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Chapter Text

Kira remembered the way her hands shook.

She definitely remembered the overwhelmingly bright flashing lights and the way the metal shutters slammed into place as the vault went into full code-red lockdown.

She remembered running.

But the worst memory was the one her mind kept skittering away from — a flicker of two terrified faces behind reinforced glass, a calm voice saying: “Kira, you will decide the outcome of today's trial.” She had to choose which one lived and which one died. "Choose."

She shoved that thought down so violently her stomach turned.

Now, she stood at the threshold of the vault door, staring at the massive gear-shaped metal slab as it hissed and rolled aside, her heart thrumming loudly in her ears. Steam coiled from the hydraulics like breath from some ancient beast—slow, heavy, exhaled after decades of sleep. Her heartbeat fluttered too fast. Too loud. Too irregular, like it was tripping over itself trying to keep up.

Everything felt too loud.

She scanned behind her — the shadows of vault security were racing toward her, too late to stop her. She squeezed through the door the second the gap was big enough.

This was it.

No more decisions.
No more obedience.
No more Vault 89.

And probably the moment she would die. 

Kira slipped through the widening gap the second her frame could fit, stumbling as her boots hit ground untouched by her in twenty-five years.

The air struck her first.

Warm. Wet. Unfiltered.
It scraped her throat like sand. It tasted like iron and dust and decay.
She gagged.

Then the sunlight hit her like a burning slap.
White-hot. Merciless. Violent.

Her pupils seized.
Her vision exploded into red and gold static.
Needles pricked deep behind her eyes.

She staggered backward with a strangled noise, palms flying to her face.
Too bright—too bright—too bright—

Her breath buckled into sharp, stuttering inhales. Her jaw locked until it ached. A tremor pulsed down her arms and into her fingertips.

“Input overload,” she whispered, shaking.
“Just input overload. You’re okay. Just new data.”

The words weren’t steady. But they anchored her just enough to keep her from bolting back inside.

She lowered her hands. The light still burned, but she could look.

And what she saw almost undid her.

The world was destroyed.

Buildings bent like softened plastic frozen mid-collapse.
Roads were split open like wounds.
Twisted metal carcasses of cars sparkled with shattered glass.
The sky was so wide it made her chest feel hollow.

Nothing in the vault’s databanks prepared her for this.

A hot wave of nausea rolled up her throat.

You can’t go back, she reminded herself. You’re not going back.

She stepped onto the cracked pavement. The ground felt alien—too uneven, too sharp, too dirty.

Wind howled through a hollowed-out bus and made a reedy, almost human sound. Her nerves spiked.

She whispered facts to herself to steady her reaction.

“The sun is ninety-three million miles away.”
“Atmospheric particulates indicate long-term decay.”
“UV index—high—risk of—risk of—”

A sound cut through the babble in her brain.

A soft, wet shuffle.

Kira froze mid-step.

The air changed—heavy, sour.
She blinked at the rusted truck carcass to her right.

Another shuffle.
Quicker this time.
Closer.

Her heart stopped.

Then something emerged.

It moved wrong—too fast, too jerky.
Grey skin sloughed like wet paper.
Its jaw hung partially unhinged, teeth exposed in a slack, horrible gash of a mouth.
Its eyes were milky and unfocused, yet somehow locked onto her with horrifying certainty.

The ghoul inhaled sharply, chest hitching, and released a wet, tearing screech.

Kira’s breath snapped out of her in a silent gasp.

Then instinct took her.

She ran.

Her boots skidded across gravel. Her lungs seized, panic choking the air before it even reached her chest.
Behind her, the ghoul shrieked again — louder, furious — and the pounding of its feet on broken pavement hit her ears like hammer blows.

Another screech answered from her left.

Then another.

Three.
At least three.

Her vision blurred as adrenaline slammed through her system.
Her legs pumped without rhythm — too fast, too uncoordinated — driven by nothing but raw animal terror.

Guttural snarls echoed behind her, closer than they should be.
She didn’t dare look.

Her foot caught on a chunk of concrete and she stumbled so violently she almost fell face-first.
A ghoul’s claws scraped stone behind her — inches away.

A sob ripped out of her throat.
She sprinted toward a collapsed section of highway and dove between two slabs of cracked concrete, scraping her arm open on jagged stone.

The space was narrow. Tight. Only just big enough for her to squeeze into.

Perfect.
Or a tomb.

The ghouls slammed against the concrete outside, snarling, claws dragging across the rubble in shrill, splintering screeches.

Kira shoved herself deeper, chest crushed against the cold stone. Dust filled her nose and mouth. Her breath came in high, tiny gasps.

Quiet. Stay quiet. Stay small.

Her hands flew to her mouth as a frantic, involuntary whimper tried to escape.
Her whole body shook with the effort to stay silent.

A ghoul sniffed inches from the crack she hid in — a wet, animal sound.

Her throat tightened painfully. Tears burned down her cheeks.

Another flash — the vault, the two faces behind glass, her hand hovering over the console.
“Choose.”

She squeezed her eyes shut and didn’t move—not even to wipe the tears.

Minutes crawled past in agonizing, uneven stretches.
The monsters paced.
Scratched.
Growled.
Sniffed.

One let out a long, warbling moan before shuffling away.
Another followed.
Another.

Until finally…

Silence.

Kira didn’t move until her breath no longer shook and she couldn’t taste dust so thick it felt like paste.

She crawled out with trembling limbs, blinking hard as sunlight hit her again.

It didn’t burn as violently this time.
Or maybe she was just too exhausted to care.

Her legs felt wobbly, unreliable.
Her throat burned raw from breathing too hard.
Her scraped arm throbbed.

But she was alive.

Holy shit… I’m alive?

She wiped her face with the back of her shaking hand. I'm alive. I did it. I did it. I'm outside of the vault. And I'm alive. Kira squared her shoulders, adjusted her pack, and stepped onto the ruined road stretching into the wide, broken world ahead.

She didn’t know where she was going.
She didn’t know how to survive.
She didn’t know anything about the Commonwealth.

But she knew one thing with absolute certainty: whatever the Commonwealth was, it couldn’t be worse than the place that she'd fled from. Death was better than that damned vault.

With renewed determination, she kept walking.

Chapter Text

The Wasteland didn’t get any quieter on the second day.

If anything, it felt louder. Every snapped twig, every rustle of dead grass, every echo bouncing between rusted cars made Kira flinch like the world was throwing stones at her. Even the wind sounded sharp out here—thin and high, scraping across broken metal. The sun covering the wastes in a burning heat. She kept one hand wrapped tight around the strap of her pack, the other on the grip of the 10mm she barely knew how to aim.

Two purified waters.
Three snack bars.
Ten bullets.
One comfort item.

She’d counted them six times already. Counting helped. Numbers were safe. Predictable. Everything else out here wasn’t.

She'd managed to rest for maybe three hours, waking up every few minutes to the sound of the wind blowing or a leaf falling, terrified of the potential threats that could invoke themselves on her. She decided to sit there, tucked between a destroyed car and a wall, and wait for the sun to rise. As soon as the smallest bit of daylight approached, she began walking again. There had to be someone out here that could help her. Her breathing stuttered as she moved between the sagging skeletons the old highway, careful to step exactly where the cracked concrete looked most stable. God, how many dead bodies are casually strewn out here? Her heart raced at the thought that one of those skeletons would likely be her sooner rather than later. Patterns: weight distribution, fracture lines, surface stress. The Vault instructors always said she noticed too much—irrelevant details, useless patterns. But out here, patterns would keep her alive. Out here, they were the only thing between her and a hole in the ground. She managed to keep herself stable as she came across what used to be a booming city before the war. Now, it lay desolate and completely destroyed, obviously a result of the bombs that were dropped.

The sun was beginning to peak above the buildings, slicing gold light across the metal when she heard it: men’s voices.

Casual. Confident. Too confident. She froze and stared, wide-eyed, in the direction of the voices. The men were dressed in tattered army green clothes with tan armor covering almost every seeable inch of their bodies.

Gunners.

She’d read about them in the vault's terminals: organized, armed, and ruthless. A mercenary army with predictable tactics and unpredictable cruelty. A little too fond of wandering, frightened vault girls minding their own business.

Kira crouched behind a broken guardrail, pressing her back against the cool metal until she could feel each point of contact along her shoulder blades. Sensory grounding, a physical anchor.

One–two–three–four breaths in.
Four–three–two–one breaths out.

The technique steadied her vision enough to catch a detail most would miss: the angle of the men’s boots on the broken asphalt. They weren’t patrolling in a line or wandering aimlessly. Their spacing was intentional.

