Without You

I want to offer a *huge* thank you to FreshMess her for letting me play with her idea. Thanks! This wouldn't exist without you.
Second, this fic is something I've been writing for fun, and I initially had no intention of posting. It's a little different from my others, and may not be for everyone. Also, it's something of an AU in that it doesn't fit in with my 'canon' for Ying.
**The title is borrowed from the song of the same name by Breaking Benjamin, and in my opinion, really sets the theme for this.

Chapter Text

Ying eyed the thin piece of metal, barely listening to the man across from her as he droned on about molecular relays and the transference of matter. All gibberish to her, but it was clear he enjoyed explaining it, so she did her best to feign interest while she tried to remember his name. It wasn’t until she caught him watching her, one thin brow arched in question, that she realized her act may not have been as convincing as she’d hoped.

“Well?”

“Very Impressive, doctor....?”

“Davis”, the man sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You haven’t heard a word I’ve said, have you? I suppose it’s to be expected. Well, no matter. It functions much like the standard chip, so I’m confident even you should be able to figure it out.”

Uncurling her fingers from a reflexive fist, Ying let her hand fall to her side and and gave Davis a tight smile. She might be able to talk her way out of a few botched missions, but she doubted Father would believe breaking this asshole’s nose had been an accident. “I’m sure I’ll manage.”

Davis’ pale green eyes swept over her, his mouth tugging into a frown. “I do hope so. The director believes you may be of some value to us; I suppose I can only trust in his judgement. Now, if there’s nothing further, I’d like to install the chip so we can begin testing.”

“Just out of curiosity,” Ying began as she unstrapped her Pip Boy from her wrist. “what does the directorate think of your...project?” She bit her lip to hold hold back a satisfied grin when Davis flushed a bright red.

“ Projects are for classrooms,” Davis huffed. “What you see here is the culmination of more than a decade’s worth of work.”

“Of course. I meant no offense, doctor.” Certainly not the biggest lie she’d ever told, but easily in the top ten. “And the directorate?”

“The directorate currently has more pressing matters to attend.”

“In other words, they rejected you.”

Davis looked up long enough to shoot her a mild glare and then went back to work, carefully lifting the chip with a pair of forceps and placing it inside the plastic casing of the Pip Boy. “They rejected a theoretical concept,” he corrected. “believing our...standard relay capabilities to be adequate for our needs. It’s my hope that having quantifiable data in hand will convince them otherwise.”

“And you think this will work?” Ying asked, waving a hand to indicate the mess of wires and electrodes. “I can teleport anywhere with that?”

“ Relay . This isn’t a science fiction novel. And yes. The modifications I’ve made should render our current limitations a thing of the past.” He flashed an expectant grin and then seemed to catch himself as he hastily cleared his throat and looked away.

Spending their lives underground was clearly starting to have an effect, Ying noted. No wonder so many synths wanted memory wipes - these assholes were crazy. Still, if the tech worked, it was too valuable to pass up. The ability to teleport synths to safety would change the Railroad in ways she couldn’t yet imagine.

“There. All finished,” Davis said, holding the Pip Boy out to her. “You know what to do?”

“You said it works like a normal courser chip?”

“Until my program is installed, yes. You’ll still need to relay to the ruins from the control room in order to exit the grounds, but once you’re on the surface, simply load the holotape I gave you and run the program. That will allow my modifications to take effect. From there, you should be able to select a set of coordinates from your map. Any location will do, though I must stress the need for discretion.”

“I can be discreet.”

Davis let out a skeptical hum. “I’m sure. In any case, that’s all I require. Once you’ve relayed to your chosen destination, the sensors I added will do the rest. All you need do is return the chip to me so I can analyze the data.”

“Right,” Ying nodded, barely able to contain her excitement. Tom was going to love this. “And I can tel... relay back the same way?”

“Considering it’s the only way to enter the Institute, I should say so, yes.”

“Got it.”

Ying fastened her Pip Boy and turned to leave. She’d just made it to the threshold of Davis’ office when she heard him call behind her, “Do be quick. As I’m sure you can imagine, that data is highly sensitive.”

“Understood.”

Well, shit.

Chewing her thumbnail as the helix-shaped elevator began its slow ascent, Ying worked furiously to come up with a plan.

Getting the new chip directly to Tinker Tom probably wasn’t going to be possible. She couldn’t just show up with new Institute tech in the middle of Railroad headquarters, and a time limit meant she wouldn’t be able to stop in Goodneighbor and leave her Pip Boy with Hancock like she normally did when working with the Railroad. The relay was instantaneous. Davis was bound to ask questions if she ran away with his chip for a few days, and that wasn’t even factoring in the sensors he’d mentioned. No telling what they were capable of picking up.

No, she couldn’t give Tom the chip; the risk of exposure was just too great. But she still had the holotape, and it wouldn’t take long at all to make a copy. It might be possible to use whatever was on the tape to modify another chip. Of course, that meant finding another courser, but she could work out the details later. First, she needed to find a terminal to copy the tape.

A technician glanced up as Ying entered the relay control room, and it took everything she had to keep from rolling her eyes when the woman’s look of boredom melted into the odd mix of fear and awe some of them got when they saw her.

She got it, she really did. A sixty year old man calling a woman not yet half his age ‘Mother’ was fucking weird. Ying understood that better than most. But the way some of the Institute seemed to revere Father - and by extension, her - was beyond unsettling.

“You...” the woman breathed, peeking up shyly from beneath shaggy brown bangs. “you killed that rogue synth.”

Ying sighed, dreading where the conversation seemed to be heading. “Yeah.”

Popular opinion on how she handled Gabriel tended to be mixed. Ayo had been furious that she’d ‘botched’ the retrieval, and most of the scientists leaned towards his view, lamenting the loss of the unit. A few, however, saw any synth beyond the Institute’s control as a danger to be put down at all costs.

Privately, Ying thought both groups were idiots. Gabriel had lived like a raider, and he’d died like one, simple as that.

“But...how?”

“People tend to die when you shoot them in the face,” Ying said dryly.

The woman paled, eyes dropping to the revolver at Ying’s hip as she gave a slow nod. “I see. I’m just glad it’s no longer a threat. Thank you.”

Biting her tongue to quell the automatic correction of pronouns, Ying rolled her shoulder in an uncomfortable shrug. “Yeah, sure.”

“Well, I won’t keep you,” the technician smiled. “I’m sure you have lots of important things to do, Be careful up there.”

“...Thanks.”

With an awkward wave, Ying entered the relay, watching as the woman outside turned back to her machines. She punched a few buttons and the platform began to vibrate gently beneath Ying’s feet, the tall pillars around her crackling with energy. The room lit with a bright blue glow, and then the walls faded from sight, only to be replaced by the deserted ruins outside the CIT building.

Eager to get started, she loaded the holotape Davis gave her, waiting impatiently as the screen scrolled through strings of numbers and code. A few minutes later, it flashed again, indicating the installation was complete. Thumbing the dial to her map, she studied the glowing interface, finally deciding on the Red Rocket out by Sanctuary.

The old station was too close to Sanctuary to turn into a full settlement, so Ying had claimed it for herself. It was private - no witnesses that would catch her suddenly blinking into existence - and it even had a working terminal. She could copy the tape, stash it there until she had a chance to bring it to the Railroad, and still get back before Davis grew suspicious and raised the alarm.

Taking a deep breath, Ying selected the coordinates on her map, and turned the dial. Once more, the world disintegrated into electric blue, so bright she had to close her eyes against it. She reeled, stumbling as the ground seemed to drop out from under her only to slam back into place, and opened her eyes... to a snarling alpha and his pack of mongrels.

“ Damn it.”

The alpha lowered his head and let out a rumbling growl, hackles rising in patchy clumps. He lunged, skeletal jaws snapping inches from her leg, only to pull back at the last second. A feint, but a successful one, as it allowed the two behind him to creep forward and flank her.

Taking a cautious step back, Ying drew both Kellogg’s revolver and her knife, keeping her gaze locked on the alpha, and relying on peripheral vision to keep track of the other two. Milky eyes followed her every move as the alpha scented the air, thick strings of saliva dripping from its sagging jowls. It darted forward again, and Ying raised the revolver and fired, baring her teeth in visceral satisfaction when the alpha yelped and stumbled back, bleeding from his side. Movement on her right warned her that one of the others had circled behind her. She fired once more in the alpha’s direction, and raised her knife, pivoting to meet the mongrel behind her just as it leapt for her unguarded back. Her blade sank between it’s ribs, but the weight of the dog wrenched it from her hand as the animal fell to the ground in a shuddering heap.

A faint shimmer near the dying mongrel drew her attention, and Ying watched, fascinated, as the empty space behind it seemed to ripple and bend. Small fingers of lightning carved a jagged, faintly glowing border roughly her height and half as wide. It looked like something had ripped a hole in the air itself, with everything outside the tear appearing normal, while anything inside warped and wavered like a fun-house mirror.

Unable to contain her curiosity, Ying moved closer to investigate. She raised a hand toward the strange distortion, perplexed as the fine hairs on her arm rose and the tingle of static electricity washed over her skin. Too late, she realized her mistake.

A ragged growl and the loping beat of canid footfall were all she heard before a dark shape hurtled toward her, knocking her aside as though she weighed no more than a doll. Sharp teeth clamped around her arm, rending flesh and muscle. Ying let out an agonized cry, inwardly cursing herself for forgetting about the other dog. Choking back a moan, she managed to get to her knees, but the mongrel held on. Her revolver lay in the dirt a few feet from her, but reaching it was impossible. Held fast in the mongrel’s powerful jaws, it took all of her strength just to keep the animal from dragging her away.

Weaponless, she resorted to punches and jabs. The beast flinched but held on, unwilling to let its prey escape so easily. Ying screamed as she felt its teeth sink deeper, and out of desperation, she hooked the thumb of her free hand and jammed it into the mongrel’s eye. The result was immediate. Releasing her with a howl, it gave a violent shake of its head and pawed at its face. It staggered sideways, disoriented from pain, and with a drunken lurch, ran right through the tear.

To Ying’s utter disbelief, it simply disappeared.

The border of electricity grew bright enough to make her eyes water, expanding until she thought what she was seeing inside wasn’t the broken trees and pavement that should have been there, but chunks of rubble and mangled rebar. Suddenly, the entire thing flared and seemed to fold in on itself. Then it collapsed with a deafening clap of thunder that rattled her teeth and left Ying seeing stars.

Dazed, she tried to stand, only for her vision to pitch sharply as everything started to spin. Closing her eyes only made the vertigo worse, leaving her clawing at the dirt in a desperate bid to regain some semblance of balance. Her stomach churned, and she heaved until her ribs ached, each spasm only bringing on another wave of the awful dizziness. When her stomach had nothing left to bring up, Ying lay still, too exhausted to even try to crawl away from the mess. Black spots floated before her eyes, and the slightest movement of her head made her feel like she’d been launched through space, but she still had enough sense to know passing out now would probably be the end of her.

Fuck that. She wasn’t going out from a pack of mangy dogs and...whatever the hell that other thing was.

Gritting her teeth in renewed determination, Ying reached for a stimpack, groaning as the ground rolled and bucked beneath her. After several fumbling attempts, she managed to free one from her pack and clumsily jammed the needle through her jeans and into her thigh. Within minutes the vertigo eased, and she cautiously sat up to take stock of her injuries.

Her arm was a mess of mangled tissue, already starting to knit, thanks to the stims, but far from healed. She was going to need someone to stitch it soon - that kind of damage was beyond her meager skills. Dried blood ran in a crusted line from her right ear and along her cheek where it had dripped onto her face. One of the knees of her jeans was torn, revealing a bloody scrape underneath, but the joint appeared otherwise undamaged.

All in all, except for the arm, she wasn’t doing too bad.

Climbing slowly to her feet, Ying wrinkled her nose in disgust at the splatters of vomit that stained her clothes. Lucky for her, the Red Rocket had a water pump. It wouldn’t be as good as a change of clothing, but at least she could clean up. She’d only taken a few steps toward the station when she came to a sudden stop, a puzzled frown wrinkling her brow as she got her first good look.

It wasn’t possible, but no matter how much she blinked or rubbed at her eyes, they told her the same thing. The station looked exactly like it had the day she’d left the vault.

Cars, tires, all the old junk she’d cleared away was back - even the piles of leaves and trash. Inside, she found the same thing. The little bedroom she’d made was gone, the office once more filled with crates of coolant and stacks of old paperwork and magazines. Rusted tools and cans littered the floor of the garage, and aside from a couple bent wrenches, the ancient workbench was empty.

“What the hell?”

Placing her hands flat on the counter, Ying bowed her head and took several deep breaths.There had to be an explanation. She’d entered the wrong coordinates, or maybe that fucking mongrel had rattled something loose when he was shaking her around like his personal chew toy.

Ying glanced at her Pip Boy, hoping to confirm she’d somehow picked the wrong location, but instead of the glowing lines of her map, she was greeted by a darkened screen and her own reflection staring back at her. She smacked the the plastic of the case in mounting frustration, but no amount of hitting or fiddling with the controls made any difference. It was dead, probably fried by that freak storm or whatever it was.

That has to be it. Just some weird ass storm, and this is all some kind of hallucination brought on by shock or something.

Maybe she’d hit her head, and just hadn’t felt it - that would certainly explain the dizziness she’d experienced. Or maybe this was some kind of side effect from that new chip…

A wave of relief so strong it nearly buckled her knees crashed over her. The chip! Of course it was the chip. She wasn’t losing her mind. All she needed was a doctor and some rest. Sanctuary wasn’t far, and they had a small clinic. She could go there and get checked out, maybe have Sturges take a look at her Pip Boy while she was at it.

Calm once more, Ying took a few minutes to tend her arm. The deepest lacerations hadn’t closed, and traveling with them unbandaged was just asking for a nasty infection. She found a bottle of liquor in the office and some shop rags out in the garage. They were covered in dark splotches, but she’d just have to make do. Laying the rags out on the counter, she sat on one of the stools, holding the bottle between her legs so she could open it with one hand. After helping herself to a generous portion, she poured the alcohol over her wounds until she was sure they were properly disinfected, her breath hissing between her teeth as liquid fire raced through her arm. When the burning faded to a tolerable level, she tied the rags in place, grabbed her pack and left.

She only made it about halfway to Sanctuary when that feeling of alarm came creeping back. Something was wrong. She couldn’t figure out why, exactly, or even if it was any one thing. It all looked familiar enough, but something just felt... off . Nothing so blatant as what she’d found at the filling station, but she didn’t remember that tree leaning at quite that angle, and was almost positive that that large rock on the side of the road had been much smaller the last time she was through. Even the pattern of cracks and potholes in the road seemed foreign.

Chiding herself for being ridiculous Ying pressed on. Things changed all the time, and it wasn’t like she’d ever stopped to memorize the minutiae of the wasteland. She’d be laughing about this tomorrow, and have one hell of a story for Hancock when she went back to Goodneighbor. All she needed to do was keep it together until then.

Preston wasn’t at the bridge, and Ying couldn’t see him patrolling up ahead. She didn’t think too much of it at first, but the further in she got, the faster her heart raced. Preston wasn’t at the bridge because he wasn’t there . No one was.

This wasn’t Sanctuary. It couldn’t be.

The settlement she’d helped build was gone, leaving the hollow remains of her old neighborhood in its place. The houses they’d repaired were in shambles, scraps of broken furniture and glass peeking out from the gaps in the walls. Even her own. It had taken forever to convince Preston to tear down her old house, and yet there it stood, a twisted hulk of rusted metal and peeling paint. Across the debris choked street, the skeleton of one of her neighbors leered at her from where it sprawled over a car. The small bones of its hands and feet had fallen off, but otherwise it remained intact. No one had been through here since the bombs, not even scavengers.

For the second time in as many hours, bile flooded her throat. Ying fell to her knees, retching until tears streamed from her eyes. It wasn’t possible.

There was the porch where Mama Murphy liked to sit in that hideous chair of hers. The last time Ying was here, they’d sat together, talking and sneaking hits of jet when no one was looking. Behind the yellow house was where Marcy had planted the garden. She wasn’t the friendliest woman around, but she’d never turned away Ying’s offer to help with the weeding. The house by the bridge had been Preston’s, because even when the man slept, he was still on patrol.

They were real. She remembered them, remembered building a thriving community here with them. How it could it all just vanish, like they’d never existed?

“This isn’t happening,” Ying whispered. “It’s not real, it’s not…I’m dreaming. It’s just a dream... please let it be a dream.”

Grabbing the base of a streetlight, Ying pulled herself to her feet. If it was a dream, she could wake up. There had to be something here, something so outlandish it could only be conjured by her subconscious mind. If she found it, she’d have proof, and maybe then she could wake up from this nightmare.

Starting her search in her old house made the most sense, relatively speaking. It contained a wealth of memories stretching far beyond the last year - a veritable playground for an overactive id. Beginning in the living room, Ying tore through the house like a madwoman, kicking or tossing aside anything that got in her way.

Nothing stood out to her. Not her law degree hanging askew on the wall in it’s cracked frame, or Nate’s military medals, still gleaming amidst bits of broken glass. The furniture and ugly wallpaper were just as she remembered. Her coffee cup from the morning the bombs fell still sat on the counter, and Shaun’s dirty bottles still waited to be washed in the sink.

Except…she didn’t think he’d gone through quite that many. After doing the math in her head, she was sure of it. There were at least twice as many bottles as Shaun would have needed in the short time he’d been awake. Ying hadn’t been the greatest housekeeper, but she always made sure the dishes were washed. Nate insisted, and he’d have said something if she left them overnight.

She raced to Shaun’s room and could only stare, vaguely aware of the strangled cry that forced its way from her throat. Her stomach clenched, her pulse accelerating as a dull buzz hummed in her ears. There, in the middle of the room, sat not one, but two cribs. With a trembling hand, she reached for the second, half believing it was some terrible mirage. Her fingers met solid wood, splintered and faded from the ravages of time, but undeniably real.

Oh god...No. No, no, nonono! What’s happening?!? What - fuck. Fuck Fuck. FUCK!!

It was too much.

With a shattered wail, Ying sank to the floor, curling into a shivering ball on the threadbare rug. Her shoulders shook with hiccuping sobs and no matter how hard her lungs pulled, she couldn’t draw a full breath. Clawed fingers tore at her hair, but even the sharp burn of her scalp wasn’t enough to wake her. She was trapped in a nightmare reality where nothing made sense. Her friends were gone. Her world was gone, and the most terrifying part of all was that she could no longer convince herself she was asleep.

Somehow, this was real. And there was no way out.

Chapter 2 Notes:

Thanks to everyone that left comments/kudos!

Chapter Text

Ying woke with her head throbbing, and her mouth dry. Her arm ached, the skin tight and hot. Beads of sweat dotted her brow, though whether from the bright beams of sunlight streaming in through the windows, or something more sinister, she didn’t know. As she looked around the room, so alien and wrong with its extra crib, she wasn’t sure she cared. She’d lost everything. The life she’d built, the people she loved... John .

All of it gone and this time, there was no missing child to fight for. Whoever those cribs had belonged to, they weren’t her children. This wasn’t her house. This wasn’t her world.

This... wasn’t her world.

It sounded crazy, but compared to everything she’d seen, the impossibility of her situation, it made a frightening amount of sense. Davis said he’d changed the chip to allow teleportation anywhere . She’d assumed he meant the Commonwealth, but really, who knew? And what was harder to believe - that she’d fabricated her entire life, or that she’d somehow slipped beyond reality as she knew it? It was enough to make her head spin, but the chip...that strange tear...the way everything seemed to be some twisted variation of what she remembered….

Trying to put it together without all the pieces was making her head pound like an angry drum. Ying massaged her temples and sighed. If there was any logic to this at all, it was tied to the chip, and if the chip was what brought her here, it could take her back. She had a starting point at least; a reason to get up off the floor. The first order of business was finding someone to fix her Pip Boy. Even if she had gone completely batshit, there still had to be people around somewhere .

Sanctuary and the Red Rocket were both what she had made them. That was their common factor. Going outside of that left Diamond City and Goodneighbor as the two settlements populated enough to find someone with the kind of skills she needed. Her heart ached at the thought of Goodneighbor, and her first instinct was to head straight for it. But if she was wrong...if it really was just her in this place, or if Goodneighbor was somehow different, she didn’t think she could bear it. That left her one option.

*******

By the time Ying reached Diamond City, she was definitely running a fever. Sweat dampened her temples and soaked the neckline of her shirt. Light was a hot knife to her brain and her eyes felt dry and gritty. Her arm...her arm was one mass of throbbing pain that only grew worse as time wore on. She tried to ignore it, but every beat of her heart was another reminder. The bandages had grown damp with blood and other fluids she didn’t want to think about, but she hadn’t been able to find anything to replace them with. She hadn’t looked beneath them yet, but by the way the strips of rag bit into her skin, she could tell her arm was swollen, and probably not something her queasy stomach was ready for her to see.

When she got to the gate, Ying could have wept at the sound of another human voice on the other side. She wasn’t alone. She still didn’t know anyone, but being trapped in a world of strangers was infinitely better than being trapped in a world by herself.

Drawing on the last of her waning strength, Ying did her best to stand up straight and not look or sound as sick as she felt. It wouldn’t do to have them thinking she was contagious. For a few moments, it looked like the guard that manned the gate wasn’t going to let her in, but it didn’t take long for the jingle of caps to win him over. Handing him his bribe, she entered the stadium, mentally tallying her remaining funds. She was going to have to be careful. There was no telling how long she’d be here and what little she had needed to last.

Ying wasn’t sure what she expected after Sanctuary, but it still hurt to find not only Piper, but Publick Occurrences missing from Diamond City. Like Preston’s group, it was as though the reporter just didn’t exist. Swallowing a wave of grief at what that implied for Goodneighbor and its mayor, Ying pushed farther into the market. She was starting to feel light-headed now, her vision flickering in time to the pulsing pain in her arm, but doctors weren’t free and getting her Pip Boy working had to be her priority.

Besides, she had time. Her feelings on the Institute aside, their medical technology surpassed any found on the surface. They could probably pull her from the brink of death if they had to, provided she found a way back to them.

Scanning the stalls for Diamond City Surplus, Ying was relieved to see that that at least was still around. She carefully picked her way through the throng of shoppers and approached the stall, but instead of Myrna’s suspicious frown, as she had expected, she was greeted by the smiling face of a ghoul woman. Even stranger was that she recognized the face, but the name that went with it was lost in the shock of actually seeing a ghoul in Diamond City.

Hancock had told her how the ghouls were removed from the city when his brother became mayor. If they were still here, did that mean McDonough was never elected? Or that he was gone, like the others. And if he was gone….

“...Did you come to stare, or are we going to do business?”

“I - I’m sorry, I didn’t mean - “

Ying snapped her mouth shut, her cheeks heating in shamed embarrassment. She knew what it must look like, but there was no way to explain.

“Hey, are you alright? You don’t look so good.”

“I’m fine,” Ying said quickly. She took a shuddering breath and placed her Pip Boy on the counter. Going back was all that mattered.

“I was hoping you’d be able to fix this. I’ll pay, of course. Whatever your price.”

The vendor hummed and pulled the Pip Boy to her for a closer look. “It’s been a long time since I saw one of these. Never one quite like this, though.” She turned to rifle through a toolbox on the shelf behind her and returned with a screwdriver and an old table lamp. “Any idea what’s wrong with it?”

“No.” Ying said, with a shake of her head. “It just doesn’t work.”

She didn’t know enough about electronics to come up with a convincing lie, so sticking with the truth, however simplified, seemed her best bet.

“Well, let’s take a look.” Picking up the screwdriver, the ghoul moved the lamp closer and set to work loosening the screws that held the case together. “I’m Deirdre, by the way.”

Deirdre . The trader at the Slog. She could see it now, despite the jumpsuit and missing wig.

“It’s...nice to meet you, Deirdre. I’m Ying.”

It should have been a comfort to find a face she recognized, a friend, but it only sharpened Ying’s sense of isolation. This woman didn’t know her, and contrary to the flood of memories that insisted otherwise, Ying could say the same. The Deirdre she had known, while still friendly and warm, had a wariness this version lacked. It made sense, Ying supposed. This Deirdre hadn’t been thrown from her home by her own neighbors and forced to live in a separate community. The Slog probably didn’t even exist.

A yearning rose up in her, as quick as it was keen, and Ying swallowed against the sudden tight knot in her throat. She should have been happy the Slog didn’t need to exist. As much as she’d liked the place and its residents, it only formed because the ghoul refugees of Diamond City needed a safe haven. If it wasn’t around, that was a good thing. It was also one more reminder that she didn’t belong here. They had their homes, and she’d lost hers.

“You sure you’re alright?” Deirdre asked softly. She’d set her tools aside, and Ying was embarrassed to find herself the subject of the other woman’s full attention.

“Yeah. It’s just...it’s been a long day.”

“Ah. Well, tomorrow’s always new. With any luck, it’ll be kinder, too.”

“Here’s hoping,” Ying muttered.

“So, you from one of those vaults?” Deirdre asked, taking up her screwdriver once more. She used it to gesture to the Pip Boy and then started working on the last of the screws. “You don’t exactly find one of these just laying out in the ruins.”

“Yeah, I was.”

“What’s that like?”

“I really wouldn’t recommend it.”

Deirdre chuckled, but took the hint and changed the subject, chatting while she worked. Ying tried to carry her end of the conversation, but the longer she stood, the worse she felt. The throb of her arm was constant now, radiating into her shoulder and up her neck. Her mouth felt like she’d been eating sand, yet the mere thought of drinking anything made her stomach threaten violent retribution. The solid support of the counter was probably the only reason she was still on her feet, but if Deirdre noticed how heavily she was leaning against it, the ghoul didn’t comment.

An odd noise from Deirdre caught Ying’s drifting attention. She glanced over at the other woman and found her staring down at the open Pip Boy, brow crinkled in bemusement.

“What did you say happened to it?”

Ying gave a half-hearted shrug. “I was hoping you could tell me.”

“I don’t have a damned clue.” The ghoul lifted a bit of wiring in illustration. The rubber coating had melted, fusing it to a neighboring wire. “The circuits are fried,” Deirdre continued, pointing out more melted wires. “I’m not sure what you got into, but it would take one heck of an electrical surge - or a powerful magnetic field - to cause that kind of overload. Neither of which that Pip Boy should be capable of producing.”

“But can you fix it?” Ying asked, fighting to keep the desperate edge from her voice. She knew the Pip Boy didn’t work - that was why she’d brought it here to begin with. She didn’t care about why.

Deirdre rubbed a hand over her thin mouth, head tilted as she considered. “I can try,” she said doubtfully. “The wiring is easy enough to replace, but some of those parts are hard to come by. This in particular,” she added, tapping the courser chip. “I’m not even sure what that is, but there’s quite a bit of damage. If I had to guess, I’d say it was the source of the overload. Luckily, it doesn’t seem to be essential. I can remove it --”

“No!” Ying cried with such force her vision went gray and fuzzy. She swayed on her feet, gripping the counter to keep her balance. “No,” she repeated, drawing a slow breath in through her nose. “I’d like to keep as many of the original parts as possible.”

“It won’t be cheap.”

“I didn’t think it would be.”

The ghoul studied her for a few moments, expression inscrutable. After an uncomfortable silence, Deirdre twitched her bony shoulders in an indifferent shrug. “They’re your caps. It’ll be two hundred for the repair, plus the price of any components I don’t have on hand. Half upfront, and we’ll settle the difference when it’s done.”

Without a word, Ying began counting out Deirdre’s fee, grinding her teeth as the trembling of her hands made the task take twice as long as it normally would have. The ghoul woman watched closely, opening and closing her mouth a few times as though she wanted to say something, but held her tongue.

When the last cap joined the pile, Ying pushed them toward the other woman. “One hundred caps.”

“I’ll need some time,” Deirdre warned, scooping the pile into a lockbox she kept under the counter. “A couple days, at least. Maybe more.”

Ying nodded. A couple days was a small price to pay if it got her home. “That’s fine.”

“Oh, before I forget. You left this in there.” Deirdre held out Davis’ holotape and sent Ying an apologetic grimace. “I don’t how much use it’ll be anymore, but I thought you might want it back anyway.”

Panic thrumming in her veins, Ying eyed the tape like she might a live grenade before hesitantly accepting it. “What do you mean?”

“Well, without knowing exactly what happened, I can’t be sure, but remember the magnetic field I mentioned? They’re pretty much a giant delete button for holos. Just...don’t be surprised if there’s nothing there, is all I’m saying.”

She was going to puke, or pass out. Maybe both, and there was no telling which would come first. Ying pulled away from the counter, the abrupt motion causing her head to spin. She had just enough presence of mind to call a quick thank you over her shoulder before she staggered out into the market. A few passerby sent scathing looks her way, turning their noses up in disapproval as they gave her a wide berth. They probably thought she was drunk, and Ying fervently wished they were right. Chems, booze - anything that would soften the latest blow the universe had decided to aim her way.

Without that tape, she was fucked. Even if the chip could be repaired or somehow replaced, it wouldn’t work without the program - Davis had been very clear about that. There was no going back.

No going home.

Tears burned her eyes as Ying blindly followed the curve of the street. She could feel the quick rise and fall of her chest as she fought to hold back a growing sob, but the sound was drowned out by a rapid thump that echoed through her skull.

Would anyone even know what happened to her? If Davis had any balls, Father might eventually get the story, but there’d be little he could do. The rest of them, though...John, Nick, the Minutemen and the Railroad...without a body to find, they’d never know for sure. Would they assume she’d turned traitor and abandoned them? A part of her couldn’t believe they’d think that of her. John and Nick wouldn’t. Not at first…. But after a point, could she really blame them if they did?

For their sake, it might be better if they did. Better to hate her then spend the rest of their unnaturally long lives wondering just what the fuck had happened to her. Ying knew if the situation was reversed, the not knowing would be unbearable. She also knew she was too selfish to let that happen. Even if she never made it back, she needed them to know the truth. There had to be another way - someone or something that could help her. She just needed to get out of this fucking city. She needed to --

Her frantic thoughts ground to a halt when she smacked into something solid. A pair of hands reached out to steady her while she blinked stupidly at the cotton expanse of the dingy t-shirt that now filled her vision.

