Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Atop the roof of Galaxy News Network Headquarters, a small brunette in a 1950s house-dress overlooked the vast expanse of a bourgeoning Commonwealth. The toes of her retro pumps floated just over the ledge on which she stood. Her long curly hair and polka dot skirt whipped wildly as vertibirds whizzed past overhead. As they grew smaller on the grey autumn horizon, she saw them drop their payload. One mushroom cloud, then another, then another, eclipsed the horizon in a zigzag, closer and closer towards her. A thousand screams rung in the distance—a cacophony chasing each blast, carried in the aftershock rolling towards her. She stood at the edge of the roof. The wave rolled closer. She wobbled on the ledge, frozen.

She can’t move. She can’t move. She can’t move.

A rickety wagon jostled Carmen awake. She blinked once, staring at the wooden floor interior. A dream. It was a dream. Outside the covered wagon, she heard the Brahmiluff bulls clop on the aged asphalt. The chill autumn wind whipped the linen flap at the front of the cart open long enough for her to see the caravan driver pull at the reins, and the Brahmiluff took a sharp turn, weaving through an ancient pile-up of abandoned cars. A bump in the road and Carmen yelped, throwing her hand to the stitches on her abdomen.

Across the wagon, MacCready glanced up at her. “You good?”

“Yeah,” she said, checking her hand. No blood.

“Not exactly the Dugout Inn, but hey, beats walking.”

Couldn’t argue with that. She shifted in her seat to take pressure off of her abdomen. “Remind me to thank Lupe when we get back to HQ.”

“Already did before we left, but…eh, probably mean more coming from you, being her boss and all.”

Inside the cart, she and MacCready sat on chairs, surrounded by boxes of packaged goods, large sacks of flour and cornmeal, and a large barrel of purified water. Outside, some of the caravan hands swapped rumors of ghost towns ahead. A guard chimed in saying it don’t matter, he was getting paid just the same.

“How long was I out?” Carmen asked.

“Most the day. We’re well outside the ‘Wealth now…”

“You know this route they’re taking? Past the lake?”

“Yeah, took it coming in. Shouldn’t be too bad. Mostly wildlife. Too far out for raiders. This will be your first time, yeah?”

“Yeah…well, at least since the bombs dropped.”

She stood from her chair, ducking her head down to avoid hitting the top of the wagon. Reaching the back flap, she peeked outside at their surroundings.

It was a cloudy autumn twilight, and the ruined interstate was the only sign of civilization for miles. The wasteland encircled them on all sides—nothing but dry yellow grass, thick bramble, and barren trees. Behind them, she saw a radstag herd gallop across the road, heading for the dead forest cover. Crows cawed in the distance. But looking forward…

“Looks almost peaceful out there. In a graveyard kind of way.”

She slipped back to the front of the wagon. The driver shot her an odd look, but the haze of chems allowed her to ignore it. As she stared across the never-ending maze of wreckage ahead, she swore that she could see a hint of orange on the grey horizon. A trick of the sunset? It wasn’t pale, dead yellow, but bright vibrant orange. All she could think was autumn leaves. That maybe the world was finally starting to recover…

“So…” MacCready trailed off as she pulled back into the wagon and took her seat. “What happened with Jake? Aiden?”

Carmen blinked through the slog of chems.

Had…she told Mac about Aiden? No, no she hadn’t told anyone about Aiden. No one except Theresa. Theresa wouldn’t tell Mac. Aiden certainly wouldn’t tell Mac.

“How did you…?”

“I didn’t,” MacCready said. “…But I do now.”

Carmen groaned. “Oh fuck you.”

“Hey, I had my suspicions. Not like I pulled it out of my a—… hat.”

“Nice save.” Carmen shook her head and leaned her head back against the chair. It lulled lazily. “Fuck, we were being so careful. All this sneaking around, for what? You know how Cass found out?” She sat up and winced in discomfort. “Shares a wall, she said.” She felt the embarrassment course through her anew and sunk back into the chair. “I’m a fucking idiot.”

“Well…you said it.”

Carmen let out a massive sigh. “No, but really, how’d you know?”

“What? ‘Sides knowing ya?”

Carmen cocked her head. “I don’t think I acted any different.”

“No, not really,” MacCready said. “Honestly, it was him. Like night and day when you were around.” He leaned forward in his seat, like he was about to share a bit of gossip. “You wanna know how many times I’ve seen Aiden smile?”

“Aiden smiles?”

“Once.”

Carmen blinked in confusion. “When?”

“You called him on the radio. He thought he was alone, but I’d lost my hat, and when I checked the office…” He held up a single finger for emphasis. “Once, Car.”

“So, you immediately thought we were fucking.”

“Nah, figured he just had it bad for you. Not the first.”

“Won’t be the last.” She was a bombshell—she made sure of it. Still, a far jump from suspecting Aiden had it bad for her to Aiden being with her. “So, then what? How did you…?”

“He followed you out to the Glowing Sea, and you didn’t send him back.”

Right. The Radscorpion. It was a dumb decision—the Power Armor—in retrospect—but it seemed like the best bet at the time. If Aiden hadn’t been there… She shook her head at the memory. “He saved my life.”

“That’s right. You don’t do that for a fling.”

“Friends with benefits?”

“Those are some benefits.”

“I’m out here with you, aren’t I?”

“Ha.” MacCready leaned back in his chair and propped one foot up on a crate. “You saying I sleep with you, we call it even?”

Carmen shot him a sharp look. “Hey, no debts between us, remember?”

“Yeah yeah…”

He hated the reminder. Carmen knew he’d always carry a balance sheet—make sure he never took more than he gave or gave more than he got. Old habits died hard. But she’d never stop reminding him—their friendship wasn’t a transaction. She’d be there for him, just like he’d be there for her—it’s what friends were for. No debts between them.

MacCready shifted uncomfortably under her gaze. It was only then she realized she’d zoned out staring at him.

“Sorry, it’s all these chems,” Carmen said.

“Yeah. Cass made me memorize ‘em. Med-X, Buffout, Stimpacks, Psycho, Mentats…”

“Like a walking pharmacy.”

“Yeah, you didn’t answer my question, though.”

“Sorry, what?”

“What happened? Jake? Aiden?”

“I…broke it off,” Carmen said. “The both of them.”

“Well yeah, I knew that. The bar fight…” MacCready slapped a hand over his own mouth. Clearly, he hadn’t meant to say that.

“The what?” Carmen leaned in.

“Huh? What? I didn’t…” He tried to play it off, like maybe she’d misheard him.

Carmen might have been drugged, but she wasn’t stupid. “No, no. You said bar fight. There was a bar fight?”

“Yeah…I…wasn’t supposed to say anything.”

“Why? Who told you not to tell me?”

“Er…Theresa…said she had it handled and that it wasn’t worth stressing you out. Had me bury the incident report and everything. But uh…yeah, your boyfriends might have wrecked the basement bar. Theresa was not happy. Put ‘em on probation.”

“When?”

“During one of your trips to the In—ow!”

Carmen kicked him in the shin and gave him a sharp look. She circled her finger around the wagon. Not exactly fucking soundproof, dumbass.

MacCready’s eyes widened as the realization hit him. He coughed awkwardly. “Uh, you know…To be fair, it was like…a week into it, so…wasn’t an immediate thing. Then Theresa handled it and—boom! No more fighting. Heh. Jake actually broke Aiden’s nose. Smashed a keg. Man, you should have seen it. Beer everywher—"

He must have seen the color drain from her face because he trailed off.

“Hey, it’s not a big deal.”

“Not a big…? MacCready, they…!”

“They worked it out.” He gave a placating gesture. “Trust me, this is just how guys do things. Sometimes you just gotta punch it out.” He punched his fist for emphasis.

“Why…?”

He shrugged. “I dunno. I’m not a shrink. So, why’d you do it? Break it off?”

She sighed. “Uhg. Do we gotta?”

“C’mon, tell me.”

“But I don’t wanna.”

“Don’t be such a baby. C’mon.”

“It’s dumb.”

“You’re dumb. Now tell me.”

She couldn’t catch a fucking break with him. Annoying little piece of— “Uhg, fine! I don’t know what I want. There, happy?”

“There it is.”

“I don’t know what I want, and everyone wants something from me, so I told them I needed a break to sort out my bullshit.”

“Damn…”

“Yeah, so I’m gonna do it. Take the time, sort my shit out, not just get swept up and—”

“You really are dumb.”

Carmen bristled. “Excuse me?”

“Look, if it feels right, you don’t let it go. Life’s too short to worry about all that other stuff.” MacCready looked away and there was a soft sadness in his eyes. Right, sometimes she forgot. Despite his young age, MacCready had already had a wife—and lost her. It gave him a unique perspective on love.

“I…I get what you’re saying, especially after Lucy, but… it’s not the same, Mac.”

“Why the heck not?”

“Because…I…” Carmen huffed in frustration, struggling to find the words. “Yeah, life can be too short, and nothing is guaranteed, but what if it isn’t? I can’t ignore the big stuff and bank on someone kicking the bucket.”

“I’m not saying you ignore them; I’m saying you get to them when you get to them.”

“And just string them along?”

“Not stringing along. It’s being pragmatic.”

Carmen scoffed. “Yes, pragmatism, the language of romance.”

“Could sweep me off my feet.”

Carmen rolled her eyes.

The caravan trekked onward.

They made camp for the night. After dinner, the caravan stayed gathered round the campfire, passing stories of their travels. Carmen and MacCready retreated to the covered wagon once more. Carmen undid the zipper on her jumpsuit and shrugged her shoulders out the top. MacCready opened their shared pack and pulled out their densely packed medkit. As he grabbed a fresh roll of bandages, Carmen took off her undershirt.

“Hey, what are you—?” MacCready’s protest were interrupted by her black tank top to his face.

“It’s faster than me holding it up the whole time,” Carmen said. She looked down to assess the bandages. No blood—a good start. Still, the day’s travel to meet up with the caravan had definitely soiled them. They needed a change. She began peeling the old ones off.

It stung. Shit. Why was it sticking? Not good. Careful… She winced as she gingerly maneuvered her fingers around the adhered spot and worked it off the sutures. Alright. A little blood. A tear? No, just where the skin met the sutures—it had started to scab. Didn’t itch, no rash, didn’t feel hot. Still, she should keep it that way.

“Antibiotic?” Carmen held out her hand to him, keeping her eyes on the wound. She heard him rifle through the kit. “Should be a container of it. An ointment. I think it’s yellow.”

“I know what it looks like.” MacCready snapped. She looked up at him to see him keeping his gaze firmly on the medkit. Was he really that uncomfortable with her topless? As she waited for him to find it, she became increasingly aware of the chill in the air against her bare skin. She watched the goosebumps form on her bronze skin and her nipples harden. Well, at least MacCready had something nice to look at if he wanted it.

But when he looked up, he didn’t even look at her, he just swatted her outstretched hand away. “You wanted my help. Now sit back and let me do it.”

Damn it. Of course, now’s the time he chose to take shit seriously. Why’d she ask him for help anyways? The whole situation was embarrassing enough without him insisting on taking care of her. But she didn’t have the strength to argue with him. Reluctantly, she leaned back in the chair and let him clean her wound.

The ointment was cold, but it only stung a little. Carmen noted it as a good sign. She knew this whole thing was one hell of a risk—that all it’d take is one unwashed hand for these stitches to go from an inconvenience to a death sentence. But this was a kid’s life on the line. MacCready needed her, and if he needed her, she’d be there. That’s what friends did for each other.

At least, that’s what she thought they did.

You don’t do that for a fling.

The words echoed in her mind. She wasn’t sure why, watching MacCready close up the ointment.

Did she even know what it meant—to be friends with someone?

“I…wanted to ask…” MacCready said.

Carmen looked at him. He met her gaze, then pointed his gaze to the stitches he was helping her redress. Oh, right. Those. Well, she wasn’t exactly eager to tell the story, but… he was helping her dress the damn thing. He deserved to know.

“Can you keep a secret?” she said.

“Yeah, why? What happened?”

So, she told him—about Shaun’s conception, how she hid the pregnancy, how her husband nearly killed them when he came home from deployment to find her 8 months pregnant. She told him about the drive to the hospital as her contractions nearly made her double over, about the emergency C-section, about waking up to Nate at her bedside—playing the role of the strong, caring husband with practiced precision. When the nurse came in to check on them, he squeezed her hand so tightly it went numb. When the nurse handed him Shaun, Carmen’d watched his every movement—scared that if she looked away for a second, she’d never see her baby breathe again.

She told him about the hospital bill on the counter, left for her to find—an itemized charge highlighted—tubal ligation—performed during her C-section, without her knowledge. And when MacCready stared blankly at the medical terminology, she explained exactly what that meant.

“They had to cut me open to take out Shaun, and while I was open, they made it so I could never have kids again.”

“But…how? They just…? They can’t just do that to people.”

“Nate. It’s the only explanation. He must have followed me to the hospital, after I took the car. Called a cab or something. And when he got there, he must have talked to the doctor—told him to do it.”

“And the doctor didn’t think to—?”

Carmen shook her head. “Who knows.”

“Bribed him?”

“Maybe. But back then? I was his wife. He could do whatever he wanted.”

“…Remind me to kick his balls next time we pass 111.”

Carmen laughed lightly, which earned a glare from MacCready, who gestured with the bandage he was still wrapping around her.

“It was my own fault,” she said. “I knew he didn’t want kids.”

“So what? That’s what happens when you sleep with someone. And it’s a kid, Car. His kid.”

“So, what? If you told Lucy you didn’t want kids. then she hid it from you and had it anyway, you wouldn’t lose your mind?”

“Well, yeah, I’d be freaking out on the inside because now we suddenly have a kid, but mostly I’d be sad. I’d think, what made her think she had to hide it from me? That she had to do it all on her own?”

“I was child-trapping him, Mac.”

“Were you though?” He shook his head and reached down to the med-kit. With scissors, he carefully snipped the bandage roll free from the wrapping. “It’s not like he was gonna let you leave. If anything, it trapped you with him. ‘Sides, if he really loved you and not just himself, he’d grow up, you know? Get his act together for the kid’s sake.”

“That’s what I’d hoped he do. But…isn’t that wrong? To force that on him?”

“You didn’t force anything.” MacCready tossed the bandage roll and scissors back into the med-kit. The contents clattered loudly. He slammed it shut. “He could have left ya if he wanted. But he wasn’t gonna do that, huh? Because it was never about the kid, Car. It was about keeping you under his thumb.”

Carmen blinked rapidly. Wait a second… “I…hadn’t thought of it that way.”

Why had she never thought of that?

In the dim lantern light between them, she could see his shadow stretch behind him on the canvas cover of the wagon—his long sharp figure pulled longer and sharper still. She could see the shadows, long and drawn on his face. As his brows knit together, they formed wrinkles on his forehead that seemed even more pronounced in the dim light.

MacCready shook his head.  “You get so caught up in blaming yourself. What’s the point? He’s dead. You’re not doing anyone any favors. And if the roles were reversed, you think he’d be sitting here talking about how everything’s his fault?”

He grabbed her tank top from behind him and stood up to help her put it on. She put her hands up, allowing him to dress her.

Would Nate be sitting here, blaming himself for everything wrong in their marriage? She imagined for a moment that he was here in her stead. He was the one to survive Vault 111. He’d found MacCready in Goodneighbor and hired his services. Over the course of a year, they formed a friendship, gained each other’s trust, until this exact moment, when Nate opened up to him about his past. Would Nate, pouring his heart out to MacCready, his friend, who he trusted, confide that he hadn’t always been a good man? Would he confess his sins to MacCready, wallowing in guilt over the decisions he’d made, the abuse he put her through?

Carmen shook her head. “No. No he wouldn’t.”

“Exactly.” He helped her pull her jumpsuit back over her shoulders, then zipped her up. “So, give it a rest already. He’s gone. No one’s blaming you but yourself.”

Easier said than done, but he knew that. She knew he still blamed himself for Lucy. Even now, he surely was kicking himself for not getting Duncan sooner. But there was no way to know ferals would swarm them while they slept; no way to know that the Gunners outside the Commonwealth would march right past his homestead.

With her, it wasn’t that simple. She made choices—bad ones. The flags were there, but she ignored them. She didn’t know better. Back then, she was still just a kid. She’d trusted him to guide her—to help her be the wife he saw in her. She supposed he did—he found the perfect victim. If she really wanted to do this again—to risk her heart—she needed to do this right.

MacCready packed the medkit back into their pack.

“I just…” she said. “I keep thinking…what if I mess it up again?”

“How’re you gonna mess it up?”

“I don’t know. It’ll just…it’ll get bad again…and I can’t fix it.”

“Some things you can’t fix. But…a lot of things you can, if you put the effort in. It’s not a one-way thing. It’s a partnership. Both people gotta be willing.”

“You don’t think Nate was willing?”

“To fix it? No. To him, it wasn’t broken. It was exactly how he wanted it. That’s what bad people do, Car. They keep it broken and say it’s your fault.”

Is that what they did? Carmen didn’t know. Nate was her first. She’d trusted him wholeheartedly. She’d seen the love her parents had—before her dad died. It seemed perfect—like they completed each other. And when she and Nate first got together—it seemed that way too. He saw something special in her, and she saw the same in him. He was experienced and wise in ways she wasn’t—because she’d been a kid—just trying to survive. The way he’d held her that night they met, the way he’d looked up at her down on one knee, like she was a dazzling star in the sky…

Was it all just so he could tear her down from the heavens and drag her through hell? Did he get off on raking her over the coals? Did her tears sustain him? Did it make him feel stronger, making her feel so small?

MacCready sighed. “Come on, let’s get back to the fire.”

He offered her a hand up. Carmen took it. They left the wagon.

Chapter Text

Jake, Aiden, and Codsworth stood outside the entrance to the newly uncovered wing of HQ. What lay beyond it was anyone’s guess—everyone they’d sent in hadn’t made it back, and they’d lost all radio contact.

This is exactly the sort of thing they’d call the Chief for. Aiden knew her abilities, her combat style—knew how to work with her without a word between them. If Carmen was here, they’d already be in and out by now—staff rescued, building secured.

But Carmen wasn’t here right now, a fact that Jake made sure Aiden was painfully aware of.

“I ain’t your first choice, and you ain’t mine neither. But I’m the best you got.”

Aiden crossed his arms, refusing to dignify the idea with a response. He felt the frustration brewing, the anger bubbling up his throat.

“Mr. Evans is right,” Codsworth said. “And he’s just as invested in the safe return of our missing personnel. As the temporary head of our operation, I do believe this is the most logical step forward.”

In Aiden’s mind, the promise Carmen had forced him to make echoed.

“I need him alive. I need them alive. I need you all alive.”

“Promise me you’ll keep them safe.”

Gunners weren’t even here yet and already he was failing to keep his side of the bargain. And bringing Jake with him—directly into danger?

Aiden pinched the bridge of his nose. Damn it. But who else was there? Carmen was gone. MacCready was gone. Even the damn Courser, X6-88, had disappeared—that was a problem they still had to deal with. His frustration threatened to boil over.

Damn it. He hated when Jake was right. “Fine. Try to keep up.”

“I can keep up just fine.”

Aiden drew his combat rifle and walked through the door. Jake drew his laser revolver and followed.

“Dark down here,” Jake stated the obvious. With a click of the dial, the darkened stairwell lit up with his Pip-Boy’s flashlight.

Aiden clicked on the tactical light on his bandolier. “Stay close. I’ll take point.”

They descended the darkened stairs. At the bottom of the stairs was a vent, and as they got closer, something scurried behind the grate.

Jake jumped. “What was that?”

Aiden listened. Whatever it was, it was scurrying away, and it had to be small enough to fit in the vent. “Probably a mole rat. You scared?”

“No,” Jake said a little too quickly. “I ain’t scared of molerats.”

“Uh-huh.” It’s not that Aiden didn’t believe him, but Jake made it too easy to poke fun at him.

They reached the bottom of the stairs and found themselves in a long hallway. They tried door after door, but each one…

“Locked.”

“Locked.”

“This one’s locked too, dangnabbit. All need some kinda keycard. Wait a sec…”

Aiden watched as Jake pulled out his keycard for HQ. No way it would be that simple…

Jake swiped the card and Aiden saw the red blink. Huh. Now that he thought about it…

“Hey, those blast doors we passed…they’re the kind that only work with power, right?”

“Well, yeah…?”

“So, that means your engineers got the power running.”

“Hey, you’re right. But…if they got it working, then—?”

“Where are they?”

“I was gonna say that—you don’t gotta interrupt me.”

Aiden ignored him. He was just looking for a fight. When he didn’t take the bait, Jake just sighed and looked back to the door.

“Shame. Carmen’d’ve had this open already. You should see her with a bobby pin.”

“I have.”

“What? When? Name one time.”

Aiden rolled his eyes. Trying to pick a fight again, but hey, he could get a door open too. “Move.”

“What are you—?” Jake scrambled out of the way as Aiden marched toward the metal double doors. He gave a swift kick. Right next to the knob. The metal rattled loudly in its frame, but Aiden felt the lock give through his boot. The doors swung open, revealing the path forward.

Aiden gestured forward. “After you.”

“Geez Louise, could you keep it down? I think the whole Commonwealth heard that.”

“Stop complaining.”

“I have every right to complain. Especially when I’m stuck here with you.”

“You begged me to take you. But, hey, entrance is back there. Leave anytime.”

“What? And trust you to handle it? No way.”

“I can handle it just fine.”

“Like hell. You’d probably scare off half the engineers. So much for rescue.”

“What the hell is your problem? We’re missing people, Jake. This isn’t the time to—”

“Oh yeah, we’re missing people, alright. Some very important people. I bet you miss her something awful.”

Of course. This wasn’t about loud noises or missing people, this was about Carmen. Why was everything about goddamn Carmen?

“Doesn’t matter,” Aiden said, and he tried to walk away.

“Like hell it don’t.” Jake grabbed his shoulder and Aiden had to fight the urge to deck him.

Aiden glanced both ways. This whole place was way too big and way too dark, and he wanted nothing more than this conversation to be over. “Look, whatever happens, I won’t get in the way. So drop it.”

“Funny, how does sleeping with her work with that? You staying out of the way?”

Aiden winced. “It wasn’t—it was a one-time thing, before you got together. Supposed to be, anyway…”

“And what? You just kept doing it? On accident?”

Aiden glared at him. “Ask her.”

“Well, she ain’t here right now, so, I want to know—what gave you the right, what made you think that was the right thing to do?”

“Never said it was.”

“At least we agree on something.”

“What do you want from me, Jake? She came on to me. I didn’t go looking. I never wanted—you think I wanted this? I was doing just fine until you two came along and…”

“Oh, so this is my fault? My fault that you slept with my darlin’?”

“Yours?” Aiden scoffed. “You sure she knows that?”

“Well, I—I mean, we…” Jake stumbled over his words.

Aiden saw his opening and dug in. “Because she said you couldn’t make up your mind. And yeah, certainly looked that way.”

“So what?” Jake sneered. “You knew I liked her—so don’t go trying to pal around when you knew and you did it anyways.”

“First time was a mistake, I’ll admit that. But the second? Third? Fourth? I did what you couldn’t. She needed someone and you didn’t have the balls to do what needed to be done.”

“What are you—?”

Wait a second. The metal creaked overhead. What the hell—?

“Shhh!”

“Hey don't—!”

Aiden covered Jake’s mouth and whispered. “You hear that?”

Scurrying. That damn scurrying again. And…a grating sound…like metal dragged on metal. What was the chill going up his spine? This was too big to be any damn mole—

Jake pointed his Pipboy up to the ceiling and the scurrying got louder, traveling further down the duct. They watched as clouds of rust banged off from the impact, each one jostling the duct in its fixture. Then there was an awful groan of metal. Jake whipped his flashlight around, trying to find the source as metal screeched over head. Then a blur—

“Look out!”

“What the hell?!”

They jumped back as something fell overhead.

THUNK!

Right in front of them. On the floor. A dropped corpse.

Shit.

Aiden recognized the uniform. One of Jake’s engineers. A young woman in her twenties. Messy black hair. Her face was frozen in an expression of horror.

“Oh no… Audra!” Jake dove to her side. “Audra? Audra! Hey!”

Her limbs were twisted unnaturally, no doubt from the drop. How did she get up there? There was no ladder—there was definitely something in the vents…must have dragged her. Why? What kinda animal dragged their prey with them? Bringing food back to a nest? No, there wasn’t any sort of odor—he’d smell if something had been nesting. What about the corpse?

Aiden knelt next to Jake by the corpse. He started manipulating the body and her clothing, looking for any signs of bite marks.

“Hey, have a little respect!” Jake swatted Aiden’s hands away.

Aiden swatted his hands right back. “I need to know what did this.”

“Can’t it wait? Lord, she’d just turned twenty. She was so excited. Said her and Knox might try for kids. Oh god, Knox. I’ll have to tell Knox…”

“There’ll be time to mourn. But right now, we need to focus. She didn’t just die, Jake. Something killed her.”

Jake stared hard at Audra’s corpse. Aiden watched the understanding slowly wash over him, and with it came resolve. “You’re right. I hate it when you’re right.” Delicately, Jake closed her eyes. “Rest in peace, Audra.”

Aiden examined the corpse closely. Definitely signs of a struggle, bruising on her arms, scratches on her leg, a bump on her head, and… a prominent bite mark on her shoulder, but…

“Strange.”

“What?”

“The bite—what do you see?” Aiden asked.

“Uh…I don’t know. It ain’t a molerat, that’s for sure—”

“The size of it, yes. But look at it. No bruising. No swelling. No blood around it. It’s like…”

“Like what?”

“She was already dead when it bit her.”

“What, like it was eating her…you know?”

“No, I think whatever it was…it was dragging her like that—through the vents. It must have gotten spooked by your flashlight. Dropped her and ran.”

“Place is so old, probably knocked the duct loose.”

“Exactly.”

“Damn…” Jake pointed his light back up at the ceiling, and sure enough…one of the ducts was dislodged from its fixture, resting agape on a support beam overhead. “What do you think we’re dealing with?”

“Hard to tell.” Aiden said. “Small enough to fit in the ducts. Large enough to drag a human.”

“Maybe there was a good reason this place was sealed…”

They idled for a bit, and Aiden could sense Jake’s trepidation. He was scared to move forward, having second thoughts about the whole thing. Like hell he’d let him chicken out.

“C’mon. We’ve got people to find.”

“Yeah. Yeah, alright.”

He stood from Audra’s corpse. They continued onward.

As Jake left Neil to the safety of the control room, he started back towards the entrance, intent on grabbing a medic and some extra firepower. But as he came to the eerily dark stretch of hallway before the stairwell, he was hit with the stench of rot.

“Damn…” He drew his laser revolver. Ghouls? Had to be, the scent was unmistakable. But he hadn’t smelt it coming in. Why was that? He kept straight ahead, keeping his eyes peeled on the flashlight-lit area directly ahead of him. Just keep going—there were enough dead here already. Just keep going—Neil, Muriel, Aiden, they all depended on it.

Something snatched his boot.

“Shit!” He fell face first to the floor. His gun clattered forward. He spun around and from beneath the shelf, a pair of pale white eyes, sunken and empty, shone back at him. It dragged him towards it, but Jake kicked its hand. Grip dropped. He scurried up. Grabbed the gun. As he spun around to aim, it’d already slithered out from beneath the shelves, and now Jake saw it in its true form—a ghoul as pale white as the grave. Its massive, bloated form twitched sporadically in place as it stared Jake down in the light of his flashlight. Jake took a step back and it shambled forward. Another step back, another step forward.

It lunged.

Jake opened fire.

The lasers sparked bright red in the pitch black, glancing off its form. Its tough irradiated skin absorbed the blows like they were nothing more than friendly slaps. The ghoul charged straight through and tackled him.

Jake caught the blow. He wobbled backwards unsteadily, but caught himself on the back step. It snarled at him, trying to push past the grapple.

“I got you!” he heard a yell from the other side of the room. That voice—Aiden? He couldn’t see past the snarling monster in front of him—all rot and claws and teeth. He heard footsteps running towards them and soon the darkened form of Aiden came into view, gun reared back. Swiftly, he rammed the butt of his rifle into its skull and the ghoul’s grip loosened as it dazed.

Aiden hit it again. And again. And again.

“What are you standing around for?! Shoot it!”

Right! Jake ejected the fusion cells and jammed his reloader into the barrel. He aimed the shot. “Clear!”

6 headshots—rapid succession. Aiden dove to the ground for safety.

The ghoul stumbled backwards, shielding its eyes.

Jake reloaded.

Aiden swiped its legs out. That startled it—it scrambled lightning fast—and before he knew it, the ghoul was on him again. They fell to the floor. Jake held it back by its neck, squeezing as hard as he could—but that skin was tough and the thing was built like it ate nothing but Buffout. He got his knees up, trying to kick it back, but it just kept coming—its stench in his nose and its slobber dripping on him and its eyes right in his—

He couldn’t get it off. He couldn’t get it off and…this was it. Aiden wouldn’t save him—Aiden was just gonna watch and let this damn monster kill him. Then he’d have his darlin’ all to himself and no one would be the wiser—no witnesses. Jake’d be just another Commonwealth casualty.

He thought about Laura—swaddled up in her crib, gurgling up at the little space mobile Jake’d fixed up for her. He thought about Katelyn, pulling freshly baked cornbread outta the oven, wiping the sweat from her brow in the hot kitchen. She saw him coming in through the door after a long day out scavenging and she smiled brightly at him.

He thought about Carmen, staring up at him with those big brown eyes, brimming with fresh tears, as she told him she loved him so bad it hurt.

It hurt to love.

But it wasn’t gonna hurt much longer.

He closed his eyes, ready to make peace.

Then, a terrible yell rang out—throat-rending. He felt the weight shove off him and opened his eyes. Aiden tumbled with the ghoul.

“Get me, asshole! Come on, rotten motherfucker! That the best you got?”

It was a blur of punches and grapples and claws and teeth and blood. They tumbled over and over on the floor—and Jake just laid there, frozen in fear. He couldn’t think. He couldn’t see straight. Everything was dark and—

“You want him, you go through me!”

What? What was he—?

Aiden was on top now, punching the damn thing’s face bloody.

“She. Made. Me. Promise. You. Fucking. Bastard! GYRAH!”

One final punch for good measure and Jake heard the crunch of bone, saw the viscera dripping off Aiden’s fist as he held it above the ghoul’s concave face—waiting. But it didn’t move. The thing was dead.

Aiden panted atop it. The light from his bandolier shone red with smeared blood. As Jake pointed his Pip-Boy towards him, he saw the man covered in blood. He spat blood off to the side of him and looked at Jake.

“You good?”

“Y-yeah…I’m uh…” Jake stammered a response, still frozen in spot. “I’m fine.”

Aiden scoffed. “Fine, huh?”

He tried to stand, but stumbled on his feet, falling forward. Jake scrambled to him.

“Woah! Easy, there! You good?”

“Yeah,” Aiden said, his voice coming out weak and ragged. “Fine.”

Jake put an arm around him and helped him up. Surprisingly, Aiden accepted the help.

“Easy, I gotchu.”

“Yeah,” Aiden said, but his voice was breathy and distant. His breathing was labored.

“Let’s get you to med-bay. C’mon.”

Once Jake had finished updating the team on everything, Theresa said they needed a meeting. Something urgent, couldn’t wait. Jake went to fetch Aiden from medbay and stepped in to find him pulling his shirt over his fresh bandages.

“What?” Aiden said, not looking at him as he finished dressing.

“I—Theresa called a meeting. Said it was urgent.”

“Why do you think I’m getting dressed?”

“Oh, right.” Jake stood there awkwardly. Should he ask him—damn it—it was now or never! “I wanted to ask…”

Aiden sighed petulantly.

“…down there. When you were fighting that thing—you…said something. She made you promise. What…?”

Aiden finished grabbing his belongings from the bag at his bedside and started walking to the door.

“It’s nothing,” he said.

Jake stepped in front of him, blocking the exit.

Aiden must have been able to tell he wasn’t gonna let this one go. Another sigh. Aiden looked right past him, to the door, clearly wanting to be anywhere but here.

“Before she left. She made me promise…to keep you safe. She needs you. So, can we go now?”

She what? Jake blinked several times. “Yeah. Yeah, sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Aiden said. He walked past Jake to the door, but he stopped before leaving. He looked back at him. “I’m not your enemy, Jake.”

“Yeah…” Jake said quietly. He swallowed the lump in his throat—swallowed the shame. He still felt it crawl up his face as his eyes stayed fixed to the floor. “Yeah…I think I see that now.”

“Mm.” Aiden grunted an affirmative. He closed the door behind him.

Chapter Text

“We’re coming up to the bridge,” the driver said.

Carmen looked to MacCready. They were getting close. Just past the bridge was Whitinsville. MacCready’s homestead was in the farmland beyond it.

“I’ll hop out,” he said, heading towards the back of the wagon. He grabbed his rifle from its spot, then looked back to Carmen. “Idiots love to set up here and try to push a toll. Stay here.”

Carmen nodded and placed a hand over her stitches absentmindedly.

For the next 10 minutes, she just listened.

“I’ll scout ahead,” MacCready said.

“Mm,” the driver said.

She heard his footsteps disappear down the road ahead of them. The caravan kept going, keeping its steady pace behind him.

It was painfully silent. All she could hear was the steady clop of the Brahmiluff hooves on the asphalt and the creaking of the wagon.

She peeked out the front of the wagon to see MacCready waving the all-clear to the bridge. But, when they reached him, he held out a hand to stop them.

“We might have a problem.”

“What is it?” the driver asked.

“No one’s here.”

“What do you mean?”

“Exactly that. I scoped out the town from here. Middle of the day—there’s no one.”

“Raiders?” One of the guards asked.

MacCready shook his head. “No damage, no smoke. Just empty. Like a ghost town.”

“Shit,” the driver said.

“I can scout ahead,” MacCready said.

“Go,” the driver said. “Make it quick. Don’t wanna sit in the open.”

“15 minutes,” MacCready said.