They were sweeping east to west in a loose semicircle.

A search pattern.

They’re looking for something.
Or someone.

Her pulse became erratic in her chest.

She ducked lower and scanned the area for anything she could use. The gun she had at her hip was mostly for show. They'd had training at the vault but real, moving targets? Never. And the thought of killing someone...no. There had to be something she could do. Just enough to leave her a space to flee. Then she found it. There—sunlight glinted off a metal tube lodged in the side of a dumpster. A discarded flare casing. Empty, but not useless. Kira peaked back at the men, noticed none looking in her direction and, as quietly as she could, skittered over to the dumpster. She hid on the side not exposed to the men and quickly pulled the flare free, fingers working automatically as her brain broke the object into components. She knew how to get this to work again. She fished a small shard of glass from the ground—likely from a pre-war car—its edges still sharp. She placed it inside the tube, angled it toward the sun and held her breath. This had to work. Factually, she knew it could.

If the shard refracted enough of the sun's heat—
If the metal was still reactive—
If the weather hadn’t stripped the tube completely—

“—swore I saw something...”

Her pulse spiked hard enough to make her vision blur, her heart in her throat.

She tilted the tube further, adjusting by millimeters. The shard caught the sunlight—bright, focused, dangerous. The inside of the tube began to smoke. Kira felt a wave of relief and thanked whatever god she had forsaken all those years ago, trying to survive the vault. She counted under her breath, the numbers tumbling out fast but steady: “Three… two… one…”

FWOOF.

The flare ignited in a violent burst of white in the center, and covering the area around her in red. It was blinding. She threw it before the heat could burn her fingers, or she could be spotted. It clattered across the pavement, flashing like a miniature sun. The two Gunners cursed, stumbling backward with hands thrown up over their eyes.

Kira didn’t wait.

She bolted.

Her lungs burned instantly. The 10mm slapped against her thigh with each stride. Shouts behind her—angry, startled, disoriented. Boots scrambling. Metal clanking. But not close enough. Not yet. Vault training never included sprinting across open ground while men with automatic weapons yelled threats behind you, but her legs understood urgency even when her brain was unraveling. She ducked between two dead cars, dove beneath a collapsed billboard, and slid down a gravel slope that tore holes in her jumpsuit and peeled skin from her palms. Her breath tore at her throat. Her heart thrashed in her chest like it wanted out.

When she finally dropped behind a nearly collapsed building, her legs buckled. She caught herself on trembling arms and forced her breath into even counts again.

Four in.
Four out.
Four in.
Four out.

Her hands shook so badly she almost dropped her pack as she checked it.
Both waters: intact.
Snacks: crushed but edible.
Her comfort item: still wrapped carefully in cloth, tucked deep inside.

She exhaled, a sound half relief and half leftover panic. She closed her eyes and squeezed the pack to her chest, willing herself to calm down. See? I can do this. I can do it. I can do it. She repeated the words over and over to herself as she squeezed her eyes shut and willed her heart to slow down. After a couple of minutes, she slowly exhaled and opened her eyes.

Only then did she see it.

And there—far off between the silhouettes of ruined buildings, cutting through the dusk like a promise—was a warm neon red glow.

GOODNEIGHBOR
========>

The letters flickered, buzzing faintly even from a distance, but they shone bright enough to paint the cracked street in a soft red color. Kira stared at it with awe, hope, and a bone-deep exhaustion that made her knees weak.

A town.
A real town. Somewhere with walls. Somewhere with people. Somewhere she might not have to run for five minutes straight just to stay alive.

She swallowed hard, tasting dust and adrenaline, and took her first step toward the light.

Chapter Text

Up close, Goodneighbor was louder. Brighter. Sharper. Every color felt too saturated, every sound too layered. The smell was overwhelming and disgusting. The smell of urine, trash, and alcohol mixed together in a stench that made her crinkle her nose as she willed herself to breathe through her mouth. Music thumped from somewhere underground; voices overlapped in a messy, unintelligible chorus; someone laughed too loudly, somewhere else someone cursed. A trader shouted over the noise, metal clinking against metal as he hammered a scale into place. A gun clicked. Somewhere, glass shattered.

It slammed into Kira’s senses like a wave she wasn’t braced for. She hugged her pack tighter, fingers digging into the straps, trying to keep her breathing even.

In for four.
Out for four.
Numbers help. Patterns help.

She stepped past the threshold.

A bald man in a leather jacket pushed off the wall, smoke curling from the cigarette in his mouth. He blocked her path with a slow, predatory grin.

“Well hey there,” he drawled. “You got insurance?” His words stabbed through the noise.

“I—insurance?” Her voice was high and brittle.

He nodded, tapping ash off his cigarette. “Yeah. Or...” His tone sharpened, thin and cutting. “You hand over everything you got, or accidents start happening to ya. Big. Bloody accidents.”

Her stomach lurched and she felt her whole body freeze. She thought… she thought this place was safe. That was the whole point of towns—walls and people and protection, not… not this.

“Woah, woah, woah, time out.” The new voice cut through the air like a knife wrapped in velvet.

Kira turned just as a man stepped out of the shadows—long coat, tricorn hat, skin red and tattered, almost glowing in the neon. He didn’t look like anyone who should be friendly, yet somehow… his presence wasn’t nearly as terrifying as Finn’s grin.

“Someone steps into the gate the first time? They’re a guest,” he said, tone smooth as smoke. “You lay off that extortion crap.”

The threatening man approached him with a sneer. “Whaddyou care? She ain’t one of us.”

“No love for your mayor, Finn?” the tattered-skinned man replied, arms wide, almost theatrical. “I said let her go.”

“You’re soft, Hancock,” Finn spat. “Keep letting outsiders walk all over us, one day, there’ll be a new mayor.”

Hancock’s sigh was low, almost fond. “Come on, man. This is me we’re talkin’ about.” He stepped closer, deliberate, slow. “Lemme tell you somethin’.”

He put a hand on Finn’s shoulder.

Then the knife flashed.

Kira gasped—too loud, too sharp.

Hancock drove the blade into Finn’s stomach once, twice, three times. Finn crumpled at her feet, cigarette smoldering where it fell. The world narrowed to the sight of the man's blood pooling below him. Kira’s ears rang. Her stomach churned. Her hands went to her mouth, trembling. She couldn’t breathe. Not right. Not enough air. Hancock looked down at the body with a sad, almost disappointed click of his tongue. “Now why’d you have to go and say that, huh? Breakin’ my heart over here.”

He wiped the blade on his sleeve, sliding it back into the sheath at his hip. Kira’s entire body locked. Fight or flight or freeze—her brain couldn’t choose. Her legs felt glued. Her vision tunneled. The heart she worked so hard to calm only moments ago, now back to pounding against her ribs like a hammer.

“You alright, sister?” Hancock asked, his voice calm, but probing. Only then did she notice he also looked like a zombie. No nose, black eyes, skin torn in different angles. Yet, he was...checking on her? Surely this meant he wasn't going to kill her...right?

“You—you killed him?!” Her voice cracked like thin glass.

He laughed lightly, almost amused. “Got a good pair o’ eyes on you. Think you’ll fit in well here.” She swallowed, her throat bone-dry. She could feel her pulse in her fingertips. The neon, the blood, the shouting—it was too much. Hancock raised both hands, palms out. “Hey, hey, you’re safe. Goodneighbor’s got rules. Don’t hurt the new folks. Don’t be an ass. He broke both.” She didn’t know what to say. She didn’t know if she could say anything. Hancock watched her for a beat. The swagger softened. “C’mon, sunshine. Let’s get you outta the street before somethin’ else tries to eat ya.” She let him guide her—slowly, carefully—through winding alleys. The neon reflected in puddles, warped, dizzying. The crowd’s noise folded and shifted with every turn, voices overlapping, shoes scraping, metal ringing, music thumping somewhere beneath it all. Then they approached a tall white building. One that looked familiar. The doors were guarded by two armored men who immediately stepped aside when Hancock walked up. Guess he really is the mayor then.