“Whoa…” a male voice chuckled - a voice that both soothed and disquieted for how achingly familiar it was. “You alright?”

Ying shivered, in dread or anticipation, she couldn’t tell. She tilted her head to look up at him, and her mind went blank, her legs numb.

He had hair, a distant part of her noted, blond and pulled back into a careless tail. A few curling strands had escaped to brush his cheeks, now smooth, except for a day’s growth of light stubble. His eyes were a cobalt blue instead of the deep black she loved, but he had the same angled jaw, the same wide chin. She didn’t have much of a frame of reference for his nose, but even that wasn’t enough to throw her off.

She would know him anywhere.

His name slipped from her lips in a choked whisper, a question and an answer in turn.

“... John… ”

“That’s me...” A perplexed frown creased his forehead, but his mouth quirked into a lopsided grin.

Heaven help her, even his expressions were the same! It was almost enough to make her forget the fear and loneliness of the last thirty-six hours. Without thinking, Ying reached for him, only for his next words to cut her to the core.

“...Do we know each other?” He laughed, an embarrassed little sound that broke her heart.

Ying swallowed hard, letting her hand fall limply to her side. Of course he didn’t know her. If he was anything like his counterpart, he probably thought she was some one night stand that had come back to bite him in the ass. Running into him and mooning like a schoolgirl only added to that impression.

Again, tears threatened, and this time there was no holding them back. She would have apologized had she trusted herself to speak. Instead she turned to flee, wanting nothing more than to put as much distance as possible between them.

“Wait!” John’s hand brushed the bandages on her arm as she ran by and Ying let out a ragged cry as fresh torment shot from her fingertips to her shoulder. She fell to one knee, clutching her injured arm to her chest as agony washed over her.

“ Christ ! Are you okay?” He crouched down beside her, heedless of the stares directed their way.

“Fine,” Ying gritted between breaths.

“Here, let me see.”

“Don’t touch me,” she snapped, blowing a lock of hair from her eyes with an irritated huff. A bit of a hypocritical statement, considering she’d been ready to throw herself into his arms only moments ago, but Ying had never claimed to handle vulnerability well.

With slow movements, John stood and raised both hands in front of him. “Right. No touchin'. Can I at least help you up? Seein’ as I’m the one that put you down there.”

Helping her up involved touching, but as there was no way she was getting to her feet otherwise, Ying didn’t bother to point that out. Letting her hair fall to cover the flush staining her cheeks, she jerked her head in a short nod.

With a sigh, John took her left hand and gave a firm but gentle tug, pulling her to a stand. Ying let go of his hand like it had burned her, only to snatch for it seconds later when the ground seemed to pitch and roll beneath her feet. The dizzy spell passed after a few moments, but hadn’t gone unnoticed.

“You should really see a doctor,” John said, casting a worried glance at the stained and crusted rags covering her arm. “We’ve got one here. C’mon, I’ll show you.”

Before she could argue, he moved his hand behind her elbow and urged her forward.

“I’m fine,” Ying protested. It sounded weak, even to her ears.

“You’re a bad liar,” John countered with a good-humored smirk.

He didn’t stop walking, and she had no choice but to move with him. It was that, or cause another scene by digging her heels in.

Bastard . What makes him think I won’t?

Even as she silently fumed, she knew she wouldn’t. As much as she didn’t appreciate being led around like a child, she’d had enough of being stared at. A little voice whispered that there was another reason, one far more personal than her aversion for unwanted attention; it was something he would do. From the moment she’d met him, Hancock had been able to see right through her. He’d have never let her get away with hiding an injury like that, either. He’d….

No. This wasn’t Hancock, and no amount of similarities would change that. She couldn’t get caught up in playing pretend, not when there was even the slightest chance the real thing was waiting for her.

“This isn’t necessary,” Ying tried, hoping to send him on his way. “I’m perfectly capable of walking to the clinic on my own.”

And she would, she admitted privately. Now that her plans of a quick return home were little more than wishful thinking, she really ought to get the bite wound looked at. She just hoped she’d still have enough caps left to pay Deirdre afterward.

“And here I thought you liked my company.”

“You aren’t giving me much choice in company,” Ying shot back.

It was the right thing to say, as some part of her had known it would be, but Ying instantly regretted it. John stopped, an emotion she recognized as hurt flashing across his features. “I ain’t tryin’ to make you do anything you don’t want to,” he said stiffly. “You looked like you needed a hand, and I wanted to help. That’s all.”

“I know,” Ying sighed, unable to meet his eyes. “And I’m sorry. Really. I shouldn’t take my personal shit out on you.”

John moved to touch her shoulder and then hesitated, offering a shy smile instead. “Hey, don’t worry about it. Happens to the best of us.”

Despite her reservations, Ying couldn’t help but return it. For all that had changed, some things remained the same. On impulse, she laid her hand on his arm and nodded down at her own. “I really should get this checked out. I mean, if you still….”

“I offered, didn’t I?” John asked good-naturedly. “C’mon, it’s not far.”

Chapter 3 Chapter Text

John leaned against one of the Mega Surgery Center’s rusted support beams, trying to be as unobtrusive as possible while Sun talked with the newcomer. He hadn’t planned on waiting around - medical matters tended to be a private affair for most - but the anxious look she got when he went to leave had convinced him to stay. He understood. Going to the doctor wasn’t exactly his favorite pastime either, and having a stranger along was better than no one, he supposed. Though he got the weird feeling that wasn’t quite how she saw him.

A pained gasp came from behind him, and John shifted just enough that he could see Sun set aside the filthy rags from the woman’s arm.

“An infection like this can cause organ failure,” the doctor chided. “It was foolish to ignore it.”

Privately, John had to agree. Her arm was...bad. Even he could see that, no medical experience necessary. The limb was a dark purplish red from wrist to elbow, the skin puffy and tight. Blisters clustered around two oozing lacerations, and a number of smaller punctures had angry red streaks trailing from them. No wonder she’d dropped at a simple touch. Just looking at it hurt.

Turning back around to offer what privacy he could, John let his gaze drift over the market, the voices of Sun and the woman fading into the background noise. He still didn’t know her name, though she obviously knew his, and he had yet to make up his mind on how he felt about that. It wasn’t that he minded, exactly. John had something of a reputation around Diamond City. New or not, it wouldn’t be hard too hard to find out who he was. What got to him was the way she’d said it. No one but his mother managed to put that kind of affection into his name, and Ma sure as hell didn’t look at him with such raw longing when she did.

Someone from his past? John risked a backwards glance, getting another look at her as she rolled her eyes at Sun. No, even if he wasn’t the best at names, he usually remembered faces, and hers stood out. Besides, when would they have met? He’d never seen her around Diamond City before, and she had too much attitude to last long in Goodneighbor. And sure, he’d woken up in some strange places. Even lost some time now and then, but he’d have to be missing more than the occasional day or two for this to make any sense.

“I’ve done what I can,” Sun’s voice broke in. “But you should have come sooner.”

He gave the woman an accusatory glare, which was perfectly reasonable, and then turned the same look on him. John wasn’t sure whether he should be offended or amused. Wasn’t like he was the one that bit her.

“So I’m all set?” the woman asked, already reaching for her bag.

“Yes,” Sun sighed. “I administered a bolus of antibiotics that should control the infection, but I can’t promise there won’t be any lingering nerve damage. Return here if there’s no improvement by tomorrow.

“You’re lucky to still have the use of your arm - or an arm at all. I advise you to take better care of yourself if you want to keep it that way.”

She paled at that, but nodded her agreement. After she paid Sun, John followed her back into the market. They walked in silence for a few minutes, going with the flow of the crowd, until she turned down a narrow, less populated walkway that wound past the school house.

“Look, I appreciate your help,” she said suddenly, stopping by an old car and turning to look up at him. “But I can handle myself.”

“Hey, no argument here,” John agreed, purposely ignoring what he was sure she’d intended as a dismissal.

She narrowed her eyes, an edge creeping into her voice. “Then you won’t mind if we go our separate ways.”

“Nah, I don’t mind.” John leaned his hip against the frame of the car and lit a cigarette. He took a long drag, noting the nervous dart of her gaze. Her eyes always seemed to find their way back to his, but she couldn’t look at him for more than a few seconds at a time. “Gotta admit, I’m curious about a few things, though.”

She tensed, spine going rigid, but her tone and expression remained cool. “Such as?”

John rolled his shoulders in a lazy shrug and brought his cigarette to his lips. “You, for starters.” He turned his head to exhale a cloud of smoke and continued. “Let’s start with a name. Seems only fair, seein’ as you already know mine.”

“Ying,” she said shortly. “My name is Ying. Does that settle the score?”

“It’ll do. ‘Course, I wouldn’t mind hearin’ how you knew my name to begin with.”

Ying hesitated, licking her lips. “I heard you could get your hands on decent chems,” she said after a moment. “Something with a little more kick than the shit up at Chem-I-Care.”

“I consider myself more of a consumer than a purveyor,” John chuckled. “But if you’re lookin’, I’ll keep you in mind.”

“Appreciate it. Now, if I’ve answered your questions, I have things to do.”

“See ya around, Ying,” John smirked, tossing her a mock salute. “Take care of that arm.”

She mumbled something that he didn’t quite catch and then started back the way they came. John watched her go, finishing his smoke while he went over their conversation in his head.

She was clever, that one. He didn’t get the sense she was lying, but no way in hell did he believe she was telling him the truth, either. She’d been caught off guard earlier when she ran into him. Half delirious from fever and pain, too, but she’d been honest then. Open. She wasn’t now. The walls came up, and she hadn’t let them down since. He could understand that, if it weren’t for this game of hot and cold.

Grinding out the remains of his cigarette beneath his heel, John headed home. He had more questions than ever, but he wasn’t a stalker, and something this weird had to come out eventually. He could wait.

It was getting late, and Ying was exhausted. She’d always avoided staying in Diamond City, but her options were limited. There wasn’t anywhere else to go.

The Dugout Inn was much like she remembered it, including the proprietors. Vadim’s boisterous tones carried over the din of chatter and music as he boasted about killing a yao guai to one of his patrons. Ying grinned as she approached the bar. She’d heard at least three renditions of this tale before, all of them bullshit. Finding an empty stool, she sat and listened anyway. Like everything else about the man, when it came to storytelling, Vadim Bobrov didn’t take half-measures.

Vadim glanced over and smiled at her, holding up his finger to indicate he’d be with her in a moment. Ying’s grin slipped. Things weren’t quite the same after all, though it was nothing so obvious as a missing person or settlement.

Vadim looked different. His face was fuller than the last time she saw him, the fine lines around his eyes and mouth less pronounced. The silver streaks that used to dust his temples were gone, and while his hair was still styled in the close buzzcut she remembered, there was quite a bit more of it. He looked...younger, closer to her age, now, and a quick glance at his brother confirmed the same for the other man.

Something clicked in the back of her mind, but before she could examine it too closely, Vadim finished his story and came over.

“You need a drink,” he proclaimed, already reaching for a glass.

After a brief hesitation, she shrugged.

Fuck it.

After paying Sun, she was short the remainder of Deirdre’s fee, so what did it really matter? Might as well put the rest of her caps to good use.

“I think you’re right, “ Ying agreed with a smirk.

“Best moonshine in all the Commonwealth,” Vadim bragged, brandishing a bottle. He poured a shot and laughed when Ying gestured for him to keep pouring. “Hah! I like you already! What is your name, friend?”

“I’m Ying,” she said, tossing a handful of caps on the bar. “And if I can still tell you that in an hour, you’re not doing your job.”

“That’s the spirit! I tell you what, you break the record for number of shots, and you pay nothing.”

“Yeah...let’s just see how it goes.”

Vadim wandered off to see to another customer, and Ying was left to her thoughts. She took a sip of her drink, grimacing as it burned the back of her throat. The second, larger swallow went down easier, and by the third, her entire body felt lighter, looser. A pleasant buzz hummed along her skin. She lit a cigarette and exhaled a stream of stale smoke with a long sigh, letting the noise of the bar wash over her. It was soothing, in a way, but despite the similar atmosphere, it wasn’t where she wanted to be.

There was an old jukebox, but she missed Magnolia’s sultry croon. She was genuinely fond of Vadim, but she missed Whitechapel Charlie’s sarcastic bite. She missed Ham’s glower, and Daisy’s warm smile. She missed everything about Goodneighbor, but most of all, she missed Hancock.

Her chest tightened, and Ying finished what was left of her drink, signalling to Vadim with her empty glass for a refill. Thinking of Hancock conjured images of John, and with them came a pang of regret. She hadn’t been fair to John. He’d been nothing but kind to her, and in return, she’d been cold and defensive - when she wasn’t acting like a total creep, anyway.

It wasn’t his fault, of course, but John McDonough was dangerous. Ying couldn’t bring herself to lie to him anymore than she’d been able to lie to Hancock, and that was the problem. Despite the obvious physical differences, the similarities were so striking it was difficult to keep them separate in her mind. The truth was, John was a distraction she couldn’t afford. Unfair or not, it was best she avoid him. She’d slipped once already; she couldn’t risk doing so again.

Getting back, however hopeless it seemed, had to be her main concern - her only concern.

Satisfied she had her priorities straight, Ying went back to her drink. Some time later, Vadim came by with another, and she was once more taken aback by how young he seemed. Her thoughts formed and scattered like a school of fish, making it difficult to remember why that had seemed so important, but on impulse, she clumsily waved him closer.

“Hey. Vadim.”

“Ah, I should ask your name now, yes?” the bartender asked with a chuckle.

“...What? No.” Ying blinked, then leaned forward, eyes narrowed in suspicion. “You’re drunk, Vadim. I already told you my name.”

“Haha. Maybe so, my funny friend. Maybe so. Good news, either way, eh? Now, what can I do for you?”

“How old are you?” she blurted, realizing too late that that was not actually the question she meant to ask.

“...Thirty-two,” he answered, giving her an odd look.

“So you are about my age. I thought so.”

“You must understand… I do not, ah, mingle with the patrons. Things get... messy, you see.”

“But...how can you run a bar and not mingle?” Ying asked, thoroughly confused. She propped her fist beneath her chin and pointed an accusing finger. “I’ve seen you mingle with everyone here tonight. We’re mingling right now . ...Wait...you mean...oh. Oh .” Clapping her hand to her mouth to smother a peal of helpless giggles, she shook her head.

Vadim smiled as he wiped down the bar. If he was offended by her tactless laughter, there was no trace of it on his face. “My apologies for misunderstanding. You should speak with Yefim,” he added with a pointed glance at the clock behind him. “He can give you a room, yes? No need to walk home tonight.”

Following his gaze to the clock, Ying peered at it through bleary eyes until she was suddenly reminded of what had prompted her outburst in the first place. “Do you know the date?”

“Ahh... November third.”

“Yeah, but what year?”

“2278.”

“Oh. Huh.”

Ying stared down at the murky liquor in her glass, trying to process this latest bit of news. It wasn’t quite a shock, she was too numb for that, but it certainly changed things. Somehow.

“This makes you sad?” Vadim asked, confusion pitching his voice lower than its normal jovial boom. “Ah. Did you miss an anniversary?”

Not yet. Any anniversary she cared about hadn’t actually happened yet.

“Something like that,” Ying shrugged.

The bartender gave a knowing nod. “These things happen. But there will be others, eh?”

“Yeah.” With a forced smile, Ying set her glass aside and slid from her stool with exaggerated care. “I think I’m going to get that room now. Thanks, Vadim.”

Ying woke with a groan and winced as the sound sent a pulse of pain through her temples and down to the very roots of her teeth. The taste of alcohol was still heavy on her tongue along with something decidedly less pleasant. Her blankets were rumpled and damp with sweat, and she had no memory of falling asleep in the bed she now found herself in.

Clearly, she’d made some questionable decisions the previous night.

After a quick look at herself, Ying sighed in relief. Fully clothed - even her boots were still tied - and there was no sign that anyone else had been in the room with her. She was definitely feeling the side effects of her indiscretion, but a hangover was a small price to pay. It could have been much worse.

That was stupid, Ying chided, angry at herself for being careless. This isn’t Goodneighbor or Sanctuary.

She needed to be smarter. There was no one here looking out for her. Anything could happen and no one would give a damn. That was the downside of letting people in, Ying mused. Relying on others made her forget what it was like to have only herself. She didn’t have that luxury here. It wouldn’t happen again.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, Ying grabbed her pack, digging through it until she found a can of water. She drank slowly, resisting the urge to gulp until she was sure her stomach would tolerate the influx. Bits and pieces of the night before came back to her and while she was probably going to have a terrible time looking Vadim in the eye, it hadn’t been a total waste.

Somehow, she’d arrived ten years before activating that damned chip. A more clever mind than hers was necessary to determine exactly what that meant, but it was another clue, if nothing else. She doubted even Davis had known what his modified chip was capable of.

...Or had he?

Heat bloomed in her face and chest and her fingernails scored her palms as she recalled the scientist’s quip about the chip making their limitations ‘a thing of the past’. She’d brushed it off as general Institute weirdness, but the fucker had been making a joke! He knew exactly what he was sending her into. Back to? Didn’t matter.

She wouldn’t break his nose, Ying decided. She was going to fucking strangle him. Then jab a stimpack into his throat just so she could strangle him again. If Father had a problem with that, he could go fuck himself. So could every bastard there. She was through with the Institute. Des would just have to find another spy.

Of course, none of that mattered if she was stuck here.

Dragging her hand through her hair, Ying took a deep breath. She needed a clear head to think this through, and fantasizing about how it would feel to have her fingers wrapped around Davis’ neck wasn’t the kind of clarity that would do her any good. But really, what would?

Ying had found herself in some fucked up situations before, but time travel, other dimensions - that was comic book shit. It wasn’t supposed to be real, and nothing in her life had ever prepared her to find out it was. She was guessing, at best. Lost. The worst part was she couldn’t go to anyone for help. Who would even believe her? The only one insane enough to even fool with this kind of crap had been Davis.

Davis .

If anyone could understand this space-time bullshit, it had to be him. Getting to him wouldn’t be easy, assuming some version of him even existed here. She didn’t want to go to all the trouble only to find out he was also missing. Then again...after what she’d learned last night, it was possible she’d been wrong. Ten years was a long time. It made sense that things would be different. Piper would be little more than a child, not yet arrived in Diamond City and McDonough wouldn’t be mayor for another four years. The city hadn’t yet turned on the ghouls, so John had no reason to leave…

Hope flared hot in her chest. If the people she’d thought missing were still around, there was a good chance Davis and the Institute were as well. A possible contingency, if nothing else, but first, she needed more information.

Grabbing her pack, Ying frowned at how light it was, and silently amended her plans.

First, she needed caps.

With a sigh, she headed for the lobby. Vadim was already behind the bar, but there were only a few customers this early in the day. He waved her over when he saw her, face splitting in a wide grin. “Hello, my friend. You look better than I expected you to.”

Hoping the light was dim enough to hide her embarrassed blush, Ying shrugged. “It’s not my first hangover.”

He laughed at that, the sound like a gunshot going off in her head. “And hopefully not your last, eh?”

“Probably not,” Ying admitted. “It might be a while, though. I’m actually looking for work. You know anyone hiring?”

Vadim gestured toward the wall near the entrance where a few tattered sheets of paper hung. “There are the posters, but the pay is not so good.”

If it was like she remembered, the extermination jobs posted around Diamond City didn’t pay at all. She wasn’t going to risk going after a pack of ferals for a few measly spoons. “I’m looking for something a little more caps-in-hand.”

“Hmmm. A caravan lost a guard last week to injury. Nothing serious, so job is temporary.” His smile was apologetic as he spread his hands in front of him in a gesture of helplessness. “I know of nothing else.”

“No, that’s great. Temporary sounds perfect.”

Caravans paid well, and the less time she had to spend at the ass-end of a brahmin, the better.

“Ask for Kit,” Vadim advised. “And later, you come back, eh? First drink is on the house.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Ying promised. “Thanks, Vadim.”

Tracking down Kit was easier said than done. Diamond City hosted several caravans at any given time, but after a few days of asking around, Ying found her outside the gates.

Pushing toward the far end of middle-age, Kit was one of the oldest merchants still in the business. She was also the most intimidating, despite the top of her head barely reaching Ying’s nose. Like the woman herself, Kit’s face was a study in contradiction. The right side sagged, pulled into a perpetual frown by the large diagonal scar that cut across her nose and lips. On the left, deep lines webbed the corners of her eye and mouth, suggesting she’d laughed long and often in her life. Mismatched eyes, one an icy blue, the other the dead white of a snail’s belly, held a shrewdness few would dare to cross. Ying immediately liked her, even as she tried not to fidget under the intensity of that disparate gaze.

Kit’s lips thinned around the stem of the pipe clenched between her teeth as she crossed her arms over her broad chest. She jerked a nod toward the revolver in Ying’s belt and asked, “You know how to use that?”

“I know enough, but I’m better with the knife.”

“Is that right?” Kit coughed and spat a glob of phlegm on the ground. “Doubt any raider’s gonna stand still long enough for you to stick him. Can you shoot or not?”

“I can shoot,” Ying said firmly. Maybe not as well as Hancock or MacCready, but both had sacrificed a piece of their sanity to ensure she could hold her own with a gun.

“Good. You ain’t any use to me dead. What about armor?”

“I don’t wear armor.”

Half of Kit’s mouth quirked in a grin. “You do now.” The older woman rummaged through a large pack on her brahmin and handled Ying a bundle of leather straps and guards. “That’ll be sixty caps for the armor, taken from your pay.”

“I was told the job was temporary,” Ying argued. “There and back. Sixty caps is an awfully big investment for one job.”

“You wanna rent the armor, be my guest, girl,” Kit said with a shrug. “I’ll be happy to take it back once we’re through. Still gonna cost you sixty caps.” Her grin vanished as she fixed Ying with a gimlet eye. “I’m not lookin’ for cowboys. On the road, we do things my way. If you can handle that, welcome aboard. If not, there ain’t much more to talk about.”

Ying hated ultimatums, but the prospects for an outsider in Diamond city weren’t great. If she wanted her Pip Boy back - not to mention things like food and a place to sleep - she needed this job.

“Alright,” she agreed. “Your caravan, your rules.”

“Glad to hear it,” Kit said wryly. “Pay’s two hundred caps each way. You get hurt it’s probably your own fault.” She pointed her pipe toward the bronzed statue of a baseball player that stood in front of the city. “Meet up over there in the morning. We leave at first light.”

Chapter 4 Notes:

Despite appearances, this fic has not been abandoned. If you're still reading, thanks for being patient.

Chapter Text

Walking alongside a caravan through miles of ruin was every bit as boring as Ying had imagined. She found herself almost hoping for a raider attack just to break up the monotony, but the roads were strangely peaceful. It took her a bit to realize that that the Minutemen were probably responsible for that. They didn’t have the Castle or heavy artillery yet, but this was still years before General Becker’s death and the resulting collapse of the militia. The Minutemen might not arrive in time to prevent an attack, but judging by the number of small settlements they’d passed, retaliation was a very real possibility. Even raiders were probably smart enough to figure out it wasn’t worth the risk.

Kit set a steady pace as they followed a route that seemed to meander through every farm with a patch of dirt. The old merchant stopped at them all, though she never stayed long, despite several offers to do so. By the third stop, Ying had developed a new level of respect for the other woman. She rarely budged on high end goods, but traded necessities like food and medicine for almost nothing.

“Poor bastards are fightin’ for scraps as it is,” Kit explained once they were back on the road. “Don’t seem right to take advantage of that for a few caps.”

“I agree, but how do you stay in business?” Ying asked curiously.

Kit shrugged and spit. “Caps ain’t everything. What I get in barter goes right back to Diamond City. I mark it up enough to cover my losses, and the assholes in the stands get to make a show of throwin’ money around. Everyone wins.”

“That’s brilliant,” Ying murmured in approval.

“Heh. You didn’t think I made it this far in life on my looks, didja?”

There was really no safe way to answer that, and Kit knew it. She gave Ying a sly wink and then turned her attention back to her brahmin. Sensing an opportunity, the animal had started to lag. A cluck of Kit’s tongue and a gentle nudge from her stick got the brahmin moving again.

“More walkin’ and less waggin’ our tongues,” Kit chided. “I wanna make Quincy by nightfall.”

“Quincy?” Ying asked without thinking. She hurried to continue, hoping to cover her surprise. “You never mentioned where we were going.”

“I try to head up once a month,” Kit answered. “You ever been?”

“No.”

By the time Ying had seen it, Quincy was a deserted ruin.

“It’s not as big as Diamond City, but there’s a lot of scavvers up that way. Always salvage to be found.”

Another guard, a man by the name of Lou, spoke up from behind them. “Just stay away from the old lady. That one’s weird.”

Her heart speeding inside her chest, Ying bit her tongue to keep from blurting her suspicions out loud. She couldn’t go naming residents after she’d already claimed she’d never been there.

“Enough, Lou. Plenty out there that’d say the same about you.” Kit shot Lou a dirty look and shook her head. “Folks call her Mama Murphy. Bit of a chemhead, but she’s harmless.”

Ying nodded in feigned nonchalance, but her thoughts were in a whirl.

Mama Murphy. Here . And if she was, it lent credence to Ying’s theory that the others should be as well. They weren’t the same people she’d known, and they still had no idea who she was, but it was a spark of hope. Ying clung to that spark, coaxing it to a flame even as she recognized the folly of doing so. She was only setting herself up for a harder fall down the road, but all that mattered was the stretch looming before her. If she could get through that, she’d figure the rest out later.

The caravan plodded into Quincy early that evening. After they helped Kit unpack the brahmin, she cut them loose for the night, warning them to be back first thing in the morning. Ying wandered the streets at a lazy pace, marveling at the differences.

She’d never really had cause to come here before the bombs. It had its fair share of tourism, but the former home of a president had never been enough to draw her, or excuse the exorbitant prices for basic services. After the war, her only interest had been helping the group at Sanctuary get some kind of closure. It was strange to see a thriving settlement instead of the pristine neighborhood before the bombs, or the ruin overrun by Gunners.

A homemade sign outside the old pharmacy caught her attention, neatly labelled with the words ‘General Store’. It looked like Ying was on her own if she wanted to eat that night, so she stepped inside. The shelves had been stocked with all manner of non- perishables and other bits of Pre-War junk, but the counter up front was empty.

Ying coughed to alert whoever was in the back to her presence and browsed the shelves. Her attention fell on a small wooden car and she picked the toy up for a closer look.

Nate had gotten one similar to this for Shaun. She’d laughed at him when he brought it home, claiming that at only three months old, Shaun was far too young for such toys. Nate took her jibing in good humor, insisting the boy would grow into it.

Shaun never had played with that car. He’d never had the chance. Ying wondered if it would have made a difference in the man he’d become. She wondered if he’d even care that his father had sat with him in his lap and rolled that car around on the floor making vrooming noises the entire time.

Probably not.

“Can I help you?”

Startled as she was, Ying nearly dropped the toy. She spun around to find a younger Marcy Long watching her with a friendly smile. It wasn’t an expression she’d ever seen on the other woman, but then again, the Marcy she knew had plenty of reasons for that.

Gently setting the car back on the shelf, Ying shook her head. “I’m just looking.”

Marcy’s dark gaze lit on the car. “Two caps and it’s yours,” she said, nodding toward the toy. “You have children?”

“Uh, no. Not anymore.”

The smile faded from Marcy’s lips as her hand fell to her abdomen. Beneath her fingers lay the gentle swell of early pregnancy. “I’m so sorry,” Marcy said softly. “I can’t imagine…”

You won’t have to , Ying thought, shocking herself at her own bitterness. “Sorry,” she said aloud. A look of pity crossed Marcy’s face, but Ying cut her off before she could say anything. “I’m just looking to resupply.”

Marcy showed her to a small shelf with fresh produce, waiting patiently while Ying selected a mutfruit and a couple tatos. She added a few strips of some kind of jerky she’d rather not know the origin of and met Marcy at the counter. As she handed over a few caps to pay for her purchase, Ying once more let impulse trump common sense.

“Be careful,” she warned, looking Marcy straight in the eye. “Just...stay close to him, alright? No matter how safe it seems here.”

Marcy gave her a strange look but nodded, hastily handing over her items. “Come back if you need anything else,” she called as Ying left the store. If her tone of voice suggested she meant the exact opposite, Ying really couldn’t blame her.

Outside, Ying dug into her meal. The meat was tough and stringy with a gamey taste that seemed to stick to her tongue, but food was food. She’d learned long ago not to be picky. Washing it down with a can of water, Ying briefly debated looking for something with a little more bite, then decided against it. She was short on caps as it was, and still technically on the job. From what little she’d learned, Kit was likely to dock her pay for showing up late or hungover.

Heading back to camp, Ying paused when she passed a crumbling apartment building and saw a woman lift her hand in greeting from one of the balconies above. The woman shuffled back inside before she got a good look at her face, but a glimpse of the faded blue wrap around her hair was enough to make Ying change course and head for the entrance .

Climbing the stairs two at a time, Ying was unsurprised to find Mama Murphy waiting for her in the doorway of one of the upper level apartments. She jerked her head for Ying to follow and disappeared inside. Without conscious thought, she started down the empty hallway.

She found Mama Murphy in a tattered armchair by the window of what was once a lavish apartment. Small as it was, it had been the kind of home only the wealthiest could afford. Stained floral carpet covered the floor and decorative iron sconces lined the walls. A patchy red velvet couch and matching loveseat sat on opposite ends of the room. To the right was a short hallway that led to a bedroom and a bath, and to the left, a set of doors that opened on the small balcony. If this was what the elderly woman had been accustomed to, it was easy to see why she’d made her request for the chair. Sanctuary’s furnishings, cobbled from what could be salvaged or thrown together, were crude in comparison.