“I’ll go with,” one of the guards offered.

The driver ushered him to go.

They waited. Carmen felt the tension in the air. The guards shifted nervously in a circle around the wagon. It was eerily silent now—not even the caw of crows in the grey sky.

After 15 minutes, MacCready returned.

“It’s clear, but you’re not gonna like it,” MacCready said.

“Ghost town?”

“Ghost town.”

“Shit. Alright. Let’s head in. We’ll make camp. Figure out what the hell to do…” He whipped the reins and the Brahmiluff trudged onward.

MacCready and Carmen waited outside the town hall while the caravan discussed what their next steps were—continue to press forward, towards the Capitol Wasteland, or take the ghost town as a sign of more decimation ahead and turn back.

“All these people, just left here…” Carmen said, watching an old woman hobble to the well for water.

MacCready twisted his mouth. “Don’t think about it too hard, okay? We still got to get Duncan. We don’t have time for charity.”

“I know,” Carmen said, watching the woman struggle to pull the water bucket back up. “It’s awful though.”

“It’s war,” MacCready said. “So, what happens now?”

“What do you mean? We head to the farmstead and…”

“No, dumb-dumb, I meant with your boyfriends.”

“Oh. We still talking about that?” Carmen ground the dirt underneath her boot.

“Ain’t got nothing else,” he said.

“I don’t know. I just need some space. Try to figure myself out.”

“Right. And what’s that mean?”

“I…don’t know? I guess I just think about what I want really hard and come up with an answer, and then if something doesn’t fit that answer, then it’s not the right fit.”

“Yeah, how’s that working out for ya? Any realizations?”

“Well, I spent some time with Shaun. The little one, not the...” She shook her head. Not the 60-year-old man. She smiled at the ground, remembering how he fell asleep against her as she read Frankenstein with him. His little body was warm against her chest, his brown hair was soft, his breathing was slow and steady. Her heart had felt so full, knowing he felt safe with her. “That was nice. So…maybe kids aren’t bad.”

“Thinking about kids?”

“Jake is. Kept bringing it up,” Carmen shook her head. “Speaking of, are you excited to see Duncan?”

“Yeah but…” MacCready let out a long sigh.

“What? What’s wrong?”

“I mean, it’s been so long. What if he doesn’t remember me?”

“He’ll remember. You’re his dad.”

“Yeah. Yeah. Just…a lot on my mind.” He banged the back of his head against the wall of the building and gazed up at the grey sky. His eyes squinted up at it, like he might find answers in the clouds if he looked hard enough. His next words were quiet. “Part of me wonders if it’d be safer to cut and run, you know? Grab Duncan and run as far as we can.”

“I wouldn’t blame you,” Carmen murmured back.

“I couldn’t do that to ya. It’s partly my fault, that you got wrapped up in this Gunner business in the first place.”

Carmen shook her head. “They would have come down on us either way.”

“Yeah, but maybe…if I hadn’t asked you to help me with Winlock and Barnes…I dunno. You’ve cut deals with weirder folks. You’re all buddy-buddy with the Insti—ow!”

“Shh! Keep it down.”

“Right, sorry.” MacCready rubbed his arm where she’d smacked him. Dumbass was going to turn the whole caravan against them if he kept running his mouth like that. She was starting to regret telling so many folks about her connection there.

“Look, even if I’d tried to work something out with Wes or whatever, I don’t think they’d have listened.”

“No. Probably not.”

“Look. This…it’s gonna be bad, Mac. Real bad.” Carmen stared at the empty buildings lining the street. A ghost town was the least of their worries. A war? It could decimate them. Nuclear Armageddon all over again. And she’d have to lead it? How the hell was she, a housewife, supposed to spearhead a war? So many lives were at stake—and it all rested on her shoulders. “Honestly…I’m terrified.”

“I know,” he said. “That’s why I can’t leave.”

“And that’s why I’m fine if you do. You gotta keep your boy safe. I get that.”

“We won’t be safe ‘til the Gunners are gone for good.”

Right. He was just as entangled in this as she was. She heaved a sigh. “We’re fucked.”

“Yeah.”

Cautiously, Carmen rested her head on his shoulder. The future felt uncertain and scary, but at least they had each other. More than anything, she just wanted comfort—the warmth of another person. “…Is this okay?”

“Yeah,” MacCready said, slowly. “Just…don’t get too comfy. Gotta leave soon.”

“Thanks, Mac.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Slowly, she felt the weight of his head rest against hers. Warmth settled in her stomach, and she couldn’t help the small smile that crept across her lips.

At least they had each other.

Night had fallen over them as they walked a few hours out of town on their own. As they got further and further from the town center, the land turned increasingly agrarian and rural. Seemed like good land—the grasses were plentiful, if a bit overgrown. Yet, there were no crickets or birds. It was still as eerily quiet as the ghost town they’d come from.

“We’re just up ahead,” MacCready said. “Wonder if Nana’s still up. She’s getting up there…”

“Who?” Carmen asked.

“Lucy’s grandma. Well, not her real grandma, but…”

“Family friend?”

“Yeah.”

As they got closer, they heard voices—multiple. Male.

“Shh! Get down.”

They both crouched and veered off the road. They crept into the cover of brush. MacCready pulled out his binoculars and looked ahead, towards the farmhouse.

“What do you see?”

He scanned the area. “Hard to see. Too dark. Wait. A cigarette. Two guys out front, smoking.”

“Friendly?”

“Doubt it. Got a bad feeling.”

“Yeah, same.” Carmen squinted into the dark. She couldn’t see a damn thing. What she wouldn’t give for her rifle right now. Stupid post-op weight restriction. All she had were her stupid pistols. “Give me your rifle.”

“You can’t carry it.”

“I’m not carrying it, I’m holding it. Hurry up.”

“Safety on. We can’t risk a stray shot.”

“I know,” she said. She scanned the house and the field. That recon scope she gave MacCready sure paid off. “There’s a guy out in the fields. Loading a bag, picking the crops clean.”

“They don’t look like farmhands.”

“No, they don’t.”

She gave another sweep. There was movement at the house. The front door letting light out from the interior. Carmen’s face fell.

“Oh…oh no.”

“What? What is—?”

She knew from his abrupt stop he saw the same thing.

A fourth man dragged the limp body of an old woman out the front door. Her jaw was broken and hung open. Her shirt was stained dark at the center of her chest—blood.

“Nana,” MacCready breathed.

They dragged her body out to the front yard and hung it on the front fence. The man shouted something to the two smoking out front. One tossed something to him. He caught it and went back to the front door. He closed it and began to shake a can of…something. It rattled loudly in the silence.

“We have to get in there,” MacCready said.

“I know,” Carmen said, watching the man at the front carefully.

“We can sneak around back. Quick, while they’re busy.”

“You think he’s still in there?” Carmen handed the rifle back to him.

“Yeah, why else would Nana put up a fight?”

He was right. A broken jaw and 3 bullet holes to the chest—she didn’t just roll over and let these assholes take her shit. She was protecting something. And the fact that the man hadn’t dragged a second, much tinier, body out meant…

“He’s still alive. They don’t know he’s there.”

“We gotta go,” MacCready said. “Now.”

They might not get another chance—and the longer they waited, the higher Duncan’s chances were of being found as they looted the place. The man at the front began to spray paint the door. They were tagging it.

“C’mon.”

“Hold on.”

Carmen rifled through her pockets and pulled out a box of Mentats. If they were gonna make it out of this alive—she needed her wits about her—none of this chem haze. She swallowed them whole—should kick in by the time they reached the house. She grabbed the Deliverer from her thigh holster and clicked the cartridge open. Full, good. She clicked it close.

“Let’s go.”

They circled the perimeter of the farmstead, staying low in the brush to cover their advance. The moonless night worked to their advantage. As they approached the wooden fence, they watched and waited for the looter to finish rifling with his bag. When he’d finished, he stood up and moved further down the field, to the next grove of Mutfruit trees.

MacCready motioned for Carmen to advance with him. They crept up to the house together. They could still hear the man at the front door, spray painting, and the two guys smoking and chatting.

“I don’t know—beats the boats.”

“Really? I’d take a boat over this shit. I mean, why they gotta put up a fight?”

“Eh, maybe she had a death wish. All alone out here? I’d want someone to put me outta my misery.”

“I don’t know, man.”

“Hey, it beats marching too.”

“Yeah, no shit. Dodged a fucking bullet on that one.”

“You’re welcome!” shouted a different voice—the one spray painting by the sounds of it. The spray painting had stopped—then when the two guys laughed a bit—it continued.

Carmen and MacCready opened the screen door. MacCready locked it behind them. Would buy a bit of time.

They were in a kitchen/dining room. Straight ahead of them was the front door being spray-painted. To the right of the door was stairs leading up to the second story. MacCready motioned Carmen to follow.

“Been a while since we did recon this far out.”

“You ever been up there? To the Commonwealth?”

“Nah. It’s a backwater. Plus, you got all those crazy rumors. You know, the synths?”

“Scared they gonna snatch you up?”

“They could try. Won’t go well for ‘em I’ll tell ya that.”

“Duncan,” MacCready whispered as they reached upstairs. They were in a narrow hallway. 3 doors.

“I’ll wait here,” Carmen said. “Go.”

MacCready crept inside down the hall towards the door closest to them. Carmen clicked the safety off the Deliverer, but kept her finger off the trigger. She pointed it down the stairs and waited. The voices were more muffled now, but she could still hear the sound of the spray paint clearly on the front door. They still had time.

“It’s getting late. We settin’ up here for the night?”

“Yeah. Want to be fresh for town tomorrow.”

“Think it’s cleared out?”

“If they’re smart. Might be a couple stragglers.”

“Well, let’s hope there’s some dumb ones. Need some bodies to throw back to the Commander.”

“Yeah. Dunno how word got out so fast.”

“Damn caravans. Worse than a knitting circle.”

“Ain’t that right.”

The spray paint stopped. Shit. “There. Home sweet home.”

“Finally. C’mon, let’s go.”

“Mac!” Carmen hissed.

No response. Shit, did he even hear her? She heard footsteps crunch outside on the gravel, then walk up the wooden stairs to the front door.

“Hey, no touching! It’s gotta dry.”

“Uhg. C’mon, it don’t matter. They’ll see it just fine.”

“That’s an order, dingus.”

“Pulling rank, really? You’re the worst.”

“Yeah yeah, kiss my ass.”

No time. They had to go, now. Carmen crept to the door she saw MacCready go to. He exited just as she reached it. Clinging to him was a small boy with blonde hair. His face was completely buried in his father’s shoulder. MacCready’s eyes were red, his face marked with fresh tear stains cutting through the road-dust on his cheeks.

“We gotta go,” Carmen said. “They’re staying here tonight.”

“Dang it to flippin’—” MacCready ground his teeth together. “Fine. Let’s go out the back.”

“I’ll take point,” Carmen said, Deliverer still at the ready. “Got a side arm?”

“Shoot…” MacCready shook his head. “We don’t have time. Just go.”

She pulled Kellogg out of her hip holster and checked the barrel. 6 rounds. She handed it to him. He adjusted Duncan to his left arm and grabbed the gun.

She took point down the stairs. They were about halfway down when they heard the screen door rattle.

“Hey! The fuck? Oh c’mon…”

It rattled more.

“Shit,” Carmen backed up and they scurried back up the stairs.

“What’s wrong?” A voice called from the front.

“Screen door’s locked!”

“You locked yourself out? Again?”

“No! I made sure this time!”

“Oh, you made sure? Then why’s it locked now?”

“Shut up. Real funny.”

The group out front laughed. Carmen heard the crunch of footsteps on gravel as the man out back circled the perimeter of the house.

“We gotta go,” MacCready hissed.

“Out the back? No way, they’ll see us,” she hissed back.

“Not if we go right now!”

Shit, he was right. They doubled back down the stairs and scurried out the screen door. Just as they left line of sight, she heard the front door open.

“Come on, I’m hungry. What we got?”

“Mutfruit. Tatos. Corn.” She heard the pantry open. “Damn. All sorts of pickles. Flour. Oh hell yeah. Canned beans.”

“Chili?”

“Chili.”

They made it to the brush cover and began creeping the perimeter once more, back to the road. The voices inside grew quieter and more muffled.

“Hey, you see this picture?”

When they finally reached the road, they booked it, stitches be damned. They ran and ran and ran, praying they’d escaped unnoticed.

As quickly as the caravan had arrived, it escaped across the bridge that night, the three passengers loaded up in the wagon, one looking worse for wear. Duncan sat quietly on a sleeping bag on the floor, holding his knees, his back against the carriage corner. He stared at the floor, a far-off look in his eyes.

“Is…he gonna be okay?” Carmen asked, holding her tank top up for MacCready to change the bandages. The wagon hit a bump and the whole carriage jumped. Duncan flinched and held his knees tighter, squeezing his eyes shut.

“It’s okay, buddy, you’re safe,” MacCready said back to him. “Give me a second.” Then, he looked up to Carmen. He shook his head ever so slightly as he worked the bandages off her. “I dunno.”

She hissed as they reached the last layer. “Ow. Ow ow ow! Shit.”

“I know, I know. It’s sticking. Hold on.”

She looked down. Blood had caked the bandages onto the sutures. Shit. That’s not good. She looked at MacCready, who kept his eyes focused on the bandages as he gingerly peeled them off.

Shit. That hurt. “Ahhhh, fuck. Stop, stop.” Carmen breathed heavily. The bandage grew wet with fresh blood.

Damn it.

“We need to get it off,” MacCready said, his hands smeared with red.

“I know, I know.” She breathed heavily and watched the last piece of bandage adhered to her skin. While the center of it was freshly red…the edges were still white. That meant the bleeding was slow…probably superficial. Still hurt like a bitch, but…not immediately dangerous.

“Get some water.”

“Cassandra said to keep it dry.”

“She also said to keep it clean. Get some water.”

MacCready sighed and grabbed his water skin. He poured water on a clean cloth and pressed it to the site to wet it. She put her hand over his, compressing it. He looked up at her.

“What now?”

“I’ll pull it off. Hold my shirt.”

“You’re the boss.” MacCready held her tank top up while she slowly maneuvered the bandage off of the scabbed tissue and sutures. It peeled. Peeled, bringing the scab with it. She sniffed the bandage in her hand. Nothing foul, nothing rotten, just the metallic scent of blood. Good. She dropped it on the floor.

“It’s bleeding,” he said, staring at it.

“I know,” she said, taking her shirt from him. “But it’s still clean. Flush it. New rag, pat dry. Pressure ‘til it stops. Antibiotic. New bandages. Then I’m gonna need some chems.”

“You got it.”

She glanced at Duncan, still holding his knees in the corner, staring straight ahead at nothing. He flinched at any sudden bump. Her heart ached.

If they’d just been a little faster… Left a day sooner…

They hadn’t even had time to pack—no toys, no clothes—nothing left of his mom.

The carriage flew onward through the countryside, and its refugees prayed they’d put enough distance between them and the Gunners at their back.

”They’re in there.”

“What the hell is this?”

“Gunner business.”

“Carmen, wake up! We gotta go!”

Carmen woke up to MacCready shaking her. Through the inebriation of chems, she could hardly keep her eyes open.

“What?”

“C’mon, move!” MacCready hissed. He pulled her upright and she yelped in pain.

“What was that?”

The voices outside the wagon continued.

“Shit, go check the wagon now.”

“No one goes near that wagon, you hear?” A gun cocked. “How much they pay you to sell us out?”

“More than you.”

“What the hell, man? Why?”

“We got no business with the Gunners. ‘Sides, you heard ‘em. A bunch of Institute spies.”

MacCready had already helped her to her feet and grabbed their bag. He hopped out the front of the wagon first. One of the Brahmiluff spooked at the sudden movement. “Easy,” MacCready said, hands placating. The Brahmiluff cried out, rearing back from its post.

“What was that?! They’re getting away!”

“Fuck it! Deal’s off.”

Boom.

A gunshot rang out in the night.

Both Brahmiluff reared back, tugging at their posts.

“Damn it!” MacCready pressed up against the cover of the wagon as gunfire broke out across the campsite. It was a full-blown firefight. He put his hands up for Duncan. No time, weight limit be damned. Carmen grabbed Duncan in her arms and slid out the wagon. MacCready caught them both and steadied her. Carmen passed him Duncan. She wobbled unsteadily on her feet.

“C’mon, let’s go!” MacCready hissed. He grabbed her hand and dragged her with him to the tree line, carrying Duncan.

“Over there!”

Shouts behind them. Chaos. Gunfire. A bullet whizzed past her head. Keep running. Another lodged itself in the tree trunk. Keep running. Another one—

Hit her like a punch. Right through the leg.

She fell forward. Her face dragged on the forest floor.

“Damn it!” Carmen cradled her thigh. White hot pain coursed through her. It was bleeding like hell. She couldn’t make it like this.

“Carmen!” MacCready tried to pull her up, but she wasn’t getting up, she knew that.

She looked him in the eye, knowing her next words would haunt him.

“Take Duncan and run.”

“What, no! I—!”

“GO!”

“Damn it!” MacCready ran, Duncan in his arms. Carmen cradled her leg as she watched the fight ensue at camp. Whoever shot her knew she wasn’t going anywhere. She could try to crawl, but she’d leave a trail of blood.

Stop the bleeding.

Too bad MacCready had all the supplies.

She shrugged out of her undershirt and pulled it free from her jumpsuit. She wrapped it around her thigh and pulled tight. Tighter. As tight as she can. Fuuuuck, it hurt. That’d have to do.

She looked up to a figure approaching her. No doubt the one who shot her—she’d recognize the insignia on his bandana anywhere—Gunner. His gun was drawn, pointed right at her.

“No sudden moves. Drop your weapons.”

“I don’t have any,” Carmen said, holding her hands up.

“Hands behind your head. Lay face down on the ground.”

“Alright,” Carmen said. She followed his orders, trying not to think about what came next if she was captured.

He pressed his knee into her back to hold her down as he bound her hands behind her back.

“Could at least buy me dinner first,” Carmen said, hoping to hear a laugh. Give her something to work with if this is what it was going to be—captured.

The man didn’t laugh. “Where’s MacCready and the boy?”

“Not even a chuckle. Alright. Drinks.”

He hit her in the back of the head and the world blacked out for a moment. Her head throbbed. Her vision came back blurred.

“Fuck.” She spit up leaves. No, can’t show weakness. Can’t let them win. She laughed lightly. “Oh, c’mon, harder.”

“What?”

“Harder. Like you mean it.”

He hit her again, same spot. Fuck, she was gonna get a fucking concussion. It took all her self-control to turn her howl of pain into a howl of pleasure. “Ooooh yeah! Just like that.”

“You’re a sick fuck.” He stopped hitting her.

Hah. He actually stopped hitting her. The world spun from where her head lay on the ground. He didn’t even remember the question. Hot tears streamed from her eyes, mixing with the dirt on her face. Fuck, maybe she stood a chance after all.

Suddenly, a shadow loomed over them both. Behind him appeared a figure, tall and dark.

In the blink of an eye, the figure twisted his neck. Carmen heard the sickening snap. The man fell to the ground with a thump in front of her, his eyes lifeless.

She looked up at her rescuer, and as he stepped closer, she recognized the long black coat, the Institute rifle hanging from a strap across his chest, and the black sunglasses, even at night. “X6.”

“Ma’am.”

He knelt down and began undoing her restraints.

“How did you…?”

“I’ve been tracking you. You should never have left the Commonwealth.”

“Yeah, well, too late for that.”

“Stimming you.”

She felt the jab at her thigh, then heard the hiss of the stimpack. Her head became clearer as the adrenaline coursed through her veins, forcing her body to keep fighting.

“I could have gone in your stead,” X6 said as the fighting died down behind him.

“You could have.” Carmen pulled her hands back around. She wiped her face clean. “But you wouldn’t. It wasn’t a part of your mission.”

“Keeping you safe is my mission.” He rolled her over and helped her sit up right. Carmen held her stinging abdomen. It was wet with blood.

“Have it your way, you’d take me right back to the Institute. Strap me to a bed. Lock me in a room.”

“An accurate assumption given your current state. What happens when you’re given your freedom.”

“Gotta make it count.” She breathed heavily, sitting upright, clutching her abdomen. Her stomach rolled violently. Oh god, what was bubbling up her throat? She groaned and barely had a moment to pivot to the side before she retched. Oh god, that…tasted metallic. She squinted in the darkness. She couldn’t make out the color…but it was…grainy. Like coffee grounds. “Fuck.”

X6 hoisted her up and supported her weight. “We need to provide emergency medical intervention. Can you walk to the fire?”

“I gotta.”

“Mm.” Was that a…hum of approval? Seemed X6 appreciated her tenacity, if not her stubbornness.

As he led her back to the campsite, the remaining caravan, understandably, raised their guns at the Institute Courser warily.

“He’s with me,” Carmen said.

“The fuck is that?”

“A synth,” Carmen answered truthfully as X6 set her close to the fire. God. It was so warm. Had she always been this cold? “It’s alright. He’s programmed to protect me.”

As she shivered violently, she heard the rustle of clothing, then felt a heavy weight on her shoulders as X6 dropped his coat on her shoulders. Immediately she felt safer, and she couldn’t help the small smile that crept across her lips. X6 took post behind her, watching the rest of the caravan warily. They shifted uneasily at their impromptu campsite battlements, just as wary of X6.

“…where’s the kid?” One of the guards asked.

“Dad took him and ran,” Carmen said. “Like I told him to. Good thing too. It was a bad fight.”

She stared at the corpses littering the campsite. The traitor who sold them out, a caravan hand, a guard, and three Gunner scouts. The scout’s corpse closest to her was holding something in his hand.

“Huh…” She reached for it carefully, trying not to upset her stitches further. As she pulled it free from his grasp, she saw a photograph. If it wasn’t recent, it was at least well-kept. In it, a man with blonde hair and blue eyes, a woman with mousey brown hair and blue eyes, and a baby in her arms, all in front of the homestead they’d left earlier that night. “Well, that explains that.” She tucked the photo in her breast pocket. She’d give it to MacCready later. Speaking of…

“Is it over?” MacCready shouted from somewhere in the tree line.

“Yeah, you can come out!” The driver shouted back at him.

“Look, I know we’ve got no right to ask,” Carmen said to the caravan lead as MacCready approached with Duncan. “But if you could take us back to GNN Plaza…”

“A contract’s a contract. Fuckwit here violated it. Us caravan folk don’t take kindly to bein’ double-crossed.”

“I’ll pay you for damages,” Carmen said.

“I reckon that’d be mighty appreciated,” the driver said.

“And I’ll pay you double the contract.”

“A generous offer.”

“Just get us back safe.”

“That we can do, Miss Sheppard, that we can do. You, your husband, and your boy. Reckon a synth bodyguard can help us plenty.”

The silence from X6 spoke volumes about his distaste for the current company, but left with no choice, this was their best chance of survival—the best chance at her survival.

As MacCready returned to the fire with Duncan, he sat, staring as listlessly as his kid into the open flame. The shadows danced across their faces like the ghosts of their pasts. Tonight, they were haunted.

The picture in her breast pocket hung heavy.

She’d give it back to him… but not tonight.

Chapter Text

Lupe climbed into the damaged Gunner vertibird on the coast of Spectacle Island outpost. As Aiden watched her buckle into the pilot seat and flip on the engine, he thought about how just moments ago, this vertibird had been an ill-omen—a strike team sent to take them out. But now, with a nuke circling HQ, it was a rare boon, and their only shot at survival.

The vertibird roared to life. The propellors whipped the air overhead. Aiden could hardly hear himself think.

“You sure you can fly one of these things?” Aiden shouted.

“I’m sure!”

“And how exactly are you gonna stop that nuke? You need me with you.”

“Someone needs to guide the artillery!”

“Aiden!”

“What?” Aiden snapped, debating whether he should just jump into the damn thing before Lupe could take off.

Preston ran to meet them. He held out the radio. “You’re not gonna believe this.”

Aiden yanked the radio from his hand. “What is it?”

“Really? That’s how you greet me? Manners.”

The voice on the other end was unmistakeable. Aiden opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out.

“Chief Carmen Sheppard, reporting in. Lupe, you get that vertibird running?”

“Yes!” Lupe realized she couldn’t hear her. “Tell her yes!”

“It’s running,” Aiden said, finally finding his words again. What was this swelling in his chest? This smile creeping at the corner of his lips?

“I’ve got coordinates for a rendezvous. Tune over to HQ, should patch right through.”

“I’m on my way,” Lupe said.

Aiden jumped back as Lupe took off to the skies.

In the nick of time, she’s back. His heart swelled in his chest, his spirits soaring with the vertibird toward the distant grey horizon.

She was really back.

They just might stand a chance.

As the caravan approached Fairline, they could hear the gunfire, and as Carmen scanned the horizon, she saw that damn vertibird circling overhead. Up on the rooftop battlements, her staff were putting up one hell of a fight. While the turret fire pinged off the aircraft, sniper fire resounded through the valley. The vertibird couldn’t afford to stay still or circle too close—not with crackshots like Deacon and Crow Corvus aiming straight for the pilot through the windshield.

 MacCready and Duncan stayed with the caravan, holing up in one of the houses. Meanwhile, X6 helped Carmen to the sturdiest roof. She waited….

“Approaching rendezvous,” Lupe said.

There, from the southwest, Carmen saw a scrappy vertibird coming into view. Lupe swung very wide—must have cut through parts of the Glowing Sea—

“Ma’am,” X6 said, standing atop the slanted roof with her. “How do you intend to—”

No time. A nuke was gonna destroy everything. As the aircraft pulled close, Carmen pushed through the knot in her stomach and leapt. Her hands caught the interior handles. Her feet caught the floor. Not a moment to lose, the vertibird carved upward.

If they were gonna take HQ, they’d take it over her dead body.

”Yes!” Jake cried.

From the roof of HQ, he watched that Gunner vertibird tailspin to a crash in the distance. “Take that! That’s my—!”

He looked back to the other vertibird, and as quickly as the elation swelled, his blood ran cold. The other vertibird—it was spinning too. Smoke streaked from one of the propellers.

“No—no no no!”

There was nothing he could do. He watched as it spun closer and closer to the ground. Something went flying out—then—

A deafening crash—snapping trees, crunching metal, roaring fire.

“No no no no!”

Jake was already down the fire escape. He didn’t know when he started running, but he was half-way across the courtyard.

“Darlin?! Lupe?! Can you hear me?!”

Jake didn’t listen for an answer; he was already at the wreckage. A splintered tree lay atop. He was already pushing. A blur of people rushed to his side.

“1, 2, 3–Push!” Cedric grunted in effort. A chorus of grunts around them and the trunk rolled off.

A spark, then the whoosh of flame from the wreckage. Jake threw an arm over his face. The smoke burned. The heat choked him. His watering eyes darted across the warped metal, looking for a hand, a leg, a face, ANYTHING.

Oh god.

He saw her, head lulled to the side, under the vertibird, like she was sleeping. The fire crept dangerously close. Jake didn’t think. He crawled inside the wreckage.

“Jake!” Cedric called after him.

But he kept going. A nick here, a cut there—it didn’t matter. Not seeing her like that. He made it to the other side of the wreck, where she was pinned to the ground. That fire had to go. It burned hot on his face—made it hard to breathe. With careful maneuvering, he managed to rotate, get his feet down. He stomped out the flame—buying them time.

So little time.

He crouched beside her. Was she—?

He couldn’t think it, but he had to check.

“Darlin?”

Finger to her neck. It was rough and warm with dried blood. She didn’t answer. She didn’t move. He waited.

…

…

Please.

…

Thump…

…

…thump…

“She’s alive!” Jake yelled. “It’s weak but—she’s alive!”

“And Lupe?”

“I’m here!”

Jake couldn’t see past the wreckage, but soon Lupe poked her head through the opening and— a massive welt on her forehead—the size of a softball.

“Shit, Lupe, you—!”

“Infirmary, now!” Cedric barked at her.

“What? I’m fine I—!”

“You’re not fine! You have a second head—now go!” Cedric poked his head into the wreckage and spoke to Jake. “We need to pull her out.”

“Right!” Jake positioned himself as best he could beside her to get some sort of leverage, wrapped his arms around her, then—

Nnnnngh! He pulled and pulled…

…C’mon…!

…but she wouldn’t come loose.

“It’s no good! She’s stuck!”

“Stuck? What do you mean stuck?”

“I can’t pull her free. The wreck’s too heavy. It’s got her pinned.”

“Well pull harder.”

“We gotta move the wreck. C’mon, help me push.”

Jake got his feet up under the vertibird and put his back to the ground. Cedric and the staff grabbed different parts of the wreck.

“On the count of three. 1, 2, 3!”

They pushed and pulled and groaned, and the metal groaned with them, but it refused to give even an inch before falling again.

“Stand aside.” A new voice.

Jake couldn’t make out who it was, but the silence was deafening. As soon as the figure came into view from the other side of the wreck, he understood why.

The courser, X6-88, peered at him from behind his sharp sunglasses. “Be ready to pull her free.”

Jake nodded and positioned himself to hold her once more.

The Courser positioned himself, squatting to the ground and grabbing what he could of the vertibird. He lifted with a mighty grunt. The metal groaned loudly in protest. The grunt became a throat-rending scream. The metal screamed back. Jake watched it lift, an inch, then two, from the ground. The whole thing shuddered. Debris broke off the edges. He pulled Carmen and dragged her with him, back back back. As soon as her boots crossed the threshold, X6 dropped the load and the vertibird crunched back to the ground.

Quickly, Jake scooped her up. No time. He was already running, her body cradled in his arms. He couldn’t feel his own body. His vision tunneled to HQ. Up the steps. Through the door.

Before he knew it, they’d reached the entryway.

“Cassandra! Cassandra!”

It was a sea of injured and attendants, gurneys and bloody bandages. Immediately, Cassandra rushed from the gurney of another, her face haggard but her eyes sharp and alert.

“Get her on the gurney, now.” She pointed. “Curie, Julie, Hancock, start prepping for surgery.”

“Is she gonna—oh god—”

As he set her down, he saw them start cutting through her jumpsuit. He hadn’t seen it when he grabbed her—the way it stuck to abdomen, wet, but as they peeled the black fabric away, he saw the bright scarlet red staining her abdomen, fresh blood mingling with the dried, caked burgundy from the heat of the fire. He saw the splitting skin of a jagged wound gaping her abdomen.

“Oh—oh god…”

He looked down at his hands, and he was covered in it—her blood. It stained his hands and his shirt and now he could smell it—he didn’t know how he couldn’t before—the sharp iron. The world started spinning. He wanted to vomit. This couldn’t be happening. This couldn’t—

Footsteps behind him. He turned and X6-88 walked past him to Carmen’s side. He seemed unfazed by the carnage of it all, like only a Courser could. He put his hand over Carmen’s. A rare moment of sentiment? Jake walked closer. X6’s voice was quiet and monotone.

“X6-88 requesting relay with Mrs. —”

No! Jake shoved X6. He stumbled back, bumping into a nearby gurney, but he quickly caught himself.

“What are you—she can't relay like this! Are you out of your mind?”

X6 slowly righted himself. His movements were slow and methodical, like a predator preparing to lunge. His voice was monotone and low. “She requires urgent medical—”

“What do you think they're doing?” Jake pointed to the staff all around them, flitting from patient-to-patient, stemming the tide of death.

“The Institute is far better—”

“No, she stays here.”

“She will die.”

Cassandra returned rolling an IV drip. She grabbed Carmen’s arm and with expert precision, pierced her. “She'll die if we don't operate now. Starting anesthesia.” Then, she grabbed the gurney and pulled Carmen and the IV with her towards one of the lab wings.

Soon, Jake and X6 stood alone in the atrium. Behind them, more staff filtered through, bringing in wounded, but they kept their eyes locked. The atrium buzzed with continued chaos of the battle’s aftermath. Neither moved, and in his head, Jake was trying to calculate his chances of being able to take on an actual Institute Courser, much less in the middle of the atrium full of wounded. In the dark reflection of X6’s sunglasses, Jake could see the blood caked in his beard and neck, the large burgundy stain on his shirt. Her blood.

Finally, X6 spoke as if to the air itself. “…X6-88, requesting relay, alone.”

In a bright flash of blue lightning, he vanished. Immediately in his absence, a sense of relief washed over him. He’d done it. He’d talked down a Courser. Carmen would stay. And hell, he’d hardly taken convincing.

But as he stood there, his brain processing everything that had just happened, the relief sank into his stomach and turned into a cold, heavy pit of dread.

“Shit. Shit, shit, shit!”

He took off running. Through the atrium. Through the halls.

X6 left alone. But he sure as hell wasn’t coming back alone. Damn it.

He burst through the doors of the Comm Room. Made it to the Comm Array. His eyes flitted across the dark screen of green text. His fingers tapped the keyboard rapidly, cycling through menus.

“C'mon, c'mon, Key Card. Key Card.”

Where was it? He knew it was in here—There! Selected. Execute?

Jake hesitated. They’d never tested it. How could they? It wasn’t every day the Institute came knocking on their door. But the logic was sound, the program had compiled, and it’d ran just fine. There was no other option.

“Let’s hope this works…”

Execute.

Executing Key Card…

Tuning to Classical Radio.

Monitoring…

At the Institute, Shaun stood in the relay room with X6-88, a contingent of Gen-2 synths readied and armed behind them. In his 60 years, he’d never set foot on the surface, but desperate times…

In a bright flash of lightning, he felt himself evaporate, and in a blink, the pristine cleanliness of the Institute was gone. When he opened his eyes, the first thing that hit him was a wave of nausea, and the second was breathlessness. He doubled over, coughing, but as he went to breathe, only dust choked him. The forest floor was dry and barren, and as he looked up, he saw nothing but dead wasteland and ruined cityscape. What the—? This couldn’t be right. He looked to X6 for verification, but he was gone. None of the synths had made it. He was out here, alone. Damn it.

He fumbled for the radio on the chest pocket of his lab coat. “Where—what happened? Where are we? Where are the synths?”