The building smelled like old wood, gun oil, and faint smoke. Light from sconces cast long shadows, softened by dust motes drifting lazily through the air. They silently walked up a winding staircase until reaching another door, once again guarded by two armored men. Made her wonder how safe Goodneighbor actually was. When the door opened, she immediately took in the setting before her. The walls were covered in a combination of mold and dirt and the ceiling wasn't in much better condition. The winders were all boarded up with wooden planks, save for two on either of the side walls, which casted light into the otherwise dark room. The room contained a small kitchenette against the far wall. At the center of the room were two sofas facing each other with a low coffee table between them covered with various medical devices, from the looks of it. A tall, stoic woman with a shaved head—Fahrenheit—stood guard near the door, arms crossed. She glanced at Kira, said nothing. Only then did Kira realize she'd been standing in the door way, probably looking like a deer caught in headlights, while Hancock had immediately waltzed in, sat on the sofa to the left, and propped his feet up on the table. Guess there really aren't any rules out here. Hancock gestured toward the couch across from the one he was on. “Sit. Breathe. You look like you’re ‘boutta faint.” Kira carefully stepped towards the couch and sank onto the cushions, shoulders shaking, staring at the medical devices in between them, coated with terror. She'd finally left the vault only to be confronted with more experiments? Maybe the people at the vault were right. Maybe the vault really was the safest place for her to be. The thought doused her in dread and disappointment. She dug into her pack and pulled out her comfort item: a miniature gyroscope. A little metal sphere made of three interlocking rings that spun in different directions when she flicked them—like a tiny mechanical toy built to stay balanced no matter what. It always brought her immense comfort. From the consistent routine of the spinning to the perfection of the item itself. Complex, yet balanced. Chaotic, but always in order, always predictable.

Hancock stretched out on the couch and must have noticed her staring at the items on the coffee table because he let out a low chuckle. "Don't worry sunshine, those are all for me. 'Less you want some? Gives a pretty killer high." She looked up at him, shocked and quickly shook her head no. He shrugged as if to say 'more for me' and continued on. “So,” he drawled, “which Vault you crawl out of, sister?”

Kira’s grip tightened. “Just… one close to here. I'm sorry, I’d rather not talk about it.”

He nodded slowly. “Fair ‘nough. Goodneighbor’s not the kinda place where we pry into folks’ pasts. You’re safe here. Walk our streets, nobody’ll hassle you—‘cept idiots like Finn, but, well…” He jerked his thumb toward the door. “Problem solved.”

Somehow, that didn’t reassure her as much as he thought it would. She exhaled shakily. “I almost died. Twice. Three times if you count Finn. I've only been out here for a day and a half. Gunners… zombies… I don’t know what I’m doing. I shouldn’t be alive.”

Hancock tapped his fingers on the armrest and let out a low whistle. “Damn. Tough run of luck, sister. You had any sleep? Or shit any food or water since you been out here? Not to pry but..."

She shook her head. "I haven't really had a moment to do any of those things. Too busy running or looking over my shoulder. I'm not completely helpless, you know? I've made it this far. Actually, statistics would show that the percentage of..." Her voice faded as he smirked at her and raised an eyebrow. "Well, basically I shouldn't have made it this far."

He pushed his thin lips together and continued tapping the armrest. "Sounds like you need somebody watchin’ your back.”

She looked up at him confused but hopeful. She certainly did, if this is how it always was out here.

“Lucky for you,” Hancock grinned, “I know a guy. Best damn hired gun this side of the river. Name’s MacCready. And he happens to be located right here in Goodneighbor. Expensive but worth every fuckin' cap.”

Her heart sunk. “I-I don't have any...that is, I can't afford—”

“I’ll front it.” Hancock waved off her protest. “Consider it a welcome gift. Better than a fruit basket.”

Fahrenheit snorted from her post.

Kira blinked hard, “I-why?” He didn’t know her. He’d met her ten minutes ago. He’d just murdered a man. And yet here he was, offering her protection.

He responded with a smirk, picking up a red inhaler from the coffee table in between them. “Maybe I’m just a good guy. Maybe I think you could use some help,” he says as he brings the inhaler to his lips and takes a long frag from it, exhaling barely any smoke with a long “ahhh..”. He leans his head against the back of the sofa, arms sprawled out on the sides. “Honestly, sunshine, I’ve made enough mistakes in not helping the people who deserve it. I decided a long time ago to leave that shit in the past. Now get some rest, and maybe some food and water in your system. MacCready can wait til the mornin’,” his voice becoming more slurred towards the end of his statement.

Instead of responding, Kira eagerly pulled out her tin of water and a snack, effectively lightening her pack. Unfortunately. The food and water quickly filling her stomach instantly caused a wave of exhaustion to run over her body. The exhaustion she's been trying so hard to ignore. She glances at Hancock, noticing him pretty much passed out on his sofa, then at Fahrenheit, casually walking towards a chair in the far corner of the room. No eyes on her. She leaned against the armrest of the couch, curled her legs up underneath her and laid her head down, fingers still clutching her comfort item, index finger spinning the rings in hypnotizing circles. Her thoughts were racing, running through the events of the past couple of days, but her exhaustion catching up to her.

Goodneighbor was confusing.

The Commonwealth was confusing.

Everything was confusing.

But for the first time since stepping outside the Vault, she didn’t feel like she was about to die. And that was the thought that soothed her enough to drift off into her first real sleep since she's left the vault.

Chapter Text

The Third Rail was loud tonight, even though it was still relatively early. A quick glance to his watch showed it to be half past 7, much to his dismay. He’d been wasting away the day in the same god forsaken bar he’d been in for the past few weeks. Too many thoughts and too few drinks to easy his racing mind.

The bar was filled with the familiar haze of clinking bottles, slurred laughter, and Magnolia’s sultry voice floating somewhere in the background.

The lights were dim and warm, the air thick with cigarette smoke and cheap perfume, and the stale scent of old beer clung to everything like a second skin.

MacCready sat hunched over the bar, beer in hand, cigarette hanging in between his fingers as he sat there just staring at the scratches in the wood instead of the reflection staring back at him from the metal trim. He didn’t want to see his own face. Not tonight. Not ever, if he had a choice.

Lucy’s face would be there too, always hovering behind his own.

He took another long pull from his cigarette until he could feel a calm buzz coursing through his body. As the smoke swirled from his lips into the air, he swiftly took a swig of his drink. Warm. Flat. But, everything hurt a hell of a lot less when he was catching a buzz. He planned to drink himself into nothing tonight. Until he couldn't see her face in everything anymore.

That was the plan… until someone stopped next to him.

Someone small.

He didn’t look up at first. Just caught the shape of a figure in a vault suit out of the corner of his eye.

Vault suit.

Great, he rolled his eyes as he thought to himself, another cave-dwelling kid with a hero complex.

“I, um—excuse me?” the stranger said, in a soft, anxiety-ridden voice.

He grunted, still not looking.

“My name is Kira. Mayor Hancock sent me to find you and—well—now I’m here.”

He blinked slowly and turned to face her.

She looked like she’d been chewed up and spit out by the Commonwealth, eyes wide, shoulders tight, her light colored hair in a loose knot that left much of her hair falling down in strands around her face and shoulders. Her vault suit was smeared in mud, ash, and something he hoped wasn’t blood. She couldn’t have been out here long. Her skin was pale and, though her cheeks had a light flush to them, she seemed relatively untouched from the pestering sun of the wastes. Her eyes bounced from his face, to the drink in his hand, to the ammo strapped to his thigh and back to his face.

A little gadget sat in her right hand, with metallic rings spinning gently with her movement. She definitely seemed overwhelmed, if the non-stop movement said anything. And definitely a vaultie.

“Let me guess,” MacCready muttered. “Ya lost a bet or somethin’?”

“I’m here to hire you,” she said bluntly.

He laughed once — short, loud, bitter. “Yeah, no. Not enough caps in the world for me to take on a helpless case, lady. No offense.”

Her face fell instantly. He almost — almost — felt guilty. “My name is Kira,” she repeated quietly. As if saying it again made any difference. Her fingers started tapping the bar in a pattern. Weirdly rhythmic.

Tap.

Tap.

Taptap.

Taptaptap.

Taptaptaptaptap.

...

He frowned. “What are you doing?”

“Tapping,” she said simply. “Helps me think. Also stay conscious. Also not panic. There’s a forty-two percent chance I’m going to pass out if I stop now.”

He felt his eyebrows scrunch together as he squinted at her “…O...kay.” Jesus, chick’s a psycho. Probably on drugs or somethin’.

She launched straight into a torrent of speech like a dam breaking. “I’ve been out of the vault for approximately twenty-six hours and in that time I’ve been threatened, nearly eaten by something that roared at me, chased by men in matching armor—that was very confusing, I didn’t even think they knew I was there, and I didn’t have enough ammunition or skill honestly to shoot back—almost died twice, and then a zombie man stabbed another man in front of me but he said it was fine and—”

He held up a hand. “Woah, woah, woah. Slow down.” Yeah, he thought to himself, definitely drugs.