“Don’t just stand there,” Mama Murphy gently scolded. “Come in and sit down. Rest while you can. You’re gonna need it, kid. The Sight...it ain’t been kind to you.”

Gingerly seating herself on the edge of the loveseat, Ying leaned forward, propping her elbows on her knees as she clasped her hands tight in front of her. “You know me?”

“I know you’re lost.”

“That's it? There has to be more. Please.”

Murphy cradled a canister of jet in her gnarled fingers. She held it to her mouth, and depressed it with a sharp hiss. Moments later, her eyes glazed and her hand fell limply to her lap. “The place you’re from...it’s hard to see,” she said softly, absent gaze drifting to the cracked pane of the window. “The walls bleed and run, but they’re covered in fog not even the chems can get through.”

“I can get you more,” Ying said quickly. She pulled off her pack and began a frantic search.The Sight normally freaked her out, but that seemed ages ago. Now, it was a lifeline, perhaps her only one. If it could offer her a way out of this hell, she’d give her version of the fortune teller a full apology.

“It doesn’t work that way, kid. I only know what the Sight tells me, and it’s saying you’re all wrong...you don’t belong here, but you couldn’t stay there.”

Ying froze, cold fingers of dread trailing up and down her spine. “What do you mean?” she whispered. “Why couldn’t I stay?”

“You can’t change what already is. You can’t be where you already are. You weren’t here. Not anymore.”

“That - that doesn’t make any sense!” Ying cried. She gripped the arm of the couch until the frayed upholstery tore in ragged furrows beneath her nails. “I didn’t try to change anything. And of course I wasn’t here. Just...tell me how to get back,” she pleaded, her voice cracking. “I need to get back.”

Mama Murphy sighed, her head lolling. “I wish I could help you, kid. I really do. But the glowing door slammed shut behind you.”

No.

She was wrong. Ying refused to believe she was trapped here. She couldn’t be.

“If I came through, I can get back,” she snapped, slapping her hand down on a cushion and sending up a cloud of dust. Ying waved it away with an irritated huff and narrowed her eyes at the older woman. “There has to be a way - someone that can help.”

“I’m real sorry, but it’s like I said: you don’t belong . They don’t need you... and they don’t want to be found.”

“Who are ‘they’?” Ying demanded. “Who doesn’t want to be found?”

Mama Murphy slumped back into her chair, eyes drifting close as her head nodded to her chest. “Can’t…” she murmured. “I can’t see... anything else. Just let me rest now.”

Realizing she wasn’t going to get anything more, Ying swallowed the urge to shake the older woman and left the apartment complex.

She wanted to believe Mama Murphy was wrong, but doubt ate at her. There was too much truth to the seer’s words to simply dismiss them, but the alternative was to accept that she would never go home. She couldn’t do that, not after spending so long fighting to carve out her place in the world. Not after finding so much to lose.

Still, Murphy had been absolutely right about one thing:

She didn’t belong here.

The caravan left Quincy the next morning. Kit chose a more direct route for the trip back to Diamond City, and while it meant fewer stops, it also left them exposed in the ruins for extended periods of time. They had a scuffle with some raiders trying to lay an ambush, but Kit was every bit as skilled as the guards she employed. The fight was over minutes after it began with the raiders either dead, dying, or running for their lives.

While Lou kept watch for reinforcements, Ying and Kit picked over the fallen, pocketing any caps or valuables, and finishing off those raiders too stubborn or stupid to give up and die. Grasping a man by his hair, Ying pulled his head back and dragged the blade of her knife across his throat. She doubted he felt it with the amount of metal lodged in his gut, but there was no point in risking a future grudge. That kind of shit had a way of coming back to bite her in the ass.

“Seems like you know what you’re doin’,” Kit remarked, leaning on her stick. “What do you think about makin’ this arrangement more than temporary?”

Ying hesitated. She had no intention of sticking around long enough to need permanent employment, but she liked Kit enough that she didn’t want to offend her by outright refusing. “What about your other man?” she asked, stalling for time so she could think of a way to politely decline - and avoid unwanted questions.

“Brick? Don’t worry about him. Thick as his name, but loyal as they come. The boys know I’ve been lookin’ for a third. You ain’t steppin’ on anyone’s toes, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“I...have some things I need to take care of,” Ying hedged. “Personal shit.”

Kit gave her a friendly clap on the shoulder and nodded. “No problem. Tell you what, though. Next run’s in two weeks. Get your business in order, and if you want in, come find me.”

“Yeah, alright.”

If all went well, she’d be gone in two weeks. If it didn’t, a job was the least of her worries.

Once they were back in Diamond City, Ying collected her pay - minus the cost of her armor - and headed straight for the market. Most of the stalls were empty this late in the evening, but she managed to find Deirdre just as she was closing down.

“I wondered when you might be by,” the ghoul said with a smile. “Give me just a second.” Deirdre disappeared inside the shop, returning a few minutes later with Ying’s Pip Boy. “Go ahead,” she said, pushing the device across the counter. “Take a look.”

Ying grinned as she hit a switch and the screen lit with a soft green glow. Never in all her life had she been so happy to see the Vault-Tech logo. “You got it working!”

“Like new,” Deirdre beamed. “I had to replace a few of the components, but I know a gal in Goodneighbor that can get her hands on just about anything...”

Daisy.

Ying bit her lip at the realization, her fingers clutching at the Pip Boy as something in her chest gave a painful squeeze. In that moment she’d have given anything to see Goodneighbor again. To be home .

It’s not the same place , she reminded herself sharply. Hancock’s not mayor, and Daisy doesn’t know who you are.

“...Did you hear what I said?” Deirdre asked with a frown. “I know it’s a lot of money, but I have to cover my costs.”

“Sorry,” Ying sighed, “I didn’t quite get that. How much did you say?”

“Another two hundred caps. Look, I’m sure we can work something out--”

Shaking her head, Ying counted out Deirdre’s caps. “It’s fine. I’m just tired, sorry.”

It was more than half her pay, but that was hardly Deirdre’s fault and she vaguely remembered agreeing to whatever it cost.

The ghoul looked unconvinced, but took her money without protest. “Come back if it ever gives you trouble again,” she said with a smile. “It was nice to work on something besides a two hundred year old radio or alarm clock. Oh! I almost forgot. That weird microchip? I think I managed to save it.”

Ying looked up from adjusting the Pip Boy’s strap and stilled, letting it slide loosely to the end of her wrist. “Yeah?”

“The chip’s got continuity, but it’s impossible to test without knowing what it does or how it works.”

“I don’t have a clue how it works,” Ying shrugged. “I just didn’t want to risk ripping out anything important.”

Disappointment flashed in Deirdre’s eyes, but her enthusiasm remained undiminished. “Can’t say I’m not curious. It’s a neat little piece of tech, but it’s definitely not part of the original design. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything like it. What vault did you say you got it from?”

Ying hadn’t said - had deliberately avoided it, in fact.

“One up North.”

“Out near that old community? Huh. I thought that one was sealed up tight.”

Damn it.

Of course it was sealed. In the last sixty years, Ying was the only one to walk out of it...and that wouldn’t happen for another decade.

“It opens. You just need one of these,” she said, tapping the Pip Boy in illustration.

“Makes sense,” Deirdre nodded. “Guess they wanted to keep out the undesirables. You know, I heard some awful rumors about those places. Some kind of experiments - ”

“I’m familiar,” Ying interrupted curtly.

Let her make of that what she would. As long as it ended this conversation, Ying didn’t care.

As she’d hoped, Deirdre’s gaze faltered and she looked away, mouth pinched in contrition. “I - I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”

Ying waved off the apology with a dismissive flap of her hand. “I just don’t like talking about it.”

“Yeah...I guess not.”

Silence fell, broken only when the ghoul let out an awkward cough. “Well, it’s time I got home. Come back if you have any more problems.”

“I will. Thanks for getting it working again.”

Ying watched the other woman go, trying to ignore the sick squirm of her insides. Not because she’d manipulated a friend - or someone she’d known as one, at least - but because she felt nothing for doing so. Deirdre deserved better, but no matter how her heart tried to convince her that was the same woman, when it came down to it, her mind knew better. There was nothing there but the ghost of a bond, an uncanny reminder that everything was wrong. Some part of her hated them for that - Deirdre, John, Vadim - and the feeling was at once a balm to her and a betrayal of the people they were impersonating.

It was the latter that got her moving. Guilt was pointless when it wouldn’t change anything, and she wasn’t going to get home by feeling bad. Let them think of her as just one more asshole. Once she was gone, they’d forget all about it.

It was fully dark when Ying left the city. There were a few odd looks from the guards, but anyone crazy enough to step outside the wall at night wasn’t worth their time, especially if she was leaving. She stopped in a small neighborhood near Diamond City, and after checking to see that she was hidden from any patrols, Ying grabbed Davis’ holotape from her bag and snapped it into her Pip Boy. Her heart hammered against her ribs and her stomach felt like it was doing flips as the program began its familiar stream of data.

It hadn’t been erased! She could go home.

Several agonizing moments later, it stopped, freezing the breath in Ying’s lungs. Everything beyond the green flash of her screen blurred in a hot rush of salt that wouldn’t clear no matter how many times she tried to blink it away. Two words. Two little words was all it took for her hopes to crumble to ash.

Data Corrupted .

“No... No !”

She yanked the tape out and flung it to the ground. An instant before her boot came down on it, Ying changed her mind and snatched it up again. She still had the fucking chip. The program didn’t matter; she still had a courser chip. She’d go to the Institute, find whoever the hell passed for Davis here, and demand he set this right.

The chip didn’t fire. The Pip Boy seemed to think something had happened, but Ying remained where she was. She tried again. And again, over and over, each time more frantic than the last, but producing the exact same result.

Her fist slammed into the side of a house before her mind even registered the thought to hit it. More blows followed until she was gasping for air, and the peeling siding was dark and slick. Rolling so her back was propped against the house, Ying slowly slid down the wall and and drew her knees to her chest.

If there was another way, she couldn’t see it.

Her last hope had been getting to the Institute, but that was something that had taken more brains than hers. Besides that, the ten year difference changed everything. She had no idea where Kellogg was, or when Virgil deserted. Even if she did, she had no way of knowing if the Railroad was operating in the Commonwealth yet. Ying vaguely remembered Deacon talking about the Switchboard, but he’d made it sound like they hadn’t been there very long before the Institute found them. She’d seen herself that the bodies weren’t yet decayed when they’d gone back to get Carrington’s prototype, so they had to have relocated to the old church shortly before she’d joined. There wouldn’t be a freedom trail for several more years.

It was over.

Even if everything played out just like it had before, it would be another ten years before she’d have a chance at getting to the Institute. It might as well be a lifetime.

Once more, Ying was left behind while her world went on without her.

Chapter 5 Notes:

Thanks to everyone still reading this, especially those taking the time to comment! It really makes my day.

Chapter Text

The days passed in a blurred haze of exhaustion. Despite having no real hope, Ying couldn’t allow herself to give up on returning to her own time and place. Each failure was another knife in her heart, but perhaps the sharpest was discovering that no one in Diamond City had ever heard of Nick Valentine.

Finding him hadn’t occurred to her in the beginning; Ying wasn’t interested in a reunion, and the most logical path to follow had still been the chip. Now, it didn’t matter. Nick had never been an option in the first place.

He was missing; well and truly gone. It didn’t make sense after what she’d learned about the others, but if Nick existed in this world, he’d never set foot in Diamond City. He’d never solved his first case. Everyone knew Mayor Roberts’ daughter ran away with a trader, and only the most tactless gossips still brought it up.

Learning about Nick was a blow, but Ying didn’t let it stop her. If anything, she became even more dogged in her search, working herself into a frenzy fuelled by desperation and denial. All she found was one dead end after another.

Asking about the Institute earned her suspicious looks and guarded replies, but no real answers. Without Piper’s paper to fan the flames of paranoia, or the constant presence of a synth among them, the hysteria that usually surrounded the organization was oddly subdued. The Institute was still feared, and this Diamond City still had plenty of residents that remembered the Broken Mask Incident, but it was like a bad dream most wanted to forget. If people went missing, well, life was dangerous beyond the Wall.

The Railroad was another dead end, though one Ying expected. There hadn’t been so much as a rail sign at the Switchboard or the old church, and many of the Railroad’s safe houses were now occupied by raiders or super mutants. The Minutemen weren’t even worth getting involved with, knowing what she did, and while Ying was growing desperate enough to consider using the Brotherhood of Steel to find a way back, it would be ten years before they arrived in the Commonwealth.

At last, she was forced to face the unavoidable truth: she was alone, and any allies she might have called on were beyond her reach.

Thoroughly defeated, Ying returned to Diamond City and busied herself by burning through the small stash of caps and chems she’d acquired during her travels. It didn’t last long, and within another week, she found herself reluctantly accepting Kit’s offer. She’d missed the last run, but the old merchant welcomed her on the next, and it wasn’t long before Ying fell into a routine of sorts.

Kit didn’t tolerate chems while Ying was on the job, but it wasn’t too hard to abstain for a few days every two weeks. She got along well with the merchant, and more importantly, Kit had never been a part of her past. The last thing Ying wanted was a constant reminder that this world was just a shadow of the one she’d left. Returning to Quincy stirred some unwanted feelings, but even those were easily ignored as long as she stayed outside of town with the caravan.

Nights were more difficult, especially back in Diamond City. Time alone gave her time to think, but the alternative was running into people she didn’t want to see. Vadim was unavoidable, though it was easier because they’d never been close. John and Deirdre were another matter. Ying tried to stay away from Deirdre’s part of the market and the mere sight of John was enough to send her scurrying in the opposite direction.

About two months in, Ying was helping Brick and Lou unload the brahmin. After they were finished, she went to collect her pay and was surprised when Kit handed her a pouch of what looked like small, dried crab apples along with her caps.

“Got a favor to ask,” Kit said. Without waiting for Ying’s response, she nodded down at the strange little berries and continued, “There’s a lady in the lower field that buys those on the regular. Some kind of medicine, I think, but neither she or them boys of hers showed up for the last shipment. Just see that she gets ‘em, alright?”

“Yeah, sure,” Ying nodded. “Am I picking up any kind of payment, or is this just a delivery?”

Kit sighed and shook her head. “If they had the money, someone woulda been here by now. I’ll take the hit for as long as I can, but… well, that’s for me to figure out. Just take it to her. Her house is off Second, down by the water. Third one from the left.”

The directions Kit gave her were simple enough to follow, but as Ying got closer to the house - more of a shack, really - she almost hoped she was at the wrong one. An angry male voice was clearly audible from inside.

“ Running off ... degenerates and criminal. .. irresponsible! ”

Ying eyed a series of narrow planks and skids that led to the railed porch and debated simply leaving the pouch of berries there. Someone would find it eventually.

Maybe. If they didn’t...

With a sigh, Ying started up the ramp, only to jump several steps back as the door burst open hard enough to hit the wall behind it. A man stormed out, his back to her as he fumbled to light a cigarette. He leaned against the railing when he got it lit, giving her a clear view of his face. Ying recognized him the same instant he noticed her.

She should have turned around when she had the chance.

John’s eyes widened the barest fraction, but his face remained carefully blank, as if he hadn’t quite figured out how to respond to finding her there. Understandable, considering if she’d had any idea whose house this was, she wouldn’t be.

His jaw tensed, but after a moment, he offered her a half-hearted smirk. “You picked a hell of a time for a social call.”

“That’s not what this is,” Ying was quick to correct.

“Yeah, I didn’t think so, seein’ as you run the other way whenever it looks like our paths might cross.”

Ying looked away in embarrassment. She hadn’t thought she’d been so obvious about avoiding him - or that he would give a shit.

“Do I even wanna ask how you know where I live?”

“Kit sent me,” Ying said, relieved she had an entirely truthful answer to that. She held the bag out for him to take. “She wanted me to bring you these. Or...your mother, I guess?”

The door opened again, quieter this time, and Ying didn’t have a chance to hide her reflexive scowl as McDonough walked out. He was younger, of course, a bit thinner and his wispy black hair had only a dusting of gray, but the arrogant sneer he wore was just as she remembered.

He stared at her like she was something he’d stepped in, his mouth curling in contempt. “Another of your junkie floozies, John? Here, at our mother’s home. You don’t have an ounce of shame, do you?”

“It ain’t like that, Guy, she’s with Kit. Brought the hawthorn for Ma’s tea.”

“You were supposed to pick that up last week!”

John sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “I know. I forgot, okay?”

“You were high as a kite in that thieves’ den, you mean,” McDonough snorted. “I told Mother I’d leave the money - .”

“I got money,” John cut in, his face going red. “And it wasn’t like I let her run out. I was gonna go later.”

“We both know how you ‘earned’ those caps, and don’t you dare use Mother as an excuse! It breaks her heart to know you’re peddling chems like a common thug.”

When John didn’t respond, McDonough let out a theatrical sigh and shook his head. “I’m sorry you had to hear that, miss,” he said, turning to Ying. He reached into his jacket and pulled out a small pouch. “For your trouble. Tell Kit I’ll settle the bill with her later.”

It was all she could do to keep herself from punching him in his simpering face.

Pocketing the purse, Ying pasted on a smile. “Why apologize? You meant to be an asshole. Don’t pretend you’re sorry for it.”

McDonough’s face darkened, a storm brewing in his eyes. “Why, the audacity! Do you know who I am?”

“Well, if you have to ask…”

“I’ll have you dragged out of this city! Your employer will hear of this, I promise you.”

“I’m pretty sure she’s not a fan of assholes, either,” Ying called as he stalked down the ramp.

“Not that I disagree, but you’re playin’ with fire, doll.”

The old endearment hit her like a blow aimed square at her gut, and Ying nearly rocked at the force of it. “Don’t...don’t call me that.”

His brows knitted in a sheepish frown, John scratched at the blond stubble on his cheek and looked away. “Yeah, sorry. Didn’t mean nothin' by it.”

Gathering the remains of her composure, Ying shook her head. “Don’t worry about it.”

John didn’t look convinced, but nodded anyway. “Look, all I’m tryin’ to say is be careful. Guy ain’t got any real authority, but he’s got his hand shoved up the asses of the folks that do.”

“More like his nose,” Ying muttered, crossing her arms over her chest. “He’s a dick.”

John took a long drag from his cigarette, his lips twitching into a faint grin so familiar it hurt. “Yeah, but he’s a dick that can make your time here difficult if he wants to. And keep it down, alright? Ma seems to like him well enough. Doubt she’d appreciate hearin’ you say that.”

Ying cast a guilty glance at the door and nodded, but her thoughts were miles away.

Even now, even knowing it couldn’t lead anywhere good, it was too easy to pretend. They weren’t Hancock’s words, but it was almost his voice; definitely his expressions.

Gods, but she missed him. John might be a shadow of his future self, but a shadow was better than nothing. A few minutes was all she wanted. Just a few minutes to lose herself in the illusion, to forget.

Searching for a way to keep him talking, Ying asked the first thing that came to mind. “Why do you let him speak to you like that?”

In hindsight, maybe it wasn’t the best question to ask.

John’s shoulder’s stiffened as he flicked the remains of his cigarette away and stared out over the water. “‘Cause he’s not wrong.” He looked like he might say more, then shook his head and changed the subject. “You really should watch yourself, you know. I don’t think Guy can actually get you kicked out, but he ain’t gonna let that go. He’ll be after Kit to cut you loose.”

Ying snorted. “So? If she does, she does. It was worth it just to see his face.”

“Somethin’ I should know?” At Ying’s look of confusion, John shrugged. “Just sounds like this thing with my brother might be a little personal, is all.”

“I don’t like ass-” John gave the door a pointed look and Ying hastily corrected herself, “...to see people treated poorly. Besides,” she continued, lowering her voice. “He did call me a...what was it? Junkie floozy? So yeah. Fuck him.”

“To be fair, that was more about me than you.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Ying insisted stubbornly. “Someone needed to stand up to him, and if Kit has a problem with it, oh well. I like her, but it’s not like I’m going to miss smelling like brahmin shit.”

John smirked and twitched his nose. “Well, I wasn’t gonna say anything, but now that you mention it…”

“Like you have any room to talk.” The retort slipped from her lips before she could stop it, too easy, too comfortable , as she gestured out toward the murky water. “This place smells like a mirelurk nest.”

“Nah, it’s a little too clean for ‘lurks,” John grinned, pointing out the dark shapes of tanks in the distance. “There’s a couple purifiers over there for crops. Still don’t know if I’d actually drink it, but then, I’m more of a vodka man, myself.”

Never was one for water. Always more of a vodka man.

Same dumb jokes, told with the same smooth confidence.

Lips curved in fond exasperation, Ying glanced up at him, half expecting to find tattered red wool and the sweeping arches of a tricorn hat. Instead, she saw blond curls and thin, stained flannel. She blinked, then blinked again to clear the sharp sting in her eyes, and looked away, swallowing hard. The moment was gone, the illusion shattered.

“Hey, you alright?”

No, she really wasn’t, but there was no one to blame for it but herself. It was her idea to stick around and play make-believe, after all. She could hardly blame John when it all came crashing down just as she’d known it would.

“I need to get going.”

“Was it somethin’ I said?”

“Just... leave it, okay? I’m fine.”

“And still a bad liar.”

That damn grin was back, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes, or mask the concern Ying could see in them. A wave of guilt washed over her, and the feeling just pissed her off.

“You don’t even know me! ” she snapped, flinging the words at him like an accusation. “Don’t pretend like you do.”

Though taken aback by the venom in her tone, he quickly recovered. Rolling his eyes, he huffed an irritated sigh. “No, I think I’ll just leave that up to you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means exactly what I said,” John shot back, digging into the front pocket of his flannel. He removed a crumpled pack of cigarettes and shook one out with such force it broke. With a muttered curse he tore the broken end off and tossed it into the lake before lighting the remainder.

“One minute you act like we’re long-lost friends, and the next, you can’t get away from me fast enough. If this is some kind of game you’re playin’, find someone else to fuck with, sister. I ain’t interested!”

Ying’s mouth fell slack before she snapped it shut with a click of her teeth. “Believe what you want. I only came here because Kit asked me to.”

“Yeah? Tell her not to worry about it next time. We need anything, I’ll come to her.”

Without another word, John ground out the stub of his cigarette beneath his heel and went back inside, leaving her alone on the porch.

For a moment, Ying could only stare after him. It hurt to know he thought her capable of playing some kind of twisted game with him, but she’d given him every reason to think so. And really, he wasn’t that far off the mark. She’d just assumed she was playing alone and that she’d be the only one dealing with the repercussions. John’s reaction proved otherwise.

She’d fucked up, likely beyond repair, but maybe it was better this way. At least now, she wouldn’t have to worry about avoiding him anymore - Ying had a feeling he’d start doing some avoiding of his own.

It should have been a relief.

Instead, it felt like losing him all over again.

He met Ma in the house. Nearly ran into her, in fact, like she’d been heading outside as he was coming in. John cursed himself as she put a hand over her chest, clearly startled.

“Johnny, what’s wrong? I heard shouting.”

“It’s nothin’, Ma.”

She fixed him with a knowing eye, but allowed him to help her back to her chair. “You’re not still at it with your brother, are you?”

John shook his head, unable to keep the note of bitterness from his voice as he said, “Guy left a while ago.”

Ma took his hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “He’s only doin’ what he thinks is best, you know.”

“Yeah.”

‘Course he was. And somehow, it was always the right choice, while his were always wrong. Didn’t matter that he was the one here taking care of things while his brother was schmoozing with the upper stands assholes. No, that was fine, because to hear Guy tell it, one day they’d all be there - as long as his junkie little brother didn’t fuck it up first.

“Johnny….”

“I’ll do better, Ma. I know you don’t like it when we fight.”

Her blue eyes crinkled as she smiled, but John didn’t think he imagined the melancholy that dimmed them.

“You’ll find your way, same as him. You got a big heart. That’s all that - “

Ma bent forward and clamped a handkerchief to her mouth as she broke into a fit of coughing so violent John feared it would never stop.

“Ma? Ma?! … I’ll get Dr. Sun.”

He was halfway out the door before he heard her wheeze behind him, “...No...no. I think...I think I’m alright now.”

“You sure? You want your tea now?”

He could still hear the fluid in her lungs, a sick rattle that only grew louder the closer he got. She tried to tuck her handkerchief into her pocket, but not before John saw the pink flecks of foam that dotted the scrap of linen.

“Would you mind, dear?”

“‘Course not.”

Luckily, the stove was already going, so it didn’t take long to build up the fire enough to get water boiling. John set the berries to steep, keeping a watchful eye on his mother the entire time. She seemed pale and shrunken from exhaustion, but the rise and fall of her chest soon evened into a steady rhythm. He feared she’d fallen asleep, but she stirred at the creak of the floorboards as he crossed the room with her tea. Accepting the chipped mug with a grateful smile, she took a cautious sip.

“Careful, it’s hot,” John warned, kneeling beside her.

“I’m fine now, Johnny. Why don’t you get some rest?”

With one foot already under him, he hesitated. “You sure you don’t need anything else?”

“Go,” she chuckled, brushing her fingertips along his jawline. “I’m alright.”

Hating himself for how little persuasion he needed, John fled.

The rear part of the shack served as a bedroom, but because Guy never stayed over and his mother found it easier to sleep in her chair, he had the entire area to himself. It wasn’t much, but it was his. A few makeshift shelves lined the walls, stacked with an odd assortment of any reading material John could get his hands on. From classics to comic books, to PreWar magazines - even a few technical manuals. He wasn’t picky. Guy considered them a waste of time, the relics of a bygone era. Maybe he was right, but after providing him with countless hours of escape from the hardships of everyday life, John couldn’t bear to part with them. Still, it wasn’t their worn pages he sought. He was after a different, more potent kind of escape.

Flopping onto the mattress that took up the corner of the room, John grabbed an inhaler from his pocket and gave it a quick shake. Moments later, the world dissolved into a slow bloom of color and sound. Old hurts and worries faded until there was nothing left but the steady thump of his heart and the quiet whoosh of air in his lungs. The high lasted seconds, or maybe hours - he couldn’t be sure. Either way, reality came crashing back before he was ready. Tossing the now empty canister aside, John got to his feet with a sigh and went to check on his mother.

Her eyes were closed, her head lolling at what must have been an uncomfortable angle, but her breaths were slow and measured, absent of the awful sucking sound he’d heard earlier. John grabbed a blanket and spread it over her, gently tipping her head back and bunching the fabric beneath her chin to keep it there. He took the empty cup from where she’d let it fall in her lap and set it on the table for later. After adding fuel to the stove, he slipped outside and lit a cigarette.

He loved the city best at night. Always had.

The moon cast a blurry reflection on the surface of the small lake, and the ambient noise faded enough that he could hear the rhythmic lap of water against the porch. Though artificial, the soft glow of the lights gave the wall a particular shade of green he found soothing, and the division of wealth was less noticeable under the cloak of shadow. Sure, the stands might have a better view, but it was only down on the field that the Green Jewel truly came alive.

Like every scrap of peace he managed to snatch, it couldn’t last, and John headed for the door with a weary sigh. He kicked something soft on his way, and it snagged on the warped boards of the porch with a metallic jangle. Following the sound, he was just able to make out a small, lumpy shape in the dark. He scooped it up and held it in a patch of light, eyes going wide when he saw it was the purse Guy had given Ying.

She must have left it, John realized with a pang. Why, he didn’t know. Whatever her reason, she had to have one; he didn’t believe for a second it had been an accident. Ying didn’t strike him as careless. Impulsive, yes. Crazy, most likely, but then, he wasn’t one to judge. She wouldn’t be the first wastelander he’d run into with a couple screws loose.

Was that what was going on with her?

His initial concern had been that she was some kind of tail. As Guy liked to point out - every fuckin’ chance he got - John didn’t run with the most reputable crowd. Deals went bad, and it didn’t take much to get on the wrong side of the wrong kind of people.

It didn’t fit, though. Ying’s mouth was just as likely to get her on some shithead’s hit list as anything he’d done, and if that’s why she was there, she’d had plenty of time to do it.

The excuse she’d given him about looking for chems seemed believable, at first. Until she started ducking down alleys to avoid walking past him. He still didn’t know what the hell was up with that, or why it bothered him. She was right; he didn’t know her. So why couldn’t he shake the feeling that she somehow expected him to?

And why did he still feel like shit for telling her off after she flipped cold on him again?

Maybe ‘cause you couldn’t take a hint?

He’d caught the sheen of tears in her eyes as she turned away, thought maybe he could at least coax a grin instead. Obviously, that hadn’t gone to plan, but that was twice now he’d brought her to the verge of crying.

With a sigh, John tucked the pouch into his pocket and started down the ramp. Tracking down Ying probably wasn’t his brightest idea, but if she’d hear it, he wanted to apologize. After that, it was her call. He didn’t have high hopes for the outcome, but he could admit he had some. She just might be one of the few people worth getting to know around here.

The Dugout was where all the drifters tended to stay, so that’s where he headed first. Those on the streets would have migrated to the bar by now, so John hadn’t expected to find her seated at one of the tables outside. She looked up as a rough-looking guy walked past, her face paled by the lights of the inn. In the span of a heartbeat, her expression morphed from disinterest to cold fury. Ying stood, blocking the man’s path. As John watched, her hand went to the hilt of a knife she had jammed through her belt, but before she could pull the weapon free, the guy grabbed her wrist and snarled.

“You’re supposed to be dead.”

Chapter 6 Chapter Text

Hatred, black and vile, flooded Ying’s veins at the sight of the mercenary's face. He’d taken so much, and not just from her. He’d stolen a good man’s greatest wish and allowed an innocent baby to be warped into a monster. So many lives snuffed out like candles, all without an ounce of remorse. She hadn’t been fond of her neighbors, but they’d deserved better than being murdered when they were most vulnerable.

He was the last person she’d expected to find, but here he was, and after the shit Ying had been through, she was due a silver lining. The chance to kill Kellogg all over again would be a nice step in the right direction.

