets easier day by day with you. If everything I went through was to lead me to you, then it was worth it. I’d go through it all again if I knew it led to this.”

Briar squirms against his hold to turn around and face him.

They look ready to cry.

“What?” He says, worried.

“You can’t just say something like that.” They say breathlessly. “I mean—me? How could I have made any of what you went through worth it? We haven’t even known each other for that long.”

He shakes his head firmly.

“You look at me sometimes with this smile on your face—this look in your eyes. It’s blinding. Everything about you has brightened my life. That’s why I can’t let you out of my sight: now that I know what I’ve been living without and I have it, there’s no way I can go back. Are you finally understanding me now when I say you’re mine? That I can’t lose you?” He tells them unfaltering, grabbing one of their hands to set it flat against his chest so they can feel how hard his heart is beating. “It’s you or no one. I’ve been sure of that for a while now.” He finishes. “I’m just sorry this is all I can give you.” And he means himself in his entirety: this battered, degrading body, this hardened heart and centuries worth of cynicism all laced together in an unholy union that made him who he is.

“All you can give?” They parrot weakly, looking faint, their eyes so big and their face so open and vulnerable. Briar presses against his front, hand still over his heart, and they kiss him just as the tears spill from their eyes. “You are all that I have ever wanted!” They cry against his lips, “No one will separate us—not even you. I’ll find you anywhere you go. If I’m yours, I’m yours forever. There’s no leaving behind your shadow. God as my witness, I will haunt you like a ghost until I have you.”

He’d been so fucking wrong.

Briar was just as possessive as he was.

Just as desperate.

He doesn’t know how he’s fooled himself into believing that any of this was surface level for them. The well of their affection ran just as deeply as his own.

The sun itself never burned half as brightly as the young man in front of him.

All he can do is stare.

“Whatever we do, we do together.” Briar says, grabbing his hand so they can lay it over their own heart.

He shuts his eyes and feels the pulse of their heart. It felt a little hard to breathe just then, but he manages to nod, feeling hollowed out and just a little shaky.

“Together.” He agrees at last.

Chapter Text

It’s been around a week now that the two of them have stayed in Little Lamplight.

It’s a welcome vacation from Vault exploring, but the eventual trek through Vault 87 and the supposed ‘monsters’ within it dwelled in the back of his mind stubbornly like a fungus. He had a bad feeling about this Vault in particular, but he can’t pinpoint why. It’s not like he can garner anything about the place by just staring at the entrance.

Each day is spent teaching the kids something new: how to cook, how to maintain and fire a gun, how to remain hygienic, and how to mend clothes beyond just sewing patches into them. Basic emergency medical care is taught to everyone, but Briar pulls the boys and girls aside to give them impromptu biology lessons which he is very fucking thankful that he does not have to deal with.

Penny can’t seem to look Briar in the eye any more after the talk, which is extremely funny to him.

“I was just explaining how menstruation works.” Briar tuts when he brings up that observation. “There’s no need for her to be embarrassed. She might not even get hers—everyone on the surface is so malnourished and irradiated that having a menstrual cycle at all, let alone being fertile enough to become pregnant, seems miraculous in of itself.”

“She has a crush on you. She didn’t like hearing Macready say he saw me kissing you. She probably didn’t like you telling her about what weird changes she’s going to experience in a few years.” He explains and Briar’s mouth falls open in horror.

“WHAT?” They squawk, and he laughs.

There really hasn’t been any time for them to blow off steam in privacy. If the kids aren’t glued to Briar, they’re glued to him, and even then, Macready is always following just behind his partner like a baby bird. If it bothers Briar in any way, they’re doing a good job of hiding it.

He can admit he’s pent up—he knows Briar is too, he catches them staring at him while he does pushups like he’s a slab of meat, their thumb stuck between their top and bottom teeth as they worry the nail. Sometimes he shows off a little, doing push-ups with only one arm instead, and he swears he’d seen their pupils blow out despite being far away.

It’s fun to mess with them.

It is not fun to have the same thing done to himself, he discovers quickly.

He’s seated by the campfire on the bottom floor of Little Lamplight, cooking lunch: grilled Radstag, Instamash and Tato’s. The kids hanging around him are talking endlessly, and he’s only really half listening, humming here and there to encourage them to keep talking because it was obvious that they had years’ worth of things they wanted to tell someone other than the other kids they’d been raised with their entire lives.

In the corner of his vision, he sees Briar exit their shared cabin, flicking the filter of their finished cigarette onto the ground unceremoniously. They notice him immediately, nodding in greeting and offering a wave to the kids that also smile at them. Despite that, Briar doesn’t come over to wait for the food to finish. They remain in front of the cabin, now raising their arms over their head to stretch.

It reminds him that he himself forgot to stretch that day, but he’d simply have to do it later. If he leaves now the food is going to burn and he doesn’t trust any of the kids just yet to take over the rest of the cooking. They were great at washing dishes, however. He’s glad to not have to cook AND waste time scrubbing pots and skillets.

His attention returns to cooking, but not for long. Briar continues stretching, now folding gracefully in half to touch the toes of their boots. They even hug their legs, arms wrapping behind their knees, and while he knew they were flexible, he hadn’t known just how much. They know he’s watching—they’re looking right at him. They even smirk.

Fucker.

He snaps his attention away from them, making sure to stir the Instamash so it doesn’t get stuck to the bottom of the pot.

“Everything okay? You look mad.” Squirrel asks him, nudging his shoulder with their hand.

“Fine.” He forces out neutrally.

He can’t help himself. He knows he shouldn’t look again, that Briar is probably going to mess with him even more, but despite his best efforts his eyes flick back over to them. They’re standing upright again, thank God, but now that they see him looking again, they raise both of their arms in the air and spread their legs apart before slipping effortlessly into a split.

There’s a weird sound—like something breaking.

“Uhh, Charon?” One of the kids says, tugging on his arm, and when he wrenches his face away from Briar, he notices that the wooden spoon he’d been cooking with was now broken in half from his grip, the two pieces hanging on together by a single measly splinter.

He curses and tosses it aside.

“Can you get me another one?” He asks the kid, and they nod eagerly, excited to help, and run off towards the storage cabin.

He resolutely stares at the fire and ignores the pompous laughter that’s started up and was echoing throughout the cave.

Did even their laughter have to sound attractive?

He clenches his jaw so tightly he thinks his teeth might crack. When the food is finished, he serves everyone stiffly. The kids are a little wary of his sudden visible foul mood, but after he assures them that they aren’t the source of his irritation, they return to eating happily. He brings a bowl over to Briar, who’s now leaning against the cabin instead of making a great show of contorting into pleasing forms.

“That smells fantastic, thank you,” Briar smiles brightly, accepting the bowl and taking a few tentative bites, unbothered by the heat in his gaze. “Mmm, tastes fantastic too.” They add with a pleased hum that draws on for just a little too long. Their cheeks hollow as they suck the spoon in their mouth clean and pull it out with a pop before digging in for more.

“You like pissing me off, don’t you?” He asks in quiet warning.

“Is that what I’m doing?” Briar asks breezily, blinking up at him innocently like they hadn’t just been pretending that spoon was his dick instead. “Pissing you off?”

They take another bite of their food, this time eating normally, but when they take the spoon out of their mouth, they make sure to maintain eye contact as they lick the back of it, their pink, wet tongue flat against it.

“Briar—”

“The kids are waiting for you to sit back down.” They inform him nonchalantly. “And you still need to eat, right?”

He glares down at them, unable to look anywhere but their soft mouth.

He sucks his teeth and turns on heel, walking away from them.

For their sake, they better not pull anything else while he eats, or he might drag them somewhere off outside and fuck them right against the dirt and gravel. He mentally slaps the imagery of that away, the sight so intense that he almost drops his food. He eats two servings and contemplates forcing Briar to eat an additional one as well, but when he looks up, he finds them gone. They must have gone inside the cabin.

He kicks some dirt into the fire to snuff it, passing off the clean up to the kids before he walks off towards the cabin. He slips inside and finds Briar kneeled on the floor, pulling some things out of their duffel.

“Done eating? That was quick.” They have the nerve to say to him while he continues to stand right next to the door.

He makes a point of keeping silent as he locks the door.

Their hands slowly put down the junk they’re organizing, and they stand to their feet even more slowly as he starts to walk over one step at a time, shoulders squared.

Briar swallows so hard he can hear it.

They expect him to stop to stand in front of him, but he doesn’t, he keeps walking forward, forcing them to walk backwards until he has them backed up against the wall. Without warning he slips his arms under their thighs and hefts them up, their long legs wrapping around his hips and their arms slinging around his neck.

They suck in a breath as his hands naturally glide towards their ass, and he squeezes greedily.

“Charon…” They whisper, leaning forward to kiss him, but he dodges it, moving his face to their ear so he can speak lowly to them.

“You’re a fucking brat.” He tells them, “If I didn’t have to worry about the contract, I’d bend you over my knee and slap your ass until you cried as apology for riling me up like that.”

Their face erupts in color and they gasp loudly. He feels their dick throb in their jeans and they move their face away, trying to hide the expression they’re making.

He grips their jaw firmly and forces them to look at him.

“Oh, you liked that a fucking lot.” He remarks, and Briar shuts their eyes tightly. “None of that. You had no problem staring at me earlier. Had no problem bending over, either. You’re going to look at me when I talk to you, do you understand?”

“Charon—”

“It’s a yes or no question. You’re so smart you can handle that, right?”

“Y-Yes…” Briar squeaks out, eyes slowly fluttering open.

“Yes what?”

They blush even more. He didn’t think it was possible.

“Yes sir.” They say shakily, meeting his gaze.

He hums with approval and kisses them finally.

“What part of what I said excited you the most?” He asks between kissing them. “Do you like being punished? Or do you like a little pain? What is it?”

They squirm.

“Don’t get quiet on me now.” He derides.

“I—” They start, stuttering like crazy, and he rolls his eyes.

“You need to stop starting things you can’t finish.” He tells them in a softer voice, having the slightest mercy now.

“I think I like you bossing me around.” They confess, which means he hadn’t short-circuited their brain, and that they had been sincerely parsing through whatever feelings he’d dragged out of them. “Actually, there’s no ‘thinking’ about it. I definitely like it. It’s hot, and I can’t explain why. I just like you ordering me around. I like you manhandling me. Maybe it’s a trust thing—I’m not sure.”

It's definitely a trust thing, he thinks. That, and the fact they could never shut their brain off; always thinking of a thousand problems at once and how to fix them, while juggling several other things at the same time. It’s a wonder their brain hasn’t fried from all that thinking. They trust him enough to hand over the reins, to let him decide on what they need to do and to make sure they do it.

It must be a massive relief in some way: being able to just stop thinking and only focus on what they were feeling and what he tells them.

“Yeah? I have no problem with ordering around a brat like you. Maybe it takes ordering you around to finally get you to remember to take care of yourself. That’d be a fucking miracle.”

“I’m not that bad.”

He gives them a look.

“I’m not! I just forget—”

“Which is the problem: you forget, because taking care of yourself has always been at the fucking bottom of your priority list, hasn’t it? Aside from making sure you look nice, you never bother to make sure you’ve eaten or had enough to drink. Don’t even get me started on how little you sleep.”

“I—”

“And don’t bother telling me that it’s a recent trend. I bet my ass that you were just like this in your Vault, weren’t you? Always helping others before you help yourself, even if you’re fucking drowning in problems. Getting you to ask for the help you need is like pulling goddamn teeth most of the time. If I was meaner about it, maybe you’d already have this habit taken care of.” He explains, unfaltering in his dressing down of their most significant flaws.

“Is that what it’s going to take? Me being meaner? Ordering you around to make sure you feed yourself and stop smoking so damn much?” He continues.

“I-I don’t know.”

“I think you do.” He returns. “And I’m fine with that, if that’s what it takes.”

“…Isn’t this weird? Or at the very least inconvenient for you?” they ask with no shortness of insecurity.

“It’s fucking hot, is what it is,” He answers immediately. “And I like taking care of you. You’re just giving me permission to be more aggressive about it.”

“…”

“The real question is if you’re going to let me take care of you.” He asks, “Are you going to be good for me and listen when I tell you that you need to do something? Or is it going to be an argument every time like usual?”

Their entire body trembles with the shiver that runs up their spine just now.

“F-Fuck.” They curse, unbearably hard now.

“Not an answer.” He admonishes. “And I’m not touching you until I get one.”

“I’ll be good.” They whine, eyes shutting tightly, and they weakly grind their hips against his, breathing raggedly. “Take care of me, p-please. I need—”

“I know exactly what you need.” He says and kisses them. “Just sit there and let me give it to you, gorgeous.”

And he’s reaching for the zipper of their jeans when obnoxiously loud knocking starts on the other side.

“Briar? Are we still going to that clinic?” Macready asks impatiently from outside the cabin. The locked doorknob is shaking incessantly as they try to force their way in.

“He’s a fucking psychic. He has to be.” He sucks his teeth.

“Yes! We’re still going, I’m just getting my things ready.” Briar breathily shouts in response. “Just wait for me at—” And its mid-sentence that he decides to suck a hickey into their neck, and Briar clamps a hand down over their mouth to stop from making any noise at all.

“At???” Macready repeats, growing louder by the second.

Briar throws their head back, hitting the wall lightly as their back arched while he continued to suck and lick at their neck.

“At the entrance! I’ll be there in a few minutes.” Briar manages to get out, sounding hoarse, like they’d just run a mile and hadn’t finished cooling off yet. He smirks into their neck.

A few minutes turns into twenty. By the time he lets Briar leave the cabin and walks them to the wooden post to take up guard watch, Macready’s impatience has turned into fury, and the kid tears into his partner with no remorse, fussing at them for not keeping their word like every other ‘mungo’.

“I know, I know, I’m sorry. I know you were looking forward to us going out together.” Briar amends when their ears stop ringing, offering a small smile to Macready.

The mayor huffs, trying to look like they don’t care anymore, but what was the point of doing that after making such a racket?

He makes sure to remind Briar to have the ‘talk’ with Macready about letting the kids from Big Town return before he lets them leave and watches the duo’s silhouettes become smaller and smaller over the horizon. None of the kids come up to hang out with him, either busy screwing around with the odd games they made up to waste the time away or doing one of the various chores they’ve been assigned.

He thinks about how all the kids have been steadily gaining weight, their tiny bones less prominent now, their faces significantly rounder and full, instead of looking gaunt from irregular meals and prolonged dehydration.

He hasn’t given an iota of a shit about Project Purity this entire time, but now that he’s had to teach a bunch of kids how to collect rainwater and use rocks and sand as a filtration system, as well as boiling said water, he now hopes that if and when this project gets finished, this settlement will be the first to reap its benefits.

It reminds him of something; how Briar in the earlier days of their partnership refused to have him drink anything but the same purified water that they themselves drank, even though the Capital Wasteland’s naturally irradiated water heralded a slew of benefits for Ghouls. Briar knows the Rads help, he wasn’t the first Ghoul they met, but he thinks it had been a matter of principle—they simply could not sit comfortably with the idea of forcing all the unclean water on him.

He thought it was stupid and wasteful before, but after realizing the other foul things that were in unclean water, it adds another layer of respect that he has for them.

Maybe risking their lives for a project like this wasn’t the worst they could be doing.

Thinking on how the clean water will even be distributed if Project Purity is a success tides his boredom for an hour or two, but when the sun starts to glow orange pink with the oncoming sunset, his anxiety spikes.
Briar and Macready should be back from the clinic by now. He knows where the clinic is—its three hours west of here. He could make it in half that time if he really hauls his ass, but that would mean leaving Little Lamplight unguarded.

Another hour passes.

Some of the kids are now waiting around with him at the entrance. He’s not even at the guard post anymore. He’s standing at the cave’s mouth, shotgun ready and heart beating nervous rhythms. His eyes scan the horizon sharply. The contract conjures up various scenes in which his partner has been killed brutally. He feels like he should be used to the onslaught of horrific images by now, but it never gets easier. In fact, it feels worse this time around, he’s so fucked up by his nerves and adrenaline that he has to place a hand on the rocky wall of the cave to ground himself.

There’s movement on the horizon. Something falls to the dirt before clamoring up and running quickly ahead. It’s a kid—Macready. A second later a small group of people popped into view, with one of them being familiar: the teenager that had been guarding the entrance of Big Town. That confuses him greatly. Briar was supposed to TALK about the kids returning, not personally chaperone them back the very same day.

But Briar isn’t with them.

Macready is the first to reach Little Lamplight, running at full speed despite the clear exhaustion on their face.

“Where is he? What happened?” He asks at once, wanting to pick them up and shake the answer out of them when they must stop for a second to suck in mouthfuls of air.

“What. Happened?” He repeats, trying to sound calm, but the mayor flinches. All of the kids flinch away from him and the newest arrivals can’t even seem to look at him directly.

“He saved us!” A girl, one of the older kids, probably fifteen cries out, sounding miserable and guilty as she sobs into her hands. “Those green freaks caught us at Big Town and were leading us somewhere, but he noticed our group and made a distraction for us to run while he led the Mutants somewhere else. I don’t know where he ended up going. I think a gas station?”

There wasn’t a plethora of gas stations in the area, so it must be the same one that they visited when rescuing Penny, Squirrel and Sammy.

“I’m leaving to get him.” He announces, not waiting for a response before he heads back inside Little Lamplight to gather his duffel and throw his armor on. A lot of the kids are buzzing around him, desperate to get answers from him, but there’s no time and they can get all the information they need from the newest arrivals. Or Macready, who was still by the entrance, gun readied and looking determined when he returns.

“You aren’t coming.” He tells them immediately, and fury cuts across their features. Before they can argue he shoots them a look and they visibly wilt. “You’re the mayor of this place, right? Do your job and protect it. I’ll be back.”

He leaves Little Lamplight in a whirlwind, feeling as if time itself was working against him as he trekked through the dirt.

Briar is capable of a lot of things. They had accomplished a lot and gained notoriety before the two of them had even met. The Lone Wanderer, he remembers they used to be called. But being frighteningly efficient with guns and as undetectable as the night itself would not be enough against an entire band of Super Mutants.

It’s impossible to run the entire way, what with his bad knees and the heavy armor he’s wearing, but he manages to run for short bursts in the hopes that he cuts off even a fraction of the time it’ll take to reach them.

Why did it have to be Super Mutants? He keeps furiously lamenting over the fact as he travels onward, the sun now completely set. The closer he gets to the gas station, the closer the smell of fire and smoke overwhelms his senses.

Forty minutes later he stops dead in his tracks as the gas station comes into view. The place looked more like a crater where an asteroid had struck than a former establishment. The dirt was scorched and blackened from the fires and various explosions. A singular wall remained upward, with the rest of the building now in a wrecked heap that fell inward on itself. Dead Super Mutants littered the perimeter in varying degrees of gore. Their muscled, green bodies were reduced to chunks and wayward limbs and he kicks one of their fat heads out of his way as he frantically starts to search the area.

There were fires still burning around the building and soon the entire place would be engulfed in it. He needs to be fast before the entire place is consumed.

He calls out Briar’s name repeatedly once he’s positive there’s no Super Mutants hiding nearby. Makes his footsteps as loud as possible in case they were hiding somewhere. He sharpens his ears for labored breathing or a pained gasp and feels his gut drop when there’s nothing.

Maybe they already fled, he hopes optimistically.

Maybe he missed them on their way back to Little Lamplight.

As if—it would be just his luck that he misses them somewhere among the wreckage and that seals their fate. Even if it means finding an unmoving body, he doesn’t care, he starts digging through the mountain of partly burning garbage and rubble, still calling out their name.

Some of the rubble gives way and he sees a porcelain bathtub that’s been flipped over, some of it shattered. His hands knock into it a few times as he continues to move things away.

“…C-Charon?” A small, shaky voice calls out and he freezes. There’s desperate banging on the other side of the bathtub, then pained wheezing. “I can’t get out—I’m stuck.”

“I’m working on it.” He tries to say calmly, but his hands are starting to shake as he hastily tears the rubble off the tub while the flames were growing closer and closer.

It was hot as hell from where he was kneeling—he can’t imagine the temperature in the tub. It must be like an oven.

Briar is coughing incessantly now. The smoke is reaching into the tub.

“Keep talking to me.” He begs. “You’re almost out.”

“It’s h-hot.” They wheeze.

“I know. I’m going as fast as I can.” He says, but it’s not enough. The fire is moving too quickly. He gives up on excavating the tub completely out of the wreckage. There are a few bricks laying nearby. He picks one up and readies it. “Hide your face and eyes. I’m going to break this open.”

After two good whacks, the porcelain shatters and he can finally see inside of it.

Briar sucks in a sharp breath, lungs finally relieved from the sweltering heat and the smoke. He makes the opening a little larger and braces his hands underneath their armpits and carefully pulls them out, uncaring of how cut up his hands get.
They make horrible sounds of pain as they’re pulled out and laid across the dirt on their back.

They look half dead.

Briar is filthy with sweat, blood and soot. A few pieces of their hair have been singed from where the flames had touched it. Blood covered half of their face from the deep cut that started at their forehead and extended down their eyebrow, thankfully stopping before it hit their eye. They keep that eye shut tightly to avoid the stinging of blood in their eye. There’s deep bruising on the same temple near the cut.

There are a lot of cuts and bruises, probably from the initial explosions and the debris that had been flung up during it, but the most worrying injury was their right thigh, where a large piece of shrapnel was still embedded. The piece of metal was about the size of his hand and looked like it had been the metal covering of a lawn mower or something similar.

“It missed the artery. The k-kids…?” Briar forces out, sounding slurred from blood loss.

“Fine.” He answers, and only then do they relax marginally.

“G-Good. That’s good.” They wheeze, before biting back another pained sound. “I-I’m going to pass out. I need you to take out the shrapnel and s-stop the bleeding. Everything else is…”

“Is?” He prompts, but their eyes shut, and their face falls to the side.

Everything else isn’t life threatening, he assumes is what they meant to finish with.

He gives the surrounding area a once over. There were no hostiles, but tending to their injuries near a growing flame was beyond stupid. There was the risk of the underground reserves of gasoline beneath the building too, although he’s not sure if it would have dried up after all this time. He isn’t going to risk some vapors rising from the soil and igniting, causing a second, far more dangerous explosion. He carefully picks up their body and brings them a few yards away from the wreckage of the gas station. There’s nothing really to hide behind, so he has to keep his senses sharp while he starts to tend to their injuries.

First and foremost is getting the shrapnel out of their thigh. He wraps some cloth around his hand before he grips the jagged metal and it isn’t until he’s positive he has a steady grip that he attempts yanking the thing out. Blood gushes from the wound at the smallest of movements. The first yank pulls the shrapnel mostly out, but his hands slip.

A low, miserable sound escapes their lips even in their unconscious state. He mumbles a quiet apology and readjusts his grip. This time the hunk of metal is pulled away and the pain is so bad that Briar reawakens with a sharp gasp, eyes flying open, before they knock out again just as quickly.

He wastes no time wrapping their thigh tightly with bandaging and then keeping his hand over the wound to apply pressure. He stays like that for a few minutes, wanting to be sure that they don’t bleed out anymore on the walk back to Little Lamplight. With that taken care of, he applies a Stimpack to the area. He cleans the blood off their face, but the cut is going to keep bleeding unless it gets properly stitched and he cannot afford to do that out in the open like this, so he wraps some bandaging around their forehead.

He does it in such a sloppy way that it looks like they lost an eye instead of having their forehead cut up.

If the bandaging stayed put, he didn’t care. There’s a growing lump on their temple, and no bump on the back or side of their head, so his suspicions are confirmed that they did in fact hit their head full on from the front, probably when the initial explosions went off.

He unzips their recon armor and gives their body a quick glance. Deep bruising and minor scrapes, but not over anything important. He notices that one of their wrists is swollen. Not enough to be broken, but they must have landed on it weird.
He applies another Stimpack in a general area, already dipping into the new medical supplies that Briar and Macready had spent all afternoon gathering. They were stable enough now to be moved, so after hefting his duffel over one shoulder, he picks up their limp, bleeding body and tucks them onto his back. He bends at the knees to gather his shotgun and eyes the gas station one more time before starting the walk back to Little Lamplight.

Traveling at night means there are typically no other humans he encounters—not that other humans were at the top of his list for threats to avoid. He doesn’t think he can manage to fight his way, or worse yet, sneak past another group of Super Mutants. If he was alone it wouldn’t be a problem, as Super Mutants left Ghouls alone, but as soon as they noticed Briar on his back things would go to shit.

All the Super Mutants that had been patrolling the area must have died at the gas station, because he encounters none of them on his travels. He tries to remember how many of their green corpses were lying around, but it was hard to tell with all the gore. Five or six mutants, at the very least. There was no way one person could handle that unprepared unless they made a hasty gamble with some explosives.

If he was an hour too slow in finding them…

The image of Briar suffocating from smoke as they bled out to death, trapped under rubble and alone is powerful enough to stop him dead in his tracks. His heart clenches painfully behind his ribs and he feels short of breath. If he could sweat, he knows he would be drenched in it.

As if sensing his growing dread, Briar makes a small noise as if to soothe him.

It works, but he hates that it does.

He hates that even in their unconscious state they exert the effort to take care of someone else.

He dulls his mind and purposely thinks of nothing as he continues.

After three hours he reaches Little Lamplight. He’s unsurprised that the entire community is at the mouth of the cave anxiously waiting for their return. He spots Macready, red in the face and currently in the middle of being restrained by one of the bigger kids while the mayor argued and cussed up a storm. He’s never seen them so animated, but once his arrival is noticed Macready’s anger leaves all at once and all they can do is stare as he draws nearer.

Everyone flocks over to him as he steps into the cave.

“Is he—” Macready starts, sounding breathless as they push past the other kids and make their way to the front of the crowd.

“He’ll be fine. I need to treat the rest of his injuries.” He explains tiredly, and he’s glad that the crowd parts and allows him to head deeper inside. He takes Briar to their shared cabin and lays them down on their bedroll as he takes out the medical kit again. Macready, Penny, Sam and Squirrel hover by the door he’s left open. There are even more kids lingering outside, he knows.

Sighing, he glances over his shoulder.

“Someone needs to keep guard. Go tell the big kids to do it and the rest of you can sit in here—but only if you’re quiet and only if you’re going to help me if I need it.” He explains.

Macready runs off immediately to go pass guard duty to the older kids, and by the time they return the rest of the younger kids have already poured in, forming a huddle around him and Briar, with the mayor seated the closest.

He slips on a pair of gloves and removes the shoddy bandaging he did around their forehead. The gash was still oozing out blood steadily. He rinses off the excess blood with clean water and takes out a needle and thread. It’s just like patching up shirts, he reminds himself, but still feels put off when he begins to carefully pass the needle through the delicate skin of their face. The stitches are sloppy compared to the neat, almost perfect way his partner did them. He supposes that’s fair, but when he finishes and looks at his handiwork it’s enough to make him feel ashamed. They were going to have a crooked, unsightly scar across their forehead, and the patch of their eyebrow that had been cut wouldn’t grow back once the scarring settled.

He doesn’t understand why it upsets him so much.

He pours some alcohol onto a rag and gently pats at the wound. He instructs everyone to close their eyes while he slips Briar out of their recon armor and changes them into a t-shirt and leaves them in their boxers, unfortunately, because they didn’t have any pants packed that were looser than jeans, and that would get in the way of him stitching their thigh next.

He hopes they don’t mind a bunch of kids seeing them like this, because he honestly doesn’t think he can get them to leave now that he’s given them permission to stay. Some of the kids had even started crying a little bit while he’s been tending to their injuries. He should comfort them, but he feels off-kilter and doesn’t trust what words would come out of his mouth.

He undoes the bandaging around their thigh and is shocked again by how lucky they had been. When the kids got medical training, so did he—that’s why he knows where all the major arteries in the body are located and can see that if the shrapnel had landed just a few more centimeters to the left…

He swallows hard.

Feels his emotions hit his gut like a cannonball landing in water.

After steeling himself, he starts the laborious process of stitching their thigh, which takes far longer and takes a lot more effort than the gash on their forehead. Having their blood all over his hands unsettles him deeply.

It’s the first time he’s seen them so fucked up, he realizes. The near-death experience Briar had back in Vault 112 was nothing compared to this. It occurs to him now that they’ve seen him in this state twice now, with the latter being recent. Recent enough that he now feels the guilt and shame of abandoning them and ending up almost dead rear back up with full force.

Focus, he reminds himself, and he pushes the spiraling thoughts away as he finishes stitching up their thigh. He cleans and bandages the area quickly afterwards. Drapes a wayward sheet across their lap for modesty. He remembers their sprained wrist, and unsure what to do with that injury, he deigns on wrapping it up tightly with bandaging and administering half a Stimpack. He gives them a bit of Med-X in the hopes that it lets them sleep through the pain. They would need all the rest they could get.

On that note, he finally takes his eyes off Briar and turns to address all the kids.

“You should sleep. It’s late.” He tells them.

“…Can we sleep in here?” Penny asks, eyes still wet as she looked between him and Briar.

“Sure.” He decides, and it gets noisy in the cabin as the kids leave and return to grab their own sheets and whatever else they needed to sleep. Of course, it’s the very second he lays down that he remembers that he never confirmed or not if Briar had a concussion, and he shoots back upright, scaring some of the kids who had just settled down too, and grabs their Pip-Boy so he can use it as a flashlight and pry one of their eyes open.

Their pupils weren’t dilated, thankfully, but that alone didn’t mean a concussion hadn’t occurred. He scours his brain for what the other symptoms were supposed to be. Nausea? But how could he tell if they felt that if they were knocked out cold? Unless they woke up solely to throw up, he guesses. It would be impossible to wake them up now to ask, since he’d given them Med-X.

He eyes the few kids he startled, offering a quiet apology, and lays back down on his side facing Briar.

He’ll just have to keep an eye on them.

That would be easy, seeing as how his brain refused to let him sleep. He glances at Macready, who is laying on their stomach, head nestled in their folded arms as they also stared at Briar’s sleeping form.

“You did the right thing by staying here and protecting the place.” He tells them, able to read their mind as if they were cards laid out in front of him.

“Doesn’t fucking feel that way. I was going to leave—”

“I figured. Is that why the big kids were holding you back?”

“Yeah.”

“Well I’m glad they did.” He replies flippantly and Macready is so incensed by his answer that they roll over just to sit up ramrod straight to glare at him.

“I could have helped!” Macready insists vehemently.

“You did help.” He clarifies. “You came back here and guarded the place until we returned. That’s your job as mayor, remember? Protecting this place and the others.”

“But—”

“It’s okay to be upset.” He tells them firmly and they fall silent. “I’m worried too.”

Macready huffs and puffs but they cannot think of anything to say to that.

They simply lay back down on their stomach, this time hiding their face completely in their arms.

If he hears any sniffling later in the night, he pretends not to.

Chapter Text

“I’m going to close my eyes and when I open them, that fucking thing better be gone.” Is what he says as soon as he reenters their shared cabin and finds Briar awake after a nap, the window behind where they’re half sitting up cracked open; a half-finished cigarette between their lips that they were trying desperately to suck down before he returned with lunch.

They had the decency to look ashamed, at least, cringing inwardly under his piercing gaze, and the kids hanging around them all looked between Briar and where he stands with a bowl of steaming food at the doorway.

He shuts his eyes, and he immediately hears Briar trying to finish the rest of their cigarette but as expected, their already irritated lungs and throat rebel against them and they break into a coughing fit. Opening his eyes, he sees them coughing into their elbow—reduced to a shaking, crying mess as they use their other hand to stub out the dwindling cigarette begrudgingly. Penny, who was one of the children seated closest to his partner, crawls over and offers Briar a sip from her cup of water, which he watches them accept with warbled thanks.

He walks over to them and bends at the knee to set their food down.

Then he holds out a hand expectantly.

Fortunately for Briar, they do not make him voice his demand, and they hesitantly reach under the sheets where they’ve been hiding their pack of cigarettes and set the pack into his awaiting palm.

“How’d you even light them?” He asks snippily, tucking the pack into his breast pocket.

They lower their face, looking even more ashamed. Something else is pulled out from under the sheets: his lighter, which they return to him without being able to fully look at him.

“You’re very easy to pickpocket. Apologies.” Briar explains in a mumble.

He stares at his lighter with barely restrained irritation. He snatches it from them and puts that in his breast pocket too.

“Eat.” He orders firmly, scowling, and Briar sighs and picks up the bowl to tuck into their meal.

He leaves and returns to the still burning campfire to serve everyone else a portion, inwardly fuming.

It’s been two days now and Briar was recovering decently enough under his care, but as it is the first time they’ve even been in such bad shape, he’s only now discovered that despite being a pretty good doctor, and having great bedside manners, his partner made for a terrible fucking patient.

Briar hated idling in one spot for too long for any reason and seemed to especially hate being forced to lay down. If allowed, they would pace until the heat death of the universe, he thinks, as that was the main way they worked through their nervous energy or a particularly stubborn problem. He’s fussed at them multiple times now for moving around too much or for not resting like they should.

He’s never met someone so sleep deprived that fought against resting so much. It was like all two hundred and six bones in their body had threads of stubbornness sewn into the marrow. On top of that, Briar never ate enough, and their appetite was even lower while on the mend, especially the first day when he was giving them small doses of Med-X, which all but completely killed their appetite. He’d had to practically beg to get them to force down a portion of food, but now that they’ve recovered enough that they no longer need pain relief, he’s managed to get them eat a second serving most of the time.