She didn’t slow down, instead spitting out her next statement as fast as her mouth would allow her to, “There is a ninety-eight percent chance I won’t survive long-term without someone who understands how the outside world functions, and Hancock said you were good at not dying, statistically speaking.”

He did snort at that. “…Did he now.”

Tap.

Tap.

Taptap.

Taptaptap.

Taptaptaptaptap.

The pattern was almost hypnotic. He looked down at her restless hands, briefly noting how relatively clean and completely scar-less they were, before squeezing his eyes shut and addressing her.

“Look,” he said, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “That’s just the wasteland lady. You haven’t even encountered a fraction of the worst things out here. So, why don't you just go back to the safety of your vault.”

“No! I can’t,” she stated, like it was obvious. Not dramatic. Not emotional. Just… absolute. He considered the things he learned from the few vaults he’d encountered. Generally speaking, they were used as a scientific ground to conduct inhumane experiments on unwilling people. Though, looking at her, it seems like she might’ve been one of the lucky ones that ended up in a vault that operated the way it was intended to. Even though her rushed answer indicated otherwise.

He sighed heavily and gestured halfheartedly to the bar. “No caps, no contract. That’s how it works.”

Her tapping stopped, then resumed — but louder. Metallic. He looked down at her hands to see her tapping the metal object against her palm in that same strange patterned rhythm, eyes squinted in focus, looking at his chest, not his eyes.

“Mayor Hancock said he would front the caps,” she said, voice steadier now. “I have them.”

She dropped a bag onto the bar. It thunked.

He blinked. “Holy— That’s… that’s a lot of caps.”

“Is it enough?”

It was more than double his usual rate. Maybe triple. The hell did Hancock see in this girl? MacCready narrowed his eyes at her. “You sleeping with the mayor or something?”

Her whole face went scarlet, as she regarded him with wide eyes. “What?? No! I— No! He was just… nice to me!”

Okay, so probably not. But Hancock wasn’t subtle. MacCready sighed. “You’re making it real hard to say no to.”

“So… is that a yes?” She asked, her voice coated in hope.

“Depends.” He leaned forward, inching closer to her face, noticing the scent of soap that wafted off of her and something medical…almost sterile smelling. “What exactly are we doing?”

Her eyes met his briefly and he took in the color of her eyes - dark green with a slight blue mixing in - before she tore her eyes from his, looking at his forehead instead. She brightened slightly at his words — in the way someone brightens when they’ve figured something out. “I need someone with knowledge of the Commonwealth. Specifically any possible information on other vaults.”

He scoffed at her. Good luck with that. “I doubt you'll find much of that out here. I've heard Diamond City's got a detective. Nick Valentine. Yeah, he’s your guy for questions like that. Though, I doubt he’d know anything of any use.” He took another swig of beer. “You really want to go all the way there just on the off-chance he knows something?”

“Yes.” She replied firmly a second before he finished his question.

“Hngh. Fine.” He grabbed the bag of caps. “We head out tomorrow.”

Her shoulders loosened as if the entire world finally gave her permission to breathe, as her incessant tapping finally halted.

“Thank you,” she said softly.

He wasn’t sure what to say to that. So he said nothing in response.

Instead he stood, muttering, “We should stock up. Food, water, ammo. I can cover most of it. Just…don’t make me regret it.”

“I have not died yet,” she offered with a nonchalant shrug.

“…That’s not comforting.” He said as headed to the staircase that led out of The Third Rail. Not how I intended my night to go but I guess it beats drinking myself into a stupor.

He heard the quick patter of footsteps as hurried after him. When he glanced behind him, out of the corner of his eye he could see her clutching the spinning contraption like a lifeline.

Out in the neon glow of Goodneighbor, MacCready glanced at her. Small. Strange. Smart. And absolutely doomed without help. He groaned. “Tomorrow morning,” he repeated. “Don’t be late.”

She nodded quickly. As they stepped into the night, he thought — just briefly — that he might’ve made the biggest mistake of his life. It felt like trouble.

And yet, he walked toward it anyway.

Chapter Text

Goodneighbor was already shrinking behind them — the neon glow fading into the gray morning haze — and Kira tried to pretend her heart wasn’t crashing against her ribs with every step.

She kept the gyroscope tucked in her palm, thumb brushing the outer ring. Not spinning it. Not yet, at least. Just grounding herself with its familiar weight.

MacCready walked ahead, long strides purposeful and impatient, coat swaying with every step. He didn’t look back once to make sure she was keeping up. Probably didn’t care either way. He’d mentioned he spoke with Hancock the night before after being hired by her and got the full run-down of what he was in for. It left her feeling like he was searching for a way out.

MacCready was a strange man. He seemed so full of irritation and grumpiness, you’d think she’d forced him to travel with her with no pay, much less an apparent significant amount of pay, compared to what he normally made, as he mentioned last night. He’d been drinking alone at the bar when she’d approached him and she immediately felt like he didn’t want to be bothered. Which was strange for a hired gun, right? Shouldn’t he be like advertising or giving off somewhat of a customer service vibe? Maybe not. Everything out here seemed to go strictly against all the rules she’d grown up around.

She stared at his back as they walked. He was taller than she was, but not overwhelmingly. Probably half a foot or so. He walked with the confidence she severely lacked and she wondered how long he’d been a hired gun. He didn’t seem worried that dangers lurked around every corner. Then again, he lived this long out here, he probably knew he could easily face whatever danger would come at them. Her thoughts drifted to her ineptitude for the wastes. How in the world was she going to survive out here? Still…it was better than the vault. At least out here she had a chance to live, no matter how short that time would be, with respective freedom.

In an urge to silence her thoughts, she decided to speak up. “So the, um— the light levels out here are interesting. Did you know the natural diffusion of atmospheric particulates in a post-nuclear environment—”

“Ooookay, yeah — I get it,” he muttered without turning around. “Sheesh. You really know how to rattle off.”

She snapped her mouth shut. Heat pooled in her cheeks. “I was just trying to fill the silence,” she whispered.

“Yeah, well— maybe try enjoying the silence instead.”

She stared down at the cracked pavement. Fine. No talking.

They walked in brittle silence for another stretch of road. The world around her was too big, too bright, too loud. Birds she didn’t know the names of screeched overhead. The wind made rusted signs clatter. A blown-out car hissed as it cooled under the sun.

Everything wanted attention. Everything was sharp.

MacCready didn’t seem bothered by any of it.

“How far is Diamond City?” she finally asked.

He sighed loudly at her question. “A few hours if nothing slows us down.” He paused. “Rule number one of the wasteland: something will always slow us down.”

She swallowed. Great.

They rounded a half-collapsed overpass when Mac’s arm suddenly shot out, blocking her chest.

“Stop.” Speaking of which.

She halted instantly, just before running into his outstretched arm. He crouched, rifle raised, scanning the stretch of road ahead.

“Tripwire,” he muttered.

She blinked, heart tripping into double-time. She certainly didn’t see any signs of a threat.

He pointed. Barely visible — a thin line of frayed wire spanned across the ground between a cracked curb and a jagged chunk of rebar. If she’d taken one more step— Her stomach flipped.

Mac moved forward carefully to cut it, muttering, “These idiots don’t even try to hide them anymore. Fuckin’ amateurs.”

She felt stupid. Of course she’d missed that. She missed everything up here.

“You should’ve seen it,” he said over his shoulder. “ One more step and you would’ve been blown to pieces and probably taken me with you. It’s pretty damn obvious if you keep your eyes open.”

“I didn’t know what I was looking for,” she murmured. “I’ve been outside for a total of one full day.”

“Yeah, I can tell.” It wasn’t mean, just matter-of-fact, and yet it still stung.

Once he cut the tripwire, they moved on — him leading, her following. The shame clung to her like humidity.

They reached an old service tunnel under the freeway, the air stale and cold. Mac slowed before looking at her over his shoulder. “Stay close,” he said quietly, “raiders hide out in these, but this way would be quicker, and probably safer, than above ground.”

The statement confused her. There would be no sort of advantage for raiders to be hiding in such an area. “Why would they choose tunnels? They’re dark, echo every sound ten-fold, structurally unsound—”

“Because they have guns and and no brains,” he interrupted. “Don’t question it.”

But halfway in, he stopped again, staring at the floor.

A collapsed section of concrete blocked half the pathway, and a rusted security door stood crooked in its frame. A terminal blinked weakly beside it. Mac groaned. “Oh, come on. A locked terminal? Really?”