Ying reached for her knife before she was fully conscious of the action. Fast as a striking snake, his hand closed around hers with a grip like iron. Kellogg’s lips moved, but his words were lost in the roaring pulse that thundered in her ears. Suddenly, the clamp on her wrist loosened just enough for her to twist free. He didn’t move to grab her again.

Resisting the urge to cradle her hand to her chest, Ying glared at him, and panted for breath. She was going to have bruises, but with each throb of her wrist, a little more of the red receded from her vision. She still hated him. She still wanted to see his blood pool beneath his body and watch the light fade from his eyes, but her rage had cooled to a steady simmer. The market wasn’t the place for this.

Kellogg must have thought so, too. In a slow, controlled motion reminiscent of their first meeting, the mercenary raised his hands in front of him in the universal signal for truce. He looked...tired, and as he took a step back into the light, she saw dark stains on his clothes that looked like they could be blood. A distant part of her brain warned Ying that something was off about that, but it was drowned by a surge of satisfaction at finding him reduced from the cocky assassin she remembered.

The mercenary’s eyes roamed her form as though he expected her to disappear at any moment, then snapped back to hers when he saw the revolver at her hip. “It ain’t possible,” he murmured, voice thick with disbelief.

With a pointed glance at her weapon, Ying flashed her teeth in a nasty grin. “It’s exactly what you think it is,” she said. Her tone dropped to a silky purr as she went on, “Only Mommy was wrong. That gun won’t save you.”

Whatever reaction she’d anticipated, it hadn’t been for Kellogg to throw back his head and laugh.

“You’re probably right about that. Sure as hell did a number on you, though.” Raising his thumb, he extended his forefinger into the shape of a gun and pointed to her forehead, right between her eyes. “Lights out,” he smirked. “Whatever you are, it ain’t her.”

Her?

That...that wasn’t right. Nate was the one who’d been shot. He’d been the one holding Shaun. Except… there’d been two cribs. Two cribs, two babies. How would that have worked?

Her bewilderment must have shown, because Kellogg’s amusement drained away, something infuriatingly close to pity taking its place. “You don’t even know, do you?”

Ying shook her head in furious denial. “You’re lying! You murdered Nate, but they still needed a back-up.”

“And they got one. But you, your man? Loose ends like the rest. Seemed a waste, but those were the orders.” Kellogg studied her face for a moment, his narrowed eyes glittering with suspicion. “Who are you? You’re not his. Can’t be, or I’d be dead already.”

“The only reason you’re not,” Ying snarled, “is because I still want answers.”

Kellogg chuckled and shook his head. “I could say the same, but right now, you’re the least of my problems.”

“Awwww. It sounds like someone was a bad dog. What happened, Kellogg? Piss on the floor too many times?”

“Heh. Joke all you want. If I were you, though, I wouldn’t take too long about it. The old man ain’t gonna be happy to find you up and walking around.”

Ying rolled her eyes. “You mean ‘Father’?” she snorted. “I don’t give a shit about him.”

“Then you’re dumber than I thought,” the mercenary shrugged. “He might be a paranoid old bastard, but he’s as ruthless as they come. Made him a pet courser to deal with anyone he considers a threat.”

His haggard appearance, the blood on his clothes, the feeling that something was off with him...it all fell into place. The Kellogg in her world had expected to win his last fight. This one didn’t. He ran for the same reason a wounded animal ran: instinct and the primal urge to survive. Even so, his mind had already accepted what his body couldn’t.

“And he sent it after you,” Ying taunted with a cruel smirk. “ You’re the loose end now.”

Kellogg’s short laugh was grim, but he returned as good as he got. “The way you’re going, It’s only a matter of time ‘til he’s after you.”

“I’ve dealt with coursers before.”

“Not this one, you haven’t. Then again, you’re practically family. Maybe it’ll just be one big, happy reunion.”

“I only want one thing from that bastard, and it’s got nothing to do with reuniting,” Ying spat, not bothering to correct Kellogg’s assumption. This Shaun wasn’t her son, but if genetics still worked the same way, the distinction hardly mattered.

“Wasn’t talking about the old man, but either way, this has gone on long enough.”

The mercenary moved to go around her, but Ying took a step back and blocked his path. “Then who? What the hell are you talking about?”

“Lady, you don’t know half of what you think you do, and I’ve wasted enough time.” Kellogg’s face hardened, his eyes like flint as he stared down at her. “The way this ends is up to you.”

He’d given her a similar choice back at Fort Hagen. Like then, Ying wanted nothing more than to spit in his face. The score would never be settled, but his corpse would add another mark to her side of the board.

Kellogg shifted, a subtle change in his stance. Thinking he’d guessed the direction of her thoughts, Ying tensed, preparing for an attack that never came.

“Is there a problem here?” asked a male voice with a heavy Bostonian accent.

Risking a glance behind her, Ying saw one of the city guard cautiously approaching them, swatter at the ready. It would be useless against Kellogg’s enhancements, but he had no way of knowing that. Muttering a curse, Ying clenched her fists in impotent fury. Kellogg would walk out of here, and she had no choice but to let him. It was the only way to ensure the damn guard didn’t get himself killed.

“Just catching up with an old acquaintance,” Ying replied with a casual shrug. She gave the mercenary a pointed look and added, “We’re done, though.”

“Then you’d better move along,” the guard warned, pointing his bat out towards the street that led out of the market. “I don’t need any trouble on my watch.”

“No trouble,” Ying agreed.

Kellogg snorted at that, but was smart enough to start walking. Before he got too far ahead, Ying reached out and caught the rolled cuff of his sleeve. “If your friend doesn’t find you, I will,” she promised in a low voice.

Tugging his arm from her grasp, the mercenary laughed, the sound utterly devoid of humor. “Oh, he’ll find me. I’ll make sure to give him your regards when he does.”

The smirk she offered was all teeth. “You do that.”

“Your funeral. Don’t say I didn’t warn ya.”

With one last shake of his head, Kellogg walked off. Ying stared at his retreating form until it disappeared around a bend in the street, doing her best to swallow the urge to sink a knife between his shoulder blades. If he was wrong, there was plenty of time for that later. If he was right, she needed him alive. Attempting to goad an enemy into pointing a courser her way wasn’t her brightest idea, but it was probably her only shot at getting her hands on another chip.

In the meantime, she wanted answers, and she was through with being patient. Once Kellogg was out of sight, she changed direction and headed for the gate.

Outside of the city, the air seemed cooler, less stifling. Taking a deep breath of, Ying blew it out in a slow sigh as she resigned herself to what she had to do.

No matter how far she tried to run, her path always circled back to the same place: Vault 111.

Whoever the guy was, Ying was going to kill him, or get herself killed trying. John had been certain of it, and his first instinct was to simply walk away. The situation was clearly none of his business, and he doubted Ying would thank him for getting involved. What did he really know about her, anyway?

He knew that she was trying to pick a fight with someone that looked like he belonged in the worst part of Goodneighbor. He knew that she was completely crazy - this little scene removed any doubt about that, and he knew that his life had only gotten more complicated since that day she bumped into him in the market. Despite all that, he also knew he didn’t want to see her hurt or hauled off to jail.

There’d really been no other choice, then, in tipping off that guard. John only hoped Ying would see it that way, too, since for some inexplicable reason, he’d followed her out of the city.

Maybe crazy is contagious? Her brand of it, anyway.

Scrubbing a hand through his hair, John sighed and quickened his walk to a loping jog. Ying didn’t have much of a head start on him, but she’d adopted the kind of ground-eating pace that suggested she was on a mission.

That was what worried him.

The ruins were dangerous at the best of times. Alone, at night, in the state she’d left in?

Most folks just disappeared. If a body was ever found, it was usually in pieces, displayed on chains or spikes outside of some raider gang’s base. ‘Course...if that’s where this was headed, John doubted he’d make much of a difference, but safety in numbers and all that shit. Now all he had to do was avoid trouble long enough to catch up with Ying and convince her he wasn’t some kind of creep.

Before he ever got the chance, he was more than a little lost, and just as confused. Ying hadn’t followed any route he was familiar with, but then again, he’d never had reason to be this far north. To the best of his knowledge, there wasn’t anything up that way, but Ying never slowed.

For all his concern, John had to admit she was being more cautious than he’d given her credit for. She kept to the shadows as much as possible, and seemed to know just which streets and buildings to avoid. There was a time or two when he thought she might have spotted him, but the altercation that was sure to follow never came.

It wasn’t until they’d left the ruins of Boston that John realized just how wrong he’d been. As soon as the immediate danger of raiders, mutants, and ferals had passed, Ying stopped dead in her tracks and spun around to face him. He barely had time to register the movement before the barrel of a revolver was aimed square at his chest.

“Whoa! Easy, killer…” Breaking into what he hoped was a friendly, very non-threatening grin, John slowly raised his hands in front of him.

Ying’s eyes went wide, then narrowed in recognition. Hissing out a breath between her teeth, she lowered the revolver and propped her free hand on her hip. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Letting his hands drop to his sides, John shrugged. “Following you.”

No point in making up excuses, and it wasn’t like he’d been trying to hide it in the first place. He’d just been...well, hiding . From other things.

“I see that,” Ying bit out with a withering glare. “Why?”

That one was...trickier.

Again, John shrugged. “Honestly? I don’t know. You just didn’t look like you ought to be chargin’ off into the ruins by yourself. ‘Specially not with that big guy givin’ you trouble beforehand.”

With a sigh, she shoved the revolver back into her belt, and some of the tension seemed to drain from her shoulders. “You saw that?” Without giving him time to confirm or deny, she rolled her eyes and muttered, “Of course you did.”

“Neither of you were exactly subtle about it.”

“No,” she said shortly. “We weren’t.” She looked away for a moment, then her eyes snapped back to his. “Just how long were you following me, anyway?”

John bristled. “Hey, I ain’t a stalker, if that’s what you’re gettin’ at.”

“Yeah? Then why not say something? You’ve been tailing me for hours.”

“This little conversation we’re havin’? Didn’t seem like the best idea in the middle of mutie and raider territory. Think what you want, but the goal was to keep you from getting killed, not make the two of us targets.”

“Fine. Mission accomplished. Now go home.”

John ducked his head and scratched awkwardly at his neck. He really should turn around and walk away. It was clear she didn’t need what little assistance he might be able to offer, and she sure as hell didn’t seem like she was in the mood for company. The smart thing to do would be go back the way he came. Instead, he opened his mouth.

“Yeah, about that… far be it from me to stick around where I’m not wanted, but two guns gotta be better than one, right?”

Ying straightened, folding her arms tight across her chest. “I can take care of myself.” A moment later her eyes softened and she shook her head. “It’s not that I don’t appreciate the offer, but there’s something I have to do. You don’t need to get involved.”

“And you didn’t need to get involved when my brother was layin’ into me.”

She must have misunderstood him, because her face flushed crimson and her gaze dropped to the pitted asphalt at her feet. “I should apologize for that. I was out of -”

“Don’t apologize,” John interrupted. He raised a hand toward her and then let it fall as he tried to find the words to explain something he wasn’t sure he understood all that well himself. “No one’s ever -- look, it ain’t a secret I got somethin’ of a reputation around there. When it comes to Guy and me, there’s only one side of the fence people tend to land on, if you get what I’m sayin’.

“I ain’t lookin’ to pry. Just wanted to return the favor, is all - have your back when it seemed like you might need someone there. You wanna be left alone, I can do that, too.”

Her dark eyes met his, and hope flared in his chest as she sent him a long, considering look. A moment later, it fizzled when her gaze turned apologetic. “I do need to do this alone.”

“You got it.”

He’d barely taken two steps in the opposite direction when he heard her call his name. Glancing over his shoulder, he paused, surprised to find her right behind him. She quickly snatched her hand away from where it brushed the fabric of his flannel and gave a little cough to clear her throat.

“There’s still a three hour walk.” She hooked her thumb behind her, indicating the broken road. “I wouldn’t mind having someone to talk to. But once we get there, I go in alone, okay?”

It shouldn’t have felt as good as it did, but John couldn’t deny the little rush of pleasure her words sent spreading through him, the feeling that someone wanted him along for more than what they could get from him.

“You got yourself a deal, sister.”

She flashed a smile in response that would have made John agree to just about anything to see it again, but she was oddly quiet for the first several minutes of their journey. Torn between wanting to keep his promise not to pry and wanting to lift the bleak mood she’d lapsed back into, he finally broke the silence.

“So, uh...where we headed?” The sharp look she turned his way had him raising his hands in surrender. “Just makin’ conversation. Didn’t think there was much up this way.”

A shadow passed over her face, but as soon as he blinked, it was gone. “There isn’t,” Ying agreed. She brought her PipBoy up to fiddle with the knobs. The screen flashed a few times before she was satisfied, and then she tilted it so he could see a web of glowing lines. Some kind of map, John assumed, but damned if he could make heads or tails of it. “We’re going to a vault up here,” she explained, tapping a spot at the top of the screen. “Once we get there, I go in alone.”

“Hey, a promise is a promise.”

“Thanks.”

Deciding it was best to change the subject, John nodded at the PipBoy and asked, “You can see the whole Commonwealth on that thing?”

“Yeah. It’s not really a great representation, though. It took me a while to figure out what I was looking at,” she admitted. She held the device out again and pointed to a different spot this time. “Here’s Diamond City,” she said, before dragging her finger up to a blinking triangle. “And here’s where we are now.”

“And what’s that?” John asked, touching a black blob not too far from their location.

“That’s Walden Pond.”

“Huh.”

Switching the PipBoy off, Ying peered up at him through her lashes. Her teeth caught in her bottom lip, but she couldn’t hide the twitch of her mouth.

“Somethin’ funny?”

“You have no idea where you are.”

“Sure I do. I’m right here with you, in...whatever the fuck this place is. There’s a pond.”

She laughed outright at that, but John took it in stride. It was a nice sound, he decided. Worth a bit of teasing, if that’s what it took to keep hearing it.

“Sure, laugh it up,” John grumbled good-naturedly. As he’d hoped, Ying only giggled harder.

“I’m sorry.” She smirked up at him, face flushed and eyes shining, but her voice was soft with sincerity. “I wasn’t laughing at you. Really. I’m just used to being on the other end of this kind of thing.”

John cocked a brow in question and she rolled one shoulder in a shrug. “When I first came to the Commonwealth, I didn’t have a clue. About anything. ‘Lost’ doesn’t begin to cover it. I almost got myself killed a dozen times over - probably more.”

“Sounds rough, but you made it. Older and wiser and all that shit, yeah?”

Ying shook her head. “I had a...friend... who helped me. If it weren’t for him...well. It’s just weird to be the one that actually knows something someone else doesn’t. No offense,” she added quickly.

“None taken.”

That shadow was back, and this time, it lingered. John wouldn’t claim to be the brightest bulb on the tree, but it didn’t take a genius to guess just what had put it there. Shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans, John searched his mind for a way to distract her.

“So where exactly are you from, if you don’t mind my askin’? I get that the Commonwealth can take some gettin’ used to, but I figured the world in general was pretty fucked.”

“Pretty much,” Ying agreed. She sighed. “It’s a long story. The short version is I’m from a vault. The one we’re heading to, to be specific.”

“Never woulda guessed that one,” John remarked, striving for nonchalance. She sure as hell didn’t look like any vault dweller he’d ever heard of. Didn’t act like one, either, but that was none of his business and he’d promised not to pry. If she wanted him to know, she’d tell him.

“What about you? Have you always lived in Diamond City?”

“Yep. Born and raised.”

Ying hesitated a moment before asking, “You ever thought about leaving?”

“Nah. Not anything long-term, anyway. Ma’s there. And Guy,” he added, making a face. “But family, right? ‘Sides, it’s not so bad. Kind of pretty at night, ‘specially out by the water.”

“I never noticed.”

“You should come by sometime. It’s quiet. Peaceful.”

Ying opened her mouth to reply and blinked in surprise as a drop of rain landed on her nose. John followed her gaze toward the sky and noticed for the first time the clouds that had gathered while they talked. Another drop fell, and another, until seconds later, the steady patter of rain filled his ears.

“Shit.” Brushing aside a tendril of dark hair that was already sticking to her face, Ying motioned for John to follow. “Come on. It isn’t much farther.”

Following her lead, John quickened his pace to an easy jog. For as short as she was, Ying was surprisingly fast as she hopped over debris in the road and skirted puddles. They crested a hill, and John just managed to catch a glimpse of some kind of Pre-War neighborhood before Ying abruptly changed direction, leaving the road and sprinting toward a thicket of dead trees. The slope was steeper here, slick with mud. Climbing was difficult, but John figured she knew what she was doing - no matter how curious he was about whatever Ying was trying to avoid back in that neighborhood.

The trees thinned and the ground leveled out. Stepping carefully over the rusted tangle of a fallen fence, Ying made her way to a small structure and ducked her head inside. John couldn’t see what she was feeling around for, but there was a sudden slow hiss followed by a loud metallic grind.

“This way,” she called, walking to the center of a large platform. “Hurry up.”

As soon as he’d reached Ying’s side, the platform gave a lurch that had him stumbling into her.

“Sorry,” he mumbled after catching his balance. He paused a beat, glancing around as the platform slowly descended into the earth and asked, “Thought you wanted to go in alone?”

“I do,” she said firmly. “But I’m not enough of an asshole to leave you out there to catch pneumonia waiting around for me. It’s a big place. You can dry off somewhere while I...while I look for something.”

The vault was a big place, and nothing like John had ever imagined a vault to be. It was dark, for starters, the dim yellow lamps overhead doing little to penetrate the shadows that lurked in every corner. A winding corridor stretched before them, just wide enough for them to walk side by side, with arched walls that curved into a ceiling so low it reminded him of an old subway tunnel. He wasn’t normally claustrophobic, but this place was giving him a new understanding of those that were.

John wasn’t ashamed to admit he probably wouldn’t have ventured on if it were just him, but Ying didn’t share his hesitation. She took the lead once more, navigating the turns and bends in long, purposeful strides. It made sense, considering she claimed this was the vault she was from. What didn’t make sense was that there was little evidence anyone had ever lived here.

Ain’t there supposed to be people in these things?

A skittering from up ahead put that train of thought on hold as he helped Ying deal with what had to be an entire nest of radroaches. They weren’t worth wasting ammo on, but the little bastards were a pain in the ass with the way they kept jumping and darting around. By the time they were through, John’s shoes and the cuffs of his jeans were coated in a thick, viscous substance he was sure he’d never get out.

“There’s a bathroom just a little up that way,” Ying said, pointing down a side tunnel. She glanced down at her own spattered clothing and wrinkled her nose. “We can clean up there.”

Sure enough, the next turn opened into an office. Ying disappeared into a side room and returned a moment later with a couple towels. Handing one to him, she ran the other over her dripping hair and then set to work scrubbing the mess from her clothes. John followed suit, dividing his attention between his task and Ying as she walked around the room and began picking up items: a 10 millimeter pistol and accompanying ammo from a shelf in the corner, some scattered stimpacks from the desk, even a pack of smokes from off the top of a filing cabinet. She didn’t search, he noted; she knew exactly what she wanted from the junk cluttering the room and where she would find it.

Pocketing the cigarettes, she handed him the pistol and stims, waving off his protest. “Yours looks like its held together by duct tape,” she argued. “Besides, look around,” she added, gesturing to a skeleton draped over a small couch. “No one here needs this shit anymore.”

She had a point, but it only served to remind him of something that had been bothering him since they’d arrived.

“You said you lived here?” John asked.

Ying shook her head. “I said I was from here. Long story, remember?”

Taking the hint, John accepted the 10 mil, testing its weight. It was a decent piece. Nothing fancy, but a definite upgrade from the pipe gun he usually carried.

Apparently satisfied, Ying returned to the desk and switched on the terminal there. She tapped a few keys, and then paused, staring at the far wall expectantly. A beat later, a panel in the same wall opened with a whoosh, revealing another corridor.

“This way.”

Tucking the pistol into the waistband of his jeans, John headed into yet another corridor. This one was shorter, and after only a few bends, he found it led back to the elevator that would take them out of the vault. He sent Ying a puzzled frown, only to find that she wasn’t even looking at him, focused instead on another path that led back into the maze of the vault. He didn’t remember that passage being open when they first came in, but maybe whatever she’d done on the terminal had opened that one, too.

“Wait here,” she said quietly, still not looking at him. “I’ll be right back.”

It was hard to tell in the ugly yellow lighting, but she looked pale. Sick. He tried to get a closer look, but she headed into the tunnel, and all he could do was sigh. Whatever this was, she wanted to do it alone, and he’d given his word to let her be.

One minute ticked by, then another as John impatiently drummed his fingers against his thigh. Before a third could pass, a cry of horror echoed down the corridor. Any thought of his previous agreement fled as John raced after the sound, his heart thumping in his ears.

As far as the tunnels in this place went, this one was relatively short. It was lined on either side with a number of strange chambers that he couldn’t begin to guess the purpose of, and he found Ying standing in front of one at the very end. She had one hand clamped over her mouth, the other curled into a trembling fist over her heart, and she was shaking so badly that John was amazed she was still on her feet. Her eyes were wide and blank, fixed on whatever was in front of her, and silent tears streamed down her scarred cheeks.

Not wanting to startle her, John slowed a few feet from where she stood and called her name. There was no response, so he took a step forward and tried again. Still, she didn’t move. Cautiously, he reached out, but his hand froze mere inches above her shoulder as he got his first look at what was inside the pod.

Closing his eyes, John shook his head, convinced he couldn’t really be seeing what he thought he was. He opened his eyes again, but the scene remained unchanged.

“Damn…”

Slumped back against the interior of the pod was a woman in one of the blue jumpsuits he’d seen laying around the vault. Her eyes were cracked open, filmed in white, and in between them was the neat circular wound of a bullet hole. Frost sparkled in the long, stiff spikes of her frozen black hair and covered her face in delicate patterns, but it didn’t obscure the scars that slashed and twined across her face.

Scars that were identical to Ying’s.

It was her.

The other woman’s hair was longer, the sides grown out instead of shaved. She was missing several of the piercings Ying wore, but the features of both women were identical.

Casting an incredulous look between the dead woman and the one standing next to him, John blurted the first thing that came to mind.

“You some kind of synth?”

Chapter 7 Chapter Text

A part of Ying was keenly aware that she was no longer alone in the cryochamber.

She’d heard the rhythmic thud of John’s footsteps against the concrete growing closer and knew what it meant - what he would see. It seemed so important that she prevent that, once. Was it really only just a few minutes ago? Might as well have been a lifetime. Everything had changed. Keeping it a secret wouldn’t fix that; nothing would.

You’re supposed to be dead.

It wasn’t just some trick the mercenary had cooked up to mess with her head as she’d tried to do to him. Kellogg really had killed her. The proof was staring at her with cold, dead eyes.

Unnerving as it might have been, the implications upset her far more than finding her own corpse.

The Instititute was behind her death, and this time there was no flimsy justification of collateral damage. There’d be no fucked up experiment of Shaun's to see if his mother would come for him, no morbid farce playing at family while each tried to pull the other’s strings. There’d been no love between them, but the Father of her world hadn’t truly wished her harm. His curiosity about her was genuine, and Ying had exploited that as readily as he had the memory of her stolen baby. She didn’t have that advantage here, and the realization snuffed her last faint hope of finding a courser chip. That chip might get her inside - eventually - but she still needed the cooperation of the Institute to get home.

Without her arrival being part of some kind of master plan, she was likely to be shot on sight. Kellogg was right; here, she was nothing but a loose end.

John’s startled words managed to penetrate the numb haze gathering in her brain and that same distant part of her, the one that always kept watch, safe and apart in the eye of the storm, understood his question.

He thought she was a synth.

In another life, Ying might have laughed at the absurdity. She’d laughed at a lot of things, then. Now, it didn’t seem so absurd. He was wrong, of course, but not enough to really matter. There wasn’t much difference. The Ying of this world had already lived and died, and she...she was just a copy, her head stuffed full of memories that might as well have been fabricated. None of them existed here. Not the people she’d known, the places she’d helped build, her accomplishments, or even her failures. In this world, none of that was real . She wasn’t real.

She felt a touch at her shoulder, light as the brush of a butterfly’s wings, but Ying couldn’t take her eyes off the woman in the pod. Blood smeared the woman’s stiff fingers and streaked the glass of the pod’s small window. The skin over her knuckles was abraded and bruised, her fingernails broken and torn. She’d fought, in the few minutes she was able, just as wildly as Ying had, back in her own pod. Her efforts had been just as futile, only there was no second chance this time. For either of them.

Ying’s breath caught in her throat, a sob building until it felt like it would choke her.

I’m so sorry…

Held as she was by the woman’s frozen stare, it was more than her face Ying saw as her apology echoed over and over in her mind.

The butterfly at her shoulder grew heavier, more insistent but no less gentle as she was turned away from the pod and pulled into an embrace so familiar that resisting never occurred to her, even with all the little differences nagging that it wasn’t right.

The sharp tang of sweat was new, but he still smelled like cigarette smoke and the cloying sweetness of mentats. The fabric bunched in her fists was too soft, the plane of his chest beneath it a little too solid, but those were just more meaningless details when she fit so perfectly in his arms. She couldn’t bring herself to care about the scrape of his stubble, either; not when he tucked her head under his chin like he always had. His voice murmuring in her ear may have lacked a certain rasp, but it was impossible to hear over the noise of her own wracking sobs.

Ying couldn’t say how long they stood there, but eventually, the feeling of wrong was too overwhelming to ignore. John must have felt the change in her, because just as she was trying to figure out a polite way of extricating herself, he let go of her and took a step back, his blue eyes dark with a mix of worry and caution.

He probably thinks you’re going to bite his head off again . With good reason.

Wasn’t that how this went? She’d use him for comfort, then lash out when the guilt finally got to her. Even worse was that her feelings of guilt generally had little to do with John or her treatment of him. Sure, there was a stab of occasional regret, but he wasn’t the man her conscience screamed she was betraying. He was just the one she was trying to replace him with, a target for her resentment when he inevitably failed to measure up to a standard he didn’t realize he was being held to.

She should have felt sick and ashamed, but the cold hollow that had swallowed the center of her chest dulled the feeling until it was just another indistinguishable part of the ache already lodged there.

“I’m sorry,” Ying whispered hoarsely. If John assumed he was the only one she was speaking to, she wouldn’t hold it against him. No one else could hear her.

“Don’t be.” John’s gaze flicked toward the pod, his jaw tightening. “That’s some heavy shit. You need to get out of here, just say the word.”

Ying sighed, scrubbing the heels of her hands over her tear-stained face. Her cheeks were starting to feel tight from the salt and what was probably more than a little dried snot. A dull throb was starting in her temples, and her eyes felt gritty and swollen. She was exhausted, mentally drained, and emotionally numb. The last thing she wanted to do was talk, but before she went anywhere, there was something they needed to discuss.

His assumption that she was a synth might be incorrect, but it was the only one he, and anyone else that saw what was down here, could make. If word got back to Diamond City, they’d lose their collective minds. Ying didn’t really care if they came after her. Not anymore. But innocent people had died because of their neighbor’s paranoia. She thought of Kyle, ready to kill his own brother because he mistakenly believed the other man was a synth, and had to hold back a shudder.

At best, the city would fall into the same chaos she remembered from her time. At worst, the resulting panic could draw the attention of the Institute. She couldn’t begin to guess how this version of Father would respond.

“John, if anyone finds out about this…”

“They won’t hear it from me,” he said quickly, his expression earnest. “Promise.” As soon as the word left his mouth, he winced. “Guess I ain’t got the greatest track record with those, seein’ as I’m standin’ here after I said I’d let you be, but I mean it. I won’t say a word.”

“I know,” Ying said softly. “And I know why you came after me. I’m not angry.”

Even if she wanted to be, it would take more energy than she currently had.

John nodded, but still looked uncomfortable. He shoved his hands in his pockets, eyes darting around the chamber until they suddenly snapped to hers. “It doesn’t matter, you know. Not to me. You bein’ a...I mean, you’re still you . Still got thoughts and feelings like everyone else. I don’t care how you got here.”

Awkward as he sounded, he obviously meant what he’d said to be reassuring. Strangely enough, it was. It didn’t ease the pain of knowing she’d never had a real chance of leaving this place or that she’d never see anyone she loved again, but he cared enough to try to make her feel better. She wasn’t entirely alone.

It helped. Maybe a little too much.

For one heart-stopping moment, the words were right there, ready to come spilling out of her mouth. She nearly told him everything.

Somehow, she had just enough presence of mind to stop herself. He wouldn’t be nearly as understanding if he knew how she’d used him, or how right he’d been when he’d accused her of playing games. Biting her tongue hard enough to hurt, Ying forced herself to hold his gaze.

“Thanks.” She swallowed, the taste of copper thick in her throat. “Can we just...can we get out of here now?”

“Yeah. Yeah, sure.”

They were almost out of the chamber when Ying stopped and turned to one of the consoles. She didn’t think anyone else knew how to get into the vault, but just in case, she didn’t want to leave behind anything that could come back and bite her later.

The vault was already a tomb, and the residents were already dead. Nothing she did could be worse than what had already happened.

“Give me just a second.”

Powering up the console at the end of the chamber, Ying navigated to the menu she wanted and typed in a command. The lights overhead flickered and dimmed.

“Alright, we can go.”

“What’d you do?”

“Cut the power to the cryo chamber. They’ll thaw. What’s left of the radroaches will take care of the rest.”

John looked uneasy, but nodded in approval. “Smart. No evidence.”

“That’s the plan. Come on. I’m done here.”

They left the vault in silence, and once more, Ying was careful to skirt Sanctuary as they made their way down the hill. She didn’t know if Codsworth was still there tending the dead shrubbery or whatever had kept him occupied for the last two hundred years, but him recognizing her would raise questions she didn’t need. Once they were a safe distance away, Ying circled back to the road. The Red Rocket was still there, and it would provide shelter, if not comfort. The walk to Diamond City would take several more hours, and she was beat, in every sense of the word.

“If you’re not in too much of a hurry to get back, I could use a break,” she told John, shooting an apologetic look his way.