A small miracle, if there ever was one.

They were good with staying hydrated, thank fuck, but really the sleeping issue was the biggest headache. He knows they sleep the best with him around, but there hasn’t been time for that. He’s either cooking, helping them, or the kids, or taking guard duty off Macready’s hands. Despite the teenagers being brought back, it became obvious at once that no one other than Macready was better suited to guard the town, aside from himself and Briar.

The teenagers were meek and clumsy with a gun in comparison to their younger leader, and it is because of that steadfast ruthlessness in Macready that he now looks at the mayor with deep respect. It helps that they yelled at Briar just as much when they caught his partner doing something they shouldn’t, which was mainly trying to keep busy when he’s already told them to sleep.

Macready and himself have caught Briar doing all sorts of things instead of sleeping: mending clothes, pouring over research papers they looted from previous Vaults, and doing maintenance on their recon armor.

And now he’s caught them smoking behind his back, of all things.

He grinds his teeth; a hair breadth away from working them into a fine diamond dust.

After lunch has been finished, he returns to the cabin and kicks all the kids out so Briar can wash up. Penny is the last to leave, and as she slips through the doorway, she gently pinches at the corner of his jeans to get his attention. When he looks down at her, she doesn’t speak immediately, so he bends down a significant amount so she can speak whatever is on her mind into his ear.

“He won’t do it again! I’m sure he’s sorry.” Penny pleads on Briar’s behalf, and great, now the kids were so enamored with his partner that they were willing to beg on their behalf to spare them from the very deserved anger that’s broiling underneath his skin.

“Let’s hope that’s true.” He tells her, which doesn’t really make her relax, but the forced neutrality of his response is enough to get her to leave, although not without turning around and sparing Briar a worried look over her shoulder.

With the cabin empty of kids, he leaves again to bring a pot of water he’s boiled and let cool for some time and sets that on the floor near Briar before opening their duffel and pulling out a rag and a bar of soap. He makes sure the door is locked before sitting down at their side.

“Is something wrong with Penny?” Briar asks, still not able to look him fully in the eyes because they can sense his lingering irritation.

“She’s fine. Worry about yourself.” And the look he offers them makes them wilt, but they say nothing else as they accept the soap and rag.

They look at him for a moment, confused.

“Do you mind?” They say, wondering why he was still here, because all the previous times they bathed, he’d allowed them to kick him out.

“I was fine giving you privacy before you started stealing from me.” He shoots back gruffly.

They give him a funny look.

“Who was it that stole all my Stealth Boys while I was sleeping? If we’re going to preach about keeping our hands to ourselves, then do yourself a favor and cement the lesson in your own mind first, before getting on my ass about it.” They say without stutter and it stings.

It stings, but they were right, so it feels even worse.

That doesn’t stop him from being just as stubborn.

“That was a life-or-death situation.” He challenges.

“And it certainly feels like life-or-death if I don’t get my afternoon smoke.” They return petulantly, done with looking abashed about their earlier antics as they tuck their fingers under the hem of their t-shirt and roll the fabric over their head. “Am I allowed to clean myself now?”

“It’ll be easier if you let me help.” He tries again, growing increasingly exasperated.

Briar scoffs at the indignity of needing to be helped in such a way and ignores him, now about to start cleaning themselves regardless of him being there.

“I want to help.” He insists, voice softer now, but they were already hell-bent on doing things their way.

“I can sympathize with that, but really, it’s fine. It’s not as if I broke both of my arms.”

“…Is this a stupid pride thing?”

“There is nothing stupid about trying to maintain a shred of my dignity.”

So, it WAS a stupid pride thing.

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.

“I tried asking politely, but I see that was a mistake and I should have just done things my way since the beginning, since you’re making it your personal goal to piss me off today.” He tells them very seriously, opening his eyes now so he can stare down at them intensely, and the look alone is enough to make them freeze before they even dip the rag into the water.

He snatches the rag out of their hands and with his other hand grips their chin, forcing them to look into his eyes.

“I’m going to help you wash up and change into fresh clothes. Then you’re going to drink some water and rest. I don’t care if you actually sleep, but you’re going to lay down and you aren’t going to be doing anything, so you might as well fucking sleep.” He explains to them, incensed, and only now does it seem like Briar was sincerely listening.

Although they were willing to listen now, that did not mean they were going to be complicit. They open their mouth to speak, and he cuts his eyes.

“Going to fucking argue with me some more? Like you said you wouldn’t? I thought you wanted to be good for me—right now ‘good’ is the last thing I’d call you.” He questions.

Briar is quiet for a while.

Eventually, the anger in their green eyes snuffs out and their shoulders relax.

“I’m sorry.” They tell him, eyes lowering from his.

He internally sighs a breath of relief.

“Going to listen to me now?” He hazards to ask.

A nod.

“Good.” He says, satisfied at last, and kisses their still-bruised temple before settling in fully next to them. He soaks the rag in water and suds up the bar of soap.

He starts with their face, which Briar has no qualms about him cleaning, aside from the minor pain of washing the banged up side of their forehead, but he can tell that almost being entirely naked in front of him, at least in this context, was deeply uncomfortable for them. It’s not as if he’s letting his eyes wander—there was no enjoyment to be had ogling them now, while they were still cut up and bruised in various places and he keeps his touch light and utilitarian; making sure not to linger his hands anywhere in particular for too long.

He hums to make things less awkward for them and it works to a degree. He only gets partly distracted when it’s time to wash their legs, because despite how detached he is trying to remain, their long, pretty legs were a particular weakness of his. He tries not to think about how appealing those same legs looked while they were wearing that nightgown. Tries not to think about their delicate feet dressed in heels.

With their body mostly clean, he hands the rag and soap over and turns around completely so they can take care of their sensitive bits. His ears sharpen as he hears them wiggle out of their boxers. He pulls out clean clothes and waits, and when they signal they’re finished by tapping his shoulder, he turns around, eyes steadfastly on their face as he helps them into their clothes.

Clean and dressed now, it appeared as if all fight had now left his partner. They looked tired now, which he suspects they had felt the entire time, but had been stubbornly fighting against it. If there was one surefire way to keep his partner from sleeping, it was being filthy. They already did the difficult part of washing their hair yesterday, but he can tell that it bothers them that they haven’t gotten around to combing it, because they were now toying with a random lock of hair, nose wrinkled.

“…Thank you.” Briar tells him after a minute and it seems to take great effort, but they do it still.

It wasn’t easy being vulnerable. He knows that.

“Don’t mention it. I like taking care of you.” He tells them, and they hum, sheepish. He pulls out their comb and waves it in front of them. “Want me to comb your hair?”

It’s tempting, clearly, but there is something still holding them back from just outright agreeing; a semblance of that stubbornness from before. Or maybe it was the guilt of accepting something like this after being so disagreeable.

“I-I can handle that.” They tell him politely.

“I know.” He says, “But do you WANT me to?”

They squirm, at odds with themselves.

“Please.” Briar finally answers and he smiles a little.

“Sure thing.” And he kisses them before getting up to seat himself between their back and the wall of the cabin so they can lean against his front. He takes his time finger combing their hair first, because it was too thick and unruly to use the comb first, unless he wanted to break off a few of the teeth.

His fingers in their hair coax out a pleased noise, and he feels them relax fully against his front, half slumped now. He continues to hum as he sections out their hair piece by piece. There’s a stubborn knot towards the back that he must work on for a minute, but he does it as gently as possible, not once tugging. He notices something: a lock of hair that was shorter than the rest. It must have been from when that creepy Talon Merc met Briar for the first time and cut it. Thinking about that reignites the anger from earlier.

He hoped they were rotting in the lowest layer of Hell. Hopes they see the rest of his former employers down there too.

He’s distracted by his thoughts as he continues to thread his fingers through their hair, not even noticing how Briar was gradually becoming heavier and heavier against his front, how their breathing had evened out. He doesn’t realize they fell asleep at all until he glances down and sees their face lolled to the side; their long eyelashes fluttering against their cheeks. He carefully lowers his arms so he can snake them around their waist.

Sleep comes for him next, and he falls into its embrace without a fight.

It’s not often he dreams. When he does, it’s typically not all that long before the dream dissolves into a nightmare. It’d be one thing if his nightmares were filled with childish things, like monsters or scenarios where the laws of physics were disagreeing with him in some funny way, but no, his nightmares were less fantasy and more of just the horrible things he’s already experienced being played again like some awful movie he never wanted to see—or be a part of.

He feels hands all over him and his blood runs cold at the same time his gut churns into nervous mush. He knows how this is going to play out: he’ll be ordered to strip naked, ordered to either lay there and take it, or be fed orders like breadcrumbs, being led along into some sick ‘play’ until the other was satisfied and he felt more and more like he wasn’t a person and was only an animated piece of meat to be shot at and groped.

It's around the time where he usually startles awake, but the nightmare is leaving. Or so he thinks? Things fade away from a debilitating memory and into something…new. He doesn’t know where he is. He can’t even see his body when he looks down. Maybe he doesn’t have one. All he can see in this nightmare now is an image he knows he’s never seen in the real, waking world: a verdant forest, with trees untouched by the bombs and populated by the unmutated animals he’d only ever seen in books.

Out of the entire forest, his attention falls to a bush—not just any kind of bush, but one adorned with many red, glass roses. That isn’t right, is it? Glass flowers? But it was pretty to look at it. All of it was. The forest is calm and quiet and the sunlight that spots the floor through the canopy is hypnotic. This is no nightmare, he realizes. For once, he’s having a pleasant dream.

Before he can flit his gaze somewhere else, something swoops into his field of vision and lands on the rose bush: a bird. A small one; round and the same shade of brown as the soil. Its feathers were ruffled, and he watches it use its beak to straighten them out. It pays him no mind, if it does in fact know he’s there.

The bird sings sweetly the exact moment he wishes that it would. It sings a pretty tune, so happy to fill the forest with noise as it bounces between which glass rose it wants to perch itself on. It perches itself at the top, which he thinks suits it perfectly.

He could listen to the songbird for hours.

That is of course why the pleasantness of this dream ends abruptly; there’s a whistle in the air as something cuts through it with gaining momentum. An arrow lands and strikes the bird right in the chest; the size of the arrow comically large in contrast to the bird it just skewered.

His heart plummets.

The singing should stop, but the songbird continues to pitifully attempt to keep at it, even while it’s laying across the grass bleeding out from its chest.

Suddenly he has his body again in the dream and he’s kneeling in the grass, cradling the dying songbird in his cupped hands and he’s so overwhelmed with emotion that he doesn’t know what to do. He just sits there and watches as life leaves it.

The chirping starts to sound suspiciously like words—is that his name being said?

“Charon?” The dying bird says in perfect human English, sounding as horrified as he feels.

Someone or something is touching him again.

The nausea returns.

His eyes flash open and suddenly he isn’t dreaming—but he is being touched.

“Hands off.” He spits out with vitriol, wincing away from the touch as his mind reorients itself. It takes a while, but after a lot of blinking and gulping down some panicked breaths, he starts to realize things.

One, that he’s awake now, and two, that he is still in the cabin, and that the person touching him had only been Briar, presumably shaking him awake once they felt him twitching and talking in his sleep.

“O-Of course. I’ll keep my hands to myself.” Briar assures him with a queasy smile, trying to comfort him even as they themselves are shaken from his sudden awakening. They were seated a few feet away from him, giving him all the space he needed to calm down.

The cabin is silent in an awful way. It unsettles him greatly.

Briar notices that, although he’s unsure of how, and he catches them fiddling with their Pip-Boy. The radio turns on, first to Galaxy News Radio, but there’s no song being played, it’s the DJ and he’s harping on about something in a grating tone, so they quickly tune into Agatha’s radio station instead in the hopes that they caught her while she’s playing.

She is—and the song she is playing is eerily like the tune the bird in his dreams had been singing. It should make him feel worse, but it soothes him instead. His faculties return to him bit by bit as the minutes tick along. He feels present in his skin again and breathing reverts to an automatic function, instead of something he must put his entire focus into doing.

When he can finally bare to, he lifts his face and looks at Briar.

“Weird dream.” He explains.

Their eyes soften.

“It’s okay to call it a nightmare.” Briar assures him.

“…You got me.”

“Would you like to talk about it?”

“Fuck no.”

“Then we won’t.” They say easily enough, shrugging. “Is there anything I can get for you? Water, or a bite to eat maybe? If you want to smoke, I promise I won’t use it as an excuse to steal one for myself.”

He eyes them for a moment, thinking.

“Sit next to me.” He says, and they hesitate for a second, remembering his earlier, much more aggressive request to keep their hands to themselves. Still, they stand up and walk in a limped gait towards him and take the spot to his right. They leave an inch or two between them, none of their body touching his.

He holds out his right hand, palm up and they slip their left hand into his immediately. He hums, squeezing their hand, and truly starts to feel calmness settling over him now. He knows that the dream will linger in the back of his mind for the foreseeable future like an uninvited guest, but for now, in the waking world, he didn’t need to dwell on it, or the fact that lately he felt more and more like the second he took his eyes off his partner, something terrible and inescapable will happen and he’ll lose them like sand slipping through his fingertips.

It takes a few more days for Briar to fully recover, and afterwards the two of them do a few supply runs to replenish their shared inventory, and Little Lamplight’s. The kids and himself are in a much better mood now that his partner was up walking around, but there’s a sort of dread that is beginning to take hold of the settlement. It was like a fog sweeping over the place. Even Macready seemed affected by it, constantly looking as if they were on the verge of saying something very important to Briar, only to end up shaking their head and huffing, keeping the thought to themselves.

He knows what the cause of it is— Vault 87 and its ‘monsters’.

With Briar and himself back in stable condition, there was no more putting off the exploration of the Vault and the kids are terrified of that fact. Penny seems to be the most affected by it. Twice now he’s caught her seated by herself somewhere in the settlement, looking either on the verge of tears or having just finished crying.

He comforts her the best he can, but it doesn’t seem to do much.

On the day of their agreed outing, all the kids and the teenagers seem to hover as Briar and himself make final preparations.

“I have everything I need.” Briar announces, standing up now and hefting their duffel on their shoulder. Their sniper rifle was tucked safely onto their back, its long range unneeded in the close quarter fights they were bound to have in the Vault. Instead, their assault rifle hung from its strap on their shoulder, and their .44 magnum revolver and silenced 10mm sat eagerly in each holster on their hips.

Their serrated combat knife gleamed like a polished jewel from where it was strapped to their thigh.

Penny and some of the other kids had been in the cabin this entire time while the two of them packed things up, and now as they were standing up and rearing to go, she was starting to get misty eyed again. A lot of the kids were. Noticing that, Briar stops before they exit the cabin, looking over their shoulder with a frown.

“Come along,” They say, inviting, and the kids all perk up. “Why don’t you walk with us to the Vault? It’ll be a good stretch—you’ve been cooped up watching us for the past hour.”

One by one the kids get up and slip out of the cabin. Penny is the last to get up and she trudges out of the place with her face bowed to the floor, her chin touching her chest. He and Briar, along with the kids walk over to where the terminal controlling the Vault’s entrance, which lays all the way in the back of Little Lamplight on the bottom floor where the least amount of light is available, so it makes the Vault look more ominous than it needs to be. The kids even seem to shiver as all of them finally stop in front of the gear-shaped door.

There are loud, hurried footsteps. Turning around, he spots Macready, the mayor red in the face from their run from the guard post out front. One of the teenagers must have relieved them of their duties so they could see the two of them off.

“Oh, Macready, going to see us off as well?” Briar asks with casual surprise, somehow having missed how much the little mayor had become attached to them over a short period of time.

The mayor nods, brows furrowed, and that conflicted look is back on their face.

Briar looks from Macready to the other kids, then to him.

“Well, we really should be going now—”

“Please, don’t go!” Bursts out of Penny like he expected it to, and the girl cuts through the swarm of other kids to wrap her arms around Briar’s waist, where she buries her face as she starts to sob uncontrollably. “T-They’re going to hurt you again. You’re going to get hurt like my mom and dad got hurt and then y-you’re never going to show up again. You’re going to die! Please don’t leave me!”

Briar’s eyes are huge as they look down at Penny, their mouth hanging open in shock at the intensity of her emotions.

“I—” His partner starts, but Penny’s crying has started a domino effect, and now other kids are sobbing too.

They close their mouth, thinking. Taking a deep breath, Briar peels Penny off so they can slip onto a bent knee, before shrugging off their guns and duffel so they can open their arms wide. Penny jumps into his arms, knocking the wind out of them. They slip their arms around her and return her embrace tightly.

They don’t shush her, instead content to let her get it all out of her system.

Briar only has two arms, obviously, but that doesn’t stop the other kids from crowding them and holding onto whatever they could. Even one of the teenagers shows up—the fifteen year old girl who’d told him where to find Briar after they went missing. She somehow made her way into the pile as well and was crying just as loudly. She sticks out like a sore thumb due to her size, but Briar doesn’t shoo her away. He even sees them reach out to pat her shoulder a few times.

Briar shoots him a look as if asking for help, but the only ‘help’ he offers is walking over to the crowd and setting his hand atop their head. It’s the only way he can reach them with the moat of crying children currently surrounding them.

‘Lone Wanderer’, he thinks again—

What a joke. Lonely was the furthest thing that his partner could be. Not only did they have him, but they had people in Megaton, Rivet City, and now an entire settlement that cared for them deeply.

He thinks that fact is overwhelming to process, if the wide-eyed expression on his partner’s face was anything to go by. Macready stands a distance away from the group, arms crossed and eyes a little wet, too, but it was clear they were fighting against the tears.

Eventually, Briar stands up and they give the group of kids a soft look.

“I know that you are worried, but believe me, whatever these ‘monsters’ are, they can be killed. If it bleeds, it can be killed—and there is nothing in this world that is exempt from that rule.” They say, reaching down to fix some of Penny’s hair. “And I intend to kill every last one of those monsters. Even if this Vault doesn’t have what I’m looking for, you will all feel better knowing that the place has been cleared out, right?”

There is some hesitancy in answering, but eventually the kids nod, still sniffling.

That isn’t enough for Macready, who steps forward suddenly.

“Promise you’ll come back.” The mayor speaks up at last. Their tone is angry and demanding, but their aggression has always been a smokescreen to what they were really feeling.

Briar steps away from the others to stand in front of Macready, holding out their right hand.

“I promise.” They say.

Macready stares at their offered hand for a tic, before slapping it away and stepping forward to hug them.

Briar freezes completely. They hadn’t been expecting this and were now stunned to the point of being immobile. Slowly, they relax, and after they return the hug, he watches Briar bend at the waist a little to whisper something only the mayor can hear.

This time it’s Macready who freezes.

“…You aren’t just saying that?” Macready asks, sounding doubtful, but hope shined like a beacon in their eyes.

“I’m not just saying it. I mean it.” Briar assures.

The mayor sniffles a little, backing away now. He thinks he sees the corner of their lip curling up. The kid needed to smile more. All of them did, in his opinion.

“We need to leave now. We’ll see you afterwards, okay? That’s a promise.” Briar tells them all, and this time when they grab their things and head towards to the Vault door, none of the kids stop them.

It’s loud as Vault 87’s door pulls aside, and the kids all wave at the two of them as they step past the entryway and into looming shadow of the Vault. When the door shuts behind them, the silence feels even louder than the door settling back into place.

The hallway before them is only partly lit. Some of the power in the Vault must be running out or the wiring was faulty.

“What’d you say to him?” He asks if only to cut the dreadful absence of sound.

“I told him there was no way I’d die and leave my little brother behind.” Briar explains. “He really is like a sibling I never had. Moody and bad with people, but great with a gun. Maybe I would have become more sociable if I had been raised with a sibling.”

“I think you’re doing just fine.” He points out.

“…Me too, actually.” They agree, sounding a little shocked at themselves.

Briar gives the narrow hallway a look over, starting to frown as they watch the lights overhead begin to flicker more and more, as if the power in the Vault would die at any second.

“Let’s not waste any time.” They turn to him to say, assault rifle readied.

The two of them walk down the first initial hallway, then another, and the condition of Vault 87 becomes clearer. Most of the place was in active disrepair and falling apart before their eyes, with wiring hanging out of the sockets in the ceiling, some of them even sparking as they walked past, and the air filtration system had clearly given up the ghost because the air in the Vault was humid and tinged with mildew and the stank of something foreboding; dead bodies and rotting blood.

Before they happen on the first, main room that the endless hallways lead them to, Briar stops.

“The worse case scenario for what these ‘monsters’ are would be Super Mutants, yes?” They ask him.

He thinks long and hard on that.

“Or a Deathclaw.” He suggests, truly hoping it won’t be that. He’s never even seen one in person—hell, he’s never met anyone who has, but it would be just their luck that this Vault would be filled with those abominations instead. He really doesn’t know what either of them could do in the face of one. They were lightning quick, with teeth and claws like knives, and weighed enough to knock anyone on their ass before the damn things tore them to shreds.

That’s just what he’s heard from decades of rumors.

Maybe the reason why he’s never met anyone who’s seen one is because those that were unfortunate to lay eyes on such a threat never live to tell the tale.

“I have no idea what that is.” Briar blinks, “But in the case its Super Mutants we’re dealing with, at this point I think we’re becoming veterans in slaughtering the idiots. Let’s keep our senses sharp and prepare for the worst. If it turns out to just be some particularly fucked up looking animals, well, that would be a huge relief.”

The first floor of Vault 87 is built the same as all the other Vaults, but the living quarters for both the men and women’s wing are partially collapsed in, with only a few of the rooms safe enough to be explored. They find a few things: a Stealth Boy, a few Stimpacks, and junk. The deeper they go into the place the more collapsed it looks. Exiting the living quarters, they head down the stairs deeper into the Vault.

The smell of decay becomes stronger.

On the second floor, the sign on the wall reveals that the medical ward and hydroponic garden is towards the right and the Overseer’s office is towards the left. As Briar is mulling over which way to go first, he hears something. Grabbing them by the waist, he quickly ducks back into the hall they’d just exited and hovers by the staircase. Just in time too—the place where they had both been standing is suddenly assaulted by a plethora of bullets.

“Sneaky humans!!” A Super Mutant laughs uproariously, and he and Briar quickly share a look as their suspicions are confirmed.

“I’ve had quite enough of these freaks.” Briar sneers, ripping open their duffel to take out a frag mine, which they quickly set at the top of the stairs before dragging him along back to the lower staircase.

Towering footsteps, along with something else, something that dragged across the floor, became louder and louder. He and Briar plug their ears just in time for the explosion. He peeks his head around the staircase a few seconds later when the dust has settled to see what the landmine had killed: two Super Mutants and their pet Centaur.

Just like at the gas station, their huge, imposing bodies are reduced to chunks and the hallway is soaked in blood and bone matter.

“Clear.” He says behind him, and Briar takes the stairs two at a time and meets him back in the branching hallway. “If there are more inside, they definitely know someone’s here now.”

Nodding, Briar makes up their mind to head to the medical ward first, popping some Rad-X in their mouth as they walked in case there were more Centaurs skulking about—and there are. There’s a fuckton of them, the most he’s ever seen in one place other than one of the radioactive sludge heaps that were scattered around the Capital Wasteland.

His shotgun is best with dealing with these abominations, but Briar makes killing them easier by shooting at their eyes and tongue, taking away all methods of attacking, save for the noxious, radioactive goop they expelled from their throat. His partner is nimble enough to dodge each of them, but as he’s reloading his gun, the Centaur down the hall has already coughed up another sludge ball that was heading straight for him. The Rads wouldn’t hurt him, but there was something corrosive about their saliva and he didn’t want to have any less skin than he already did.

“As if!” Briar scoffs haughtily, turning towards him and looping their ankle around his to make him fall to his knees just as the ball of sludge flies where his face had just been. They aim their .44 revolver right between the Centaur’s eyes. The bullet lands dead on, but they had such a thick layer of flesh that Briar ends up having to shoot the same spot twice, as if hammering down the bullet into their skull.

The thing wheezes and gurgles then falls still.

Briar looks down and offers a hand, looking worried.

“I didn’t hurt you, did I?” They ask, helping him up to his feet.

He scans the hallways for any more threats, and finding none, he leans down and kisses their cheek.

“Nope.” He answers. “Let’s keep going.”

The hydroponic gardens are a novelty that captures Briar’s attention momentarily, but it was impossible for them to focus on it when the smell of death was so heavy in the air now. It’s so strong it chokes them a bit, making them cough.
The two of them eye the door to the medical ward with trepidation.

Briar resolves themselves first and clicks the button on the side panel. The door slides up and the stench emanating from it is enough to make his partner bend at the waist and dry heave. The straight, narrow hallway has rooms on either side littering it, but they were hard to see with how dimly lit this section of the Vault was.

There was an eerie red glow to everything, caused by the emergency lights that were signaling the Vault’s power was unstable and in desperate need of repairs. When the door shuts behind the two of them, he even startles a bit, quickly turning around.

“Look.” He tells Briar at once, and they turn around as well and give the door a look. While the front of the door had been aged with time, the back of it was filthy in a different way: it was covered in bloody, human handprints, as if multiple people had tried clawing their way out.

“Jesus Christ.” Briar says around a horrified gasp.

Things get progressively worse. As the two of them cautiously walk down the hall, they notice that each door led to a holding cell of some kind, with each having an observation window. The first one they look at is filled with medical equipment, a gurney, and something that very well might have been human at some point but had been altered so much that it was now closer looking to the Centaurs they’d been killing this entire time.

Briar takes something out of their duffel: two bandanas, one of which is shoved into his hands and the other they hastily tie around their own face.

“I don’t know what the hell they were using to experiment on these people, but with the air filtration fucked up, we really shouldn’t test our luck by inhaling anything down here.” They explain grimly, looking close to throwing up.

Nose and mouth covered, they check out the next cell and find another ‘human’. Dead, thankfully, because he doesn’t know if anything can be alive in such a state: half of their organs on the outside, instead of safely nestled inside, and their limbs broken and extending out like a plant looking for dirt to settle its roots.

The skin was slogging off bone with the ease of rain falling from a rooftop.

The rest of the cells, unfortunately, are filled with things that are still living, namely, a few Super Mutants, who gnash their teeth and bang at the observation window upon seeing them, some Centaurs, and surprisingly, a human. A normal, unmutated human. It’s a man with auburn hair and brown eyes. They looked half starved, and their ripped clothes were soaked in sweat and other bodily fluids.

Briar presses their face close to the observation window’s glass.

“Hey!” They say loudly to catch the man’s attention. The man was currently on the floor, holding their knees and rocking back and forth. They were already looking towards the window, but there was a vacant, unfocused look in their eyes. It isn’t until Briar knocks on the window that the man seems to notice the two of them standing there. They startle badly, scrambling backwards towards the corner of the cell. “We mean you no harm. In fact, I would like to free you, if possible. Do you know how to open these cells?”

The man stands up, zero expression on their face to show that they understood what his partner had said. The slowness in which they approach the observation glass is eerie. Once face to face with Briar, the man’s face suddenly morphs into an expression of rage and they bang both of their fists against the glass repeatedly.

Briar curses, frightened, and backs away looking unsettled.

The man continues to bang against the glass, now screaming, although the cells must be soundproof because neither of them hears it. They just see his mouth open wide, teeth bared, while spittle flecked the window.

“He’s too far gone. Whatever experiment they were doing didn’t mutate him, but it’s fucked up his brain enough that we shouldn’t let him out.” He tells Briar.

They don’t like hearing that.

Their eyes flit back to the man still banging against the glass.

After some deliberation, Briar tears their eyes away from the man and the cell entirely.

“You’re right.” They say. “We shouldn’t let him out, but if there was a way to put him out of his misery, perhaps…”

“Not our priority right now. But if we have the time, we can search around.”

They nod solemnly.

Moving onwards, they reach the last two batches of cells. The one on the right is completely empty, which he isn’t sure if that’s a good thing or not, and the one on the left houses another Super Mutant, although this one doesn’t break out into hostile snarls upon seeing them. In fact, the Super Mutant adjusts its ragged clothing as if it is ashamed to be seen in such a state. Slowly, it raises one of his hands in what he thinks is a polite wave, before pointing at something: not the terminal outside of its cell, but the button on the side panel of the door.

It looked like it was attached to a speaker.

Briar shares a dubious look with him before pressing their finger down on the button.

“…Hello? Who might you be?” Briar speaks into the supposed microphone.

“I deeply appreciate your use of ‘who’, rather than ‘it’. I know that I resemble my brutish, far less intellectually inclined brethren, but I assure you, it is only in appearance that we share any semblance of kinship.” The Super Mutant says in a strikingly soft spoken and put together fashion. Remembering something, the Mutant gasps, before shaking their head. “Apologies. You asked me a question, but I lost myself in my excitement upon meeting another: my name is Fawkes.”

“It’s nice to meet you.” Briar returns politely, although he can tell that they were doing so mostly because it seemed that the Mutant responded well to it. Their suspicions have not yet been quelled. “My name is Briar. Can I ask why you and the others have been imprisoned?”

“For experimentation, of course. That is why all of us were brought here, although I cannot remember how much time has passed since my initial arrival. I was once human—all Super Mutants share this in common, although I find it distasteful to refer to myself as such. I prefer the term ‘Meta Human’. It suits me far better, I think.” Fawkes explains, tapping their chin in thought, seemingly invigorated at the conversation.

“Super Mutant does seem a bit insulting for someone of your intellect.” Briar agrees, “Can you tell me more about the experiments that happened here? If all Super Mutants were once human, then what is changing them?”

“A hybridized strain of FEV, I am certain.”

“FEV?”

“…Your lack of knowledge on this subject forces me to believe that the experimentation done here was far more secretive and unusual than I would have garnered.” Fawkes returns. “FEV, or as its officially known as: the Forced Evolutionary Virus, is what was administered to each one of the humans captured and brought here. You have seen the others, I am sure. The failed experiments that died upon creation, the Centaurs, and of course, the Super Mutants.” They explain.

Briar holds up a hand to stop them.

“Sorry, but you’re telling me that every single Super Mutant and Centaur that I’ve come across in the Capital Wasteland originated from THIS Vault?” His partner asks.

“Indeed. I was not one of the original Vault Dwellers that once lived here. I was captured from somewhere, although I cannot remember, and brought here. This lowly, small box is all I have known since coming here and being…changed. The few memories of my life before this have begun to escape me. I fear that one day I will no longer remember who I once was at all.”

“…The Super Mutants must have been using Murder Pass to bring their captives here.” Briar says, thoughts running a mile a minute. They turn towards him. “I always assumed the people the Mutants were capturing were either going to be eaten, brutalized, or have something unsavory done to them, but bringing them here and forcing them to change into more Mutants…”

They shake their head, starting to break out into a cold sweat.

“It paints a pretty fucking ominous picture.” Briar concludes.

“It was not my intention to frighten you.” Fawkes explains.

“Anyone would be frightened to learn this.” Briar waves them off dismissively. “I mean, a growing army of Super Mutants? I don’t know what could be more frightening.” And his partner falls into deep thought.

“May I speak freely?” Fawkes inquires.

“Of course.” Briar says automatically, and that makes the Super Mutant stand up a little straighter, clearly delighted.

“I think that I know why you have ventured to such a terrible place.” Fawkes begins, “You are looking for a G.E.C.K, correct?”

“Yes! How did you know?”

“It is the only thing of worth here, unless you are of a similar mind to the original scientists that worked here and simply came here to continue their work.”

“I plan on eradicating every Super Mutant that makes the mistake of making its presence known to me. Strengthening their numbers would be counterintuitive of that.” Briar explains, then winces, “I am not including you with the rest of them, I should clarify. I will not harm you, if you do not harm us.”

“You make me very hopeful towards what the rest of humanity is like.” Fawkes says with notable relief. “I would gladly help you acquire the G.E.C.K. I know of its exact location in the Vault, but it is in an area that is flooded with radiation. That heralds no harm for one such as myself, but for a human like you, it would mean certain death.”

“And in exchange, you would like to be freed?”

“Yes. You cannot begin to understand just how lonely and miserable I have been all this time trapped here.”

“Give me one moment to talk about this with my partner.” Briar says before taking their finger off the speak and turning towards him.

“We don’t need him to get the G.E.C.K. I can handle the Rads.” He tells them immediately, keeping his voice low in case Super Mutant’s had uncanny hearing that worked even past reinforced glass and steel.

“And risk yourself? Absolutely not. Ghouls are healed by radiation, but that doesn’t mean that walking into the equivalent of a freshly dropped bomb will do you much good. It might be too much. It’s not like there’s an exact known amount of radiation that Ghouls can withstand.” Briar explains, unable to stop themselves from taking one of his hands and bringing it to their face so they can kiss the top of it. “Besides, if he ends up betraying us, we have plenty of experience with killing Mutants. What would one more be?”

“Alright.” He agrees at last.

Briar turns back towards Fawkes and jumps, blushing suddenly when they notice the Mutant’s been watching their interaction the entire time. Clearing their throat, Briar presses the button for the speaker again.

“We’ve come to the decision that its in our best interests to help one another.” Briar says.

“I am relieved to hear that! Now, if you would be so kind, the terminal…” And Fawkes points at the terminal outside of their cell. “It controls all of the cells, although I’m afraid some of the inputs may be blocked by the need of a password.”