Kira stepped up beside him, adjusting her grip on the gyroscope. “You can’t hack it?”

“No.” He gestured broadly. “Do I look like a hacker to you?”

“You look like you were gonna kick it and hope for the best,” she said before she could stop herself.

He blinked… and flashed a quick, confused smirk. Just barely. But it was there.

“Not wrong,” he admitted. “But that won’t open it.”

Kira’s fingers hovered over the terminal keys. She hesitated. She’d only practiced on clean ones back home, on functioning equipment. Not something rusted and exposed to the elements for two hundred years. But the interface lit up under her touch. She scanned the possible passwords, their patterns, bracket placements, the difficulty rating. Her brain clicked into familiar motion — fast, structured, automatic. She tapped her fingers quickly on the keys, initially selecting an incorrect password. As frustrating as that is, incorrect answers always give way to an easier path to finding the correct one. She selected the correct override word on the second attempt.

The door slid open with a grinding metallic groan.

MacCready stared at her. “…Huh.”

Kira shifted nervously, tucking the gyroscope closer to her chest. “Did I… do something wrong?”

“No.” He shook his head slowly. “No, you— you actually solved it. Faster than anyone I’ve worked with.”

She blinked. “Oh.”

“Guess Hancock wasn’t exaggerating about your brain.” A pause. “I mean that as a compliment.” It landed softer this time.

Her chest loosened and she flashed him a small smile. They walked through the newly opened door and into a clearer path on the other side, the city’s distant skyline coming into view. Her smile grew wider as she took in the scene before glancing to gauge MacCready’s reaction, but he wasn’t looking at the scene. He was looking at her. Her smile faded, confused. He looked over at her with something other than overwhelming irritation in his eyes. Not kindness, but something closer to newfound respect. Probably begrudgingly.

“Just… uh,” he said, rubbing his neck awkwardly. “Keep doing stuff like that and maybe you won’t get yourself killed.”

Kira’s smile reignited ten-fold, pride filling her chest. “I’ll try.”

He snorted at her enthusiastic reply. “Good.” He jerked his chin forward. “C’mon. Diamond City’s not gonna walk to us.”

They kept walking, him leading the way, and her following close behind.

Chapter Text

By the time they had made it close to the city, the sun dipped low in the sky turning it to hues of orange and red, which always meant find a place to sleep or die tired.

Immediately, MacCready began to scan for resting places, but couldn’t help his thoughts from lingering on his new contract. His boss was definitely a little weird and very fidgety, but she didn’t make for the worst boss he’d had. Not even top ten, if he was being honest. At least she took his advice and actually listened to him instead of insisting that she knew more than he did. In fact, she consistently reminded him that she was completely new to the wastes.

Not that she had to tell him that. He could tell in everything she did. Her anxious eyes always darting around, jumping at any little sound as if the wind would bite her, and sticking closer to him than any boss of his had in the past. He probably should have insisted on keeping distance between them, but he couldn’t get over how absolutely out of her depth she was out here. She was still cleaner than anybody he’d seen..by a long shot. The little bit of exposed skin that he could see, really just her face, neck, and hands, showed no sort of scars, bruises or brutality that the wastes gifted those who’d wandered out here long enough. Even the people who lived on relatively safe farms had their fair share of scars. But not her. Her skin was practically flawless. Her pale tone also perplexed him, yet another thing identifying her as not from here. And she had this insane intelligence, no matter how absolutely random and irrelevant it may be, that she liked to casually throw into any bit of conversation she could fit it in. It annoyed the shit out of him, but proved useful in their last roadblock, literally, so he’d learn to get over it. How long was he meant to be travelling with her anyway? Hancock hadn’t given him even a rough timeline, only stating that she needed somebody good to watch her back and throwing an ass-load of caps at him. Not that he minded.

Interrupting his thoughts, he spotted a crumpled rest stop just off the side of the road they’d been traveling down. Probably should’ve spotted the giant red rocket towering above the trees. Must’ve been deep in thought to miss that one. “Good enough,” he mumbled to himself and began to lead them towards their resting place for the night, the boss following close behind.

When they stepped inside the ruined building, a waft of dust and mold lightly brushed against him. The walls were intact enough and the roof didn’t seem to have many cracks in it - truly a Commonwealth miracle. He noticed a door behind the rusted blue counter top that was slightly open that led to a room with no windows. Perks were no sneak attacks and complete protection from the weather. Might actually be able to get some sleep without watching our backs constantly. Only downside being if there was an attack, they’d be instantly cornered. Enough of a downside to lean him towards camping outside the room.

MacCready dropped his pack on the tile floor behind the counter with a low grunt. “Don’t get too comfortable, boss. We’re only staying till sunrise.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he watched her set down her bag with a soft thud, immediately rummaging through it until she found that damn metal thing with the weird rings on it, instantly running her thumb up and down the outer one. He still had no idea what it was, much less what purpose it actually served, but the way she handled it made it seem like it was something sacred to her. He has an item like that, too. Though, he’d never take it out of his pack nearly as much as she did with this one. If something happened to it…that’d be the last bit of Lucy he had…

He shook his head, as if to wipe the thoughts from his mind, and bent over to start a small fire in the metal trash can in the corner of the room. Ever practiced in the art of making fires in random places, the fire lit almost instantly. Warmth quickly spread throughout the room, chasing out the chill of the night air. He sighed a satisfied “ahhh” as he sat down by his pack, bringing out a cloth to clean his weapon. It didn’t really need it, but he found he always got a little anxious the first night with a new boss. Never know how different people can be when the sun sets.

The vaultie sat across from him, cross legged, and stared into the flames, still running her fingers over the rings of her…thing. He focused his attention on his weapon for almost a solid two minutes before she said, “Did you know that early civilizations used fire as a means of -”

He cut her off with a groan, “Ohhh boy. Here we go.” He couldn’t help but smirk, still looking at the rifle in his hands, as her face immediately jerked to his.

She blinked, eyes jerking this way and that, “Oh…sorry, I didn’t mean-”

“No, no, you’re fine.” He shot his head up at her, taking in her disheartened look. “Just…try not to turn everything into a full-blown science lecture. My brain can only handle so much,” he responded, his tone coated in humor.

She clamped her mouth shut, nodded at him, then returned her gaze to the fire, retreating back into her head…wherever that thing took her. He leaned back against the wall behind him, one knee bent, the other stretched out with his gun resting across it. He got a glimpse of her for a moment before returning his gaze to the rifle in his lap.

She seemed relatively calm here. Calmer than he’d seen her the past 24 hours, at least. She was still wired tight, ready to jump at a moment’s notice, still tapping her fingers in that strange little pattern - but didn’t seem on the edge of passing out like when he’d met her. For someone who’d gone through a drastic life change just a day and a half ago, she wasn’t doing too bad.

He picked at a loose thread on the sleeve of his duster. This time he was the one to break the silence. “Where’d you learn to hack terminals like that,” he asked, surprising even himself.

Her head lifted slightly. She didn’t turn to look at him, still staring at the fire with subtle curiosity. “We had them everywhere in the vault. I liked learning how they worked. It’s easier than talking to people.”

“…huh.” He understood that more than he expected to.

Another quiet moment passed, broken only by pops from the fire, accompanied by small jumps from the boss, and the faint sounds of her tapping.

He glanced at her again - really looked this time. She wasn’t ugly by any means. Actually, she was kind of cute, in a disheveled, annoyingly smart and talkative, and too naïve for her own good kind of way. Big curious eyes, soft features, and hair messy in a way that was probably not on purpose but definitely not unpleasant.

Not that he gave her much thought other than being overwhelmingly annoying.

He didn’t. He wasn’t.

Definitely not.

He cleared his throat and looked away like a guilty teenager. “So,” he said trying to sound casual, “you plan on explaining why Hancock gave you enough caps to buy half the town? Or if that a mystery I’m just supposed to ignore?”

He watched her shoulders sink a little. “I think he felt bad for me.”

He wouldn’t put it past the ghoul. He had a weird soft spot for broken ones. Especially the women. Especially women that were easy on the eyes. Not that she was! It’s just—ugh.

She broke off his thoughts, “What made you become a hired gun?”

He stiffened. That was 100% a conversation he was not ready to have. Not with her. Not with anyone. He shrugged, “just…life.”

She waited, clearly hoping he’d elaborate. When she realized he wasn’t going to, she replied with a soft, “okay.” She didn’t push any further. That surprised him too. Most people pried. She just accepted it and went back to tapping her little fingers in that same damn pattern.