“No argument here. Just, uh...ain’t exactly keen on makin’ camp in the middle of nowhere.”

“I know a place we can crash,” Ying assured him. She even managed to produce something resembling a grin. “It’s not far.”

Twenty minutes or so later, she waved a hand at the derelict filling station. “It’s not much, but we can close the garage and block off the other doors. I think there might even be some booze left in there somewhere.”

“Sounds like my kind of place.”

Between the two of them, it didn’t take long to close everything down and drag a couple of filing cabinets in front of the doors. It wasn’t enough to keep anything out if it was determined to get in, but it would take some work, and make a hell of a lot of noise. They wouldn’t be caught unaware.

After a quick search of the counter, Ying recovered the remainder of the bottle of vodka she’d used to treat her bite wound and found a bottle of bourbon that was still unopened in the small office are of the station. Sinking to the filthy floor of the office, she waved John over and set the bottle of vodka in front of him once he was seated across from her.

“Vodka man, right?” she asked with a humorless smirk as she opened the other bottle. “Cheers.”

Clinking his bottle against hers, John tipped his head back and took several long swallows. Ying followed suit, blinking as her eyes watered from the burn. Pulling her back within reach, she rummaged through it until she found a tin of mentats and a canister of jet. She tossed the tin to John and gave the inhaler a shake. It was halfway to her lips when she noticed John staring at her. He cast a pointed glance at the mentats and arched one blond brow.

Fuck. Here we go again.

She really was getting sloppy, but it was so hard to anticipate all the little pitfalls that came with having him around.

“I could smell them on you,” Ying supplied smoothly. Not like it was a lie. “Back when...back in the vault. I’m not opposed to sharing, though, if you’re looking for something else,” she added, holding out the jet.

John studied her for a moment, then shook his head, his lips curling into a grin as he took a couple of the chalky tablets and popped them into his mouth. “Nah. These’ll do fine. Thanks, sister. I owe ya one.”

“I’m not keeping score.”

A wise move, on her part. The scales were pretty much one-sided here, and they weren’t tipped in her favor.

John’s lips moved, but whatever he said was lost in a slow, incomprehensible slur of sound as Ying depressed the top of the canister and jet flooded her system. As Ying leaned her head back against the wall, the bare yellow bulb overhead seemed to blur and expand until it glowed like a mini sun. She closed her eyes against the sudden brightness, focusing instead on the patterns of color that burst like fireworks behind her eyelids. When the intensity of the rush began to recede, Ying opened her eyes again and sighed.

“Might wanna try and sleep,” John suggested, watching her with half-lidded eyes. The floor couldn’t have been comfortable, but he’d stretched his lanky form into a lazy sprawl that indicated he was prepared to take his own advice.

“I doubt I’d be able to,” Ying muttered, taking another generous pull from the bottle of bourbon. The burn wasn’t so bad this time, and left a pleasant warmth spreading through her empty stomach.

At least she could still feel something .

John grimaced and nodded. “Can’t say I blame ya there. It’s been a helluva day.”

“One I intended to spend alone,” Ying reminded archly, bringing the bottle to her lips once more. She swallowed another mouthful of the amber liquor and added, “No one told you to follow me.”

“Wasn’t like I planned to,” John shrugged. “Which reminds me.” He dug into his pocket, pulled out a little pouch, and tossed it to her.

Her hand shot up clumsily out of reflex, but she was a second too slow. The pouch slipped through her fingers and landed on the floor with a clink. Ying scowled as she realized it was the purse McDonough had given her and sat back, not bothering to pick it up. “Keep it.”

“It’s your money.”

Ying started to argue and John cut her off with a shake of his head. “At least hold on to it ‘til we get back and you can find out for sure if you still got a job.”

Ying paused, considering. He had a valid point, she silently conceded. Or he would have, if remaining employed still mattered.

“I’m not going back to Diamond City,” she admitted quietly, picking at the faded label of her bourbon. “Well, I’m not staying, anyway. I need to settle up with Vadim, but after that, I’m leaving.”

The thought stirred more in her than it should have. Diamond City held nothing for her now but ghosts, pale reflections of people and a world she’d never see again. She wasn’t truly leaving anything behind, no matter what the pang of loss that stabbed through her gut tried to tell her. It was over; trying to pretend otherwise was only going to get someone hurt.

Shoving the confusing mix of feelings to the back of her mind, she met John’s eyes, resolute.

John held her gaze, and Ying felt her face heat under his scrutiny. After another moment, he looked away and motioned toward the caps. “More reason for you to take ‘em,” he said, his tone matter of fact.

Seeing that he wasn’t going to budge, Ying rolled her eyes and snatched the pouch from the floor, the abrupt motion sending a wave of vertigo through her. “Fine,” she grumbled once she’d recovered. Shoving the caps into her pack, she shot him a look of exasperation. “You always were a stubborn bastard.”

“Just part of my charm,” John smirked. He paused and licked his lips. “You not comin’ back… that got anything to do with that asshole in the market?”

Ying cocked her head, trying to decide how much she wanted to tell him. “Some,” she acknowledged at last.

“You ain’t worried he’ll come back and finish the job?”

Ying let out a snort of grim amusement and shook her head. “Kellogg is dangerous, but he has his own shit to worry about. I’m the least of his concerns.”

If he was anything like the mercenary she’d known, he’d go to ground and hide behind his synths and his traps for as long as he could. Too bad she wouldn’t be there to see him dragged out of his hole like a hare from its burrow.

“Ain’t sure I wanna meet the one that could worry that guy,” John mused, his voice breaking through her thoughts. He took a sip of vodka and set the half-empty bottle aside.

“You don’t,” Ying said flatly, pressing her lips together until they formed a bloodless line. “And you’re not going to.” Not if she had anything to say about it. “If you’re smart, you’ll go back home and forget any of this ever happened.”

“Been accused of a lot of things, but bein’ smart’s never been one of ‘em,” John smirked.

“This isn’t a game!”

“No, it ain’t,” John shot back, impatience edging his tone. “So I’d appreciate it if you quit treatin’ me like I’m some kind of pawn. I know there’s shit you’re not tellin’ me, and for the most part, it ain’t my business. But I’m trustin’ you with a lot here. The least you can do is return the favor now and then.”

“I do trust you. More than...I trust you, okay? Whatever else is going on, it has nothing to do with that.” Ying blew out a breath that ruffled her hair and rubbed at her bleary eyes. “I wasn’t exaggerating...Kellogg is dangerous and the people he’s got after him are worse.”

“The Institute, you mean.” Ying’s expression must have conveyed her surprise, because John rolled his eyes. “Orderin’ hits on folks and makin’ copies of ‘em? Who else would it be?” He paused, eyes narrowed in thought. They widened a moment later, like he’d come to some realization. “You think they’ll come after you, too.”

Ying nodded. “Kellogg seemed to think so, and he wasn’t wrong about anything else he said.”

“You really think you’re gonna hide from the Institute all by yourself?”

“There is no hiding from them,” Ying corrected absently.

“So...wait. Hold on a second here, and let’s see if I got this,” John began slowly. “You think the Institute is lookin’ for you, and you’re gonna... what? Just wait around in the ruins for ‘em to come and snatch ya? That’s suicide, sister.”

Pinching the bridge of her nose to ward off the throb building behind her eyes, Ying lifted her other hand and let it fall in a careless gesture of defeat. “What exactly do you want from me?”

“You could try , for starters!”

Her headache momentarily forgotten, Ying lifted her head and sent John a narrow-eyed glare. “You saw what was down in that vault! It doesn’t matter anymore. There’s no fixing it…” She looked away, her voice dropping to a whisper. “...no going back.”

“Only one hung up on that shit is you,” John countered. He looked angry, just like Hancock would if he could hear what she’d just said.

Well, they could both get fucked.

She’d tried everything she could think of, followed every lead. How many times was she supposed to go through the bitter disappointment of another dead-end? How many times did they expect her to lose her world all over again before it finally sank into her thick skull that it was gone? It was gone, and always had been, from the moment she’d activated that fucking chip. She’d just been too stubborn and too stupid to accept the truth.

Despite the fierce ache in her chest, Ying didn’t cry. There’d been too much of that already, and no amount of tears was going to change anything. The thought of crying again hadn’t even entered her mind until John was beside her, looping an arm around her shoulders.

“Look, I ain’t gonna pretend to understand whatever you’re goin’ through. But you can still have a life. You didn’t die in that vault.”

No, just her last guttering flame of hope.

“And what if all that does is put Diamond City on the Institute’s radar?”

“The biggest settlement in the ‘Weath? If they ain’t pokin’ around yet, it’s only a matter of time. Folks don’t like to talk about it, but everyone knows. Just feels better to pretend it ain’t happenin’.”

John shifted, stretching his neck and shoulders until Ying heard a disturbing series of pops. He settled once more, his arm still around her, and sighed. “You do what you gotta. All I’m sayin’ is you got a better shot behind the wall than you do outside it. Maybe they still find you, but Christ ...make ‘em work for it, at least.”

A wall wouldn’t stop a courser, but Ying doubted anyone here knew that. Coursers didn’t leave behind witnesses to spread rumors of them. Still, the selfish part of her that dreaded the idea of being alone again wanted to be persuaded. To that part of her, John made a lot of sense.

“I’ll think about it.”

“No harm in that.”

The headache she’d been trying to stave off kicked into full force, and Ying’s vision blurred with every pulse that throbbed through her temples. “Maybe I’ll try and sleep after all.”

John nodded and moved back to his side of the office. “Probably a good idea,” he agreed, playing with the lid on his tin of mentats. “You go ahead. I’ll keep an eye on things.”

Without saying anything further, Ying curled up on the floor. It took a while, but eventually she slipped into a restless sleep broken by vague, scattered dreams.

Ying didn’t say much during the walk back to Diamond City. John wasn’t surprised. She hadn’t slept for more than a couple hours, and it showed. She looked like hell. He wasn’t doing too bad, but the mentats were only going to take him so far. A crash was inevitable; they both needed to get some proper rest, and soon. Until then, he rode the high for all it was worth, his thoughts firing like a minigun.

He’d been surprised when she tossed his ride of choice his way, like there hadn’t been a doubt in her mind what he liked. Might’ve even bought the bullshit excuse she threw along with it, if it had been the first time she’d done something like that. There was no point asking about, or even mentioning the shit she somehow knew anymore. Ying wasn’t going to give him a straight answer. So he’d watched and listened and learned a few things himself.

She knew him. How remained a mystery, but John was certain of it now, and it was more than just her guessing his preference of chems. The way she’d said he’d always been stubborn...it wasn’t just the words. He’d laughed it off, but those weren’t the words of someone who barely counted as an acquaintance, and it was how she’d said them that stood out the most. Frustration and nostalgia woven so tight together in one sentence he couldn’t tell which of the two she’d meant for him to hear.

There were other little things he’d noticed. Ying was good at finding the right thing to say; not so good at controlling the expressions that went with it. Her eyes were her biggest tell. In those moments she was most guarded, Ying looked past him, not at him, the way people did when they were trying to come up with a lie. She just came up with bits of truth instead.

He still had no reason to trust or help her. Despite that, John found himself wanting to do both.

If what he’d seen in the vault could be faked, it would take better acting skills than Ying possessed. He couldn’t entirely rule out the possibility that she was some kind of Institute spy, but what the hell were they hoping to gain by sending her after him ? John McDonough was a nobody. Guy would make more sense, but even if his brother’s ruthless ambition actually paid off one day, Ying hated him and made no secret of it. Convincing, but not the kind of thing that was going to get her cozy with Diamond City’s elite.

If she was a spy, she was really bad at her job, John decided. And if she wasn’t, she still had plenty of reason to be cagey. Couldn’t be easy finding what she had in that vault. He wouldn’t wish that on his worst enemy,

Ying was swaying on her feet by the time they made it back to Diamond City, and John had to admit, he wasn’t far behind. The mentats wore off an hour before, leaving him sluggish and tired. All he wanted was to head home and sleep, but as soon as they stepped through the gate, Sullivan waved for them to stop and hurried over to meet them.

“Hey, McDonough, you better head over to Dr. Sun’s.”

“What’s goin’ on?” John demanded, dread gathering in the pit of his stomach. “Is it Ma?”

The gatekeeper nodded. “Some folks saw her in the market. Said she just dropped like a sack of bricks.”

“She alright?”

“The doc’s taking care of her. Sorry, but that’s all I--.”

His heart racing, John didn’t wait to hear anymore.

Chapter 8 Chapter Text

She was alright.

Smaller than she should be, swallowed by the cot she lay on, but she was alright. Ma gave him a soft smile, and if it was shakier than the others he remembered, John pushed it to the back of his mind.

She was alright.

He stumbled into the clinic and somehow made it to her bed. Guy was there glaring daggers at him, but none of that mattered as he took Ma’s hand. Her fingers were cold, the nails tinged a dark blue, but she was smiling at him, just like she always did. That had to mean something.

“Johnny!”

“Hey, Ma.” John swallowed and squeezed her hand. “Sorry it took me so long to get here.”

Guy snorted, but John ignored the obvious bait. There’d be time to sort shit out with his brother later.

“Nonsense. I knew you’d come.” Ma managed a wheezing laugh, but her grip on his fingers was weak. “Guy’s just being overprotective…as usual.” She gave a conspiratorial wink that his brother couldn’t see. Such a simple gesture, but John loved her all the more for it.

“You passed out in the middle of the market, mother,” Guy piped up. He stared at John in accusation and added, “With no one to help you. I’d hardly call concern over your basic well-being overprotective .”

Ma craned her neck so she could catch Guy’s eye from where he sat behind her. “Oh, just hush, why don’t you? I fainted, is all.” Her azure gaze caught John’s and she gave a slight shake of her head. “The heat gets so bad this time of year. You know how it is.”

John nodded, but hesitated. “Could be Guy’s right though, Ma,” he said slowly. “You gotta be more careful.”

The stern look she shot him made him feel better; made him feel like he and Guy were kids again and that she had everything under control. “If you think I’m just gonna lie around in bed, you boys got another thing comin’. I’ll do as I please, and I’ll do it right up until you put me in the ground.”

“That isn’t funny, mother.”

John was inclined to agree, and he and his brother didn’t see eye-to-eye on much.

“Let’s just keep that a long time comin’, okay?”

Ma didn’t look happy, but she gave in easy enough. “Fine. Just talk to that doctor for me, would you, dear? I want to go home, and him glowerin’ over there ain’t helpin’ none.”

“He’s just worried, Ma. We all are.”

“And you can be just as worried when I’m sittin’ in my own house. Don’t let me stop you - just get me home .”

“I’ll get ya outta here,” John soothed, patting her shoulder. “Just sit tight for a minute and let me figure out what’s goin’ on.” He took a moment to tuck the thin blanket around her frail frame, and with one last press of her hand, walked to the back of the clinic where his brother and the doctor stood huddled.

“She wants to be home,” John shrugged. He said it not because he necessarily agreed, but because she’d asked. As long as he still had breath enough to fight for it, it was exactly what she’d get - no matter what anyone else thought of him. “What are you doin’ for her that we can’t do there?”

“He was here when she needed him,” Guy snapped. “But then, I suppose I can’t expect you to understand anything beyond your own selfish impulses.”

“Yeah? Well where the fuck were you, exactly?” John growled in a voice meant only for his brother. “Last time I checked, she was your mother, too.”

Guy spluttered, his face slowly turning red. His mouth gaped like a fish, opening and closing a few times, but nothing came out.

Dr. Sun stepped between them and made a sharp slicing motion in the empty air. “Enough! This bickering serves no one and I won’t have it in my clinic!”

Instantly contrite, John lowered his gaze, trying not to stare too hard at a suspicious stain on the floor boards. The doc was right; arguing wasn’t going to help. He and Guy had all the time in the world to rehash old hurts. Didn’t have to be now.

Inhaling a long breath through his nose, Sun looked at each of them. Apparently satisfied the argument was over, he spoke in the same low whisper he’d used to chastise them. “Your mother’s condition has deteriorated...significantly. I’m afraid there’s nothing more I can offer beyond measures to keep her comfortable.” The doctor gave them both a meaningful look and shook his head. “I think you need to prepare yourselves.”

John’s lips felt numb, but somehow he got his mouth working. “Just how long we talkin’, doc? Weeks? ...Days?”

“It’s impossible to say, but…in my opinion, ‘weeks’ would be a generous estimate.”

It felt like the ground had given out from under him. He cursed, and he thought Guy did, too. Nice to see the stuffy prick still had it in him - when it really mattered, at least. There was more he wanted to say, but Ma broke in before he could.

“My heart may be bad, but I’ll have you know my ears work just fine. I can hear you all back there, hissin’ and spittin’ like a bunch of angry cats.” Grasping the raised end of her stretcher, she turned herself so she was facing Doctor Sun and gave him her sweetest smile. “I’d really rather not. So you can either let me out of here, doctor, or I can make a scene.”

Sun actually smiled. Stiff and awkward, like his mouth wasn’t used to moving that way, but a real smile. “Be careful getting home. Rest when you need to, and if you have any more faintness or shortness of breath, notify me immediately .”

The last order was directed with a stern look towards John. Probably for the best. Ma just shooed the doc away as she climbed off the cot, and Guy was already standing, busying himself with smoothing the wrinkles from his suit.

When he had it arranged to his satisfaction, he cleared his throat and gave John a pointed look. “I trust you’ll see mother home?”

John could only stare back at his brother. “You ain’t comin’ ?”

“No. I have an appointment to keep. I’m already running late, but under the circumstances, I’m sure Mayor Roberts will understand.”

Ma beamed up at Guy, straightening his tie and adjusting the stupid fake flower he had pinned to his breast pocket. “Didn’t you hear, John? Guy is the mayor’s new assistant.”

“It’s a recent promotion.” Guy’s smile was smug. “All my hard work is finally starting to pay off, just as I said it would.”

“And we couldn’t be more proud,” Ma said happily. She kissed Guy on the cheek, brushed one last bit of lint from his shoulder, and stepped back, looping her arm through Johns. “You go on, now. I know you have important things to do.”

“I’ll be by as soon as I can to check on you.”

“I’m fine. Besides, I got Johnny here if I need anything.”

“Until he wants another fix,” Guy muttered under his breath.

Ma’s smile faded and her gaze turned stern. “I told you, my ears work fine. You hush with that and ease up on your little brother.” She gave John’s arm a pat and used her free hand to shoo Guy out of the clinic. “Come back and visit when you can. We’ll be just fine.”

Guy hesitated, but John felt like it was more for show than any real sense of regret. Once he started walking, the bastard acted like he couldn’t get away fast enough. He knew the feeling and couldn’t really judge him for that. In the year since Ma got sick, John had been there plenty of times himself - but it was always different when it was Guy. ‘Selfish’ became ‘sacrifice’, and running off was just keeping appointments .

A sudden ache in his jaw made John realize just how hard he’d been clenching his teeth as he watched Guy walk away. Pushing his brother from his mind, John grinned down at his mother and gave the hand she had wrapped around his arm an affectionate squeeze. “You know I’m thirty years old, right?” he asked as he led her from the clinic. “Ain’t been ‘little’ for a while now.”

She let out a chuckle and shook her head. “Children never really grow up in their mother’s eyes. Some part of me’s always gonna see that little boy with scraped knees and bruised shins when I look at you. Same goes for your brother.”

Ma’s gaze went distant for a moment, but then it cleared. Her eyes were soft as she told him, “I know he doesn’t make it easy... but he’s lookin’ out for you the best he knows how.”

It was a gentle but firm reminder. No matter the shit between him and Guy, he was Ma’s son, same as him. She overlooked a lot for them both, and John hated the feeling that she was caught in the middle of their feud.

“I know.”

Ma nodded but didn’t say anything. She wiped at her forehead and John could see beads of sweat dampening the hair at her temples. Immediately, he slowed.

“You alright, Ma? You need a break?”

“I’m...I’m alright,” she wheezed. Her breath came in short, sharp puffs. “Just need...to catch... my breath.”

John looked back the way they came, but they’d made it far enough that the clinic was out of sight. He wanted to get Dr. Sun, but he couldn’t just leave her there by herself. Besides, the way the doc made it sound, he couldn’t help her.

No one could.

John swallowed hard, and when he was sure his mother wouldn’t see, rubbed the dampness from his eyes. He needed to get his shit together. Ma had enough to worry about without him falling apart on her.

“Take your time. I ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

She managed a smile, and John had just enough presence of mind to hide his resulting grimace. The blue he’d seen earlier on her fingernails had spread to her lips, tinting them a purple that was garish against the bloodless white of her face. She turned to cough, and pink bubbled at the corners of her mouth.

”Just...give me a second.” she panted, wiping at her mouth with her sleeve.

John laid a hand on her back, wincing as his fingers brushed the sharp knobs of her spine. Ma had always been on the petite side, but now that he was actually looking, he saw that her clothes hung on her small frame in a way they never had before. Guilt burned at his stomach, and John felt like he might throw up. He should have noticed sooner. They always had food. He made sure of that, but he never really paid much attention to how much she was eating - or if she was at all. Ma hated when he fussed over her, but that was no excuse. He was supposed to be looking after her.

Maybe Guy’s right.

Ma probably thought the same thing, she just didn’t have the heart to actually say it.

Cold fingers touched his hand, and John glanced over to see Ma watching him with a sad smile. Slowly, he uncurled the fist he’d made and let his mother take his hand.

“I told you, I just needed a minute,” she gently chided, rubbing some of the blood back into his stiff fingers. “No reason to go and get yourself all worked up.”

“Can’t help but worry about you, Ma,” John admitted.

She looked better than she did. The color was back in her cheeks, and the ugly purple had faded from her lips. The rise and fall of her chest was still too fast for his liking, but she wasn’t gasping for air like she had been.

If Ma noticed his scrutiny, she ignored it. “Me, and everything else,” she sighed. “You know what worryin’ gets you?” She touched a spot between his eyebrows in illustration, and her mouth pinched in mild disapproval. “Wrinkles, that’s what. And not a whole lot else.”

“Can’t have that,” John replied with a wry smirk. “What would all the ladies think?”

“If they’re bothered by somethin’ that superficial, it ain’t much,” Ma countered snidely. She swatted at his arm and nudged him back toward the road. “You know what I’m sayin’.”

“Yeah, Ma. I do. I’ll try, okay?”

“Good. Then let’s get home.”

They had to stop three more times so Ma could rest, and each time was worse than the one before it. Her face was a sickly gray by the time he got her home. She had just gotten settled into her favorite chair when she was seized by another fit of hacking. Torn between wanting to stay with her and knowing he should go make her tea, John could only watch helplessly as she curled into herself, her body convulsing violently with every cough as it fought to clear her lungs.

When the spell finally seemed to recede, Ma waved weakly at the fireplace, still too breathless to put her request into words,. John scrambled to get water boiling. He kept one eye on her as he set the tea to steep, but thankfully, there were no more coughing spells. Once the tea looked the right color, John filled Ma’s chipped mug and brought it to, taking a seat on the floor next to her while she sipped at it. A few minutes later, his mother set her empty cup aside and ruffled her fingers fondly through his hair.

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “I know you got better things to do than fuss over me.”

John grinned and rolled his shoulders in a lazy shrug, but couldn’t quite meet her eyes. “Not really.” She sighed at that and John shook his head. “Seriously, Ma. Quit worryin’. I’m right where I wanna be.”

It was only half a lie, but she was his mother. John figured they all had built-in bullshit detectors, same way they always seemed to know when one of their kids was up to no good. He sure as hell had never had been able to get one over on her, and this time wasn’t any different.

“Johnny…”

“You need to rest.”

Getting to his feet, John searched around the small room until he found the tattered blanket Ma used in a heap on the floor. It must have fallen from the chair when she started coughing. After shaking it out, he carefully draped it over her and leaned down to kiss her forehead, noting that she was still clammy with sweat.

“I will if you do,” she said, catching his hand between hers. “You look dead on your feet. Go get some sleep. And a fresh change of clothes,” Ma added, wrinkling her nose. “You smell like you’ve been wadin’ through a gutter!”

“Close enough.” John muttered. Louder, he said, “I’ll be back to check on you in a little while. ‘Night, Ma.”

Daylight was still streaming through the cracks in the walls, but she knew what he meant because she just smiled and pointed toward the back room.

After one last check to see that she had everything she needed, John went to his room. He drew the ratty curtain that served as a door closed and pulled his shirt over his head. It was still damp in spots, and a cautious sniff told him Ma was right. The flannel reeked of must and what he could only assume were the insides of a radroach. Tossing the shirt into a corner, he sank down onto the mattress and began unlacing his boots. His jeans came next, joining his flannel on the floor, until he was stripped to nothing but the shorts he wore underneath.

With a sigh, he laid down and rolled to his side. It felt good to be off his feet. The only real chance he’d had recently had been in that filling station, and there hadn’t been a whole lot of room to stretch out with Ying -

Fuck . Ying.

He’d left her at the gate. It wasn’t like she didn’t know her way around, but he still felt like an asshole for just running off on her there with no explanation. Hadn’t even occurred to him to give her one, if he was being honest. She’d slipped from his mind the moment he heard about Ma, and it was only thinking about being out of that damn office that reminded him he’d spent close to the last day with her.

Shifting to his back, John brought his arm up to cover his eyes and block out the sunlight filtering through the room. He thought about trying to find Ying and apologizing, but decided against it. Ma needed him, and the lumpy mattress was surprisingly comfortable. They’d probably bump into each other again - literally, with the way things had been going - and he’d tell her then. The thought brought a smile to his lips before his features relaxed and his breathing turned slow and even in sleep.

Ma slept off and on in her chair for the next couple days. She would rouse for brief periods, and John would try to get as much food and water in her as she could hold. It wasn’t more than a few bites at a time, but it made him feel like he was actually doing something for her. Ma just got irritated with him. He could tell, though she never said as much. Her smiles became strained, pinched things that lacked the familiar crinkles at the corners of her eyes. At the same time, the lines around her mouth and between her brow deepened, even while she slept, and John began to worry that she was in pain. She denied it, of course, but once the suspicion had taken root, there was no getting it out of his mind.

On the third day, she was out of her chair for short bursts. She never went farther than the porch, but getting outside seemed to lift her spirits. John would find her out there at random hours, dipping her swollen feet into the lake as she stared out over the water. Sometimes he sat with her; sometimes, she just seemed happy to have a few minutes to herself. Those times, he watched her from the house instead, just to make sure she didn’t get dizzy and fall over the side.

A couple nights later, John was awakened from a sound sleep by a loud crash. Expecting the worst, he hurried into the front room, his heart hammering in his chest. A drawer pulled from a small cabinet lay upturned in the center of the room, its contents scattered in a wide arc around it. Ma was sifting through the junk on her hands and knees, muttering to herself with increasing urgency.

“Now where is that darn - I know I put it somewhere .” The last word was punctuated with a sharp thunk as she tossed a wrench aside, only to snatch up a roll of duct tape and give it the same treatment. “If I’ve told those boys once, I’ve told ‘em a hundred times to put things back where they --”

Crouching down next to her, John interrupted her growing tirade. “What are you doin’, Ma? It’s the middle of the night.”

“I can’t find it!” Ma sat back, her clasped hands twisting and turning over each other in her lap. Her gaze never left the floor, darting from one discarded item to the next.

“Hey, it’s alright,” John tried to soothe. “What can’t you find? Tell me what I’m lookin’ for and I’ll get it for you.”

She didn’t answer, or give any sign that she’d heard him. The movements of her hands only grew more agitated and frantic, until John feared she’d actually hurt herself.

“ Ma !”

It wasn’t a shout - not quite - but it wasn’t a tone he’d ever taken with her before. She jumped, and John used the distraction to still the motion of her hands by covering them with his own. “You gotta tell me what’s goin’ on, alright? What are you tryna find?”

“It’s-- it’s...I don’t know.” Her voice dropped to a whisper and her eyes widened in horror. Tears spilled down her cheeks and she shook her head. “What am I…? Why… Johnny, I don’t know. ”

“It’s okay, Ma. It’s okay. You’re just tired, is all. “C’mon, let me --”

Ma crumpled against him, her fingers clutching at his upper arms. A sob that sounded like it had been ripped from deep inside her echoed in his ears. John wrapped his arms around her and sat, stunned, while his mother cried against his chest.

A few minutes later, the storm passed.

Ma pulled away and blinked up at him. She wiped at her face and sent a puzzled look at her hand. “Why am I…where…?” Looking around the room in bewilderment, she paused when she noticed his state of undress and let out a sigh. “I’m sorry, Johnny.”

“Don’t worry about it, Ma.”

“I must’ve fainted again...I didn’t mean to wake you.”

What?

“...Ma?”

She ignored him, her eyes fixed on the floor. “What happened here, John? Oh, just look at this mess...”

“Yeah… I’ll get it cleaned up, Ma. But you really should get some sleep.”

Ma protested, but she didn’t resist as he helped her off the floor and back to her chair. John waited until the rise and fall of her chest fell into a steady rhythm. Then he waited some more, just to be safe. When the voice in his head screaming at him to get away finally became too loud to ignore, he stumbled through the front door and out into the dark stillness of the porch.

He sank down onto the battered wood, his hand blindly reaching into one pocket. Somehow, he got a cigarette from the pack and managed to light it. Then he just stared, watching the red ember of the tip lengthen and eventually burn down. He lit another, and only then did his scattered thoughts begin to coalesce into something resembling coherence.

The doc said Ma’s heart was bad...so why the fuck was her head messed up like that? And what was he supposed to do about it? What did it even mean?

John flicked the remains of his cigarette out off the porch, watching the butt make a glowing red arc into the darkness below.

He wished Guy was there. His pops, a neighbor... someone . Anyone, as long as it wasn’t just him trying to figure this shit out by himself. But his pops was gone and Guy was off playing at politics. Only one of them had a choice in the matter, but the result was the same. They didn’t have to witness her slow decline into a shadow of the woman she used to be, or how she was still losing what remained of herself a piece at a time. They didn’t have to get up every morning with the knowledge that, no matter how hard she fought, it was just going to be more of the same - that her good days were only a temporary reprieve and made the bad days that were sure to follow all the more cruel.