“Oh, I hate computers,” Briar sighs, and starts tapping away at the terminal with burgeoning annoyance. The password eludes his partner several times, and they must stop and restart to keep the terminal from locking them out.

Fawkes taps incessantly on the glass, but Briar’s hands are busy, so he’s the one that pushes the button this time.

“May I offer some assistance? If you press some of the symbols, you can eliminate some of the password options.” The Mutant explains and goes on to describe which symbols they mean.

Briar taps away at the terminal, then stops, looking impressed.

“Huh. That knowledge would have come in handy ages ago. Thank you.” They say, and now with half the available options removed, it becomes far easier to deduce what the password is. After a minute, the door to the cell opens.

Fawkes, much like himself, must duck down as they exit the room and slip through the doorway. He isn’t used to being the second tallest person in the room, but he supposes that feeling was far easier to deal with than the surprise of finding a Super Mutant that wasn’t just another gurgling, knuckle-dragging monster.

“My utmost thanks to you and your companion. I owe you nothing short of my life, but I hope that the retrieval of the G.E.C.K will prove to you at least an iota of my sincerity—and gratitude.” Fawkes says, and although they are unarmed, all it would take is a singular punch from their meaty fists to either outright kill his partner or put them damn near close to death’s door.

He instinctively situates himself closer to Briar.

It doesn’t go unnoticed, but Fawkes doesn’t breathe a word about it.

“You’re very welcome. Are you hurt in any way? Or starving? I can’t imagine what the food options must have been here.” Briar says.

Fawkes is quiet, looking down at the ground now.

“Something wrong?” Briar asks, starting to get a little nervous.

“I am simply unused to such kindness.” The Mutant admits. “It is difficult to process after what feels like an eternity of solitude.”

“Take a minute or two.” His partner says and pulls out a can of water and offers it to Fawkes, who accepts it with reverent thanks and drinks it down greedily in a matter of seconds. Briar hands over some jerky next, and the Mutant looks close to tears from eating their first meal in God knows how long.

“I feel much better, thank you.” Fawkes says. “Shall I lead the way to the G.E.C.K?”

“Just a moment,” Briar says, “There’s a man trapped in one of the cells. He hasn’t mutated, but he’s extremely hostile and unstable.”

“You wish to free him?”

“No, I wanted to put him out of his misery. It’s too dangerous to risk letting him out, he’s already made it clear that he will attack us if he gets the opportunity, but I would feel awful if I left him in there to slowly die from hunger.”

Fawkes considers that.

“There is an input on the terminal that will ‘terminate’ those occupying the cells. If you’d like, I can initiate the sequence.” They explain.

Briar shakes their head vehemently.

“No, no—if you show me how to do it, I’ll take care of it. It wouldn’t be right to force you to carry that man’s life on your shoulders. I am the one making the decision to end his life, so I should be the one to press the button.”

Fawkes does more than just stare at his partner with quiet fascination—they seem deeply moved by their resolve.

“As you wish. Allow me to show you what to do.” The Mutant says, gesturing towards the terminal.

After some fiddling with the terminal, a hissing noise starts, like gas leaking from somewhere. The hallway becomes brighter as light suddenly floods each cell—but it’s not light from anything electronic, its light from the hidden flamethrowers in each cell suddenly activating and torching the inhabitants.

The cells are soundproof, so they are spared from hearing the mixed howling of both Super Mutants, Centaurs, and the singular human that now perishes. Just because Briar was fine with pushing the button didn’t mean they wanted to see the gory aftermath, and when their group of three walks down the hall, his partner keeps their eyes resolutely forward.

Fawkes leads the way to the third floor of the Vault, telling the two of them to wait at the staircase as the Geiger Counter in Briar’s Pip-Boy starts to chirp.

“I will return shortly.” The Mutant says before disappearing downstairs.

The two of them stand across from one another in the stairwell, smoking to distract themselves from the worry that the thing Fawkes will bring back will turn out to be something else, rather than the G.E.C.K, and that this will have all been for nothing once again.

He doesn’t know how many more treks into these Vaults he can take. He was beyond sick of them and their twisting hallways and their even more twisted experiments, this one, of course, being the worst of them all.

Fifteen minutes later, heavy footfalls near the stairwell and both of them reach for their guns, before remembering that it was only Fawkes returning, who blinks at them with an air of insult, before they lower their weapons. Held in one of their hands is a metal briefcase, which they offer to Briar immediately.

“No offense,” Briar tells Fawkes when they open the briefcase carefully to make sure that the G.E.C.K is in fact held within. It looks exactly how James had described it—some kind of metal device with a bunch of buttons on it.

His partner lets out a huge breath of relief.

“At long last,” Briar sighs, closing the case and locking it. “Thank you. I don’t have the time to explain it all, but you have just secured a better future for the people of the Capital Wasteland.” And they hold out a hand for the Mutant to shake.

Fawkes moves to shake their hand at once, but upon remembering the huge size difference, takes a second to figure out how exactly they want to shake Briar’s hand. They end up just letting his partner hold onto his hand, which they then shake.

“It was my pleasure. After all, I would not be able to retrieve it for you, if you had not released me from my cell.”

“We’re leaving now. The way we came in is a lot safer than the way you were brought in. If you want to avoid going through ‘Murder Pass’, as it’s been nicknamed, you are more than welcome to follow us out. I only ask that you let me be the one to speak first when we reach the other side. There is going to be a lot of frightened children, otherwise.” Briar tells them.

“I do not think the way I was brought in is even accessible anymore. After the last of us were brought in, there was a significant collapse in the Vault and I think the route has been covered in rubble.”

“Even better. That means no more Mutants can sneak in and try to use this place to make more of their army. The only entrance remaining can now only be accessed via hacking a terminal, which I doubt any of your brethren are able to do.”

“Then I believe I will follow your lead.”

The three of them backtrack through the Vault, with the only stop being at the Overseer’s office so Briar can download whatever information they can about the FEV onto their Pip-Boy. He ransacks the desk of all its documents and stuffs that into their duffel as well. With nothing of importance left, they make a swift exit.

As the Vault door comes to life and starts to move, Briar again fixes Fawkes with a serious look.

“Don’t be offended if you get a lot of horrified screams. There are children living outside this Vault.”

“Were they the family of the ones who originated here?”

“Yes. Please do not mention anything that we saw. It is better for them to continue believing that their parents died, instead of learning that their parents might be the very same Mutants that have tried attacking the settlement.”

“I will keep it to myself.”

“Thank you.”

The Vault’s door fully opens and unsurprisingly, most of the kids in the settlement are still camping out in front of it, anxiously awaiting their return. They look shocked upon the door opening so soon, which he supposes is fair—it’s only been three hours. That was a short time compared to what the kids probably thought was going to be ‘never’.

Penny and Macready stand up at once, eyes bright, but Briar holds up a hand.

“We’re fine. Everything worked out. But I need you to be calm and I need you to trust me.” His partner explains seriously.

Only when the kids nod, does his partner turn back towards the hallway and motion for Fawkes to step out of the shadows.

All at once the kids break out into terrified screams and scatter away from the three of them. Macready holds up their gun with shaking hands, eyes like saucers, but all Briar does is pinch the bridge of their nose and smoothly cut in front of Fawkes to discourage the kids from shooting.

“I am aware of what he looks like, but trust me, he is not the same as the other Super Mutants that you and I have encountered. He helped us in the Vault—all he wants is to be escorted out of here. Do you trust me enough to let me do that?”

Fawkes raises a hand to wave at the kids, which oddly works in calming some of them down, but Macready is still pointing their gun at the Mutant and Briar.

“Do you trust me?” His partner repeats firmly.

Macready’s blue eyes switch between Briar, Fawkes, then him.

He’s unsure why they looked to him for assurance, but he nods anyways, if it means that they’ll finally stop waving that gun around.

“Make it quick.” The mayor says, sucking their teeth and lowering their gun.

“Thank you.” Briar says, walking past the group, but not without squeezing Macready’s shoulder. Fawkes follows behind, trying to make themselves look smaller and less threatening, but it’s impossible.

The teenagers guarding Little Lamplight almost faint upon seeing the Super Mutant but realizing that neither he nor Briar were freaking out, they calm down far quicker than the kids. At the mouth of the cave, the three of them stop, with Briar lowering to the ground to dig around their duffel.

They pull out one of their shirts and tie it in a way to make a makeshift rucksack, which they fill with some water, food, and two Stimpacks. They hand it over to Fawkes, who has that fascinated expression on their face again.

Briar pulls up the map of their Pip-Boy and holds up their wrist unnaturally high so the Mutant can look.

“This is where we are now. I don’t know where you plan on heading, but there isn’t a single place that will take in a Super Mutant—pardon, ‘Meta Human’, even if you are the nicest one that they will probably ever meet. If you want to try settling down somewhere, try here,” And Briar points at Underworld, “No one but Ghouls live here, because the place is surrounded by Super Mutant camps. That should make it an easy trip getting there. There’s a Ghoul woman that guards the outside of it. Her name is Willow. If you mention that you know us, she might let you stay. She might ask you to do a few jobs to prove your trustworthiness, but that’s a small price to pay to live somewhere.”

“…There is nothing that I can say or do to express the magnitude of what you have done for me.” Fawkes admits with acute frustration.

“Believe me, you getting the G.E.C.K for us is already enough. Don’t worry about paying us back. Besides, I’m sure you’re excited to head out and see the world.”

“I am!” They agree, brightening. “Everything I know has been from the terminal in my cell. Who knows what I might learn tomorrow? What might I see? It is all very exciting.”

“I bet.” Briar nods, smiling, “Stay safe, okay?”

“Likewise.” And with a deep breath, Fawkes offers them one last look, before heading off into the Wasteland.

Chapter Text

The two of them leave Little Lamplight with the promise to return as soon as they can.

If he didn’t know any better, he thinks that if they didn’t have the G.E.C.K, Briar would be more than content to stay for another two weeks. He used to think they would be the type to hate children, or at the very least, handle them with carefully masked disdain.

He’d been completely fucking wrong, of course. All the children he’s seen Briar interact with quickly become enamored with them. It was obvious why: his partner spoke to kids the same way they did with adults and there was nothing that kids appreciated more than being treated like they were on the same playing field.

It helps that they sincerely enjoyed teaching people things, and that they had the patience needed to teach an entire settlement of kids the basics of survival. He knows without a shred of doubt that Briar had now become a stand-in for all the children’s dead parents.

Even more reason for him to make sure nothing and no one way harms them.

If he could shave off a few decades of his own life and add it to theirs, he would do so willingly—and gladly.

It would be nice to stop at Megaton on the way back to the Jefferson Memorial, but with the G.E.C.K in their possession, lingering in any place for too long makes the two of them paranoid. It was better to just rest as little as needed and get the trip over with, but he can tell that the nonstop pacing is getting to Briar, despite their best efforts to grit through it.

They cross the river by nightfall, their presence swathed in darkness, allowing them to elude the wandering Super Mutants with ease. There aren’t as many as there used to be, due to all their trekking back and forth to Rivet City and the culling they did along the way over the past months.

Months, he thinks, now trying to calculate just how long he and Briar have been traveling together.

It had to have been at least six months by now, he thinks.

It was odd to think how much his life had changed in such little time—how much HE had changed, due to the young man walking next to him.

It was the third time now that Briar had stopped to lean against a ruined building, their hand flat across the surface as they sucked in steadying breaths; their eyes bloodshot and face gaunt from exhaustion.

“Hey,” He says, taking a step closer to them and wrapping an arm around their waist to pull them to him. They slump against him, hiding their face. “We should find a place to stop for the night. It’s no good if we continue like this and get shot up because we’re unfocused.”

“But the G.E.C.K…” They bemoan.

“James and Dr. Li have waited twenty years for this project to be finished. They can wait an extra day or two.”

“I suppose that’s true, but where would we even stay?” They ask with frustration. “It would have been safer to sleep somewhere before we crossed the river. There aren’t a lot of safe places to stop at the closer we get to Rivet City.”

He gives the area a glance, looking for threats as he thinks.

“We could make it to Underworld in another hour.” He says, purposely keeping his own feelings about revisiting the place to himself.

“Absolutely not.”

He’s relieved, but now they were back to square one.

“…There’s also the museum of technology.” He offers, and Briar stiffens a little, before looking up at him.

They suck their bottom lip into their mouth, worrying it. Their eyes seem the least bit brighter now. He thinks that’s excitement that they’re trying to hide.

“I visited the place when I was fixing the Galaxy News Radio, but I didn’t have chance to really look around. I took care of the Mutants that were occupying the place at the time, but that doesn’t mean more haven’t moved in.”

“If the place is full of Mutants, I can check it out first since they won’t attack me. If its only a few of them, we can clear the place out and then bunker down for the night.”

They remain conflicted.

“Don’t you want to see the planetarium?” He asks and they are having a harder and harder time hiding how appealing that sounds.

“Well, yes, but—”

“It’s a date.” He smiles, hefting them up so he doesn’t have to break his back leaning down to kiss them. They weren’t tired enough to not try and steal a few more. Huffing a laugh, he sets them down. “Come on, let’s go.”

When they arrive at the steps of the museum of technology, he squeezes their hand before watching them slip into the shadows.

“Be careful. Please.” They say, barely visible even to his eyes as they settled comfortably into the darkness.

“Will do.” He says, and then slips inside the building.

The lobby is a vacant mess of destroyed furniture and bits of rubble. The building is dim, and quiet, but not silent, as he can hear massive bodies walking around. Definitely Super Mutants, he observes, and starts walking further into the building. He checks out all the rooms, greeted by a few Mr. Handy’s that incessantly offer him a tour of the place, which he politely declines for now. He doesn’t want the robots to think he’s an intruder, or a thief, and start shooting him down while he’s trying to see how many Mutants are wandering around.

He spots the first bunch of idiots as he walks past some replica of a machine that supposedly landed on the moon. The two Super Mutants he slips past pay him no mind, other than staring at him a little, probably wondering why the hell he was here. Despite Super Mutants not attacking Ghouls, it was still unnerving to be ogled.

He’s always wondered why that was the case. Did the Mutants view him as kin, or just a complete non-threat to their ranks? Maybe it was the shared radiation or because Ghouls looked like dead humans, and a dead human offered nothing of value to them, if they hadn’t gotten the pleasure of killing it themselves.

Just because they aren’t hostile doesn’t mean he isn’t.

He gets deep pleasure out of sneakily placing landmines behind one group, with the three Mutants too busy arguing over food portions to even spare him a glance. He set up the landmine in a way that as soon as one of them took a step back to turn around, it would detonate—and it does a measly thirty seconds later when he’s already down the hall. The place shakes a bit with the explosion, and the other Mutants rush over to check the source of the noise, not at all suspecting him, because he’s making it look like he’s searching for something in one of cabinets.

Their feeble minds assume that he is deaf or too stupid to go an investigate the sound, and he takes advantage of that, sneaking behind the next group as they inspect the corpses and shooting them in the back of the head one by one with ease.
They drop to the floor in heaps. It feels good to get some payback after all the Hell they had put his partner through the last week.

It had almost been too easy killing them. He guesses that after you’ve killed dozens and dozens of something, it just becomes second nature. Aside from the Brotherhood of Steel, he doesn’t know who else could have killed as many Super Mutants as he and Briar have.

He double checks the museum and the planetarium and finds nothing else occupying the building save for himself and the robots.

Job finished, he exits the building and moves to walk to the side of the building. He jumps when something touches him—it’s only Briar, who had moved from the spot he left them.

“Place is cleared. Took care of the mouth breathers.” He announces.

“I could have helped.” They protest while checking him for injuries.

“I know. I just wanted you to take it easy.”

“Hmph.”

“The planetarium still has power. We could watch the show.”

“Really??” They gasp with delight, doing a little jump, already forgetting their annoyance and he crosses his arms, looking at them fondly. Noticing his amusement, Briar coughs into their fist and straightens their recon armor. “I mean, there’s no point in complaining now. What’s done is done, and you aren’t hurt, so everything worked out. We should hurry up and head inside.”

He slips his hand into theirs and leads them inside.

This time, when the Mr. Handy’s approach, he accepts the tour and him and Briar are escorted through the museum. He’s not paying any real attention to the exhibits, or the information being relayed, his entire focus on his partner, who’s eyes were sparkling and their entire demeanor bubbling over with wonder as they’re shown the pre-war tech used to put man into orbit.
After the tour, he leads the way to the planetarium.

He helps them unload their duffel and guns and instructs them to sit and wait for him while he walks over to the main console in the center of the room and activates one of the programs. He settles on “The Long Road to Mars”, and after some disheartening clicking sounds made by the console, followed by some static, the narration for the show finally starts and the entire room goes black, before the ceiling and walls are painted with artificial stars and constellations.

He turns around and finds Briar staring up at the display, a look of utter enthrallment on their face.

He joins their side and takes a seat next to them. When he lays down, so do they, and the two of them watch the show while holding hands. Well, Briar watches the show, and he half watches while ultimately watching THEM instead. How could he waste time looking at the stars and planets when he had something even better to look at?

They have a grin on their face that refuses to leave. When they catch him looking, the grin only gets bigger, and they squeeze his hand.

The show starts looping once finished, so he gets up and turns the next one on, then the next and so on, until they’ve exhausted all the planetarium’s options.

He couldn’t repeat a word that was said if his life depended on it.

He turns off the main console and lays back down beside them just as the lights overhead turn back on.

“That was…” Briar begins to say, turning to look at him, but they struggle to find the words. “That was one of the nicest things I’ve ever experienced. Really, I—” And they trip on their words again, worrying their lip, “Thank you.”

“Anything for you.” He returns casually, and they sit up suddenly, a determined look in their eyes as they look down at him. “What’s up?”

They look like they want to say something important. It’s not the first time he’s seen them make that expression either. It’s been happening a lot more lately.

He doesn’t know what significance that expression holds, but until they were ready to say whatever it is that was on their mind, he leaves it alone.

“Where are we sleeping?” Is what they end up asking him instead of the thing that’s been knocking around in their skull relentlessly.

“There’s an employee room in the back. It’s got a door with a lock.” He suggests with a shrug.

“That should work perfectly. Do you mind bringing our things there? I want to freshen up a bit.” They explain.

“Sure.” He says, standing up and taking the briefcase with the G.E.C.K, their guns, and his own duffel. When he holds out a hand to take their bag, they shake their head. Duh, he mentally slaps himself. They couldn’t clean up without the soap and other amenities in their bag. He watches them slip out of the planetarium showroom and heads to the employee room.

The employee room has a bunch of boxes of papers littering it, a twin sized mattress that took up most of the space, and a console that controlled something, but he wasn’t sure. It looked like it wasn’t powered anyways, so he quickly loses interest as he sets all their things down atop the mattress and starts bringing out all the boxes to make more space. He doesn’t toss them around carelessly, in case Briar wanted to pick through them later.

He beats the mattress a few times, then coughs when the dust is kicked up. He takes out Briar’s bedroll and lays it across the surface, because he doesn’t trust the cleanliness of the thing. He’s just relieved it doesn’t smell weird, aside from being musty.
It occurs to him only now that this was the first time the two of them had been truly alone in weeks. He doesn’t want to assume anything, but just in case, he takes extra care in cleaning up the rest of the room and tries to make it look as inviting as possible.

He hates that he can only do so much—his partner deserved a big bed with a mountain of fluffy pillows and clean sheets.

They deserved a lot more than him, his brain suggests, and he stops dead in his tracks as anxiety starts to gnaw at him.

He tries to ignore the feeling but it’s difficult.

He feels slightly better after he’s freshened up and taken off his armor, but the anxiety doesn’t completely leave. He ends up taking a seat at the top of the mattress, leaning against the wall as he smoked a cigarette to quell his nerves.
He’s working on a second by the time the door to the employee room is pulled open wider.

Looking up, he chokes on the smoke in his throat.

“…Hi.” Briar greets, standing in the doorway dressed in only their red nightgown, even their boots and socks having been removed. They adjust their weight from one foot to the other, messing with the strap of their duffel, which was digging into their shoulder.
They looked gorgeous. Soft, and eager. The color of the gown complimented their tan skin and curly light brown hair.

His eyes trail up their body greedily, starting from their feet, then up their long, long, legs, then their thighs.

“When did you—” He strains to ask, and they shuffle meekly.

“I’ve had it hidden in my duffel since the last time we were at Megaton.” They confess.

He thinks he’s going to have a fucking heart attack.

He completely forgets that he’s smoking and when the embers catch his fingers he curses and drops the cigarette, scrambling to pick it up before it scorches a hole through their bedroll. In the time it takes for him to retrieve it and bat away the ash littering the mattress, Briar has already closed and locked the door and had set their duffel on the floor.

They’re walking over to him, feet padding silently across the mattress as they move to sit in his lap. They loop one arm around his neck and use the other to steal his dwindling cigarette, which they take a puff or two from before snubbing it out in the makeshift ashtray he’s got nearby, notably refusing to exhale the smoke just yet.

They lean their face closer and closer, mouth parting, and he surges forward, capturing their lips. He tastes the self-satisfied smile on their lips, as well as the smoke they shotgun into his mouth. It’s not enough, he slips his arms around their tiny waist and pulls them closer, turning his face to the side so he can kiss them deeply.

His hands struggle to decide where they should explore first. He glides his palm down the small of their back, enjoying the silk of the nightgown, and uses his other hand to drag his fingers up and down their freckled arm, making them shiver.
He takes their arm off his shoulder so he can hold it out and press a rough kiss to their wrist, raising his face higher and higher, kissing their forearm, their inner elbow, then the swell of their bicep.

He tucks his face into the curve of their neck, mouth parting so he can graze his teeth and they lean into the touch eagerly. He sucks a hickey into their neck, dropping his hands now so he can settle them on either of their hips, which he squeezes. He rubs his thumb in a lazy circle around their hipbone, lapping his tongue at the red spot he just left while they suck in air desperately, moaning around each mouthful.

They roll their hips against him, sighing when they feel how hard he is. They get the smallest amount of friction from rutting against him, and that alone kindles the fire more and makes them drag their silk clothed dick against his jeans firmly now, dragging a hiss out of him like water from a well.

“Charon?” They say breathily, and he looks up from where he’s been staring at their parted thighs to meet their gaze.

“Yeah?” He returns just as out of breath.

Their hands settle on his chest, toying with his shirt’s collar and some of the buttons.

“Can we..?” They ask quietly, the implication clear.

He swallows hard.

“Yeah.” He answers. And feeling his anxiety welling up again, he throws in: “You sure?”

Briar smiles in that soft, secret way that they only did for him. Their beautiful green eyes crease at the corners and the affection in them blindsides him.

“Of course. Nothing would make me happier. I’ve wanted this for a while now.” They tell him.

Overwhelmed wasn’t a good enough word for the way his heart clenches painfully behind his ribs, feeling too large as of late, and like it was pumping not just to keep him living, but to keep him alive, although if he tried to explain that outside of his own thoughts, he doubts that he could articulate it in the exact way he wants.

For some reason, he thinks that they would understand even if he did fuck up the explanation. They would be patient enough to wait and sit through the fumbling mistakes until he molded the feeling into the exact shape its been taking up within him.
Briar raises both of their hands and takes his to clasp them together between the warm, quiet place between their chests. Easy as breathing, practically tradition at this point—they raise his hands to their face and kiss each knuckle, lips pulled into a smile.

He’s not used to being wanted.

He’s not used to getting what HE wants, or even wanting anything at all.

And so deeply.

It’s a lot to process, but he is eager to process it all.

After an eternity, he nods.

“Hiding anything else in that duffel of yours?” He asks.

“If you’re asking if I have lube, the answer is yes.” They laugh quietly, and temporarily slip off his lap to crawl over to where their duffel is, giving him a perfect view of their ass and the back of their thighs. Their dick hangs between their thighs fully hard. He salivates.

They pull a jar of something out of their duffel in no time at all and crawl back into his lap, setting it down for the time being. It doesn’t look like cooking oil, or something similar, but he doesn’t have the capacity to really give a shit about what it is when he has a lap full of this man, who was equally the prettiest thing he has ever set his eyes on and the deadliest; a rose adorned with brambles, only opening for him and pricking everything else that touched it.

He forgets about the jar and a lot of things as they lean forward to kiss him, gently biting at his bottom lip, the smallest, sweetest of sounds escaping their throat as he relaxes and starts touching them again. They grope at his pecs, dragging their nails across the fabric, and it makes him realize something; the fact that he was still completely dressed.

Briar was willing to be vulnerable with him in a myriad of ways, and they never once demanded more than what he had offered. He pauses kissing them to start unbuttoning his long sleeve. He’s got a t-shirt underneath and has felt comfortable in being in just that or a tank top in front of them, but being completely shirtless willingly would be a first.

The only glimpse they had gotten was when he was dying—and if there’s anything he wants to do, its replacing the memory with a good one by doing this.

He focuses on the fact that he wants to do this, that he’s doing this willingly, and with that in mind he gets his shirt completely unbuttoned and shrugs out of it. He slips his hand under the hem of his t-shirt, freezes for a second, but then resolves himself and rolls it over his head and tosses it aside.

“Oh…” Briar sighs dreamily, eyes raking across his bare chest and arms. He sees them drag their tongue across one of their canines and their dick visibly twitches where it’s been tenting their nightgown. They’re so hard it’s even lifting the fabric up now, as if they were doing a lewd version of a curtsy. “I wouldn’t be able to walk in a straight line if you walked around shirtless all the time. Good fucking Lord.”

They reach out with both hands, fingers twitching, and of course go straight for his pecs, which they squeeze firmly, lust burning in their eyes like coals, and they bury their face in his chest, kissing the rough, uneven planes of muscle and fat.
It feels good—even the littlest of touches has his breath catching in his throat. He thought it would be nauseating, at least in the beginning, but it is good from the start in a way that nearly hurts. He’s never been touched like this: like he was the only thing that kept them breathing. It wasn’t just lust—it was a deeper need, something bone deep.

Their hands dance across his abs, feeling the taut muscle and dragging their thumb across the divots, their face lowering as well and ghosting breaths over his stomach. They’re hunched over now, looking up at him through their eyelashes in a way that knocks a breath out of him. They unlatch his belt buckle deftly with one hand and free his aching dick, curling their fingers around the base and squeezing firmly—a lot firmer than most would like it, but it’s perfect for him and he slips a hand into their hair, blood pounding in his ears as they guide his cock into their mouth.

“I don’t know why I let you risk your life when I could just do all the work instead and keep you home to sit pretty and wait for me so I can bend you over the nearest surface when I get back.” Is what he was thinking, but he hadn’t intended to voice any of it, in fear that Briar might take it as him ridiculing their ability to survive on their own, but no, he’s proven wrong by how loudly they moan around him.

He doesn’t mean to suddenly thrust deeper into their mouth, either, but there’s no helping it.

“Fuck.” He grits out and apologizes wordlessly by brushing some hair out of their face, tucking it behind an ear. Their hair was getting long. It reached their shoulders now, usually kept tied back with a rubber band, but it was loose now, the curls springing up under his touch. He grips a good amount of it and tugs with the slightest amount of pressure and their eyes flutter shut. They let him manually push their face lower, now bobbing their mouth around him and they’re so fucking shameless about it, uncaring of the wet, sucking sounds or how desperate they looked.

He pushes them off suddenly, and they have the nerve to whine like he’s stealing food straight from their mouth.

“You make a lot of noise, you know that?” He remarks, placing a hand on the middle of their chest before pushing, moving along with the motion until Briar was flat on their back and he was looming over them like he wants to shield them away from even the sun. “Like a songbird.”

“S-Songbird?” They echo, sounding perplexed.

“It’s what you are. My pretty songbird, always singing for me.” He continues, sitting up and rolling them on their side so he can lay behind them, and the nightgown clings to their ass enticingly, the fabric glinting in the low light, and he reaches out and grabs a handful of their ass and they squeak, embarrassed. “Yeah, just like that.” He compliments, squeezing again, and Briar turns their face to the side, eyes shut tightly and face beet red.

He reaches back to grab the jar and twists the lid off, slicking two fingers before leaning back over them, spreading their cheeks apart and getting another scandalized sound that quickly turns into a moan when he massages their entrance with a single finger and leans down to kiss their shoulder.

He adds pressure little by little, slipping in gently, and other than some tensing, Briar doesn’t react poorly, the kissing making for a good distraction for this minor discomfort. He nudges his finger deeper, shallowing thrusting the first two digits, careful, because although this wasn’t much, his fingers were a lot thicker than theirs.

“Relax.” He reminds them, and like magic Briar’s body sinks further down against the mattress, muscles falling at ease.

He sinks his entire finger in and stops moving, giving them a moment to breathe. When he starts moving his finger in and out, starting at a slow pace, they make a small noise of complaint, but don’t tell him to stop, so he trusts them that it was okay to keep going. Their nose stops wrinkling after another minute, and he feels them relax again. He slips his finger completely out of them, adding more lubricant, and slips it back at the same time he leans back down to kiss their shoulder.

“Oh!” They say around a gasp as he gets knuckle deep, brushing against the spot he’d been looking for, and he feels them tighten around him, hips wiggling to chase after the feeling.

“Yeah? Feel good?” He asks, kissing the curve of their neck, and moving onward so he can hover his mouth by the shell of their ear. “Want some more?”

“Please.”

His cock twitches with interest, and he hisses out a breath. He needs to take his time, but Briar sounded way too fucking cute asking like that. He oils up a second finger and starts the whole process again, gently sinking in a knuckle at a time, pausing to scissor his fingers minutely. When he bottoms out both fingers and brushes against their prostate Briar’s back arches taut, like a bow, and their mouth falls open as a loud and drawn-out whine wavers past their lips.

“Fuck!” Slips out of them as they start grinding their hips down against his fingers. He gives them exactly what they want, thrusting his fingers deep inside them and massaging that spot, and he works all sorts of sounds out of them.

He burns each of them into his memory for safekeeping.

“C-Charon, please, I want—” They start to beg, voice husky and he cuts them off by thrusting his fingers in deeply again. They keen high-pitched and stuttering, shivering all over.

“I know what you want.” He interrupts, “And you need another finger before I even think about sticking it in you.”

And when he does slip a third finger in, they tense up, and they make a distressed sound that makes his heart sink. He slips all his fingers out and offers another quiet apology. Only after they’ve relaxed does he try again, and Briar’s face scrunches up as all three fingers sink in, but that’s all they do. He works them up even more slowly.

“Just keep breathing. Good.” He tells them, and they nod.

They’re dead silent now aside from their labored breaths, which wasn’t a good sign, and he’s thinking about stopping altogether and just getting them off the usual way instead, because he doesn’t want them to lay there and think they need to just deal with it, but his spiral is stopped when Briar suddenly squeezes tightly around him, pushing down and trying to work in tandem with his fingers now instead of wincing.

“More. Please.” They sigh, eyes cracking open to look at him hungrily, face flushed. Sweat was building at their temple, tracing the vertical scar that was still pink and new.

He picks up the pace, thrusting all three fingers deep inside of them each time and filling them up, but it’s not enough—they’re trying to bat his hand away now.

“I want you.” Briar tells him, frowning in that way he knows means they’re ready to argue, if need be.

“If I’m not careful you aren’t going to be able to walk tomorrow.” He says, yet he’s slipping his fingers completely out and giving them room to adjust anyways.

“Please.” They whine, ignoring everything he’d just said to roll onto their back, spreading their thighs invitingly. They hold up their arms wide, now looking expectant as he’s there sitting on his heels, staring down at them with threadbare restraint.

There’s only so much he can tolerate.

He crawls over them and takes both of their legs in a bundle and tosses it over his right shoulder, leaning forward until he’s got them bent in half. He becomes hyper aware of the size difference between the two of them, inwardly grimacing a bit as he lines up his cock with their entrance.

He starts to sink in slowly, and they suck in a small, pained breath, instinctively tensing again. He leans forward enough to kiss them, bending them further, but they don’t mind in the least, kissing him fervently as he slips the tip in further now.
He adds more lubricant as needed, sinking in further inch by inch, and one of Briar’s hands shoot up to their face so they can sink their teeth into the crook of it, a shiver suddenly wracking their entire body.

“Does it hurt?” He asks, worried, but they shake their head quickly.

“N-No, it’s good. Really fucking good.” Takes them great effort to tell him, and when they finally get the words out its slurred, like they were delirious.

He kisses their forehead and keeps going, swallowing hard as he’s halfway in, and it was so tempting to just plunge the rest of the way, his hips are practically shaking with the need to thrust, but he bites back the urge and keeps teasing his way in until he’s at last bottomed out, and its so good he has to just be still for a second.

He knew they were going to be tight, but this was something else. He can hardly breathe around the pleasure of being squeezed by them like the world’s loveliest vise.

“God!” Briar sucks in a sharp gasp, back arching, when he bends them the most they can go and it somehow gives him access to the tiniest bit more of space for him to push in deeper, now nestled in so deeply so he practically feels their heartbeat sync up with his own. He feels one of their legs jump from where he’s still got them bundled on his shoulder.

He starts to shallowly thrust in and out, eyes watching their body for any sign of discomfort, or pain, but all he sees is his partner eagerly taking him in. Briar curls a hand around the arm he’s got crooked on the bed, squeezing the muscle of his forearms, before turning their face that way and kissing his inner wrist over his pulse.

He slips almost entirely out, hovering for a moment, leaving them empty and wanting, before thrusting back in smoothly and so completely that it shakes them a little against the mattress, and they cry out sweetly—so sweetly he just starts fucking them like he’s been wanting to for months now. He holds them tightly, keeping them right where he needs them to be and fucks them hard, each thrust deep and hitting their prostate relentlessly.