He glanced at the doorways, half expecting trouble. Safe enough —for now, at least. When he looked back at her, she’d curled her knees up to her chest, her face now carrying a dark, thoughtful expression, now tapping the thing on the palm of her hand.

“What’s that tapping thing you do?” he asked.

She hesitated before responding, “It helps me think. Keeps my mind from going to fast.”

“It gets faster?” he muttered, thinking back to how insanely fast she can ramble on once she finds a topic she has knowledge on.

She giggled quietly, “yes?”

He huffed through a smirk, amused. The boss is definitely a strange one.

They sat in silence as the night settled around them. Eventually, he adjusted to be in between her and the entry points, stretching both legs out, resting one arm behind his head. “Get some rest,” he said, nodding toward her, “I’ll take first watch.”

She turned to look at him. “Really?”

“Yeah. You look like you’ll collapse if the wind blows too hard.”

She smirked at him before laying on her side, facing him, curled into a ball, hugging the metal rings close to her chest. Within minutes her breathing slowed. He watched her for a second, the firelight casting warm patterns across her now peaceful face.

Cute, he thought to himself. Not that it mattered.

He shook the thought away, averting his gaze to the entry points once again. She’s just another boss. Just a paycheck. A vault kid in way over her head. That was all.

That was the mantra he’d repeated to himself long after she’d drifted off.

Chapter Text

The Overseer’s voice was too calm. “Kira, you will decide the outcome of today’s trial.”

Two people propped up on a steel gurney, facing the glass window separating the victims from the assailants. Too many times had she been on the other side of this window, only to find out the side she stood on now was significantly worse. Their faces instantly recognizable filled her with overwhelming dread. The woman, Kati, who was the same age as Kira, was sobbing so hard her ribs shook, screaming out after every deep inhale. Her husband, Josh, beside her with his jaw clenched, trying so hard to look brave for her. Both of them were strapped down on the gurneys. Both of them were staring at Kira, eyes pleading, like she was their lifeline.

She knew how this would go. Only one could leave the chamber alive.

The large remote in her hands held the weight of two lives narrowed down to two buttons. One red, one blue. The Overseer gestured to the device in her hands too casually, as if telling her to decide what she was going to eat for lunch. “Choose.” He’d said.

She shook head to toe so hard she nearly dropped the device. “Why me?” she pleaded, words coming out faster than her brain could think them, “Why them— There’s no reason for this. None of us have done anything wrong. I don’t understand. Let me talk to them! Let me—”

The Overseer grabbed her forearm hard enough to bruise and yanked her close. All she could do was flinch away, his grip unfailing, “This is the duty of our leaders, Kira. Impossible choices. No right answers. You need to practice.”

Practice. The word rung in her ears. Practice-like she was running a simulation. Like the two people who lay before them mattered less than the data the Overseer planned to generate from this scenario.

She couldn’t push a button. She couldn’t choose. She threw the panel on the floor and watched as it shattered to pieces. Alarms went off immediately. The Overseer’s mask cracked into something feral. Kira watched frozen as the chamber with Kati and her husband filled with a cloud of gas. They both started convulsing with seizures immediately.

The only thing she remembered was the scream that tore from her throat as she pounded on the glass. Pleading, begging, offering herself instead and ultimately all falling on deaf ears. The last thing she saw of the two was blood pouring from their eyes and opened mouths as they tried to scream or breathe, both being silenced by the toxins flooding the air.

The Overseer turned to Kira, smiling coldly, and said simply, “you failed the test.” That was the moment her heart finally broke. She realized nothing that the vault had ever warned her about the outside world could ever be worse than what was happening inside. She left that night with the belief that she would be killed the second she stepped foot outside the vault, but ultimately knowing that would still be kinder than the vault had ever been.

She jerked up from her position, lying on the floor, with a scream, “NO!” Suddenly a hand was gripping her arm, and she knew it was the damned Overseer. Probably dragging her through another level of hell.

When she looked up, though, it wasn’t the cold face of the Overseer. It was the worried face of the mercenary she’d hired to protect her.

“Woah woah, hey. It’s just me,” he said in a low, calming voice as he slowly knelt down before her, as if she were a rabid animal. She probably looked like one right now, honestly. “It’s just me. You’re safe. It was just a nightmare. You’re okay.” His deep blue eyes filled her mind, drawing away the memories that just overflowed her senses. She stared into his eyes like they were the only thing anchoring her to the present, her lips and chin quivering as she tried to hold it together. His eyebrows were drawn together in confusion and concern as he slowly reached a hand out to touch her shoulder. She stared at his approaching hand with dear, her entire body was tense as she braced for the impact of the touch.

But it wasn’t what she expected. It wasn’t like the vault.

His touch was warm and so gentle she barely felt it. His hand settled on her arm and she felt his thumb stroking her, trying to…soothe her? She’d found herself doing the same thing after experiments in the vault. Alone in her room, holding herself tightly, stroking her arms or back, trying to calm herself down. She’d never had somebody else touch her like that.

The intense emotions from the flashback and his comfort overwhelmed her and she felt her face screw up into a grimace and, for the first time since she left the vault, she let herself cry. She threw her arms around herself, like she’d done so many times before, bringing her knees up to her chest, rocking herself back and forth, and just sobbed.

She felt MacCready’s hand leave her arm, and she cried harder, only to hear him shuffle and sit beside her. She jumped at the feeling of his arm wrapping around her shoulders, gently pulling her to lean on his side. Her body shook as it wracked through her uncontrollable sobs. She couldn’t bring herself to embrace him like she wanted to. She only trusted herself to know how to calm her down.

“Shhh, it’s alright,” he whispered in her hair, “It’s alright. You’re okay. I’ve got you. You’re okay.” She clung to the sound of his voice like a lifeline as he continued to whisper calming words to her.

She felt him lean away for a quick moment before pressing something cold into her hand. Immediately she recognized it. The gyroscope. She unwrapped her arms from herself and began tapping her favorite pattern as her body continued to rock back and forth, moving MacCready’s body with her. She couldn’t tell if it was her rocking them or him, but she relied on it to steady her either way. She clenched her eyes shut and focused on the feeling of the cold metal, her breathing, and the warmth of the comforting man that held her, until her sobs calmed to quiet trickles of tears and the rocking faded.

MacCready stopped speaking at some point, but had not stopped holding her to his side, stroking her arm. She took a deep, grounding breath and looked up at him. If he didn’t think I was crazy before, he definitely thinks it now. But all he said was, “you alright?” his voice deep and soothing.

She nodded and whispered, “’m sorry,” her voice raspy from the tears.

He slowly reached a hand up to her face, giving her time to react, and softly wiped away the tears that stained her face. “Don’t apologize. I have nights like this too. So, you know, you can repay me when that eventually happens,” he replied with a smirk.

Exhausted, she laid her head on his chest. Listening to his breathing and heartbeat, she discovered a new comforting, repeating pattern that soothed her. His chest rumbled as he mumbled, “was it something that happened out here? Before we met?” She shook her head twice and he nodded against the top of her head, “The vault.” Not a question. He knew. Maybe not the extent of it but he knew.

She sighed and closed her eyes again. She’d rather die a brutal death in this post-apocalyptic wasteland than set foot in that vault for another second. She felt his hand rub her back. Her breathing slowed and became rhythmic and heavy as she held onto her gyroscope, listening to MacCready’s heartbeat. The comforting warmth had her slowly fading back to sleep. The impact of the emotions left her exhausted.

She barely heard him whisper, “You’re not going back there. Ever,” before she fell back into a, mercifully, dreamless sleep.

Chapter Text

We’d been walking since the second the sun crested the wastes. Kira was absolutely exhausted but the urge to dramatically collapse fell to the wayside when she looked ahead. Through the wreckage of the street, she could see an enormous light green metal building coated in deep brown rust with a white diamond plastered on the center. Diamond City.

The closer we got, the more the energy around her seemed to hum with nervous excitement. She had no idea what to expect in there but she knew she’d finally be able to get some answers to her never ending questions.

Her legs shook with every step closer, her exhaustion bleeding out of her braided with the leftover tremors of last night’s nightmare.

MacCready had kept his distance all morning and barely said a thing. Now, he walked paces ahead of her, shoulders locked, jaw tight…everything about his posture sent the same message to her that it had all morning:

They were not talking about it. Not the nightmare. Not the panic attack. Not the way he’d held her like she might shatter to pieces at any moment.

They hadn’t spoken a single word in almost an hour.