They didn’t know, and sometimes, John hated them for that.

And maybe...maybe sometimes he hated Ma a little, too.

For better or worse, all she had was him.

He hated that more than anything.

Beams of early morning sunlight woke him. John bolted upright and winced, rubbing his neck when it twinged painfully in protest at the sudden movement. He was sore and stiff, and it took him a few moments to realize he must have fallen asleep on the porch.

Ma was still inside.

Racing for the door, John slumped in relief to find that she was still asleep, snoring softly in her chair. The room was still a mess though, and he didn’t want her waking up to that.

Flipping the discarded drawer right-side-up, he set about cleaning up the junk that littered the floor. Ma stirred a couple times, but she didn’t fully wake until he had the shack cleaned and her tea ready and waiting for her.

“Mmmm...Mornin’, dear.”

“Mornin’.” John nudged the still steaming teacup her way and raised a handful of Sugarbombs to his mouth.

She took the mug with a smile and carefully sipped at it. “Did you sleep well?”

John blinked, then shrugged. “Not really…”

Ma’s smile turned sympathetic, but never slipped as she sipped her tea. “Sorry to hear that,” she murmured, reaching over to give his hand a perfunctory pat.

The touch left him cold, and John had to resist the urge to pull his hand away. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong, that that wasn’t his ma talking to him. It sounded like her, moved and talked like she did, but like last night, something was off.

He’d never say that to her, even if he could somehow find the words, but the longer he sat watching her blank smile, the mechanical motion of her arm as she brought her cup to her lips, the more he wanted to, until it felt like he was barely holding himself back from screaming.

As soon as he had the chance, John made his excuses and escaped outside.

He was losing it. Maybe it wasn’t Ma that was wrong at all. Maybe all this shit was just in his head.

With all the chems, it made a morbid sort of sense. Of course the junkie would be slipping, taking a break with reality. Wouldn’t be the first time. He hadn’t touched any chems, though. Not since before he got back to Diamond City and found her at the clinic.

So why the fuck did it feel like he was stuck in a bad trip that just wouldn’t end ?

A clanging came from inside the house, and John wearily moved to the door to see what was going on. He found Ma puttering around in the corner of the shack that passed as the kitchen. She looked up as he entered and then bent to carefully feed another log to the stove.

“You hungry?” Ma asked, pulling down a dented pan from its hook on the wall.

He’d eaten earlier, and she’d been right there when he did. Then again, Ma hated the boxed shit, so it was hard to say if she didn’t remember, or was just trying to feed him what she considered proper food.

“I could eat,” John ventured, watching her carefully. “So long as you have some of whatever you’re makin’.”

Arching a brow in a wry expression he was more than familiar with, Ma turned to set another plate next to the stove and went back to her pan. “Just give me a few minutes.”

She stopped every once in a while, eyeing him sternly each time he so much as looked like he might move to help her. Once it was to shake her hands like she was trying to get the feeling back into them, and a couple times it was just to grab onto whatever was near to steady herself. As promised, though, it wasn’t long before she brought John a plate steaming with some kind of scrambled eggs.

Mirelurk, from the smell, but Ma always did something to them that made the pungent taste of fish less noticeable. He’d never asked exactly what it was, but he was certain no one in the Commonwealth would be able to make them like she did, so it didn’t matter.

For several minutes, the clink of silverware was the only sound in the room. Then, Ma pushed her plate away and folded her hands in front of her. A distant part of John was disappointed to see that she’d only eaten about a quarter of what was on her plate, but he really just wanted the meal to be over.

“You think you’ll be busy today?” Ma asked. She tried to keep her tone light, but couldn’t quite disguise the naked hope in her eyes.

For one fervent moment, John wanted to say yes. They’d both know it was a lie, but he didn’t care. She seemed to be herself again, but he had no way of knowing how long that would last...or what to do if that placid stranger returned.

Swallowing a sigh, he shook his head. “Nah, I’m free. Did you have anything in mind?”

“Just thought it might be nice to spend a little time together. Somethin’ beyond...what this has become,” Ma added with a sigh. Her gaze locked onto their makeshift table as she rubbed at an old stain with the tip of her finger and her lips thinned into a frown. “Like we used to.”

Guilt sank vicious claws into John’s gut. Nothing would ever be like it used to, no matter how hard they tried, but whatever was going on wasn’t her fault. She’d sure as hell done enough to take care of him over the years, and here he was, wanting to bail when she needed him most.

Feeling miserable and praying his face wouldn’t give it away, John forced a grin. “Sounds good.”

Chapter 9 Chapter Text

For what had to be the third time since she’d left the Dugout that afternoon, Ying stopped dead in her tracks. A man walking a few paces behind huffed and made a show of stepping around her, but she was too distracted to offer more than a terse “Sorry,” as he passed.

“What the hell are you doin’?” he demanded, tossing a glare over his shoulder.

A fair question, Ying decided, though the man asking was all but forgotten as she glanced down at the little posy of gourd blossoms she held. What was she doing?

It was simple enough, in theory; people got sick, and other people brought them dumb shit like flowers. She’d done it herself whenever one of Nate’s parents had been hospitalized. The difference was that she’d never cared enough then to question how a handful of dead plants was supposed to make someone feel better or aid their recovery. This time, her intentions were sincere, but she had no idea how to go about making them known.

Or if she even should.

Ying didn’t know if the custom of sending flowers was still around, but the practice of talking about other people’s business was as popular as ever. Martha McDonough was a name she’d heard more than once over the last week, usually by some busybody trying to pass speculation off as fact. Ying had gotten a clearer version of events from an older woman that ran a produce stall with her daughter in the market. They seemed genuine in their concern, but from what Ying could gather, neither had actually seen the other woman since she fainted. Mrs. McDonough hadn’t been out, and no one had been to see her.

John hadn’t been around either, of late, and it was his absence that made up Ying’s mind. The blossoms she’d bought on impulse when she realized she had no earthly clue what to say to John once she got there. She’d been stalling then, as she was now, and the more she wavered, the more the whole thing seemed like a bad idea.

Maybe the reason they hadn’t had any visitors was because they didn’t want them? Even if they did, she was probably the last person John wanted to see, and she’d never met Mrs. McDonough at all.

Hancock had rarely spoken of his parents, and most of what little she knew had been surmised more from what he hadn’t said than what he had. She knew their names, and she knew that when he’d told her, his voice had been rough with a mix of loneliness and regret that made her chest ache to hear it. The memory of it spurred her into moving again.

Mama Murphy seemed to think the past couldn’t be changed, and Ying had little interest in trying. She was already here, though, and while she couldn’t prevent history from repeating, John didn’t have to go through this iteration alone.

Despite her newfound resolve, Ying still hesitated outside John’s ramshackle door. She lowered her hand from where it was poised to knock and bit her lip, once more wondering if she was being too forward.

John wasn’t her friend. He’d asked her to stay in Diamond City, but that was just him being practical about her odds of survival beyond the wall. It didn’t mean she had an invitation to show up on his doorstep whenever she liked. They hadn’t parted on bad terms, exactly, but more...well, no terms, really. There hadn’t been time for that, and Ying hadn’t been in the right frame of mind to think that far ahead, anyway. She still wasn’t, if she was being truthful, but the one thing she’d grown increasingly certain of since they got back was that she needed to know he was okay.

Raising her hand to rap at the door, Ying jumped when it suddenly swung open and John was there grinning down at her.

“Been waitin’ to see if you’d actually do it.” He smirked and stepped outside, softly closing the door behind him. “But Ma’s asleep, and I’d rather not wake her.”

Ying’s face warmed as a blush crept along her cheeks. She knew his mother was ill and yet she hadn’t considered that the woman might be resting? “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb her.”

John shrugged off her apology. “You didn’t, and Ma probably wouldn’t have cared anyway.”

“It was still rude of me.” Ying cocked her head, eyes narrowing as the full meaning of his teasing finally sunk in. “What did you mean when you said you’d been waiting?”

Pointing to a small window that faced the porch, John grinned. “I heard you come up.”

“You were watching me?”

“Not the whole time. And it ain’t like I was standin’ outside your window,” John snorted, crossing his arms. “ You were outside mine .”

“Alright, you’ve got me there,” Ying admitted, ducking her head. “You could have said something though.”

“You looked like you were still makin’ up your mind on where you wanted to be. Didn’t wanna make you feel obligated in case you decided it wasn’t here, after all.”

“It’s not…I...” Ying sighed and thrust the half-wilted flowers at John. “Here.”

John gaped, but was quick to recover. “Aw, you shouldn’t have,” he drawled, batting his eyes. “My favorite color and everything.”

Scowling, Ying crossed her arms over her chest. She was definitely blushing now; even the tips of her ears felt hot. “Well, that’s too bad, because they’re for your mother.

“You brought Ma flowers?”

“People still do that, right?” Ying blurted, then cringed at how awkward she must sound. “Fuck, I’m bad at this.”

“No-- I mean, yeah, people do that. Flowers, food, shit like that. They used to, at least,” John shrugged. “Not so much anymore. Ma’s been sick a long time,” he added, as if that explained everything.

“What does that have to do with it?” Ying asked, puzzled. “Are they worried she’s contagious or something?”

“Nah, nothin’ like that. It’s her heart,” he explained. “And everyone knows it.” Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a pack of cigarettes and leaned against the rail of the porch. He lit one and exhaled, his lips twisting into a bitter smile. “But people got expectations, you know? Someone gets sick, they either get better or they die. Most folks don’t know what to do with the shit in between, I guess. So they stay away.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault.” John paused to take a drag from his cigarette and nodded down at the fiery orange petals of the blossoms. “Thanks for bringing these by,” he said quietly. “Ma’ll love ‘em.”

“How’s she doing? I know it's none of my business, but the way you just left...I was wo--...wasn’t sure what to think.”

“Yeah, sorry about that.” John scratched at his jaw and glanced away. “Wasn’t personal or anything.”

He looked like he might say more, but before he got the chance, the door creaked open again. Ying looked over to find a middle-aged woman in a faded floral house dress looking back at her.

Immediately, John flicked what was left of his cigarette over the rail and moved to meet her, but she waved him back, coming to join them in slow, halting steps.

She smiled at Ying, tucking a curling lock of silver streaked gold behind her ear. “I didn’t realize we had a guest, Johnny,” she chided between short breaths. “Show some manners and introduce your friend.”

Something unreadable flashed in Jon’s eyes as they met Ying’s in the brief moment before he returned his attention to his mother. “This is Ying, Ma. Kit’s new guard.”

“Oh?” Mrs. McDonough’s fair brows knitted into a frown as she laid her hand over her chest. “I heard about what happened to her boy. I hope he wasn’t hurt too badly?”

Biting back a grin at the absurdity of a man twice her size being called a boy, Ying shook her head. “No, ma’am. He’s fine.”

“I’m glad to hear it. Dangerous work, that. All those raiders and such.”

“It can be. Mostly, it’s just a lot of walking.”

The older woman nodded, but her expression remained unconvinced. “I can only imagine.” Mrs. McDonough lifted her hand to give John’s shoulder a gentle squeeze and then turned to shuffle back toward the shack. “I’ve got supper on,” she called, as she pulled the door open.

“You should’ve said somethin’, Ma. I would’ve helped.”

“I can manage just fine, thank you.” Mrs. McDonough paused to glance between the two of them, tilting her head as her gaze settled on Ying. “You’re welcome to join us, if you’d like.”

“Oh, no, I don’t want to impose--”

“Nonsense. I invited you, didn’t I?” When Ying failed to come up with a suitable argument, Mrs. McDonough nodded once and added, “Then it’s settled. Stew should be ready in about an hour. I’ll see you both inside.”

With a whisper of faded linen, she disappeared back into the shack, letting the door close softly behind her.

Ying cast a doubtful look at John, noting his closed expression and wishing she had some sort of clue to what he was thinking. He certainly didn’t look like he was in the mood for company.

“I should probably just go,” Ying said quietly. “It’s bad enough I dropped by unannounced. I don’t expect you to feed me on top of it.”

“Your call, sister.” Raking a hand through his hair, John sighed and gestured down the ramp. “Like I said before, you ain’t obligated to stay. You wanna go, go. But you ain’t puttin’ us out none, either, if that’s really what you’re worried about.”

Fidgeting with the hem of her tee shirt, Ying shrugged. “That’s part of it, I guess." She sighed. "Look, it’s not that I don’t appreciate the invitation. I just… I’m shit at socializing.”

“Yeah, I may have picked up on that,” John chuckled, eyes brightening. He sobered, his gaze settling on the flowers, and added, “But it’s the thought that counts, yeah? Seems like you’re all right where it matters.”

Ying cleared her throat, unsure how to respond. “I can stay for a little while,” she said at last. “If you’re sure. But when I inevitably make an ass out of myself, just remember I warned you.”

John’s answering grin was nearly enough to make her forget the dampness of her palms, the stammering of her heart. “Noted. C’mon, I wanna get these in some water.”

Following him inside, Ying found the interior of the shack to be crowded, but larger than its outward appearance suggested. In the main room was a single worn armchair covered by a knitted throw, a tattered blanket draped over one arm. Beneath the chair, the rough floor was covered by a woven rug. A few crooked shelves lined the walls, holding an assortment of knick-knacks and books. Toward the back was what Ying guessed to be another room, the narrow doorway covered by another blanket, and to the left was a tiny kitchen dominated by a table and chairs. Here, she saw Mrs. McDonough, bent over a small wood stove in one corner.

She looked up as they entered and smiled, brushing a damp curl out of her eyes. “Go on and get a seat,” she said, gesturing towards the table, already set with three places. “Shouldn’t be too much longer.”

Taking a hesitant step towards the nearest chair, Ying froze in place, cheeks flaming, as she heard John announce, “Ying brought you flowers, Ma.”

She had, but she hadn't expected or wanted him to just go and blurt it out like that. Maybe later, when she was gone... Until then, they could just sit on a table or something. In fact, there was no real reason Mrs. McDonough ever needed to know they came from her at all.

Mrs. McDonough wiped her hands on her skirt and reached for the posy of blossoms like a kid grabbing for a present. “Oh, would you look at those…” she cooed in pleasure. Running a finger along one smooth petal, she beamed at Ying, eyes crinkling. “They’re lovely, dear, thank you. And I know just the place for ‘em! Johnny, mind the stew a moment, will you?”

Ying moved aside to make room for Mrs. McDonough and bumped into John as he was coming up behind her to take his mother’s place at the stove. There wasn’t much space to maneuver in the cramped kitchen, and an awkward dance ensued as she tried to get out of his way, only to block his path as he went the same direction. It wasn’t until she caught John’s teasing smirk that Ying began to suspect there was more than coincidence at play, but before she could so much as scowl, he took her gently by the shoulders, halting her clumsy shuffle just long enough to slide by.

“You’re lookin’ a little flustered, sister.” John grinned, hooking his foot beneath one of the chairs and nudged it in her direction. “It gets hot in here with the stove goin'. Might wanna sit down.”

“Asshole,” Ying mouthed, but perched on the edge of the offered chair, glaring as John clucked his tongue.

“Aw, now that’s just hurtful,” he drawled, picking up a long wooden spoon. “And here I am, slavin’ over a stove to make you dinner.”

“You’re stirring a pot,” Ying pointed out dryly. “It’s been all of ten seconds.”

“Just so long as my contribution is properly recognized.”

Despite herself, the corners of Ying’s mouth quirked in amusement. It was a ridiculous exchange, but already she felt her anxiety draining away.

Mrs. McDonough returned a few moments later, carrying a small vase made of chipped blue glass. The rim and half the neck were broken off, but the edges had been sanded smooth.

“Thought you got rid of that thing, Ma,” John remarked, taking the vase from his mother to add water.

“Why would I do that? It was a gift from you and your brother - even if they did break it within a year,” she added in a conspiratorial whisper to Ying.

“That was an accident,” John protested in mock offense. “It ain’t my fault Guy missed a perfect pitch.”

Mrs. McDonough looked up from arranging the gourd blossoms to eye her son in exasperation. “I told you both - more than once, I might add - no swatters in the house.”

“We were on the porch, and you never said anything about that . Just forgot to close the window, is all.”

“Hmph. That’s not how your brother tells it.” Mrs. McDonough paused, a spark of hope flickering in her eyes. “You think he’ll come by for supper? Maybe I should set a place for him, just in case.”

John shook his head, a muscle jumping in his jaw. “He ain’t been here in weeks, Ma. Even when he is, he never stays.”

Ying let out a quiet breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. Guilt soured her relief when Mrs. McDonough’s expression turned crestfallen. It brightened an instant later and she flashed Ying a proud smile.

“He works for Mayor Roberts, you know. He’s a very busy man.”

Ying nodded, doing her best to return the older woman’s smile. “I’m sure he is, Mrs. McDonough.”

If she heard her son’s soft snort, Mrs. McDonough ignored it. “Don’t go gettin’ all formal all on me. Just Martha suits me fine. Now, enough of my ramblin’. I’m sure you’re hungry.”

She was, Ying realized, and not just hungry, but ravenous.

The stew smelled amazing, and it had been weeks since she’d eaten anything resembling real food. The caravan occasionally got a meal from one of the settlements they stopped at, but most of the time, Kit declined such offers, claiming the settlers needed all they could get. Ying agreed, but having no real skill or means to cook on her own meant eating a lot of packaged junk in between.

It tasted even better than it smelled, Ying decided. The broth had been thickened with some kind of grain, and the tatos and carrots weren’t mushy as she’d come to expect with stew. The chunks of radstag were a bit tough, but lacked the usual gaminess of the meat. For several minutes, the only sound was the clinking of spoons. Then Mrs. McDonough - Martha , Ying silently corrected - set her bowl aside, and Ying realized her earlier fears about socializing had been unfounded. Martha chatted with her like they were old friends.

There were the usual questions about her and her family, but Martha seemed satisfied with the vague answers Ying gave, and the few times she stumbled, John was quick to chime in or change the subject. Though grateful for his quick intervention, Ying had the alarming suspicion it left his mother with the wrong idea about them, particularly when she began recounting stories of John’s childhood.

“Johnny was just learnin’ to read and wanted one of those comic books. Well, his daddy found one in the market and brought it home - you know, the one with that big jungle man on the cover?”

“Grognak?” Ying hesitantly supplied.

Martha nodded in confirmation. “That’s the one.” She glanced over at her son, eyes twinkling, and continued, “Johnny loved it. Read it cover to cover so many times I lost count. But one day, I come out to hang the wash and he’s already out there playin’ - ”

“I was five, Ma.”

“He’s out there playin’,” Martha repeated, raising her voice slightly. “With nothin’ on but my best towel wrapped ‘round his waist. ‘Course, he scampered off as soon as he saw me… right out of his towel. Went runnin’ up the road naked as a jay ‘til Patrick finally found him and brought him home.”

John let out a long-suffering sigh, but took the women’s laughter in stride, even chiming in with a few stories of his own. If for no other reason, Ying suspected, than to divert his mother from the more embarrassing moments of his past.

“Remember Cram?” he asked, once they'd quieted from yet another round of giggles at his expense.

Martha pursed her lips in thought. After a few moments, she frowned in disgust. “That mole rat pup with the twisted leg?”

Jon's voice was fond. “Yeah, that was her.”

“Wait,” Ying giggled. “I don't mean to interrupt, but you had a mole rat named Cram ?”

“It suited her,” John shrugged, as if that explanation alone made perfect sense. “They were the same color.”

“That’s...cute. Adorable, really.”

“Hideous little thing,” Martha sniffed. “Shoulda went in the stew pot, but Johnny spent weeks nursin’ it back to health. Seemed a shame to eat it after all that.”

“What happened to her?” Ying asked, genuinely curious.

“Her leg healed up faster than I thought and she got out. Burrowed under the neighbor’s tato patch. Pops helped me catch her and then we let her loose in the ruins.”

“I bet they heard Mrs. Lawrence scream all the way in the stands when that little rat popped up out of the ground,” Martha chimed in with a chuckle. “Served her right, too. You know, she wouldn’t speak to me for months after that.”

John grinned. “That was probably more on account of you callin’ her a nosey old biddy.”

“Well, she was. That woman was a public nuisance; always pryin’ into folks’ affairs, and flappin’ her gums.” Covering her mouth against a sudden yawn, Martha smiled. “And here I am, doin’ the same when I’ve still got a kitchen to clean.”

“I’ll get those, Ma,” John said as his mother got to her feet and began collecting their discarded bowls. “Don’t worry about it.”

“I can wash a few dishes.”

“Yeah, but I gotta get the water, anyway; I’ll just clean up while I’m at it. Why don’t you go put your feet up?”

Casting a longing glance towards her chair, Martha relented. “Well, that does sound nice...”

“I got it covered,” John insisted, leaning down to kiss her cheek. “‘Night, Ma.”

Martha gave his arm a gentle squeeze and then turned to Ying. Before she knew what was happening, the older woman pulled her into a hug. “It was lovely meeting you.”

Ying nodded, smiling shyly. “You, as well. Thanks for having me.”

“Of course, dear. Come back any time. And you,” she added, fixing John with a stern eye, “make sure she gets home safe.”

“She guards a caravan, Ma. She should be the one makin’ sure I’m safe.”

“Doesn’t mean you can’t be a gentleman about it,” she called, shuffling into the main room. A few moments later came the creak of old furniture, and the low, staticky croon of a radio.

John’s grin was sheepish. “Sorry.”

“As long as we both know who would make the better bodyguard,” Ying smirked.

“No argument there," John leered. "Feel free to guard my body whenever you want.”

Feeling her face grow hot, Ying forced a laugh to cover the way her breath hitched at his words. “I’ll tell you what, Grognak. Keep your clothes on, and I’ll help you clean up instead.”

Letting his shoulders fall in a theatrical slump, John let out a dejected sigh. “You ain’t gonna let that whole comic book thing go, are ya?”

“I wouldn't count on it.”

“Fair enough.”

While John set a pan of water to heating, Ying stacked the dirty dishes and wiped down the table and chairs. Once the water was hot, John set a portion aside for drinking later and poured the rest into a large tub. They worked on the dishes together in silence so as not to disturb Martha, who could now be heard snoring softly from the other room. Once everything was washed and dried, they went out to the porch.

It was dark, but the lights of the city glimmered over the still surface of the water like glowing gems. Farther out, the wall loomed, the shadows muting its obnoxious green to a dark jade. Here and there, splashes of bright pinks and blues dotted the painted surface, reflections of the market neons that reminded Ying of the stringed lights on a Christmas tree.

“You were right. It is pretty at night.”

“Yeah, it really is. Best time to be out.” Settling himself against the rail, John lit a cigarette then offered one to Ying.

“Thanks.”

“No problem. While we’re on the subject, I should thank you, too.”

“Me?” Ying asked, arching an incredulous brow. “Why?”

“Ain’t seen Ma like that in...well, it’s been a long time. I know she kinda put you on the spot with that. You didn’t have to stay.”

“Oh.” Ying shrugged, suddenly engrossed in picking at a hangnail. “I don’t mind, and she seems nice. I just didn’t want to cause any trouble.”

“You kiddin’?” John laughed. “She lives for that kind of thing.”

“I meant with you, actually,” Ying corrected quietly. “You didn’t really seem like you were in the mood for company earlier.”

“Ah.” John sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “That...that wasn’t you. Ma’s supposed to be takin’ it easy, but she’s stubborn and wants to do everything by herself.”

“I can’t say I’d be any different.”

He took a long pull from his cigarette, his features alight from the ember’s faint glow. “Nah, me either,” he admitted, tilting his head back to exhale a stream of smoke. “I don’t know, it’s just...complicated. Didn’t mean to make you feel unwelcome or anything though.”

“You didn’t. And even if you had, I get wanting to be alone.”

“Yeah.”

“It’s getting pretty late,” Ying observed, rubbing a hand over her eyes. “Kit wants to head out again tomorrow, so I really need to get going.”

“Be careful. And...maybe try not to pick any fights this time around.”

“No promises,” Ying laughed, “but I’ll see what I can do.”

John grinned, a quick flash of his teeth, and then ducked his head. “I had a good time tonight,” he said softly.

Ying swallowed, her mouth going dry. Her stomach gave a little flutter, and this time she couldn’t blame it on nerves. “Yeah. Me, too.”

“Wouldn’t mind doin’ it again sometime.”

Neither would she. It seemed strange, after avoiding him for so long, but in that moment, the mere thought of seeing him again was enough to set her heart racing.

For fuck’s sake, she hadn’t even left yet.

“I’ll be back in a week or so,” she offered, uncertainly. “Maybe we can figure something out then?”

“Yeah,” John nodded quickly. “Yeah, that sounds good.”

“Alright,” Ying agreed, a smile tugging at her lips. “I’ll see you then. Goodnight, John.”

“‘Night.”

Ying headed down the ramp, and turned down the cobbled path that made up Second Street. A glance over her shoulder showed John was still on the porch, facing her direction. Something warm swelled in her chest, washing through her until she felt light and airy as the bubbles in a glass of champagne. Pleasant as the sensation was, it nearly sent her stumbling.

There was no mistaking that feeling, and thanks to one man in particular, she knew exactly what it meant. This time however, it had nothing to do with him at all. It couldn’t.

She hadn’t thought about Hancock all night.

Chapter 10 Notes:

A warning; this is a very dark chapter that deals heavily with loss and grief.

Chapter Text

He was dreaming.

He knew he was because Ma looked younger. Healthy. Happy .

He must have been younger, too, because she was smiling down at him without any trace of the melancholy that normally haunted her smiles. He thought he heard an adolescent giggle from somewhere in the distance followed by the low baritone of his pops, but all he could see was his mother as he handed her a tattered, damp sheet. She shook it out before deftly pinning the corners to a clothes line, humming softly beneath her breath.

John handed her another, identical to the first. They continued like that, one sheet after another, as a distant part of him wondered where they were all coming from. There was no basket or pile of laundry that he could see, yet within moments of his mother hanging one, he had another to pass to her waiting hands. It was monotonous work, but peaceful, until he looked down at the sheet he was holding and saw it was stained with an ugly brown blotch.

Panicked, John scrubbed at the spot, but the stain never lifted. Instead, he only managed to spread it in a wide, rust colored smear. He redoubled his efforts, to no avail The more he scrubbed, the darker the stain got, until his mother gently took the bundle of soiled linen from his hands and kneeled beside him so she could ruffle his hair.

“You did all you could,” she whispered sadly. “It’s not your fault...”

His pulse pounding, John jerked awake. Already, the dream was fading, wisps of fog burned away in the morning light. Ma’s words still echoed through his head, but they had no context. Something about laundry? It made sense, he supposed, considering it was a common chore and one he’d helped her with countless times over the years. That still didn’t explain the cold feeling of dread that woke him, but nothing he recalled stood out as inherently ominous.

Chalking it up to the general weirdness of dreams, John pushed it from his mind and got up to dress. He’d already slid on his jeans and had his tee shirt halfway over his head when a vague sense of alarm washed through him. Something was...off.

His room looked wrong, the shadows shorter than they ought to have been for early morning. That in itself wasn’t troubling. It certainly wasn’t the first time he’d overslept, but Ma rarely did. She should have been up by now, puttering about the house or sitting in her chair listening to the radio. John could hear no sign of either. The shack was quiet, the only sounds coming from outside.

Tearing the blanket in the doorway aside, John dashed from his room to find his mother motionless in her chair. In his haste to reach her, his bare foot caught the edge of the rug, nearly sending him tumbling to the floor. Ma jolted awake at the clamor and let out a gasp that sounded like she was trying to suck mud through a straw.

Cursing himself as she broke into a raling cough, John knelt down beside her, steadying her as she reflexively curled forward. “Shit, Ma, sorry! Didn’t mean to scare ya.”

Ma blinked at him with wide eyes as she struggled to catch her breath, one hand pressed to her the center of her chest. “Johnny? What was all that noise?”

“Tripped a little,” John admitted with an embarrassed shrug. “I didn’t think you’d still be sleepin’.”

In truth, he hadn’t even considered it. She’d been so still and quiet his mind had conjured the worst.

“Just tired, I suppose.” Ma eased herself back with a breathless sigh and closed her eyes. “Didn’t sleep well.”

“You alright? You need anything?”

“Don’t start with that, I’m fine. Just overdid it yesterday is all.” She opened her eyes, and the corners of her mouth lifted in a wry grin. “Speakin’ of which, you never told me you were seein’ someone.”

“It ain’t like that,” John was quick to correct. He got to his feet with a sigh. “Ying’s just…”

Just what?

John frowned, mentally applying and then discarding one ill-fitting label after another. ‘Acquaintance’ felt too detached, and ‘friend’ implied a level of commitment he wasn’t comfortable assuming for either of them. Neither word described Ying, nor did any other he could think of, because she wasn’t just anything.

She was erratic and hot-tempered, deceptive, and probably one of the most dangerous people walking around Diamond City. She was also the kind of person that went out of her way to stand up to asshole brothers and brought flowers for women she’d never met. She was fun and warm, and more than a match for his snark. If there was a word that encompassed all of that, or the jumbled mix of feelings that careened through him every time he thought of her, John didn’t know it.

“Ying’s just Ying,” he finished softly.

Ma nodded, a knowing glint in her eye. “That’s what I thought.”

Holding back the urge to roll his eyes, John shook his head and set about tidying up the room. It didn’t really need it, but it was something to do and gave him an excuse to avoid his mother’s gaze. “It was one night, Ma. You’re puttin’ too much into it.”

“Did you invite her back?”

“...Yeah.”

“Did she say yes?”

“Yeah.”

John didn’t bother mentioning that if things went like they had with Ying, that was subject to change at any time.

Ma hummed in the back of her throat, sounding pleased. “Good.”

“Why’s it matter?” John asked, turning to face her. Try as he might, he couldn’t quite hide the note of impatience that had crept into his voice. “You never cared about anyone else I ran with.”