Their eyes are damp with fresh tears, and he’d be worried if they weren’t saying his name over and over and babbling about how good it felt as he took their virginity.

“You’re mine.” He tells them roughly, kissing them, and they moan loudly, spasming around him as they suddenly cum, and glancing downward he gets to watch as their dick twitches hard several times, covering their stomach and chest, even their neck with cum.

“I want more—” Briar says, throwing their head back and breathing hard. “I can take it. Keep fucking me.”

“Needy thing.” He says affectionately, going right back to fucking them into the mattress.

“Can’t help it. You’re just too perfect for me.” They return, sounding equally affectionate, and Briar was smiling now, face glowing with mirth, and skin glistening with sweat in what almost looked artistic and purposefully done.

All words leave his partner apart from his name, which they repeat over and over as he fucks their second orgasm out of them and feels his own steadily chasing nearer. They grab at him to get his attention, motioning for a kiss and when he obliges Briar hums, beyond pleased.

Of all the things to make him suddenly and so violently close to unraveling—

He shuts his eyes, cursing against their lips; everything far too hot, wet, and tight. He cums the hardest he thinks he ever has, feeling the sensation like he would jumping into a lake of lava, he feels the hot, spiking heat all over, starting from his gut and branching out. His vision fuzzes around the edges as he finishes inside them deeply, thrusting slowly a few more times like he wants keep them filled with it.

That was a tempting thought.

But not one he has any energy left to entertain.

When his senses return to him and he stops shaking and simultaneously feeling like a lead weight, he starts to carefully pull out. Briar squirms, uncomfortable with the feeling, and their face becomes even more displeased when he’s completely out and they start to feel his cum leak out. He gently hefts their legs off his shoulder, laying them down so their aching back can start to loosen up.

His knees and lower back were pretty fucking sore, too, but he needs to clean them up.

And himself, but that would only take a second compared to the absolute mess they’ve been reduced to. He steals another glance at them while grabbing what he needs; takes in their blissed out, tired expression, the way they were still breathing hard, and their legs were minutely trembling from being held in the same position for so long.

He helps them sit up and then proceeds to delicately slip off their nightgown over their head, leaving them entirely naked, which he can’t help but admire for a second, before getting to work and cleaning them up. He’s supposed to grab them some fresh clothes, but after he cleans himself, he finds himself laying back down, utterly spent.

The second he lets his eyes close he’s asleep.

Some indeterminate amount of time later, he wakes up, startled by his own snoring—that’s how deeply he’d fallen asleep. He cracks his eyes open, staring at the ceiling of the employees’ room he barely remembers. All he remembers with clarity is soft skin, green eyes, and…

He cranes his face to the right and finds Briar laying on their side towards him, wide awake where they’ve presumably been watching him sleep. Their cheek rests in their palm comfortably, the excess fabric of their sleeves pooling around their elbow. That’s his long sleeve, he realizes. They’ve got it only buttoned part way and it was twice their size, looking more of a dress than a shirt.

They looked attractive in anything, really, but seeing them in his clothes makes him choke on a breath.

“Sleep well?” Briar asks him, leaning over to kiss his shoulder. They briefly point at something nearby, just out of his field of vision. “Your undershirt is over there, if you want it.”

He does. He doesn’t typically like sleeping without a shirt on and moves to quickly put it on, his partner only looking mildly disappointed at his need to cover up.

He doesn’t feel like doing anything else besides that, and quickly lays back down, this time on his stomach so he can go back to sleep. The two of them made sure to barricade the front entrance of the museum of technology, and there was no way that either of them wouldn’t hear someone breaking it down. Or the robots being attacked.

For some reason the way he unceremoniously flops over makes Briar laugh, and they scoot closer to start rubbing their hand into soothing circles on the middle of his back. He could fall back asleep in seconds…

“God, I love you.” Briar tells him with a fond little sigh.

He freezes, eyes snapping open.

“Oops. Should I have kept that to myself?” Briar says, laughing awkwardly, and sounding casual enough but there is real worry in those words. “I understand if it’s too soon—Ugh, I’ve been trying to keep a lid on it, but you make it so easy, so it just slipped out.” They continue with an air of mentally slapping themselves.

They very pointedly do not say sorry.

This was no accident or slip of the tongue.

They had merely blurted out what they had been fighting back for quite some time now.

Just how long is the part that really chokes him up.

His heart squeezes painfully in his chest, feeling like it was pounding against his ribcage in an effort to escape it and jump out to be held in his partner’s tender hold. He pushes up, now sitting, and when he looks at them Briar offers a sheepish smile.
Everything…freezes, in a way. He’s staring at them, probably looking stupid in his shock, and in his head he repeats those three words. It replays a thousand times: I love you, I love you, I love you.

It may be the first time they’ve said it aloud, but it isn’t the first time they’ve made the sentiment; they practically confessed the same back in Little Lamplight, when they begged him to never leave their side. They said it in a plethora of other ways: each time they held his hand, or patched him up, or read to him when his eyes got too tired, but he didn’t want to stop just yet.

“You don’t have to say anything in return.” Briar amends when it’s dead silent in the room because he’s just sitting there, not talking. “You don’t have to say anything at all—I just wanted to make sure that you knew you were loved. Honestly, I’m surprised I didn’t say it last night. I had to put a metaphorical clamp on the feeling more than once. Especially after sex, which was fantastic, by the way. I don’t even care that I can barely move.”

He hadn’t meant to set them off on a nervous ramble.

Briar should be upset, he thinks, as he continues to stare. They should be upset that he hasn’t said it back; that he hasn’t said ANYTHING. He loves them, he does, and he should say it back, it would be one of the easiest things to do, but he can’t for some reason.

He doesn’t understand why it feels so difficult to breathe now. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he realizes he’s started to shake.

His suspicions are proven correct in the way that his partner frowns, crawling over to sit on their folded knees just in front of him, leaning forward to slip their arms around his waist. Their face rests right over his heart.

He’s scared, he realizes. He’s never been more scared in his life. A lifetime of debasement, monotony, and violence has left him unable to process this. He can’t lose this—He can’t lose them. It will kill him in a way that death won’t. That’s why he can’t say it back; it feels like the second he breathed the words into life, something horrible would happen.

He doesn’t think he can return to being an unfeeling, uncaring husk of a person.

He’s forgotten how to be a slave.

There is something liberating and terrifying about that.

Briar shushes him, so he must have made some kind of noise. His throat feels tight, and his gut drops when he realizes his vision is misty. Humiliation begins to cut through him. The feeling isn’t allowed to stay for long. Briar helps him lay back down, purposely, tucking his face against their stomach so he doesn’t have to worry about being seen like this. He clings to them tightly, tighter than he’d ever allow himself usually, but they don’t complain.

They simply start humming and hug him back.

The planetarium serves as home for another day, but when sun sets and night falls, the two of them pack up and get ready to leave, carefully taking down the barricade piece by piece.

“Ready?” Briar asks, tossing the last piece of furniture aside and clapping their hands together to get rid of the dirt.

He nods in lieu of talking, still in a quiet mood.

There’s only Super Mutants and a few Raiders scattered in varying density on their walk near the water towards the Jefferson Memorial, and they’d be there already, if Briar stopped pausing every few minutes to look behind them suddenly in an unexplained bout of paranoia.

He’s annoyed enough to speak.

“Are you going to tell me what you think is following us or should I wait until it shoots me in the back?” He asks them with a scowl, watching as they naturally slipped onto one knee and looked through their sniper’s scope back towards the way they just came.

“I keep hearing something running in short, uneven bursts towards us. I’ve heard it since we left the museum of technology, but I thought I was just imagining things.” They explain.

“Sitting out in the open like this is going to guarantee that something catches up with us.”

“I know, I know, but…” They say, stiffening suddenly. “There is it is—I was right!” But their excitement dwindles and their expression sours. “It’s just a dog. And it’s got a limp. It must have smelled what we ate and followed us hoping to find scraps.”

He pushes their gun down as the dog approaches, accidentally bumping his hand against their scope and fucking up the way they had it set and Briar makes a sort of furious shriek and they move away from him, which scares the dog and makes it stop dead in its tracks a few yards away.

He’s not sure what the breed is, but he remembers seeing posters of cops with this kind of dog: light brown fur muddled with black, a narrow, handsome muzzle and big ears that were currently pressed flat to its skull, its amber, wet eyes eyeing him and Briar with visible fear and desperation.

“I wasn’t going to shoot it, for fuck’s sake.” Briar snips at him, and yeah, of course they weren’t what was he thinking?

He just didn’t want to scare the dog off by having a gun pointed at it, but he ended up doing that anyways by all the noise his partner had just made.

“Sorry.” He says, and they huff, but say nothing else. He crouches down onto his knees even though it’s hell, and reaches into his duffel slowly, keeping his gaze to the ground, instead of maintaining eye contact with the dog. He pulls out some dried meat and tosses some of it halfway towards it.

After a minute, the dog hobbles over and eats it, keeping their eyes on him the entire time.

He takes out some more and throws it a little closer, than closer, until the dog is cautiously eating out of his hand. The corner of his mouth lifts into a smile.

Briar notices it, and they stare at him, then the dog.

“…You aren’t thinking of keeping it, are you?” They ask with no shortness of dismay.

“Maybe.” He says with a shrug. “He’d make a good guard dog. He doesn’t seem feral at all. Just nervous because he’s injured and hungry. His coat looks healthy. The only thing that’s wrong is how skinny he is, but that’s easy to fix.”

“That doesn’t sound like a maybe.”

“…I like dogs.” He admits sheepishly.

“Charon,” Briar groans, slapping a hand on their face and dragging it downwards. “Think of all the nice, irreplaceable things we have in the house—now imagine it all torn apart and mangled beyond repair. If I find my clothes messed up in ANY way—”

“We can train him.” He insists.

“WE?” Briar repeats, scoffing.

He rolls his eyes.

“I can train him.” He corrects, and the dog is comfortable enough with him now to allow him to reach towards its throat, where a grimy collar sits. He wipes some smudge off the nametag. It reads: Dogmeat.

Briar stands up and lingers just behind him, wary of the dog, and that works out fine because the dog is wary of them. His partner casts a glance at the collar and while he can’t see their nose wrinkling just now, he can hear it in the insulted huff they make.

“Dogmeat? What an awful name.” They remark.

“It’s straight and to the point.”

“So is just calling it ‘dog’. Adding ‘meat’ to it adds more effort and paints a macabre image, don’t you think?”

“They’re probably already used to the name. Isn’t that right, Dogmeat?” And when he says its name the dog perks up, trying to stand up straight despite the injured leg. He pets its ears, complimenting it, and turns to look over his shoulder at Briar. “Can you fix him up?”

“Of course, but he better not bite me.” They snip, before sitting down and taking out the medical kit. “Can you make him turn towards you all the way? I doubt he’ll let me get behind him.”

He feeds Dogmeat some more meat to get them to adjust the way they want.

“It’s hard to tell if they got their leg stuck in a bear trap or if a much bigger animal took a bite. Either way, their leg is nearly broken and there’s puncture marks across the ankles and leading up.” They explain, eyeing the area with their Pip-Boy’s flashlight on.

“All I can do is administer a Stimpack, clean it up and wrap it. It’d be best to give them some Med-X, but if you were thinking about taking it with us, which I suspect that you are, then it wouldn’t benefit any of us to have them loopy.”

He nods. It’s not like he knew what else to do.

“I won’t let him bite you.” He assures when they slip on some gloves but hesitates to touch Dogmeat just yet.

They shoot him a look of disbelief. Still, they reach out and tentatively hold Dogmeat’s back right foot, and holds the Stimpack in their other hand, lowering it slowly. Dogmeat whines, then barks sharply, trying to turn around, but he sets a hand on their upper back, applying some pressure, and holds a hand around their muzzle, stopping any bites at all.

Briar quickly sinks the plunger down and administers the Stimpack. They tear open some alcohol wipes in record time, patting the puncture wounds as lightly as possible while still coating them, while Dogmeat starts to growl and fight against him.

They wrap up the leg tightly with bandages and then back off.

He lets go of Dogmeat, the job finished now, but they’re so worked up and paranoid now that they still end up biting him on his forearm, and while Briar gasps sharply, frightened for him, he just sits there and grits through it. The last thing he wants is for the dog to shake their head and tear his muscles up.

Bit by bit, Dogmeat realizes that their leg miraculously feels better, and they unlatch their jaw from his arm and take a few steps back, whining now, looking confused. He uses his good arm to take out the last of the dried meat and holds it out.
This would be the real test.

“Your arm—“ Briar says, worried, but he shushes them.

“In a second.”

They obediently stay silent and don’t move.

Dogmeat walks back over, the limp less noticeable, and slowly but surely makes its way back over to him and eats out of his hand again. He exhales the breath he didn’t notice he’d been holding and lets the dog sniff and lick at his palm, before he pets their ears again.

“Have him smell your hand, too. He needs to recognize you as a non-threat. Especially after we just held him down.”

“…”

“It’ll be fine.” He assures.

Just as nervous as the dog, Briar shakily holds out a hand for Dogmeat to inspect. His partner’s hand holds less interest for the dog than his did, since there was nothing to eat held within it, but they still give Briar’s hand a good sniff, their wet nose tickling them.

“Well, I’m glad you’re feeling better.” Briar tuts, taking their hand away and wiping it profusely on their recon armor, before using another alcohol wipe and cleaning both hands, so they can take care of his arm. “Your turn.”
He zones out mostly while they gently disinfect the bite and wrap up his forearm.

“Dogmeat is female, by the way. I had a look when I was back there.” Briar tells him. “That means she could run off and get pregnant and bring even more things to tear up the house.”

He really isn’t sure how he can convince them now.

His disappointment must show on his face.

“Oh, for God’s sake…” Briar says, sighing in defeat. “We can keep her.”

“Really?” He says, genuinely shocked as they stand up and turn away from him, busy with checking the area for hostiles. Or so he thinks, but their arms are crossed and they’re tapping a finger on their bicep incessantly, clearly irritated, but trying to ignore it or work through the feeling.

“If it will make you happy.” They say, voice clipped.

“Yeah. It would.” He agrees, moving to stand behind them and slipping his arms around their middle. “Thanks.”

“Anything for you, love.” Briar tells him with far less anger.

He squeezes them tighter, smiling again.

Chapter Text

“Is something wrong?” Briar asks when they slip into the science lab at Rivet City and are greeted by the sight of their father sat in a chair, head held between both hands, as Dr. Li stood nearby, her hand delicately set on one of his shoulders. It is his partner’s voice, and not the door opening and shutting, that shakes the two from whatever weird mood they’re in.

James’ face snaps up, their eyes wide, and accentuated by dark circles.

“Son—” James says in a breathless way, relieved, and gets up to immediately pull Briar into a bone crushing hug, one that makes them let out a ‘oof’ as the air is squeezed out of their lungs. He only stares at the two for a minute, trying to sus out why their father was being so emotional.

It’s not like he was the one who had to pull Briar out of a burning heap just a week ago.

He ignores the interaction for the time being. His feet hurt like hell so he steals the seat James had been occupying and busies himself with petting Dogmeat, who is looking all over the lab curiously. Dr. Li eyes the dog with trepidation, not out of fear of being bitten, but out of fear of the glass equipment and other things being destroyed by an overly excited animal.

“Sit.” He tells Dogmeat, and she does so immediately, all too eager to please.

Her obedience makes Dr. Li’s shoulders relax. She hates small talk, but she seems ill-equipped to deal with public displays of affection, so she ends up talking to him anyways.

“You two were gone for quite a while. We became worried something happened.” Dr. Li explains to him quietly. “James especially. He deeply regrets how his relationship with Briar has deteriorated as of late.”

“He only has himself to blame.” He scoffs, not bothering to quiet his voice.

“…I agree.” She sighs. “However, it still pains me to see it.”

He doesn’t know what to say to that.

Neither does she.

“…When did you get the dog?” She asks with a wince when both of them hear a suspiciously wet sniffle from James. Peeking over, he sees Briar pat their father’s back reassuringly, a mortified expression on their face.

“Today.” He answers. “Her name is Dogmeat.”

“I see...”

He snorts.

“Want to pet her?” He offers, and despite looking somewhat hesitant, Dr. Li agrees.

By the time James has finished blubbering all over his partner, Dr. Li and Dogmeat have become very well acquainted.

“There, there, that’s quite enough, don’t you think?” Briar sighs, separating from James and holding the man at length, both hands on their shoulders so they could look him in the eyes. “For God’s sake, you act as if I died—I was gone for two weeks, not a millennia. I was hoping you two would be cheerier when we arrived.”

“Why is that?” James blinks, confused.

Briar bends at the knee and picks up the silver briefcase they’d set down on the ground, walking over to where he’s sitting to place it on the table.

“Because…” Briar says, undoing the latches, “We didn’t return empty handed.” And they open the briefcase where the G.E.C.K sits perfectly intact inside, still looking more like a piece of junk to him, than something that would supposedly provide the Capital Wasteland with nearly limitless clean water.

At the sight of it, James and Dr. Li gasp sharply, swarming over to the thing like moths to a flame. James mouth falls open in shock. They close it, but it just falls back open.

“That’s…That’s really it.” Dr. Li says, sounding like she was close to crying now too. “After all these years—” And her voice cracks and she quietly excuses herself, turning around. Briar, ever the gentleman, walks over and offers the clean rag they always kept on their person. “Oh. Thank you.” She says, accepting it, and then proceeds to loudly blow her nose into the fabric. “It almost doesn’t feel real. I feel like if I turn back around it won’t be there. What if it doesn’t work? What if it’s broken in a way that we can’t tell just by looking at it? The disappointment would be—I don’t know if I could take it. Is it stupid of me to admit that I’m almost scared that we have it now?”

“Imagine how scared we were carrying the damn thing back with us.” Briar says in return, “The sooner you implement it, the sooner we can tell if it works as it should and we can celebrate. You don’t want to wait any longer than you have already, right?”

“Yes. Yes, you’re right. I’m just being emotional.” She says, bowing her face.

“Nothing wrong with that.” And Briar squeezes her hand once, then guides her into turning back around.

James has a hand cupped over the top half of their face, shielding their eyes in a far too familiar way.

Growing concerned at their silence, or rather, the way their father was just standing in place, unmoving and seemingly not breathing, Briar slips away from Dr. Li and gives James a tentative nudge with their elbow.

“I’m alright. More than alright, really.” James assures, lowering their hand now, and they drag their eyes back to the G.E.C.K, to Briar, and then Dr. Li, before a hysterical sort of laugh bubbles up from their throat. They keep on laughing, eyes closed and head thrown back, and it is a light, airy sound. It is the sound of relief and accomplishment after two decades of struggling.

He still hates James, and he knows Briar still resents them and their relationship has been damaged in such a way that it can never be what they once had, but even still, he watches his partner’s shoulders sag, and their eyes soften, and they bring their father into another embrace, this time looking far more relaxed.

“Thank you—both of you. I wish I could convey just how thankful I am. How thankful we ALL are. The other scientists are going to lose their heads once they hear of our success. Project Purity, for much of its existence, felt like a dream, rather than something that could realistically be accomplished. After countless setbacks, failures, disagreements…all it took was the help of my son and his,” James flounders, but only for a second, “Significant other.”

He cannot help but snort at that.

“Imagine how much faster we could have done all this if you let me help from the beginning.” Briar cannot help but bring up either, and while James looks ashamed as they always did when reminded of their grave mistakes, the happiness of the moment dulls it into something workable.

“You are right.” James agrees, humbled, but eyes still bright. “Your mother would have been furious with me for the poor decisions I made on your behalf. I am positive she would have throttled me. I’ve always needed someone to shout some sense into me. It is very fortunate that you inherited her knack for it, I suppose.”

“Very fortunate.” Briar agrees.

“Catherine would be proud of you.” James tells them, and Briar becomes meek, like they always did when a genuine compliment was being thrown their way. “We are all very proud of you. I hope you know that.”

They just toy with some of their hair, unable to really look at anyone in the eyes.

“Is there anything we can do for you two? Besides paying you the agreed amount of caps, of course. We haven’t forgotten our end of the bargain.” Dr. Li speaks up when Briar fails to, but the mention of a reward makes them perk up suddenly.

“Project Purity’s completion deserves some fanfare, right? Why don’t we have a party? A small one. Just us and the other scientists.” Briar suggests, brimming with excitement at the opportunity to dress up and have a few drinks.

Dr. Li looks a little green in the face at the aspect of socializing for a great length of time, but she quickly snuffs out the expression and gives his partner a restrained smile.

“Of course. I’m sure we can set something up. Why don’t we all head to the Memorial now and make sure that the G.E.C.K works? Then we can grab some supplies and have a party tomorrow night, if you’d like?”

“Fantastic!” Briar says, sounding more excited at the party then Project Purity’s success, and they eagerly help James and Dr. Li gather what few things they have left at the lab at Rivet City before all four of them make the trek to the Jefferson Memorial.

At the Memorial, when they get to the rotunda where all the other scientists are moving around with what he thinks is poorly concealed misery, the sight of the four of them, along with the shiny, silver briefcase, gets everyone to stop dead in their tracks.

“We have it.” James announces, and Briar hands over the briefcase, which their father brings over to the main console in the room. The briefcase is opened and the innards stared at for a lingering moment, as if they still couldn’t believe it was there. “All we need to do now is make sure it works. Madison, I think you should be the one to do it.”

“Me?” The woman balks.

“Yes. Consider it my way of apologizing for making you wait so long.”

Dr. Li thinks it over, eyeing the other scientists, and even Briar, before nodding and walking over to the console. She wordlessly picks up the G.E.C.K, opens a panel in the center console, and gently tucks it inside after connecting some wires. It almost felt like watching a heart transplant, with the slowness and care that she does it with.

She starts clicking away at some buttons, and although he can see the computer inputs on the screen, he has no idea what she’s doing. Neither does Briar, who at the first notice of a computer swiftly mentally checks out. He’s always wondered why they loved repairing guns and manual tech, but despised anything that might give them an ‘error’ message. Maybe it was the computer’s way of back talking, and there was nothing Briar disliked more than something telling them they were wrong and showing the exact reason why.

There are a few minutes of painful silence as they all wait while the console connects to the G.E.C.K.

Dr. Li is tapping one foot, her heels making a clicking sound that kind of drives him nuts so he bends at the knee and distracts himself with Dogmeat, stroking her dusty fur. He needed to give her a bath, but there hadn’t been any time yet. He’s only had her for a day, but he’s already attached. He thinks Briar knows that too—they meet his gaze as they’re biting their nails anxiously, and when they see him petting her, they smile a little, shaking their head.

The console makes a beeping sound, which he doesn’t know if that’s good or not, but Dr. Li’s foot stops tapping and everyone but him sort of crowds the console, pressing their noses to the screen.

“…Its worked!” Dr. Li announces with a relieved gasp, and all the tension in the room pops at last and there is suddenly a bunch of people laughing, crying, and holding on to one another.

He watches Dr. Li pull James into a tight hug, her face buried in his neck in a rare display of affection, and even James seems stunned, before they relax and return the gesture.

Before he can get up and leave the room to get a break from all the waterworks and the sensory overload that he and Dogmeat seem to only be experiencing, Briar slips away from the scientists and crouches onto the floor in front of him, looking a little teary eyed, but inexplicably happy as they wrap their arms around him.

And Dogmeat.

He thought they would avoid touching the dog, especially since he hasn’t cleaned her yet, but no, his partner holds them both.

“Glad this is finally over?” He says quietly into their ear.

“You have no fucking idea.” They return and lean out of the hug to kiss him dead on the lips, but they have the mental fortitude to keep things chaste, only lingering for a second, before breaking away.

It feels good to have accomplished something like this, but the feeling is dulled by how many new scars litter his partner’s body. How many near deaths they have under their belt. The party will be fun to a degree, but all he can think about is going home.

Megaton, and his bedroom and the smell of rose perfume is what powers him through the lengthy discussion afterwards in the rotunda. The G.E.C.K will take a full day to be implemented into the console, and so while Project Purity has been completed, they will not reap its benefits until late tomorrow.

The conversation shifts into planning how exactly the clean water will be distributed to each settlement, and how much each settlement should receive, and on what frequency, and—

He internally groans, and his eyes drift over to Briar, who is talking animatedly with everyone else. Despite being engrossed in a talk with Dr. Li, they notice his staring immediately, and when they do, he raises a hand to his face and shapes it into a gun, sticking his index finger in his mouth and pantomiming shooting himself.

A loud snort escapes Briar, who blushes and quickly offers an apology to Dr. Li, who’s giving them a funny look.

Thankfully he doesn’t have to wait much longer. A few minutes later, his partner separates from everyone with a farewell, walking over to him and slipping their hand into his.

“Ready to find a room to crash in for the night?” They ask.

He’s been ready to sleep for hours now. The two of them got here late, after all, with the sun already setting when they had walked James and Dr. Li over to the Memorial.

The three of them leave the rotunda and decide to make the gift shop home for the night. It has a door with a lock, was close to the exit so both of them could keep an eye out for any intrusions, and far enough from where the others would presumably be sleeping so that any sounds, especially muffled noises of pleasure, would be mostly concealed.

He doesn’t have to worry about that at the moment. Both of them were too tired for anything, and after the door has been locked and Dogmeat settles on the pile of random clothes and cardboard he used to make a makeshift bed for them, he and Briar settle on their shared bedroll, his arms around them and their face tucked into his chest.

Sleep claims them both immediately. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen Briar fall asleep so fast, outside of being hopped up on Med-X or drunk. They don’t so much as snore, or even twitch.

Morning comes, but they miss it.

He wakes up before Briar, as usual, but doesn’t move, content to watch them wake up. It’s like they can sense they were being watched, because not too long after he sees their body stiffen and their snores quiet. Their eyes flicker open and they blearily regard him.

A sleepy smile spreads across their lips.

“Sleep well?” He asks, leaning down to kiss them, and they hum against his lips.

“Of course. Even if I didn’t, waking up and seeing your handsome face is enough to fix that.” They say, voice husky from sleep, and steal another kiss, and another, until they’re partly crawling on top of him, hair curtaining their face as they stare down at him. There’s stubble on their jaw and he wastes no time in brushing his fingers against it, liking the feeling.

He thinks they’d look good with it grown out a bit more, but they looked good clean shaven, too.

He sets a hand on their lower back and makes them lay flush against his front, and he watches their pupils dilate; how they lick their lips in anticipation of more.

They don’t get to do anything else, unfortunately.

Dogmeat whines pitifully, and both of them freeze.

“…I forgot about the dog.” Briar admits with irritation, sitting up now and staring at Dogmeat, who was standing up now and sniffing incessantly at the door.

“I need to let her outside.” He explains and Briar sighs dramatically before rolling off him and crossing their arms, glaring at the ceiling now. “Why don’t you wash up and see if you can’t get the others to make some coffee?”

He gets a huff, but no arguing, so he counts it as a win.

“I’ll be back.” He says, and stands up with a stretch before unlocking the door and leading Dogmeat outside of the Memorial. He smokes a cigarette and leans against the gift shop door while she takes care of her business. The nicotine, fresh air, and the sun shining down on him clears away the rest of the grogginess from sleep.

He’d meant to go right back inside, but Dogmeat is young enough that she’s still full of energy so he lets her run tracks around the Memorial, lets her sniff whatever the hell she wants and pets her behind her floppy ears each time she finishes another loop. Once she’s panting and content, he leads her back inside and finds the room empty, so Briar must be busy hassling the scientists for coffee.

After giving Dogmeat some water and dried meat, the two of them head to the rotunda.

He smells the coffee before he spots his partner, who was of course seated and talking with their father and Dr. Li. It feels like he’s interrupting when he walks in, but Briar eagerly smiles at him and he clears the rest of the distance and moves to stand at their side. The caffeine must have cleared away any annoyance they had with Dogmeat, because they reach out and pet her gingerly, only wrinkling their nose a little at the newly added dirt in her fur.

“The G.E.C.K still has several hours left before its fully integrated.” Briar informs him, “We can take it easy until then. If you want, we can make the walk back over to Rivet City and spend some of the caps we just earned. There’s no point in having the party later if there’s no booze or food, right?”

“It’d be a shitty party.” He agrees. “Let’s go after we eat.”

“We could go now and eat at the Galley.”

He considers that.

“Sounds good.”

The walk over is quick and easy. There haven’t been Mutants patrolling the area in quite some time now. Raiders didn’t tend to linger in the area, either, knowing fully well that Rivet City was an impenetrable fortress they could only dream of infiltrating in one of their Jet-fueled hazes.

They eat breakfast—or lunch, given its so late into the day—at the Galley, and he’s surprised to see Briar clean their plate for once. Had their appetite been suppressed this entire time due to the stress of everything? Finding their father, the bounty on their head, continuing and thusly finishing Project Purity; now that it was all behind them, it was like they were breathing clearly for the first time.

They restock the important things first: ammo and medical supplies. Then they wander over to the clothing store, grab a fresh set of clothes, and then buy a copious amount of booze and food, before lugging everything back to the Memorial.
Briar is buzzing with energy, excitedly prepping the second largest room in the Memorial as the ‘party’ room. The room itself is the one that has the metal structure in the middle that’s gated off, which he’s still unsure what it even does. What he does know is that this is the very same room that he almost died in, back when they were clearing out the place and a Super Mutant had nearly choked the life out of him.

It was odd to think about that as he helped Briar drag a desk into the room to use as a table for food and drinks. There isn’t much sprucing up and decorating that can be done, but the room looks leagues better after the garbage and dust have been swept away and the old blood stains, probably his own, were scrubbed clean.

Briar even manages to find and fix up a portable radio, which would serve as the entertainment. Their Pip-Boy’s radio could have been used as a last resort, but the volume, even when cranked to the max, wouldn’t hold up against almost a dozen people’s talking and shuffling feet.

When the sun sets he excuses himself to go get cleaned up and change into his new clothes, which he barely paid any attention to as he grabbed them, always more concerned on how things fit on his large frame, rather than the appearance. He did end up splurging on one thing: new boots, ones that fit perfectly and barely needed any breaking into. They were steel-toed, too, which was a bonus.

He takes Dogmeat out for another walk, feeds her, then sets her up in the gift shop so she can rest comfortably away from all the noise. She whines a bit as he leaves and gets ready to close the door behind him, so he heads back over and pets her for a good long while, before leaving.

He enters the ‘party’ room and finds Dr. Li, James, and a few of the scientists already there, with some of them seated in the chairs that were dragged in, but most of them standing as they talked amicably with one another. No one had wanted to be the first to drink, so he does them the favor of serving himself a glass of whiskey, and like magic, the rest of them starting pouring themselves a drink from the plethora of bottles available.

He flips on the radio too, not in the mood for small talk, and contents himself by leaning against a wall, taking turns sipping his drink and puffing a cigarette as he watches Dr. Li struggle to keep up friendly conversations with everyone. She seemed overwhelmed and sorely out of her depth by any interaction that wasn’t strictly work based.

He isn’t surprised that she eventually excuses herself and walks over to him to stand in comfortable silence. For as great as he understands people, he wasn’t equipped to make small talk, either. He can intimidate and pry out secrets, but he’s not good at getting people to be on his side or convincing them to do what he wants in a way that doesn’t include violence in some capacity.

Whatever Briar lacked in social skills was supplemented by their wit and politeness, which usually made people interested enough to forgive any minor blunders that he himself would be shot over for.
It helped they were gorgeous, of course. That they did everything with grace and dignity that he could never hope to wield. Even when they were just standing around they looked almost regal—their back straight and their hands steepled together thoughtfully.

A cigarette never looked as appealing as it did between their long fingers.

Or their lips.

Thinking about their mouth distracts him for a laughable amount of time. He barely even registers Briar entering the room until they’re standing in front of him suddenly, standing on tip toe to steal his cigarette, looking far too pretty for his brain to process.

“Drinking without me?” They say in greeting, dressed in the black turtleneck and slacks they’d bought. The outfit clings to their frame, accentuating their thin waist and long, long legs. Their hair was freshly combed and tied back in a low pony tail with a rubber band. Their face was freshly shaved and their eyes were sparkling as they looked up at him.

“Had to do something while you spent all night getting ready.” He tells them.

“I hope I was worth the wait.”

“I waited my entire life to meet you. What’s another hour or two.” He says, and leans down to kiss their temple, not really caring how Dr. Li or James watches the gesture.

“You—“ Briar starts, stunned, face flushing. They tug the cigarette out of their mouth to lift one of his hands to their face, meekly kissing the knuckles.

He smirks.

Briar grabs themselves a drink and then proceeds to speak with everyone in the room, at least for a short while, before they ultimately split the entirety of their attention between him, Dr. Li and their father.

They’re engrossed in a conversation with James when a particular song plays on the radio, and he hears them suck in an excited gasp, before they turn to look at him.

He knows what they want and he’s more than happy to oblige.

He sets his drink down and holds out a hand.

It’s hilarious how quickly Briar forgets about everything else, hastily moving to his side to slip their hand into his, and he leads them away from the others towards the entryway, so that the two of them have plenty of space to dance.
It’s been a while, and despite having a small audience, he finds that he’s missed dancing with them. He leads them around in a waltz, endlessly turning, their hands joined, and he hums along to the instrumentals on the radio. They’ve been smiling more in the past two days than they had the entirety of their time together.