Through the radio, the Institute operator answered. “I—I don't know, I set the coordinates and it's like—”

“Like what?”

“Like it got—intercepted or…or scrambled or…”

“X6-88, reporting in. I see you, Father. We are approximately one mile from HQ. I will meet you.”

“I could try again—” the Institute operator said.

“There's no time. Not for another mishap. All synths, meet us at the Galaxy News Network Headquarters.”

Jake ran back outside the atrium just as Cedric approached, supporting the weight of another injured staff member. The moment he saw Jake, his face lined with worry.

“What is it?” Cedric said. “What's wrong?”

“The—The Institute. They're gonna try to take her,” Jake said. “Cassandra's operating on her right now.”

“But—they can't do that!”

“They will.”

The injured staff leaned off of Cedric and hobbled inside. Jake watched them disappear past the entryway, arms crossed tightly across his chest. He didn’t know what to do—the adrenaline coursed through his body, demanding he do something. He couldn’t just let them take her.

“I turned on Key Card.”

“But we haven't even tested it.”

“It might buy us time.”

“What do we do?” Lupe asked, and it was right then Jake realized she’d been sitting by the door the entire time. She had a heavy blanket draped over her shoulders and held an ice pack to her forehead.

“Lupe, I—I hadn’t even checked in—how are you—?”

“Some scrapes and bruises. Bump on the head. Minor concussion.” Lupe listed it off like she was listing off groceries. As if realizing the severity of her description, she quickly added, “I feel fine though, really. Jacob, we can't let them take her. If they take her…”

“…She won't come back,” Cedric said.

They were right. Jake already knew it. And upon seeing his own panic mirrored in their eyes, a steel resolve Jake didn’t know he had fortified him. “We fight.”

“Now?” Cedric sputtered. “But we just—”

Fought the Gunners. Barely survived. Jake knew. Didn’t matter. Another fight was coming to them. “Let’s get all the wounded inside,” Jake said. “Round up whoever’s left. Meet on the roof. We'll hold them off as long as we can.”

Cedric and Lupe nodded gravely. The three of them set off to work.

Over the barren tree line, a large building came into view. Its massive radio tower reached upward to the empty red twilight above. As Shaun approached with X6-88, they heard gunfire. Synths reported combat states—wastelanders shouted from the roof. Gunfire echoed. Bright blue laser fire streaked the battlefield. They watched as their synths fell one after another. As a bullet whizzed past and splintered the tree next to them, X6 pulled Shaun down to take cover behind a crashed vertibird.

“Damn it,” Shaun said. “Damn it all.”

X6-88 was silent.

Jake shouted from atop the building. “We know you're there, X6! We know you sent your synths! We don't wanna fight you, but you can't take her! So just come on out and we can talk about this.”

X6-88 looked to Shaun for guidance. “Sir?”

Shaun didn’t look back at him, staring at the ground. His bright blue eyes darted back and forth, calculating. His jaw tensed. He looked back up to X6 and saw his reflection in the dark sunglasses. His white lab coat was covered in road dust, sweat collected in the lines of his brow from travel, his cheeks showed ruddy red exertion. He had a standard Institute pistol holstered at his hip, under his coat. X6-88’s combat capabilities surpassed standard measures—that’s why Shaun kept him close, why he’d assigned him to his mother. But as another synth fell to the forest floor, sparks cracking from its metal carcass, Shaun knew that even X6 couldn’t turn the tide of this firefight.

Shaun put his hands up and nodded to X6. He did the same, unquestioning. Slowly, they both stood.

They emerged in clear surrender from behind the crashed vertibird. “I only want what's best for her!” Shaun shouted up to the rooftop. “Let me take her home. To her real home. We have doctors, surgeons, medicine, technology—far superior to anything here. She'll be safe!”

“She's safe here!” Lupe shouted. “Mister—?”

“Doctor. Doctor Sheppard.”

“No way…” Jake lowered his gun.

“I know you may find this difficult to believe but—”

“You're her son!” Jake shouted.

Shaun stopped his approach in shock. How did he know?

“Stand down! Let them in!” Jake shouted.

Jake met Father and X6-88 in the entryway.

“I'll take you to her. They're operating.”

“They need to stop,” Shaun said, trailing at his heels. “Anything they do here could further jeopardize—”

“You don't understand. There's no time to—she can't go. This blood, Shaun—”

“Doctor—”

“Doctor, this blood ain't mine.”

They reached the operating room.

“This is a clean room,” Cassandra scolded. “But it won't be if you keep—”

“I understand,” Shaun said. “This won't take long.”

“Masks and gloves, both of you, or wait outside! Suction. More. Good. Forceps.”

Jake and Shaun went to grab them. Jake went to put them on, but Shaun stopped him, pointing towards the hand washing station. He watched Jake with unmasked scrutiny, cleaning his hands. Then, he cleaned his own, taking far longer than Jake. They donned the gloves and masks.

“Nature of injuries?” Father said, taking place at Cassandra’s side.

“Abdominal puncture. Metal removed. Cut through small intestine, pierced the uterus.”

“Have you started antibiotics?

“As soon as we started the line. Cleaning stool. Julie, more suction.”

“What else?”

“Head trauma. Likely traumatic brain injury.”

“Likely? Where are her scans?”

“None. I've been operating from the moment she came in. Or should I have let her bleed out?”

“If her brain swells, the intracranial pressure—” Shaun checked her nose, then her ears. “Her hair is wet." Blood…or? He moved her hair and checked her ear. "She's leaking CSF."

“Julie, water.” Cassandra irrigated the site, continuing to clean out the stool.

“What are you saying?” Jake asked, pointedly looking anywhere but the ongoing surgery.

“We may need to operate,” Shaun said to Cassandra. “Damn it. Was she conscious?”

“Unconscious. Uneven pupil response.”

“What? What's going on?” Jake asked, but it was like he wasn’t even there.

“Curie, get me clippers and a drill.”

“Is that wise—?” Shaun asked.

“If you're right, we'll need to operate immediately. Hancock, start shaving. Curie, find me a needle.”

“What size, madame?”

“22. 26. She's clean. I'm closing her. 5:47 PM.”

“Spinal tap?” Shaun asked.

“Yes.”

“Have you performed one?”

“No.”

“I'll do it. Hand me the needle. Get her on her side.”

“Will someone please—” Jake begged.

“Antiseptic.”  

“—tell me what's going on?” Jake finished.

He watched Shaun wipe her back with a wet yellow cloth. Then, he carefully positioned a needle at her spine. He inserted it, and immediately the syringe was flooded with clear liquid. He took it out.

“Opening pressure is far too high. We'll have to proceed,” Shaun said.

“Proceed with what?” Jake begged.

“A craniectomy,” Cassandra said sharply. “Stop gawking and make yourself useful—we'll need a cast—a mesh cast—for the top of her skull. Go!”

“I—right!” Jake ran out of the operating room.

“Ever performed neurosurgery, doctor?” Shaun asked.

“Twice. You?”

“A handful. Unless you count synths, autopsies?”

“Oh, autopsies? Then dozens.”

“Perhaps you should take point. My hands aren't as steady as they used to be.”

“I expected a fight.”

“Had you not known about a lumbar puncture, you'd had one. Needless to say, this is my mother. Do take extra care.”

“Wouldn't want to rattle that big brain of hers,” Cassandra drawled, pulling off her old gloves and replacing them with fresh ones. She held out her hand to Shaun. “Scalpel.”

Shaun handed it to her. They began.

When Aiden had returned from Spectacle Island, he’d already heard the news. He went down to the Hangar Bay—now infirmary—to see her. Jake was fast asleep at her bedside, head resting on where their joined hands rested at her side. Aiden just stood across from her—head shaved, mesh where her skull should be—her arms tangled with IVs, machines breathing for her.

She looked pale and weak and…

No. He couldn’t see her like that. Lifeless in a hospital bed, tubes shoved down her throat. His feet carried him back to the elevator.

Before he knew it, he was in the gym, standing head-to-head with a punching bag. His heart pounded in his chest. His vision tunneled. His throat strangled itself. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t breathe. His vision turned red. His fists balled. He started punching.

Punch after punch. The punching bag creaked on its chain. Harder. The tape on his knuckles ripped. Harder. The flesh on his knuckles tore.

She was lying there and he couldn’t do a damn thing about it. While she was flying in that damn vertibird, what was he doing? Monitoring Comms. Useless. It should have been him. He’d been there. He could have jumped into that damn death plane. He should have crashed.

Punch after punch. His knuckles burned. Sweat dripped from his forehead. His blood smeared on the punching bag.

It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right. He’d kept his side of the fucking bargain. He’d kept Jake safe. He’d kept him alive. And what did she do?

Leapt into some goddamn vertibird like she was some goddamn hero. Like she was goddamn invincible. Like it was some fucking Tuesday. Lupe’d made it out just fine. But no, not her. She had to go and get herself—!

Goddamn lying piece of—

Punch after punch. Each landed, hitting harder than the last. His body was drenched in sweat. The redness in his vision began to evaporate as red colored his skin in exertion. He saw the red of her lips as she smiled at him; the red stain of her lipstick that coated his fingers as he wiped it from his cheek; the red of her flushed skin peeking out from beneath his shirt that was far too big on her.

Why did she have to smile at him?

Punch.

Why did she have to kiss him?

Punch. Punch.

Why did she have to make him fucking care?

He punched and the bag hit back. It knocked him backwards and he stumbled. His body was drenched in sweat. His knuckles were raw and bloody. He wobbled on his feet.

Exhausted, he couldn’t punch anymore.

Damn it.

He heaved breaths, bent inward, hands resting on his knees. His heart still pounded. His whole body felt like it was on fire—but he could think clearly again. That damn image was out of his head.

It didn’t matter, he thought, standing up straight. The Gunners were coming. He headed to the exit. Foot soldiers, MacCready had said. They’d already met their forward scouts. Their Commander-in-Chief was out cold, and he had to hold them off. Had to keep them safe.

He made it to his office and flipped on the light. On the center table, he spread a map of the Commonwealth.

He had work to do.

Shaun was in and out for the surgeries. They’d offered him a place to stay, of course, but he’d declined. Jake got the feeling he didn’t like the surface, and that the surface didn’t much like him, judging by the wary stares. After reattaching Carmen’s skull and seeing her transition successfully off of life support, he felt confident enough in her recovery to say goodbye.

That night, he came to her bedside late into Jake’s vigil.

“Still here?”

Jake stood up and dusted himself off. “Oh yes, doctor, did you want—?”

“Sit,” Shaun said. “I was just leaving. Wanted to…” His gaze lingered on Carmen.

“See her?”

“Check on her, I suppose,” he said, as if he couldn’t admit too much attachment. Jake watched his gaze wander from her to the fresh flowers at her bedside, the teddy bear tucked into her arms, the arrangement of notes and gifts left for her. “She's…well-loved, it seems.”

“She is,” Jake said.

“…You're the one who called her back here, yes?”

“What do you—oh, you mean—”

“Your broadcast. On our station.”

“Yeah, sorry…about that. Hope it didn't cause any trouble.”

“Trouble?” Shaun gestured towards her unconscious form. “Yes, I suppose that's one word for it.”

Jake felt like he’d been slapped. “Wait, you're not…You can't seriously blame me for this.”

“I can, Mr. Evans,” Shaun said. “This is your venture, is it not? Your influence.”

“I didn't send the Gunners after us.”

“Perhaps not, but this—all of this—never would have happened if she'd stayed where it's safe. Underground—away from all this senseless violence. Don't you want her safe?”

“Well, yeah, but what about the rest of us?”

“Surely you can defend yourselves. You don't need—”

“We do,” Jake cut him off with a sharp look. His gaze wandered back to her and softened. His hand found hers without thinking, and he squeezed it. It was still warm—she was still there. A nuke couldn’t kill her, her husband couldn’t kill her, a damn vertibird crash couldn’t kill her. She was like a goddamn phoenix—getting back up every time. This woman did the impossible. Even as she laid in that hospital bed, Jake could see the strong, steady rise-and-fall of her chest. “She's special.”

“Yes…yes, she is,” Shaun agreed quietly. His own gaze rested on her reverently. Jake didn’t know what to make of their relationship, but he was glad to know that her son saw it too—just how special she was.

“All the more reason to protect her.”

The words cut deep. He wasn’t wrong, and they both knew it. So much of Carmen was taken up protecting everyone else—raiders, super mutants, Deathclaws, and now Gunners. She threw herself into the fire over and over again to keep them safe. It’s what they asked of her—she always answered. This was the first time Jake wondered if they’d asked too much. This was bigger than one person. And as she lay there in a hospital bed—head shaven, peach fuzz growing over the metal bindings on her skull—for the first time, Jake didn’t see the legend—the Sole Survivor of Vault 111. He saw Carmen Sheppard, the battered woman, broken and vulnerable. It wasn’t fair what they asked of her. She didn’t deserve all this.

A long silence stretched between them before Shaun finally spoke.

“Why are you doing this, Mr. Evans? All of this?” He gestured broadly to HQ.

“We're rebuilding.”

“To what end?”

“To give people a better life.”

“You want to help humanity.”

“I suppose. Help people.”

“Why? What do you gain?”

“Better living benefits everyone,” Jake said, just as he’d rehearsed.

“Ah, fancy yourself a philanthropist? Idealistic fool.” Shaun shook his head, pacing in front of her bed. “I'll tell you the same thing I told my mother. You can't rebuild what's dead.”

“Look around! Does this look dead to you?”

Jake pointed to the massive Hangar Bay, turned infirmary. The clinic staff buzzed about, caring for the wounded. Security patrolled the halls. The elevator dinged down the hall and facilities made their rounds, swapping linens and mopping the floors. This place was as alive as the people living there. Nothing about this was dead.

Shaun watched it all coldly. His sharp blue eyes took in every detail. His face lined stoically with age. “No, it doesn't,” he admitted quietly. “It looks like the last gasp—one last push—before its final rest.”

He looked back to his mother’s bed, and Jake squeezed Carmen’s hand reflexively. Her hand didn’t squeeze back.

“You don't know that,” Jake said.

“You're not from here, are you?”

“No, but what's that got to do with—"

“Then you don't know. It's the nature of the Commonwealth. Why it still struggles all these years later. I know because I've seen it with my own eyes. 60 years I've lived here. I've witnessed the rise and fall of countless factions, people united and divided, the swell of their power, their shuddering collapse… War is in their nature, the Commonwealth, its people. You cannot save them from themselves.”

The words echoed in Jake’s mind. Nagged at him. Again and again. Where had he heard that before? You can’t save them from themselves. Why’d it make him feel so ashamed? It made him think of Sanford—how the town had been dying. Staring at Carmen, he couldn't help but feel this pang of guilt. He never meant for this. Any of this.

“You love her, don't you?”

Jake looked up from Shaun, shocked. Was it that obvious? He was at her bedside in the middle of the night, squeezing her hand. Was it the smart thing—to reveal that sorta information to him?

No, but there was no use trying to hide it.

“I do.”

Shaun nodded as if he’d just confirmed his theory. He shifted his weight, as if changing stance. Changing tactics? Then, he stepped closer to his mother’s bedside. His footsteps echoed in the Hangar Bay. When he sat on her bed, it creaked under his weight. He sat across from Jake now, his back to him. His hand rested on his mother’s. Jake watched him squeeze it just as he had, watched his blue eyes examine her sleeping face. Then, he looked over his shoulder to him, and those cold, calculating eyes met his.

“…I'll make you an offer then, Mr. Evans. One I hope you'll take into careful consideration.”

Jake shifted in his chair uneasily. “Alright?”

“When my mother wakes, convince her to come home. To stay in the Institute,” Shaun said. “This war will pass, the Commonwealth has survived worse. Bring her home, and I promise there's a place for you, safe underground. You two can work together, maybe even rebuild once more, once all this passes. But you'll both be safe. And you'll be together.”

Jake blinked rapidly. He…hadn’t been expecting that. But what about Laura? He held his tongue; he couldn't know. Jake would never abandon her, but Shaun couldn’t know that. He tried to keep his face blank, but as Shaun looked at him, he realized he should probably say something. But as he opened his mouth to speak, Shaun held up his hand.

“Think on it. We could do great things together, the three of us. A sort of…family, if you will.”

Jake tried to hide the wave of disgust that rose reflexively up his throat. It was a generous offer—he didn’t know the context. Or did he? Maybe Carmen had told him—or maybe he’d heard their broadcast to Laura? Who knew what the Institute knew about them? And who knew what dangerous game the Director was playing?

Jake nodded slowly. “I'll think on it.”

“Good.” Shaun gave his mother's hand a final squeeze before he stood. “I hope to see her soon. Good night, Mr. Evans.”

“Good night.”

As he watched Shaun walk out of the Hangar Bay, he placed his hand on Carmen’s arm. In the aftermath of the unspoken and the uncertainty of tomorrow, he needed her now more than ever.

Chapter Text

Intracranial pressure.

When swelling of the brain presses too hard against the skull.

They’d had to relieve it. When Carmen sat up and felt the breeze on her head, her stomach sank as she realized exactly how. No…

Jake was still talking, saying something about losing her, but she could barely hear him through the pounding in her ears synchronized with the pounding in her skull. She touched her hair—

“No…no don’t tell me…”

—and it was gone. Just…just peach fuzz.

This couldn’t be happening. It couldn’t be real. This was all just a bad dream, right? She’d wake up and—? She lifted her arm to look at her Pip-Boy, but it wasn’t there. They must have taken it off. Frantically, she searched for it. Under the blankets? On the bedside table?

“What do you need?” Jake asked, standing up to help.

“Mirror. Pip-Boy.” It was hard to talk. It felt like there was an enormous lump in her throat that was impossible to swallow. Her lips stuck together as she spoke. Her mouth felt impossibly dry. “Need to see myself.”

“A-Are you sure?” Jake gave her a look she could only describe as pitying. He pitied her. “That might not be the best idea right now.”

“Jake.” She sharpened her gaze at him.

He gulped and nodded slowly. From the trunk at the foot of her bed, he produced her Pip-Boy. Its screen was dark—powered down. She could see the Hangar Bay ceiling reflect above. She tilted it down to look at herself and…

Saw the naked head and bare face staring back at her.

She startled and dropped it. It fell hard onto her lap. No. No, this couldn’t be real. That wasn’t her. She didn’t recognize the reflection. But some part of her knew better—and that part of her made her grab the Pip-Boy and look again. She touched her face and the ugly, haggard woman in the mirror touched her own. She reached up to the shaved scalp, where little more than peach fuzz grew, and the woman in the reflection did the same. She felt the rough texture of sprouting hair on her head. Felt the rough, metal staples holding her skull in place.

No.

No no no no no.

She felt all strength leave her body. The Pip-Boy fell from her hands as she buried her face in them.

“Oh god…”

She heaved a breath, but it hurt to breathe. She felt a familiar pull at her stomach as her skin stretched against stitches—a sensation that alarmed her in its familiarity. She remembered the surgery—but…her surgical wounds had closed by the time she got back, staples ready for removal. Why did they feel so fresh? She ripped up the bedsheet and the Pip-Boy tumbled from her to the edge of the bed. She clawed the cloth gown up her body, exposing herself, she didn’t care, until she saw the clean line of the scar—and something else—new jagged stitches right beside it.

“No. No no no no.”

“Yeah, Cassandra said…” Jake began, slowly sitting back down. “…When we pulled you from the wreckage…” It was like he spoke underwater, far away and garbled, but she could barely make him out still. He swallowed hard. “We had to…the shrapnel…” He trailed off again. “She wouldn’t…wouldn’t give me the details. I tried but…”

That confirmed it. If there was one thing Cassandra cared about more than treating patients, it was patient confidentiality. Her hands trembled over the surgical site—she’d finally done it. She’d shed that final reminder of Nate—taken back what he’d stolen from her. She’d finally been whole.

And now, just as quickly as she’d regained it, it was gone.

Barren, empty, sickly, ugly.

Her womb, her hair…

What was left to take? It wasn’t enough to take her world and her son. This hellhole had to take her too.

“I know this is a lot to take in,” Jake said, soft and slow. Placating. He was trying to placate her. Like he could smooth over this entire thing with a gentle touch of his hands. She didn’t have the heart to pull away, to shrug him off, to yell at him that she didn’t want honeyed words, she wanted her damn life back. So she just let him place his warm hand on her shoulder. It felt heavy and wrong. She looked up at the dozens of bodies filling the beds of this makeshift infirmary. Everything felt so wrong.

“Just…take some time…” He gingerly grabbed the gown from her and lowered it back over her stomach. “And, well, as for the hair. Here. Theresa wanted you to have this. Guess she made it herself?”

Jake grabbed a knitted beanie from off the bedside table. It was at that moment it occurred to her that they’d all seen her like this. Bald and naked and barren and exposed and they’d all seen her like this. The words kept screaming in her head, over and over again—that they’d all seen her like this—and she simply stared at the beanie Jake offered her—bright blue like her vault suit, with large white beaded lilies embroidered with delicate care.

“Here, try it on.” Jake put it in her hands.

Right. They were still here. Still talking. Mechanically, she raised it up and pulled it snug over her head.

It was soft, warm…and she certainly didn’t need to worry about hat hair… Her fingers ran over the beads at the center of the flowers… A lot of care went into making this…

“There, how’s it feel? Not too tight, is it?”

She shook her head. “It’s nice,” she said, and she forced a smile, for his sake. “Tell her I said thanks.”

“You can tell her yourself, if you’re up for it. C’mon, what do you say? Think you can walk?”

Carmen flexed her toes under the bed sheets. They responded promptly. Alright, a good sign. She swung her legs out from the bed. Jake stood up to help her. She took his hands and he pulled her up. She wobbled.

“Easy.” Jake kept his grip on her and she steadied herself.

It was like she had to remember how to use her legs again. She stood up straighter, until a shot of pain in her abdomen made her double over. Her hand went to the stitches, supporting the site.

“You alright?” he asked.

She waited, focusing on the pain. Temporary and benign, or lingering and dangerous? It dissipated.

She sighed in relief and nodded to Jake. “Fine.”

“Alright, think you can walk?”

She nodded. And without any difficulty, she took a few steps.

They both sighed in relief. “Good,” he said, and he offered her his arm.

She took it for support, then looked to him for guidance.

Jake’s eyes were warm and steady on her. “Let's get you dressed." He guided her to the trunk.

The thought of pulling clothes over the layer of bed-grime clinging to her body disgusted her. "Shower."

"Right, showered, then dressed. I…I can wait outside if…"

As she bent down to grab her things from the trunk, another sharp pain shot through her abdomen. She yelped and cradled her stomach.

"You alright?"

"Yeah, yeah, I just…it's hard to bend." She smiled weakly at Jake. Fuck, this was embarrassing, but…she was in no shape to hold onto her pride. "I…think I'm going to need some help. If…that's alright."

"Yeah, yeah of course, I can—" Jake cleared his throat. "I can do that. No problem. Uh…here let me get that for ya."

He opened the trunk for her and pulled out her clothes. "I made sure to wash them, don't worry. Now come on, and uh… oh!"

Carmen didn't realize why Jake had gone back until he draped the blanket around her, like a cape, and tied the front. There was no longer a breeze up her backside. Ah. Hospital gowns.

He cleared his throat again. "That should uh…keep you covered. Shall we?" With her clothes tucked under one arm, he offered the other arm to her for support. "Don't want you falling."

Damn that southern hospitality.

She smiled weakly and took his arm in hers. They made their way to the showers.

“Darlin', the point of me being here is so that you don't do everything yourself. Now hold onto the handrail and let me help.”

Carmen sighed, giving up. She held onto the handrail as the hot water fell down on them and their completely naked bodies. Jake kneeled down on the ground as she blocked the water with her back. Soap in hand, he lathered, then started on the areas of her body she just couldn't bend to get. Carmen felt his hands run up the overgrown hair of her legs. Her face flushed bright red as she quickly looked to her own hand on the handrail.

“This is humiliating.”

“I'm sorry.”

“No, it's fine. I'm sorry. You're just trying to help. I just…” She huffed. “Definitely not how I pictured our first shower together.”

Jake snorted. “No. Definitely not.”

“I've never felt so ugly in my entire life. I mean…The head. The hair. This.” She gestured towards all the scars on her abdomen. “God, I'm hideous.”

“You're not.” He started on the other leg.

“I am.”

“You're not.”

“Don't lie to me.”

“I'm not—”

“I don't believe you.” She glanced between his legs and…yep, he was very apparently not into her right now. “Bodies don't lie, Jake.”

“I—what do you want from me, darlin'?” He was on his knees in front of her, staring up at her from her sudsy legs, bar of soap in one hand, her leg in the other.

“I just spent 3 weeks in one of them chairs, at your bedside. I'm tired. And I didn't know if or when you'd wake up, and if I'd ever get to tell you—" He stopped himself. Quickly, he averted his gaze. He shook his head and went back to lathering her legs. For a moment, the only sound was the water running from the shower.

“…Tell me what?” Carmen asked, softly, watching him.

“To tell you how I felt. How I really felt.”

“How…do you really feel?”

“Sitting at your bedside…not knowing if you'd make it back…I felt like a fool. The biggest goddamn fool. For thinking we had time. For waiting. I don't…I don't want to wait anymore. I don't…I don't want to risk losing you and never being yours. And I know you need time, I know, I just…” He hugged her thighs and just…held her… In that moment, he looked so scared and small and broken, and she realized how cruel she was being… to do all this to him.

She petted his hair gently. “I'm sorry… Jake, I'm so sorry…”

They stayed like that for a while. The hot shower hit her back. He held her soap-lathered legs, his cheek cradled against her thigh. Her hand petted his hair soothingly.

“Stand up,” Carmen said.

He did. She embraced him. Bare. Skin-to-skin. He's cold—so cold compared to her, who'd been standing in the hot water. She held him tight, hoping to warm him. What she wouldn't give to take some of his pain away…

She could. It’d be easy. She just had to say she loved him, that she chose him, whatever that entailed. White picket fences and basinets—baby bottles and domestic bliss. It didn’t matter if it was true—she just had to say it, and his pain would be gone.

But she couldn't. Not for the sake of it. She wanted it to be real. And whatever this was, she wasn't sure it was real yet, or if it was just what she thought he needed from her. She couldn't give him what he wanted just because she saw it. She needed to know that she wanted it too. Otherwise, it was just acting. And she didn't want to be acting in love with him. She wanted to be in love with him.

She pulled away and held his face in her hands. His stubble was long and rough in her fingers…it'd been too long since he last shaved. He smiled back at her in her hands.

But his smile was sad. He knew. He knew she wasn't ready. Knew she needed more time.

She kissed him all the same. It felt right.

“I'm so sorry,” she said.

“It's not your fault.”

He rubbed her back gently.

“It's not your fault.” He repeated it quietly, soothingly, like hushing a child. His voice was as warm as the water at her back, and for that moment, she truly believed him.

When they’d finished showering, Jake helped her get dressed. When they arrived to the meeting, Aiden’s eyes landed on Jake—specifically, his hair. He seemed very interested in it—and the fact that it was wet—but he said nothing.

After the meeting, she asked Aiden to stay behind.

“Make it quick,” he said, “I don’t have time for anything.”

As everyone else cleared out, Theresa says to grab her when she’s ready to head out.

“I’ll make this quick then.”

She kissed his cheek.

“You kept them safe. Thank you.”

“Tell that to the dead.”

Carmen put a finger to his lips. “Don’t.” She shook her head. “You can’t. Don’t do that to yourself.”

Aiden swatted her finger from his lips. “And where were you, huh? None of this would have…” He tripped over his words, the anger clearly clouding his head. “It should have been me in that vertibird. You should never…”

“I’d do it again,” Carmen said, matter-of-factly. “And I’m sorry, but I’d do it again. Even if I died, I’d—”

Aiden pulled her in and kissed her. It happened so suddenly, she froze. Her lips didn’t move, but his found purchase anyways, molding to hers. It was forceful and hungry and single-minded. And just as quickly as it’d happened, it was over. “You don’t get to die,” he said, his voice low and quiet, his lips just a breath from hers.

Then he pulled away.

Carmen touched her lips. They still felt wet. Did he just…? “…You…” The words were lost to her.

But Aiden couldn’t look at her. He shook his head, walking away. “…I gotta go.”

As the door closed behind him, Carmen stood alone in the meeting room. The words finally formed. “…He kissed me…”

Did that really just happen? She licked her lips and…the taste of cigarettes. He definitely kissed her. But…he’d yelled at her…then kissed her?

Her head ached. She rubbed her forehead, hoping for relief. Too much thinking.

Later. She’d sort this all out later. There was a war now, and they needed a military. Time to find Theresa’s friend…

Chapter Text

The overcast autumn day didn’t ease the burning exertion wrecking Carmen’s body on the road to Diamond City. It was worse than her first days in the Commonwealth—at least then she’d been able to set her own pace. But pressed with urgency and company, she couldn’t afford to slow down. It wasn’t fair—that they’d ask this of her the day she woke up from a 3-week coma. She knew it wasn’t really a request—it was a demand. They needed her to do this—and after 3 weeks of them barely holding it together while she laid comatose—she owed them this.

But goddamn, if the 8-hour hike north didn’t kill her, this migraine would. Her head pounded and throbbed, threatened to break out of its skull. Sweat trailed down her forehead and neck. The overcast sun was too bright, the yellow grass too vivid, the crunch of dirt under her and Theresa’s boots too loud. She could smell every speck of pollen and dust in the air and it was just too damn much.

It didn’t help that she kept seeing raiders or Gunners or something on the distant horizon, but every time she shouldered her rifle and looked through the scope—nothing.

From behind the cover of an overturned cargo freight, she lowered the scope once more. Had Margaret always been this fucking heavy? She felt Theresa’s gaze hot on her as her cheeks burned with embarrassment. “Guess I’m just paranoid.”

“Hey, after everything? Makes sense you’d be jumpy,” Theresa said.

Her Pip-Boy radio crackled loud—too loud—on her wrist. She damn near jumped out of her skin.

“Hey, darlin’,” Jake said. “Just wanted to check in, see how things were going.”

With a huff, she clicked the safety on her rifle and slung it over her shoulder. As if it wasn’t enough to give her a heart attack, now Jake had to remind her about how little progress they’d made. They wouldn’t reach Diamond City ‘til nightfall on a good travel day. Carmen shot a look to Theresa to see if she shared her frustration, but Theresa cocked her head in confusion.

Of course not. Why would Theresa be frustrated by any of this? Spick-and-span, barely breaking a sweat, the only tell of travel on Theresa was the road dust clinging to her perfect little boots. Otherwise, Theresa looked as chill and effortlessly beautiful as ever. Meanwhile, Carmen had to collect her breath just to speak.

“We’re…nowhere near Diamond City… Still hours out.”

“I know you just woke up,” Jake said. “You doing okay? Not too much trouble on the road, right?”

Was she doing okay? Was she doing okay? Cassandra had removed the staples then off she went. She’d needed Jake’s help just to fucking shower. Was she doing okay?

“Fine,” Carmen said.

“You got nothin’ to worry about,” Theresa said. “Keepin’ my eye on her.”

Was she now? Sure didn’t seem that way. Woman’s pace was relentless.

“Alright,” Jake said. “Well, don’t push yourself too hard. You’ve got a spot to rest, right? Maybe Vault 81?”

Wait, that wasn’t a bad idea. That would save them at least an hour. Hell, they could be there in two! Knowing that rest was just around the corner brought desperately needed relief. The internal pressure built up inside of her released in a sigh. “Yes, thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Alright, I’ll leave you to it. I’ll check in again in a couple hours.”

“What are you fussin’ for?” Theresa said. “I got it. Relax.”

“I know, I just—”

“I get it, you’re worried, but you trust me, right? I’ll take care of her. She’ll call you back tonight, after we settle down. Sound good?”

“Yeah…yeah sounds good. Stay safe. And uh… yeah, just…stay safe.”

Jake ended the call.

“I told him before we left that we got this. Ah well, can’t stop him from worryin’.” Theresa shrugged and started walking alongside the railroad tracks again.

Oh c’mon, they’d barely stopped five minutes. Carmen swallowed her exasperated sigh and followed suit. “One of these days he’ll worry himself sick,” she said, trying to keep her breathing and speech even.

“Well, we ain’t there yet, so just take it as it is, yeah? We were all worried. Just glad you’re okay. And you like the hat.” Theresa glanced over at the bright blue beanie on her head, the exact same shade as her vault-suit—that had to be on purpose. Theresa knew how much she cared about appearances. The white beaded lilies embroidered on it seemed somber in the overcast daylight.

Carmen pulled the beanie down to hide more of her bald head. “Thanks.”

Carmen could hear the smile in Theresa’s voice. “Don’t mention it.”

The uncertainty was palpable in the air as they approached the wrought iron fences outside Vault 81. In the fortified trading post, traders and merchants spoke in hushed whispers that fell silent the moment they approached. Their stares cut right through them. She couldn’t make out what they were saying, just the harsh hiss of their speech followed by the even harsher silence. The turrets overhead whirred back and forth on their motors. Carmen half-expected them to aim their barrels down at her with the welcome.

They made it inside the cave and Carmen felt some relief from the prying eyes. She jacked her Pip-Boy into the gate mechanism.

“This is Carmen Sheppard. Coming in for the night.”

She hesitated to press the big red button for a second. What if they didn’t want her? What if she was no longer welcome?

But before she could continue the thought, a familiar voice spoke through the intercom.

“This is Officer Edwards. I’ll let the Overseer know. Welcome back. Austin will be happy to see you.”

The sirens blared in the cave and the yellow emergency lights flashed over and over. God, the sound rattled her whole skull. It’d split any second. The lights were blinding, like needles shoved through her eyes to her brain. She covered her ears and squeezed her eyes shut. Even squeezed shut, the lights flashed behind her eyelids. She could still hear the sirens through her hands.

Theresa said something, but it was muffled. Carmen just shook her head. Not now. She couldn’t right now. Fuck.

She heard the muffled grinding of gears and awful screech of metal as the vault door ground open. She waited for it all to stop, no more lights, no more sound…

She felt Theresa’s hand on her arm and she opened her eyes. Theresa spoke in muffled tones.