That was just fine, she’d been telling herself. Though as the hour pressed on, she felt a welt of guilt begin to settle on her chest, the fidgeting she was doing was hardly comforting anymore. Yet, every time she opened her mouth to break the silence, nothing came out. She feared that last night had pushed him far away from her. Maybe that’s what happens when someone finally gets a glimpse of just how fucked up she truly is. She feared saying something might push him farther away.

Her thoughts were cut off as the sound of raised voices cracked through the air, pleading. The sound hit her like a blow, sharp and vibrating, as if someone had snapped a live wire inside her skull.

As they approached the entrance to the city, she took in the scene before her. A man, a woman and a child — a family, no doubt — were practically begging the two guards to let them enter. Kira couldn’t help but note how utterly unarmed the family was and how completely over-armed the guards were, their rifles raised and aimed at the defenseless family. “We already told you,” one of the guards said, in a loud voice dripping with anger, “We ain’t lettin’ synth trash into our city. So get the fuck outta here or we’ll solve this problem ourselves, and you ain’t gonna like it.” The faces of the guards showed little emotion and regarded the family before them as if they were not truly there. As if it were a simulation. And that was a familiar enough feeling for Kira to decide she had to do something.

Her hands trembled as she became overly aware of the feeling of the beads of sweat dripping down her neck. Her vision narrowed, sound sharpened, and every nervous system wire sparked too hot, too fast. She felt as though she could feel, smell, hear and see everything all at once.

“No,” she whispered, before turning to MacCready, who was casually taking in the scene, and saying more confidently, “No, this isn’t right at all. They’re completely unarmed. Their emotional responses are consistent with human — non-hostile— distress patterns. They just want—”

“Boss.” MacCready’s voice cut through her like a shot, as he turned to face her, his expression dead serious. “Stop.”

What? There’s no way he was willing to just stand there and watch this happen as if it had nothing to do with them. They were perfectly capable of helping and these people needed help.

She felt the breath get knocked out of her as logic, panic, and memory all collided into her at once. “This is a completely unjustified escalation,” she said, louder, some part of her hoping the guards would hear her and understand that they’ve gone too far. “They’re being profiled based on fear and not evidence—”

“Don’t,” MacCready interrupted, his voice sharpened. “Do not walk into that.”

She grimaced at him. The same man who had showed her so much compassion last night was now standing next to her showing only self-preservation. It made her sick to her stomach. In turn, her voice sharpened, harsher than she knew she could speak, “MacCready. They’re going to hurt them.”

“Yeah,” he snapped, stepping so close to Kira, she could feel his breath on her face as he said, low and lethal, “because that’s what they do. It is what it is. I suggest you back off before you get us into that exact same situation.”

“Please,” she snapped her head back to the scene that lay before them, as the man pleaded with the guards. “You have to believe us. We just need a safe place to stay for just a little while. It’s too dangerous out here for our daughter, please. I’ll do anything.” Kira’s heart broke at the mans pleas, but the guard responded only in more anger and took a threatening step as he raised the butt of his rifle and slammed it hard into the father’s chest. Kira gasped and she flung a hand up to cover her mouth, shocked at the pure, unjustified rage that poured from the guards.

“Last warning,” the guard snarled. “Turn your synth asses around and run. If I have to say it again, you’re leaving in a body bag.”

The mother pressed her hands together, as if praying, and begged the men, “We’re not-we’re human, please! We’re just trying to—”

“SHUT IT.” The guard’s voice cracked like a whip.

The second guard stalked around the other side of the family, stalking them like prey. His finger hovered just inside the trigger guard - too casually. He walked up to the child and said with a smirk, “cryin’ only makes you look more like a synth, sweetheart. Human kids learn to shut up if they wanna stay alive.”

Kira’s stomach flipped as the girl whimpered, tucking herself closer to her father. Her pulse skyrocketed. The world narrowed into two rifles, a shaking family, and a certainty that this would end in blood. She took a half-step forward to intervene—

The guard that was stalking the family whipped his rifle toward her - not to warn, but to aim - as she felt MacCready’s hand grip her wrist, firmly. The first guard took a step closer to her as his lip curled. “You. Vaultie. Keep movin’ ‘less you want a matching grave.” Her throat closed at the threat. He took another step closer, too close, and looked her dead in the eye with a viscous look, “you fuckin’ vaulties are all the same. Tryin’ to play hero all the time. Maybe we should rough you up to show you where that’ll get you out here.” The guards chuckled darkly.

Every muscle in her body locked tight at the possibilities of what he was suggesting he put her through. Her breath hitched, her brain screaming at her to do something —

That was the exact moment MacCready dragged her sharply back before the guards could decide to pull the trigger to make an example of her. Before she could pull away, the sound of a loud BANG overwhelmed her. Her hands darted to cover her ears as she frantically turned her head back to the scene. The father fell to the ground clutching his leg, groaning, as the little girl screamed. The sound so raw and filled with horror that it scraped against her bones.

Something inside her cracked loud enough, she could almost hear it. Against all instinct, warning, and common sense, she took a step forward.

“Kira!” MacCready’s hand forcefully wrenched her backward just as the second guard swung the butt of his rifle in her direction. It cut through the space where her face had been, close enough to feel the wind of it.

Kira froze, eyes wide, as she stared ahead. The mother had hoisted her husband up, all members of the family sobbing, as they turned around to take their leave, accepting defeat. The feeling of static buzzed under her skin. The girl looked back at Kira once, eyes wild and wet, and she could feel her heart shatter into little pieces in her chest.

She stared at the family’s retreating figures as she mumbled to MacCready, “You let them do that.” But her voice wasn’t hers. It sounded completely hollowed out, devoid of emotion.

MacCready turned her to face him, his expression coated in something she couldn’t untangle — fear, frustration, something like betrayal or grief.

“I let you not die, unless you’ve forgotten that’s the whole reason I’m here,” he shot back at her, words coated in venom. “You think you’re invincible just because you can quote ethics manuals? This is the Commonwealth, not the vault. Nobody gives a damn about fair.”

Her eyes burned as they filled with tears. The world pulsed too bright, sharp light on all sides of the angry face she was looking at. “It still matters,” she whispered. “What’s right still matters…” Trying to convince herself more than anything.

He let go of her, lifted his had and dragged a hand through his hair. It looked like the movement was the only thing keeping him from exploding. “Look,” he said, voice low and jagged, “I get it. You grew up in a metal box full of rules and charts and whatever Vault-Tec fairy tales made you think that reason defines everything. But out here?” He exhaled, harsh. “Out here, logic and reasoning doesn’t save you. Mercy doesn’t save you. Hell, I’ve barely managed to save myself.”

He stepped closer to her, too close, his blue eyes pouring deep into hers with an intensity that made something inside of her stutter. “I’m not trying to control you,” he said quietly, “I’m just trying to keep you alive and show you how to survive out here without having to learn the hard way. Something I wish someone had done for me a long time ago.”

A tear slid down her cheek and she quickly pulled out the spinning gyroscope and aggressively slapping it on her hand - 1,1,2,3,5,8,13,21 - trying to anchor herself to numbers, patterns, anything. Her hand began to tingle and redden at the intensity.

MacCready’s eyes followed the tapping. The rawness she couldn’t hide. And for one flicker, just a breath, she noticed his expression soften. Then it vanished as he jerked his chin toward the gate. “C’mon, boss. Detective’s waiting. Try not to start a fight before we get inside, yeah?” He said in a lighter tone, trying to brighten the mood. For what good it did. Her heart was in shambles after what she’d just witnessed.

She swallowed hard, quickly wiped her face and returned to tapping the pattern, opting for her thigh instead, before forcing her feet to move. Not because she forgave him, but because Diamond City loomed like a necessary evil, and somewhere inside it was the first thread she needed to unravel the truth about Vault-Tec.

And because, despite her newfound feelings of anger and disgust towards his self-preserving actions, MacCready was right about one thing:

There’s no way in hell she’d survive this world alone.

Chapter Text

The Great Green Jewel, they called it. Nothin great about it. Place was always full of stuck up bastards that turned their nose up to anyone from outside the city, paranoid as fuck about synths, and it was way too crowded for his liking. The city was filled with rusted metal, spotlights and guard towers - all the comforting signs of civilization, if you ignored the overwhelming prejudice and corruption that coated the place.