“How am I supposed to look anywhere else with you looking like this.” He speaks quietly into their ear after he twirls them, their back pressed to his front, and he keeps them there for a moment to kiss the side of their neck. From this angle no one can see a thing, so he leaves another kiss, then another, until they giggle and squirm against him.

“I don’t mind if you look at me and me alone…” They say, craning their face to the side to kiss him before he raises his arms and twirls them until they’re facing him again.

“Careful. I’m trying to keep things polite.”

“Now, when have you ever been polite?” Briar asks around a laugh, attention back on dancing.

On the next turn he dips them low to the ground, their hair brushing against the floor, and they laugh and laugh, delighted, and he keeps them lowered for a second, burning the happy expression on their face into his memory, and he’s smiling too, he can’t help it.

There’s a sudden flash—not from a flashbang, but from a camera.

He lifts Briar up and the two of them look over to the source: Dr. Li, who has a camera she procured from somewhere between her hands.

“Sorry! It seemed like a great moment to capture. Perhaps I should have asked beforehand?” She explains while carefully taking out the photo that gets spat out. She gives it a shake a few times.

“No worries. Let’s see how it came out.” Briar says, pulling him over to her, and they accept the photo and hold it up for both of them to see.

It’s a great picture, he must admit.

They both look happy.

He’s not used to using the word happy in relation to himself, but now that he’s thinking about it, this is the happiest he’s ever been.

Back in the Ninth Circle, the happiest ending he could have imagined was having a patron come in and get a wild hair up their ass and start shooting up the place, hopefully hitting him square in the head with a few of the bullets and putting him out of his misery.

He has Briar, and now Dogmeat, and has a home waiting for him.

Even if he’s never freed from his contract, this is more than enough for him.

He is content.

His back and feet are starting to hurt a little, so they stop dancing and Briar drags in a few chairs, one of which he takes, and they stand at his side, a hand on his shoulder as they go back to speaking with the others.

“Oh!” Briar says suddenly, interrupting their father, and they turn towards Dr. Li and her camera. “We should all take a picture together to commemorate the completion of Project Purity.”

“That’s a wonderful idea.” James agrees, now waving for all the others to huddle up. “I’ll take it, so Madison isn’t left out.”

“What sense does that make? I’ll take it.” Briar huffs and holds out a hand expectantly.

“You were an integral part of the project’s success—” James starts to argue, and having enough, he rolls his eyes and walks over to Dr. Li and takes the camera out of her hands.

“I’ll take it.” He says, making the decision for them all.

“You don’t want to be in it?” Briar asks, disappointed.

“I already got the picture I wanted.” He dismisses, and then shoos them away so they can go stand with the others.

Dr. Li, James and Briar stand at the front, with James wrapping an arm around their son’s shoulders, looking teary eyed again but unmistakably proud.

“3…2…1…” He counts down, camera ready, and snaps the picture.

Briar curses, blinking rapidly, before quickly moving over to him to see the results. They, along with all the others who crowd him, gush audibly. He’s asked to then take a photo of just Dr. Li and James, and while everyone has plenty of more ideas for more shots, the camera runs out of film, unfortunately.

He clicks the shutter uselessly, a little disappointed too, now, and hands it back over to Dr. Li.

“Ah, well, it was a wonder I found one that worked anyways.” She says while accepting the camera back.

He’s done drinking after three whiskies, but Briar is throwing back gin like it’s their fucking job. They’re a giggly, sloppy drunk, one that keeps asking him to dance again, and he has to explain just as many times that it would be less dancing, and more of him just holding them up like a marionette while they shuffled around in a stupor; more prone to falling and hitting their head then impressing anyone.

They huff and puff a lot at him, upset, but he just ignores it and slides a can of purified water over to them without a word. They obediently drink it, but they do so while haughtily taking a seat on his lap, looping an arm around his shoulders.

“Behave.” He warns, patience already threadbare. He could grit his teeth and deal with them acting like a spoiled princess. They looked comfortable on his lap, too, like this was their favorite seat in the world.

Briar listens at first, but it doesn't last long.

They start squirming in his lap like they were outwardly trying to find a comfortable position and from far away it probably looks unassuming, because they make sure to pace it out, instead of moving constantly. It’s just a coincidence that they roll their fucking hips—

Yeah right.

After they do it again, he wraps his left arm around their lower back and stomach, tugging them closer with the purpose of also keeping them still.

“You take orders worse than the dog.” He insults, voice a low rumble. “Keep it up and I’ll make you beg like one later. You want everyone to hear that?”

Their face turns scarlet.

Slowly, they shake their head.

“Thought so. Now are you going to behave?”

A nod.

“Good pup.” He compliments, squeezing their hip and Briar’s face turns even redder. They bite their lip, a small noise slipping out of them and they quickly turn to hide their face against his neck.

Unsurprisingly, Briar’s hungover the next morning. When Dogmeat barks sharply to wake him up so he can go walk her, his partner jolts awake and then immediately winces, groaning as they rolled off his chest to hide deeper inside the sleeping roll. He sits up, brain foggy, but otherwise fine, and stares down at them. All he can see is the top of their head. Their hair was a mess from tossing and turning—and being pulled.

He reaches out and gently cards his fingers through the curls.

“I’ll be back.” He tells them and Briar makes some indiscernible noise.

He rolls his eyes and gets up, snapping his fingers, and Dogmeat sits up at once. He doesn’t walk her that much, because the walk home will be enough to get rid of her excess energy. The rest of the time spent outside the Memorial is for him. The fresh air and sunlight clear his head. If it didn’t get any warmer than this, it’d be an easy walk to Megaton.

When he gets back, Briar is still knocked out. They don’t even crack an eye open as the door opens and closes. He’s usually fine with letting them sleep in for as long as they needed, but it’s going to take them forever to wash up and pack, not to mention saying goodbye to everyone and he can’t ignore how much he wants to leave already.

It takes a lot of shaking and promises of coffee to finally scrape them off their bedroll. They hold onto the flaps of their bedroll with both hands crossed over one another and it almost looks like they were sitting upright in a coffin.

After they’ve cleaned up and grabbed everything, he shepherds their groggy body towards the rotunda where he remembers seeing the coffee machine. Everyone else is awake already, some of them smiling upon noticing their arrival, and one even fixes his partner with an amused look as they blearily reach out with both hands, making a grabbing motion until someone puts a mug of coffee into their hands.

“You’re already prepped to leave?” James asks, making no effort to hide their disappointment.

“Did you need us for something else?” Briar sneaks in the response before they take another deep drink of their coffee.

Their father’s expression dims.

“Well, no. I suppose I just thought you would stick around for a few more days to see how the project went.”

“I’m sure I’ll hear about the extent of the project’s success on the radio when I get back home. It’s not like I won’t be visiting—but I’ve got things to do.”

“You never did tell me your plans.”

“You never asked.” Briar is quick to point out, even gesturing at their father with their empty mug. They look like they want to say something meaner, but they briefly glance at Dr. Li, and the other scientists in the room, before taking a deep breath and leveling James with a tired look. “Look, I’ll always be your son, and I’ll always be there if you need me—really, really, need me, but this project wasn’t ever my dream.”

“…I see.”

“Oh, cheer up you miserable old man.” Briar huffs, setting their cup down so they can put their hands on their hips. “Now is someone going to punch in the startup code for this thing, or do I have to?”

Start up code? He must have missed that earlier, but he can’t remember when the conversation would have taken place.

“I’ll do it.” Dr. Li speaks up at last.

“Fantastic.” Briar sighs with relief and returns to his side, offering him a little shake of their head, before leaning against him. They almost fall asleep while standing up as Dr. Li taps away at the center console. Their eyes are closed, so they don’t see her suddenly grimace.

“What’s wrong?” He asks immediately. If it was something drastic, he’s ready to just pick up Briar and leave before the two of them get asked to do something else that takes months.

“Oh for God’s sake—“ Briar starts, standing upright now, but Dr. Li holds up a hand.

“It’s something minor. We somehow forgot to flip the lever in the main drainage pipe. It’s good the machine stopped me, otherwise we’d have a flood of clean water before it even reached anyone.” She explains.

Briar’s shoulders relax.

“If its just that, I’ll take care of it.” They say, already motioning to leave.

He follows behind them with Dogmeat, not wanting to deal with James’ staring for another second. Hearing his partner bitch under their breath the entire way is a lot more tolerable. The three of them get to the main drainage pipe, which is thankfully cleaner than he’d imagined. There was only some rust and algae, the latter of which he nearly slips on. Dogmeat waits at the entrance of the pipe, and Briar is ahead of him, already fiddling with a metal panel.

Without any ceremony, the lever is flipped.

“That’s it.” Briar announces with a roll of their eyes. “How many times am I going to have to say: ‘that should take care of Project Purity’?” And they position their right hand into a gun shape and shakily point it at their open mouth.

He laughs, then gently swats their hand away.

He starts heading out of the pipe, but he stops when he hears something. They both do. It’s loud, and cuts in and out overhead. It’s a helicopter, or something like it, and it’s close enough that it feels like the pipe is shaking from the wind it kicks up. He hopes the scientists haven’t been working with the Brotherhood of Steel again this entire time and have now invited them to reap the benefits of a project their organization failed to complete.

“What is that sound?” Briar asks, tugging on his arm and looking up at him with bright, fearful eyes.

“Helicopter. Or a plane. I don’t know.” He forces out, a little overwhelmed with Dogmeat now barking loudly at the pipe’s entrance. He gets her to settle down so the two of them can listen out for more noise but an ominous silence falls over the building.

Either the helicopter had moved on ahead or it landed.

He has a hunch on which one it is.

“We need to get the fuck out of here.” He whispers to them sharply, so glad he had his armor on and thought to bring their things with them despite the drainage pipe being a brief walk. His paranoia has never rewarded him more than now.

“Get out? I need to check on everyone.” Briar corrects.

He schools the disappointment on his face. He knew they’d said that, but he just wanted to leave all of this behind already. Even at a deadly cost. How much more is he supposed to tolerate when it comes to their life being risked?

“Right.” He corrects, jaw clenched. “Let’s go check on them, then we’ll leave.”

They give him an odd look, but there’s no time for arguing. They take the lead and run down the hallway; finger curled around the trigger of their assault rifle. One of the defining traits that the two of them shared was how they always expected the worst.

And right now he expects it to somehow NOT be the Brotherhood, and instead be a hoard of Super Mutants or Raiders that had somehow got a helicopter working AND learned how to pilot it. It would be just their luck. Thankfully, or maybe not, the Memorial remains silent as the two of them run through it.

Briar looks like they’re going to be sick. Their face is ashen and sweaty. They’re biting their lip so hard he’s surprised it doesn’t start bleeding. It fucks with his contract, a little, but whatever threat is now here clouds the feeling.

They reach the rotunda and find everyone—

Plus a few more.

Dr. Li, and the rest of the scientists, save for two, are all huddled on the metal ramps leading up towards the structure with the console, and standing near the main console is James, who has their hands up in the air as they’re partly blocked from view by a man wearing a long, tan coat, a modified pistol in their left hand. Next to him, is the woman that kept staring at Dogmeat earlier, looking like she wanted to at last ask if she could pet her before they left.

There are two other men near James, wearing matching jumpsuits and some light armor. They’re both outfitted with laser pistols. The glass door leading inside has been sealed shut. Briar doesn’t need to shout and ask what is happening: the intercom is on, and everyone can hear the conversation taking place inside.

“I repeat, sir, that you are hereby instructed to immediately hand over all materials related to the purifier, on authority of the President of the Enclave.” The man pointing the gun at James says, he thinks, because he’s too preoccupied with trying to snake his arms around Briar’s waist and keep them from blitzing past the other scientists to get a closer look.

“And I am sorry, but whoever this leader of yours is going to be sorely disappointed. We will not just hand over our project to whoever decides to brute force their way in. How is it that you even learned of Project Purity?” James explains tentatively, remaining purposely calm, but their eyes were burning with undeniable detest.

From here, he sees the man in the coat relax their shoulders.

“No, I’m the sorry one. It pains me to do this—honest.” The man says with a sigh, moving the gun away from James, not lowering it, but instead pointing it at the scientist next to them. Before her eyes can even fully widen, they pull the trigger, the bullet catching her right between the eyes. Dr. Li lets out a muffled scream, her hands jumping to cup her mouth. The people around her freeze.

James, too, freezes, but after the woman slumps to the floor they turn to look at her with eerie slowness, not quite believing that she’d just been shot.

Briar takes advantage of the gun going off to escape his hold and they cut past Dr. Li, leaping up the ramp, before pressing their face to the glass.

“I suggest you comply immediately, sir, so we can prevent any more incidents. Do I make myself clear?” The man asks, gun pointed to the ceiling now, and they wave it left and right like its some kind of toy.

“Crystal.” James says around an audible swallow.

“Good. Now, I need you to punch in the code and get this thing started for us.”

James returns the man’s staring.

Then their gaze falls to their son, who’s watching from the glass.

“As you wish.” James concedes quietly, and they turn their back to everyone as they walk around the growing pool of blood and start tapping away at the console.

The water in the huge tank in the center of the structure doesn’t hum to life and no additional lights flick on the main console after James’ hands have stilled. Nothing seems to happen, until the lights in the rotunda suddenly flash red and an additional glass seal locks into place, further separating Briar from their father.

“What the hell did you just do?” The man in the tan coat demands, reaching into their inner pockets hastily for something.

“Nothing special.” James says, turning around, eyes somber. “I just sabotaged one of the purifier’s functions and now the air is filling with a potent sanitization meant for equipment only. It is enough to kill all three of us, I’m afraid.”

“What?” Briar says, jaw falling slack. “You can’t be fucking serious—”

“I assumed you and your lot would do something low brow like this.” The man in the coat says, sucking their teeth and entirely unbothered even as their men start to freak out. It’s because the thing they wrestled from their pocket was a gas mask, which they slip onto their face with ease.

It’s shocking, but James doesn’t seem all that upset that the man won’t die alongside him.

“The glass seals won’t lower until the sanitization is suitable to be interacted with. You’ll be stuck in here with our corpses for at least an hour. Plenty of time for the others to escape.” James says, starting to gasp for breath and wheeze. “I’m sorry son. For everything. I love you—and I need you to leave now. Use the time I’ve given you.”

“This isn’t fair!” Briar yells, now slamming their hands against the glass uselessly. They try again and again to speak, but they can’t, reduced to being a stuttering, unstable mess, one with tears lacquering their eyes.

He isn’t going to wait for this to get worse.

He heads up the ramp and tears them from the glass, throwing them over one shoulder and he snaps his fingers and makes Dogmeat follow as he runs out of the room, uncaring if the other scientists just stood there gawking in horror or if they followed. Briar fights and kicks weakly against him, starting to sob in an uncontrollable way.

“I can save him. Please, just let me try.” Briar pleads, but he ignores it.

He slips into a storage closet, shuts the door, and sets them down.

“If we have to fight our way out of here, I can’t do it myself. I need you to focus and help me.” He tells them.

They throw their hands in the air with frustration.

“But they—” Briar starts, so overwhelmed with emotion their entire body starts to shake.

“I know. But there’s just no time. We need to get the hell out of here.”

“…” They agonize for a moment, slipping a hand through their hair and gripping tightly, eyes clenched shut. Their breaths come in and out shallowly.

As he’s about to ask them again to come along, the doorknob jiggles.

The two of them freeze before they realize its Dr. Li cursing in a panic on the other side.

Something about hearing her voice snaps Briar out of their headspace.

They readjust their grip on their assault rifle and open the door. Dr. Li stands there at the front of the group of scientists, face soaked in tears.

“Take those off.” Briar speaks up suddenly, pointing down at her heeled shoes. “And take this.” They continue, unholstering their silenced 10mm and handing it over to her. “If we’re quick, we can all make it out before they inevitably flood the place with more members.”

He really only meant to take Briar and Dogmeat and run, but now he’s slowed down by an entire group of people. People who, aside from Dr. Li, didn’t even know how to properly handle a gun. But he can’t just say that since Briar will start arguing with him and become even more disagreeable when he actually has to carry them out kicking and screaming.

He stays silent and just focuses on helping his partner blockade each room their group passes through, making it difficult for whoever might be following behind them. There’s movement in the building now, like thundering footsteps or something banging repeatedly into the ground. There’s also shouting, which is the last thing Briar needs as they rig up a bouquet of grenades in an entryway.

“Careful.” He reminds them, and they thankfully finish up and run away from the thing, joining their group again.

Its not long that the noises become louder, sounding as if they were coming from directly behind them now. The head start helped, but someone was doggedly chasing them down. An explosion goes off—someone triggered the bouquet. He hoped that killed them, but the explosion almost marked that they were getting steadily closer, far faster than he’d liked.

“Hurry up.” He tells Dr. Li when her bare feet trip on something slippery and she tumbles to the floor. He waits near her, shotgun readied, but its Briar that lowers to the ground and helps her up. Dr. Li hisses out in pain. He hears something about her ankle being sprained, but he can only listen so much as he pays attention to the noise drawing nearer.

Once she’s up, they set off again, almost out of the Memorial.

There’s not enough furniture or explosives to block the last few doorways so there’s nothing stopping the person chasing them from catching up now. Just as he sees the gift shop in view, the door at the end of the hallway they’d just exited swings wide open with a slam, scaring them all, and he whips his face around.

Someone stands in the doorway dressed in unfamiliar Power Armor. It was a dark shade of gray that was borderline black, and the helmet was unsettling, the shape like an alien or an insect. A laser rifle was clutched in both of their hands, and it was pointed directly at their group.

As the rifle makes that eerie, high pitched sound as it charges up, there’s plenty of time for them all to scatter and avoid the shot, but Dogmeat gets confused by the sudden disarray, because he’d forgotten to give her an order, so she just sits there, looking around with big, confused eyes. She’s going to get hit by the blast, he realizes, gut dropping.

It would be a direct hit, too. She’d be reduced to ash in a second.

He isn’t fast enough to run back over to her and push her out of the way, and the time that he could be using to whistle or do SOME kind of gesture to make her move he wastes by just standing there instead.

The laser rifle goes off, but Dogmeat is spared from its destruction.

He may not be fast, but Briar is, and they dive towards the ground towards her, capturing her in their arms and sliding across the tiled floor.

The blast doesn’t touch Dogmeat at all, but it grazes one of Briar’s legs as they tumble, and he watches in a terrible slow-motion as they throw their head back and scream. Their right leg dissolves into a pile of burning armor, skin, then heaps of fat and muscle.

Briar stares at the remains of their leg, futilely raising their hands as if to pile all the ruined flesh back into a mold.

He bites off the tab of his last grenade, lobs it down the hallway the blast had come from, and uses that as a distraction to buy time to make his way over to them.

When he picks them up they writhe and claw at his shirt, screaming again.

The pain becomes too much and he watches with horror as his partner's eyes roll into the back of their head as they pass out cold in his arms, limp like they were dead.

Chapter Text

Everything is a blur.

One moment, he is carrying Briar’s unmoving, brutalized body, the remaining scientists around him moving their mouths and telling him something urgent, but he fails to process it. Dr. Li tugs at his arm incessantly, begging him to do something, but he doesn’t hear it. He must have eventually listened to her request, because he vaguely remembers walking for a while, and he even remembers crossing the river that separated Rivet City from Megaton.

But their group doesn’t travel near Megaton, they head directly south, following the river, until they come across a place with huge, towering walls, and even still, his brain doesn’t pay attention to any of it, he keeps looking down in his arms; keeps looking at the mangled remains of his partner’s right leg.

He can see bone sticking out past the burned, stinking muscle.

Time acts funny again, or maybe it’s his brain that’s acting weird.

He blinks, and suddenly, he’s being shepherded down an unfamiliar hallway, a bunch of people in long, white medical coats surrounding him, but it isn’t the scientists he’d traveled with, it was a bunch of strangers. He recognizes a few of the words they repeat incessantly:

Surgery.

Amputation.

“Charon.” Dr. Li says, sounding urgent, and her face is still soaked with tears, and it isn’t her tears that make him focus back on reality, but the fact that she is trying to get him to let go of Briar. “They need to get to work. Please, can you set him down on the bed? He is in the best hands we have available. I promise.”

It takes a while, but eventually he relents, stiffly walking over to a bed he only now notices in the corner of the room he’s been led to. He lays his partner down gently. Their face flops to the side lifelessly.

He and Dr. Li are pushed out of the room after that. He just stands there in an unfamiliar hallway, unsure of how exactly he got here, while she herself looks a breath away from falling utterly to pieces.

“I-I need to go speak with Elder Lyons. Will you be okay waiting here with Dogmeat?” She turns to ask him suddenly.

Elder? As in the title the Brotherhood of Steel members wet themselves over one day obtaining? Reality hits him hard and it hits him all at once. He blinks a dozen times, starting to feel present in his body again, and yeah, the men and women walking past the two of them in the hallway are all dressed in jumpsuits or Power Armor, and they eye him with a mixture of disgust, trepidation, and minute fascination.

Dogmeat whimpers, scratching at the door his partner is in.

“I’ll be fine.” He finally says, and Dr. Li doesn’t even wait to confirm if that’s true before she is quickly limping down the hallway, her bare feet leaving a trail of blood behind her.

He sets all their things down on the ground by his feet and bends down a little to let Dogmeat smell his hand, but just like himself, her attention is focused solely on the fact that there is a locked door keeping him away from Briar.

Their agonized scream echoes in his skull, playing on repeat, and he suddenly smells burning flesh again and feels nauseous. He leans against the wall, crossing his arms, and shuts his eyes, doing his best to ignore the people that walk past him.

One of the scientists finds him at some point, telling him that their group has been given a room to stay in, and that he was more than welcome to dump all his things in there and get some sleep. He follows them to drop off the bags, and their weapons, save for his shotgun, which he keeps strapped securely to his shoulder in case any of these Brotherhood of Steel members changed their mind about allowing him to stay here while his partner underwent surgery.

He has no problem killing every single one of them, if that’s what it takes to stay near Briar.

Now that his load has been lightened, he returns to standing vigilant outside of Briar’s door, keeping his ears sharp as the surgery proceeded. He stands there for hours, only leaving when Dogmeat whines to be let outside, and he makes sure to stay in the doorway, propping the door open, because he wouldn’t put it past any of these fuckers to ‘accidentally’ lock him out.

He gives her food and water, then goes back to standing as still as a statue.

The nausea hasn’t left, and the migraine that started behind his eyes has only worsened. He keeps thinking of how he froze during the attack earlier, when Dogmeat had a gun pointed at her. If he had moved, Briar wouldn’t have gotten shot.

He knows that for a fact.

He’d acted like a fumbling idiot. Worse, he’d acted like a slave that needed to be told what needed to be done, and still, Briar had been the one to do it. Now they were the one paying for it. They’d lost so much blood on the walk over here. It was entirely possible that they would die in the middle of surgery, and that he was waiting here all for nothing.

His ruminating thoughts make him feel worse, but he fucking deserves it.

He isn’t sure how long it’s been since the doctors started working. Five hours? Six? The sun had set by now, of course, but it didn’t matter in the windowless hallway he was in, and the fluorescent lights only served in making his migraine sharper.

The door to his right opens, and he opens his eyes, turning towards it.

The head doctor, a man with black hair and gray eyes, startles upon seeing him, cursing and placing a hand over their heart.

“Have you been standing here waiting this entire time?” The doctor asks, looking mildly horrified.

He nods.

“…I see. Well, I am happy to inform you that your friend is in stable condition now. The amputation went as well as it could. He will have a difficult recovery, I’m afraid. It takes a long time for the body to adjust after such an injury. He will be staying here for some time.” They explain.

He is just relieved that they hadn’t died in the middle of surgery.

Everything else was workable in the grand scheme of things.

The other medical staff are pouring out of the room now, some of them eyeing him and offering a curt nod, which was a lot more than he got from the rest of the Brotherhood of Steel members.

“You must be tired. I can bring a chair in the room so you can be with him.” The doctor offers.

“Thanks.” He says, meaning it, and their shoulders relax a bit upon hearing him speak at last.

“It’s no problem. I’ll be back in a second with one. Excuse me.” And they slip down the hallway, rounding a corner, disappearing out of sight. They return a minute later, dragging a desk chair with wheels over to him. “Have you already been shown a room to sleep in?” They ask, and he nods, “Good, good. I know our group isn’t the most…welcoming, but please, if you need anything at all, just let me or the other medical staff know. I’m Edward, by the way. Charon, was it?” And they roll the chair over to him, which he catches with one hand, before they offer out one hand.

He gives it a shake unquestioningly. He isn’t about to insult the only person so far that has treated him fairly.

“I’ll leave you to it. Try to get some sleep at some point. It’ll be difficult, I know, but give it a shot anyways. You’ll feel better for it, I promise.” Edward says, and he nods, but he knows for a fact that he won’t be able to sleep.

They leave with the other medical staff, and once the hallway is empty, save for him and Dogmeat, he drags the chair inside the room and shuts the door closed behind him.

The room is dark, save for the glow of the machinery and the yellow halo coming from the small desk lamp in a corner. Briar is laying in bed, their pallor looking ghostly, even in the warm light. Their hair was soaked with sweat and it made the curls heavy and limp, sticking to their forehead and neck. They’ve been stripped entirely of their recon armor, which he sees is bundled atop the same table that the lamp is on. The amount of blood on it is alarming, but not half as much as the blood covering the sheets where their amputated leg rests underneath.

He really shouldn’t, but as he draws nearer to the bed, he gently lifts the sheets and peeks underneath.

His heart succinctly drops into his gut.

Their right leg had been amputated all the way up to the middle of their thigh. The bone he’d seen sticking out earlier had been part of their femur. A new wave of nausea hits him, and he lowers the sheets back down and collapses into the chair, his face buried in his hands.

Dogmeat whines, pushing her nose against him in concern, but he ignores her.

When he’s brave enough to, he lifts his face and stares at Briar.

Sand between his fingertips, he thinks, suddenly reminded of that terrible dream he’d had and realizing just how close it came to fruition.

As horrible as he feels, he does end up falling asleep. Maybe it’s because he feels so bad that he knocks out. Either way, it isn’t until the medical staff are pouring into the room in the morning that he even realizes that he’d fallen asleep. His head snaps up, his snores interrupted, but he relaxes when he realizes it’s just Edward and the others.

“Good morning. I see you managed to get some sleep.” Edward says, snapping on a set of gloves and starting their check up on his partner. He scoots his chair as far away from the bed as he can, giving them all the space they need to work. Dogmeat is a little wary of so many strangers, but she remains quiet at his feet.

He watches them replace Briar’s I.V bag, then watches them check their vitals, before they administer some more medicine and give them a brief wipe down with a damp cloth. Even the pain hadn’t been enough to wake his partner, but as their medical gown is removed and they feel hands touching them, Briar makes a low, miserable sound.

His hands tighten into fists.

He knows that the doctors have to do this, and that they are being as impartial as they possibly can, but every noise of discomfort that they draw out of his partner makes him want to stand up and shove everyone out of the room.

“There, all set.” One of them says, gently laying Briar back down against the bed and readjusting the sheets around them. “His temperature is higher than it was the last time we checked. I hope that doesn’t mean an infection, but we’ll just have to wait and see.” They say, and the rest murmur their opinions.

Since he spends all his time in Briar’s room, he ends up walking to the room where the other scientists are staying and hefts all their things back, feeling a lot more comfortable with everything important in one room. Dr. Li is nowhere to be found, probably still busy talking with the Elder about what happened with Project Purity.

He takes care of Dogmeat’s needs, ignores his own, and returns to his partner’s side as quickly as he can and then sits in the chair, arms crossed.

The doctors had just left, so there really shouldn’t be anyone knocking on the door, nor should there be someone opening it. He stiffens immediately as someone’s face peeks into the room. It’s a woman, older than Briar, but not at all one of the oldest people walking the compound. She’s blonde, with blue eyes and tan skin, her long, wavy hair tied back into a tight bun. She’s dressed in the jumpsuit Paladins typically wear when they are about to go into Power Armor.

“…Hi.” She says, clearing her throat, now opening the door fully so she can step inside. She’s tall, and she’s got a good amount of muscle on her. Her expression is serious, but the way she goes about entering the room is awkward. She doesn’t know where to look, between Briar, Dogmeat, and himself. “Cute dog.” She says after a long tick of silence.

His hackles lower the slightest, but he still doesn’t speak, waiting for her to say whatever it is she meant to in the first place.

She picks up on that immediately and rolls her eyes.

“Come on, can you make this a little easier for me? I’m not all that great with people, but I thought I should swing by and check up on you. Figured no one else would, since you’re a ghoul.” She explains, kicking the door shut and moving to lean her back against the wall closest to it, folding her arms over one another. “Well, I guess I wanted to see how he was doing, too…” And she juts her chin towards Briar.

“…Thanks.” He says, feeling awkward too now.

He doesn’t know what to do with the curveball he’s just been thrown. He goes with what Briar would do and tries his best to be polite. She looked like one of the higher-ranking members, if not a Paladin, then another position he was ignorant of, and he knows for a fact that if he insults her in any way, it will be his ass, and his ass alone that will be kicked out.

“Have you eaten breakfast yet? I was thinking about grabbing some food myself, and I figured it might be weird having to walk around by yourself. You could join me in the mess hall.” She offers, but then suddenly groans, and slaps a hand on her forehead. “I’m Sarah, by the way. Dr. Li already gave me a rundown of who you are. I’ve got to say, I was surprised to hear that the Lone Wanderer started working with someone. After he helped with our Behemoth problem a while back, I offered him a spot on our team. Well, an opportunity to join our team, I should say, but he declined.”

He hadn’t known that. His surprise must show on his face.

“We could use more snipers. The one we’ve got here is a great guy, but I wished he’d talk a little more, you know? It’s hard to tell what he’s thinking—especially when he’s in Power Armor. Ugh.” Sarah sighs, brushing some wayward hairs out of her face.

He realizes past her rambling that he hasn’t answered her question about eating yet.

“I don’t want to leave him alone.” He decides to just answer honestly.

She blinks a few times.

“Oh, right. What was I thinking? If you want, I could grab us both something and we could eat in here?” She offers.

“You don’t mind?”

She blows a raspberry at him, waving one of her hands dismissively.

“I could use the walk. Give me a few minutes and I’ll be back.” She says and shoots him a thumbs up before leaving just as abruptly as she arrived.

His head is starting to hurt from how many normal people seem to be in the Brotherhood of Steel. He was certain they would all be macho, tech freaks with a penchant for hating anything not exactly like their little cult, but he has been proven wrong twice now.

He still isn’t going to relax around a bunch of strangers, but he thinks the chances of him being trapped outside as a prank is significantly lower now. He could be less guarded when he took Dogmeat out, at the very least.

Sarah returns with two steaming bowls of stew, and some cans of purified water. He stands up, about to offer his chair to her, but she dismisses him again, comfortable leaning against the wall as she ate.

“I was really disappointed when he turned down my offer.” Sarah says, picking up the conversation from earlier with ease.

“You guys need snipers that badly?” He asks. It was like the more he ate, the hungrier he realized he was. He isn’t going to eat like an animal, so he still forces himself to take his time, even as his stomach gnaws at itself.

“No, but I guess I felt a sort of…kinship with him? I heard from my father that he lost his mother during birth. Same as me. I know a bunch of kids with no moms isn’t all that much of a surprise, given the world we live in, but I don’t know. It just shocked me seeing someone like him all by themselves. Not that I think he isn’t capable or anything. He proved as much with the Behemoth.” She explains.

“He never gave me the details about what happened that day.”

“Oh, it was a regular shit show. We lost two good men that day before the Lone—I mean, Briar, showed up, and gave us a fighting chance.” She begins, shaking her head. “We didn’t even know someone else had shown up until a bullet hit one of the Behemoth’s eyes and blinded it. He wasn’t even using a Stealth Boy—he just hid himself so perfectly against some rubble that none of us noticed.”

She gives him the full details of the fight as the two of them finish their meals.

Finished, she takes all the dishes and moves to leave but stops.

“Hey, I know you don’t like being away from him, but I think some fresh air and a stretch would do you some good. You look like hell, no offense.” Sarah tells him.

He looks over at Briar’s unconscious form. He hated how still they were.

But she was right. His muscles were killing him, and it was about time that he walked Dogmeat, anyways. With Sarah walking with him, he doubts any of the less tolerant members will say anything to him.

The two of them exit the main building and walk outside to the compound where some other Brotherhood of Steel members were practicing hand to hand combat, or practicing their aim on glass bottles, and Sarah leads him over to a secluded area, waving and smiling towards her friends, uncaring of the odd looks she gets.

Enough distance from everyone else, he gives Dogmeat the signal to go run around as much as she pleases but makes sure that the circuit she runs doesn’t disturb anyone’s training and draws unnecessary attention towards himself. He feels more grounded after talking with someone so down to earth, and when he pulls out his pack of his cigarettes, dying for a smoke, he makes sure to offer Sarah one.

“No thanks. I’m more of a drinking, girl.” She declines casually.

She assures him that she doesn’t care about the smoke, or the smell, but he still makes sure to exhale on a downwind, pointing his face away. After two cigarettes, he’s starting to feel like himself again. He isn’t calm, and he isn’t happy, but he can process his thoughts reasonably now. He didn’t feel like the world would come crashing over his head the second he put his defenses down.