“You good?”

Carmen shook her head. No, no she was not good. She was never good, but it didn’t matter. She slowly took her hands off her ears. “I’ll be fine.”

They headed inside.

“The Overseer wants to see you,” Officer Edwards said.

“Right. Ah. Edwards, Theresa. Theresa, Edwards.” Carmen faded back, hoping Theresa would take point in the conversation. Her head still throbbed unbearably and had the vault lights always been this damn bright?

“‘Sup.”

“How’s Mansfield?”

“He’s good,” Theresa said. “Taken to Facilities like a fish to water.”

“Good. Tell him we miss him. Things aren’t the same here.”

“They never are,” Carmen said quickly. She just wanted to get inside and crash. “Good talking with you, Edwards.”

She started to walk past, and Theresa followed, but not a few steps away, she felt Edwards’s hand grab her arm.

“Hey. Uh. Before you go…”

Fuck. Carmen rolled back onto her heels and turned to him with a pleasant, even smile. Of course, whatever he needed…

Edwards looked at her nervously. “This war business… I’m sure that’s what the Overseer wants to see you about, but…between you and me…”

Right. The war. “…It’s south for now. We’re containing it as best as we can,” Carmen said.

“What do they want?”

Wonderful. Questions she didn’t know the answer to. “I don’t know. Be ready for anything.”

Edwards nodded gravely and let her go.

They headed to the Overseer’s office. Overseer McNamara wanted all sorts of answers she didn’t have—where exactly the Gunners were, how many, what they wanted… Theresa must have been able to tell she was struggling, because she jumped in to take point on the conversation. Murkwater, Quincy, Poseidon Energy...a battalion, several squads, hundreds, and they were employing more in the Commonwealth—supermutants, raiders, killer robots… What they wanted was anyone’s guess—no formal declaration. They were capturing territory, attempted to nuke the Plaza, and were bombing roads, bridges, trade routes…

By the time they exited, Carmen’s skull felt like it would split any second. She swore she could hear the thrumming of electricity in the lights and hissing of pipes in the walls. The ambient chatter of the vault’s dwellers echoed off the metal walls and the bony cage of her skull, and she wanted nothing more than to lie down in a dark, quiet room and not speak to anyone for the next week. But, as they exited the security office outside the Overseer’s, she saw a familiar blonde head of hair waiting for them outside. Austin.

“Hey, bud,” Carmen said, a thin smile on her face.

“Whoa…” Austin stared at her. “What happened to your head?”

Carmen forced herself to maintain her smile. “I got a haircut. You don’t like it?”

“No.”

Could always count on kids to be honest. “Me neither,” Carmen said.

“Why’d you do that?” Austin asked.

“Bad hair day. Shaved it all off.”

“That was dumb.”

“It was. That’s why I have the hat.”

“I liked your old hair better,” Austin said.

“Me too,” Carmen said.

“It’ll grow back,” Theresa said. “Just takes a bit.”

“Austin, Theresa. Theresa, Austin.”

“‘Sup,” Theresa said.

“Are you from the Commonwealth too?” Austin asked.

“Born and raised,” Theresa said.

“So how long are you staying? Is there really a war? Are the Gunners back?”

At least these were questions she could answer. “Just for the night. Yes. And yes. But don’t worry, they’re waaaaay down south. They won’t make it up here. Besides, you’ve got all those fortifications now.”

“I heard they have a ton of soldiers. They’re kicking your butts. Do you think we’ll fight them?”

“No. Because you’re a kid, and you’re safe here. In the vault.”

“They made it in before.” Austin shuffled in place for a moment before he started walking to the door. “Hey, follow me. I wanna show you something.”

Carmen looked at Theresa, unsure of how to proceed. Exhaustion weighed on Carmen, and her head throbbed, but Theresa nodded her forward, letting her know she was good to go. Fuck. She couldn’t just tell the kid no… “Yeah, okay. But let’s make it quick, okay? I’ve been traveling all day.”

“Uh-huh,” Austin replied absentmindedly. He led them deeper into the vault, down a familiar corridor—the reactor. “You have to promise not to tell Granny.”

“I won’t,” Carmen said. Probably just wanted to show off a cap stash or something.

They made it to the reactor and Austin went inside the Vault-Tec pod. He pulled a container out from underneath the table. Here it was now. Carmen fully expected to see a pile of caps or candy. What she hadn’t expected was for Austin to carefully pull out a 10 mm semi-automatic Colt pistol.

“Where did you find that?” Theresa said slowly.

“The Gunners, when we were cleaning up the vault.” Austin said, holding the pistol in both his hands like a toy gun. “I grabbed it when no one was looking. But I don’t know how to shoot.” He looked to Carmen. “I have to be ready for next time. Can you teach me?”

Carmen saw Austin’s earnest desire to learn. Keeping an even expression and a soft tone, she held out her hand. “Give it to me.”

Austin handed her the gun.

First, check the safety. It was on. Then, check the ammo. She popped off the magazine and… Bad. Bad bad bad. Fully loaded. She ejected the magazine and held it in her other hand.

“Hey!” Austin tried to grab for it, but Carmen turned her body away, keeping it out of his reach. “What are you doing?!”

“You never store a gun loaded.” Carmen said. She tucked the gun into the back of her belt.

“Hey, give it back! It’s mine!”

“Look, Austin, look at me. How old are you?”

“I’m 12,” Austin said with a huff.

“12. You’re too young.”

“I’m not. I can do it.”

“Look at me. Your only job is to be a kid, okay? This isn’t a toy, it’s not a game. It’s war, and—”

“I’m not stupid. I’m not a baby. They killed Ms. Mansfield and Mr. Miller and Mr. Harley. What if they come back? What if they go after Gran? Or Erin? I won’t hide again.”

“…Hey, uh, Chief? The kid’s got a point.”

Carmen looked at Theresa, dumbfounded.

Theresa turned to Austin. She crossed her arms in front of her chest. “Must have felt pretty bad, hiding when all the fighting happened, huh?”

The boy nodded gravely. “It did. I don’t want to do that again. I want to fight.”

Carmen leaned into Theresa and whispered in her ear. “He’s too young. He’s a kid.”

But Theresa just shrugged. “I was only a year older when my mom taught me.”

“Really?”

“Yep. But I was cooking up stinkbombs long before that.” She winked at her.

“Far cry from stinkbombs…” Carmen drawled.

Theresa shrugged again. “Let the kid learn. If you don’t wanna teach him, I can. You look beat.”

“I…I am. My head’s been pounding all day.”

“Here, give it to me,” Theresa took the gun and the magazine from her. “I’ll teach the kid. You get some rest.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. I got it.”

But Carmen wasn’t so sure. She kept thinking about a bullet ricocheting off the metal walls surrounding them and shooting his eye out. What if he got hurt? What would they tell Dr. Penske? But, she was too tired to argue. “Alright. Austin, be good.” She went to ruffle his hair, but he pushed her hand away.

“I’m not a kid.”

Carmen sighed and crouched to his level. He pointedly looked at the ground next to her. She knew he didn’t want to hear it, but she had to say it anyways. “You’ll always be a kid to me. The sweet kid who gave me a tour. You’ll get it when you’re older.”

“I’m old enough,” Austin said.

“Hey, listen to Theresa, okay? She’s a crackshot.”

Austin nodded solemnly.

As she stood up and left, she heard Theresa start to give instructions. “Alright this is how you load it. This is the safety. Always make sure it’s on. Only turn it off when you wanna shoot something…” As she headed down the halls to her room, their voices grew quieter and her doubts louder. What if they got in trouble? What if Austin got hurt? What if Theresa got hurt? Had she made a mistake?

It was all too much, and her head hurt too badly to think straight.

As soon as Carmen entered her room, she dropped her backpack, stripped her armor, and flopped onto the bed. It wasn’t her problem anymore. One more obligation until she could shoot some Med-X and pass the fuck out—call Jake.

She clicked the dial on her Pip-Boy to cycle through the too fucking bright menus. HQ Radio. Jake. She closed her eyes and waited, listening to the static.

“Hey,” Jake said. His voice crackled loudly through the static, and Carmen had to turn down the radio just to keep her skull from splitting. “You’re calling early. Everything alright?”

Early? Carmen tried to crack open an eye, hoping that squinting at the Pip-Boy might block enough of the light to peek at the time…but everything was too blurry to make out. Her lips and tongue felt heavy as she spoke. “…what time is it?”

“‘Bout half past 6. Spooked me. Thought it was much later with you calling.”

What was he getting at? Normally, she took intuitive leaps of social logic. Now, trying to piece together the conversation felt like wading through thick muck. Her mind dragged from one murky thought to the next. He wasn’t expecting her to call now…because…? It…wasn’t the normal time she called… When did she normally call…? At…the end of the day…the travel day…settling into bed…like she was now, but…not like now because…it was normally late in the evening. It was dinner time now. That’s what he was getting at. If she called him while he was working, it meant he’d worked late into the night—lost track of time… but not this time…

“…Right…” The words left her lips slowly. She could hear them so loudly in her own ears. “…Sorry…wasn’t thinking. We don’t have to talk…was just returning your call….”

“You make it to Diamond City?”

Why’d he have to remind her? “…no. Stopped in 81. Good call.”

“Yeah, well, you did spend 3 weeks in a hospital bed. Makes sense you’d be tired.”

“Yeah… My head’s just…pounding. It’s right behind my eyes. Hard to think straight…”

“You call Cassandra?”

“No, it’s fine…” Carmen said. “Just a migraine, I think. Gotten them before. Normally stress. Been a while…”

“I heard coffee helps.”

“Maybe. I might just take some Med- X and pass out. Everything hurts.”

“Oh, well, yeah, I guess it’s been a long day for you. Just woke up and all…”

Something was wrong. She could tell from his tone. He was upset. But…another throb of her skull hit her. Her back ached. Free from their boots, her feet swelled, ankles pushing at the cuffs of her vault-suit. Her shoulders felt so tight that even holding the Pip-Boy up to talk ushered screams of protest and threats of sprain. She just couldn’t think straight. Her eyelids felt so heavy; her lips felt so heavy. Talking was hard. She just wanted to sleep…

He’d probably hate her for it, but…

She couldn’t ask him what was wrong—couldn’t talk him through his feelings—couldn’t shoulder that right now. He’d have to figure whatever it was out on his own.

“Yeah. Good night, Jake.”

“Good night, darlin’. I—uh, sleep well.”

She hung up and the silence rang louder than his voice had. She could hear the hissing of gas through the pipes in the walls, the distant footsteps of folks leaving the dining hall, the scratching of a broom on the floor from the other side of the vault. She could hear her own breath—each slow hiss of air in and out of her nostrils—the sharp rustling of her bedsheets and the creak of metal as she sat up slowly. Her leather bag squeaked loudly on the linoleum as she dragged it on the floor closer to her, and its contents rustled loudly as she dug through it. Med-Kit. Med-Kit… There. She pulled out dose of Med-X. Finally, time for some fucking sleep.

When Carmen woke up, she was thirsty as all hell. The vault was silent, and the lights dim. She checked her pip-boy and her eyes protested the bright light. God, that hurt. She squinted at the tiny clock at the top of the screen. 12:12 AM.

Water. Bathroom. She got up. Fuck, Theresa was here. She saw the woman curled up on a cot next to the bed. When did she come in? Had that cot always been there? Fuck, didn’t matter. Bathroom. She headed out the vault door and felt her stomach start swimming. Damn, must be really dehydrated—nausea. She licked her lips and felt her dry tongue pass over cracked skin. Very dehydrated. Well, fixed soon enough.

She headed downstairs to the bathroom. No light, fuck that. The vault door closed behind her and she turned on the faucet. She washed her face, hoping the cool water would help center her. It didn’t. The churning in her stomach grew more violent and her throat burned. Now or never, she cupped her hands and started gulping down water.

The first handful of water was a cool relief on her burning mouth and throat…but the second? Third? The bubbling in her stomach intensified, bubbling up her throat and…

She caught the first gag in her throat—god, no. No no no no no. She beelined for the toilet and…

Retching. Bright yellow, sour, acidic bile spilled from her lips into the pristine steel bowl, and Carmen felt the tears welling in her eyes. God, it wasn’t enough to have her hair gone and her body weak and her head pounding, her stomach had to give out on her too. So much for all that fucking water.

She heaved again and fuck she hated it, hated this, hated everything. This wasn’t fucking fair. How come Lupe could get off without so much as a scratch when she—

She heaved again. Damn it.

She cried into the toilet bowl and she was sure she looked and sounded as pathetic as she felt, nose dripping with vomit-laced mucous and make-up-smudged face ruddy with tears and exertion. She just wanted it all to stop. Maybe this was all just a bad dream. She’d wake up and the Gunners would be gone and she wouldn’t be sick and she could be strong and beautiful and not this sickly, disgusting creature lurching over a wretched toilet bowl.

As her stomach settled, the heaving stopped. Her breathing slowed and slowly her wits returned to her. She grabbed some toilet paper and cleaned herself up. With a flush, she disposed of the evidence. Assuming no one had heard her at this hour, no one would know about this mishap—save at least a small part of her dignity while parading around, exhausted and disfigured. Still, she didn’t wake up from this nightmare, and as she washed up a final time, she saw the dark shadow of herself in the mirror and knew there was no waking.

This was real—and people needed her now more than ever.

She couldn’t afford to be sick—not with the Gunners already claiming their southern border.

She headed back to bed, and as she laid down in that pitch black room, grateful Theresa was still sound asleep, she wondered how long she could hold herself together? How long could she hide the pieces already falling off her?

And if she survived this, how much of her would be left to fix?

Chapter Text

As they approached Diamond City, Carmen and Theresa noticed more people than usual in the outer streets. Alleyways sheltered the odd tent or sleeping bag. The closer they got to the stadium, the more tents and people. When they reached the pavilion outside the gate, it was a swarm. Frayed cloth tents crowded the entrance, housing displaced refugees—young, old, families, children. The stench was overwhelming. There was no clean water outside the gate and no way to dispose of waste than to toss it. Carmen recognized the open door of the Nightingales. The doctors flocked among their patients. They passed one on their way to the gate, attending to a little boy clutching his stomach and rocking back and forth in place. There were no other adults near him. The Nightingale looked up as she passed, and Carmen saw her reflection in the green lenses of their goggles. She didn’t recognize it at first, the pale, sickly visage staring back at her. By the time she recognized her own reflection, she realized she was staring directly into the eyes of the Nightingale staring back at her. She quickly looked away.

She felt death floating in the air of the camp and all eyes on her as she approached the gate. Coughs and wheezes of the sick fell to deathly silence as she passed. Orphan cries cut short to whispers.

“That’s her?”

“Yeah, that’s her.”

“You sure? Doesn’t look like—”

“It’s her alright. Vault-suit.”

“Who’s that—?”

“—started this whole thing.”

“—give her a piece of my mind.”

“—knew it was too good to—”

“—a fuckin’ snake. That’s what she is. Walkin’ around like—”

Each accusation cut into her. If she could stop to help them, she would. Get them food and water and safe passage.

Safe. Like anywhere was safe. The Nightingales were helping them. She needed to end this war. That’s why they were here. To find someone that could end this.

She felt a hand touch hers and nearly jumped out of her skin. Theresa held it and leaned in. “We’ll sort this out. Focus, and don’t let ‘em get to ya. They don’t know the story.”

They don’t know the story – how this all started over some stupid crush. How she wasn’t some grand leader, she just knew how to say what people wanted to hear. How the whole reason she’d started this was to make a better life for herself and her son. When they’d lost Old Paul, she thought that’d be the last. She’d recognized her responsibility, she’d avenged his death. His blood on her hands was scrubbed clean in Berman’s. She’d made things better for people – committed to them.

But now?

The pavilion outside of Diamond City swarmed with her people, now refugees, and no amount of pretty words or pleasant conversation could bring back what they’d lost.

She’d never scrub her hands clean of this.

As they approached the closed gate, two Diamond City Security officers stood outside it. They didn’t seem to notice their approach over their own conversation.

“I’m just saying, he could say something,” the officer said. “It’s the bridge over the Charles.”

“Who blows up a bridge anyways?”

“The Gunners.”

“Really? Why they do that?”

“Who knows. Already taken over Quincy. Warwick. Hyde Park. Murkwater.”

“Geez. Who pissed them off?”

“The Vault Dweller.”

“What? The one at Home Plate? The pretty one.”

“That’s the one.”

“Damn. Just my luck.”

“Pretty ones — always trouble, eh?”

They laughed lightly, then slowly stopped upon seeing Carmen and Theresa standing directly in front of them. They stared at each other. In the past, Carmen might make some flirty joke to ease the tension. She could play to the attraction, get the guards on her good side. But right now? Her head hurt, her legs ached, and the stares at her back convinced her someone was gonna knife her any second.

“Open the gate,” she said. “We have business.”

“Says who?”

Carmen’s stomach sank. There was no way—she knew she could hardly recognize her own reflection, but surely—

They looked genuinely annoyed. They weren’t joking. They really didn’t recognize her. She lived here—had a house and everything! They were just talking about her! Her face burned with shame, but she couldn’t find words. She just stood there, staring back at them.

“You don’t recognize the Sole Survivor?” Theresa said. She rolled her eyes. “That’s Carmen Sheppard. And I’m Theresa Fortunato. We’re here to see The Ron, and Carmen has a house here. So let us in already.”

The guards looked at her again, clearly trying to piece together if it was really her or someone else wearing a Vault 111 jumpsuit.

“Uh…yeah…” The guard said in slow realization. “The mayor wants to see you.”

Of course he did. Everyone wanted to see her.

As the gate opened, Theresa didn’t let go of her hand. Carmen let her hold it, but she couldn’t feel the warmth over the cold pit lodged in her stomach.

They really didn’t recognize her. The pretty vault dweller. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end, unprotected and bare. The only thing protecting her head was the thin blue beanie. It felt like everyone could see right through it to the scarred skull layered in peach fuzz underneath.

They stepped into the elevator, and as the metal doors closed, Carmen saw her reflection. As the elevator hummed to life, she stared at it. She still didn’t recognize the woman staring back at her. Her brown skin was pale with sickness. Her skeletal body looked like it’d snap in a stiff breeze. The beautiful brown curly hair that once framed her face was gone, and a scar lined her throat where she’d been intubated. The woman she saw had sharp cheekbones and a large forehead. Her wine red lipstick only drew attention to the pallor of her skin. The dark circles under her eyes showed through the make-up. Her brown eyes didn’t glitter in the light, warm and inviting— they were cold, dull, and flat.

It wasn’t enough to lose her son, the world she knew, the future she carved for herself, or her goddamn hair. She had to lose everything – her reputation, her health, her-goddamn-self. She didn’t recognize this body, she didn’t recognize this person, she didn’t recognize this life.

The elevator dinged. The doors opened. Theresa dropped her hand.

“You ready?”

Geneva sat at the desk in front of Mayor McDonough’s office, filing paperwork. Her heart pounded. She wasn’t herself anymore. Her ears rang. She wasn’t herself anymore and she had to face McDonough. Her legs wobbled in place. The same McDonough she’d once sweet-talked into letting her into Diamond City and giving her the key to Kellogg’s. She felt the world start to spin, and in that moment, she felt herself drift from the pain threatening to buckle her. She wasn’t herself anymore…but right now, she didn’t want to be. Herself hurt too much. From the back of her mind, she watched herself nod to Theresa. “Let’s go.”

“—the level of disruption to the markets! Homeless camped outside our gates—demanding entry!” McDonough paced back and forth in his office, waving his hands as though they couldn’t contain his outrage.

“So, let them in,” Theresa said.

“Let them in? Let them in? Who’s going to feed them? House them? Diamond City doesn’t have the room!” He threw his hands up dismissively. “How long before they demand entry? We can’t even send them north—to your settlements” McDonough pointed his finger at Carmen. “—because of the bridge! What if they had hit the city?”

“The Gunners don’t care about your city,” Carmen said cooly.

“What do they care about? Huh? What do they want?”

She didn’t know. But she couldn’t tell him that. He was on the attack. She couldn’t show weakness.

“If they wanted your city, they’d have taken it. The Nightingales are taking care of the refugees.”

“The bridge—"

“Will be fixed. You have my word.”

“Your word?” McDonough scoffed.

“My word,” Carmen said. She took out a leatherbound journal from her breast pocket and scribbled.

How much did a bridge cost? If one cap was equal to a bottle of water and a bridge cost a billion dollars… This likely wouldn’t be a permanent bridge. Why build a permanent bridge in the middle of a war? They’d just bomb it again. But, damages. This was a show of faith. It wasn’t about the caps—it was about the apology. They didn’t need to make any more enemies. She settled on a number—100,000 caps in three installments over 90 days, one installment every 30 days. 10,000 caps up-front.

“You can expect a courier.” She handed him the piece of paper, then slung her backpack around her front. Where was that coffee tin?

McDonough stopped. He looked at the number. He looked at her. He adjusted his tie and cleared his throat. “Well, this is…certainly a step in the right direction. It does say 10,000—”

“—caps upfront,” Carmen finished. She pulled out the coffee tin and handed it to him. “Open it.”

McDonough opened the tin. He stared at the contents—caps packed inside so tightly they didn’t even rattle when shook. He looked up at Carmen. “I’ll, uh—have to verify—”

“It’s 10,000. Exactly.” Carmen was stone-faced. “We deeply apologize for the inconvenience this existential threat to the Commonwealth has caused you, Mr. Mayor. Now, if you’ll excuse us, we have business elsewhere in the city.”

“W-Where, exactly?”

“Good afternoon, mayor.” Carmen and Theresa left.

“Slimeball,” Theresa muttered as they rode the lift down to the city.

Carmen stared down to the city below. Smoke and steam rose from the chimneys of scrap metal homes. The markets were empty — caravans must be disrupted.  “He’s looking after his own. His interests,” Carmen said. “As he should.”

“Diamond City’s got plenty of room. Plenty of food and water. Plenty of work. Could at least let people set up inside the walls.” Theresa leaned her back against the railing next to Carmen and crossed her arms.

Carmen said nothing. It didn’t matter what she thought. They had work to do.

As they approached the Ron’s office, Carmen noticed the new security outside his door. Good. Even if a few Gunners slipped past the gates, at least the Ron had some sort of protection. No more walking into a crime scene.

“Knock knock…” Carmen said as they walked in.

“Hello to you.” The Ron stood on the lower floor of his office. He gestured the two of them down. When they reached him, he held out his palm. “Give me some skin, sugar. Wait, nah, bring it in.” The Ron pulled her into a hug and held her. “Lookin’ good, lookin’ fresh.” His words were jovial, but his hands at her back were careful, gentle, as if he feared he might break her.

“Don’t lie to me. I know how I look,” Carmen said quietly. It was only half as awful as she felt. She hugged him back. She’d forgotten how nice it felt, to be held by someone who cared. The Ron was soft and warm and big enough to envelop her, like a big blanket on a cold winter night. She settled into his arms.

The Ron rested his cheek on the top of her beanie. “Chin up, sugar. Had us worried there. Just glad you’ve got nine lives. Now, c’mon, show me that smile.”

Carmen pulled back and forced a smile for him.

The Ron booped her nose. “That’s my girl. Now.” He pulled away. “What can the Ron do for you lovely ladies?”

“Info,” Theresa said. “Salvador. Find anything?”

The Ron whistled low and headed to his terminal. “Got a reputation that spooks lawmen and hooligans alike. You don’t go messing with him, that’s for sure. Been operating for a good…oh…20 years, at least. He comes and goes. Hard to say if it’s even the same person—lotta stories. But he did pop up again…hang on…” The keyboard buttons clicked loudly as he navigated his terminal. “Ah, there. Sources say he’s leading a group of freedom fighters at Cutler’s Bend.”

“Cutler’s Bend?!” Carmen blurted. Damn it. They’d just got here. Now they had to go all the way back? She’d barely made it here, and it’d taken twice as long. How was she supposed to do it again? Why couldn’t he be somewhere easy? Here in the city, Hangman’s Alley, hell, Boston Library would be better than this shit. But no, after coming all this way, they learn that they would have been better off searching around their own goddamn base.

“Hey, easy. We know where he is now,” Theresa said, putting a hand on her arm.

Carmen shrugged her off. Even the light touch hurt. “Easy for you to say. You’re not the one—” But Carmen stopped herself. Her head throbbed and her body ached from yesterday’s travel. Muscles screamed in protest after weeks of disuse. The pain wasn’t Theresa’s fault. They’d had no way of knowing where this Salvador was. He could have just as easily been on the other side of the Charles. At least, now, they knew, and they could go right to him instead of wasting time searching. She shook her head, trying to shake some sanity back into herself. “Come on, we’re losing daylight.”

She watched Theresa and Ron exchange a look. She was in too much pain to care. She was too ashamed to apologize for her outburst, or even say goodbye, so she just left. Theresa would follow.

They arrived at Cutler’s Bend to a bustle of activity. Structures built of wood and scrap encircled a camp of ragtag soldiers. There were no clear uniforms, no standardized weapons or armor – it was as if some of the displaced settlers had donned whatever leathers and pipe pistols they’d had and gathered here. As they approached the camp, no guards stopped them. Carmen had expected resistance, but they seemed too focused, each with a singular job to do, scrambling to and from the different scrap buildings with a sense of urgency. It was chaotic, but at the center of all the chaos stood one man, perfectly still. He wore a brown leather flight jacket and plain clothes underneath. His stance was tall and unnaturally straight, and there was the air of something…different about him.

“That’s him,” Theresa said. “That’s Salvador.”

He’d heard them. Somehow, through all the noise of the camp, he’d heard them. His eyes shifted and locked onto hers. His face bore no expression – steady and stern. His eyes were sharp – one black, one gold with a scar cutting down it. Carmen froze like prey. What if he could see her – really see her – see the filth and the weakness and the shame? Maybe this was a mistake – Carmen couldn’t convince him like this – pain splitting her skull and naked head hidden.

But before Carmen could stop her, Theresa waved him down. “Sal!”

Shit, shit, no backing out now. Adopt that signature charming smile, walk with confidence and ease.

Theresa and Carmen joined him at the camp’s center. Theresa made the introductions, pleaded their case. All the while, Carmen kept that charming smile. She could do this—she could charm anyone.

But what if she couldn’t?

Slowly, Salvador walked around her. She felt his eyes on her, hot like a spotlight. She met his gaze evenly, carefree smile twitching slightly. His eyes burned into hers, and for long, silent moments, he assessed her. She wanted to look away, to hide, she didn’t want anyone to look at her this closely. It felt as though every part of her was flattened between the slides of a microscope, and as his lens narrowed in, she found herself defenseless. Before the crash, she could obfuscate, flash a dazzling smile with a flirty remark to get them hot under the collar, then back off. But now? The beanie hiding her head felt scratchy and wrong — she couldn’t deflect— she had nothing to deflect with. She tried to stand perfectly still, but everything hurt — her head and her spine and her legs and her heart — she couldn’t stop the faint trembling of her legs that threatened to drop her any minute. It was too much to travel half-way across the Commonwealth and back in her state — they asked too much of her.

All she could do was let him examine every chip in the mask she’d so delicately crafted. She felt as though his sharp gaze laid every mistake and misstep bare. He circled her silently. The only sound was the forest floor crunching beneath his boots. As much as she cried in her mind for Theresa to break the tense silence, her pleas went unheard.

Finally, he stopped circling. He stood at her back. She stood completely still. She couldn’t look at him.

Finally, he spoke.

“No,” Salvador said.

“No?!” Theresa cried. “What do you mean, “no”?!”

“No, I will not join you. She does not have the capability to lead a war, and even less capability to win it.”

“Oh c’mon, Sal. You can’t tell that just by lookin’ at her.”

“I can tell many things by observation. For example, how she holds herself, her demeanor, her avoidance… I can tell that she does not have the resolve required.”

“You don’t know her. Not like I do. And yeah, she’s not at her best right now—she was in a crash, okay? It was a whole thing. But this is it. This is her, the Sole Survivor. C’mon, you gotta have heard of her.”

“Stories say much but tell little.”

Carmen still did not look at him, speaking to the ground. “I survived doomsday. I’ve led people this far. They need me, and I have a responsibility. We need your help. It’s up to you whether you give it, but we’re fighting this war, with or without you.”

“Without me, you will lose. Many will die. You among them.”

“We’ll die fighting. We’ll die giving everything we had to protect our way of life—to protect all the progress we’ve made and all the lives we’ve changed. We owe them that. The Commonwealth deserves that.”

“No. The Commonwealth requires balance.

“A subjugated Commonwealth is anything but.”

“You tip the scales.”

“No, we are an extra set of weights—we add to the balance. The Gunners are an outside force—invading.”

“The Gunners have long operated in the Commonwealth. Your siege of their HQ created a power vacuum. The scales tipped in your favor—this is the equal and opposite response.”

“They’ve bombed the bridge to Diamond City—you think that’s balance? A Commonwealth quartered?”

“No, but neither is rapid growth. The inflation could not hold in perpetuity.”

“Not like this. If a bubble’s gonna burst—let it burst on something else. A famine. We can deal with that—plan, prepare, provide relief. But this? There’s no plan, no relief. We can only fight.”

“In your current state, you are incapable of winning.”

“Then make me capable. I’ll be whoever you need me to. Make me the leader I need to be—the one that pushes the Gunners out, that sees the Commonwealth through this. Just help us.”

Salvador looked to Theresa, then back to Carmen. His face remained painfully stoic; Carmen didn’t know his tells. For a moment, she feared he’d say no – what would that mean for them? Were they really doomed to fail?

Finally, Salvador spoke. “I do not provide my help to unworthy causes. Prove yourself. Follow.”

Carmen looked to Theresa for help – but Theresa ushered her on. How was she supposed to prove herself – she was unworthy. She was a shell of a person. He’d seen her weakness. She couldn’t hide it in this state. She was running on empty. But still, he demanded she follow. How was she supposed to prove herself when everything hurt so damn bad?

Damn it he was just walking away!

There wasn’t time to question. Her legs wobbled. She pushed after him.

Chapter Text

When freedom fighters trickled into HQ, Jake knew it was time to keep his eye on the hall to the Comm Room. Needed to catch Carmen as she came in. Maybe it was just how dangerous traveling was or leftover nerves from her stint in the hospital, but he was anxious to see her. About an hour later, he got a call on the Department Heads’ channel. “Carmen Sheppard approaching HQ. Meet in the Conference Room in T-30. Over and out.”

She entered the hall with Theresa and a large, imposing man. His rigid posture and cold demeanor contrasted with the softness of his worn leather flight jacket and patchy clothes. Could this be the contact Theresa talked about? Their military advisor? The latter two broke off, presumably to get him settled in before the meeting. Carmen kept walking towards the Comm Room. “Oh, hey!” Jake waved to her. “You’re back! How’d it—?”

…and she turned the corner and walked right past him. What? Was she ignoring him? He was so taken aback he just stood there for a moment. Then, he realized she was still walking away and jogged to catch up to her.

He jogged down the hall and up the stairs to her room, landing right in-step with her. “How’d it go? You find someone?” He expected to see her face brighten as she saw him, but Carmen didn’t even look at him as she continued up the stairs.

“Yep, that’s why we’re meeting.” Like it was obvious. Like he was bugging her. Had she been ignoring him?

But, that couldn’t be right. Carmen was always happy to see him. He could talk to her when no one else could, calm her down when she got overwhelmed, put a smile on her face with some stupid joke or kind word.

“Well, that’s great. Good work, darlin’. Knew you would.” He kept following her up the stairs, down the hall, all the way to her door. She tried to open it…but it was locked. Of course it was locked. She always locked it when she was gone. She huffed and threw her bag around her front. Her whole body tilted at the weight of it. Jake heard her rustle through its contents, swearing under her breath.

“Can’t find your keys? Here, I got it.” Jake fiddled through his key ring to the shiny gold key at the end, number 111. This might be the first time he’d actually used it, come to think of it. Carmen’d never given it to him, but, well after seeing Aiden had one…just seemed silly for him not to have it. Something could go wrong with the plumbing or the power, after all! He needed access as much as any other department head!

“Thank you,” Carmen muttered as he opened the door to her room. She pushed through the door like she couldn’t get inside fast enough. As soon as she was in, she retreated to her bedroom and shut the door behind her. Jake heard the thunk of her bag hit the bed, her rapid footsteps, and the shifting of hangers and drawers.

“So, how’d it go? What’s he like? Did I hear right about Diamond City? Something about reparations?”

“We need the bridge,” Carmen said through the door. “And we need friends.”

“Friends?” Jake said. “What you mean, friends?”

“Close the door.”

She waited, listening to him walk across the room and close the door to her apartment, before continuing. “People don’t like us, Jake. Think the whole thing is our fault. It is our fault. We need to fix it.”

“Well, we are, aren’t we? I don’t exactly see them fighting the Gunners.”

“They bombed the bridge. Refugees outside the gates. Even more dead, I’m sure. Good people, Jake, who came because we asked them to—offered them a place to call home. Now they’re targets. You should have seen the coast guard tower, over by Egret. Even more dead after that.”

“What do you mean?”

“We took it. Theresa and I and Salvador’s group of freedom fighters. They’re just a bunch of refugees like the rest of ‘em, but they don’t want to die outside the gates, they want to die fighting.”

“Oh yeah, a couple of ‘em have already made it here. Should we expect more of ‘em then?”

“No. That’s what’s left.”

“What?”

“That’s what’s left, Jake. Of Salvador’s Freedom Fighters. Had fifteen when we started. Down to three.”

“My god. What happened?”

“I did.”

The freedom fighters were spread out among the brush near the coast guard tower. The Gunners were still setting up fortifications. They were distracted, only three on patrol.

Carmen aimed the Deliverer and shot the nearest one.

Two on patrol.

“Grab him,” Carmen said, but Salvador and Theresa already grabbed each arm and dragged him into the brush cover.

 Soon the patrol was dealt with — three less Gunners to worry about. It was now or never, so Carmen called it. “Open fire!”