Kira walked a step behind MacCready. Too quiet. No tapping. No incessant whispering her endless facts under her breath. No restless movement. Just…silence. And for the first time in his life, he fucking hated silence. Because silence meant she was thinking about last night, and the mess at the gate, and probably how much of a complete asshole he’d been. That, or she was shitting on herself for all the ways she thought she screwed up. He’d met a couple vault kids in his life, and they always had a real bad habit of carrying guilt like it was a part of their uniform.

His jaw clenched, the events of last night filling his thoughts as they mindlessly trekked through the city. Her quiet whimpers waking him up only to find her clenching her blanket, tears streaming down her face and repeatedly murmuring ‘no’ under her breath like a prayer. He immediately knew it had to be a result of some of the psycho shit the vaults were known for. He’d sat there for a moment, contemplating what to do. She looked so vulnerable and just…absolutely heartbroken. He couldn’t just go back to sleep with the sounds of her quiet weeping.

When he’d woken her up, she looked at him with so much fear in her eyes, shaking to the point that her entire body was wracking through the terror of whatever it was she’d dreamt of - it gave him an overwhelming sense of rage to whoever could do this to someone like her. Didn’t seem like she could ever do anything to deserve whatever it was they put her through. He knew plenty of shitty people and god knows he’d seen innumerable amounts of inhumane acts done to innocents. Those people deserved the hell that the vaults could put someone through. Not her.

His thoughts drifted to holding her through her sobs. The way she didn’t return his embrace made him think she probably wasn’t accustomed to comfort; must not’ve been a lot of that in the vault. He didn’t think too much about it then, just held her as she held herself, rocking back and forth and tapping her little ball of rings on her small hand so hard he thought she was gonna make herself bleed. Then she calmed down. And laid her head on his chest.

He didn’t sleep after that.

Shaking his head, and focusing back on the town surrounding them, he steered them back to the main strip of Diamond City where the noise and lights washed over us — vendors shouting, kids laughing, guards arguing somewhere in the crowd. Suddenly, Kira was right next to him, arms brushing against each other. He noticed how small she tried to make herself look and stood slightly behind his arm, as if he were to shield her away from the city. Her deep green eyes darting around, muscles so tense she looked like she was about to snap. Her face was one of pure focus - lips pushed in a tight line, eyebrows knit tightly together, eyes squinted as she takes in everything.

“C’mon, boss,” he muttered as he leaned down to her. “Ya look like you’re about to pass out. Let’s grab some food.” She made a tiny noise of agreement, barely audible like she was conserving battery power.

They slid onto stools side-by-side at his favorite part of this damned city - Power fuckin’ Noodles. Takahashi immediately rolled up to them, ladle in hand.

“Nan-ni shimasu-ka?” he chirped.

Kira brightened, “Hello!” She said cheerily, “Yes. Um. Could you tell me what you use for your base broth?” Oh lord, this chick. He smirked and rolled his eyes. He knew exactly how this was gonna go.

Takahashi stared, “Nani?”

Kira blinked, tapping the countertop, “Ingredients? Chemical composition? Anything with heavy metals? Capsaicin content? I just need—”

“Nani?” At this point, MacCready is just sitting back, trying not to laugh, enjoying this whole fiasco. How long would this go on for?

She squinted at the robot. “What is the probability that your answer is supposed to be contextual rather than consistently scripted?”

“Nani?”

She straightened, cleared her throat and -bless her heart- started structuring her questions like she was going to debug the thing. “If I ask yes/no questions, will you respond correctly?”

“Nani?” He snorted quietly, trying so hard to hold back.

“…Is that a no? Or—”

“Nani?” She looked absolutely baffled and sputtered in tiny, frustrated, adorable static bursts. And he—

He didn’t mean to. He swore he didn’t. But a laugh burst out of him. A real laugh. Not the sarcastic bark or mocking one he used so frequently out here.

A real, involuntary, completely embarrassingly loud laugh.

He hadn’t laughed like that in so long.

Kira turned to look at him confused, and he quickly stopped. “Was that…did you just—”

“No,” he said immediately.

“Yes, you did! You laughed,” she insisted, now glowing at him.

“Nah, not me. Must’ve been someone else,” he muttered, ears burning under his hat. “Robot probably malfunctioned,” he shrugged. He didn’t know why he was lying about this, but they’d been getting too close to each other too fast. He really needed to start putting some walls back up before things went to shit.

But when he looked back up at her, she was smiling brightly at him, and giggled. The sound lightened his chest and he ignored the weird flip in his stomach as he quickly looked away from her and waved a hand at Takahashi. “Two bowls. Please. Before she interrogates you into a factory reset.”

The robot dropped two hot bowls of noodles in front of us. “Nan-ni shimasu-ka.”

He immediately dived in, not caring as the noodles burned his mouth. Soooo good. Significantly better than the canned shit he ate all the time. He waved at Takahashi for another bowl, realizing he was plowing through his first one.

Kira had accepted hers with both hands like it was some kind of sacred artifact. She brought it to her face, inhaled the scent and responded with a soft, involuntary sound that shot right down his spine like a live wire.

Nope nope nope. We are not acknowledging that. 

As he raised his first bowl to down the broth, focusing his thoughts on landmines and gun powder -anything but the sound that just came from her- he caught the sight of Kira struggling with her chopsticks. He tried, really tried, to not stare at her hands. She had long, delicate fingers. The kind that looked built for writing or whatever sciencey shit they did at the vault…not for holding a weapon. Probably not a callous on her. Yet, she’d survived the Commonwealth so far.

Her thumb slipped and the chopsticks clacked against the counter. She let out a frustrated groan under her breath, before picking them up and trying again.

He set his bowl down and, before he could stop himself, he leaned over her, nudging her fingers into the right position. “Here,” he mumbled. “Gotta hold this one like you’re holding a pencil. Like this.”

He watched as she studied her hands intensely, taking note of what she was learning, before taking in their close proximity. Her eyes slid from his hands, up his arms, before looking up into his eyes.

Too close. Way too fuckin’ close. Her eyes were wide, a dark shade of green with flecks of gold catching in the light. He hadn’t noticed that before. Her cheeks were lightly flushed, and he noticed light freckles developing across her nose. Which led him to her lips. Lightly pink-ish red and looked very soft. Very soft. It hit him all at once that she was…well—kind of beautiful. Annoyingly so.

He jerked back from her like she’d caught fire and quickly turned his attention to his second bowl. “Just try not to stab yourself in the eye, alright?” He muttered.

Smooth, MacCready. Real smooth.

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed her duck her head, but he caught the tiny flutter of her fingers, tapping against the counter. Almost…pleased.

Well, shit.

After they’d finished their noodles, they stocked up on some supplies before looking around for the detective.

“MacCready,” Kira said, softly, “About earlier.”

He braced himself. Here it comes. The lecture about morality and ethics.

“You were right,” she said. He didn’t react at first because, honestly, his brain shorted out.

Right? Me? The hell-?

“In hindsight, I realize if I’d have stepped in, they would’ve hurt me. Or worse…” He turned to her, watching her fidget with the hem of her jumpsuit nervously.

“Yeah,” I said, low. “That’s how guards work.”

“I just…” Her fingers twisted around her sleeve. “I can’t watch innocent people get treated like that and do nothing.”

A statement he was all too familiar with. Lucy’d always felt that way. Sometimes got them in a shit situation because of it. But it was one of the many reasons he’d loved her.

He sighed through the pang in his chest, “Yeah, boss. I know.”

Her head snapped up. “You do?”

Oh boy. Feelings and shit. My nightmare.

But she looked up at him like she needed this and hell, he wasn’t a monster.

“I get wanting to help,” he said, “And I know what it feels like when you cant. I also know the stupid, reckless urge to jump in anyway.” He noted the tension in her dissipating as he spoke. “But,” he said firmly, “you can’t throw your life away for every fight. I don’t plan on draggin’ your corpse out of here.”

She scoffed, “I wasn’t planning on dying.”

“Most people don’t, boss.”

“…Fair.”

And that’s where they left it.

As they made their way through Diamond City, searching for Nick Valentine’s office, Kira practically hummed beside him, buzzing with nerves like a damn live wire. She kept spinning that circle of rings in her palm. The flick-flick-flick of it clicking faster and faster the closer they got to Valentine’s Agency. She spun it so hard, he half-expected the thing to take off on its own. 

“Easy,” he muttered to her. 

She didn’t hear him. Or ignored him. Hard to tell with her. 

They were greeted by a bright, neon red light and he knew they’d arrived. Kira’s steps faltered as her eyes darted around the building. Probably mapping out every exit, pressure point, structural flaw, and god knows what else.

He pushed the door open before she could talk herself out of walking in.