It is, of course, the exact moment that he feels this way, that the main door to the Citadel slams open and Dr. Li, finally given a new pair of shoes, looks frantically all around the compound before noticing him and Sarah, and running over immediately, half of her hair out of her bun by the time she reaches them.

He flicks his cigarette to the dirt and snubs it out with his boot immediately.

“Oh, thank God, I found you.” She says hoarsely, gasping for breath. “Briar woke up, but he’s not in his room. We aren’t sure how he would have snuck out without anyone noticing him, especially with only one leg, but no one’s found him yet.”

Cursing, he breaks off into a run towards the door she’d just blitzed out of, almost banging right into someone, but he manages to move to the side in time. He races down the hallway, almost sliding into the group of doctors crowded outside of Briar’s room.

“The desk chair is still in the room, so he couldn’t have used that to get around.” He hears Edward saying as he rights himself and the group notices his presence.

“I think we all would have fucking noticed someone crawling around. Maybe he’s using something as a crutch?” One of them says.

“It should be impossible for him to even have the energy to be moving around.” Another says.

He can’t think with all this fucking noise. He moves past them all and shuts the door, covering his face with his hands.

Why had he decided now, of all times, to leave? He should have learned by now not to bet against his terrible luck.

His migraine is starting back up again now that the contract is fully aware that he’s fucked up again in such a short amount of time. It felt like someone was driving a nail into his frontal lobe at an achingly slow pace.

The sheets on the bed are in disarray, and the I.V has been taken out and neatly looped around one of the metal rings to keep it from leaking all over the floor. He walks closer to the bed, starting to think of just how his partner managed to leave undetected, and where they might be hiding, when there’s movement—

Something slinks from under the bed.

It’s a hand. Freckled and sweat-slicked, it shakily tugs at his boot.

“C-Charon? You’re here?” Comes an even shakier voice from underneath the bed.

Of course, Briar would recognize him by his boots and the way he sounded when he walked.

Of course they would fool everyone into thinking they snuck out, only to safely tuck themselves in the most obvious spot of all.

His entire body shakes as the adrenaline leaves him.

“It’s me.” He tells them, forcing himself to sound calm. “I’m here.”

They grab at his boot desperately now.

“T-Thank God. I thought you died, too. Or that you were captured—” Briar says, sounding hysterical.

“I’m fine. Don’t worry about me.” He assures, and moves to the foot of the bed so he can lift it up and give them some extra moving space while they drag themselves out from underneath it.

Briar is on their stomach, their medical gown hanging off their shoulder, and their entire body was drenched in sweat and pale in color. The bandaging around their thigh was stained with fresh blood and it was beginning to leak onto the floor. Once they’re out of the way of the bed, he lowers to the ground immediately and picks them up as carefully as he can as he prepares to lift them up and set them back atop it, but Briar swings their arms around him and clings tightly as they burst into frantic tears.

They cry loudly, utterly at the mercy of their emotions, and he tries to tell them that he needs to put them on the bed, that they’re hurting themselves like this, clinging to him on the floor, but they shake their head and only cry harder, holding him so tightly their arms shake from the exertion.

The door to the room opens and the medical staff stare at the two of them.

As much as he wants to give Briar a moment of privacy to calm down, he’s more concerned about the fact their wound is bleeding again. He picks them up, rising carefully, and sets them on the bed. When he tries to separate himself, they sob his name and hold onto him tighter. It breaks his heart, but he removes their arms from his shoulders and steps away, giving the medical staff ample room to start checking them over.

Briar fights against it, swatting their hands away and trying to push themselves against the wall as far away from the doctors as possible. Blood stains the sheets and the bed.

“Hey.” He says firmly, going back over to the bed. “You need to let them help you. You’re hurting yourself. I’ll stay in the room with you, but if you don’t listen to them, they said I can’t be in here.” He lies, and in their emotionally volatile state, they can’t even tell it’s one of the shittier lies he’s told them.

Briar stares at him, chest rising and falling rapidly, their eyes still wide and alarmed like a prey animal. Their green eyes go to Edward, who is doing their utmost to look calm and inviting, even smiling a little, then the rest of the medical staff, who they peer at with suspicion. It takes a long, long while, but eventually his partner nods, swallowing hard.

“Thank you.” Edward tells them, and helps Briar lay back on the bed, which probably felt a lot better than being stuffed underneath it on the cold, unforgiving tile.

He takes his seat again and keeps his attention on his lap, unable to stomach watching Briar’s bandages be undone and seeing the reopened wound. He can hardly stomach listening to the noises they made in pain. A few times, when it becomes too much, either the many hands touching them, or the pain, they call out his name, and each time he answers, assuring them that he was still there.

“He’s got a fever.” Edward announces with an exhausted sigh after they administer more Med-X and Briar becomes compliant enough that they don’t have to coax them into staying still anymore. “I was afraid of this, but there’s no helping it now. We’ll simply need to keep a closer eye on him. We can’t afford to have him lose any more blood than he has.”

Briar falls sick with an infection that lingers around for three days, and unfortunately, he is not allowed to stay in the room with them during. He was fine with waiting outside the door, but it is a special kind of torture to be told that he cannot see them, when he is within distance to hear all the pitiful sounds they make as their body is ravaged with sickness.

They cry in their sleep, plagued by nightmares.

He is starting to go fucking crazy because of it.

The only thing that really keeps him grounded is Dogmeat. She really had been a blessing in disguise.

He can’t imagine dealing with this alone.

The fever breaks, at last, and once Briar is back in stable condition, he’s allowed to see them. They woke up an hour ago and were lucid enough to sit up in bed and eat, and while the medical staff offered to feed them, he swiftly took the bowl of food from one of them, silently volunteering for the job.

“Let us know if you need anything.” Edward tells him, obviously trying to fight back a smile as he watches him drag his chair over to the bed so that he can hand feed them their meal.

He offers a curt nod and nothing else.

Dogmeat relaxes on the floor at the foot of the bed once the door closes, and he returns his full attention to his partner, who is leaning against the wall, their back propped up with several pillows, their expression dull, and tired.

“Hey.” He says quietly, reaching out to brush his fingers up and down their arm.

They barely react to it.

“Hungry?” He asks, and they don’t respond to that either.

They just stare ahead listlessly at the wall.

He frowns.

“You need to eat something. You’re sick.” He reminds them, and he readies the bowl and scoops up some food, holding it out near their mouth. They ignore it, even as he pushes it gently against their lips.

Their bottom lip starts wobbling.

Their eyes become glassy and their shoulders shake.

“I’m not hungry.” They confess weakly.

“I know. But you need to eat it, anyways.”

Their breath hitches, and they bow their face. Tears pour from their eyes ceaselessly. He brings the spoon back to their mouth and they lifelessly begin to eat. He repeats the process until the bowl is emptied, then moves closer so he can hold a can of water to their lips. The water only really seemed to add more to the reservoir of tears.

He kisses the top of their sweat slicked hair.

“Want me to clean you up?” He offers.

They don’t nod, but they also don’t shake their head.

He leaves and comes back with a bowl of hot water, a cloth, and a bar of soap. Locks the door and brings his chair as close as he can to the bed before setting everything down on the desk near the bed and helping Briar take off their medical gown.

They were always thin, but the infection, not to mention losing a leg, made them lose a significant amount of weight. He can faintly see their ribs, now.

He has never been more careful in his life than he is now, as he bathes them. Briar’s face stays dipped forward, their eyes on their lap as he progresses. He starts humming, and while they sit still obediently, he can tell from the way their jaw keeps clenching that this is deeply offensive to them—that they are parting with a large chunk of their pride in allowing this.

“Thank you for letting me do that.” He makes sure to say when he finishes and has their medical gown settled back neatly.

Briar doesn’t say a word. They simply lay back down and close their eyes.

The vow of silence lasts nearly as long as the fever. It takes days for them to muster up the energy and finally talk to anyone, and of course the first thing they do is argue.

They argue against eating, they argue against drinking water, they even argue against being given their medications. He doesn’t know why he thought they’d be any better of a patient than they had been back in Little Lamplight.

Another problem arose in getting them to sit still and sleep as much as they should. Several times now, either he, or one of the medical staff caught Briar fixing something: a radio, a pistol, even some medical equipment, practically anything they can get their hands on, but the real question was how they were even getting any of this stuff.

They all eventually figure out that his partner had put their charms to use on one of the nurses and had been asking her to bring them things to work on, under the assurance that they were only working on things when they felt well enough, and that they took many breaks.

That was a lie of course.

After some firm reprimanding, Briar is left with no one else to sneak them things.

They find other ways to occupy themselves, much to his annoyance.

People start losing things. Their pencils, their hair clips, their sticks of gum.

All useless stuff that won’t be missed, and he knows for a fact that Briar is pick pocketing from them, but no matter how much he checks the room while they’re sleeping, he cannot find the stash he knows is growing somewhere.

It’s pissing him off.

Deeply.

He goes to walk Dogmeat, and when he reaches in his back pocket, he realizes that his pack of cigarettes are missing. Not only that, but when he pats a hand against his breast pocket, his lighter is missing too.

He thinks he sees red.

Taking a long, shaky breath, he orders Dogmeat to wait outside for him while he heads back in, his jaw clenched, and eyes cut into furious slits as he stalks back into the building and makes a beeline for his partner’s room.

There would be no one entering the room now, because the medical staff already finished giving them new meds earlier, so after he left to go walk Dogmeat would be the perfect time to sneak a smoke. Not that there would be any hiding the smell afterwards, but at that point the deed would have already been done.

He pushes the door open without warning and gets deep satisfaction out of startling them badly as they took what seemed like their second puff off his stolen cigarettes.

“You know for a fucking fact you shouldn’t be smoking.” He says hotly, throwing the door shut behind him with a muffled slam, and he walks over to the bed and holds his hand out.

“I’m getting pretty tired of people telling me what I know.” Briar says while taking a long drag just to spite him. “‘You need to sleep, and eat, and sit still, even though you feel so restless that you’re considering gnawing off your other leg with your own teeth’.” They say in a mocking tone, stealing another drag, “I’m starting to realize that if it was my head that was vaporized, instead of my leg, I wouldn’t have to hear dozens of people tell me shit I already know. What a blessing that would be.”

He snatches his pack of cigarettes and lighter from the bed.

Is about to snatch the still burning cigarette from between their lips, but they beat him to the punch, holding the cigarette between their index and thumb finger, suddenly sticking out their tongue in preparation to put it out in the most petulant way possible.

“Don’t—” He pleads, contract already spiking at the idea of them harming themselves.

Their expression darkens.

“Please.” He adds, much more softly, and thankfully it is the right thing to do.

Briar becomes conflicted, no longer able to just work on spite and anger alone, and after a few seconds of internal debate, they hand over the cigarette with shaking, furious hands.

He lets out a relieved sigh, snubbing out the cigarette and putting everything in his breast pocket.

“Do you want me to come back when you’ve calmed down a little?” He asks, equally as soft as his last question, but he’s fucked up, he can tell by the way their nose wrinkles.

“No.” They spit. “I want to be left alone.” And they tear their face away from him, preferring to glare at the wall then even recognize that he’s still in the room.

“…If that’s what you want.” He says.

“It is.”

He doesn’t express how much that hurts.

He simply leaves.

It’s like the first day all over again. He waits in the hallway, feet and back screaming in protest at his prolonged vigilance outside their door, but no matter how upset he is, he cannot bear to be away from them. The last time he’d left, he’d found them under the bed caked in blood and sweat, for fuck’s sake.

Sand between his fingertips, he thinks again, bringing a hand to his face as he breathes hot and hard as his heart refuses to settle behind his ribs. When night falls, he takes care of Dogmeat and sets a makeshift bed for her on the floor by his feet, using a spare shirt of his, and while she lays down for sleep obediently, she eyes him sadly, wondering why the two of them weren’t in the room instead.

Hours tick away and the Citadel becomes quiet. Serene, if the circumstances were entirely different— if he hadn’t almost lost the best thing that’s ever happened to him for the third time now.

The quiet doesn’t remain.

He’s starting to hear noises from inside Briar’s room: the sheets rustling, followed by shuffling, something being dragged over, then more shuffling. He hears their breath hitch as they do something strenuous and then there’s the tell-tale thud of a body hitting tile. And the miserable sound of their sobs.

He drops his hand from his face and opens the door quickly.

Briar is on the floor, their upper half clinging to the desk chair. Their face is slicked with sweat from the exertion and the pain of the fall, but thankfully their injury hadn’t been disturbed. Their face crumples as they notice him, and a new set of tears bursts from them, and they try weakly to move over to him, their hips trembling with the effort.

“I’m sorry!” Briar whispers sharply through a sob as he approaches and slips to the floor next to them. “I didn’t mean what I said earlier. P-Please don’t leave me. I can’t lose you. I can’t, please…”

He pulls them into his arms, mindful of their injury, and they cling to him desperately, nails digging into his shirt like they wanted to hook into his very being and keep him there with them forever.

“Never left. I was right outside your door.” He assures, burying his face into their neck. “You couldn’t shut me out if you wanted to, remember? You’ve never been able to escape me for long. I’ll always find you.” And he picks them up and lays them down on the bed on the side nearest to the wall so he can crawl into bed beside them.

They want to lay on their side to face him, but he slips an arm over their stomach to keep them resting on their back, which the nurses told him was the best position for them to rest in. That doesn’t stop them from turning their face towards him.

“Charon…” They sob, and he leans over and kisses their sweaty forehead. “It hurts—everything hurts. I don’t feel like myself. I’m so frightened that when I close my eyes, I’ll open them and you’ll be gone, too. Dead, just like—” And their voice cracks and their teeth sink into their bottom lip, their eyelids flickering wildly. “He’s really dead, isn’t he? I won’t even get to b-bury him. They probably dumped his body out in the wastes. He’s out there, alone, and I…”

He shushes them, lifting his arm from around their waist so he can cup their face, guiding their forehead to press against his.

“It’s not fair!” They sniffle. “It’s not fucking fair…”

“I know. I’m sorry.” He tells them.

He tells them that as many times as they need until they calm, at last falling asleep.

“I had a feeling ‘friends’ wasn’t the right term for what you two had going on.” Edward says when they slip into the room in the morning, noticing how he’s still cupping their cheek, even though his arm has long since fallen asleep.

He grunts a little, then slips his hand away and sits up, staring to get out of bed to make room as the rest of the medical staff pour in, but the second he moves away Briar’s eyes snap open and they reach out and grab his wrist, their grip tight.

“I’m afraid its time for your check-up.” Edward explains to them, and Briar calms down slightly. They bring his hand to their face, kissing the knuckles, before releasing it and letting the medical staff help adjust them in bed so they can get started with their work. “I’m glad that you seem to be feeling a little better.”

Briar doesn’t feel like talking, but they at least nod in response.

His partner lets the medical staff do everything without fuss for once and he can tell that they are all deeply relieved after a week of fighting tooth and nail just to get them to do the bare minimum of what they asked.

They’ve recovered enough that they allow his partner to wear a t-shirt and boxers, instead of the medical gown, and it’s as he’s just finished helping them dress that someone knocks loudly on the door. Briar tosses the sheet back over their lap, and it’s only when they are comfortable, that he goes over to the door and sees who it is.

“Hello.” Dr. Li greets, sounding exhausted, but a lot more grounded than the last time he’d seen her. Her shoulders relax and her brown eyes brighten upon seeing Briar sitting up, awake, and looking lucid. “I was hoping to speak with you about something. If you have the energy for it, that is.”

“Sure.” Briar says, gesturing for her to take the desk chair he usually occupies, but she doesn’t move towards it just yet.

She turns towards him, an apologetic lilt to her face.

“It’s about something sensitive. Would you mind?” She asks, and thinking the talk was going to be something pertaining to their injury, or their road to recovery, he gives Briar a quick glance, nodding, before he exits the room and takes Dogmeat with him for her walk.

He’s not sure how long she plans on talking, but he stays outside for at least an hour.

When he returns, she’s long gone, and Briar is still in bed, exactly where he’d left them, but they seem more present now. There was a resolve in their blood shot eyes, and they held their chin higher.

He doesn’t really care what was discussed, he’s just relieved to see them looking a little better.

But its like after Dr. Li speaks with them, everyone else suddenly gets a wild hair up their ass and comes to speak with his partner. Sarah visits, as well as the nurse that Briar had tricked into sneaking them projects to work on, whom they apologize to, but she doesn’t seem all that bothered—she’s very obviously attracted to them, but she’s already seen the two of them sleeping in bed next to each other, so he doesn’t get all that annoyed with her crush.

It’s not like he can really blame her, after all.

Losing weight, a leg, and being sweaty all the time didn’t stop his partner from looking any less gorgeous than usual, and their attractiveness only shined brighter as their recovery continued and more of their personality returned.

Another week passes, and while he is more than happy to keep feeding them all their meals and helping them dress, Briar has made it painfully clear that they do not appreciate the offer anymore, so he sucks up his disappointment as he heads back to their room that afternoon with lunch.

He pushes the door open and stops dead in his tracks.

Briar is out of bed, but none of the medical staff are freaking out, which confuses him. He finds Edward down a hall, and they can tell by his expression what he’s going to ask.

“He heard that the Elders were having a meeting and demanded we give him a pair of crutches so he could attend.” They sigh.

“And you just let him?”

“Listen, I’m not a fan of this either, but he is making good progress, and if allowing him the smallest amount of his autonomy helps with that, I don’t think we should deny him. Besides, there’s only so much we can force him to do now that he’s stable.” They explain.

He sucks his teeth, not satisfied with their explanation at all, and turns on heel and stalks back to the room. He’s pretty fucking sure he isn’t allowed to go listen in on whatever meeting was happening, so he sits and waits, the food he brought them growing colder by the minute.

An hour passes.

Then another.

Then his ears pick up the awkward sound of a footstep, followed by twin thuds, then another footstep, the sound of someone walking with crutches. He stands out of his chair and opens the door, and as expected Briar was juggling the crutches to try and open the door.

“Thanks.” They say, carefully walking past him, red in the face as they head over to the bed and collapse atop it, breathing hard. As exhausted as they seem, their demeanor seems bright.

“What was the meeting about?” He asks, kicking the door shut and leaning against it, subconsciously preventing them from leaving. “And why did you feel the need to be a part of it?”

They give him an odd look.

“Well, seeing as how the project my father spent his life working on was finished, then subsequently commandeered by a group of hostiles, I was talking with the Elders on what their plans were on fighting against the Enclave and taking Project Purity back.” Briar explains, wiping some sweat from their face with the bottom half of their shirt.

“Was that the plan this entire time? Fighting the Enclave?”

“What else are we supposed to do?”

“We could leave.” He says. “Head West and let the Brotherhood of Steel deal with them.”

“You mean running away like a bunch of cowards, our tails tucked between our legs? Absolutely not!”

“Who gives a shit about being a coward? If that’s what it takes to keep you alive, then fine, I’ll be a coward. I’m not going to let you face some impossible challenge again and lose you.”

“Let me? I may have lost a leg, but I am NOT someone that needs to ask permission, not even from you.”

He winces.

This was already going poorly.

“And this isn’t some impossible challenge. We CAN defeat the Enclave. We were just taken off guard, but with preparation, the Elders think we have a great shot at wiping out their group from the map.” They continue, and he realizes something.

“You’ve already agreed to join the fight.” He remarks.

“I have.” They agree. “And the Elders have already given me permission to start training with Power Armor. Apparently missing a leg won’t be any problem at all. They can mod a dummy leg that will respond just like a real one, and the Power Armor won’t notice the difference at all. As for the rest of my recovery, well, Edward didn’t like it, but I’ve already made the decision to speed up the healing process. Taking a bunch of Stimpacks and forcing the healing process this quickly is terrible, and it will lead to worse scarring and even worse chronic pain for the rest of my life, but if it means killing every last one of these fuckers, I consider it a fair trade.”

He brings a hand to his face, needing a moment.

Things were going faster than he could process.

“Our biggest advantage at the moment is the fact that the Enclave still doesn’t have the code needed to start up the purifier. I don’t know what they plan on doing with it, they might just want the limitless resource, but I have a feeling that it isn’t so simple. No matter what, we cannot afford to give it to them.”

“And you know that code.” He realizes, “So does Dr. Li. Who else would be a target?”

“The only other person that knew the code besides my father was Hazel, the scientist that was next to him in the rotunda that was shot.”

This makes him feel worse.

Sure, Briar was free from the bounty on their head, but they had a far deadlier target on their head now.

“Do you understand now why we can’t just run away? They’ll come looking for us. Do you think I’m going to allow them to put a finger on you?” Briar says, standing up now with their crutches and moving over to him.

He can’t look at them.

“I love you.” They say, and his breath catches in his throat. “And I would never force you into doing something that you don’t want to, so if you want to sit out this fight, I understand. It would actually make me feel better knowing that you were back home, safe, waiting for me. I’m not scared of dying, but the thought of losing you—it’s too much.”

“How the fuck do you think I feel?” He says breathlessly, his knees feeling weak, and he slips to the floor, back against the door, his hand still over his face.

Briar hobbles to the floor, tossing their crutches aside, and they drag themselves over, sitting between his thighs. It takes a lot of effort, but they try their best to imitate kneeling before him, their bandaged right stump pressed against the floor in what can only be a painful angle, but they ignore it because digging something out of their pocket was more important.

After some shuffling, they hold something out.

He lowers his hand to see what it is.

A gold ring.

He stares at it for an eternity before lifting his eyes to meet theirs.

“…Are you proposing?” He asks quietly.

“Yes.” They say steadfastly.

He blinks. Then blinks some more.

“Where did you—”

“It was my father’s. Dr. Li gave it to me the other day. Apparently, the night before the attack, he was meaning to give it to me. He must have been able to tell how much I love you.”

His heart clenches painfully in his chest.

“Where would we even go?”

“There’s a chapel here with a priest. We could be wed by tomorrow morning, if you allowed me such an honor.” They explain with no shortness of hope.

There is something off about all of this, but he can’t put his finger on it.

“Is now really the time for it?” He asks.

Their face falls, and they start to shake.

“If I’m going to die, I’d like to die a married man.” They insist, still holding out the ring, and tears well in their eyes.

He understands why they seem so desperate now.

“I’m not letting you die. And I’m not letting you make rash decisions either.”

“Rash?” They repeat, a sharp laugh following it. “I’ve never been surer of anything in my life. I’ve only dreamed about getting married since I was ten. My own red-letter day…”

“I’m not arguing about the decision to get married. I’m arguing against the WHO.” He insists.

They look deeply offended.

“If I can’t have you, then I don’t want anyone. I’d rather die alone than have anyone else at my side.” They say.

“Stop talking about dying.” He says, feeling sick. “…You really want to be with me like that?”

“Would you believe me if I said that nothing would make me happier? That nothing would honor me more?”

He stares at them, then his attention falls to his lap.

“I believe you.” He says after a while. “…And I believe that despite the odds, we’ll live after this ordeal, and when we do, I’ll marry you.”

“Charon—”

He curls their fingers over the ring in their palm.

“I promise.” He says.

Briar’s brows pinch together and they look miserable, like he’s denying them the one thing that they need to keep breathing.

“Okay?” He asks, lifting their chin with his finger.

They sniffle, nodding shakily.

“Okay.”

Chapter Text

He’s smoking a cigarette, but he’s not processing the smoke filling his mouth, or even the fact that he’s smoking, really—it’s just a way to excise his frustration as he stands there outside in the Citadel’s compound, initially hidden from view, because he’s tucked himself into the shade in the furthest corner. He’s leaning against one of the metal walls, the contract sending pinpricks of sharp pain behind his eyes periodically.

Dogmeat sits at his feet, exhausted from running around, and her yellow, sad eyes are on the exact thing he’s been watching all afternoon: Briar, hobbling around on crutches, while one of the Knight’s showed them the ins and outs of using Power Armor. They’ve been at it for a while, long enough that he knows his partner has skipped lunch, and that they were probably starving, but ignoring it so they didn’t have to ask for a break and look ‘weak’.

This sudden self-sacrificing behavior and increase in the neglect towards their well-being makes him anxious.

Briar was already vaguely familiar with how Power Armor functioned from all the military guides they’ve squirreled away, but they insisted on repeating the fundamentals over and over until it becomes second nature.

When they’re finished at last, and they’re exiting the Power Armor they’ve been allowed to borrow, the heat, or the lack of food makes them dizzy, and they stumble when they heft up their crutches, their balance totally off, but the Knight that is training them catches them in his arms.

His jaw clenches, a scowl working its way onto his face. Maybe he’s been scowling the entire time and he’s only just now become aware of it.

He can tell by the ashamed expression on their face, and the minute way that they bow their head, that Briar is apologizing. The Knight is unbothered, patting his partner’s shoulders agreeably, and he asks something that he can’t make out from his lips moving, but whatever it is, it makes Briar’s face snap up suddenly and that all-consuming anger returns with vengeance.

The Knight laughs raucously in response to whatever his partner replies, and he sees them nod, agreeing to something, before picking up their laser rifle and directing Briar to sit behind them, while they point the gun at some targets.

Even from here, he can hear the eerie high-pitched sound as the laser rifle charges, and that alone is enough to make Briar green in the face, their trauma response kicking in and they turn their face to the left and upend what little food they’d eaten that morning. They’re shaky after, drenched in sweat, and eyes looking unfocused.

It takes several minutes for them to stop shaking and looking like a single gale would knock them on their ass.

As expected, they give the Knight a thumbs up, signaling for them to keep at it.

He sucks his teeth, scowl deepening, and not even the cigarette soothes him now. He flicks it onto the dirt and snubs it out with his bootheel. He reaches into his shirt, pulling out the chain that once had Brotherhood of Steel dog tags on it. It held something of far more value now—the gold ring Briar had proposed to him with.

He likes to worry the piece of jewelry between his fingers. The ring was a place holder until the two of them bothered with finding one that actually fit, but that seemed like a far-off dream, now.

The Knight at least looks unsure of his partner’s persistence, but only for a minute. They nod, and rev up the laser rifle again, and Briar gags again a few times, their entire body soaked in sweat now. They keep looking down at their amputated right leg, as if expecting the wound to be fresh.

Again and again, his partner has the Knight charge the laser rifle, and even shoot a target a few times. He knows why they’re doing it—they wouldn’t be able to fight alongside the Brotherhood of Steel, or against the Enclave, if their newly developed trauma with energy weapons wasn’t whipped into submission.

Afterwards, Briar takes a seat atop a wooden crate, tilting their head back to drink some water, swishing it around their mouth to rinse out the foul taste, before turning to the side and politely covering their face as they spit onto the sand. They dump the rest of the water over their head to wash the sweat out of their eyes.

To his shock, Briar accepts the hand that extends towards them, offering to help them stand up before they situated themselves with their crutches. They’d all but told him they’d rather floss their teeth with barbed wire than allow his help when he’d done the same. It isn’t that they don’t trust him, or that they think he’s a bumbling fool that cannot help someone with a disability—it’s a stupid pride thing.

He understands the indignity and shame of asking for help.

He understands not wanting to look weak in front of someone they respect, too.

It still pisses him off.

He takes advantage of Briar being distracted with washing their face and hands to slink out of the shade and make his way back towards the main door of the Citadel, with Dogmeat at his heel. He doesn’t go far. He waits in the hallway, near the door. Like this, it wouldn’t be obvious that he’d been watching them all day. He thinks if they knew, they’d have a fit.

He feels useless, lately.

Nothing he says or does seems to bring Briar any true peace of mind. All they seemed focused on was taking out the Enclave, fueled by their grief, trauma, and fury. The medical room they’d been recovering in still works as their room, so he’s in there too, instead of the room all the other scientists have been shown to, but most of the time he’s in there by himself.

Briar is gone for most of the day, every day now, either attending meetings with the Elders, training with Power Armor, doing exposure therapy with energy weapons, or being taught what exercises and stretches they should incorporate into their daily life with their newfound disability.

‘There’s no time for everything’, is something they’ve always said, always bogged down by a million conflicting problems that needed solving, but now when he catches them mumbling it under their breath the few times they’re together, the words have weight now.

The door to his left opens, and with some struggling Briar steps inside the Citadel, breathing a sigh of relief as the sun is finally off them.

“Oh, there you are.” Briar says, perking up a little, and they hobble over to him, not smiling, but at least still soothed by his presence.

He wasn’t so sure with how things had been lately.

He knows they aren’t ignoring him, at least not purposely, but…

Briar takes a step towards him, brows furrowing.

“Is something wrong?” They ask, shuffling their weight all onto one crutch so they can reach out and slip their hand into his, but the heat and exercise has left them dizzy, and they trip, crutches clattering to the floor, and they face plant against his chest.

He slips his arms around them, catching them with ease, and they crane their face up, looking a little stupefied.

“I’m fine.” He lies, doing his best to hide his loneliness and frustration. “Why don’t we grab something to eat? I was just about to.”

“Right now? I was supposed to talk with the Elders.” They say.

“It can wait.”

“It would be rude to keep them waiting. I can meet up with you back in the room when I’m—"

“Please.” He says, unable to help voicing how miserable he is now.

He pulls them up into his arms, their one leg dangling in the air with how high he lifts them into a hug. He doesn’t care about how sweaty they are, or the lingering traces of sickness on their breath, or even the people that walk past the two of them.

“Y-Yes.” Briar speaks at last, voice wavering. “Yes, of course, it can wait. Let’s go grab something and bring it back to the room.”

He sets them down gently, leaning them against the wall so he can pick up their crutches before offering it to them. It’d be easier just carrying them, but he isn’t stupid enough to ask if he can do that.

The two of them walk to the mess hall, where a few BOS members are casually chatting while they eat, one of them Sarah, who waves eagerly at both of them, before her expression sours upon noticing the terrible state his partner was in. He can only hope that she brings up their carelessness regarding their health in the next meeting, or in a passing conversation, but it wouldn’t matter if Briar just let those words go in one ear and out the next.

Back in the room, he kicks the door shut, locking it out of habit, and Dogmeat wanders off into the open bathroom, where he’s moved her makeshift bed.

He can’t remember the last time the two of them ate in silence.

Typically, Briar would ramble on and on about something, or play the radio, but they just stare off towards the wall as they mechanically go about eating their meal. Their mind was probably engrossed with a thousand things all at once. Even with them sitting next to him, it was like he was alone, still.

He stops eating, gutted by that observation.

“…There’s something wrong after all, isn’t there?” Briar turns to him to ask quietly.

Slowly, he nods.

There was no point in hiding things anyways.

Briar sets their half-finished food aside, grunting as they move to face him on the bed. They take his right hand and bring it to their face, pressing a kiss atop it, before leaning their cheek against it.

“What is it, love?” They continue, voice so soft.

“I’m worried about you.” He tells them bluntly.

“I know. I’m sorry.”

He sucks his teeth, anger roiling beneath his skin.

“I don’t need you to be sorry. I need you to—” And he stops himself, because his emotions are getting out of control. He closes his eyes and takes a deep, steadying breath. “I need you to start treating yourself with a shred of the care that you give to me. I almost fucking lost you for good, but it feels like I haven’t gotten you back. Not fully. You’re shutting me out and—” He takes another breath, his free hand clenching into a fist. “And I miss you. A lot.”

Briar’s face lowers.

They looked ashamed.

“I’m doing it again, aren’t I?” They remark bitterly. “I’m getting that tunnel vision when I’ve got my sights set on what needs to be done. I don’t know why it always take things almost falling apart for me to realize it.”

“Good thing you have me to pull your head out of your ass.”

“Yes, and yet all I’ve done is treat you poorly in thanks. All that talk of marriage…What a terrible husband I would make.” And they huff a rueful laugh, shaking their head. “I’m so sorry for pushing you away. For being like this. If I’m honest, I still don’t quite feel like myself. I’m scared that after everything is through, the feeling will remain. Maybe I’ll never return to being the person I was before. Maybe that person is already dead, and there is no going back.”

“You’re still you.” He tells them firmly. “As long as we’re together, we can figure out all the rest.”

Briar is quiet for long while as the two of them continue to hold hands.

They seemed to be internally debating something.

“I really need to bathe.” Is not what he expected them to say after so much deliberation.

He knows the drill by now: they’ll politely ask him to leave or ask him to go sit in a corner with his back turned as they go through the strenuous effort of tackling the chore themselves. To his shock, when he starts to get up and leave, their hand squeezes firmly around his.

“…Would you mind helping me?” Briar asks, jaw clenched with the effort it takes to ask this of him.

He blinks, a little stupefied.

“Sure thing.” He says, leaning over to kiss their cheek before walking over to the bathroom, tip toeing around Dogmeat as she sleeps while he fills a bowl with hot water and grabs everything he needs.

As he’s preparing, his ears pick up on Briar picking up their forgotten food, and by the time he returns, they’ve eaten the rest of their meal despite it being lukewarm now.

They roll off their shirt as he sits next to them.

“I must be skin and bone.” They comment, nose wrinkling as they looked down at their chest and stomach.

“You’re getting thin.” He agrees. “If we were home, I’d cook you whatever you wanted. You always clean your plate when it’s me who’s cooking.”

“You’re a very good cook. At first, I didn’t like you cooking for me, because of the contract, but once you told me you genuinely like doing it, it became easier to accept.”

“I’d do a lot more than cook for you if you let me.”

“I know.” They agree with a sigh. “You must think I don’t trust you.”

“I just think you have a habit of doing everything yourself.”

“Can you blame me? I was an only child and James stopped being as present in my life the older I got.”