Carmen knew wasteland skirmishes. Raiders scrambled, cursed, took pot-shots. Super Mutants ate bullets to charge you. Beasts were just trying to survive. Hell, even the Gunners she fought before used trivial tactics—throw a few conscripts in the direction of the gunshots and take pot-shots from cover.

This wasn’t a wasteland skirmish.

The pops of pipe pistols from the brush were deafened by the warble of electromagnetic gunfire. It came in waves. Each wave decimated the landscape. One shot from an induction rifle splintered the tree she was taking cover behind, and that’s when the bone-chilling reality washed over her. They were outmatched.

“Flush ‘em out!” The Gunner captain yelled.

Yes, they couldn’t aim at what they couldn’t see. They’d have to get closer, get out from that damn coast guard tower, then they could take them. This is exactly what she’d wanted.

“Grenade!”

What?

Theresa caught the grenade hurdling toward them and threw it back to the Gunners. It exploded mid-air into blinding, hot plasma.

“Go, go, go!” Salvador yelled. “Charge them!”

Carmen watched as the freedom fighters rushed in, and she watched herself run in with them. Plasma erupted behind, to-the-side, in front of them. Some stumbled and fell. Some never made it out of the brush, but she made it in the building — her, Salvador, three others…

It was a fight for the tower now. If they controlled the tower, they controlled the point —take it and hold it. It was the only place safe right now. Plasma grenades erupted outside. Coil guns boomed around them.

Two fighters dropped beside her.

Shit. She shot a Gunner on the ground floor. Salvador shot the one upstairs.

There was more gunfire outside. Then, there was silence.

It was the sort of silence that fell over a grave.

“This isn’t like anything we’ve fought before Jake. They have tactics, training, and weapons—my god those weapons.”

“You said it’s a coil gun?”

“My guess. Here. See for yourself.”

Carmen opened the door to her bedroom and handed him the new Gunner standard issue with an unloaded cartridge. It was a shiny grey metal, some sort of alloy—titanium if he had to guess. It was rugged, with a ceramic and polymer base and a spiraling coil at the barrel. Inside was a 2mm EM cartridge. On the sides were vents, for heat dissipation, if Jake had to guess – the amount of heat that came off this thing had to be massive.

“I remember Aiden talking about new weapons,” Jake said. “—but we never managed to get our hands on one.”

“I watched it splinter a tree in front of me. If it could do that to a tree, what about walls? People?”

“Blow clean through ‘em,” Jake said.

“Nothing but mist,” Carmen agreed.

“My god…”

Jake stared at the gun in his hand. Less than a day ago, this gun was pointing right at Carmen. It took the lives of twelve soldiers. It could have just as easily taken hers. He looked up at her. Any moment could be their last. She looked different now — tired, distant. Her eyes were dull. He didn’t know if he’d ever get used to seeing her without her hair.

In that moment, Father’s offer crept into his mind once more.

She was precious. Didn’t she deserve to be protected? Hadn’t she already lost enough? Her family, her home, her child, her life… For so long they’d been working to rebuild it all, to bring back the world she knew, piece by piece, and build a life worth living in, together. And then the Gunners come in and just ruin it all, try to take it all away, try to take her away. She deserved to be safe, to be protected, to have their life’s work protected. At least underground, they could hold onto something. They could hold onto their work, they could hold onto each other, they could make a new life where no one could take it away from them.

But could they really just abandon everything they’d built together? And all these people on the surface that were counting on them—that they’d gotten into this mess? They couldn’t just turn their backs on them.

But couldn’t they? For their own safety and protection? Was it really up to them and them alone? This task seemed too big for anyone. Especially someone still so—

Fragile.

Jake shook his head. It didn’t matter. None of this did. He couldn’t leave without Laura.

If—if she were even still—

No. She was alive. She was safe. He had to believe that. And so long as she was alive, he had to keep looking.

“I have to get ready for the meeting,” Carmen said, snapping Jake from his thoughts. “Keep the gun—that one’s for research.”

“Right.” Jake stood, but he wasn’t ready to leave yet. He should tell her about Father’s offer. If nothing else, she should know about it.

“I’ll see you there,” Carmen said, standing in the doorway to her bedroom. She glanced towards the door to the hall.

“Wait, I forgot to ask — how you feeling? Your head alright?”

“Jake.”

“I could help you get ready. What do you need?”

“Out. I need you out.”

That…hurt him more than it probably should — like a punch in the gut. But served him right for not taking the hint. “Alright, I’ll see you at the meeting.”

Jake held the gun in his hand as he walked down to the Comms Room. A little less than half an hour was plenty of time to at least get this thing on the project board. He’d tell Carmen about Father’s offer later. For now, she needed to focus on the meeting, and if that’s what she needed, Jake would abide by it.

The Department Heads sat in the meeting room with the newly introduced Head of Military — Salvador. As quickly as he’d been introduced, he pointed out flaws in their organization — particularly that it was nameless.

“It is essential to choose the name and colors of your faction so it can be easily identified,” Salvador said.

“We have more important things to worry about than some stupid name,” Aiden said.

Carmen was inclined to agree, until Cassandra spoke.

“There’s a lot of power in a name,” Cassandra said.

“Nightingales,” Carmen said. It told people everything they needed to know about her organization—pacifist medics with the goal of easing suffering, operating by charity.

“Indeed,” Cassandra said.

But could they really come up with something as succinct as the Nightingales to express everything about their group? What were their goals anyways? What had they come to represent? Carmen wasn’t sure she’d have the answer, even if she wasn’t suppressing a migraine threatening to break through the Med-X. So, she looked to the rest of the table. “Any ideas?”

“How about…” Jake said. “…the Commonwealth Curators? That’s what we’re doing, right, curating the Commonwealth?”

Carmen twisted her mouth. “No.”

“The Minutemen?” Lupe said. “You’re the General after all…”

“No,” Carmen said. “…The Minutemen have a history. We’re not dragging that with us. Besides, we’re not a volunteer militia—we’re bigger than that.”

“The Masons?” Cedric said. “We’re rebuilding.”

“No, it’s not just about building…” Carmen said. She looked around the room. Her eyes caught something on the wall she hadn’t noticed before. The Declaration of Independence. Had it always been there? She stood from her seat and approached it. “Where did you…?”

“Oh, you like it?” Theresa said. “Did my best to fix it up. Copy from Boston Public Library.”

“It’s phenomenal…” Her eyes looped over the words. We the people. We the people. “We the people, in order to form a more perfect Union…” A more perfect Union…

“You, uh, okay there, Chief?” Jake said.

She felt the pieces click into place. “…The Boston Massacre. The Boston Tea Party. The Revolutionary War. It all happened here—the Commonwealth of Massachusetts. 13 disparate colonies joined together under a common cause—a threat bigger than all of them.”

“Skip the history lesson and get to the point,” Aiden said.

“That’s what we need. It’s what we stand for.” She looked to Salvador. “We’re the Union.”

“Your colors?” Salvador said.

“Vault-Tec blue and gold,” Theresa said.

“What? Why?” Carmen said.

“Because you’re leading,” Theresa said.

“A lot of folks recognize you by your vault-suit…” Jake said.

“This isn’t about me,” Carmen said.

“That’s a first,” Aiden said.

“Blue and gold,” Cassandra agreed.

“Something like this?” Cedric finished drawing something on a paper, then held it up for the table to see. 13 stars formed a circle in the center, reminiscent of the old Betty Ross Flag. “The flag is blue. The stars are gold, of course.”

“I like it!” Lupe said.

“You should outfit your troops accordingly,” Salvador said.

“What troops?” Aidens said. “So far, you’ve done a lot of talking. Where’s our army?”

“There is still much to teach. I have spent some time settling in, but we’ll need to establish a proper outpost.”

“We have one. Fort Spectacle.”

“No, in its current state, your Fort Spectacle is a walled artillery site. A proper outpost requires barracks, watchtowers, an armory, training grounds, holding cells, a hospital, and a recruitment center.” He looked to Carmen. “We will need to travel there. With my guidance, you can establish it properly.”

“I’ve been meaning to head there anyways. Never actually seen the place,” Carmen said.

“You…haven’t seen your outpost?” Salvador asked.

It was then Carmen realized that she probably shouldn’t have mentioned that. Especially given Salvador was determining her “worthiness” to his advice and loyalty. Absenteeism did little to foster confidence in her leadership. If her damn head would stop pounding, she never would have made such a rookie mistake. At the very least she’d be able to recover gracefully, but instead, she just stood there, staring wide-eyed at Salvador’s disapproval, mouth opening and closing silently, like a fish washed up on the shore.

“The Chief was away on urgent business,” Jake cut in. “We had to cobble something together ourselves.”

“We did. Me and Lupe,” Aiden said.

“It’s not perfect, but it worked well for what we needed it to,” Lupe said.

Carmen looked between them all, confused by the weird tension in the air. But her head hurt too much to dissect the conversation’s undertones. “I’ll see it with Salvador. We’ll adjust it as needed. Is that everything?”

“Yes.” Salvador stood up from his seat. “Come find me when you’re ready to depart. It’s best we travel together.”

Carmen’s stomach sank. Great. A journey across enemy lines with a mentor constantly reminding her of her inadequacies. She couldn’t wait for the blatant interrogations, criticism, and long, awkward silences followed by stares of disapproval. What could possibly go wrong?

It’d taken her long enough to pack with the stubborn migraine pressing behind her eyes. A few months ago, she would have been strategic about preparing for her trip with Salvador — this could be her chance to win him over. It would have been quick and natural — pack extra drinks or extra ammo for his gun — but she couldn’t even begin to theorize Salvador’s poison or even remember what gun she’d seen him use despite spending the past day with him.

An hour had passed by the time she finally threw her pack over her shoulder that screamed in protest. Shit. She couldn’t travel like this. Salvador didn’t know how she was before the crash. He didn’t know that she used to haul this backpack with enough desk fans hanging from the straps to put a bodybuilder to shame. She couldn’t afford to show any weakness. She dug through the fanny-pack strapped around her waist — not the most flattering silhouette but it’s not like her bald head was doing her any favors — and pulled out a syringe of Med-X. She rolled up her sleeve. She couldn’t keep doing this —dosing herself with Med-X just to get through the day. She’d already taken a dose this morning just to get here. But they needed to get to Fort Spectacle on the other side of the fucking Commonwealth, and Salvador would be judging her strength, constitution, and tenacity the entire way. She had to show him that she was strong, unflinching. She couldn’t afford to show pain. So, she cleaned the injection site and shot up. It wasn’t long before the migraine subsided and the euphoria set in. On Med-X, Carmen could do anything, even take on an army of Gunners.

She finally reached the atrium. Salvador was waiting in the entryway, standing painstakingly straight and rigid. Had he really been waiting this whole time?

“Hey, you ready?” she asked.

“Yes,” Salvador said.

But just as they prepared to leave, Aiden stopped them at the gate.

“Chief. A minute.”

“Yeah?” Carmen adjusted the bag on her shoulder. Damn thing still felt uncomfortable, even with the Med-X.

“Alone.” Aiden glanced at Salvador, then back to her.

Carmen sighed. What was so damn important that he couldn’t say it in front of him? She smiled politely at Salvador. “Give us a second.” She followed Aiden back through the gate into the atrium. He pulled her into the robotics lab and turned on the machine for cover noise. It hummed to life.

“What is it?” She hissed at him. “Salvador wanted to leave an hour ago.”

“I don’t trust him,” Aiden murmured.

Carmen scoffed. “You don’t trust anyone.”

“Decades in the Commonwealth and not a trace? No one knows where he came from, who he’s worked for, what his goals are—”

“Balance,” Carmen interrupted. “He wants a balanced Commonwealth.”

“What he says—not what he means.”

“What does he mean?”

“I need you to find out. Anything—"

“Why me?” Carmen hissed.

“You talk. You get people to talk. People talk to—”

“I’m not sleeping with him.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“That’s how I get people to talk. I sleep with them. You want me to sleep with him? Like this?” Carmen gestured broadly to herself.

“Would you quit messing around?”

“Do I look like I’m messing around? I’m not sleeping with him.”

“Talk to him,” Aiden said. “See what you can find out.”

“How? How am I supposed to do that? Because I’m not sleeping with him.”

“Cut the crap. You don’t have to. Just figure it out,” Aiden said, very helpfully.

“Fine. Can I go now?” She spun on her heel and stomped back to the entrance. He couldn’t go one day, a single day, without infuriating her—treating her like she was a magician that could pull secrets out of stoic men like a rabbit out of a hat. It wasn’t some party trick — she had a method, and her method was gone now! No way in hell was she getting Salvador, or anyone, near a bed looking and feeling like this!

She crossed into the entryway and focused all of her energy on pretending everything was just fine. “Let’s go,” she told Salvador. They left together.

Chapter Text

A small fishing boat sputtered across the sea heading due east of Quincy. In the dead of night, it stretched into the still, empty horizon, looking like dark glass. On the deck, Carmen shivered. It was too cold. Her thin leather jacket and vault-suit couldn’t keep her warm, nor the thin knitted beanie on her head. She hadn’t thought to bring a damn scarf. She’d never needed a scarf—her hair was warm enough! She attempted to will herself to just stop shivering. It was either this or stand in the cabin with the captain, and the last thing she wanted right now was to suffer more anxious questioning, betrayed looks, or pregnant silences.

“T-talk to Salvador, he says,” Carmen muttered to herself, her teeth chattering. She dug her hands further into the pockets of her jacket. “L-like it’s easy t-t-to talk to him. Hey, l-let me just pry into your life. I know we’ve j-j-just met and I’ve got e-everything to prove to you, but how about some p-personal details? N-Never too late to start getting to know each other! L-like that would work…”

It’d be so much easier if she could just sleep with him. Guys said all sorts of things during pillow talk, and the old Carmen could get any man she wanted.

But this new Carmen — with a scarred skull and deathly pallor — couldn’t even get a Diamond City guard to let her in the gate. How the hell was she supposed to get a ghost of a man to say a word about anything, let alone his history or motivations?

Spectacle Island came into view, and Carmen’s trembling jaw dropped. With Aiden and Lupe taking point, she hadn’t known what to expect, but it certainly wasn’t this. A half-constructed concrete star fort clawed upward to the horizon. Their influences were clear – the same shape and silhouette as the Castle with a radio tower at its center. Pride swelled in her chest.

“It is a formidable start, with clear strategic considerations.”

Carmen jumped. She’d been so captivated by the structure in the distance, she hadn’t even noticed Salvador slip beside her outside the cabin. The night’s darkness and engine’s din had completely masked his approach.

For a moment, Carmen considered telling him that truthfully, she was just as impressed. She trusted Lupe’s attentiveness, logistic ingenuity, and people-pleasing compulsions to create a settlement worthy of her name, but Aiden? That man would toss a few sleeping bags on the ground and call it a settlement worth living in. Perhaps if she offered Salvador this peek behind the curtain, he’d offer to do the same. He’d let down his guard a little. Let her peek behind the mask.

But she stopped herself. He already had such a low opinion of her. He’d already seen her weak and vulnerable. It was evident vulnerability was not the way to gain his approval, like it had for so many others. Formidability would earn his respect – and maybe, from his respect, his trust.

She recalled a conversation she had with Preston about the iconic shape of the Castle. “Star forts are critical for an attack by sea,” Carmen recited. “Between this and the Castle, the Gunners would be hard-pressed to compromise either.”

“That would be true, if they were to attack by sea. However, your forts will fall by Stingray. They have no aerial defense.”

Carmen felt his words like a slap. Her hands dug deeper into her pockets. Bad enough that her forts were useless and she looked like a fool in front of her Department Head, but even with her muscles tensed and ready to fight she couldn’t stop shivering. They hadn’t known about the Stingrays. How were they supposed to know about the Stingrays? No one expected the Gunners to have Stingrays. Her shivering grew more violent despite her best efforts. Damn wind chill of the boat cut right through her jacket. What was the point of a leather jacket if it didn’t stop the wind? Style? She couldn’t even have style now. She was bald!

“We will rectify this.”

She heard rustling, then felt a heavy weight rest on her shoulders. Salvador had removed his large, thick bomber jacket and draped it over her shoulders. It was still warm from him, and…the shivering had stopped! Finally she could feel some warmth returning to her body!

“Your engineering, science, and logistic teams have begun creating surface-to-air missiles with radar targeting.”

That…was a thing? They could…do that? Why hadn’t she thought of that? She’d never been in the military – her dad was a Marine, her husband worked for the DIA, sure, but she herself had never been in the military. She had foggy memories of the bases she’d visited—the hospital on-base when she’d twisted her ankle, the federal rationing station for groceries – but that was all cleared for military family. She’d never seen how they operated or handled their equipment. She was out-of-her-depths here, that much was apparent.

But that’s why Salvador was here. Even standing beside her on the boat, he held himself like a soldier, wide-stance, arms behind his back, staring across the dark ocean with a stoic expression, like a bulwark against the cold, unforgiving night. Wearing a thin t-shirt, he didn’t even flinch from wind-chill.

“Thank you,” Carmen said, quietly, drawing his coat closer to her.

“Do not thank me,” Salvador said. “There is more work to do.”

They stood together on the bough, the black night at their back, and Spectacle Island looming closer to them.

Carmen had retreated to the Commander-in-Chief’s quarters early for the night. The changes to Fort Spectacle were nearly finalized and folks could continue building from here. Outside, she could still hear the sound of construction – new walls, doors, furniture. Bedrooms for current personnel had been the number one priority, and for that she was grateful. They’d saved the nicest, cleanest bed for her. It was a kindness she hadn’t felt she’d deserved but nonetheless appreciated. She couldn’t stand ratty, brown mattresses or scratchy straw and flour-sack pillows. She should be working too. A few months ago, she would be out there sweating with the rest of them until they could all go to sleep, but the migraine had started back up again and her whole body ached from yesterday’s travel and today’s labor. She got a dose of Med-X ready — 8 hours exactly since her last dose. She knew she shouldn’t be taking it this often. She shouldn’t need to take it every day, but extraordinary times…

She could wean off it later. That’s what Addictol was for, right? She disposed of the needle. What could she do while she waited for it to kick in? She couldn’t sleep yet. Right, she needed to call Theresa. She lifted her Pip-Boy and turned the dials until she found HQ Radio. From the interface, she selected to start transmitting to HQ Radio: Administration’s channel.

“Hey, Chief,” Theresa said. “What’s up?”

“We need to work on recruitment,” Carmen said. “Salvador wants at least one new recruit a day, but we need more than that.”

“Okay, no, “I’m good, thanks for asking, Theresa. How are you?””

Carmen was silent. Was she really doing this right now? Nitpicking her over pleasantries? She was in too much damn pain for pleasantries.

Theresa laughed awkwardly on the other line. “Right. Anyway, we got recruitment efforts already. Mayors pull local talent and send ‘em our way. Word of mouth, too. I dunno what else ya want.”

 “Army recruitment. We need soldiers, not talent. Take out ads on Diamond City Radio. Put up posters in every settlement. Make the threat real — it’s us vs. them. Do they want a Commonwealth razed by Gunners or to defend their homes?”

“I’ll look through some of the old propaganda posters, see what I can do.”

“Good. And take out those ads. You have a budget for a reason — use it.”

“Aye-aye, Chief.”

A window popped up on her Pip-Boy’s screen. Incoming HQ Radio: Logistics. Carmen tuned her Pip-Boy to Lupe’s frequency.

“We just lost contact with Murkwater.”

“Damn it. How? How are they moving so fast?”

“Stingray. We heard it fly not too far from us. Probably came out of the Glowing Sea.”

“What about Warwick?”

“Still holding. No sign of scouts.”

“Keep me posted. We need Warwick. It’s—"

“The southern breadbasket—I know. I’ll double the guards on the caravan.”

“Any word from Preston?”

“Minutemen keep getting pulled away. A lot of MIAs. But the east is holding. All settlements reporting in.”

“Alright,” Carmen said. She got ready to tune the Pip-Boy dial off.

“Hey, uh, Chief? Can I ask you something?”

“What is it?” she said, her hand hovering over the dial. Please please, let the conversation be short. She just couldn’t talk like she used to. It was stressful and exhausting and it hurt her head.

“Well, I uh, I wanted some advice.”

“You sure about asking me?”

“I’m sure. I tried talking to Theresa, but…she doesn’t get it. And I can’t go to Jake for this.”

“Why not?”

“Well, because—-I wanted to ask you about… You were…with Aiden for a bit, right?”

“Uh…define with?”

“You know!”

“We…slept together? A lot. And I mean, a lot. That first night, I mean, we just kept going. I literally couldn’t walk the next day.” Carmen stretched in the bed and her body screamed in protest, but she didn’t care. She missed it when her body felt good. “God, I miss sex.”

“Ew, no. Not that. Like…you know!”

Carmen didn’t. She really didn’t know what Lupe was getting at. She could feel her brain dragging itself towards a conclusion. “Like…dating?”

“Yes! That!”

“Uh, I mean, I guess? Sorta? There wasn’t really a label on it. We were just…involved.”

“How did you…know? I guess? That that’s what you wanted?”

“Dunno. Just kinda happened. Didn’t think it was going to be anything more than physical. But, well…”

She thinks back to him following her out to the Glowing Sea and the arguments they had in the shelter of a Red Rocket, in the crypt of Old North Church. I guess I give a shit. That was his confession, and it was as rough as he was, and strangely vulnerable. He’d fallen for her.

“It was more than that.”

“Yeah.”

“He’s such a jerk though.”

“I know.”

“But…?”

“It’s part of his charm. He says what he thinks — I don’t have to spend time worrying or second-guessing. I spent a decade dealing with worse—way worse—than anything Aiden could throw at me. He’s not mean, just…grumpy, calloused. But he’s also funny as hell, and you earn his trust, he’d follow you anywhere. I’d just never had someone show up for me like that before, you know?

“Yeah. Did you…ever see a softer side to him?”

Had she? Carmen tried to think back. Did post-sex endorphins count? Probably not. As hard as she tried…as sure as she was that Aiden had softened around her… Her brain just slogged. She couldn’t think of a single time. What was wrong with her? Why couldn’t she think? “What’s this about?” she finally asked.

“I don’t want to say anything yet, because I don’t know what will happen but…I think…I might start seeing someone?”

“What? No way…”

“I don’t know what to do! We’re friendly but we’re not really friends, you know? Not like you or Jake or…we don’t work together often, but whenever I do see him…he’s nice to me and he gets stuff, stuff I don’t like to talk about.”

“Same with Aiden. He gets the nightmares, the insomnia, all of it. Don’t have to explain.”

“And lately I’ve seen a new side to him—the guy I like—and well, I just… what do I do? Do I ask him out? How do I show him I like him? Why does it feel so scary?”

“Because you’re putting your heart on the line—”

A window on her Pip-Boy’s screen opened. Incoming HQ Radio: Science.

“Hold on Lupe, I have to take this. Hello?”

“Any dizziness? Nausea? Vomiting?” Cassandra asked.

“I’m fine,” Carmen said, which wasn’t technically a lie. She hadn’t experienced any dizziness or nausea or vomiting that day. Not that she couldn’t attribute to other things, like hard travel or dehydration or construction work or stress. “Any luck with the missiles?”

“Still constructing a prototype. Rome wasn’t built in a day,” Cassandra said.

“It could fall in one. Let me know, alright? Over and out…” Carmen tuned the Pip-Boy back to Lupe’s frequency. “Lupe, you there?”

“I’m here. Do I ask him out?”

“You can,” Carmen said. “Guys appreciate directness. But direct is also the scariest.”

“What else can I do?”

“Hang out with him as a friend and see where it goes? Usually works.”

“Right. We’ve been doing that,” Lupe said.

“Then you’re doing great.”

A window on her Pip-Boy’s screen opened. Incoming HQ Radio: Engineering.

“Hey, I got another call coming in. Was that it?”

“Yeah, that was it. Thanks, Chief.”

“Don’t mention it. I’m happy for you. Over and out.” Carmen tuned the Pip-Boy to Jake’s channel.

“Darlin’?” Jake asked. “You there? You okay? How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine,” Carmen lied. “What is it?”

“Just wanted to check in. I know it’s tough right now.”

“It is what it is.”

“You don’t need to be brave for me. We both know it’s bad.”

“Dwelling on it won’t help, but doing something can. What’s the hold-up on the…the missile things? You know, for the Stingrays?”

“The S.A.M. is a work in progress. Luckily, we had some parts left over from the Bird Busters, but, we didn’t just have a bunch of missiles lying around. The radar part’s done, but we still gotta see if it works.”

“Well, hurry up! Do you want another Diamond City?”

“Hey, hey, no one wants another Diamond City. Are you sure you’re okay? You seem— ”

“I’m fine. It’s the Commonwealth that isn’t fine. It’s all these people who’ve lost their homes that aren’t fine. It’s all our staff that I personally recruited that aren’t fine, Jake. Nothing is fine. But I’m fine. Never better! Just fucking peachy.”

“I don’t think you are. I’m worried.”

“You’re always worried. You’re worried about the wrong things. I don’t matter, Jake. None of us do. This is bigger than you and me and Shaun and Laura. Nothing else matters.”

“You don’t mean that. This…this isn’t like you.”

Carmen didn’t know if she meant it. She knew the words felt wrong leaving her mouth, but even looking at her reflection felt wrong, so who could say what was right anymore?

“Darlin’…what if there was another way?”

“What?”

“Another way to do this. Something that…wasn’t bigger than us. If it could all just…go away.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I…I’m just thinking, wouldn’t that be nice? Just…you and me…and nothing else, yeah?”

What the hell was he going on about? Carmen glared up at the dark ceiling of her room.

“There is no other way. The only way out is through.”

“But if there was…”

“This is pointless—”

“Humor me. Please. If there was…”

Carmen sighed. She closed her eyes and focused on Jake’s voice. Instantly, she felt her pounding heart slow to a steady rhythm, and for a moment, all the sounds of construction and chatter outside fell silent, and she could only hear the peaceful crash of the waves onto the shore of Spectacle Island. The world seemed smaller and peaceful. There was no war, no impending doom, no rush, no scrutiny. The weight of the Commonwealth rolled off her shoulders. It was just her and Jake.

She smiled softly. “I’d like that.”

“You and me… maybe even Shaun. We could start over.”

“What about Laura?

“Maybe Laura too. I’d hope.”

“Definitely Laura.”

“Alright, then the four of us. Our own happy little family. Maybe add a few more. And we’d be safe. Nothing could hurt us.”

“Where would we go?”

“Just somewhere safe. That’s all.”

“Alright. And then what?”

“I don’t know. We could keep working. Invent together. Build together. Get married. Have a few more kids for good measure.”

Carmen laughed nervously. “Really stuck on those kids, aren’t ya?”

“Well, you’ve met yours. Aren’t you?”

“I think you just want to get me naked,” she deflected.

“Well, I won’t say no to that, but…can you imagine? What our kids would be like? How smart they’d be?”

“And kind.”

“And kind. And good-looking to boot!”

Carmen gave a nervous laugh again. “You’re definitely trying to get me naked.”

“Darlin’, I just want you to be happy, and safe. Losing you…it…”

Carmen waited in silence for Jake to finish the sentence.

“…I just can’t lose anyone else.”

“I know. Thank you, Jake. Talking…it helped.”

“I’m glad. Whenever it starts to feel like too much… just think about it, alright? Just you and me. Nothing else.”

“Yeah.”

There was a knock on the door. “It’s Salvador,” he said through the door.

“I have to go. Salvador needs something.”

“Alright. I love you. You don’t have to say it back. I just need you to know that.”

Carmen heard the words, and they jarred her. They were supposed to be friends. Friends didn’t talk like this. Why was he suddenly getting so pushy? He knew she needed time. But, she couldn’t control how he felt about her. Was it even genuine? She heard the words, “I love you,” but they didn’t stick. He was just saying them. He might even believe them, but he didn’t mean it. He couldn’t. He didn’t know her, not really. How could he? She didn’t even know herself anymore.

“Good night, Jake.”

She got up to meet Salvador outside the Commander-in-Chief’s quarters.

“You’ve obtained adequate rest?”

“Yes,” Carmen lied. He wouldn’t have knocked on her door unless he’d needed her.

“Good. Our next target is Mass Pike Interchange. Our intel suggests it is another strategic location for the Gunners’ Stingray operations.”

“What do you think we’ll find there?”

“I suspect we will find Stingray fuel and possibly more information about their other fuel reserves. Perhaps we will even find their forward operating base or fuel depot.”

“Well, we can hope.” Carmen suppressed a sigh. She couldn’t afford to show weakness. She had to mask her fatigue. “Give me a minute to get my bag together. I’ll meet you at the dock.”

Aiden and MacCready sat across from each other in the meeting room. Stacks of reports piled onto the table. They combed through paper after paper.

“Why we gotta do this anyways?” MacCready asked, squinting at the handwriting on the page. “The battles are over. We got our butts kicked. What’s this Salvador guy need ‘em for? To rub it in?”

“Shut up and file,” Aiden said. His eyes went straight to the KIA list at the end of every report. He scanned the names and compared it to his own running list. Had he notified their families? Crow Corvus — notified, Hauer — no known family, Isaiah — no known family… He put another report into the pile for Salvador.

Out in the hall, M.A.L.A lumbered by with her arms full of dirty, bloodied linens. Strong stomped past carrying a pile of mattresses. Facilities pulled 12-hour shifts now. Not enough linens for medbay or rooms for recruits.

A courier poked her head through the door. “Excuse me, do you know where Miss Theresa Fortu—?”

“Down the hall to the left,” Aiden and MacCready recited in unison.

“Thank you.” They scurried off.

“Dumb couriers. Isn’t it their job to find people?” MacCready said.

“Doesn’t mean they’re good at it,” Aiden said.

“That’s gotta be the fifth one today. What’s Theresa doing anyways?”

“Besides bleeding caps?”

“And making eyes at Piper?”

“No Wright—dispatched to Diamond City. Something about a radio sponsorship.”

MacCready wrinkled his nose. “And that’s gonna cost…?”

“Ask the Chief. Was her idea.”

“Oh, great, not enough to hand McDonough a 50-pound tin o’ caps, we gotta hand one to Travis too. I mean, if she’s just handing them out, I’ll take one.”

“And do what? Get on a caravan with Duncan? Good luck finding one out of the Commonwealth.”

“Don’t need to. Could just buy a bunker. Or build one.”

“That takes time, idiot.”

“I’m just saying.” MacCready crossed his arms and huffed. “So all those couriers are from Diamond City?”

“No. Brotherhood, Minutemen, Railroad, Institute, Goodneighbor…”

“The Institute? Really?”

“Chief’s orders.”

“Chief’s orders. I’ll show her orders.” MacCready grumbled. It was then his radio went off.

“Hey, uh, Robert? You there?” Lupe’s voice asked through his radio.

MacCready’s face turned bright red as he fumbled his radio to turn down the volume.

“Robert?” Aiden smirked.

“Shut up!” MacCready hissed. He pressed the button on the radio. “Yeah, uh, hey, what’s up?”

“Do you still want to do lunch? With Duncan? It’s okay if not! It’s totally fine! I just…there’s a lot, and, I could really use a break, and…”

“Yeah,” MacCready said. “Yeah, of course. I’ll grab Duncan from daycare. Meet in the cafeteria?”

“Okay, see you!”

Aiden raised his eyebrows. “So you and Lupe, huh?”

“Shut up.”

“No, it’s good. You need someone with a brain.”

“She starts talking and I can’t understand a word.” MacCready stood up. “I’m going on lunch.”

“30 minutes, remember? Then swap with Carne so the damn ghoul can sleep.”

“You got it, boss.” MacCready stood from his chair, but as he reached the doorway to the meeting room; he lingered. It was obvious he wanted to say something. Since when did he get gun-shy?

Aiden sighed. “Spit it out.”

“It’s nothing,” MacCready said, shaking his head.

“Say it,” Aiden said.

“Really. Lay off.” But MacCready still hesitated at the door.

“Say it, MacCready.”

“You just don’t seem like Carmen’s type, that’s all.” He crossed his arms and leaned in the doorway. A failed attempt to appear casual, since his stiff shoulders and tense jaw gave it all away.

“This is a workplace, not a lounge, MacCready. If you’re not here to work, get out.”

“You’re the one who kept asking. I said to lay off.”

“Since when do you care about the Chief’s sex life?” Aiden drawled, tossing another report into the pile.

“No no—” MacCready jabbed his finger in Aiden’s direction. “You two – you don’t make sense. She’s all…moody and smart and touchy-feely. She likes dads, and sob stories, and stuff.” He wrinkled his nose. “Oh god, you don’t have a sob story do you? Did she really eat up all that crap about Minutemen?”

Aiden shot him a scathing, unimpressed glare that would have wilted even the most seasoned of soldiers, but MacCready looked unfazed. So, Aiden sighed and flipped through another report. “Carmen likes anything that moves.”

“She likes to play it fast and loose. Casual. Meaningless fun.”

“Yep.”

“But it’s not meaningless. You don’t chase your bed-buddy out to the Glowing Sea. I don’t care how good it is, you don’t do that.”

“Are you getting to a point?”

“I’m working on it,” MacCready snapped. He rolled his shoulders while leaning against the doorway. Then crossed his arms again. It was like he couldn’t get comfortable. He shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his duster. “What I’m getting at, is that you two don’t make sense. You’re all—grumpy and rude.”

“And you’re a ray of sunshine. Last I checked, you two spent weeks braiding friendship bracelets crashing a trade caravan.”

MacCready shrugged. “Being friends is different. She wants more than that. And I don’t know if I—if you are capable of that.”

Aiden stopped filing and looked at MacCready. The pieces fit together in his head. “We’re not talking about me and Carmen.”

“No, this is definitely about you and Car. You two don’t work. It just doesn’t make sense. How would it possibly work?”

Aiden stood up from his chair and approached MacCready. He stood a good half-foot taller than the Assistant Head of Security, but that didn’t stop MacCready from squaring up anyways. That’s what he liked about MacCready – he didn’t back down from a challenge.