“Neither did you,” she said simply, then let out a crackling sigh. “Your business is your own, I just worry about you, is all.”

“I’m good, Ma. You don't gotta go worryin' about me.”

“You’re gonna need people. ‘Specially when I’m...”

“When you’re what?” John demanded. He crossed his arms, one brow cocked in defiance.

Ma’s tone sharpened to match his. “I didn’t raise a fool, so quit playin’ at one. You know exactly what I’m talkin’ about.” A moment later, her expression softened, her voice growing gentle but no less resolute. “I’m dyin’, Johnny. There’s no way around it.”

The breath stuttered in his lungs, and John could only stare. He saw Ma shift in her chair, lift her hand like she wanted to reach for him, but he didn’t move to meet her. He couldn’t. Maybe he really was as cold as he felt, his limbs frozen through. Or maybe he just didn’t want to.

The reason didn’t matter; he still felt like shit when she let her hand fall limp in her lap and looked away, her eyes just a little too bright.

“You know it’s true,” she insisted quietly. “Has been for a while now. And you gotta make your peace with that.”

He knew, in a detached, impersonal sort of way, like he knew what direction the sun would rise. But acknowledging a fact wasn’t the same as really, truly, knowing it. That went gut deep. It meant discarding the palatable alternatives and staring head-on into the black void of after. It meant abandoning any sense of hope. How was he supposed to make peace with a future that went on without the only person that had ever offered him unconditional love and acceptance?

His ma or not, she wanted too much. That she would even ask was the keenest of betrayals.

“I’m not doin’ this,” John muttered, his voice cracking. “We ain’t havin’ this conversation.”

“We need to talk about it,” Ma called as he left the room and headed for the kitchen.

“No. We don’t.”

John pushed the door open with more force than he intended, but was careful to catch it before it could slam against the house. He let it shut and turned to lean back against it, sliding down until he was sitting on the porch, his knees up in front of him.

His stomach was in knots, and the bone-biting chill he’d felt just moments ago was fading, replaced by a hot flush that prickled along his skin and left him shaky and sick.

She’d never said it. All those months, and no matter how bad she got, she always said she was fine, always told him to stop fussing or worrying. She’d made the odd joke or remark, but in a general context, as some inevitable, distant event that was so far away it hardly mattered. Ma hadn’t accepted it, so neither had he. Not really.

There’d always been ups and downs, but she came through every time. She got a little better, or at least, not quite so bad, but she managed. She fought .

Ma wasn’t fighting anymore. He saw it in her face, like a shadow. Defeat. She’d given up, and that made it real.

Fuck, but he wasn’t ready for it to be real.

A log in the fire popped, sending up a shower of red sparks. They glowed like miniature fireworks in the dark for a brief second before winking out, one by one. Ying tossed another piece of wood on the pile and sat back, wriggling until she found a comfortable position on the hard ground. She cast a cautious look toward the darkened forms of Brick and Lou, sprawled in their bedrolls. Their faces were turned away from the flickering light of the campfire, but she could make out the steady rise and fall of their chests. One of them was snoring, probably Brick. The kid’s poor nose had been broken so many times it was just a misshapen lump on his face.

Satisfied that they were asleep, Ying turned her gaze toward the direction of the cart where she knew Kit was and inhaled. The musky scent of brahmin filled her nose, but there was no trace of the cloying smoke from Kit’s pipe, confirming the old merchant also slept. Ying listened for a few minutes more to be sure, and then reached for her Pip Boy.

The sequence of buttons and dials was so ingrained by now that touch alone guided her fingers through the correct order. The screen lit with a soft glow, and began scrolling a string of familiar, yet incomprehensible code. It stopped exactly where she knew it would, but Ying flicked the switch anyway. A near inaudible click came from inside the Pip Boy as the connection was made. The screen froze in its usual stutter of approximately three seconds, then resumed, flashing back to the Vault Tech logo.

Nothing happened, but then, Ying hadn’t expected it to. Not really. The brief flare of disappointment still stung, but that didn’t stop her from going through the entire process all over again, and again after that.

She could say she’d tried, if nothing else; that she’d never stopped trying, even when any shred of hope had long since withered and died.

It was a useless bit of ritual, akin to bedtime prayers, but since its inception, Ying hadn’t missed a night. It was her private distress call, her only way of communing with the world she’d left behind. Simple superstition, but sometimes, it made her feel less alone to think someone back home might wonder at the strange frequency they found, that they might be looking for her, or that they would at least get to the truth of what happened. Sometimes, it was just a way to keep her hands busy and her mind quiet.

Tonight, it served as penance.

She’d forgotten her family, her friends. She’d forgotten him . Worse, there was no one else to remember. She was all they had. No one else knew, and no one else cared. There were no tokens to mark their lives, no evidence to prove they were ever more than just ghosts in her head. Here, they existed only in her memories, and she forgot .

In those few hours, they didn’t exist. They were well and truly gone, as though they’d never been at all, and she...

She’d been just fine, Ying realized with a pang. Happy, even. More than she’d been in what seemed like ages. She couldn’t even blame it on some maladaptive coping mechanism this time around, either. There’d been no fucked up game of pretend. Her feelings for Hancock might have led her to the little shack yesterday, but the flirting, the quiet moment by the water, that traitorous little burst of affection...that had all been for John .

He made it easy to forget. Too easy. Ying wanted to hate him for that, but the previous night’s sentiment remained, and softened it into something suspiciously tender. He might make it easy to forget, but he also let her remember.

Because of John, she remembered the simple joy of laughing with another, of taking pleasure in their company and knowing they did the same in hers. She remembered what it was like to connect, to feel something - anything - beyond the inexorable current of grief and remorse she’d been swept along these past months. She remembered what it meant to feel, if not whole, at least less shattered.

Like the vestiges of a drug still in her veins, she wanted more, and no amount of self-loathing would silence the demand.

Blowing out a slow, tremulous sigh, Ying thumbed the switch on her Pip Boy, eyes blank and fixed on the screen. The click came, one more tiny cut, and she reached for the switch again. She went on like that, one mechanical motion after another, until the sky began to lighten and the others stirred from sleep.

He should apologize. He knew it, but John couldn’t quite bring himself to say the words. There was still too much anger, too much hurt, and running beneath all of that, a cold trickle of fear that any mention of the previous day would be viewed as tacit agreement for Ma to pick up where she left off. Maybe she was right; maybe they did need to talk about it, but it didn’t need to be now.

Ma slept late again, but finally woke sometime around midmorning. Her cough wasn’t any better, but she actually let John help her to the table.

She smiled and patted his hand, still breathing heavily. “Thank you, dear.”

John nodded and waved at a pot of porridge warming on the stove. “You hungry?”

She shook her head. “Maybe later.”

John thought about pressing the issue. She hadn’t eaten much yesterday either, but he reluctantly let it go. Grabbing a bowl for himself, he sat down across from her and spooned a bite into his mouth. The porridge was bland, but they didn’t really have much on hand to go with it.

He swallowed and cleared his throat. “Thinkin’ about goin’ by the market later. You want anything?”

Ma thought a minute and then brightened. “You know what sounds lovely? A good ribeye.”

“Like pops used to make?”

She nodded, her eyes going soft and distant. “I still have the recipe.”

“I can see what they got at Choice Chops,” John agreed, taking another bite. “But I wanna make it.”

Beaming, Ma nodded. “That sounds real nice, Johnny. I think I’d like that.”

“Yeah?” John was momentarily taken aback. He’d expected some kind of resistance on him doing the cooking, but he wasn’t going to go looking for an argument where there wasn’t one. “Alright then, it’s a date. Just me and you tonight, Ma.”

“Actually, I was thinkin’ maybe you could invite your brother...”

John shoved another spoonful of porridge in his mouth to keep from blurting the nasty retort waiting on his tongue.

Ma eyed him carefully, clasping her hands on the table in front of her. “It’s just that he hasn’t been over in so long and I thought it’d be nice to have you both here for a bit.”

“I’ll ask ‘im,” John sighed, pushing his half-empty bowl away. He suddenly wasn’t hungry anymore.

“It’d mean a lot to me,” Ma said quietly.

Laying his hand over hers to still their wringing, John nodded. “I know. I’ll go here soon, okay?”

She gave his fingers a quick squeeze. “Thank you, John.”

“Yeah, Ma. Of course.”

Neither of them had much to say after that, but Ma stayed at the table while he cleaned up from breakfast. When she broke into another fit of coughing, John set the kettle on the stove for her tea and helped her back to her chair. Her lips and nails were dark again, and she could barely get two words out between gasps, but she wouldn’t hear of him staying with her.

“An hour, Ma. That’s all I’m sayin’. There’s still plenty of time.”

She sucked in a rattling breath and shook her head. “No, no. He gets...so ...busy. Sooner...the better. Said...you’d ask.”

“Yeah, I know, but…” Seeing the way her mouth pinched, John slumped in defeat. “Alright, I’m goin’. You sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine,” she sighed tiredly. “Hurry back...let me know...what he says.”

John finished making her tea and set it on the table next to her, then went back to the kitchen to fetch a glass of water. He placed that beside her mug, and by then, her breathing seemed a little easier. After one last check to make sure she had everything she needed within easy reach, he kissed her cheek and left.

Deciding to get the worst over with first, he headed to the stands and took the lift to City Hall.

John had never understood what was so great about the upper stands. Sure the view was nice enough, but it wasn’t like most of the folks up here could actually appreciate it with their heads stuffed so far up their asses.

The lift came to a halt and John went inside. Guy was seated at a desk in the reception area, tapping away at a terminal. He sent a cursory glance as John entered, then another, more thorough look, his eyes widening slightly in recognition.

“John,” he greeted, lips thinning in annoyance. “I suppose you have some business here? I doubt Mayor Roberts will see you without an appointment. Or did you just come by to make a nuisance of yourself?”

Shoving his hands in his pockets, John shook his head. He’d get nowhere by antagonizing Guy, but the stuffy bastard made it hard to resist. “Must be damn uncomfortable with your shorts twisted so tight all the time,” he remarked lightly.

Guy’s face darkened with a mottled flush and John smirked, raising his hands in surrender. “Relax, brother. I’m just here to pass along an invitation.”

Heavy dark brows lowered in a suspicious frown, Guy snorted. “Well?”

“Ma wants to do dinner tonight, and she’d really like you to be there.” Figuring a little flattery wouldn’t hurt, John took a deep breath and added, “I wouldn’t mind havin’ you there, either.”

He’d barely finished his last sentence, but Guy was already shaking his head. “I have a social with Mayor Roberts and the Blacks this evening.”

“So?” John shrugged. “Reschedule.”

“They’re one of the most influential families in Diamond City! I can’t simply ‘reschedule’.”

“I’m sure they’ll get by without you for a couple hours. You can go right back to lickin’ their boots after. Promise.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to understand,” Guy sneered, “but the Blacks are prominent members of the city council. The election is in six months. Insulting them now could cost the mayor his next term.”

Out of patience, John laid his hands flat on the desk and leaned down to meet his brother’s eyes. “You think I give a shit about politics right now?" he scoffed. "It’s one night, Guy! How many of those you think Ma’s got left?”

Guy looked away, busying himself with straightening his tie. After a moment, he cleared his throat. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“Good.”

“Is there anything else?” Guy asked, his tone crisp.

“Nah, I’m done,” John sighed, pushing away from the desk. He ignored his brother’s pointed look towards his terminal and stalked to the lift, calling, “See you tonight. Six-thirty.”

Drumming his fingers against his thigh while he waited for the lift to finish its slow descent, John tried to remember when Guy got such a stick up his ass. He’d always been something of a jerk, but John figured that just came with being the older brother. The ass kissing, this obsession with moving to the stands...that was new, or new enough. John tried to think back to when that all started and felt his stomach lurch when he realized it was right around the time they found out Ma was sick.

And all these months, he’d done nothing but give him grief for it.

He’d do better tonight, John promised. There was no turning back what was already done, but he could cut Guy some slack going forward. Ma needed them both there. They could work out their bullshit, or at least set it aside, for her sake if nothing else.

The lift touched down with a bump, jarring John from his thoughts. He went down the stairs leading from the stands and turned toward the market. Choice Chops was closest, so he stopped there first, chatting with the owner, Polly, as she wrapped three ribeyes in newspaper. It may have just been John’s imagination, but she looked a little sad as she did. He paid her and smiled, pleased when he got a small, shy one in return as she handed him his steaks.

Having purchased what he came for, John was about to head home when he passed Mrs. Combs’ produce stall and decided to buy some tatos and carrots to go with the steaks. He exchanged the usual pleasantries while he waited, inwardly sighing when Mrs. Combs’ daughter, Betsi arrived. Betsi was a talker, more so than even her mother, and John had to endure several minutes of the latest gossip before he managed to not-so-politely excuse himself.

The house was quiet when he returned. Figuring Ma was dozing again, John gently closed the door and set his packages on the table. It was chilly in the kitchen, he noted. A draft from the window raised goosebumps along the back of his neck, and John saw that the stove was out again. He took a few minutes to relight it, then went to the main room to check on his mother.

Halfway there, he heard a crunch beneath his shoe. He stepped back and lifted his foot to discover he’d stepped on a small, jagged piece of ceramic. Scanning the floor to see if something had fallen, he found another larger shard closer to Ma’s chair.

“The hell?” John muttered, then louder, “Ma? You okay?”

His heart dropped when nothing but silence greeted him. Closing the remaining distance in a few quick strides, John found Ma’s mug in pieces on the floor in front of her chair, a dark stain splashed on the rug beneath. Above, her hand hung limp over the arm of the chair. John struggled to breathe, but it felt like there was an iron band around his chest that was slowly growing tighter.

“...Ma?”

Her head was tipped forward so far her chin nearly touched her chest, and her face was hidden behind a curtain of faded blond curls. With a shaking hand, John tenderly brushed her hair aside. He knew then, but he couldn’t stop himself from arranging her in a more comfortable position. Just looking at her made his neck ache. Her skin felt cool beneath his fingers, waxy and pale. A deep cyan ringed her lips and eyelids.

John’s throat closed, a low roar building in his ears. His vision blurred, colors and shapes bleeding together in a watery mirage as he tucked her blanket around her thin shoulders. He knew, but she was already so cold.

The roar grew louder. His head felt too light, his legs numb. One minute he was standing over her, the next he was on the floor, Ma’s blank eyes staring into his.

He knew, but it didn’t look like her. This plastic, empty thing couldn’t be her.

Bile flooded his throat. John retched until colored spots floated in front of his eyes. He retched until it hurt, until his ribs throbbed and his throat burned and his stomach felt like it had turned itself inside out.

He knew she was gone.

She was gone, and he’d left her there alone.

Chapter 11 Chapter Text

Pain pulsed through John’s head with every beat of his heart. His throat burned and his mouth was dry and sticky, the sour taste of vomit heavy on his tongue. He didn’t know how long he’d been on the floor, but his legs were starting to cramp. Carefully avoiding looking in the direction of his mother, he climbed painfully to his feet. Pins and needles prickled along his shins and calves as the blood returned to his limbs, making his steps clumsy and unsure. He swayed like a drunk, but managed to keep his footing long enough to stumble outside.

The sun was lower than he last recalled. He’d been in there for some time, then, and needed to...Someone needed to know. He couldn’t just leave her like that.

John wandered up the road in a daze. It still didn’t feel real. If it was real, it would hurt, that crushing ache he’d always imagined. He’d cried of course. From the hot trails streaming down his cheeks, he thought he might be crying still, but it didn’t hurt like it ought to. Like she deserved. It felt more like a dream than anything.

He wanted it to be a dream. A dream meant he could wake up, walk back inside and see her smiling again.

“Hey, McDonough. Starting a little early, aren’t you?”

At hearing his name, John turned his head out of reflex toward the sound. He recognized the voice, but the man’s face was covered by one of the Diamond City Security helmets.

“Whoa, what happened to you?”

John blinked and then slowly shook his head. He tried to speak, and at first, nothing but a hoarse whisper emerged. Licking his lips, he tried again. His voice wobbled and cracked, but he managed to force the words past the raw lump in his throat. “She’s gone. Ma...she’s...”

“Oh. Oh, shit.”

The guard lifted the helmet from his head and tucked it under one arm. John recognized him then, though it took a few seconds for his name to follow. Will. A decent sort, as far as security went. They’d went to school together, though John was a few years older.

With his free hand, Will gave John’s shoulder a rough squeeze. “Listen, man, I’m sorry,” he said quietly, dark eyes sincere. “Martha was...she was a real nice lady.”

Was.

As in, not anymore. It seemed wrong that a single syllable had the power to change so much.

“I’m going to grab the doc. We’ll take care of her, okay? You might want to head to Clements and see about making arrangements.” He paused, shifting his weight from one foot to the other and finally asked, “...Does Guy know?”

John shook his head.

“You want me to tell him?”

He’d rather face a deathclaw than his brother right then, but John owed Guy that much, at least. “He should hear it from me. Appreciate it, though.”

“Yeah, man, sure. Just...let me know if you need anything, okay?”

Mumbling an affirmative, John continued up the road.

At some point during his talk with Will, the haze had started to recede. It hadn’t hit him full force yet, but the reality of it, of her being....it was starting to sink in. Maybe it was actually saying it out loud, or maybe it was just that someone else knew. It still didn’t hurt. That would have bothered him, if he didn’t feel so empty.

Guy wasn’t at his desk when John walked in. It was still early enough that he doubted Guy would have left for the day, so he decided to wait. He couldn’t be far.

Staring down at the field, he spotted the little shack he grew up in. From up there, it looked so small, so distant. Insignificant. Not the kind of place that had witnessed lives begin and end. As his gaze swept over the other homes and shops, John wondered what secrets they held behind their seemingly innocuous walls. He began to see the answer to his earlier question. Had it really only been a few short hours ago that he’d asked?

Of course the residents in the stands thought they were above those in the field. They literally were . What happened down there couldn’t touch them up here, just as it couldn’t touch him. Too much of that would go to anyone’s head.

A door opened behind him, and Guy came in, eyes fixed on the file folder he was leafing through.

“Hey, we need to talk.”

Guy jumped, as though just now realizing he wasn’t alone, and scowled. “Oh, for heaven’s - what do you want now ?”

“Like I said, we need to talk.”

He looked like he was about to let loose with some scathing remark, but it never came. Guy studied him a moment and then very carefully set his file on the desk. “I see. Mother, I presume?”

He thought the word might choke him, but somehow John got it out. “Yeah.”

“Is she... well?”

There was no getting that one out. John could only shake his head.

“Ah.” Guy paled and suddenly leaned hard against his desk. “How did she, ah...how did it happen?”

John had asked himself the same thing. How could she be there one minute, laughing and talking, then gone the next? “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” Guy demanded sharply. “What do you mean, you don’t know?”

“I mean I don’t know ! I went home and she was- she was...I found her, okay?”

“You were supposed to be with her!”

“I know,” John whispered miserably. He felt like he was going to be sick again. “And I wasn’t. I wasn’t and she - I know .”

“Why didn’t you tell me she’d gotten so bad?” Guy snarled. His face was nearly purple, and a vein throbbed in his temple. “I had a right to know!”

His stomach ached, his chest heaved. Guy had some set of balls on him, he’d give him that. John was more than willing to own up to his mistakes, but he wasn’t about to let his brother play the victim.

“You woulda seen it for yourself if you bothered to stay for more than two fuckin’ minutes at a time. Where the fuck were you , Guy?”

“Don’t you dare turn this on me! Where do you think the caps came from to pay for her medicine? For Sun’s fees? I was here, making sure the bills were paid and food was on the table!”

“‘Cause my caps weren’t good enough for you,” John sneered. “Play the fuckin’ martyr all you want, brother. Wasn’t your money she wanted.”

“What she wanted?” Guy laughed, sharp and cruel. “You think she wanted to see you high all the time? You think she wanted to go around cleaning up your messes? To know what a waste you became? With all the stress you caused her, it’s no wonder she got sick!”

It felt like he’d been punched, but that didn’t make any sense because once the red faded from the edges of his vision, it was Guy holding his nose, blood dripping between his fingers.

John barely had time to process the throb building in his knuckles when he was grabbed by a rough set of hands. He was too stunned to resist when his arms were wrenched behind his back and the world suddenly went sideways. Papers scattered in a flurry of dull white, and John was vaguely aware of a hard surface beneath his cheek that stank of iron and rust. Something cold and heavy slid around his wrists and he was pulled upright again to meet the inscrutable gaze of Mayor Roberts.

The mayor divided a long look between John and Guy before nodding at a pair of security guards waiting by the elevator. “I believe we have the situation in hand,” he stated, in a pleasant but clear dismissal. “Thank you.”

Once the two left, Roberts removed a handkerchief from the breast pocket of his suit and held it out to Guy. “I’d ask what happened here but I believe I heard enough to hazard a guess. So, I would imagine, has everyone this side of the stands.”

Guy jabbed his finger toward John. “This - this ruffian attacked me!” he sputtered, shaking the spotted handkerchief clenched in his hand for emphasis. “I want him removed!”

“So I see.” Roberts rubbed at his thin goatee as he considered John, but his expression remained impassive. “That will be all for today, Mr. McDonough.”

“Pardon?” Guys paused mid motion to dab at his nose, his eyes wide in disbelief.

“I won’t be needing anything further from you today,” the mayor clarified. “In fact, take some time off. Perhaps a visit to the clinic is in order.”

“I assure you, Mayor, once this...business is handled, I’ll be more than capable of returning to my duties. The fundraiser -”

“Can wait,” Roberts interrupted. “I won’t ask after your personal affairs, but I suggest you take a few days to see that they’re settled. You can resume your work next week.”

“But that’s- I- yes, sir,” Guy sighed.

He took a few moments to gather his things, shooting John the occasional glare. With one last scowl, he stepped into the elevator. As the door slid closed, Roberts regarded John in pensive silence.

The mayor had that same look Pops used to get whenever he’d fucked up, and something else. John stiffened when he recognized it as pity.

The guard behind John tightened his hold. “Easy, McDonough,” he warned in a low voice. “Don’t make this worse on yourself than it already is.”

“Sound advice,” Roberts acknowledged with a dip of his head. ”I don’t know what led to this...altercation between the two of you, but I’m willing to hear your account of it. We both know I’ll be hearing your brother’s soon enough,” the mayor added, a wry twist to his mouth.

“It’s personal,” John muttered, looking away. “Just do what you’re gonna do and get it over with.”

Roberts sighed. “I see. Well, you aren’t leaving me much choice then, I’m afraid. The law is the law. I can’t condone assault, and you have multiple witnesses against you, myself included. You’ll be taken into custody to serve the maximum sentence recommended by the council.”

John nodded his understanding, but gave no other response. What did it matter anyway? Wasn’t like he had any other place to go.

“Very well.”

Mayor Roberts nodded to the guard and John was led, passive as a child to the elevator.

The walk to security headquarters seemed to last forever. John kept his head down, absorbed in the simple act of placing one foot in front of the other. Voices murmured as he passed, some shocked, some knowing, but it was all just noise to him. He almost wished they were louder. Maybe then they could drown out the one in his head that denounced and accused.

The one that said his brother was right.

Ma never said anything, but then, that wasn’t her way. Maybe if she had...maybe if she’d just wrote him off like everyone else instead of trying so hard to defend him…

The metallic clang of the door slamming shut saved him from finishing the thought.

Stretching out on a cot, John folded his arm beneath his head and stared at the ceiling. The big stain was still in the corner, he noted absently. The one that leaked when it rained. He wondered if they’d ever got around to fixing that but figured he’d find out soon enough. He wasn’t going anywhere, and it wasn’t like it would really be a problem unless the place got crowded. For now, he was alone.

He’d wanted that, once; time to himself, space to just breathe. Hell, he’d spent more than one night right where he was now to get it. It was almost worth the scathing gossip and disappointed looks just to have a break from it all, to let someone else handle things for a while.

John could always count on Guy for that much, at least. He wouldn’t lift a finger any other time, but the second it looked like little brother fucked something up, there he was to save the day by pointing it out. Always managed to come out of it smelling like roses, too. Never seemed to make a mistake or a bad decision. No, that was all him .

Despite his silent tirade, John didn’t have the energy to be bitter. Guy would take care of Ma. Probably do everything just like she would’ve wanted. It was almost a relief to have someone else finally step in. He used to daydream about that very thing and what it would feel like to have that weight off his shoulders.

Not like this, though. Never like this.

His eyes burned and the bulb in the ceiling bloomed into a mini sun. John squeezed his eyes shut and covered his face with his arm. A few tears escaped from beneath his lashes and made a slow, tickling trail to the hair at his temples. John gulped, holding his breath against a building sob as he rolled to his side to face the only wall.

Let them think he was strung out again, or just making trouble. He’d take scorn over pity any day.

John woke some time later to the sound of his name. The soft voice was easy enough to ignore. The rhythmic tapping on the bars that accompanied it, not as much. He rubbed at his bleary eyes and slowly sat up, peering through the bars until Will’s blurry face came into focus.

“Chow time,” the guard said quietly.

He balanced a tray of food against his hip as he pulled a ring of keys from his pocket with his free hand and unlocked the door. Once it was open he stepped inside, presenting the tray like an offering. When John didn’t move to take it from him, Will sighed and carefully set it on one of the benches that lined the perimeter of the cell.

“You should really eat.”

“'M not hungry,” John muttered. He laid back on the cot, hoping the other man could take a hint and leave him alone.

It seemed like he would. He stepped out and closed the door again, but when the lock clicked into place, John was surprised to find Will still standing right outside.

“Somethin’ you want?” he asked sharply. “Or do you just like to watch.”

If Will was bothered by his crass attitude, it didn’t show. “The service is tomorrow morning. Nine o’clock, at the cemetery. I thought you might want to know.”

John swallowed hard and forced himself to nod. He’d miss it, but that was his fault. Wasn’t like he could expect everyone to wait on him to get out. “Thanks,” he said, his voice low and rough. “Really.”

“Don’t mention it.” Will hesitated a few moments, mouth working as he seemed to struggle with whatever he was going to say.

“Might as well spit it out,” John advised wearily. “Ain’t like I can stop ya.”

“Betsi and Louise picked out her dress. The dark one, with the little yellow flowers?”

“She loves that one. Says it makes her feel young.”

John blinked as he realized his error and turned his head to hide the fresh spill of tears.

Will went on like he hadn’t noticed. “They cleaned the place up a bit, too. Found her wedding ring in case you wanted her to have it or wanted to hang on to it.”

“She couldn’t wear it anymore,” John said quietly. “Her hands swelled. Ain’t sure it would fit. What’d Guy say?”

“No one asked him,” Will said with a shrug. “He left dressing her up to Betsi and Louise, and they’re asking you. If you want to keep it, I’ll get it to you.”

John wasn’t sure how to even begin deciphering the odd mix of feelings that welled in him at hearing that. He couldn’t be there, but he could play this small part, do this one last thing for her. Too little, too late, but it was something.

“It’s all she had left of Pops,” he whispered. “She should have it with her.”

Will nodded. “I’ll let them know.” The guard scrubbed a hand through his hair, making it stick up in short, brown tufts. “I got some reports I need to get to. You need anything before I go?”

“Got any jet?” John asked, trying for a grin that felt more like a grimace.

“Got a request that won’t get me fired?” Will shot back, rolling his eyes.

“I’ll settle for a cigarette.”

Will’s expression turned apologetic. “I don’t smoke.”

John was just about to tell him not to worry about it when the guard brightened and disappeared into the small office across from the jail, returning a few moments later with a pack of cigarettes and a tattered book of matches.

“Carl left these the other day,” he said, passing both cigarettes and matches through the bars. “I think he forgot about them.”

John got up to accept the pack of smokes and instantly knew why. The flimsy cardboard was wrinkled and warped, the front of the pack ringed by a faded brown water stain. The cigarette he shook out was in similar condition, but it looked dry enough.

He got it lit, the flavor of earth and mold as he exhaled only confirming his suspicions. Nothing tasted worse than a cigarette that had gotten wet, but John thanked the guard anyway. Nicotine was nicotine.

Will waved him away when he tried to hand the pack and matches back. “Keep them,” he offered, then hesitated. “Just...don’t burn the place down or anything, okay?”

“Wasn’t plannin’ on it.”

“Alright, well I better get to it.”

With an awkward motion that was almost a wave, Will went back into the office, leaving John to finish his cigarette in silence.

There was no way to measure the passing of time. No clock, no windows, nothing but the constant dim yellow of the lights overhead. At some point, the shift changed, marking the conclusion of a cycle, but there was nothing so meaningful as night or day.

John didn’t mind. If there was no night, there couldn’t be the finality of morning. If there was no time, there couldn’t be a nine o’ clock.

Still, he counted, because it gave him something to do. He counted how many cigarettes he smoked, how many times the guard walked by, how many times he had to take a piss. Later, when the soft patter of rain came from overhead, he counted the steady plip, plip, plip that came from the corner. They hadn’t fixed it, then, but John found he didn’t care about that either. Anything to keep his mind off what was to come.

When he couldn’t keep his eyes open anymore, he slipped into a fitful doze where everything he’d tried to hold back came rushing in. He dreamed of rain and mud and deep, dark holes. He dreamed of water filling his eyes and nose, only for it to suddenly become dirt. He couldn’t see, he couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t even scream...

John woke coughing and choking. The dirt was gone, but he could still feel it in his throat. With shaking hands, he lit another cigarette and huddled against the wall.

They were going to put her in the ground. Abbot probably had probably already dug the hole. They’d put her in that hole, in the cold and dark and damp, and after, they’d walk away and forget. She’d be alone, in her pretty dress that could never make her feel young again, and her wedding band that wouldn’t fit.

It wasn’t right. John wanted to be angry at the unfairness of it all; he wanted to rage and howl to the world that she deserved more, but he felt so small and brittle he thought he might shatter beneath the strain.

Pain flared hot and bright at his fingers. John shook his hand, dropping his burned down cigarette in his lap. He swatted it to the floor and looked up to find the guard on duty standing at the gate.

“Mayor says you’re free to go, McDonough.”