“You’re adaptable. You can get used to asking for help, same with anything else.”

“You make it sound simple.”

“It could be, if you let it.”

They hum and say nothing else.

He finishes washing their top half, then helps them shrug out of the sweatpants one of the BOS members leant them, the right pant leg tied so it doesn’t drag on the floor and trip them up when they use their crutches.

Completely naked, they start to shake, easily chilled from the weight loss they suffered and from having their amputated right leg on full display.

“Sorry.” They tell him immediately, avoiding making eye contact. “It must be unsightly to look at. If you want, I can take care of that part myself.” And they drape a sheet across their stump to conceal the thick, uneven scarring that was made worse from the all the Stimpacks they used to force the recovery unnaturally. “I guess the nightgown is retired. Could you imagine me wearing it?” And that empty, self-deprecating laugh returns. “It would be an insult to it, honestly.”

“Hey.” He says firmly, setting things down and holding their chin so that they have no choice but to look him in the face. “Don’t say that kind of shit.”

“Well, it’s true, isn’t it?” Briar argues, eyes getting glassy, “Who would want to see some emaciated, crippled loser wearing something like that?”

“I would.” He insists. “And you’re not a fucking loser. You’ve lost some weight, and you’ve lost a leg, but you’re still the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen. You think I care about the clothes you wear? Dressing up? I only care about that shit because it’s YOU wearing it.”

They sniff wetly, blinking rapidly.

“…You aren’t just saying that?” They cautiously ask. “It’s just so difficult to believe. I keep looking at myself in the mirror and I feel sick. I hate who I see.”

“I’ve never lied to you about anything important. Not going to start now.” And he leans forward and kisses them, showing them just how attractive he thinks they are, and Briar shivers, looping their arms around his shoulders and kissing back eagerly.

It’s been a while since they’ve been like this.

He doesn’t mean for the kiss to go on as long as it does. Doesn’t mean to start kissing their jaw, their neck, before slipping a hand into their hair and tugging a handful lightly.

Briar especially doesn’t mean to let out a long, drawn-out moan that was loud enough to be perfectly audible from the hallway.

The two of them freeze, and he opens his eyes and looks to the door immediately, waiting to see if anyone knocks.

His partner’s face turns scarlet and they curse under their breath, breathing hard.

“Sorry. That was on me. Wasn’t thinking.” He says.

But he can tell its already too late. He’s just as worked up as them; just as pent up and needing release.

“Charon…” They breathe his name in a telling way, their pupils dilated, and their teeth worrying their bottom lip. “Can we?”

“Yeah. But you need to be quiet. I mean it this time. If someone hears a noise like that again—”

Briar tugs him closer and kisses him, shutting him up, and he forgets what he was even going to say.

He forgets a lot of things as they sigh and lick open his mouth.

He gropes and kisses their body until they are trembling with want. He picks them up with discomforting ease, his hands on their hips, and he lays down flat on the bed, settling them to sit on his chest, their thighs bracketing his face.

It’s cute how embarrassed they are like this. Briar’s face turns even redder as they notice how their dick keeps eagerly nudging against his chin, already wet with precum. Despite how turned on they are, they’re practically frozen in place, unsure of how to proceed, or hesitant. He’ll give them all the encouragement they need.

He scoots them closer, mindful of touching their amputated thigh too much, because not only were they insecure of it, but the rushed healing made their chronic pain significantly worse. He opens his mouth, then pulls them even closer, their dick slipping into his mouth smoothly. He takes their entire length, his left hand squeezing the meagre fat of their left thigh, his other hand cupping their ass.

Briar clamps a hand over their mouth, eyes shutting tightly as they stifle back a moan. He guides them into fucking his mouth, their hips shaking with the effort, and while he could just manually do it himself, he can tell that the pain of doing it themselves is worth it to them, so he leaves his hands where they are and lets them take control of the pace.

He lifts his left hand and nudges their hand away from their mouth, visibly confusing them, until he stuffs two fingers into their mouth and Briar hums around the sudden intrusion, their cheeks hollowing and sucking around the digits. He only needs them to get his fingers slick, but he gets caught up on how obvious they were making it that they wanted his cock in their mouth instead.

He takes his fingers away, reaching around them now so he can tease their entrance and Briar inhales sharply, hips stuttering now as they continue to thrust their dick in and out of his pliant mouth. Nothing was hotter than listening to them desperately trying to remain quiet while they were drunk with pleasure.

He slips a finger inside, cautious, but Briar curses, grinding against his hand in an obvious plea for more. He gives them exactly what they want, adding a second finger already and pumping it shallowly inside, scissoring them open between crooking his fingers and massaging their walls.

The sensation of fucking his mouth while simultaneously being fucked with his fingers leaves Briar a sobbing, shaky mess, and their head dips forward, their chin touching their chest, and they look at him with hazy, lust filled eyes, and he returns the stare without flinching, sucking around them tighter and he thinks he sees their lips starts to form the shape of his name, but they are too scared of any sound leaving them, and they sink their teeth into their bottom lip hard at the same time their eyes shut and their dick throbs against the back of his throat.

They fall apart beautifully, cursing over and over as he swallows around them, and continues to slip his fingers in and out to ease every jolt of pleasure that he can.

After they’re done shaking like a leaf, they slip out of his mouth, bracing a hand on the wall as they nearly fold in half to kiss him.

“Please, please, please.” They beg in between kisses. “I want to touch you. I want you in my mouth. I can take it.”

He considers that. He was planning on just jerking off while making out with them, but they’ve gotten good at reading his mind about certain things.

“You’re going to tell me the exact second something hurts.” He tells them firmly as he lifts them off his chest and sits up, setting them down gently. “And if you get tired, we can stop.”

They nod eagerly. He slides off the bed and stands, wondering about the logistics of how he can do this without putting too much strain on them.

“You could bring the chair over.” Briar offers breathily, laying on their back horizontally across the bed, their head hanging over the bed, curly brown hair sweeping against the tile. They have no problem looking at him upside down.

He drags the chair over, its wheels rattling, and sets it directly in front of where their face is, before unbuckling his belt and tugging his jeans lower. He takes a seat, cock in hand, and they lick their lips shamelessly before opening wide for him.

He’ll never understand the joy they seem to get from doing this with him. He was big, and unlike himself, Briar had a gag reflex, and their jaw was prone to getting sore before he typically finished. Yet, when he guides his cock into their awaiting mouth, their green eyes glaze over and they moan around him happily.

He guesses he doesn’t need to understand. He’s just thankful they’re as hopelessly attracted to him as he is to them.

They’re starting to get noisy again as he fucks their mouth, and they only get louder as he starts to affectionately brush his fingers across their cheek. They hold up one of their hands and reach out to him, and he picks up on what they want immediately. He slips his hand into theirs, their fingers entwined, and they make a pleased, little hum, as if it’s deeply soothing. The sweetness of the gesture, paired with the white-hot pleasure from their soft, bruised lips taking him so nicely makes his brain screwy, and he curses, pushing their face off just as he’s finishing and he ends up painting their chin, neck and chest with cum, even a little dribbling onto their cheek.

“Sorry.” He says hoarsely after a minute when he can breathe properly.

“I guess you’ll just have to clean me up again.” Briar says, clearing their throat a few times as they sat up, watching him enter the bathroom and refilling the bowl with clean water, before he returns to their side. “Let’s see if we can get through it this time without sucking each other off.”

The hand he’s got holding the damp rag starts to shake as a begins to laugh, totally thrown off by how uncharacteristically crude their words were.

Briar starts laughing too, and it’s a real one this time, their usual, ditzy giggles that he finds so charming.

“No promises.” He says, still laughing, and begins to clean them again.

Washed and freshly dressed, the two of them just lay in bed, clinging to each other. Dogmeat, noticing that the room was quiet now, leaves the bathroom and hops atop the bed, curling at the foot of the bed, resting her head on one of his ankles.

The calm is broken by a knock on the door.

“Briar? The Elders are waiting for you. Told them you needed to clean up first.” Sarah informs them from the other side of the door.

He thinks she sounds embarrassed.

Maybe she stopped by earlier but heard them fooling around and made the smart decision to try her chances later.

“Fuck! I forgot.” Briar groans quietly, hiding their face in his chest. “I’ll be right there, thank you!”

He helps them, handing their crutches over, and at their absence, Dogmeat whines. Briar glances at her, a guilty look on their face.

“Sorry.” They tell her, and scratch behind her ears for a minute, before turning towards him. “You haven’t changed your mind about joining the fight, right?”

“Nope.” He says, ready to argue, if he has to, but all Briar does is nod.

“I think it’d be beneficial if you started attending the meetings with me. But only if you want to, of course.”

“Lead the way.” He says, grabbing the door for them.

He trails behind them through the Citadel, in a better mood than he has been in weeks. They stop in front of another door, turning to him with a sheepish expression, and before they can even ask, he opens the door and holds it open for them.

“Thank you, love.” Briar tells him as they hobble into the meeting room, uncaring if anyone heard them. He notices that they hold their chin up higher as they offer curt nods to the group of people already seated around a large metal table. “Apologies for being late. Everything takes longer now with one leg.”

He pulls out their chair for them, and they’re about to decline, he can tell, but with a deep breath, they accept his help as they take a seat, and he sets their crutches aside. They gesture to the empty seat to their right, but he prefers standing behind them, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed.

“The slowness only gets worse with age, I’m afraid.” An older man, probably in his sixties, tells his partner, nodding empathetically. They are dressed differently from the rest of the BOS members in the room, even the other Elders. They’ve also got the same blue eyes as Sarah, so he assumes that this is the leader, Elder Lyons.

When he makes eye contact with them, he nods in greeting, but other than that he ignores everyone else and starts doing a fantastic fucking job of imitating a statue. He’s certain he doesn’t have anything to contribute to these meetings, so he just stays quiet and listens.

The meeting starts, but it isn’t long before he feels his brain turning to mush as he’s bombarded with a wealth of information. What weaknesses and strengths the Power Armor the BOS used, as well as the Enclave’s, as someone had managed to retrieve the helmet off a dead member and had brought it back for studying.

The Elders start going over plans of attack, but its all hypotheticals, and his brain starts to check out—but not for long, as he hears rushed footsteps in the hallway before the door swings open with enough force to slam it into the wall, startling everyone, including Briar, who pulls their revolver out of their holster and points it at the intruder.

“Pardon.” Briar apologizes, lowering the gun when they realize it’s one of the recon members back from a mission. An important one, given their loud arrival, and eagerness to report back.

“Sir, we’ve finally located their base of operations.” The BOS member informs Elder Lyons, doing their stupid little salute before walking over to them and handing over the stack of documents they’ve got in their arms.

Elder Lyons gives the first dozen pages a quick glance, expression steely, before he sees their lips curl the minutest.

“Excellent work. Raven Rock, is it? If my memory serves correct, that is west of Fort Constantine, across the river. A decent enough strong hold. Your annotations say that not only do they herald a significant fighting force of men and women, equipped with Power Armor and energy weapons, but there is also a mass of robots being manufactured as well?”

“Yes. The flying robots we’ve been seeing roaming around, the ones that play the Enclave’s propaganda radio station, were made in this facility, and they are known as Eye Bots.”

“Stupid name.” He hears Briar chastise under their breath, their arms crossed and a finger tapping on their bicep.

The rest of the meeting is cut short, as BOS members scramble to get the necessary preparations for the day of the attack, such as fueling the Vertibird, and doing repairs. It’s just him and Briar in the hallway outside of the meeting room now.

“Three days until the fight.” Briar remarks after taking a deep breath, looking at him now with open anxiety.

“Three days.” He repeats, nodding, and decides to bring up what’s been rattling around his skull for a while now. “Shouldn’t I know the start up code for the project in case you or Dr. Li can’t get to it?”

Briar turns slowly towards him, eyes wide, so they were clearly not expecting him to ask them that.

Or maybe they were hoping he wouldn’t.

His partner seems to struggle for a second, juggling their crutches around so they can tuck some hair behind their ear.

“Well, yes, ultimately that would be ideal…” Briar agrees, but its clear they do not like admitting that fact.

“But…?”

“I don’t want you to become a target! If the mission fails, and we get separated…” They explain, eyes moving wildly across his face as their imagination runs wild. “This is the kind of information they’ll torture someone for. I cannot—”

“Hey.” He interrupts firmly. “Don’t I get a say in this? Or are you making choices for me?”

“I-I’m not. I would never!”

“Not giving me a choice is the same as making it for me.” He points out.

“…”

Briar’s face scrunches up in an ugly way as they suck their teeth, turning away from him.

Seconds feel like hours as he stands there in front of them, watching their hands shake as they grip their crutches, how their chest rises and falls rapidly as they internally debate with themselves. Their face dips, hair obscuring their eyes, and he sees their jaw clench the minutest. To his surprise, Briar hobbles over to him and leans their face against his chest.

Very, very dejectedly, they say a series of numbers.

“Is that a date?” He asks, setting a hand on their lower back.

“Yes.” They say quietly, “It’s my birthday.”

“…It took all this just for me to learn your birthday?” He says, and then frowns, realizing something. “Wait, it already passed. You didn’t say anything.”

“I’ve never really cared about celebrating my birthday. It’s the same day my mother died, after all.” And they sag against him further, becoming gloomy.

“We could replace the memory with a better one.” He offers.

“That’s okay. I’ll save all the balloons and confetti for our wedding.”

His gut flips.

“Thought we were just going to a chapel and exchanging rings?” He asks.

“You don’t want an after party of some kind so our friends can join? Nova and Gob will be disappointed.”

He sometimes forgets he has people that could even be considered as his ‘friends’. Sure, he wasn’t close with either of them, but the fact remains that if asked, he would call them friends. It’s weird to admit to that.

It’ll take time wrapping his head around that.

“I’m fine with whatever.” He says after a tik and leans down to press a kiss to the crown of their head. “Happy belated birthday.”

“Thank you.” They say with a little ‘hmph’ and straighten with his help. “I’m exhausted. Want to head back to the room and nap?”

“Fine by me. If you want, I can just carry you.” He asks, deciding to test his luck further that afternoon. Before they can get too offended, he throws in: “I need all the practice I can get carrying a bride around.”

Briar’s face turns scarlet and they look up at him with big, bright eyes, looking as eager as Dogmeat did when he gestured it was time for a walk. He holds back a laugh, knowing they would tear his head off if he voiced that observation.

“I s-suppose it’s fine.” They say, blinking rapidly, and he steadies them as they hold their crutches tucked to their front, before scooping them up with ease.

“You know,” Briar speaks up as he carries them, their lips spread into a toothy, crooked smile, and he almost trips over his feet. “This year has been the worst and best of my life. I had to kill my way out of my Vault, then I had a bounty placed on my head, my father was murdered, and then I had one of my legs blown off.”

“What the hell happened this year to make any of that worth it?” He asks.

“I met you.” Briar answers like it’s obvious, smiling even more now, and he doesn’t trip, but he does stop walking entirely to look down at them, enthralled.

For a moment, things felt normal.

Perfect.

If only the feeling would last.

As the days pass, and the frequency of meetings skyrocketed as preparations were made, the acute feeling of dread burgeoning in his gut only settles its roots deeper, making home now, like a parasite. He keeps thinking of that dream: the one with the songbird and the glass roses and that godforsaken arrow.

On the day of the attack, after he and his partner have armored up and armed themselves to the teeth, he leaves Dogmeat with one of the scribes, mumbling an apology to her as scratches behind her ears for a minute.

“Be good.” He tells her, standing up, and he glances at Briar, and his line of sight only reaches their chest now that they were in Power Armor. He cranes his face up and looks at their helmet, wishing he was looking at their green eyes, instead of that lifeless, metal visor. “I’m all set.” He tells them with a nod, readjusting to the feeling of his combat armor and his shotgun between his hands.

Briar’s sniper’s rifle is left behind, in favor of their assault rifle, which hangs over one of their metal shoulders as back up when their laser rifle runs out of cells. He’s borrowing their silenced 10mm, since their fingers were too bulky in Power Armor to curl a digit around the trigger. They’re only bringing one duffel along with them, and it’s been packed with grenades, landmines, Stealth Boys, a startling number of medical supplies and Chems, as well as enough ammunition to keep their guns well fed throughout the fight.

Things are ready by noon, but it isn’t until nightfall that the ‘team’, led by Sarah Lyons, her most trusted knights, several lower-level members, Dr. Li, and Briar and himself head towards the helipad outside.

Dr. Li wouldn’t be joining the fight, unsurprisingly. Her job was to patch everyone up and when they all arrived at the Jefferson Memorial afterwards and cleared the place out, to start up Project Purity. She would wait on the Vertibird with the pilot, armed with only a laser pistol. It would have to be enough. They couldn’t afford to spare anymore bodies when the Enclave seemed to have such an advantage in numbers, both human and robotic.

The only advantage they would have is making their attack at night, and now becoming familiar with the Enclave’s Power Armor’s weakness—a singular one at that. The joint pieces connecting the limbs were weak on most versions of Power Armor, with each iteration trying to further mitigate it, but the Mk II Power Armor sacrificed the mobility of the joints in exchange for segmented armor plates of superior defense.

Aside from aiming close-range, or explosive shots at the Fusion Cores tucked onto the backside, shooting at the joints and disabling both the Power Armor and the rider within it, would be their best bet.

It’s a windy night. The moon is obscured by dark clouds. It would conceal the Vertibird, and if the wind picked up, might even conceal the worst of the noises caused by the blades. The plan is to land the Vertibird half an hour’s walk from Raven Rock, tucking it behind a large rock formation that will work perfectly to conceal it.

It made the risk of anyone injured not being able to be tended to until at least thirty minutes later, maybe less if they all hauled ass, but they couldn’t afford to have their arrival immediately noticed.

Before Briar hauls their bulking form onto the Vertibird, they pause, and turn around to look down at him.

“There’s still time to change your mind.” They tell him, voice muffled by the wind and the slight static on the Power Armor’s microphone.

“I know.” He says without hesitation and motions for them to hurry up and get on the plane.

It’s funny how even with the Power Armor, there was no mistaking who was inside of it. Briar wrings their metal hands the same way they always have.

“…I love you.” Briar tells him steadfastly.

He knows that, too.

They help him onto the Vertibird, and after everyone is secured, and safety checks are done, the plane takes off.

The ride is…unpleasant. He’s almost sick a few times. He hates being this high up in a vehicle that doesn’t even have doors sealing it shut, and he hates not having any control in the matter on if the pilot sneezes and the damn things suddenly nose dives.

Briar holds his right hand the entire ride, so familiar with the armor they’ve got on that they hold it with the perfect amount of pressure, not at all bruising his fingers. It’s a good thing their fingers are encased in metal because he can’t say his grip is light—he’s practically holding their hand for dear life each time the Vertibird rocks the slightest against the buffering wind.

When they finally land, and they all hop out of the plane, his legs are wobbly for a good minute and he has to press a hand against the side of it so he can ground himself. From out of nowhere, like magic, Briar procures a single cigarette, and a lighter that isn’t his. They tuck it between his lips and flick the lighter once, offering the flame.

He leans forward, not used to having to look up to meet their gaze, even though it was a stupid visor he was looking at instead.

“Alright you two, stay safe. We’ll be in communication with you when we have eyes on the prey.” Sarah informs Dr. Li and the pilot with a curt nod, and a wave, before she glances at each of them, her eyes lingering on his partner for a significant second, before she nods again. “Let’s go kick some asses!”

He thinks he hears Briar snort over the mic.

The wind only seems to pick up the closer they get to Raven Rock. He isn’t sure if that’s a good sign or not. He doesn’t believe in omens. He knows that dreams are just the brains bizarre way of processing all the dredge of what happened throughout the day, and that nightmares were the same, just saturated with personalized fears and stress instead, but now as the break through the clearing of the forest they landed in, and make sights on the former U.S military base, Raven Rock, that now served as the HQ of the Enclave, he can’t help but get that familiar feeling of sand slipping between his fingertips.

“It’ll take ten or so minutes to descend this hill, maybe more if we trip and bust our asses. We’ve been told that they do shift changes every four hours. We’ve got an hour until their next change, if the information we’ve been fed is good. Plenty of time to triple check our weapons. Understood?” Sarah explains, her face perfectly calm. After a round of confirmations, she finally fastens her helmet on. “Good. Let’s go.”

The trek is over before he knows it, and their group hovers on the outskirts of the trees leading up to the front gates of the base. The entrance is small, and unassuming, just like a Vault, but unlike those, there were three people in Power Armor stationed outside. There was nothing to do but wait and use the few precious minutes it took for the new guards to take over patrol, but it seems like a waste to just be sitting around.

“If the layout is anything like a Vault, then every fight is going to be close quarters. We have to make doubly sure not to shoot at each other by mistake. Or catch ricochets.” Briar speaks up, unable to just sit there and wait in agony like he is. “And if we end up fighting in one of their labs, we’ll have to make sure not to ignite anything or break open anything corrosive. Our Power Armor will protect our skin, but if our visor’s get melted in any way, it’ll be a significant loss in defense having our heads exposed.”

Their rambling soothes him a great deal. He thought it might irritate the others, who might prefer silence as they all achingly wait for the next shift change, but his partner’s words are met with appreciation.

“Got dibs on Autumn?” One of the Knights asks Briar.

“I don’t care who kills that rat bastard so long as he’s no longer among the living. If everything goes well, not a single soul will be left in this place after we’re finished.” They say coldly over the mic, one of their metal fingers tapping against the side of their assault rifle.

“Cheers to that.” Sarah remarks, shooting his partner a thumbs up.

The clock hits midnight, and the three guards outside the entrance slip inside the only door leading in one by one. Their group waits, but only for a second, making sure they didn’t peek their heads back outside, before rushing out of the forest and making a beeline to the door. Half the group tucks themselves on the left side of the rock formation surrounding the entrance, and the other half takes the right.

He flips on a Stealth Boy and crouches at Briar’s heel. The plan is kill the new shift as quickly and as silently as possible while he slips into the doorway, making sure it stays open for the rest of the team to get inside. It goes perfectly—as soon as the door slides open and the new patrol slips out, only two guards this time, he crawls over quickly, undetectable as the wind picks up just in time and knocks around the dirt and rocks, masking his footsteps as he successfully enters the place.

The hallway is dim and leads to only one thing: an elevator.

He hears the muffled sounds of the surprise fire fight, and once things are quiet, he pushes the button on the side panel and the door slides open and the rest of the team flood in.

“Since shift change just started, no one should be radioing those guys in for anything anytime soon, unless our luck is real bad. Let’s hurry it up and head inside and not tempt our fate. For now, no one has noticed our arrival. Charon, if you wouldn’t mind, I’d like for you to take the lead and act as our eyes, since you’ve got some Stealth Boys.” Sarah explains. “I doubt that elevator can fit all of us at once, so unfortunately, we’ll need to go down in threes. I’ll go first, along with Charon. Who else is coming?”

Of course, Briar takes a step forward immediately.

He slips inside the elevator and crouches, reactivating his Stealth Boy. There are only three buttons, the first, second and third floor, which he relays to the others before clicking the button for the first floor. It was a minor relief that this place wasn’t nearly as big as some of the Vaults he and Briar had explored.

Maybe that will prove to be wrong, he thinks as the elevator continues, the ride not as short as he’d like it to be. Raven Rock is nestled deep, deep underground. When the elevator opens, someone in a labs suit eyes the empty elevator with brief confusion, before simply continuing on their way, muttering under their breath about needing more stimulants.

He crawls out of the elevator, undetected, and gives a look around to his immediate surroundings. The hallway splits to the left and right, with nothing ahead besides the wall. He journeys down the left, first, peeking around the corner, he sees what looks like a mess hall, filled with a few people, all men and women without any armor. They looked like brainiacs, so he assumes that the labs are either on the right wing, or below, on the second floor. He slips away, heading to the right side of the hallway now to confirm his suspicions. He finds a room with a bunch of scientists pacing around a dozen or so holding cells with various subjects. There’s a door at the end of the room, but he doubts he can sneak in unnoticed.

With his findings, he returns to the elevator.

Sarah, Briar and himself ride back down to the first floor, with the rest following shortly behind in trios.

Once the elevator door opens, he slips out first while Sarah blocks the sliding door from shutting. He’s crouching with the 10mm readied, and a man is walking right towards him. All it takes is raising his hand the slightest and he’s got the nose pointed right between their eyes and he shoots, once. The man is dead before he even processes it, and he moves quickly to catch his body, muffling the fall.

He'd prefer to take out everyone on this floor this way for as long as he can, but Sarah and Briar can only stay hidden in the elevator for so long before they need to send it down for the others to join. He heads over to the mess hall on the left, because it looked like a dead end, unless there were doors on the side he missed, which he sincerely doubts. As he’s crouched around the corner, he takes off a grenade and lobs it right at the foot of a bunch of people eating. The chaos is immediate, a good handful of people die in a flash, chunks of gore flying all around the room, and the few people remaining on the furthest corners of the room jolt in horror, frozen in fear for the perfect amount of time for Sarah and Briar to pour into the room and finish them off with their laser rifles, reducing them to ash piles.

As they’re exiting, and heading towards the right wing, the elevator opens, and three of the team greet them with a wave, slipping behind them eagerly, before sending the elevator down. The scientists near the enclosed cells notice them all at once, but not him, so they don’t expect the door to suddenly open to their lab, and they cannot see him aim the 10mm at their heads. He takes down two of the five scientists, and the rest are picked off quickly by the team. There’s an brief hallway that connects another lab, but the others have heard the racket and are already panicked as they head inside.

They don’t get any time to press any emergency buttons.

It’s a slaughter—there was no going around it. Sure, they get killed swiftly and with mercy, but the amount of twitching, bleeding bodies piling up on the floor is getting to him a little. Like most things, he can shove the feeling away to process it at a more convenient time.

If there was one.

It was a surprise how few people were in the rest of the adjacent rooms. That either meant most of them were in the floors below, or that a good many were out in the Wasteland, or occupying the Jefferson Memorial. The only way they’d find out is to continue deeper inside.

With every room cleared, and none of the alarms being triggered, they head towards the elevator, with their group going first to the second floor. Its silent on the ride down, but Briar’s mic picks up their breathing a little.

He squeezes their hand briefly before activating a fresh Stealth Boy and crouching. As soon as the door opens, there is a person in Power Armor escorting two people in lab suit, waiting for the elevator to open, but not for the three of them to be inside of it.

Before anyone can speak, he aims the 10mm at the joints in the Power Armor’s right arm, preventing them from shooting their gun, unless they were ambidextrous. Sarah kills the scientists, then rushes out into the hallway, followed by his partner.

The second floor consists of a T-shaped hallway, with even more lab equipment and cells holding live specimen. Raven Rock was turning out to be less a military base, and more of a research facility. There are so few Enclave members in Power Armor that he is growing suspicious. It would be beyond stupid if they kept all their best fighters at the Jefferson Memorial, instead of their home base.

The alarms have been set off by now, but their group is growing more and more confident as they clear the entirety of the second floor and take turns heading to the third floor. Before Briar steps into the elevator, the hesitate.

“Wait, I’d like to check out the living quarters we passed by.” They explain, fully stepping out of the elevator. “I’ll meet up with you on the third floor in no more than five minutes. Is that okay?”

Sarah mulls it over for a blink.

“Five minutes. No more. I hope whatever you’re looking for is worth it.” She says, and gestures for him, and another BOS member to follow inside the elevator.

He doesn’t like being separated from them, but there was no one left on that floor, and everyone would be piling out of the third floor, towards the elevator, so that should buy them even more time away from direct danger.

“What do you think he wanted?” Sarah asks him on the ride down.

“Dunno.” He returns uselessly, standing up to give his poor knees a fucking break before he goes back to crawling around like an animal.

The elevator opens and there’s immediate gunfire raining down on them. He tucks himself behind Sarah, still getting hit by a few richochets that bounce around in the elevator, but they don’t wound anything important, so he crouches fully to the ground and peeks between her Power Armor’s legs, aiming his shotgun at the leg joints on the Enclave member’s armor, making them bend at the knee as if giving up, before Sarah vaporizes a few of the people running in a panic behind them. He blasts their visor with his shotgun until it cracks, then reloads and empties the rest of the shells until he sees human flesh peeking out past shattered glass. They slump to the floor, face first, visor breaking more as it slams into the metal floor.

“It’s been more than five minutes.” He tells Sarah sharply as he guns down another scientist. There was nothing on the third floor other than more cells holding both alive and dead specimens. To his horror, there is a living and breathing Death Claw in one of them, which immediately deters him from using any explosives in here and possibly breaking it loose from its cell.

“As for Briar, if you want to head back to the second floor, now is probably your best bet. Just make sure to come back, alright?”

He nods, about to crouch again, but an intercom cuts on, the volume set way too high, as if done with unfamiliar hands, but once the godforsaken high pitched noise calms, and the sound of movement stops, a familiar voice mumbles with great agitation.

“Ugh—I really fucking hate computers…Is this thing on?” He hears Briar over the intercom, relaxing immediately. “I can’t tell if its on—either way, you’ll be hearing something else soon. If you can hear me, I’ve taken care of the President and I’m equipped with the self-destruct sequence of this place. Once I activate it, we’ll have twenty minutes to get out of here. I don’t think we can afford to wait, so just start heading out. I’ll meet you shortly. I promise.”

The intercom cuts off.

He gives Sarah a wild-eyed look.

“Guess we better get out of here. Forget killing any stragglers. This place is going to be a tomb.” She says and breaks into a jog towards the direction back towards the elevators.

They suffer minimal damage as they’re pursued on the way up to the surface. It only took five minutes to reach the entrance, and after everyone on the team has poured out, he lingers by the doorway, heart hammering in his ears.

Another five minutes pass and he turns towards Sarah.

“I’m going to get him.” He says, not waiting for her permission as he moves back towards the elevator. Just as he’s about to press the button, it opens, the chime muted by the blaring warning alarms over the intercom.

The doors slide open and Briar exits, nearly slamming into him.

“Is that everyone?” They yell, setting their metal hands on his shoulders and manually turning him around so that they can push him outside already, where the others are anxiously waiting.

“Yep. Was just waiting on you.” Sarah confirms as the door is kicked shut and their group breaks out into a run towards the trees.

There was no telling how far the blast would reach.

As they run, he hears Briar counting aloud. On the twenty minute mark, his partner shouts for everyone to duck behind a tree, and they wrap their Power Armor around him to act as further protection. He slaps his hands over his ears and the blast wave hits them all a moment later, making him bump into their chassis.

Things fall quiet.

There aren’t any Enclave soldiers or scientists outside. None of them had survived their assault, or the self-destruct sequence. The trek back to the Vertibird is done in silence. He isn’t the only one that feels like things had went too smoothly. No one was that lucky—there was going to be a fuck up sooner or later, and he would bet money it would be horrible enough to eclipse the victory they just had.

Dr. Li startles upon hearing so many footsteps approaching, but after seeing him, and the familiar sets of Power Armor, she relaxes, lowering her gun and telling the pilot to get the plane started as they all head inside.

“You know, we could have taken out their rank without the need of blowing up the entire place.” Sarah takes off her helmet to tell Briar, swiping some of the displaced hair from her bun out of her sweat slicked face. “Did something happen with the ‘President’, and that’s why you had to do it?”

“The President wasn’t even human.” Briar explains calmly over the mic. “It was a super-computer, one with a rather boring personality. It was exceedingly stupid when it came to anything other than hard numbers. I was able to convince John Henry Eden, the super-computer, to metaphorically commit suicide. Not very bright, these computers, to have such a way of allowing that to happen, right? I found the code for the self-destruct sequence in Autumn’s locker in their room. He wasn’t at Raven Rock. He has to be at the Jefferson Memorial. I’m starting to think that most of them are there…” Briar finishes.

“It did seem easy, back there, didn’t it?” Sarah agrees, dropping the earlier topic. “We won’t know the situation until we get there, and if things go south, we always have our ‘secret’ weapon. It’s just a signal away.”

Things go south immediately. He thinks he should be used to sudden nose dives in his favor by now. As soon as the Vertibird lands just outside of the Jefferson Memorial’s property, they are already assailed by bullets and shots from energy weapons. There are Enclave members flooding out of the gift shop, with a large number already outside either shooting at the Vertibird or the group of Super Mutants and Centaurs that wandered too far from their camps.

He thinks he would be more impressed with Liberty Prime if he had a real chance to look at the thing as it tears across the property, stomping on Centaurs like spoiled fruit, but he can’t afford to take his attention off anything that wasn’t directly five feet in front of him.

Dr. Li can’t afford to stay in the Vertibird this time, as it wasn’t safe for the pilot or the plane to remain sitting in the middle of a fight, so she’s tucked behind a Knight, clutching her gun. It’s hell getting through to the gift shop entrance. Every five feet they made into the place, it was like several Enclave members appeared out of thin air. The tension of the nonstop close quarter fighting and checking on his partner makes him feel like his heart is going to give out from the stress.

Sarah takes a beating protecting Dr. Li, eating a few grenades that knock her into the wall. Her voice sounds ragged over the mic now, as she assures everyone she is fine, and reloads her gun. A doorway busts open down the hall, and Colonel Augustus Autumn barges out, escorted by three Enclave members in Power Armor.

Briar grabs a grenade off his belt, pulling the pin, before lobbing it quickly at the group.

“Be careful with the explosives!” Dr. Li and Sarah shout at the same time, before ducking when the grenade ignites.