“Quit being chicken-shit and find out for yourself,” Aiden closed the door in his face and went back to the table. As he dragged MacCready’s sorted piles over to his side, he couldn’t help the smile tugging at half his face.

Lupe and MacCready, huh? Well, he couldn’t put his finger on it, but he had a feeling those two would be good together. Real good. The world needed more good in it.

As for Jake? Well, the first two weeks after Carmen’s crash was just about drafting those Bird Busters. The third week, building them. This week…well, Jake didn’t know what to do anymore.

He called Carmen often. It was strange to spend everyday at her bedside then to just have her be gone. There was a hole inside him, and that hole grew every time he saw the injured staff or overheard ASAM chatter about shortages and rationing or listened to his repeated message warning Laura to stay away. Talking to Carmen helped, but, well…seemed that she didn’t have much time for talking. Everyday it seemed harder to reach her, and the times he did reach her, she’d cut the conversations short. She seemed…colder, and the conversations didn’t flow the way they used to. He told himself that she was just busy setting up the outpost, but—

It was the end of the day, and Jake was turning into his bedroom for the night. He opened the door, flicked on the light, and started to take off his boots.

“Hello, Mr. Evans.”

“What the—?” Jake startled, tripping over his boots and falling back into the door. Standing at the center of the room, directly across from the door, was the courser X6-88. The light glinted off his black sunglasses as he tilted his head at Jake ever so slightly.

“How’d you get in here?” Jake asked.

“Unimportant,” X6 said. “I’m here on behalf of our mutual friends.”

Jake stood slowly. “Yeah? Which ones?” It was an honest question – it could be Aiden, Carmen, the Institute, hell, maybe even one of Carmen’s traveling companions daisy-chaining a message along.

“The one that made you an offer,” X6 said like it was the most obvious answer in the world.

“Oh, that one.” Jake chuckled nervously. “Sorry, it must have slipped my mind.” He said it as if it hadn’t been the only thing he’d been thinking about since Father had made the offer.

X6 seemed unimpressed. “An offer like this is rare, Mr. Evans. It should not be taken lightly.”

“I’m not. It’s just, there’s a war going on, you know?”

“Which is why the offer was made. Have you spoken with Mrs. Sheppard?”

“She’s been busy. Hard to reach.”

“Really?” X6’s mouth twitched upwards on one end, like he was concealing a smirk. “I reached her this morning. She requested my aid.”

“How was she?” Jake asked genuinely. “She seem alright to you?”

“Mrs. Sheppard’s remarkable recovery speaks to the power and ingenuity of the Institute and—"

“Damn it, I ain’t talking ‘bout that!” Jake sighed. “Screw it, what would you know?”

There was a long silence that stretched between them. Then, X6 spoke. “…if you are…concerned for her, it is all the more reason to bring her to safety.”

“You saw something didn’t you? What did you see?”

“…That is not your concern. Your concern is convincing Mrs. Sheppard to join us underground. The likelihood of either of you surviving this decreases each moment you delay.”

“Is that all?”

“I will return to check your progress, Mr. Evans. Father is a patient man.” X6 walked to the door. Jake moved out of the way so he could reach it. X6 paused with his hand on the door handle and caught Jake’s gaze over his sunglasses. His eyes were sharp and cold. “I am not patient.”

X6 opened the door and left. The barely concealed threat hung in the air like an ill-omen. Jake closed the door and locked it – had he remembered to lock it this morning? What did it matter – coursers probably knew how to pick locks anyways. Or maybe he’d pilfered a key from security. He had been working with Aiden after all. Should he tell security? Was this a threat he’d make good on? Was his life actually in danger?

With his back to the door, Jake sank to the floor, allowing himself a moment of overwhelm and defeat. Sitting with his head in his hands, his mind raced. What in the hell was he going to do?

Chapter Text

Carmen and Salvador stood in the middle of the viscera they enacted on Mass Pike Interchange overpass. The rest of their team held positions below, ensuring no Gunners escaped and reinforcements couldn’t follow them up. But reinforcements never came. Now, Salvador tossed a match onto a puddle of leaking jet fuel. Carmen shielded her eyes instinctually, ready for the burst of flame…

But it didn’t burn. The match extinguished as soon as it hit the straw-colored liquid on the concrete floor.

Salvador blinked twice. Then, stoically, he lit a second match and tossed it into an open barrel of jet fuel. Again, it didn’t burn.

“…I do not understand,” Salvador said.

Carmen remembered an eccentric chemistry lecture she’d attended. Her professor decided to demonstrate the impact of atomization on flammability by tossing matches into jars of fuel. Despite the classroom ducking for cover the second they lit the match near the jar full of jet fuel, the fuel didn’t catch. In fact, when dipped in the jet fuel, the match went out. Even spraying a blowtorch into the jar would not ignite it. But once put into a spray bottle and turned into mist…

“It has to be atomized,” Carmen recited.

“Explain,” Salvador said.

“Jets use sprayers to create a fine mist of jet fuel. Then, the fuel ignites. Jet fuel’s flammability is limited by atomization. It’ll never burn like this.”

“We do not have the means to create a fine mist,” Salvador said.

“No, we don’t. Not here,” Carmen said. She put the lid back on the container and pounded it shut. “We can take the containers back to base. Ask engineering to create something. Or they store it, find a use for it later.” She dug through her bag and found a salvage beacon. With a click, she’d turned the dial on and placed it atop the group of containers. “Until then, we’ll just have to hold the pass.”

“Indeed,” Salvador said.

They began walking back to the lift.

Carmen had grown accustomed to walking with Salvador in silence. In the week they’d spent traveling the Commonwealth together, she’d learned he only spoke when necessary. He did not make small talk. He did not share his feelings. He spoke of the ongoing war, military strategy, and tested her knowledge. Outside of that, he rarely acknowledged her. She knew Aiden wanted answers, but Carmen accepted she wouldn’t find them. Salvador was a closed book, and that was fine. The small acknowledgements of her existence and her progress were enough for her.

She pressed the button for the lift, and they waited.

So accustomed to the silence between them, she nearly jumped out of her skin when he spoke.

“You show exceptional skill in small-team stealth operations,” Salvador said.

Carmen looked at him to make sure she’d heard him correctly. He wasn’t looking at her, but upon feeling her gaze, he turned to her with a stoic expression. His slicked back hair glinted in the setting sun. The sunset backlit him. It made his brown leather jacket glow warm orange. The glow complimented his glowing golden eye. He appeared strangely angelic. Wasn’t he, though? He’d come in to save them. Already they were dismantling Gunner operations and loosening their grip on the Commonwealth. Having started with nothing, he now acknowledged her skills. He listened to her input. He’d complimented her.

He stared, waiting for her response. It was then Carmen realized she’d been staring. She looked away quickly, flushing. “Thank you.”

“It was an observation, not a compliment. You do not need to thank me. Continue excelling.”

Where was that damn lift?

“Yes, sir,” Carmen said, without thinking.

“Chief,” Salvador said. He shook his head. “You are the Chief. I am your teacher, but I am also your subordinate.”

“It’s confusing,” Carmen agreed.

“Call me Salvador, then. It will avoid unnecessary confusion.”

“First name basis, are we?” Carmen laughed nervously. “You know, Aiden still calls me Sheppard.”

“Do you prefer that name?”

“No, I suppose I don’t care what people call me. Carmen, Car, Sheppard, Darlin’, Chief, Fancy Pants, Blue, Boss, General, Ma’am. Call me whatever you like.”

“Carmen, then. It is your name. Then it will be fair. We will be on a…first-name basis,” Salvador recited.

Carmen laughed lightly. “I can see why Theresa likes you. You’re charming.”

“Charming?”

“In your own way.”

Salvador blinked twice at her. He seemed…confused, not that his face showed it. It was as stoic as ever.

Finally, the lift approached the top of the overpass.

They heard it before they saw it, a rumbling in the air like a distant thunderstorm, but the sky was blazing orange like a campfire, no dark storm clouds or flashes of lightning as far as the eye could see.

“Stingray! Take cover!” Salvador bellowed.

He yanked Carmen from the lift and dived towards the steel beams. The world spun as he cradled her under his body. Then, the rumble turned to a growl, then a massive roar, as if they’d disturbed a gargantuan beast from its slumber. It pierced the air. The earth shook.  The air shook. Then, like shockwaves, the whole overpass rocked. Carmen felt it in her body, in her gut, but she couldn’t hear anything over the ringing in her ears. She couldn’t see anything tucked into Salvador’s chest. A sharp pain pierced her brain, and her stomach dipped like she was falling. Then, a weight lifted off her. Bright light, orange sky, the caustic burn of smoke in her nose, her throat, her lungs. She can taste it on her tongue. Salvador pulled off her. He was yelling something. She watched his lips move, but the sound was muffled by the ringing. She tried to move her lips. She tried to open her mouth. She tried to push air out. She tried to scream. The pain was blinding, the ringing was deafening, and her body wouldn’t uncurl. She was clutching her head on either side to stop it from splitting wide open. The world kept spinning and spinning and her stomach was churning, then dropping. She squeezed her eyes shut.

Stop, stop, please just stop!

Bright lights flashed behind her eyelids, just as blinding as the sky overhead. Her brain pounded against the cage of her skull. The ringing wouldn’t stop.

Please, please! Her stomach strangled itself.

Please.

She felt the ground leave her. She was falling—no, Salvador had pulled her up to her feet, but her legs wobbled like the sea. She fell against him. The ground was never where it should be—her heeled boots caved over and over on the concrete. Finally, he scooped her up and she curled as small as she could into him, as if she could hide inside him and escape her pounding skull and the deafening ringing and the splitting pain and her churning stomach and the blinding lights behind her eyelids.

Salvador ducked, weaved, lunged, rocked. As the ringing faded, she could hear the concrete crumbling and the groaning of the steel support beams. Then, there was a horrible shriek as they surrendered their weight. She felt them swing and jolt dangerously, back and forth, down, then plummeting, then jerk to a stop. She choked back her vomit. No. No, she wouldn’t vomit. Not here, not now, not tucked into this man’s chest like a goddamn child. She’d lose her fucking life before she lost her goddamn pride. She swallowed it back down and the sensation nearly made her gag it back up. But she didn’t. Even as they dropped the last five feet to the forest floor below and landed with a heavy thump, she kept her insides inside. Salvador shouted orders.

“Get the injured! Get to cover!”

“Sir!”

“Carmen! Can you hear me?”

She opened her eyes slowly and the wreckage was nothing but technicolor. Bright, neon lights flashed in her field of view, an overlay everywhere she looked. She could barely see Salvador’s face behind them. Her lips moved heavy and slow, and her own voice sounded muffled and distant.

“I hear you.”

“Can you walk?”

“Yes.”

Salvador set her down. She could stand well enough, but navigating the uneven terrain with her vision compromised? A completely different story. Her foot caught on something, and she tumbled forward. Her face hit the forest floor. Leaves and sticks shoved inside her nose and mouth. Steel groaned and screeched above her. She had to move. She couldn’t see shit. She scrambled on all fours. Then, strong arms scooped her up again. She jostled in Salvador’s grip as he ran with her. The sounds overhead grew louder and louder, until there was a loud crash that reverberated through the earth. She felt it in her bones.

“Shit, it’s coming down!” Someone yelled.

“Sergeant, report!”

“All here, sir! Three wounded, sir!”

“Triage, and secure the perimeter!”

“Sir, yes, sir!”

As the sergeant shouted orders to his squad, she felt Salvador set her down, her back against the rough bark of a tree.

“You lied,” Salvador said. “You could not walk.”

Carmen stared at the technicolor playing in her eyes, hoping to make out some semblance of her surroundings, but she couldn’t. She shook her head. “I hoped.”

“Hope is not fact. Are you injured?”

She felt his hands start to search her body, starting with her legs. Carmen grabbed his hands to stop him.

“I’m not,” she said.

“It is common for the body to mask our perceptions of injuries to enable our immediate survival. It enables us to fight or flee. You say you are not injured, but you cannot walk. I must check you for injury.”

“There are others, Salvador,” she said. “Three wounded. They need—”

“You do not know what they need. They are attended to. Allow me to check you.”

Carmen didn’t remove her hands from his. She didn’t want him touching her.

“I can check myself,” she said. She didn’t know how she would, unable to see, but Salvador didn’t know that. She saw something moving in front of her face. A shadow of something. She reared back from it. “What are you--?”

“Your vision is compromised,” Salvador said.

Carmen gulped. So much for that.

“You do not deny it.”

Shame held her tongue fast. She couldn’t say it. Reluctantly, she released his hands. She felt them search her body. They palpated her legs.

“Tell me if you feel pain,” Salvador said.

Carmen nodded to the technicolor.

No pain as his hands squeezed her calves, her knees, the front and back of her thighs…

Her breathing hitched. It was all so clinical, she shouldn’t feel flustered by it. Shouldn’t feel flustered as his hands squeezed her hips, then her lower back.

“Are you in pain?”

“What?”

“Your breath changed.”

“No, I’m fine.”

“You’re not.”

His examination of her continued.

Pain is definitely not what she would call feeling his hands on her body. How long had it been since someone touched her? When was the last time? Since she’d asked Jake and Aiden for a break, she hadn’t seen anyone – it hadn’t felt right to indulge. The indulgence was just a distraction. But now, feeling his hands on her, she felt starved for touch.

Would he touch her?

Carmen felt so naked like this, unable to see, unable to walk, unable to read him. He already spoke with such a flat tone—he gave her painfully little to work with.

She could do it. She could charm anyone.

No, not anymore.

Now, she was sickly. He already loathed her incompetence – she couldn’t even handle a light carpet bombing. He was probably disgusted by her. He wouldn’t say yes, but even if he would, she couldn’t risk it. They stood on the cusp of an alliance the entire Commonwealth depended on. She was the Sole Survivor. The Chief. The General.  She needed to be better, needed to be more. Now if this damn pounding in her heart and her head would just stop…

It clicked. Why hadn’t she thought of it sooner? “Migraine with aura,” Carmen said. “Caused by traumatic brain injury, aggravated by blast injury.”

Salvador’s hands stopped at her neck. She heard his clothes rustle as he pulled back. “Your injury from the vertibird crash.”

“Yes.”

“It is a lasting injury?”

“I don’t know.”

“You have a doctor at your HQ, yes? Your Head of Science?”

“Yes.”

“Call her.”

Carmen blinked slowly. The technicolor lights did not go away, fixed in place. “Okay.” She was clearly in no position to argue.

Dialing HQ was practically muscle memory at this point—but dialing Cassandra specifically proved to be a bit more difficult. The last thing she wanted to do was accidentally dial the wrong person and have to explain “oh, sorry, I can’t see anything so I’m trying to call Cassandra. Could you put her on the radio please? Oh no, it’s fine, probably just because of the explosion. You know, from the bombing I was just at the center of? Oh yeah, I’m fine, probably, I think, I mean, I have to be, that’s why I’m calling Cassandra! The Chief can’t afford to be out of commission—we all know that!”

She waited, praying it would be Cassandra that answered.

“Well, if it isn’t our modern-day miracle. To what do I owe your call?”

Carmen sighed with relief. “Hi. I…” She gulped, fully aware she was not having this conversation with her doctor alone. “I’m having problems.”

Now, Cassandra sighed. Her voice lilted between snark and dismay. “That’s exactly the sort of thing I hoped not to hear.”

“What do you mean? You expected this?”

“Walking and talking after a craniectomy in three weeks time? A miraculous recovery. I’d hoped the luck would last—that what was likely would never come.”

Carmen’s face scrunched with confusion. “What do you mean? What was likely?”

“Chronic symptoms related to your traumatic brain injury. Headaches, dizziness, nausea, brain fog—”

“Migraines?” Carmen interrupted. “With aura?”

“Migraines, with or without aura.” Cassandra sighed on the other end of the radio. Carmen could practically see her drawing up her clipboard. “Time of onset?”

“About 5 minutes ago.”

“Trigger?”

“Explosion.”

“That would do it. Tinnitus?”

“Yes, but it’s quiet now.

“Dizziness?”

“Yes.”

“Nausea?”

“Yes, and vomiting.”

“How wonderful. Alright, let’s see what we can do. Open your medkit.”

Carmen felt Salvador’s hands at the various packs belted to her. “On my waist,” she instructed him. “Black bag with a cross.”

She heard the zipper open.

“What does she need, Cassandra?” Salvador asked her.

“Hello to you too,” Cassandra said. “Why don’t you ask her? She has a habit of moonlighting as a medic.”

“This should be taken seriously,” Salvador said.

“I am. This is a test. Carmen?”

Why was it so hard to just think? She’d been thinking all her life, but…ever since the crash all her thoughts came through a thick slog. Even her voice was slow as she spoke, meandering to the knowledge she knew was in there somewhere. “The nausea’s nearly gone. Ringing’s gone. Colors’ still there. Head pounding. Splitting. It’s hard to think. Med-X?”

“Definitely Med-X,” Cassandra said. “It’ll stop the pain.”

Carmen felt Salvador digging through her pack. He must have found what he needed.

“Remove your jacket,” he said.

Carmen shrugged it off. She pulled up the sleeve on her vault-suit.

“The aura is tricky. Have you had auras before?”

“No. Migraines, yes, rarely. Maybe once a year. Auras? No. But…”

Carmen closed her eyes, trying to think through the slog. Her thoughts came too slowly. Even with her eyes closed, her mind became distracted by every crunch of dirt and twig snap and rustling leaves underfoot from soldiers’ boots, every wheezing breath of the wounded, every hiss of Stimpacks and rattle of Buffout pills. Her thoughts were interrupted by the bullets of every gun loaded into its chamber, the squeak of new leather armor still being worn in, every word of chatter between the ten conscripts surrounding her. It was all too much to think, but she had to try. When did the auras start?

Behind her eyelids, the lights still flashed and spotted and flickered. She remembered the road to Diamond City, taking cover behind an overturned boxcar on the railroad track and Theresa diving down with her. She’d seen it, the flash of something—the glint of metal or a green shape darting in the distance—she wasn’t sure—but she’d seen something. But between her recon scope and VATS—there was no one there. Not even a Commonwealth critter darted through the dead forest. There was nothing to account for the flash she’d sworn she’d seen.

Her head had been pounding then too. It hadn’t been obvious but now, she wondered… “I think I may have had the aura for a while now. Since the road to Diamond City.”

Cassandra sighed. “Why didn’t you say something?”

“I thought I was just jumping at shadows…but I guess I was jumping at lights, huh?”

“…any other symptoms? Loss of balance? Muscle weakness? Slurred speech? Lost time?”

“No.”

“She’s lying,” Salvador said.

“I’m not!” Carmen said.

She felt Salvador stab the Med-X into her arm and hissed. “Give some warning!”

“I will attempt to provide better indications in the future,” Salvador said. “She could not walk after the blast.”

“That’s the blast! That doesn’t count! My whole body couldn’t move!”

“You froze,” Cassandra said. “It’s common. Can you balance now?”

“I’m sitting upright,” Carmen drawled. “Does that count?”

“Stand for me.”

Carmen grumbled. Of course her word wasn’t enough. Why did Salvador have to go and say that? She wasn’t lying, she wasn’t a liar, she just knew better than to attribute a full-body freeze to muscle weakness or loss of balance.

She felt Salvador’s hands on hers as he hoisted her to her feet. After an initial wobble, she was fine.

“See?” She spat to the technicolor air where she could vaguely make out the shape of him. “I’m fine. I’m standing.”

“Salvador?” Cassandra said through her Pip-Boy.

“She’s standing,” Salvador confirmed.

“Push her.”

What? Before Carmen could process, she felt a hand push to one side. She flailed her arms and her legs wobbled. It was much harder to balance without any sort of visual cue, especially in heels. But with all the grace of a seasoned drunk, she found her footing and stood upright again.

“Your boots are not suited for rough terrain,” Salvador said.

“Take them off and see what happens,” Carmen said.

“Focus,” Cassandra said. “I take it she passed?”

“She’s maintained her balance, yes.”

“Good. We can cross seizures and stroke off the list. I’ll be honest. I’m of two minds, Carmen. Part of me wants to call you back here for a thorough examination. We’d take scans, evaluate your cognitive abilities, run tests…”

“And the other?” Carmen said, keeping the shape of Salvador in view. He was not going to pull another fast one on her again.

“The other knows that time is a luxury we cannot afford, and that you’re unlikely to return even if I ordered it as your attending physician.”

“They need me,” Carmen said.

“We do. All of us. We all know it. Sickness, injury, pain, exhaustion—these are things we all suffer from—but you can’t afford to. Three weeks has already cost us dearly.”

“I know.”

“So, here’s what I suggest. How often are you taking Med-X?”

“Uh...” Carmen trailed off, embarrassed.

“Weekly? Daily?”

“Daily,” Carmen said. “I’m going to wean off, I swear. I just…”

“I want you to take one dose every 8 hours.”

Carmen felt the blood drain from her face. “What? You want me taking more? For how long?”

“Until the migraine subsides.”

What if it didn’t? Sure, it wasn’t this bad most days, but…ever since the crash, it’d always been there. “Won’t that…you know, cause addiction?”

“You’re in pain. I’m prescribing you pain medication. I’m not worried.”

It was hard to argue with that logic. “Alright. What about tolerance?”

“If you start to feel it’s becoming ineffective at managing your symptoms, we’ll discuss it then. Likely a dose of Addictol is all we’ll need.”

Right, Addictol. She always had one on her. Hancock did too. Hers was to treat accidental addiction. His was to pre-game a bender. The despair came out as wry laughter. “Great. So I’m a druggy now. A bald druggy. Put me in a tricorn and call me Hancock.”

“Last I checked, Hancock took chems recreationally. This is medical treatment. Honestly, I’m surprised you’re concerned with how often you replace sleep with Mentats.”

Alright, that was different. “Who needs sleep?”

“We’ll be running up quite the debt before all this is over. Keep me posted. If you experience any new or worsening symptoms—”

“Call you, yes. And Cassandra?”

“Yes?”

“This stays between us, alright? You too, Salvador. I just…”

“We can’t afford to show weakness,” Salvador said.

“And I don’t want people to worry,” Carmen said.

“You can afford to let them worry a little,” Cassandra said. “Jake, for instance…”

“Don’t,” Carmen said. “I know. He hardly left my side. I feel bad enough as it is.”

Cassandra laughed a bit on the other end of the radio. “One day, you’ll have to accept that people care for you.”

“Not if I’m dead first.” Carmen released a heavy sigh and grabbed the dial of her Pip-Boy. “I’ll talk to you later.”

“Bye now.”

“Hey, darlin’, are you there? Darlin’?” Jake’s worry was palpable through the speaker. “Darlin’, I know you’re busy, or maybe you’re just sleeping, but, if you could answer, I just—The explosion at Mass Pike Interchange—There were injured and… you weren’t in the report! I just want to make sure you’re alright, please.”

Carmen forced herself awake and squinted at her Pip-Boy. 3 AM? Was it really 3 AM? And he was blowing up her radio like this? Her whole body ached. She clicked the dial on and her voice came out gravelly. “There’s explosions everywhere, Jake. They have bombers.”

“Oh thank goodness you’re alright.”

Carmen sighed. No, no, she most certainly was not alright. She was alive, but she wasn’t alright. No one in the Commonwealth was alright. They were at war and the migraine that was peeking from behind the Med-X might be a permanent, long-term complication from her traumatic brain injury, and she felt shitty enough dealing with all of that without adding soothing a grown-ass adult man atop the pile. This wasn’t her job. The Commonwealth was her job. Why did he even care anyways?

“Jake, it’s 3 AM. We talked yesterday, or, the day before, or, whatever. You can’t keep calling me like this.”

“What do you mean?” Jake asked.

“Every night—every night you want to talk.”

“Well, yeah, we used to talk every night. What’s wrong with—”

“You’re not my boyfriend!”

“Well, I'm your friend, aren’t I? That ain’t never stopped us before!”

“Maybe it should,” Carmen said. “This isn’t…it’s not a friend thing, Jake. We both know that. And I shouldn’t entertain it.”

“Entertain it? Maybe I’m wrong but you kissed me.”

The lack of sleep only heightened the sense of shame that descended on her like a bucket of ice water. He was right. She had kissed him. She had broken their “friends” agreement, not him. “I did, and I’m sorry—I’m so—"

“Sorry? For what? That was good, it was real. Darlin,’ you were out for weeks, I—We didn’t know if you’d wake up. I—"

“I know. You never left my side. I know that. Everyone tells me that.”

“You’re acting like it’s a bad thing.”

“No. No, it’s kind and wonderful and—but we’re not—"

“It doesn’t matter. Together, not, whatever time you need, but, I still want to—talk and sit by you and kiss you.”

“I want that too, or at least, I think I do. I did. It…it felt real. But maybe it just felt real to me because it felt real to you. Maybe it all felt right because I knew it was what you wanted.”

“…Darlin’? You…want to be with me, right?”

“I do, or…” Carmen caught the automatic placation she gave him. No, no placation. Honesty. It wasn’t right to lead him on. “…I did. Or…” Had she? Or had she just been lonely and desperate for love? Had she really fallen in love with him, or just the idea of him? Her head hurt. The Med-X had fully worn off now, and it was getting harder and harder to suppress her words when so much of her energy was spent just suppressing the pain. “No, no I don’t know Jake. I don’t know anything, okay? And right now my head hurts and everything’s technicolor and I’m vomiting, every day, I wake up and I just—and Salvador wants me to personally recruit people—to personally ask them to die for us, for me—"

“Woah, woah, slow—"

“He tests me on everything to figure out if I’m worthy or something and I have to prove myself, have to be at the top of my game when I’m not, have to prove that all this is worth saving and everyone is depending on me because the Gunners are here and the Commonwealth is in danger—”

“Darlin’, you need to breathe. Can you breathe with me? In…”

“I am! I am fucking breathing. I know how to fucking breathe. Will you just shut up for two goddamn seconds and listen?”

The silence was deafening. She’d…just yelled at him. She…she hadn’t yelled at anyone like that. Not since…

Not since Nate. Part of her wanted to take it back. Apologize and beg. Say she didn’t mean it.

But she had. Easy for him to tell her to breathe—he wasn’t the one holding the world on his shoulders. He didn’t know and he didn’t care—no one cared how she felt—how any moment, she’d crack, then fracture. The world didn’t care. It was all up to her.

She was too exhausted to apologize and in too much pain to pretend. She couldn’t keep smoothing things over. Why wouldn’t everything just stop?

“…good night,” Carmen said, and she hung up.

For a moment, she prayed Jake wouldn’t call her back. For a moment, she prayed he would. Then, he didn’t. She couldn’t tell if the tears that welled in her eyes were from relief, heartache, physical pain, overwhelm, or a mixture of it all, but regardless, they came, and they wouldn’t stop coming. She grabbed her pillow and held it to her face like she could suffocate herself. A part of her wondered if Nate could finish the job. Outside her tent, there was only silence.

Jake stared at his Pip-Boy in silence.

She’d just cussed him out.

He’d never heard her like that.

The day she’d left him, he’d felt despair. The day she’d left with MacCready, despair. The day she’d left with Theresa, despair.

He was well-passed despair now.

No, something darker and more sinister brewed inside him.

Did their friendship mean nothing to her?

Sure, maybe they’d never had the most conventional friendship. Friends didn’t usually kiss or sleep together or build a life together or rebuild the whole damn world together. They’d never acted like friends! They’d always been partners, and now she just wanted to push him out? Like it meant nothing?

He’d tried being patient. He’d tried being there for her, but she had to do her part, and now she didn’t want any of it! Was this it? Was this the end of them? Was it really over? What did it mean to just be friends with the woman that changed his life?

He was watching this war tear them apart—tear her apart. She wasn’t acting like herself. She’d turned cold and calloused and hard. She bit at every hand he offered.

…Maybe there was another way. He thought about Father’s offer again. He could be with her. He’d never have to live without her. No more vertibird crashes. No more Gunners. No Aiden. Nothing would keep them apart…

Would he even be able to convince her?

But to just…give up on Laura and Katelyn like that?

Was there any hope of finding them? For all he knew they were…

No, no he couldn’t think like that. Until he saw it with his own eyes, they were alive. They were somewhere out there. He just had to find them.

He thought back to X6’s threat. He had to find them fast.

Chapter Text

A completely fruitless interrogation. Aiden punched the button to the elevator to leave the Hangar. Decades in the Commonwealth and not a trace? Bastard was hiding something, but what? He grabbed his radio and turned the dial until it reached the Chief’s channel.

“Where are you?” he barked.

A moment of silence, then static as she tuned in. “Everywhere,” she said unhelpfully. “What do you need?

“What did you find out?” Aiden said. The elevator doors opened. He walked inside and punched the button for the second floor.

“About?”

Aiden felt anger bubbling inside. “Who do you think?”

“I don’t have time for guessing games,” Carmen drawled. The mouth on her since her crash. She always knew just what to say to piss him off.

“The complete stranger you let waltz right into our base? The one holding our entire future in his hands?”

Static. No response at first. Then, she replied. “Ah, Salvador. Right. Nothing. He’s a closed book.”

The elevator dinged. Second floor. “Useless.” Aiden spat.

“Hey—watch—!”

He turned off his radio.

Just completely fucking useless. One job, that’s all he gave her, and she can’t even do that! What did he ever see in her? Not only was she completely useless, the empty bottles collected under his bed said she was bad for his liver!

What a complete waste of time. She was a waste of time. He stormed to the security office and lunged for the chair at his desk. With entirely too much force, he sat. Then, just for good measure, he punched the desk. There! Now, his hand hurt, but at least he felt better.

He blinked, and he was back on Spectacle Island. He’d radio’ed HQ. They’d done it. The artillery had hit ‘em all. But HQ…had they taken out the payload? Jake had just been screaming triumphant, then cut off with horror.

“Talk to me! Jake! Where is she? Is she—?"

Aiden didn’t’ say it. If he didn’t say it, it didn’t make it real. She couldn’t be— she had to be—

He’d just got her back.

Aiden jolted awake. Hours of paperwork and personnel screenings and incident reports and he’d started to nod off. He shook his head. Couldn’t afford to nod off. Too much at stake. He grabbed his coffee mug from the desk and took a drink, only to find it empty. Damn. He got up to get more.

As he poured coffee in the cafeteria, he couldn’t help but look up at her bedroom door. He saw someone coming down the stairs from the corner of his eye… But it was someone padding down the stairs from their room. Aiden ignored them.

In the dark coffee cup, he could see her in the hospital bed. It was the only time he’d visited her. She didn’t look real—the mesh on her head, the tubes and IVs connected to her, the machines breathing for her. He saw Jake asleep in the chair at her bedside and knew that she was looked after. She didn’t need him there. And seeing her like that, broken and fragile, and not a damn thing he could do about it. He just… He couldn’t. So, he left.

Aiden blinked slowly and the memory faded, and he was staring into the dark coffee. It was obvious he was in no state to continue working, so he dumped the coffee and headed to his bedroom.

He laid in bed and stared up at the ceiling. Besides the empty liquor bottles underneath his cot, even more collected on the bookshelf. He closed his eyes, and he was back at their first meeting since she’d awoken. She leaned into him, and he could smell her. Immediate and distinctive…he hadn’t recognized it before. It smelled like her pillows and her sheets and her bedroom those early mornings he’d sneak out… She kissed his cheek, and her lips were soft, and he felt the warmth radiating from her like a beacon. He couldn’t help but pull her to him. He couldn’t help but kiss her. For weeks it had been so dark. For weeks, he’d been drowning in skirmishes and incursions and just trying to hold the damn line and blood and corpses and KIA letters to family and obituaries. She was warm and bright and if they’d lost her—

She molded into him perfectly. Even without her hair, she felt the same as she always did—her warmth was real. She was tangible. She tasted the same. He’d missed it. And when he pulled away, she’d blushed the same too. 

Aiden sighed. With a grunt, he sat up. His cot creaked. He grabbed a bottle off the shelf. Cracked it open. Turned it up and gulped it. Gulp. Gulp. Gulp. It burned. He didn’t care. He needed to get her out of his head. He needed to sleep.

As the buzz set in, warmth spread through his body. The tension in him released. He tossed himself back into bed and closed his eyes. The room spun, but only a little. Finally, sleep took him.

Salvador called Carmen. “Return to base.”

“Why?”

“We’ve secured a lead.”

“Okay, tell me.”

“I will tell you in-person, where it is secure.”

Carmen thought for a second. Why wouldn’t he just tell her over the radio? That’s the whole point of the radio, so that the Department Heads could tell her things without running back and forth across the Commonwealth. Why wouldn’t he think it’s secure?

That’s when she remembered her warnings to her Department Heads before she’d left with MacCready just two months prior. If we can hear them, they can hear us. Radio silence until I return. “Right…” Carmen shook her head, as if it might shake her thoughts clear, but it did nothing except loosen the beanie on her head. She tugged it back down over her ears and tried to think of some clever comeback. “…You sure this isn’t just an excuse to see me?”

“Security of our military operations is my priority, which requires guarding our intelligence.” Salvador always took things literally.

Carmen sighed. “Yes, yes, I’m on my way. Light some candles at least.”

When Carmen entered Salvador’s office, he took a candle from where he’d prepared it on his desk, lit it, and handed it to her.

“What’s this?” Carmen said, a bemused smile on her face.

“You told me to light some candles,” Salvador recited. “I was unsure how many since we have working electricity.”

Carmen laughed lightly. “It’s mood lighting.” She set it back on its holder on his desk. “What’d you find out?”

“Vault 95 is our next target,” Salvador said.

“I see. “

“I will personally join you for this assault.”

Carmen eyed him up and down, her smile turning coy. “You really can’t get enough of me.”

“The troops will hold the outside of the vault while we secure the interior.”

“What are you hoping to find there?”

“I believe this is their forward base of operations. It is likely to contain information regarding all operations in the Commonwealth, including the fueling station for their Stingrays. Dismantling their Stingray operation remains our top priority.”

“It’s their biggest advantage,” Carmen agreed.

“Indeed, with their advanced weaponry being second.”

“How did you get so…” Carmen furrowed her brow, staring at the candle burning on his desk. She searched through the slog in her mind for the right word, but she couldn’t find it. “…good? At this sort of thing? I just…it’s like a whole ‘nother world to me. I’m trying – I recruited more folks today. You know, the whole “hey, you wanna die for me?” song and dance. I didn’t word it like that, but it’s essentially what I’m asking them to do. I’m personally asking them to die, to put their lives on the line. Sorry, it’s just, there’s all this strategy involved that…I’ve never thought about. Never thought about anything like that.”

“You value life,” Salvador said. “It’s not a weakness, Carmen.”

…Did she? She thought back to when she’d helped the Nightingales investigate Milton General Hospital. She’d walked in on a fight between Raphael and Ellis. A raider had attacked Ellis, and Raphael wanted to let him bleed out because of it.

“Talk some sense into the kid,” Raphael muttered to her, but she just shook her head. “Life is precious. It’s not our place to judge,” Carmen said, looking at the poor man bleeding out on the floor.

She thought about all the times she’d searched for a peaceful option. Even when facing Wes, she’d tried to talk him down. Half the time it worked – Wise, for example. Other times? She thought back to Berman and the way his eyes had bulged out of his head as she crushed his throat beneath her boot. She didn’t know. Other times, she just couldn’t find it in her to have mercy.

She’d always seen it as a weakness – that she was too soft. But now, Salvador told her otherwise.

“You don’t think so?” Carmen asked.

“No,” Salvador said. “But in times of war, people are units, places are points, and the world is a battle map.” He walked to the map on the table and moved some pieces from one place to another. “You’ve played chess?”

“Yes.”

“It’s a game of war.”

“Maybe that’s why I never won.”

Salvador shook his head. “You’re the queen – the most powerful piece. You move everywhere and capture everyone.”

“Then who’s the king?” Carmen’s coy smile returned.

“It’s not a 1-to-1 analogy,” Salvador said. He finished moving his pieces and turned back to address her. “How long until you’re ready for the assault?”

“Depends,” Carmen said, shifting her weight uneasily. “Do you want me rested, or do we just want to go?”

“Time is of the essence, but preparation is important. The decision is yours.”

“I can be ready in the hour,” Carmen said.

“Good. I’ll mobilize the troops. They will meet us there.”

While trekking to Vault 95, Carmen’s Pip-Boy radio crackled. Incoming radio signal. HQ: Administration.

“What could Theresa want?” Carmen asked Salvador as she answered.

 “Hey,” Theresa said. “You were in and out so quick, I didn’t get a chance to talk to you.”

“What is it?” Carmen asked.

“You know how you asked me to contact the factions?”

“Yes?”

“Try to get their help with the war?”

“Yes?”

“Yeah, they ain’t buying it.”

“What?”

“They ain’t buying it! Institute’s a complete nonstarter. Won’t even talk to us. Every courier I’ve sent to the Railroad comes back empty-handed, like the Railroad don’t even exist! Brotherhood says the enemy is the Institute. And the Minutemen? Bless Preston‘s heart, but they’re already stretched too thin trying to hold the east. Gunners paid off a lot of raiders, super mutants, the whole like.”

“After everything I’ve done for them…” Carmen trailed off, unable to contain the feeling of betrayal.

“I don’t know what to tell ya. They ain’t budgin’ for me. … but you?”

But you? What did she mean, but you? “I can’t go there!” Carmen yelled. “I’m leading strike teams! I’m setting up outposts! I’m already going town-to-town personally, asking people to die for us, and still the Gunners take Murkwater every other day! We’re losing ground! I can’t be everywhere at once!”

“You are the queen,” Salvador said, simply.

Carmen glared at him, fully intent on giving him a piece of her mind, but he just stared back at her blankly. There was nowhere for her anger to find purchase, because he was right. She sighed. Being the queen meant that meant she had to be everywhere at once. She felt her head clear of some of the anger. “You represent me. Why won’t they talk to you?”

“She is the bishop,” Salvador said, as if it were obvious.

Theresa snickered through the radio. “I see you’ve got Sal talking about chess.”

“It is a useful analogy,” Salvador said.

“Look, they won’t talk to me,” Theresa said.

“It isn’t right,” Carmen insisted.

“So, tell them,” Theresa said.

“What? How?”

“How? Whaddya mean how? How you always do.”

Carmen threw her hands up in defeat. Of course, like she always did! By batting her eyelashes and asking nicely! Except—! “Theresa.” She spoke right in the radio, her voice low. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I can’t even talk a Diamond City guard into letting me into Home Plate. How the fuck—?”

“I watched you give Mayor McDonough the dressing down of his life in 50 words or less,” Theresa argued back. “You turned Sal’s “no” into a “yes,” even if he won’t admit it.”

“I am still undecided,” Salvador said.

“Case and point. You still got it.”

“Not looking like this, I don’t!” Carmen yelled back at her.

“Yeah, you’re a little worse for wear,” Theresa acquiesced. “They’re battle scars, use them.”

Battle scars, huh? That’s the angle Theresa wanted her to go for. Well, she was Head of Administration for a reason – she knew a thing or two about talking to people, so if that was the angle… “Fine, but that still doesn’t fix the problem. I can’t be everywhere at once.”

“You know that saying, pick your battles?” Theresa said. “You can’t pick every one. This one we need you on.”

“Feels like every battle I’m needed on,” Carmen mocked.

“You are the queen,” Salvador said, simply. “You sent your bishop. The enemy moved their pieces. Your bishop cannot capture the pieces you need.” How very helpful of him to finally explain his analogy.

“We need you on this one,” Theresa agreed. “The recruits you’ve found are great, but we need more help. We need these people to quit their squabblin’ and get in line. This threat is bigger than all of us. We know that, they won’t see it. You gotta make them. You, personally.”

She didn’t understand what she was asking her to do. Carmen sighed. “Tell that to the next round of refugees.”

There was a long silence between the three of them as the weight of Carmen’s words sunk in. Maybe Theresa hadn’t realized this, but Carmen had. Every second she didn’t actively thwart the Gunners was a second they spent taking their next territory. They captured and they conscripted, and those that escaped were refugees, left homeless. And those homeless went hungry. They got sick. They starved. They died.

Salvador was not staring at her, but she could feel the intensity of his attention nonetheless as he walked beside her. He was waiting to judge her response.

Carmen shook her head. It didn’t matter. In war, people were just chess pieces. Sacrifice a pawn to take a rook. That’s how wars were won. Her bishop couldn’t take the piece – she needed to. “I’ll do it after the assault. Over and out.”

She hung up and sighed, feeling the weight of her decision sink in. That many more lives would now be ruined by her hand. “I get the feeling I’m going to be the most-hated person in the Commonwealth by the time all of this is done.”

“Perhaps,” Salvador said. “It does little to dwell on matters outside of our control. Focus on what you can. Create the most favorable outcome.”

They walked along the road westward for some time, lost in their own thoughts. The treks were getting easier now that her pain was managed and her body was regaining its stamina. Two hours in, and she wasn’t begging that they’d stop to make camp soon. She thought about everything Salvador had said and how different it was from her way of thinking. It was in those musings, that Carmen remembered something. “You never told me where you learned all this stuff. How?”

Salvador said nothing. She looked over, and he was pointedly watching the road ahead.

Carmen sighed. Useless, Aiden had called her. Completely useless. And she felt useless. But she couldn’t help it if the man was a closed book! Still, they were on a first-name basis now. Maybe he’d be willing to share something.

“I bet that synth eye has a story behind it,” Carmen pried.

“It does.”

“Will you tell me?”

“No.”

Carmen whined. “C’mon! Give me something!”

Salvador pondered this as they walked. He was silent for a long time. For so long he was silent, Carmen had given up on getting anything from him. Then, suddenly, he spoke. “…a trade of information.”

Really? That simple? Well, Carmen was a pretty open book. “Alright, what do you want to know?”

“You have a deep preoccupation with your appearance.”

Strange thing to ask about. Was it that outlandish to care about how you looked? Maybe it just seemed outlandish to him the same way his robust military understanding was to her. “Yeah, well, I don’t look how I used to,” Carmen said simply. “You should have seen me before the crash.”

“Why would that matter?” Salvador said.

Carmen sighed. There he went, missing the point again. “Think about it, Sal, can I call you Sal? What’s a queen always described as?”

Salvador could not come up with a response. She waited. They walked in silence for a while. First a few minutes, then five, then ten. But still, he said nothing. Carmen looked over to him questioningly, but he just looked at her for the answer, his eyebrow raised ever-so-slightly in a question.

“Beautiful,” Carmen answered.

“The queen’s power comes from her movement on the board,” Salvador said. “The shape or color of the piece is unimportant to her function.”

And he missed the point again. Carmen sighed. “Why do you think she can move so much and so quickly?”

“Those are the rules,” Salvador said, as if it were obvious.

“Who designed them?”

“Chess has a long history. Its precursors originated in India, but its modern form developed roughly in the 16^th century.”

“Men,” Carmen said. “Men with power who fought wars and took wives. And did they take an ugly wife? No. Men in power always took the most beautiful.” She would know, not that she shared that part with him.

“Beauty is subjective and provides little function,” Salvador said, as if just saying it made it true.

“Beauty is power,” Carmen said. “Beauty is status. Beauty is what helps you make friends in all the right places. No one has to like the way you are if they like the way you look.”

“Form over substance?” Salvador asked.

“Exactly.” Carmen sighed in relief, glad they’d finally reached an understanding. “If life’s taught me anything, it’s that.”

Salvador shook his head. “Appearance is temporary. Perhaps it only provides the illusion of power. The queen’s power is inherent, regardless of whether the piece is chipped or cracked.”

Well, so much for understanding. “No. You’re not getting it. And my head doesn’t work like it used to.”

“We disagree.”

“No, you just don’t understand.”

“Elaborate,” Salvador said.

“You don’t understand what it means to…” Carmen tried to think of examples, but it was hard when her brain felt like mush. She closed her eyes and pictured it. What had her beauty gotten her? “…To open doors just because you batted your eyelashes. To get someone naked just to have them spill their guts, and suddenly you have all the power. It’s more than just looks. It means more. That’s why she can move everywhere, why I can move everywhere. And I don’t have that anymore.”

There was a long silence as Salvador seemed to ponder this. They walked in silence along the road. It seemed like Salvador had finally understood her point, and it was such a relief to not have to think about explaining such a difficult topic anymore. She was so relieved by this, she’d completely forgotten about their deal. It came as a shock when a few moment later, Salvador spoke again.

“… I needed to replace my eye. That’s why I have a synth eye.”

Well, it wasn’t much, but it was something. “Makes sense. It’s an older model from the looks of it. Gen 2?”

“Yes.”

“How’d you get it to work, unless…?” She wasn’t thinking when she asked, but immediately, as soon as she said it, the thought occurred to her. Decades spent freedom fighting in the Commonwealth with a reputation that scared lawmakers and troublemakers alike? She looked to Salvador for an answer, but he pointedly wasn’t looking at her and said nothing.

Was it really possible he was an ex-Courser? It’d explain the stunted affect, the cold logic, the combat prowess, how he could operate for so long while still looking so young. His military training, strict respect for authority, combined with his drive for autonomy… It all made sense!

No wonder he didn’t want anyone to know! But she was a friend! She didn’t care about all that! Hell, she’d help him escape the Institute if he was still there!

“Hey, Sal, do you have a Geiger counter?”

“Has yours malfunctioned?”

Alright, so not the Railroad. Had the Railroad helped him escape and he just had never joined it, and thus never learned the new code phrase…or had he gone rogue on his own and carved his own path? It seemed likely to be the latter.

“No…” Carmen said, thinking of a lie. “It’s just good for tracking radiation. Surprised you’ve traveled so much without one.”

“Hm.”

Carmen wasn’t sure if he bought it, but he bought it enough not to press further. They continued their trek to Vault 95.

The assault had been a success, and despite the Gunners’ attempt to raze everything, Carmen and Salvador had still managed to secure the server room and encrypted files. They were this much closer to dismantling the Stingray operation for good.

“It’ll take some time to decrypt the files,” Salvador said, burning them to a holotape. “I’ll let you know when I have our next target. Good work today, Carmen.”

The words blossomed in her chest. All this time, they’d been working together, she’d been under his scrutiny, and finally finally she’d earned his praise! His respect! It had been so long since she’d felt she’d done anything right.

“Sal,” Carmen said, standing next to him at the terminal.

He stood up to address her, and in a moment of weakness…

Carmen pressed her lips to his. She was slow and hesitant. Her heart rattled her entire chest. Salvador’s lips were cold and unmoving. He didn’t return the kiss.

No, please, please, return the kiss. She needed him to return it. She’d worked so hard to earn his approval. It’d been so long since she had been touched. Everyone wanted her. He said beauty didn’t matter! He’d called her “queen!” Maybe he was just caught off guard.

She kissed him again, this time, deeper and more desperate. She moved her lips against his and clenched the fleece on his jacket’s collar. Please. She needed him. Didn’t he want her? Just fall—it was easier to fall. Give in—fall with her. Take her, touch her, fuck her, claim her, just give her something.

He’d met her at her lowest — when she wasn’t enough. Now, she was, he’d said it himself. No one else had seen the horrors they had. They were the only two on the bridge when the Stingray’d hit. And it’d been so long since she’d been touched. She remembered his hands on her body as the world hid behind technicolor. Please touch her.

But still, his lips didn’t move. His body was stiff and unyielding. And it was in that moment that the pit in her throat sank to her stomach in cold realization.

He didn’t want her.

Carmen pulled back and covered her lips. Salvador blinked rapidly as he looked at her. Otherwise, his face was stoic. No blush dusted his cheeks. He was processing what had just occurred.

“I—I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I—I wasn’t—!” Her back bumped into the server rack. “Shit. I—I didn’t mean to—!”

She stumbled back and back, reaching behind her until her hands finally found the room’s exit.

“I…I should go. Fuck, I should go.”

“Carmen,” Salvador said, but she turned around quickly.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I wasn’t thinking. I should go. I should go.” She hurried out of the room, her face burning with shame. Shit shit shit, she had to get out of here. Up the stairs, through the halls. Faster, faster, damn it! She broke into a sprint.

By the time she got to the elevator, she was breathless. She mashed the button to close the doors, praying Salvador hadn’t pursued her.

The doors closed, and finally she was safe to assess herself. Her face burned with shame. Her vision blurred with collecting tears. Her damn beanie was slipping off her head, so she tugged it down hard to hide the peach fuzz.

Ground floor. The bell dinged and Carmen scurried out the entrance. She had to get out of here. She didn’t know where exactly. Just anywhere but here.

As if to answer, static crackled through her Pip-Boy radio. Incoming radio signal: HQ Security. She answered.

“Mail came for you,” Aiden said. “Yellow envelope. Passed security, but we don’t recognize the name. New Liberty Trading Company. Ring a bell?”

Carmen was silent as she walked outside the vault entrance. Her troops saluted her as she passed. They wouldn’t if they’d known what she’d done. Her mind raced. What if Salvador told them? What if Salvador left? She’d just…forced herself on him and now…!

“Still there?” Aiden asked, reminding her that she needed to find an answer.

New Liberty Trading Company. Why did that sound so familiar? She searched her brain. She kept thinking about the Nightingales and Circe. Then, she remembered. “…They’re a merchant group. Worked with them once before. They invested in the Nightingales. Why would they…?”

She heard the sound of paper tearing.

“Are you…are you opening my mail?” Carmen accused.

“You wanted to know,” Aiden said, as if it was her fault he couldn’t respect boundaries. She heard him sniff loudly. “It smells.” His voice dripped with disapproval.

“What? Like…poison or something?”

“No. Girly. Like…perfume?” Aiden groaned. “Uhg. Heavy cardstock. Fancy penmanship. Gold filigree.”

“They’re courting me,” Carmen said, and she felt proud of herself for being able to piece that much together despite her sorry state.

“They want a meeting,” Aiden said.

“Where?”

“Customs House.”

“At least someone wants me,” she muttered. “On my way. Aiden?”

“Yeah?”

“Keep that safe for me.”

“Why?” Aiden asked. He snorted. “It’s from your girlfriend?”

“Does it say Proudmoore?”

There was silence as Aiden undoubtedly checked the signature. “It does.”

“Perfect.” Carmen sighed and wiped her tears. “Not sure she’ll still want me looking like this, but, I’ll make it work.”

“Quit the pity party,” Aiden snapped.

“What?”

“You’ve still got tits and ass.”

“I do…” Carmen trailed off, confused and…weirdly happy that he remembered that she did, in fact, have those things. She hadn’t lost those in the accident.

“See? You’re fine.”

“I’m fine,” Carmen repeated, as if she could make herself believe it. “Yep. Tits and ass. Tits and ass. That’s all I am anyways. Tits and ass.” Despite how demeaning it sounded, it actually helped. She took a deep breath, finally feeling herself calm. “Alright. Customs House, it is. Thanks, Aiden.”

“Don’t mention it,” he said, but she could hear the smirk in his voice. He was way too pleased at himself. Ah well, she’d give him this one. No doubt he’d torment her with this little victory in the future, but for now, she had her head on straight, and she was on a mission to recruit some factions.

Tits and ass. Tits and ass.

Chapter Text

A few days later, General Carmen Sheppard convened with Lieutenant Preston Garvey and Lieutenant Ronnie Shaw to discuss the best location for a Minutemen outpost to hold the eastern Commonwealth. Carmen suggested County Crossing — it was centrally located, allowing coverage of Taffington, Greentop, The Slog, Finch Farm, and Nordhagen, but Ronnie shook her head. Too many angles to attack from, too easy to get surrounded. Preston suggested Kingsport, but Carmen said no. It was their commercial port to Far Harbor. She didn’t mention it was also Mercer Safehouse. They couldn’t set it up as a Minutemen outpost. She countered with Nordhagen. Preston didn’t like how close it was to Boston Airport, but Ronnie liked it for that exact reason. The Gunners couldn’t fly their Stingrays anywhere near the Prydwen, and they’d have to get through the Brotherhood before they could get anywhere near Nordhagen.

The next day, Carmen arrived at Nordhagen. She sat with the Nordhagens for lunch and explained what they wanted to do and why. She didn’t want to turn this family into the face for an outpost, or kick them from their home, but the Minutemen needed another fort to help hold the east, and the Brotherhood certainly wouldn’t open Boston Airport to outsiders anytime soon. The peninsula made the most sense — defensible, with only one land route, and the Prydwen as a deterrent.

The Nordhagens agreed to oversee the outpost. It was arguably the safest place to be, with the Gunners focusing their efforts on settlements and territories. They broke the news to the settlers there. Those that didn’t want to or couldn’t serve were free to leave. The town meeting dismissed, and folks broke off to discuss amongst themselves, their families, and their friends. While they decided, Carmen began directing construction and reprogramming the ASAMs.

A day of hard labor passed, and some folks left. Most stayed. Then, one joined her for a cigarette break.

“I’m not sure about this,” they said. “I’m no fighter.”

“Me neither,” Carmen confessed. She flicked the ash off her cigarette. Her eyes fell to the shoreline as the sunset reflected brightly against the dark ebb and flow of the ocean waves.

On the shore of the beach, the Nordhagen kid was searching for crabs. They looked at the kid. He sifted through the wet sand of the shore, only to retreat as the tide rolled in. Then, he chased it back out and searched the sand for bubbles. His hands dug feverishly.

Carmen smiled sadly to herself. In this light, with his striped shirt, he looked a lot like Shaun. About his age, too. She took a quiet drag of her cigarette.

“One look at him and I see something worth fighting for,” Carmen said. “Don’t you?”

“Mom! Mom! I found one!” He scooped a chunk of wet sand, then watched it as he walked across the beach to his mom, who was busy packing lobster traps into storage. No more farming, no more fishing. Simple wood and sheet metal walls built to keep beasts and raiders out were now lined with steel beams and freshly poured concrete. Fishing boats hosting nets and traps now hosted turrets and crates of ammo, armor, weaponry, and supply shipments. The Nordhagen parents, previously wearing fishing overalls, straw hats, and flannels, now wore the dignified blue-and-gold uniforms of the Union. Their entire way of life had changed overnight.

“He deserves his home,” Carmen said. “His mom, his dad. If we don’t fight, he loses that. He loses his future.”

“Yeah,” the settler said, quietly. “I guess that is worth fighting for.”

“Then do it for them,” Carmen said. From the corner of her eyes, she saw a window on her Pip-Boy interface— Incoming radio signal. HQ: Administration. “I’m sorry, I have to take this.” She stepped aside and clicked “accept” on the interface.

“Hey, Chief, how’s the outpost going?”

“Hey, Theresa. Good. Just dotting my i’s, crossing my t’s, then the Minutemen should be all good to go.”

“Good, good. Any luck with the others?”

“Uh, well,” she lowered her voice, aware of her surroundings. “Railroad’s a non-starter.”

“What?”

“They’re not an army, Theresa. And it doesn’t fit their mission.”

“C’mon, you telling me synths aren’t getting hurt in the crossfire?”

“Sure, but they’ve already got the Institute and Brotherhood breathing down their necks. They’ve got nothing to spare.”

Theresa sighed. “If everyone would just stop fighting among themselves…”

“I know.”

“Not even information? I mean, intel wins wars, or so Sal says.”

“Until the Institute and Brotherhood are off their backs, it’s a no.”

Theresa sighed. “So…what do we do?”

“We get them off their backs.”

“Oh yeah, easy. Why didn’t I think of that? Any more bright ideas?”

“I never said I knew how, I just know that’s the next step. Make them realize that the Gunners are the bigger threat.”

“How?”

“I’m working on it. Got some ideas. They just need convincing.”

“I guess the Brotherhood wouldn’t like the bombers and the coil guns, but didn’t seem convinced last time I brought it up.”

“Sometimes, you just need a personal touch.”

“And the Institute?”

“I need to sort out the others first, but… if I can convince Shaun, the Institute will follow.”

“And how are you gonna do that? X6 said they don’t care about the reports. Think they’re safe underground.”

“Yeah, well…like I said, sometimes you just need a personal touch.”

“Think he’ll do it for you?”

“Maybe. Maybe not. Won’t know until we try.”

“Alright. Keep me posted. Oh, and, by the way, is everything alright?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, Sal was asking about you.”

The kiss in the vault.

Her heart pounded. A hot flash shot up her neck. Her ears rang. Her vision spotted. She kept her voice even, casual.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, was asking all sorts of questions. Is there something going on? You know, something you wanna tell me?”

Was she sleeping with him, that’s what she was asking. “Nope! Nothing. Nothing’s going on. Nothing to tell you. Why? Is he okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, he seemed fine, just, wasn’t sure where you’d run off to. Guess you left him at the vault?”

“Yeah, well, you said this faction stuff was urgent, so I hopped right on it.”

“And you didn’t tell him?”

“Must have slipped my mind. My head’s everywhere these days, you know?” She prayed that Theresa would just drop it. Her stomach was in knots. She wanted to hide inside her own skin.

“…Carmen, I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what’s going on.”

Her heart kept pounding. Her lungs were starved for air. Keep her breathing even. Did she know? Had Sal told her? No, Theresa would have called her out if Sal had told her. She didn’t know, she suspected. No concrete evidence. Play dumb.

“I…am telling you what’s going on? I’m working on this outpost for the Minutemen. I already talked to the Railroad.”

“And that’s all that’s happening?”

Carmen groaned. Keep up the act. Act like you didn’t do anything wrong. She’s the one acting weird. “What’s with the third degree?! I’ve been running back and forth across the Commonwealth dealing with this war, for god’s sake!”

“…Alright, geez, sorry, just seemed a little weird, that’s all.”

“We’re at war, Theresa. Nothing about this is normal.”

“Fair enough,” Theresa said. “Sorry, just gotta check. It’s my job. We cool?”

Carmen sighed in relief. “Yeah, of course, we’re cool. Sorry, got a little defensive. Under a lot of stress.”

“I know. Try to take some breathers now and then, okay?”

A pit settled in Carmen’s stomach. “Eh, I can sleep when I’m dead.”

“Might be closer than you think. Too soon?”

Carmen cackled. “No, it’s perfect. Thanks again for the hat. It’s been a lifesaver.”

“Don’t mention it. Stay safe out there.”

“Don’t count on it. Over and out.”

It was a small lie. She’d already apologized to Sal. He hadn’t left, that meant things were good. This would all smooth over in-time, just had to make it through. Besides, they had bigger things to worry about than an errant kiss. But the pit in her stomach did not subside. She tugged her beanie down tighter over her head.

Back to work.

Paladin Sheppard boarded the Prydwen at 20:02. The timing was imperative. After dinner, the troops wound down for the evening, but the mess hall was largely empty. After dinner, Elder Maxson retired from the Command Deck to his quarters. That’s where she needed him to be.

She wore her Paladin’s uniform — black flight suit for covert operations. The beanie was replaced with a black military beret. For the first time since the crash, she’d dug out her make-up bag and painstakingly applied her make-up. Full foundation, blush, eyeliner, mascara, eyeshadow, highlighter, contour, and her signature wine-red lipstick. She gauged her reflection in her compact mirror a final time, standing in the yellow glow of the industrial lights of the Prydwen. Her cheekbones were sharp, the foundation hid her pallor and the dark circles under her eyes. Her eyes were bright earthy brown and sharp, glittering like a predator hiding in the brush, stalking a prey. She still wasn’t used to her reflection — how different she looked without her hair. With big, luscious curls, her face had been soft and warm. Now, so much of it was sharp. It didn’t matter, this was the best she could do. Like Aiden said, she still had tits and ass.

The first stop was Proctor Quinlan’s office. She had to keep him close by. After exchanging greetings, she produced a large bundle of technical documents from her brown leather bag.

“Excellent,” Quinlan said. “I can always count on you to come bearing gifts.”

“I aim to please, Proctor,” Carmen said, a small smile on her face.

He rifled through the documents, calculating her reward. “…10, 11…21…”

Carmen laughed uneasily. She placed her hand over the Proctor’s to stop him. “I don’t need payment. Consider it a…donation.”

Quinlan paused, looking at her hand on his. Then, he looked at her. He eyed her. “Paladin?”

“I know I was gone,” Carmen said quietly, squeezing his hand.

Quinlan slowly pulled from her. He took deliberate steps around her to his desk. Then, he grabbed an empty manilla folder and a pen. He labeled the folder for his records and placed the documents inside reverently.

“You were injured,” Quinlan said, quietly.

“Yes,” Carmen said.

He said nothing at first. He chewed on his lip as if chewing on words. Then, he spoke. “We’re pleased you’ve made such a remarkable recovery.” He stood up straight and put his hands behind his back. “When can you lead the next research patrol?”

“Not sure. Kinda busy leading a war,” Carmen said, shifting uncomfortably. “Have you experienced much disruption? With the Gunners?”

Quinlan’s eyes sharpened. “Immensely. They’re capturing territory at an alarming rate, and our casualties have increased exponentially.”

Carmen sighed and shook her head. She bit back an apology. It wasn’t soldier-like to apologize. “We’ve lost a lot of men too. Is Elder Maxson in?”

“Yes, he’s in his quarters. I assume you’re here to report your findings?”

Quinlan, sharp as ever. She was counting on it. She nodded. “I just hope he’ll listen.”

“Speak with conviction, Paladin,” Quinlan said. “Your words have not failed you yet.”

The encouragement was unexpected. She studied his face for a moment. Was it genuine respect he showed her? His eyes were as sharp as ever, his mouth a firm line, but Carmen suspected his words were genuine.

She smiled softly. As she passed him on her way out, she squeezed his arm. “Thank you, Proctor.”

The corner of Quinlan’s mouth turned upward in a faint smile. There was a subtle softness to him, and an even subtler warmth in his tone. “Don’t thank me yet. Go.” He nodded to Elder Maxson’s door, and Carmen got the sense that Quinlan was just as invested in seeing a solution to this mess as she was.

So, Carmen left his office. A few steps and she stood before the foreboding, immaculate steel pressure door that led to Maxson’s quarters. She knocked sharply on the steel. It hurt her knuckles.

“Elder Maxson? It’s Paladin Sheppard, reporting in. I’m afraid it’s urgent.” She listened as his footsteps pounded on the other side, growing louder. Quickly, she adjusted the coil gun holstered on her hip.

Maxson opened the door. He was wearing his signature armor and coat, and appeared just as authoritative and steeled as ever. His eyes narrowed at her. “Paladin.” He motioned her in and closed the door behind her. It slammed shut with a heavy thud that startled her. The air hissed as it escaped the pressure.

The last time she’d been alone with Maxson, she’d stood between him and Paladin Danse, or, just Danse, now. She’d pleaded for his life, standing between her friend and the barrel of a gun.

“You want to kill him, you kill me.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Elder Maxson said. “It’s a machine.”

“Sheppard,” Danse said.

“Shut up, Danse,” Carmen said. “Danse recruited me. Danse taught me. Danse is the only reason I joined the Brotherhood. When I questioned, Danse put me back on the path. We’ve never seen eye-to-eye, but Danse didn’t care. He saw my potential to be more than a battered housewife. He saw my pain and said it didn’t make me any less of a soldier. He instilled in me a deep reverence of humanity and ethical duty to steward the responsible use of technology to better lives, and if you shoot him, you’re shooting me, and I will not go down quietly, Maxson. Because my husband couldn’t kill me, and Vault-Tec couldn’t kill me, and the Institute couldn’t kill me, and goddamn doomsday couldn’t kill me, what makes you think this time will be any different?”

She’d stepped closer and closer, and now she stood directly at the barrel of Maxson’s gun. It touched her chest, and Maxson took his finger off the trigger, but he didn’t put it down. He stood there, rigid and motionless. Carmen put her hand atop his.

“Do it,” she said, her words as sharp as her eyes. “Do it and kiss your ticket to the Institute goodbye.”

His glare hardened. His hand twitched under hers. She could see his nostrils flaring. This wasn’t going how he’d planned. But behind his hardened eyes, something else sparked. Fear? Lust? She wasn’t sure. She pushed down, and their hands descended together. She stepped closer to him still, until their chests were touching.

“Let him go,” Carmen said, speaking up to him, eyes locked with his. Her words were slow and deliberate. “And you’ll never see or hear him again. I’ll make sure of it. No one will know.”

She could smell his musk through the leather and fur of his coat. She could feel his heart pounding in his chest against hers. His eyes did not search hers, they burned into her, and she could sense the turmoil within. She met his gaze, equal parts threatening and pleading.

“Stubborn woman,” Maxson cursed at her. His ears were red. His breathing was shallow.

Carmen gave him a coy smile. Her eyes flickered down to his lips, back to his eyes. “You love it.”

He huffed and stepped back. “Danse, as far as I’m concerned, you’re dead. You were pursued and slain by Knight Sheppard, and your remains were incinerated. You are forbidden from stepping foot on the Prydwen. You are forbidden from speaking with members of the Brotherhood of Steel. Should you ignore me, you will be fired upon immediately. Do you understand me?”

“I do,” Danse said. “Thank you for believing in me, Arthur.”

“Don’t mistake my mercy for acceptance. The only reason you’re alive is because of her.”

Maxson’s dark gaze fell on her, brimming with bridled rage and…something else. Hunger. It put a cold pit in Carmen’s stomach, yet burned terribly. Her breathing was shallow as Maxson turned to leave. She remembered this feeling vividly – the same feeling she’d had when Aiden had cornered her in the hallway, teetering on the edge between danger and pleasure. Her pulse was racing. The smell of him still clouded her senses, even as his vertibird left.

“The last time you were here was your promotion to Paladin.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Typically, your visits precede a request.”

The words hit like a slap, but Carmen kept her face even. Her eyes tracked him as he paced the room like a predator in a cage. She never took her eyes off him. “I have a good reason for my absence, sir.”

“Your war, with the Gunners?”

“Permission to approach, sir?”

Maxson stopped in his tracks and looked at her, unwavering. “Granted.”

Carmen approached him and took off her cap. Then she took his hands.

“Paladin,” Maxson warned, but he didn’t pull away. He let her take his hands and place them on her scars.

“I almost died,” Carmen said quietly.

“That’s war,” Elder Maxson said, tracing the scars of her craniectomy.

Besides that moment standing between him and Danse, Carmen had never allowed Maxson too close. She’d kept her distance, allowed his eyes to follow her as she waxed poetically about being a woman out of time, an orphan when her father died heroically in the war with the Reds. She’d always put Danse between the two of them — if she needed to report something to Maxson, she reported it to Danse. She’d sensed Maxson’s hunger for her the moment he set eyes on her. He wanted to taste the Old World — the glitz and glamour. It was safer to keep him at a distance. It worked in her favor to keep him wanting.

But Danse was gone now, and she’d taken his place. She couldn’t distance herself from that hunger anymore. That’s why, tonight, she’d worn her red lipstick. That’s why, tonight, she let Maxson trace her scars.

Elder Maxson stood motionless, but his gloved fingers carefully traced the circle scarred into her head. She felt the leather, smooth and warm, atop her scalp. Her breath was shallow. He was so close to her, she could smell him. She could smell the leather and oil and musk. She kept her shallow breaths even as he touched her. She couldn’t give it away. The room was silent except for the hum of the Prydwen.

His voice was low and taut.​

“You vanish without orders. You return with a war at your heels. And now you stand here, placing my hands on your wounds as if they absolve you.”​

He stepped back, but his eyes lingered on her face. They caught on her wine-red lips.

“You’ve always known how to test me, Sheppard. First, you question me. Then, you circumvent the chain-of-command to infiltrate the Institute. Your influence corrupted one of my best soldiers, then you had the audacity to stand between me and an enemy of the Brotherhood. And as if that weren’t enough, you return from a war you waged without sanction, bearing scars you expect me to treat with reverence.”​

Carmen opened her mouth to argue that she hadn’t started this war, but Elder Maxson held up his hand. Her jaw snapped shut as his clenched tight. The weight of his command weighed heavily on them.

In the silence, defiance bubbled within her. Her eyes must have sharpened, because his did in turn. He pivoted into pacing his cage once more, and the tension was evident in his shoulders.