It serves as enough distraction for Briar to tear away from the group and run at stop speed towards Autumn, raising their laser rifle, and now without so many people in armor directly near them, there was no worry of the beam refracting and bouncing elsewhere. The shot Briar releases hits Autumn square in the chest, and they dissolve into goo, starting from the center and spreading out like a contagion.

His partner makes the mistake of just standing there after, and it gives Autumn’s escorts plenty of time to just rain hellfire down on them, chipping some of the armor plating off their suit, which has been weakened from hours of fighting.

He’s going to throttle them for it later, but he and the others focus on giving them support and taking care of the rest of the Enclave members in the hallway while they shuffled out of the way.

“Are you—” Dr. Li asks, huddling behind him where Briar is slumped against the wall, breathing hard over the mic.

“F-Fine. No major injuries. Just…” His partner says after sucking in a breath. “Just a graze or two. I’ll be fine after a Stimpack.” And they accept the one Dr. Li hands them, jabbing it in one of the spots freed up by the missing plates in their Power Armor.

Little by little, the remaining Enclave members are chipped away. Every time he’s about to take a blow of any kind, Briar jumps in front of him, uncaring of how vulnerable they were as their armor was worn down.

“Knock it off.” He tells them roughly after taking down someone.

“I will—after you’re safe.” They return smoothly.

He sucks his teeth, scowling.

Just because he wasn’t wearing a tin-can didn’t mean he needed to be protected like someone inexperienced like Dr. Li. It’s just another thing there isn’t enough time for, he drops his irritation and follows along with Sarah, Dr. Li, and Briar towards the rotunda, the rest of the team behind to fend off any more Enclave members from storming through.

The rotunda is ominously devoid of any Enclave members at all.

Something is wrong with the purifier. That much is obvious, because the entire room is flooded with radiation, the Geiger Counter on every suit of Power Armor singing noisily. It’s strong enough even from outside of the control room that he feels some of his lightest injuries start to stitch themselves back together.

“They must have sabotaged something on their way out, knowing they’d lost.” Dr. Li explains, looking ashen faced, her hands shaking as she struggles to open the medical kit and take out the Rad-X she so desperately needs. He saves her the effort and pries the bottle open, dumping out a generous amount into her hand, which she takes sans water. “We need someone to go and restart the purifier, otherwise this place is going to blow. The glass chamber in the control room is going to seal, during the process. I doubt even Power Armor can withstand the rads for long…”

“I’ll do it.” Briar steps forward to say, and the sad thing is he isn’t even surprised. “I don’t mind. I’m content with the life I’ve had.” They tell Dr. Li, who looks sick to her stomach now in a way that has nothing to do with the radiation. “We need someone to continue my father’s work. We can’t lose Project Purity again.”

He is about to lose a lot more than some fucking humanitarian project.

He is about to lose everything.

Briar turns around, facing him now, and they take off their helmet, tossing it to the ground.

They look down at him with sad, reserved eyes.

“Charon, I’m sorry.” They tell him, eyes watering. “I’m sorry we couldn’t get married. I’m sorry for a lot of things, like—” The purifier makes a loud sound, startling all of them, and Briar curses, “There’s never any time!” They lament, returning their attention to him. He watches them suck in a breath, leaning down to hover their face in front of his, their breath fanning his mouth. “I love you. Forgive me.” And they press their lips to his.

He kisses back eagerly, cupping their face with one hand, his thumb brushing away the tears that spill down their cheek in distraction as he pulls his combat knife from his thigh and brings it towards the back of their head. He drags the blade across the two wires located where their chassis and helmet connect, disabling the use of the legs like he remembered from the meetings.

“Love you too.” He finally tells Briar after breaking away from them, and now that he isn’t kissing them, they realize that they can’t move. Their face drops, and they reach up immediately to feel around their neck to find the wires. Their fingers curl around it, and a sharp look of betrayal takes residence on their face.

It is the closest he thinks they’ve ever come to giving him an order.

He isn’t going to give them any time to work up the courage. He cuts past everyone and up the metal ramp, slipping into the rotunda and clicking the glass doors shut right as his partner had started to yell. It’s soundproof within the control room, but he can feel the repeated thuds of someone banging against the glass. He keeps his back to them all, approaching the console and repeating all the same stuff he’s seen Dr. Li or James do a hundred times while they thought he wasn’t paying attention, too enamored with Briar.

The radiation stopped feeling pleasant a minute ago, now feeling so oppressive that it was hard to breathe as he at last got to the prompt to restart Project Purity’s systems. He hits enter, blinking rapidly, and punches in his partner’s birthday.

In twenty years, they’ve lost both of their parents, and now he was making them watch him die in the same exact place as their father. The alarms stop blaring, to his relief, and the rotunda quiets as Project Purity starts fixing itself.

Coughing a bit, he blinks again, too long this time, and when he opens his eyes he swoons, dizzy, and stumbles a few feet, trying to catch himself clumsily on anything, but he crashes to the ground, too slow as always. His head knocks into the floor, shaking out what little senses he has left as his breathing gets heavier.

His eyes close.

The banging on the glass gets faster.

He thinks of home. Thinks of lazing around in bed with Briar while they read his book out loud when his eyes get too tired. He thinks of rose perfume, and Dogmeat sleeping at his feet. The last image that blips in mind is a brown songbird, happily singing away.

No arrow strikes it.

He slips into oblivion feeling at peace.

Chapter Text

He wakes up.

He hadn’t expected to.

Once his vision went black and he hit the floor, consciousness quickly escaped him. The last thing he heard was the muffled banging of fists against the glass. He blinks away the sleep from his eyes, noticing that the ceiling he was staring up at was familiar.

Frustratingly familiar, but it takes him a while to string along his thoughts in a way that makes sense.

He felt hungover in the worst kind of way.

When he tries to sit up, he can’t, body so stiff it locks up immediately.

He breathes hard, giving up for now. The room is dark, but he has a feeling that it’s the same exact room he and Briar had been occupying back at the Citadel. Turning to his left, he even finds his partner, although he barely recognizes them at first.

In the lowlight of the room, Briar looks sickly, their once tan skin pale, their face gaunt from significant weight loss. The bottom half of their face is obscured with an unkempt beard, and their hair was in greasy, tangled clumps. They’re curled up in the fetal position in a lounge chair that’s been dragged over to the bed. Two blankets are draped across them, but they’re still shivering in their sleep so hard that their teeth are chattering.

It’s difficult to ignore the stink of sweat and alcohol that’s wafting off them, but not impossible. He scoots himself closer to the edge of the bed with a weak grunt. He reaches out with his left arm, brushing his fingers up and down the curve of their shoulder. He doesn’t mind just watching them while they continued to sleep soundly, but Briar’s always been a light sleeper, and they start to stir awake, their snores stopping abruptly.

Their bloodshot, weary eyes crack open with some effort and they lift their face sluggishly from their arms.

Briar watches him for a moment, dull-witted and in a stupor, but clarity shines in their eyes a second later, and their mouth parts, jaw dropping, now looking as if they’d seen a ghost.

“Hey.” He greets, unsure of what else to say.

They start to untangle their limbs and sit up, the blankets slipping away to reveal the long sleeve and sweatpants they look like they’ve been living in. He doesn’t like how slack the shirt is against their shoulders. Their collarbones were jutting out of their skin noticeably.

He opens his arms wide in invitation and their face scrunches up in telling way.

He hears them sniff wetly before they dive onto the bed into his arms. It’s not long before they’re sobbing loudly, clinging to him tightly. Even after they’ve finished crying, they don’t say a word. It unnerves him, but he isn’t going to press it.

He doesn’t even have the energy to.

Despite how much effort it takes, Briar hauls themselves up and uses their crutches to head to the bathroom in the corner, where he watches them lean against the sink while they wash their hands with steaming water for several minutes, before returning to the bed and slipping on a pair of gloves from one of the drawers.

He keeps quiet while they go about giving him a check-up.

If they needed to do this to calm themselves down, that was fine with him.

After they finish, there’s scratching at the door. Briar walks over and leans all their weight against one crutch as they open the door just enough for Dogmeat to rush inside, and she jumps on top of the bed and greets him excitedly. By the time he’s finished petting her, and glances back at the door, he sees it’s been left open and that Briar has left.

It felt strange that he hadn’t noticed that immediately.

His brain must be more sluggish than he thinks if his conditioning had slipped up on something as easy as that. Edward, the lead doctor at the Citadel, and their staff give him a slightly more thorough version of the checkup Briar had just finished doing. His partner leans against a wall, still somehow able to look brooding as they crossed their arms, despite looking like they weighed ninety pounds when wet.

“You had us worried for a bit. You’ve been comatose for three weeks now.” Edward explains to him after finishing and that information makes him pause. “There is some minor muscular atrophy that you will have to work towards correcting with every day stretches and movement. Other than making sure to eat regular meals, I’m not sure what else to advise. All that radiation would have killed anyone else. I guess that’s the perk of being a Ghoul.”

“…Yeah, sure.” He says, blinking, too distracted by the way Briar suddenly straightens their crutches and leaves the room again, their expression stormy.

Briar doesn’t come back for hours. He wakes up from an accidental nap, and finds his partner in the chair again, this time awake. They looked like they showered, and their clothes were fresh, but their hair was still a mess and that awful beard remained.

There’s a tray of food on the nightstand.

Wordlessly, Briar helps him sit up, before they reach over for the tray and set it carefully on his lap.

He could feed himself, but they insist on doing it for him.

He doesn’t mind.

“Have you eaten anything today?” He asks after a bite.

As expected, Briar keeps up their weird vow of silence, ignoring the question entirely in favor of continuing to help him eat dinner. Now that there were more lights on in the room, he notices something disheartening—clusters of gray hairs mottling the crown of their hair.

He recovers day by day, Briar bringing him all his meals, and helping him dress and stretch, all while they continued to fall apart from neglect right before his eyes. Now that he feels good enough to walk, he takes Dogmeat on her last stroll of the day, watching the moon as he walks in circles around the outside compound of the Citadel.

When he returns to the room, orange light spills from the bathroom. He doesn’t need more light than this to see, so he gestures for Dogmeat to go ahead and take her spot at the end of the bed while he walks over to the bathroom and peeks his head in. Briar is standing at the sink, leaning partially against the wall. One hand is braced against the metal sink, the other is white-knuckled around a straight razor.

The look that Briar gives their reflection isn’t reassuring.

Their face is tilted downward, their eyes dark by the shadows cast on them from the hair that falls over them. Their shoulders are shaking minutely with fury. It takes them a moment to realize he’s even standing behind them. Their eyes slowly drift away from their reflection and land on his. The anger on their face subsides, and they clear their throat, blinking a few times as they swallowed down the swirling thoughts in their head.

“Going to shave?” He asks casually, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossing.

He isn’t going to be accusing. He can feel how delicate things are right now.

This is a treacherous tightrope he’s walking on and for once in his life he doesn’t want to trip things up.

Briar doesn’t meet his gaze again, instead staring at the faucet.

They nod.

“Let me do it for you.” He says, walking behind them slowly, before stopping flush against them. He slips an arm around their waist, before gliding his free hand towards the straight razor. He pries it out of their hand with no fight and sets it down on the side of the sink before picking them up and setting them on top of the toilet lid. He sets their crutches nearby, giving them the option to leave if he fucks up and upsets them. He doesn’t know what could be worse than current mood between the two of them, though.

Briar’s face is forcefully neutral as he starts lathering it up with soap. He takes his time shaving their face, decent at it, despite never having needed to shave his own face. It’s another thing he’s been ordered to do in the past, but he’s grown to actually like. It’s different like this—he’d offered. Halfway through, as he’s rinsing off the razor in the sink, he hears their breath hitch.

He says nothing and continues to shave their face.

Tears well up in their eyes and their bottom lip starts to wobble. They blink them back uselessly. After he’s finished, Briar looks more like themselves, but they still look miserable. Without the beard, the gauntness of their face was more pronounced.

This couldn’t continue any further than it had.

He sets the razor down on the sink before cupping Briar’s cheek in his hand.

“Talk to me.” He says, and when Briar looks away, he sighs and grips their chin, guiding their face back. “Please.”

Briar opens their mouth and closes it a dozen times, unsure of how to begin.

“How could you do that to me?” Is what blurts out of their mouth, the first thing they’ve said in days. Their words shake with how upset they are. “I watched you die—you DIED! When the control room opened and we finally got to you, you didn’t have a pulse. We revived you, but…” And Briar closes their eyes, tears spilling down their cheeks. “You wouldn’t wake up. You were unresponsive. A week passed, then another. The doctors kept talking about how long they could realistically keep providing for you. I had to listen to them give me a time frame. Another week passed, and you still didn’t wake up…”

His partner sucks in a breath and seems to just hold it for a minute, forgetting how to function in between bawling their eyes out.

“You said you wouldn’t ever leave me. You promised.” They push his hand off their chin so they can bury their face in their hands.

“And I kept that promise. I’m here.” He says.

“It’s not that simple.” Briar argues. “You didn’t have to sit here for weeks praying for the love of your life to wake up.”

“Was I supposed to just accept you killing yourself?” He returns. “Even with the Power Armor, there was a big chance of you not making it, and that wasn’t even factoring in how fucked up yours was after you pulled that bullshit to kill Autumn. It was the only choice that made sense with how little time we had.”

Briar lifts their tear-soaked face, ready to argue more.

“You’re alive.” He speaks up, cutting them off. “I’m alive. Everything else is negotiable.”

That does nothing to soothe them. His partner continues to cry, and when he reaches out to touch them again, they avoid it.

Things don’t improve. Briar is still closed off, still quiet. They avoid the room the two of them share as much as possible until nightfall, where they have no choice but to sleep beside him. He hasn’t missed how they choose to sleep facing the wall, instead of him. He doesn’t even try to sling an arm over them, too afraid of getting rejected.

Ever since he woke up, it was like they lost the desire for everything.

They can’t leave until Briar is in stable enough condition to make the trip back to Megaton, so the two of them plan on staying at the Citadel for another two weeks at the most. Whenever they do get around to leaving, Sarah will be escorting the two of them, since Briar will need to borrow Power Armor to make save them the pain and effort of relying on their crutches on uneven ground, all while juggling their guns.

Its only now that he thinks of the stairs in the house and the many ramps throughout Megaton, which would make navigating for a newly disabled person hellish.

With a lot of coaxing, he manages to get Briar to start eating three meals a day. It takes a lot more effort to get them to cut back on smoking. They’ve even begun to sneak drinks throughout the day, a habit they formed while they rotted away in the chair near the bed, waiting for when he would wake up. If, he would wake up.

Briar gains some weight back little by little. One morning they disappear into the bathroom with a pair of scissors and their comb, and its only an hour later that they step out, their hair cut to just below the ears, the same length as when he’d met them, and their curly brown hair looked clean and shiny. He can tell they are disappointed about having to cut it, but some of the tangles he’d seen in their hair had looked matted.

Even with the shorter hair and sans facial hair, Briar looked older now. They were only twenty years old, but their handsome face now held a world-weariness to it, their eyes hardened by the trauma and stress of their first year in the Capital Wasteland.

Briar naturally tended to frown, or look mildly indignant about something, but these days they just looked tired. Defeated, in a way. Project Purity was now a success and from what he’s heard from Dr. Li, trade routes were already being made to deliver regular shipments of clean water to even places as remote as Little Lamplight, upon his partner’s request.

It wouldn’t make life perfect in the dingy settlement, but having access to clean water would lessen the burden for Macready and the others by a fair amount. He wants to visit Little Lamplight, but he doesn’t know when the two of them would be able to make the trip. He doubts the Brotherhood of Steel will let Briar borrow Power Armor whenever they wanted, despite being a great help against the Enclave.

He doesn’t think Briar forgives him, and he’s positive that they never will for putting them through all this, but he is relieved that they start to thaw, bit by bit, talking to him more and even letting him touch them.

Maybe they were just tired of being miserable.

Maybe they were lonely.

He doesn’t really care what the real answer is. He’s just glad he doesn’t have to keep checking on them each time they disappear into the bathroom with something sharp.

Briar is out one day, talking with Dr. Li about something, and he’s out of gun oil, so he decides to just borrow theirs, grabbing their duffel and opening it up without blinking. A stack of papers folded three times sits at the top of everything in their bag.

He stares at it.

Glancing at the door, he pries the papers open a little. There’s writing on the front and back of each paper. It’s all Briar’s handwriting.

It's an invasion of privacy, but he sucks it up and just grabs the paper on the front of the pile to give it a quick look before tucking everything away.

‘Dear Madison—let me start by saying sorry. I think there was something cursed about my family. I outlived both of my parents, but I could not outlive my partner. He is my everything. I am sorry that I am weak, and that I’ve put you in a position like this while you’re still reeling from James’ passing, but I hope that one day you can forgive me.”

He sets the letter down, blood running cold.

He doesn’t need to read the rest.

They were going to kill themselves if he never woke up. He keeps agonizing over how they would have gone about the grim task. An overdose on alcohol? On Chems? A rope around their delicate neck? He can’t imagine them slitting their wrists, but a minute ago he hadn’t even been able to imagine them even entertaining the idea of suicide.

He tosses the papers aside, feeling sick, and heads over to the bathroom, bracing against the sink as he dry heaves. Dogmeat whines from her spot on the bed, but he barely even processes the sound. He just stares at the water circling the drain.

At some point he shuffles down to the floor and just stays there, the drone of the bathroom lights buzzing in his ears.

The door to the room opens with some struggling and he hears Briar hobble inside, sounding like they were balancing something precariously in their arms.

“Charon…?” Briar calls out, followed by the thud of something being set down. They notice their open duffel, the letters in disarray, because he hears them stop moving, suddenly frozen.

The silence has never been louder.

He stands up, using the wall to straighten, before slipping out of the bathroom. Briar eyes the door like they want to make a run for it. He hopes he doesn’t have to demonstrate how futile that would be.

“I should have burned those letters. I’m sorry you had to see them.” They say quietly, trying to be comforting but it just irritates him.

“How were you going to do it?” He questions.

Briar’s face blanches.

They blink rapidly, before squaring their shoulders.

“What does it matter? We’re both alive.” They challenge.

“Tell me.” He demands, approaching now, stepping around their bag to stand in front of them.

“No!”

“Tell me how you were going to kill yourself.” He says, the angriest he’s ever been with them, voice loud and breathless.

“…When they pronounced you dead, I was going to take your body back to Megaton.” Briar begins to explain rigidly, like discussing a low-survival rate surgery. “I was going to dig a grave outside of town, and read you the last part of your book, since you never finished. Then I was going to shoot myself and lay in the same grave as you. Is that what you wanted to hear?” And they tear their face away from him, choking on a breath as their eyes become glassy.

He doesn’t know what to say.

He feels too many things.

He ends up just leaving, walking outside to aimlessly trail around the compound.

He tries to imagine how he’d handle Briar’s death, and he can’t.

He always imagines them outliving him, hopefully fattened up and with smile lines.

Not dead in the same grave as him at the premature age of twenty.

He doesn’t think he’d kill himself, but he knows for certain that he would just…give up. Go through the motions of life while everything tasted like ash in his mouth until he finally croaked.

Was being a miserable husk any better than just outright killing himself like his partner had planned to?

They could find someone else if he stayed dead, but he knows they wouldn’t.

Same as him.

He doesn’t reach any peace of mind or solution by the time he returns inside. He steps into the room, locking it behind him. Briar is curled in bed, facing the wall, Dogmeat resting her head on their singular ankle.

Their shoulders are shaking.

Taking a deep breath, he kicks off his boots and slips into bed, mindful not to kick Dogmeat as he settles under the covers. He slings an arm over Briar’s tiny waist and pulls their back flush to his chest.

“I’m sorry.” He tells them, not specifying on what, because there was an endless list of things he could and should be apologizing for.

After a few minutes, when Briar’s breathing evens out, they roll over in his grasp, facing him now.

“I’m sick of thinking about death.” They confess, hiding their face in his chest.

“Me too.” He agrees. “But we can think about other stuff.”

“Like?”

“Like what you want to do after we get out of here. It’ll be the first time we’ve been back home in months.”

They chew that over, frown deepening.

“I-I don’t know. Besides crawling into bed and never leaving it, nothing else comes to mind. Sorry.”

“It’s fine.” He says.

He’ll just have to do enough wanting for the both of them.

He waits until things are a little more stable between the two of them before finally breaching the topic that’s been weighing his shoulders ever since waking up. He’s sitting outside at the compound with Briar in the shade while Dogmeat runs around. They’re leaning against him, expression sullen. He’s messing with the ring around his neck, going over the words in his head over and over.

“I think there’s something wrong with me.” He says suddenly and tactlessly, and he even winces before Briar sits up ramrod straight and looks at him with horror in their eyes. “Not like that. I’m not going to keel over.”

“Then what DID you mean?”

“Ever since waking up I’ve felt…weird.”

“Weird as in?”

“I’ve noticed a few things. Whenever you got hurt it, it usually made my conditioning kick in. I felt compelled to go to you. But now, I don’t get that feeling. You’ve been away from me for hours and I don’t feel the all-consuming need to find you. It’s like I can breathe easier.” He explains clumsily.

His partner mulls that over, a wrinkle forming between their brows.

“I don’t know what that could mean.” They say.

“I do.” He says, standing up. “…I think dying, even temporarily, fucked with my conditioning. It might not even be a problem anymore.”

Briar’s mouth opens.

Then it closes.

“Really…?” They ask breathlessly.

He shrugs.

“We could test it.” He suggests.

“What? Absolutely not.”

“I’m not asking you to beat the shit out of me.” He clarifies. “Just give me a hit like you mean it. Maybe it’ll make you feel better, who knows?”

Briar gives him an indignant huff before using their crutches to stand up. They look like they’re fighting against the urge to call him a fucking moron.

“You could order me instead.” He says.

“Maybe start with that suggestion first next time.” Briar says icily. “Not that what you’re asking me to do is anymore pleasant, but it will be a cold day in hell when I put my hands on you like that.”

“So you’ll do it?”

“I didn’t say that. I need time to think.”

“It’s kind of fucking urgent.”

“You’ll excuse me if I’m hesitant to do something as offensive as give my fiancé a command and treat you like some—”

He rolls his eyes before reaching around them and slapping their ass hard, just once.

Briar yelps loudly, face turning scarlet, and they fall forward against his chest into his awaiting grasp.

He had just intentionally struck his ‘employer’. He should be bent in the middle from the agony that should cause him. His senses should be screwy, adrenaline and fear pumping through his veins while his gut churns into anxious knots.

He feels nothing.

Just the slight sting on his palm.

He stares at his hand for a while, dumbstruck.

Then he pulls Briar into a hug, squeezing tightly, tighter than he’s ever allowed himself, and he lifts them off the ground, their crutches falling to the dirt.

“D-Does that mean…?” Briar asks cautiously.

“Yeah.” He says, swallowing hard, face tucked into their neck. “I don’t know how, but I’m free.”

“I don’t understand.” They say. “Is this what people consider a miracle?”

“I don’t care what it is.”

“…Me either.” Briar admits, breath hitching, and he feels their shoulders shake, and he’s worried they’re going to start crying again, but they laugh instead, and they do it prettily, the sound like a reward. “I’m so happy for you. God, you must feel…Well, how DO you feel?”

“Pretty fucking good.” And he pulls them up higher, kissing them.

He asks Sarah for a personal favor later in the day after Briar’s returned to the room first.

“You want me to go to a pawn shop? What for?” She asks, giving him a funny look.

“I need you to grab any rings you find. The more, the better.” And he’s already looked at Briar’s Pip-Boy and gives her directions soon after. “Don’t mention it to Briar or anyone else.”

She snorts.

“Sure thing. I’ll be back soon.” She says.

Soon, is the next day, late into the afternoon. She hands over a wooden box to him that jingles reassuringly.

“That’s all of them. Might have been some more hidden away but I’m no good with lockpicking.” Sarah explains.

“This should be good. Thanks. I mean it.” He tells her.

“No problem. Congrats, by the way.”

That night, he lays in bed, waiting for Briar to finish talking with Dr. Li. He’s got the box hidden under his pillow and he’s trying to lay in a way that doesn’t make it immediately obvious he’s trying to conceal something.

He doesn’t have to wait long. The door to the room opens and Briar shuffles inside the dim room, eyes brightening a little upon seeing him waiting in bed for them. They smile faintly as they walk over and carefully take a seat at the edge of the bed, setting their crutches aside and taking off their singular boot.

Easy as breathing, they crawl on top of him, resting their face over his heart.

The arm he’s got curled under the pillow, braced under his head, is gripping the wooden box. His fingers unconsciously twitch around it as he struggles to find how to approach the topic. Briar suddenly lifts their face, resting their chin on his pec.

“I was wondering…” Briar speaks up softly, now dragging their finger in a circle across his chest. “What’s the first thing you want to do as a free man?”

He was floundering about how to approach the topic he’s got in mind, but they’ve just made it exceedingly simple. Keeping his face neutral, he tugs the box from underneath the pillow, the rings inside tinkling as they knocked against the wood. Briar pushes off his chest, sitting up now. He holds out the box.

“I was thinking we could get married finally.” He tells them.

Briar looks at him, then the box.

Then him again.

“Go ahead. Open it.” He laughs quietly.

Briar flicks the latch off and opens the box.

“There’s got to be two that fit us in there.” He says.

The two of them pick around inside the box, gathering all the one’s that fit, before sorting the ones they actually liked. Briar admires the rings that were clearly made for women, the ones with sparkling gems and fancy engravements on the band. They eye him meekly, as if waiting for him to make fun of them.

The fancier rings suited them anyways, in his opinion.

When it comes to a ring for himself, he just wants something that won’t break if he punches someone, or slip off when he’s doing manual labor.

In the morning, the two of them head to the chapel, dressed in t-shirts and jeans because their clothes were limited to sleepwear and armor. They walk hand in hand to the chapel, and he keeps peeking at Briar in the corner of his eye, admiring how eager they looked. When they were going to shave this morning, he told them not to, admitting that he thought stubble suited them.

The wedding is a quiet affair.

It’s just the two of them exchanging vows in front of the priest.

“May I?” Briar asks with a smile, holding his ring between their index and thumb. They hold out their other hand expectantly.

Slowly, he sets his much larger hand into theirs. Their smile becomes more pronounced, their crooked teeth peeking out now as they slip the ring onto his finger in one smooth motion. Their touch is soft, like a whisper against his skin. Briar can’t help but tug his hand up towards their face so they can press a kiss to the knuckle of his ring finger, looking up at him through their long lashes.

His heart jumps behind his ribs.

He puts their ring on clumsily in comparison, almost dropping it, his pulse thudding in his ears.

Briar bites back a laugh, he can tell.

He carries them back to the room like a bride, and they giggle and squirm in his arms as he whispers nasty things into their ear.

There’s no reason to stay at the Citadel longer than they have already. Its decided they should just leave the next day. It takes less than an hour to pack and say farewell. Dr. Li makes Briar promise to stay in touch and visit, but once she’s settled back at the Jefferson Memorial, he doubts his partner will ever be able to stomach stepping inside the place.

Once Briar is suited up in Power Armor and Dogmeat waits patiently at his feet, Sarah hefts up her laser rifle and offers the two of them a bright smile, before nodding.

“Ready to head home?” She asks.

He’s been ready for a while.

The walk to Megaton is easy. Nothing they encounter holds up much of a threat versus three people, one of which was dressed in Power Armor. It takes a day and change, and once they’re at the front gates and Deputy Weld greets them all, Sarah stops walking and turns towards them.

“Guess that’s it, then.” She remarks, hands on her hips. “I’m sure you two will be busy doing newly wed stuff, but try to visit sometime. I liked having you guys at HQ.”

Briar’s armor hisses as they exit, and he waits just behind them, giving them a surface to lean against as he hands over their crutches and they get adjusted.

“I’ll make sure to show my face, don’t worry.” Briar assures, offering a hand for her to shake.

Sarah eyes it, before rolling her eyes and pulling his partner into a one-armed hug briefly. He doesn’t get a hug, thank God, but she does clap him on the shoulder good-naturedly a few times, before entering the Power Armor.

“Don’t be strangers. I know where you live.” Sarah tells them cheerfully over the mic, waving at the two of them before readying her rifle and heading back into the Wastes.

Dogmeat whines, eager to head inside and see ‘home’ for the very first time. Their arrival into town is immediately noticed, the news on the radio having spread about the Lone Wanderer and their ‘companion’, helping the Brotherhood of Steel take out the Enclave and get Project Purity running.

People in town always looked at his partner with respect, and curiosity, but there was no missing the pitying looks as their disability was displayed for everyone as they took on the arduous task of heading up the many, elevated ramps leading up to the house.

Their face is red from exertion and shame.

When he gets the front door unlocked and moves aside, Briar rushes indoors, immediately looking relieved to have everyone’s eyes off their back.

Wadsworth floats down from upstairs, stopping in front of Briar. The robot’s lens clicks a few times, taking in his partner’s weary face, then the missing limb that should be filling their right pant leg, but was instead empty, the excess fabric tied into a knot.

“Welcome home sirs…” Wadsworth greets awkwardly, voice becoming staticky at the end as if clearing its throat. “It has been quite some time, hasn’t it? I see that you…” And the robot stares again at Briar’s missing leg, clacking its claws in thought. “Brought back a pet. Oh, joy.” It says instead of commenting on the injury, its words absolutely dripping with sarcasm.

“She’s a good girl.” He tells it, but Wadsworth doesn’t seem convinced until Briar pats their chassis once, reassuringly.

Neither of them felt like dealing with all the stuff they were carrying, so they dump everything on the living room table before he carries Briar upstairs, taking them to their room, which Wadsworth has made sure to keep spotless, not a speck of dust anywhere.
Dogmeat sniffs around excitedly, but eventually settles on the ground by his socked feet when he sits beside Briar.

For a long while, it’s quiet as the two of them process everything it had taken just to make it back home.

“I could use a bath but I really don’t feel like moving.” Briar speaks up, laughing a little ruefully.

“That’s okay. We could just take one together.” He says.

Briar doesn’t respond, just sitting there.

“Huh?” They say belatedly, now looking at him with a dull-witted expression. “Together?”

“What the hell confused you about what I said?” He says with a smirk. “Do you want to or not?”

“I—” Briar flounders, hands wringing together anxiously. “Of course I do. It’s just…Are you sure? You don’t mind?”

“I don’t.” He answers easily, kissing their cheek before standing up. “I’ll get the tub filled then grab you.”

Their cheeks must hurt from how hard they’re grinning.

He almost runs into the door because he can’t stop looking.

He drags a chair into the bathroom from downstairs to make helping Briar change out of their clothes easier. He gets the bathtub filling with water as hot as it can go and crumbles pieces of soap into the basin, the water getting mildly sudsy.

It was extremely funny to him that Briar was offended when needing to be carried for their disability, but in the context of being carried like his bride, they are more than happy to be lifted into his arms.

“Isn’t that hell on your knees?” Briar asks shyly after he’s set them down in the chair and bends on one knee to start undressing them.

“Worth it.” He mumbles, peeling off their t-shirt. After getting rings, he’d returned James’, and Briar wears it on the same chain, the band sitting comfortably along their collarbones. It’s the only thing other than pictures that they have left of their father. He is careful as he slips the chain over their head, setting it atop the pile of discarded clothes.

Naked, he sets them down on the chair and turns the faucet off before beginning to undress himself.

As soon as he starts unbuttoning his shirt, Briar looks away politely, which he appreciates, but he wants them to look. That was the entire point of this: he wants them to be the only one to ever see him like this, now that he has a choice in the matter.

“You can look.” He tells them, shirtless now, and working on his belt.

Briar’s neck cracks audibly with how fast they turn to rake their eyes greedily across his body, all while blushing profusely. Their face and neck, even their ears were scarlet.

It was about time for him to start freaking out, he thinks, and he even feels his stomach flipping a little as his partner continues to stare at him, but it doesn’t progress past this mildly discomforting sensation. That doesn’t mean he was comfortable to now just be standing there stark naked, and after he’s kicked everything out of his way, he picks up Briar, holding them to his chest, before putting extra care in navigating towards the tub and getting the two of them inside of it.

He toes into the tub, and when he eases down, taking a seat, he can already tell he put way too much water inside and it splashes loudly over the rim as he adjusts Briar to lay on top. He eyes the clothes on the floor, seeing that they were soaked now, but he saves that problem for later, and finishes getting comfortable.

Briar starts to laugh quietly, and it grows louder by the second, their shoulders shaking so much its splashing water.

“What?” He asks, glancing down at them.

“We really need a bigger tub.” Briar remarks breathily around a giggle, raising a hand to shakily point at the way his legs hang over the rim of the bathtub by a wide margin.

“No fucking kidding.” He agrees, having shared that thought every single time he’s taken a bath.

“We’d need to hire a Brahmin to bring it to town—and that’s after we even found one. It’ll be tedious, but well worth it.” They continue, relaxing against him more.

Tedious but well worth it was good descriptor of his life in its entirety.

He tries to think of all the stuff he’s added to the list of things he wants, but besides a bigger tub, his mind draws a perfect blank.

There is nothing he could need other than this: his partner, alive and within reach, and Dogmeat, sleeping away calmly in his bedroom.

This is the happiest he’s ever been and it’s almost frightening to think about the fact that Briar is always thinking of ways to make him even happier.

It would take time getting used to it.

Luckily, he has all the time in the world.