“You think your pain grants you immunity? That your survival justifies insubordination? I should court-martial you, strip you of your rank, and cast you out.”​

Carmen didn’t take kindly to threats. Did he forget who he was talking to? “You do that, I take your ticket to the Institute with me,” Carmen said cooly.

​Elder Maxson's jaw tightened, his voice a low growl.​ “You wield that line like a weapon, Sheppard. First, to shield Danse, and now, to shield yourself. Loyalty isn't a bargaining chip played for convenience, it is required."​

He stepped closer, eyes narrowing.​

"You claim to fight for the Brotherhood, yet you harbor synths, super mutants, ghouls—threats to humanity—at your base. You claim to act for the Brotherhood, but I suspect your allegiances are as tangled as this heretical Union you've forged.”

Maxson turned away, pacing once more.

"The Gunners disrupt our patrols, our supply lines. Quinlan and Teagan voice their concerns, but you—you've entangled us in a war of your own making. The real threat remains the Institute. Its cancer grows, yet you call it family.”

Shit. Carmen’s eyes widened. She hadn’t— “How did you—?”

“That holotape contained a great deal of information,” Maxson said, a near-imperceptible smirk on his face. He’d outplayed her. He knew her secret. He knew the true nature of her son.

She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. Her mouth felt dry and her tongue heavy. She gulped. Her voice shook. “My son saved my life. The Institute has never surfaced. For me, he did.”

“The Institute is not one man. It will not die with him,” Maxson said. “Even if you lured him, but you won’t.”

“This threat is bigger than the Institute,” Carmen said.

“No threat is bigger than the Institute.”

“They have Stingrays. Coil guns. This is a direct misuse of technology to raze the Commonwealth. And they won’t stop there.” Carmen unholstered the coil gun on her hip. She checked the safety, then held it out to him.

Maxson approached cautiously. With a moment’s hesitation, he took it from her. His eyes widened imperceptibly. “…We’ve never seen something like this.” She waited patiently as he examined it. His sharp eyes scanned the weapon as he turned it slowly in his hand. For a moment, his stern face slackened. There was a rapidness to the way his eyes moved, and his brow furrowed. He was trying to make sense of it. He was doing real-time threat assessment. Then, in another flash, he steeled himself once more. Rigidly, he handed the gun back to her.

Carmen took it from him slowly. She ensured their hands brushed. She slid the weapon from his hand. He released it to her. Her voice was low and even, but with a sharp edge. “No, you’ve been too busy floating up here, ignoring the threat right under your nose. How long before they take the airport? Your vertirbirds? The Prydwen?”

Maxson’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “We can defend ourselves.”

“Can you?” In one fluid motion, Carmen flicked off the safety and shot the door.

​The deafening crack of the Tesla coil gun reverberated through the Prydwen, the acrid scent of ozone filling Elder Maxson's quarters. The pressurized door, now ruptured, blew off its hinges. It hit the ground with a screech and a shower of sparks. Now, Maxson’s doorway was wide open. It stood as a testament to the power of this weapon, and the audacity of this woman.

Maxson's eyes blazed with fury as he turned to face her, his voice booming. "How dare you! My quarters aren’t a battlefield!”

“The whole world’s a battlefield!” Carmen yelled.

“This is insubordination of the highest—!”

“You won’t listen to—!”

“—order! I’ll have you court-martialed—!”

“—reason! You’d cling to your—!

“—stripped of every rank and title!”

“—stubborn pride while they bomb the Citadel!”

“Silence! Order!”

The corridor outside erupted in chaos. Paladins and Knights stormed in, weapons drawn. Proctor Quinlan and Knight-Captain Cade scrambled from their adjacent rooms. Their eyes darted between the damaged door and the shouting match within.

Finally, the two leaders stood in silence, their breathing ragged. Maxson stood straight and rigid, the epitome of discipline. Carmen poised like a snake ready to strike.

"Elder Maxson?" Quinlan asked.​ His gaze flickered to the door on the floor. “What happened?”

Maxson didn't take his eyes off Carmen.​ “A demonstration, it seems. One that undermines the very foundation of our order."​

Carmen stared him down. She made a point to flick the safety back on the gun with exaggerated motions, before spinning it easily in her hand and extending it in Quinlan’s direction.​

"Tesla coil gun, a weapon previously only theorized, is now the Gunners’ standard issue. If this is what it does to doors, imagine what it does to Power Armor.”

But Quinlan didn’t approach. She broke eye contact with Maxson to address Quinlan. Her face and voice softened. “Take it. Study it. It’s yours.”

Quinlan looked at Elder Maxson for permission. Upon receiving it, he cautiously approached.

Carmen handed him the gun. “Maybe you can convince him."​ She threw a final glare at Maxson, then booked it past the Knights and Paladins.

Maxson's voice rang out behind her, sharp and commanding.​

"Sheppard! Halt!"​

But she didn't stop. Maxson's jaw clenched, his fists tightening at his sides. He turned to Quinlan, his voice cold.​

"Secure that weapon.”

Then, without waiting for a response, he strode after Carmen, his jacket billowing behind him, his footsteps pounding with rage and betrayal.​

She scrambled up the ladder and out the door. She made it all the way to the exterior. Vertibird. One was always docked. She booked it.

Maxson was right on her heels. “Paladin Sheppard, halt!”

But Carmen didn’t stop running. She made it all the way to the vertibird. But just as she was about to climb in, she felt his hand on her arm like a vice grip.

“Halt!”

But Carmen didn’t try to pull away or break free. As Maxson pulled her to a halt, Carmen spun around and kissed him. Hot and heavy, tongue and teeth, she pressed her body into him.

And…Maxson froze.

Elder Arthur Maxson was only 22. From a young and tender age, he was crafted to be the perfect zealous military leader, robbed of his childhood and adolescence, propped to be the next king of the castle then instated by coup. Arthur had never had the chance to explore. Arthur could never act on urges. Outranking nearly every Brotherhood member his own age, he’d never been capable of getting close, and he had too much honor to take advantage of his position.

That’s why he hungered for her — an experienced woman who was an outsider. Carmen didn’t care about his title. She exuded sexuality and warmth. For so long, he couldn’t have her. Still, he couldn’t have her, but in this moment, she threw herself at him. Every coy glance and sly smile had led to this, and the Commonwealth’s future depended on it.

Would his base instincts cloud his judgement? Or had she made a grave miscalculation?

His grip tightened.

For a moment, the world stood still… The roar of the Prydwen's engines and the shouts of the crew all faded into silence. His eyes widened in shock…then, his rigid expression gave way to a flicker of vulnerability.​

And as quickly as the moment had come, it passed. Maxson pulled from the kiss, but his steel grip remained.

"This is neither the time nor the place,” his voice was low, cold, and barely restrained. “You’ve caused enough—”

Carmen didn’t let him finish. She surged forward and kissed him again. There was no hesitation, no pause for permission. It was a calculated risk, a desperate gamble. The kiss was forceful, a collision of heat and defiance, and she poured every ounce of her resolve into it—every scar, every secret, every warning he refused to hear.

Maxson froze. He hadn’t expected her to kiss him again. His grip slackened. His hands fell to her waist. For a heartbeat, he didn’t pull away.

Another heartbeat, he lingered.

Another, and his hands slid to her hips and gripped them tight enough to bruise.

He dove into the kiss after her. She felt a swell of pride. She was right. He wanted her, and she could use that. It felt good. It felt wrong. That somehow made it feel even better.

She swung her arms around his neck and pulled him closer to her still, and Maxson dove deeper into her mouth. She opened wide for him. He plunged. She sucked. The cold metal railings of the Prydwen dug into her back and his growing desire for her dug into her front.

When she pulled back, her breathing was ragged. Her eyes locked with his. She needed to get through to him. Really get through to him — the young man who wanted her beneath the title. She needed him to see her not as an insubordinate Paladin, but as the woman out of time with her own cross to bear.

“I have to go. They need me.” She glanced to the vast Commonwealth cityscape stretching westward.

“I can’t—”

“You can.”

He stared at her, jaw clenched, muscles trembling beneath his coat. Just beyond her, the lancer pilot sat, staring, stunned and uncertain.

Then—slowly, deliberately—Maxson released her and stepped aside.

Carmen didn’t wait. She scrambled up the vertibird, yelling at the pilot to take off. The engine roared to life, rotors slicing the air, drowning out the commotion of approaching boots. Several Knights and Paladins skidded onto the deck, weapons half-drawn.

“Stand down,” Maxson barked, his voice sharp as steel. “That’s an order.”

They hesitated. Confused. But they obeyed.

The vertibird rose into the air, vanishing into the densely clouded night over the Commonwealth. Carmen watched Maxson grow smaller and smaller, staring after her departure. The wind whipped his coat violently. Soon, he disappeared behind the clouds entirely.

“Where to?” the lancer asked, pointedly evading addressing what had just transpired.

Carmen sighed in relief, feeling the danger pass. “Customs House.”

“Why there?” The lancer asked, curiously.

Carmen gave a crooked smile as the relief gave way to a swell of triumph. “I have some new friends to meet.”

Chapter Text

When Carmen arrived at the docks of the NLTC’s new Commonwealth headquarters, she’d expected Lydia. The letter was from her, after all. Their first encounter had been…foreplay, for lack of better word. While advocating for the Nightingales, she’d laid it on hot and heavy, impressing the icy NLTC ambassador with her cunning and charm. They’d parted with promises of drinks.

Now, as she walked to the docks where the NLTC ships had anchored, she braced herself for the curious questions, awkward condolences, or snide remarks. She scratched her scalp furiously through her beanie. Damn peach fuzz was growing in like crazy. She tugged it down tight.

But when she arrived at the docks, Lydia greeted her just as coolly as their first meeting, and merely introduced her to her boss, Mr. Glatton. And Mr. Glatton?

Well, Mr. Glatton was a warm cappuccino in November.

See, Mr. Glatton hadn’t known her before the crash. He didn’t know what she looked like or how she acted. What he did know was that she was the most powerful woman in the Commonwealth, with friends in all the right places, and a love for caps that rivaled his own. One thing was clear. The way he held her hand past the handshake, spun every comment to flattery, and captured her gaze with his—he was charming her.

Carmen was never on the other side of this. She was always the one doing the charming! Smooth this edge, stroke this ego… But when she and Mr. Glatton spoke, it was like she’d finally met someone that spoke the same secret language—a language only they knew. When their eyes locked, she froze, and her brain stopped, and her heart raced, and Glatton didn’t drop his gaze, and she could swear she saw him, ever-so-faintly, tensing like a predator about to lunge at its next meal. There was a hunger in those eyes. That should terrify her, but it felt strangely familiar.

A dense pink cloud settled over her in the Customs House. Whatever commands he wrapped in his honeyed words, she felt compelled to do it.

It was only when she left that the fog lifted, and she could see clearly. Helping Allison clear out the raiders near Concord made it clear the flattery was not to court her. The moment some unwitting settler signed dubious paperwork because they trusted her, she knew Glatton was playing her. And he didn’t even have the decency to hide it.

That complete disregard for her, her people, and her ego, made Lydia and Allison’s proposal to usurp him an easy “yes.” Of course she would help. Carmen knew exactly how to charm manipulative men—she’d spent half her life doing it.

“I’ll distract him, you get the manifest,” she told Allison, riding the elevator up. They parted ways there.

The elevator doors opened. Penthouse. Outside the windows of the tallest floor, the ruined Commonwealth cityscape faded into the black of night. The sun had set hours ago, and Mr. Glatton’s secretary had already retired for the evening. The floor was silent, the hallway lights were off, but light still shone from under the door of Mr. Glatton’s office. Still working. Carmen adjusted the bottle of wine and commandeered wine glasses in her hands. As she approached the door, her heeled boots clacked against the marble tile with deliberate, even steps that mismatched the racing tempo of her heart. Her heart thudded in her chest. The rich oak doors gave an almost regal appearance. The smell of lacquer still hung in the air. When she finally knocked, the knocks resounded on the empty floor.

“It’s open,” Mr. Glatton called.

Carmen showed herself in.

The warm lights of Mr. Glatton’s office relieved the tension she’d collected. His office was showy, but not gaudy. A baseball statue stood mid-swing on a gold filigree mahogany end-table. A wet bar held an assortment of liquors, smokes, and glasses. Mr. Glatton sat at his desk in a leather executive chair, writing something down. From where he sat in the large chair, with the golden glow of the incandescent lights and the enormous, dark window behind him, he looked…regal. A baron, sitting at his throne.

Glatton looked up from his desk and stood up fluidly. He smoothed his suit. New money. Old money would never be this nervous. At least, they’d have the confidence and training to mask it.

“Ah, Ms. Sheppard, I thought you’d headed off.”

She’d already said goodbye earlier…then Allison had pulled her on her way out. With her signature charming smile, she sauntered towards the desk.

“Thought about it, then thought better,” Carmen said. “A partnership like this doesn’t happen everyday. We ought to celebrate.”

She placed the bottle of wine and two glasses on his desk.  Mr. Glatton condensed the papers around it to a single pile. It conveniently made room for her. The desk creaked as she leaned on the side of it, towards Glatton.

Glatton mirrored her, leaning on his desk, closer to her. “A bit early to celebrate. As memory serves, you haven’t signed on yet.”

Her eyes sharpened as they caught his jab. Her smile sharpened, showing more of her teeth. She looked to his eyes, then his lips, to his eyes again. The desk held her weight easily as she sat on it and leaned closer still.

“A formality, Mr. Glatton. An important one, but still, a formality.”

Then, she pulled back. The cork popped off the wine bottle easily. Now, it’d be rude for him to decline. As she poured the glasses, fruity and floral aromas filled the air faster than the bright pink wine filled his cup.

“We’ve worked together already, why not celebrate those first steps? The first bricks of Rome, as it were.”

She finished pouring his glass and handed it to him. As she passed it to him, his fingers brushed her hand. A stolen touch. Perfect.

She looked up at him with half-lidded eyes. “Besides, I’d like the company.”

“Well.” Glatton took his glass slowly, never dropping his gaze from her. “I suppose a good foundation is worth celebrating. Very well. Close the door, would you?”

“Of course.”

Carmen walked to the door, ensuring to sway her hips as she walked. She could feel his eyes at her back. No doubt, he was watching. Was he wanting? She closed the door, then fiddled with the lock, but she didn’t lock it. Allison needed to get in and out, after all.

But first, how would she do this?

Despite the warm smile she gave him as she turned, her mind raced. It’d been so long since she’d done something as covert and deliberate as this. She’d always preferred to let it happen naturally. Manufacturing the chase threatened to strip the flow and excitement from it—the push and pull. But she needed to. The odds were already in her favor. She just had to chance it. She returned to the desk and finished pouring her glass.

“Are you married, Mr. Glatton?”

“Only to my work. And you?”

“Mm. Only to my work.”

They held their glasses up in a toast.

“To us,” she said. “Partners.”

“Partners,” Glatton said. They clinked their glasses and drank. He immediately hummed. “Remarkable woman with remarkable taste. Moscato? You continue to surprise me, Ms. Sheppard.”

Moscato. That’s a word she hadn’t heard in 200 years. Did this man know his grapes?

She blinked, and she was sitting at the kitchen table, dinner abandoned, as Nate poured his and her glass of wine down the drain. Wrong pair for roast. Why could she never get it right?

She blinked, and Glatton eyed her appreciatively. She smiled.

“I hope you don’t mind. I wanted something light. Something fun.”

“Not at all. Between you and me, I can’t stand the dry stuff.”

Her heart thudded in her chest. Just as she’d suspected. New money, cheap tastes. He wanted something sweet to sink his teeth into. Having to always put on airs, surrounded by the wealthy elite with elite tastes, was draining.

Carmen laughed lightly. “Your secret's safe with me.”

“What about you? Your drink of choice?” Glatton asked.

“Mm, I don’t know,” Carmen said, swirling her glass. “I’m a woman of many tastes.”

“Playing coy?”

“What’s wrong, you don’t like the chase?”

“I’m enjoying it plenty.”

She laughed lightly again. “Me too.”

Her heels clicked on the hardwood of his office as she circled his desk, like a cat stalking prey. His eyes never left her as she circled, then settled next to him. “But if you must know,” she said, leaning in as if to murmur a secret. “Merlot.”

“Notes of dark fruits,” Glatton said, glancing at her lips. “Blackberry, plum. Smooth.” He slid his hand across the warm polished mahogany, behind her, leaning closer. “Fruit-forward.”

 As he leaned closer, Carmen could smell his cologne. She couldn’t place it at first, but it struck her as familiar. Something crisp. Paper? Ink? Wood? She leaned in closer.

“Atop,” Glatton continued, speaking into her ear. “Spice—clove, vanilla, pepper—hot, and inviting.”

“And how does it feel, Mr. Glatton?” Carmen murmured back, reciting the question her husband asked her a dozen times. “On your tongue?”

“Smooth as silk,” Glatton murmured. “But grippy. It clings to the tongue.”

“Do you like it? How it clings to your tongue?”

“I do. It always makes me want more.”

“Mm, more tongue?”

Glatton chuckled lightly. “Yes, more tongue.”

And it was in that moment she recognized the scent of Mr. Glatton’s cologne.

New money. Freshly printed dollar bills, crisply inked.

She saw Nate handing her manager a large stack of green. Enough to pay rent this month and next. Like it was nothing. From across the room, his blue eyes pierced her.

Carmen blinked, and Glatton was leaned into her still, right next to her ear.

She laughed lightly and drew back.

“Fancy yourself a wine connoisseur, Mr. Glatton?”

“It’s a role I grew into, much like this one.”

“It looks good on you.”

She winked at him, and Glatton raised his glass appreciatively.

They both took drinks of their wine. Carmen leaned back to rest her weight on the desk. Focus. Ebb and flow. Push and pull. Control the tension.

“So, no one waiting for you back home? A lover? A sweetheart?”

“Not at all,” Mr. Glatton said. “I think you’ll find I’m very available.”

“Are you now? Must get lonely, being away from home.”

“Yes…and no. Plenty of work to do. People to meet. Deals to make.”

“Busy, busy. Can’t blame you. Ambition, it’s…seductive. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“Very,” he says, looking at her and giving her a long, appreciative look, up and down. “I’m never satisfied.”

“Really?”

“No.”

“Maybe you just haven’t met the right thing to satisfy you.”

“Maybe…” Mr. Glatton said, putting his wine glass to his lips. She traced the neat lines of his thin mustache with her eyes. Immaculate. She watched his lips touch the glass and wondered if the wine would taste sweeter on his lips.

“Maybe I have,” he muttered into the glass, then he took a drink.

The pink wine swirled in Carmen’s glass. Tension was building in the air like static charge, but they weren’t there yet. Another drink to smooth second thoughts and second guessing.

She finished her glass as he did.

“Have another, won’t you? Might as well finish the bottle.”

“Might as well.”

Perfect. She poured for them both. His gaze felt hot on her like a spotlight. One more glass is all it’d take. As she handed him his glass, his hand brushed along hers. Another stolen touch. He wanted her.

She raised her glass for another toast.

“Now, you’re turn,” she said. “A toast, to…?”

“You, my dear.” He smiled at her. “Beauty, wits, ambition, and a love for caps that rivals my own.”

She blushed. There was no way he thought she was beautiful. She knew she wasn’t, yet he still said it. But she didn’t see deceit in his eyes. They were warm and bright—passionate.

He hadn’t seen underneath her cap—the surgical site still jagged and visible amid the fuzz growing in. He hadn’t seen underneath her vault suit—the lines of scars that carved up her abdomen. He wasn’t Maxson. Scars weren’t badges of honor. His pristine face and tailored suit meant scars were unsightly reminders of Commonwealth savagery. This uncivilized backwater. She may be the most powerful woman in the Commonwealth, but she paled in comparison to Glatton. When he saw the scars she hid, would he still think she’s beautiful?

…There was still time to back out of this. The banter was hot and heavy, but she could pull back. They could just go on a walk or something. Even if they went back to his room, there was still room to maneuver—some touching, some petting—then lie, say she didn’t put out on the first date. Something about Old World values. He’d eat that up. Allison didn’t need that long…

She clinked her glass to his. “Flatterer.”

But if she backed out, where did that leave her? How long was she going to hide underneath her clothing?

He called her beautiful because that’s what queens were supposed to be. Was she still? She’d charmed Maxson!

That’s because the scars worked in her favor, and there was history.

Aiden said she still had tits and ass!

Not untrue, but again, history.

Salvador had rejected her. She could charm anyone, not him. No history. His lips hadn’t even moved, as if the thought of it had never crossed her mind, she was so repulsive.

But Salvador had never called her beautiful. Salvador had never flattered her. Salvador had never wanted her.

Glatton. No reference point. No history. Wanted her, or her power. Let him think he can take it.

If she could charm a man as beautiful as him…

Maybe there was hope for her yet.

“Tell me, Mr. Glatton, this contract you want me to sign… Does it have any clauses regarding… fraternization?”

He watched her lips move. Then, he cleared his throat. “It does. Insomuch that any fraternization does not affect the written contract.”

“Mm, good, good. I’d hate for our dealings to get in the way of… getting to know you.” She locked eyes with him, willing him to keep his gaze upon her. She dropped her gaze to his lips, then slowly met his eyes again. “Getting to know you more…”

Her brain blanked and her tongue couldn’t find the word. Damn brain fog, even with the Med-X. She should have taken Mentats.

“…Intimately?” Mr. Glatton finished for her.

A smile spreads across her lips. “Intimately,” she repeated, glancing at his lips again. She offered her hand to him, appreciatively. He hesitated, just for a moment, before, slowly, he took it. His hands were…oddly calloused for a man so pristinely dressed. They were worker’s hands, roughness hidden behind his suit and tie. Without a word, he locked eyes with her and slowly brought her knuckles to his lips. His dark eyes sparkled delightfully in the sole light of his desk lamp. For a moment, the air stifled, too charged to breathe. As he released her hand, she traced her thumb across his lips. He parted his lips slightly at her touch. His breath quickened, but still he sat on the desk, as if paralyzed by anticipation.

He didn’t know how to proceed. Had he done this before? Clandestine meetings in his office? A woman sat on his desk? She leaned forward and pulled his chin to her. If she’d done this right…if there really was still hope for her after everything she’d gone through…

Then, one kiss. That’s all it’d take.

Her lips met his and there was the spark she’d expected. But, his lips, they felt… familiar. He must have felt it too, because he kissed her back in perfect tandem. She couldn’t stop the sigh of relief that escaped her mouth into his, and he leaned into the opening, capturing her. As his tongue slipped inside, he tasted familiar, and it wasn’t just the wine on his tongue. The way he moved inside her mouth, forceful, domineering, consuming… It filled her entirely. His tongue dragged on the roof of her mouth drawing her to him like a fish on a hook and it was so familiar. Why? Why was it so familiar?

He stood from his seat to tower over her. His hands grabbed her knees and shoved them apart so he could get closer. They slid up her thighs and he gripped them, feeling the give of her flesh to him. Then, they slid up her hips, another grip, testing the leverage of her bones under his palms. He yanked her closer to him with an alarming strength she’d never expect from him. He pressed her into him and she could feel her breasts press into him, pressed tightly in her vaultsuit. He pressed himself between her thighs and she could feel how badly he wanted her through his slacks. He was hard against her. Her arms circled his neck for leverage, her heels crossed the back of his knees, and she tightened the knot.

God, she missed this.

The sex?

Or something more?

Their breath was hot and heavy in the penthouse office. Every touch—electric. She pulled off his hat. Her fingers raked his pristine hair. His hands glided over her vault suit, exploring every dip and curve of the rubber hiding the warm flesh beneath.

“I’ve never…done this before,” he admitted breathlessly, cheek-to-cheek with her. His skin was hot on hers. His manicured mustache was smooth against her cheek. His voice rasped in her ear. “Not like this.”

“Well,” she said. “Neither have I. Not…quite like this.” It wasn’t a complete lie. Giving head under a desk wasn’t the same as being taken on a desk. Besides, she hadn’t had sex since before the first surgery, in the Institute. And definitely not since losing her hair. When all the clothes came off, would he make her take the cap off? She didn’t want him to see…

He laughed lightly and nuzzled down into her neck. He was put at ease, and that helped put her at ease. 

“You should know,” she said slowly, nuzzling him back. “I have some…scars. They’re…recent.”

He pulled back to look at her. “Should…we stop?” he asked, and his expression of worry seemed…genuine? It caught her off-guard.

She laughed nervously. “No, I want to. I just…don’t want to scare you. It’s…not pretty.”

He tilted her chin up to look at him and smiled a smile that was far too disarming.

“We can turn off the lights… or I could simply look at your eyes. Those are pretty enough for all of you.”

Her eyes? No one had said anything about her eyes before. That definitely had to be a lie…but god, if she didn’t love hearing it.

“I might…keep my cap on,” she said.

“I understand. Now, let’s get you out of these clothes.”

“Shower first,” she said. “I’ve been traveling all day. Then bed. Lights off. Cap on.”

“My shower has room for two,” Glatton said, but Carmen cut him off.

“No, because then you’ll see.”

“Lights off?”

“So we can slip, fall, and crack our heads open on the tile? Absolutely not.”

“What about your Pip-Boy?”

“Pip-Boy light only?”

“Pip-Boy light only. Though, I’m half-tempted to take you right here.”

As Glatton dived for the kiss, Carmen pushed him back. “Shower. Bed.” She swung off the desk and headed to the bathroom. Then, the sound of a zipper filled the room as she unzipped the vault-suit loudly as she walked. Glatton’s dress shoes thunked on the ground behind her as he tore them off, then tore after her.

First, the shower. The sound of the water was more than enough to cover any noise Allison might have made sneaking into Glatton’s office. The shower was foreplay — a chance to touch, explore, and desire. His body was lean muscles, deceptive strength, and calloused hands. He handled her like she was a novel machine, testing her body like buttons and switches. Her moans, hums, sighs, and smiles were outputs to adjust himself to. His body was his tool.

Glatton was careful and calculated, but there was a dark current beneath the restraint. His first movements were measured. His eyes trained on her. He watched her body tense and relax, jolt and shiver. She touched him, he touched her. She ebbed, he flowed. He matched what she gave him. Then, he went for more.

And more.

And more.

First, the shower. Hot water and steam. Pressed against cold marble, him pressed to her. Then, on her knees, taking him in her mouth. Then bent over, with him taking her. The sound of their wet flesh meeting echoed rhythmically and loudly off the bathroom walls, syncopated by moans, gasps, and heavy breathing.

Then, the bathroom counter. Bent over. Propped on it. Facing the mirror, fogging the glass, leaving handprints as she grasped desperately for relief. He pretzeled her body into shapes she didn’t know she could make. He just couldn’t be satisfied.

Then, the bedroom. Against the door, the wall, the floor. His body naked and flat against hers, as her face ground into plush carpet. Her hands threaded and gripped for relief as he carved himself a space within her. Their skin was hot, the air was cold, and Glatton kept her pinned at the wrists and ankles under the crushing weight of his body. She could hardly breathe as he split her in two.

Then, the bed. Soft sheets. Soft pillows. Warm snuggles. Gentle touches and tender kisses gave way to heavy petting and grinding. Just when she thought they’d finally wound down, his lubed cock slipped between her thighs and thrust in and out, and in and out, against her swollen lips. His hand snaked up to her throat, holding her pressed against him. Between the pleasure and his grip, she could hardly breathe again. How many times could a girl cum in one night? How many times could he? Shouldn’t he be drained empty by now? But then his cock hit at just the right angle and her thoughts melted with pleasure.

Soon, they were at it in the bed, again. Face down, ass-up. On her side. Atop him. Underneath him. Non-stop. It was like she’d unlocked some dark compulsion within him, a deep-seated craving, that once tasted, could never be satisfied.

But Carmen was not so easily satisfied either. After months of loneliness and heartache, Glatton saw her. Months of crushing responsibility finally crushed her under the weight of his body, and she succumbed. She gave into it as she gave it to him again, and again, and again. He took her again, and again, and again. And still neither were satisfied. The compulsion locked them together, and the ease of it made it impossible to stop. His body fit hers. Her body yielded to his. Their dance was so natural, their movements so fluid, they may have done it for decades.

How?

How was it so natural and fluid and easy? None of it made sense. They had just met. Why did he feel so damn familiar?

They laid in bed, cooling off from what had to be their dozenth time. How did he have anything left? Her insides were jelly, her body ached, and she had nothing left to give. She felt his kisses on her shoulder and neck. His hands carved from her stomach up her breasts. The warmth inside sparked once more, but her stomach churned. Not again. Not another one.

So, she pulled away. “I should go. Work.”

“This late?” Glatton asked, propping himself on his elbow.

“Never stops.”

His eyes softened. “I understand. But, before you go…”

She rolled the vaultsuit up her legs, then strained to get it over her hips. Come on, come on….

“I’ve…heard that you and Lydia…”

Finally. The suit popped over her hips. What was that about Lydia? “Hm?”

“Well, that you two seem…close.”

Carmen scoffed as she worked one arm into the vault-suit, then the other. “I’m not sure Lydia’s close to anyone.”

“Indeed. But, I just wanted to warn you…as a friend…”

Friend? That was rich. No way in hell this was a friendly warning. It was shadow-play, politics, and power grabs, all of it. Now, to counter.

Disarm. Laugh lightly. “Funny, she gave me a similar warning.”

“Did she?”

Carmen gave her best Lydia impression. “Watch out for Glatton. I only want what’s best for our partnership. Like your warning about Allison, who she also warned me about. Oh, and Allison warned me about both of you.”

Carmen shoved her foot into her boot and began lacing it, tight, like she might strangle someone. But her smile was cheery.

Next, push.

“So many warnings…Are you sure you’re all working together? You might give a girl second thoughts of where she should spend her caps.”

The bed rocked as Glatton scurried for her. His arms wrapped around her as if to contain the collateral of his faux pas. “No no, I’m…I’m sure it’s nothing. I’m sorry for raising any doubts.” He kissed her shoulders and neck, flooding her with endorphins. “I truly do want what’s best for our interests.” He said between kisses. “For us.”

Sloppy. Acidic disdain bubbled up her throat, but she couldn’t let on. She leaned into the kisses and hummed in delight. His hands carved up her body again greedily, and she ignored how it made her skin crawl. The important part was, she’d pushed back. Now, to retain her, he’d invest in maintaining ties with Lydia and Allison to present a united front. She nuzzled her head against his.

“Mmm, us? I like the sound of that.”

His head tilted towards her, so she leaned in and kissed him deeply. Like a magnet, she was pulled to him, closer and closer. He leaned back and she followed his lips. She just couldn’t stop. Soon she was over him again, her boots hanging off the bed, his hands massaging her through her vault-suit. Maybe she should just take the damn thing off.

“Are you sure you don’t want to stay?” Glatton asked, like he could read her mind.

Carmen laughed. “Bed too big for you?”

“It might get cold. Be warmer with you in it.”

“Mm. It would. And it is a very nice bed.”

“Nicer with you in it.”

She laughed again, still atop him. He pulled her back down to him and met her lips forcefully, teasing his greed for her. No matter how little or how much she gave, it would never satisfy him. She knew that. She moved her lips, slow and deliberate, but he wouldn’t match her tempo. So, she grabbed his hair and yanked him back, apart from her. He whimpered, eyes searching her face.

She leaned in slowly once more. Her grip tightened in his soft hair as he tried to meet her halfway, but she wouldn’t allow it. She could taste the wine on his breath. Finally, her lips met his. She controlled the kiss. Slow, methodical, teasing. He hummed against her lips. Then, slowly, she slid her hand from his hair, down his neck, to his chest. His skin was warm underneath her fingertips. She carved it down, over the hair on his chest and the trail leading down his abdomen, past his navel…until it found his semi-soft, warm member.

She circled the head with her thumb, enjoying the little gasps of pleasure Mr. Glatton gave into their kiss. His cock twitched in her hand eagerly. As she grinned against his lips, he pulled back to search her eyes. She saw his desire for her, felt his desire for her growing in her grip. She started to pump, and when she spoke, it was softly, against his lips.

“Do you like that, Mr. Glatton?”

“God, yes,” he said, and his hands went to her ass and squeezed. He wanted her. Here. She kept her grip firm as his cock hardened in her hand. She pumped it faster.

“Do you like it when I touch you?”

“Yes.”

“When I kiss you?”

“Yes.”

“When I ride you?”

“God, yes, yes. I love it all.”

She kept jacking him and kissing him. She listened to his breath quicken and rasp, the little grunts and moans. She fed on his desire for her that was so thick in his kisses, she could almost taste it. Then, when she felt the first gush of pre-cum from his tip, she stopped. She slid down his body and dropped off the edge of the bed to her knees. Glatton watched her every move. She locked eyes with him as she took him in her mouth and teased the bundle of nerves beneath his head with her tongue. He moaned quietly, squeezing his eyes shut like he couldn’t bear the anticipation.

She grinned. Sucked his tip clean. Then, pulled off with a pop. The grin she gave him as she stood up was devilish.

“Keep the bed warm for me.” She cleaned her fingers with her tongue as she walked to the door.

“Really? You're just?”

She opened the door and looked back at him. A man as beautiful as a painting, bathed in moonlight, hot, bothered, exposed, and ready for her. That was a cock just asking to be ridden.

Too bad she had better things to do. She winked at him. “Good night, Mr. Glatton.”

In the mirrored doors of the elevator, she took stock of herself. Question asked and answered—she’d still got it. She zipped up her vault-suit and tugged her beanie on tighter over her head. Even bald, scarred, and foggy, she’d still got it. With her fingertips, she wiped the smudged eyeliner. Yesterday’s cat-eye, today’s smokey-eye. Now, lipstick. That wine-red color looked more-and-more at-home.

When the doors opened to the basement, Lydia and Allison were sitting at the bar, waiting for her. As soon as she joined them, she heard Lydia sniff the air.

“Is that… Mr. Glatton’s cologne?”

Carmen poured herself a shot of cinnamon whiskey. “…I didn’t put it on, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Gross,” Allison said.