“Go?”

The guard nodded. “Yeah, on account of your ma and the funeral. You got about an hour if you want to clean up,” he added, eyeing John’s wrinkled clothes and disheveled hair.

The gate swung open with a grating whine, and the guard stepped aside. John just stared.

“Did you hear what I said? You’re out of here, man.”

“Yeah. Yeah, alright.”

He left headquarters the same way he’d entered, engulfed in a surreal fog. What was he supposed to do now? In that cell, the rules had been simple. Outside of it, he had no idea.

He couldn’t go back to the house. No one would stop him, but the mere thought made his heart pound and his palms sweat. Will said they’d cleaned it, but no amount of soap or water would scrub those last images away. He couldn’t go back, he couldn’t see all over again, but there was nowhere else to go.

With no clear sense of direction, John started walking. It was still raining, and in a matter of minutes his clothes were soaked through. Shivering, he looked up at the leaden sky. Where everything else was so terribly wrong, that much felt right. If she couldn’t have the sun anymore, why should anyone?

It hit then, with enough force to drop John to his knees. Not an ache, as he’d expected, but a crashing wave of sorrow and loss not even his darkest imaginings had prepared him for. She was gone, and nothing was like he thought. There was no abyss, no comforting blanket of black to hide himself away. Instead, the future was bright, endless gray; all harsh contrast and sharp edges. It was regrets that whittled away like little knives, peeling back one sliver at a time until his guilt was carved upon him in stark relief. It was the terrible weight of freedom, the panic of being cast adrift.

The only thing John had anticipated, the only thing he got right, was knowing he couldn’t face a future without her.

Putting her in the ground marked the beginning of that future. He couldn’t face that either.

Rainwater made the plywood roads slick, and John slid more than once before he was able to get to his feet. He didn’t have a destination in mind, but he had a direction now.

Away. As far and as fast as possible.

His chest was tight as he staggered through the city. His eyes streamed, reducing everything around him to vague shapes and shadows. From rain or tears, he couldn’t say. It hardly mattered. He was still drowning, one slow, steady drop at a time. It wasn’t until he was beyond the gates that the feeling of suffocation eased. His heart still beat a frantic rhythm, but the buzzing tingle that curled his fingers and numbed his lips was starting to fade.

Grasping a lamp post for balance, John took a few deep breaths to steady himself. He was a coward for running, and he didn’t need the censuring voice that echoed in his head to tell him so. It was right, as his brother had been right. Three decades under his belt, and nothing to show for them. A waste, just like Guy said. No one would miss him. They’d talk, of course, but they wouldn’t really care. The only one that would was beyond caring about anything now.

John started walking again, the route he chose unconscious, but also unsurprising. There was only one place for people like him; the cowards, the exiles, the dregs of society. He didn’t really fit in there, either, but a sense of belonging had never been part of Goodneighbor’s appeal.

The entrance wasn’t marked, but John had tread this route too many times before to let that hinder him. It could have been hours, it could have been days, but suddenly he was there, the cobbled gate looming before him. He didn’t hesitate as he pushed the heavy door open and stepped inside, only to be greeted by the rusted barrel of a pipe rifle aimed in his direction.

John followed the barrel of the gun to the face of its owner, a grizzled man with a patchy beard that leered at him through stained, crooked teeth.

“Not so fast,” the man sneered, hawking a gob of phlegm at John’s feet. “Entry fee’s a hundred caps.”

“It was half that last time,” John muttered without thinking. He didn’t have near enough on him.

“Yeah? Well, today it’s a hundred. Now, pay up, or shit’s gonna get real unpleasant, real fast.”

It wasn’t a bluff. John had seen enough to know it was never a bluff. He’d pay, one way or another, and this guy didn’t seem too picky on how he went about collecting. Hell, he looked downright giddy at the latter, less civil prospect. Until a shadow crossed his face, morphing his cocky smirk to an uneasy frown.

John saw why when a tall ghoul woman in tattered leathers approached. She crossed her arms against her chest, head tilted as her dark eyes swept over the two men.

“Still trying to skim from the top, Lars?” she asked, flashing a grin that was all teeth. “I wonder what the boss would think?”

Lars took a step back, gaze darting to the sniper rifle slung around the woman's shoulder. “Ain’t doin’ no harm, Evie. Vic still gets what's his.”

The ghoul hummed, her voice dropping to a low purr. “Oh, I'm sure. See, I know you’d never fuck Vic over. The question is, does he? Let’s ask him, shall we? I’m sure you'll have no trouble convincing him this was all just a misunderstanding.”

“Alright, Evie. Alright! Just keep it down, okay?”

Evie’s smile was all syrupy sweetness. “There. That wasn’t so hard, was it? You,” she added, jerking her head at John. “Come on.”

“Now, hold on. He still hasn’t paid,” Lars protested. “Boss wants fifty caps a head.”

“You’re the one at the gate,” the ghoul shrugged. “That sounds like your problem. Unless you’d like to bring this up with Vic after all?”

“Just...go. Get ‘im outta here,” Lars spat in disgust. “And keep a close eye, yeah? Hate to see somethin’ happen to 'im when you ain’t around.”

Evie rolled her eyes, but didn’t reply as she tugged at John’s sleeve. “Let’s go.”

“I owe ya one,” John murmured once they were out of earshot.

“More than one, McDonough,” the ghoul smirked. “But who’s counting? You always settle up in the end.” The tilt of her mouth turned suggestive as her black gaze roamed along his form. When she got to his face, she paused, her grin fading as a deep crease formed between her brows. “But that’s not why you’re here, is it?”

It was tempting; John could admit that much. They had a good, if occasional, thing going. No awkward mornings after, no expectations or hurt feelings. No strings attached. Up until then, it had worked just fine for both of them, but now he longed for something more. Something they could never give each other. Not like that.

“Not this time, doll.”

“Are you okay?” Evie asked, her voice going so soft the characteristic rasp to it was nearly absent.

Unable to speak past the lump that once more lodged in his throat, John shook his head.

The ghoul took his arm and led him through the rain. “Come on. You look like you need some food and a place to crash. After that, you can tell me what’s going on, and we’ll call it even.”

Chapter 12 Notes:

A warning here: this chapter gets rather sensitive and contains a few brief mentions of passive suicidal ideation. Please be advised, and read at your own risk.

Chapter Text

“Hey, let me get that.”

Brick’s eager voice reached Ying’s ears just as he lifted the heavy pack from her arms. He flashed a shy grin, and turned, heading for Kit’s stall outside Diamond City.

Ying watched him go, torn between chagrin and relief. She certainly didn’t need his help, but her entire body felt like one big bruise. Everything hurt.

“Best to just let him get it out of his system,” Kit advised, teeth clenched around her pipe. “Boy feels bad enough as it is.”

“He shouldn’t.” Ying let out an irritated sigh and wiped her hands on her jeans. “I told him that already.”

Brick had apologized profusely the entire way back to Diamond City, but his errant grenade had probably saved her life from that band of super mutants.

They were on them before anyone in the caravan knew it. Ying had quickly emptied her revolver, but she might as well have been throwing rocks for all the good it had done. Then one of the ugly green bastards decided to charge straight for her.

Ying was sure she'd been staring into the frenzied eyes of her own death, mesmerized until the mutant’s towering bulk was suddenly silhouetted in a flash of fire. Before she could process what was happening, she was knocked back half across the street, aching and bloodied, her ears ringing from the blast, but alive.

Looking back on it, Brick had definitely saved her life.

The least she could do was pretend to be grateful.

“Won’t hurt him any to think next time he goes throwin’ those damn things,” Kit muttered, drawing Ying from her musing. “He’ll get over it.”

The merchant’s lips thinned around the stem of her pipe, the curl of her mouth smug as her gaze dropped to a raw scrape that ran the length of Ying’s right forearm and stopped at the leather guard strapped around her elbow. “Good thing you had that armor, huh?”

“Just say ‘I told you so’,” Ying retorted dryly. “We both know you want to.”

Kit let out a gruff chuckle. “That you can still run your mouth after that proves my point just fine. I don’t need to go rubbin’ it in.”

As the old merchant disappeared around the other side of her brahmin, Ying went back to work. Sore and tired as she was, she would still earn her pay. Brick and his guilt would just have to deal with it.

Unloading the brahmin was Ying’s least favorite part of the job. Despite the beast’s docility while they traveled, the brahmin’s mood tended to sour whenever they got close to Diamond City, as though she was as sick of being on the road as the rest of them. Ying could sympathize, to a point. Right up until the two-headed shit started trying to kick her.

Keeping a wary eye on the brahmin’s hindquarters, Ying reached for a small trunk. The beast swung one head back in an attempt to butt her away from its side, narrowly missing her with a curly, deformed horn. Stepping away, just out of the brahmin’s reach, Ying quickly loosened the straps that held the trunk in place and lowered it to the ground.

As she set about freeing another, the brahmin stamped a hoof into the packed dirt and snorted, patchy hide twitching in irritation.

“Fuck you, too, Maybel,” Ying grumbled, bending down to pick up the trunks.

“You’re getting better at telling them apart.”

Ying stood and looked over to find Lou grinning down at her. Balancing the weight of the trunks against her hip, she nodded toward the brahmin’s other head. “They make it easy. Sally’s not an asshole.”

Lou barked a laugh and shook his head. “Ahhh, this one’s not so bad,” he said, scratching behind Maybel’s ears.

Maybel leaned into his touch, watery black eyes rolling in pleasure as Lou stroked along her neck. Sally bawled at the lack of attention, butting her head up against Maybel until Lou reached over to pet her nose.

Her lips twitched at their antics, but Ying was careful to stay out of kicking range. “Maybe for you, she isn’t, but I’m pretty sure she hates me.”

“Nah, she just likes to see what she can get away with. ‘Specially when the boss ain’t around.”

With one final pat, Lou grabbed a barrel from the brahmin’s back and hefted it onto one shoulder, waving at Ying with his free hand to go ahead of him. “Next run, bring some carrots,” he suggested as they made their way to Kit’s stall. “She’ll be sweet as a baby. Just make sure you have enough for Sally, too. She gets ornery when she feels left out.”

“I’ll have to try that. Thanks, Lou.”

The big man nodded, his grin widening to reveal several gaps in his teeth. “You’ll have the ol’ girls wrapped around your finger in no time.”

They met Brick on the way back, and between the three of them, managed to finish unloading in one final trip. When they were through, Lou led the brahmin to her pen while Ying and Brick filled her tub with feed. By then, Kit had her wares arranged at her stall and motioned them over to collect their pay. As soon as they had their caps, Lou tipped his head in a nod of farwell and headed for the gate. Brick hurried after him, stopping just long enough to give Ying a little wave.

Kit snorted from where she sat on a crate, and tapped the bowl of her pipe to empty it. “Probably off to drink themselves blind.”

Ying only hummed an agreement, entertaining similar plans.

Like last time, Kit slid a small pouch across the makeshift counter along with her caps. Ying’s stomach churned when she saw it and her pulse quickened to a thready flutter.

“Heard Martha was havin’ some trouble a couple weeks back,” Kit began. The old merchant took a tin from her pocket and removed a pinch of something crumbling and brown. She tamped it down into her pipe and met Ying’s gaze. “If she’s that bad off, I don’t want anyone worryin’ about comin’ all the way out here.”

Gathering her caps, Ying hesitated, her hand hovering over the pouch. In spite of her promise to see John again, she had no intention of doing so. At least she hadn’t, until Kit had literally dropped an excuse right in front of her.

“There a problem?” Kit shook out a match she’d used to light her pipe, her odd gaze locked on Ying.

“No. No, I -” Drawing in a breath, Ying steeled herself for one last effort to salvage her crumbling resolve. “It’s probably better someone else take it.”

“Yeah? And why’s that?”

“Because last time I did, it didn’t go very well.”

Kit eyed her a moment more and then let out a gravelly cackle, streams of thin gray smoke curling from her nose and mouth. “Oh, I heard. Didn’t think that puffed up little shit was ever gonna stop whinin’.”

“You knew? You never said anything.”

“You do your job, I got nothin’ to say,” Kit shrugged. “I ain’t your mother, girl. Whatever happens inside those walls is your business. All I care about is when we’re on the road. Now, you gonna do this, or do I gotta find someone else?”

With a reluctant nod, Ying scooped up the pouch and tucked it into her pocket. “I’ll do it.”

“Good. Go on, then. I got customers comin’.”

It was just a favor, Ying told herself as she made her way through the throng of people milling about the market. A courtesy. For Kit, for Martha. It had nothing to do with seeing John, or the pang of longing that twinged in her chest when she thought of him.

The closer she got, the sharper it became, the cracks in her arguments widening with each eager thump of her heart. By the time she reached the little ramp that led over the water, Ying had given up on any form of pretense. There was only one reason she was there, and her motive was far from altruistic.

She missed him. The thought came like a knife twisting in her gut, but she did.

His voice, his stupid jokes. She even missed his teasing.

Guilt gnawed at her insides, but beneath its acidic burn, her stomach trembled in anticipation as she rapped her knuckles lightly on the door. When no one answered, she tried again, slightly louder this time. Several more minutes went by, and still no one came to the door.

Ying bit at her thumbnail, a puzzled frown creasing her brow. It was entirely possible John had stepped out, and if Martha was sleeping, she didn’t want to wake her. A wave of disappointment crashed over her, but once it receded, she couldn’t deny her relief. In the midst of a moment of weakness, she’d been offered a reprieve.

Setting the pouch in front of the door where it was sure to be seen, Ying headed back down the ramp and turned up the street. She’d done what Kit asked. It wasn’t her fault if no one was home.

“I remember you,” a soft voice called out. “You bought the flowers, right?”

With a start, Ying looked over and recognized the daughter of the produce vendor from the market.

The younger woman offered an apologetic smile. “Sorry. I wasn’t trying to sneak up on you or anything. I’m Betsi, by the way.”

“Ying. And yeah, that was me.”

Betsi took a few steps towards her, her smile slipping as she gestured over one shoulder at the shack. “If you’re looking for John, he’s not home. It’s none of my business,” she added quickly. “I just saw you leaving.”

“It’s fine,” Ying shrugged. “I just needed to drop something off for Mrs. McDonough.”

Betsi shifted, her gaze dropping to the ground. “Oh. I, um… I guess you didn’t hear, then.”

“Hear what?” Ying asked cautiously, already dreading the answer.

“Martha passed away early last week.”

“...Oh.”

She’d known the other woman wasn’t going to tell her anything good, but the news still landed like a blow. Martha had been ill, certainly, but it was only a week ago that she’d been laughing and telling stories at her kitchen table.

Now she was gone.

Her tongue tripped over her next words as Ying struggled to collect her thoughts.

“I didn’t - I didn’t know. ...John...is he…?”

Betsi shook her head. “I don’t know. He took off after it happened, and hasn’t been back since. No one knows where he is. I think Guy is still at the mayor’s office, though. If it’s something important.”

With a sigh, Ying shook her head. “It’s not.”

“Oh. Well, alright. And hey...I’m really sorry.”

“Yeah. Me, too.”

Mumbling something about the time, Ying left Betsi and headed for the Dugout. She met with Yefim long enough to secure her room for the week and then took a seat at the far end of the bar. Vadim came over to get her order, but seemed to realize she wasn’t in the mood for small talk. He stopped by on occasion to refill her glass, but otherwise left her alone. Lost in her own thoughts, Ying hardly noticed.

She liked Martha and genuinely mourned her loss, but it was John her heart ached for. There was no doubt Martha’s death had left him devastated. She was just sorry she hadn’t been here when he left. While her impromptu trip to the vault hadn’t gone like she’d expected, Ying would admit she was grateful she hadn’t been alone. John’s support was probably the only thing that had kept her from giving up then and there. She’d wanted to return the favor for him when he’d needed someone at his back. Instead, she’d been miles away.

Ying briefly debated going after him. There was only one place he’d be, but if he hadn’t told anyone, it was likely because he didn’t want to be found. Besides, she knew from Hancock it would be several years before he left Diamond City for good.

You can’t change what already is…

Mama Murphy’s warning echoed in her thoughts, nagging at the back of her mind. The words should have been a comfort. They were supposed to mean John would be back; that he wouldn’t simply vanish or get himself killed. The ghouls being thrown from Diamond City was what led to John walking away, and that hadn’t happened yet.

Then again, neither had anything else that she knew about Hancock.

Even the events she remembered from her own life, like waking that first time in the vault to find her son being stolen from his father’s arms, had gone wildly different for her counterpart here.

Downing her drink to chase off a growing chill, Ying suddenly realized what was bothering her.

The seer hadn’t been referring to this world, but the one Ying had left behind. There, history was already written; of course it couldn’t be changed. At this point in her own world, she would have still been locked in the vault, frozen in sleep, but alive and very much her . Ten years in the past, or a hundred would have made no difference. Her path was set because she’d already paved it two centuries ago when she’d stepped into that pod. Not even the chip could change that, so it shunted her to this place, where the pages were still blank and anything could happen.

It already had.

The two cribs, Nick’s absence, finding Kellogg already on the run, her doppelganger dying along with Nate…

Some of the differences made sense in light of what Ying already knew.

The only reason she hadn’t been killed along with the rest of Vault 111 was because the Institute needed a secondary source of DNA similar to Shaun’s. Even if her counterpart hadn’t fought back, her second child had still sealed her fate. Ying didn’t know much about genetics, but a sibling was probably a better match than a parent. They had their back-up, and no use for that Ying or Nate.

Kellogg hadn’t been lying about that, either. Loathe as she was to admit it, neither version of the mercenary had ever lied to her. If he said the Institute was after him, it was because he believed it was.

That made a certain amount of sense as well. In her world, Father only kept Kellogg around as long as he did so she could kill him. He’d used her to get revenge. Here, that wasn’t necessary.

What Ying couldn’t figure out was Nick. Everything else seemed linked to her in some way, but even if her double had still been in stasis, she and the detective wouldn’t have crossed paths for another ten years or so. There was no correlation between them, but what did that mean for the others? Piper, John. They’d both known the synth for years. Would his absence change their lives in some way?

...Would hers?

It seemed like pure arrogance, until Ying thought of the Quincy group. Her joining them in Concord was nothing more than a case of right place, right time, but it had been enough to turn the fight in the group’s favor. And then there was MacCready. They’d gotten along well from the start, but it still took him weeks to trust her enough to open up about his son. It was possible he’d find someone else to help him, but if he didn’t, Duncan would never get his cure.

Throwing a handful of caps on the counter for Vadim, Ying stumbled outside. The bar was stuffy and she needed air. She felt sick, her head spinning with questions and possibilities.

They’d be fine. They had to be. It wasn’t as though she was irreplaceable - anyone could walk up on a firefight, or hire and befriend a merc. It didn’t have to be her. She wasn’t even supposed to be here.

Yet here she was.

Three months or so, at Ying’s last count. Three months of people she was never supposed to meet, conversations she was never supposed to have, bonds she was never supposed to form. Ying didn’t believe in fate, but she damn sure believed in consequences. Who might she have unknowingly influenced? What changes had she already put in motion? There was no way to tell, and no way to take any of it back. It was already too late. Even inaction, as impractical as it was, was still a conscious choice. No matter what she did or didn’t do, the potential for repercussions was impossible to avoid.

Her chest felt so constricted it was hard to breathe and the lights of the city blurred and swam in front of her eyes. She stepped down on something soft that slid beneath her foot and faltered, grabbing onto the pole of a streetlamp to keep her balance. Pressing her forehead to the cool metal, Ying fought to catch her breath as tears dripped down her cheeks.

She couldn’t live like this, bowed beneath the weight of every decision, paralyzed by the fear of simply existing. It was an anchor chained to her feet when she’d barely been able to keep her head above water as it was. She’d tried; gods had she tried. First, to get back. Later, to make the best of her new life, to accept and adapt, but she couldn’t do it anymore.

Something had to give. Something had to go .

She couldn’t survive in this world with one foot still planted firmly in another. All she had was what was in front of her, whether she wanted it or not. There was no getting back. Her attempts to keep the memories of those she loved alive were just a vicious eddy of comparisons and inevitable disappointments that sucked her under one slow inch at a time.

She could let go first and save herself, or she could drown. Either way, they were gone.

I can’t...I just can’t...I’m so sorry.

The dirt was still mounded, damp from yesterday’s rain. No stone marked it, only a wooden board darkened with time and the elements. Her name had been carved into it, along with the year, but there was nothing else to suggest that this was the final resting place of Martha McDonough. No flowers, no pictures, no little mementos to commemorate her life.

It seemed impossible that this barren patch of soil was all that remained of a woman so vibrant and warm. Brushing away some of the looser bits of dirt, Ying gently placed the bundle of flowers on the center of the mound. They looked like bright little stars against the wet earth, the contrast sharpening their faded petals to a deep and vivid orange. The sun would wither them in a day, but Martha had liked them well enough the first time, and Ying hadn’t known what else to bring.

It felt strange, kneeling next to the grave of a woman she hadn’t known. Inappropriate, even. They were strangers to one another, but that hadn’t stopped Martha from inviting her into her home.

“I hope you don’t mind,” Ying said quietly, settling back and folding her legs under her. “I just wanted you to know that it meant a lot to me. Even if I was a jerk about it later.

“...I know I don’t have the right to ask you for anything, but I thought -”

Ying sighed, suddenly feeling foolish. It was one thing to talk to someone that was dead, quite another to go asking them for favors. Still, she pressed on.

“I don’t know how this works,” she admitted, ducking her head. “I don’t know if you can hear me, or if I’m just talking to a pile of dirt, but if there really is something to that Sunday school crap… I have to try.

“I know he’s not technically your son, but I never met the other Martha. I don’t know how that works, either.”

Swallowing back a sob, Ying pulled a slip of paper from her pocket.

It was nothing fancy. Just a sheet torn from a legal pad, but getting her hands on it hadn’t been easy.

Carefully unfolding it, Ying smoothed the page against her thigh. The paper was smudged and tearstained, every available space filled with her inelegant scrawl. Even if the letter had been more legible, Ying doubted anyone would be able to decipher it. She’d written it in Latin. It had taken her the better part of a night to recall her old college courses, and she was sure the syntax was broken and riddled with mistakes but none of that mattered. It wasn’t meant to be read, just more of a way for her to say all the little things she should’ve said back when she’d had the chance.

“I never did have the best penmanship,” Ying explained in apology as she refolded the letter and tucked it beneath the blossoms. “And I know he’ll never get it. But maybe you can keep it for him? I didn’t… I didn’t know where else to leave it.”

Her mouth widened in a soft smile as she continued. “He’s a good man. He looks a little different now, but I think you’d still be proud. I would be. I just wish…”

Swallowing, she dabbed at her eyes and shook her head. “It’s too late for wishes. Just…please, look after him, and I’ll do my best for John. I haven’t been very kind to him, and I’m sorry for that. He’s a good man, too, I just don’t think he sees that yet.”

Ying stayed a while longer, quiet and pensive.

She didn’t say goodbye.

Even in writing, with the term cloaked in the syllables of a dead language, she hadn’t been able to commit to that level of finality. She doubted she ever would.

When the sun started to slip behind the Wall, Ying stood and brushed the dirt from the back of her jeans.

It still hurt. Fuck, did it hurt, but maybe now she could stop picking at the wound.

The next couple days passed much like the others. She wasn’t okay, but she’d managed to sidestep another breakdown and achieve something that passed as functional. A few times each day, Ying walked by John’s house, but there was no sign that he’d returned. The shack was still quiet and dark, and the little pouch was right in front of the door where she’d left it.

Ying took it back to Kit. If John did come home, she didn’t want that to be the first thing he saw.

On the third day, she started to get worried. According to Betsi, John hadn’t even stayed for the funeral. She didn’t need to draw from Hancock’s history to know how self-destructive grief could be, or how reckless it could make someone. He could think what he wanted about her going after him, so long as he was safe.

Returning to her room just long enough to pack a few basic necessities, Ying left the city. She made it to the statue outside when she spotted a tall figure leaning against the base and smoking a cigarette. His lips tilted in a grin when he saw her, but his eyes were dull and listless. He tossed his cigarette away and lifted his chin in the slightest show of acknowledgement.

“Hey.”

Chapter 13 Summary:

This chapter gave me no end of trouble. In my haste to post, I forgot to mention I owe a big, big thank you to Bubonic_Johnson. Thanks for listening to all my whining and offering your support while I waffled for days on how I wanted this to go. I'm not sure I would have ever finished this chapter without you!

Chapter Text

Coming back to Diamond City hadn’t been John’s first choice, but he’d run out of chems, out of caps, and he was fairly sure Evie had run out of patience. After putting up with him for as long as she had, saving her the trouble of throwing him out herself seemed like the least he could do.

In hindsight, maybe he should have just taken his chances.

After a bender that had lasted days, John hadn’t just come down, he’d taken a dive from a three-story window and crashed full speed into the unforgiving ground below. His head was pounding, and his stomach cramped like it was trying to tie itself into knots. Cold sweat gathered along his temples and his eyes felt hot and dry.

Judging by the stares he’d gotten from folks passing through the plaza, he figured he looked as bad as he felt. John couldn’t bring himself to care. It kept them away, if nothing else.

All except for Ying.

Armored and with a bag slung over her shoulder, he’d thought she was heading out, until she’d shoved a can of water into his hands and sat down beside him. John didn’t mind, at first. The water helped, and aside from a quiet greeting, she hadn’t said much. She was watching him too, though, her eyes darting over him whenever she thought he wouldn’t notice.

He almost preferred the open stares. They were easy to ignore, but Ying’s furtive glances made his skin prickle. When he caught her peeking at him through her lashes yet again, John’s patience snapped.

“Like what you see?”

Unfazed by his tone, Ying met his gaze directly and shook her head. “You look like you just crawled out of a gutter.” She wrinkled her nose before adding, “You kind of smell like it, too.”

Despite his mood, John felt a grin tugging at his lips. Her words were blunt, but they lacked the venom he knew she was capable of injecting if she’d truly meant to offend him. Besides, she hadn’t said anything that wasn’t true.

“You keep sweet talkin’ me like that, and it’s gonna go straight to my head.”

“That’s probably just that smell I mentioned,” Ying retorted wryly. “You need a bath, John.”

He laughed at that, wincing as it sent a bolt of pain pulsing through his temples. John leaned his head back and closed his eyes. When the throbbing receded to a dull ache, he cracked one eye back open and smirked. “You tryin' to get me out of my clothes?”

A deep red crept up her neck and into her cheeks, but without missing a beat, Ying shot back, “Only so I can burn them.”

“Sounds like a ‘yes’ to me.”

Ying ducked her head. Her hair hid most of her face, but John could see the slow curve of her lips. “You’re fucking awful, you know that?”

Better than she realized, but he’d made her smile. A real one, not the quick flash of her teeth he was used to seeing. At least he’d got that much right.

Still, he could take a hint.

“What’re you doin’ out here, anyway?” John asked, changing the subject. “Much as I love hearin’ how great I am, I figured you had better shit to do.”

“You’d be surprised. It gets pretty boring between runs.” Shifting, Ying stretched her legs out in front of her. When she was settled again, she tilted her head to peer up at him. “What are you doing out here?”

Flashing a humorless grin, John shrugged. “Enjoyin’ the weather. Thought I’d give that fresh air and sunshine shit a try.”

“How’s that working out for you?”

Glancing up at the sky, John scowled. The light was fading, but it was still bright enough to feel like a hot wire was piercing his brain through his eyeballs. “So far? Fuckin’ hate it.”

Ying laughed and shook her head. “If you’re looking for a change of scenery, we could always hit the bar.”

Not a bad idea, but John knew what he’d find once he walked back into the city - and what he wouldn’t. The gossip and whispers when folks thought he couldn’t hear, the awkward condolences when they knew he could… the empty shack waiting for him with its empty chair.

There was a reason he was still sitting outside, and it had nothing to do with the weather. It helped that he felt like one wrong move would send him tumbling to a sprawl in the dirt, but even that was just a flimsy excuse. He’d come home in the same state or worse plenty of times before.

The truth was that he was a coward, plain and simple.

“John?” Ying’s hand hovered over his, not touching, but close enough that he could feel the heat from her fingers. The corners of her mouth were still quirked in amusement, but her gaze was soft, her brows pinched in a faint frown. “You still there?”

“Yeah. Just thinkin’ is all.”

“I can go,” Ying offered quietly. “Leave you to it.”

Shouldering her pack, she started to stand and before he could think better of it, John caught her hand. She stilled and he let go, mumbling an apology. “You’re good,” he added, rubbing at the back of his neck. “I mean, go if you want, but it ain’t like you’re botherin’ me or anything.”

Ying hesitated, dark eyes searching his face. “If you’re sure.”

“Like I said, it ain’t you. Just... wasn’t really plannin’ on comin’ back,” John admitted, staring out over the plaza.

The confession came easier than it should have, but so did a lot of things with Ying. At least part of that was the odd feeling that he wasn’t really telling her anything she didn’t already know.

As if to confirm his suspicions, Ying only nodded, her gaze going distant and sad.

It was still unnerving in some ways, a relief in others. No questions, no judgement, no need to explain. She knew he was stalling, but for some reason, she’d decided to play along. What he couldn’t figure out was why she’d even bother.

“You never did tell me why you’re here,” John remarked, casually bumping his knee against hers. “Don’t know if you noticed, but you’re the only one that is.”

Ying glanced over and shrugged. “Why did you follow me to the vault?”

“Startin’ to think you don’t know how questions work.”

“Humor me.”

“I told you why,” John sighed. “Whatever the hell was going on, it didn’t seem like you should be alone.”

Drawing her legs up in front of her, Ying curled forward to rest her arms on the tops of her knees. “I’m glad I wasn’t”, she admitted softly. “I didn’t know exactly what I was going to find down there, but I knew it wasn’t going to be anything good. I never thanked you for that. Or that day in the market.”

“Is that what this is?” John asked, watching her from the corner of his eye.

“Maybe.” Ying shrugged again and began picking at the frayed edges of a tear in her jeans. “It could be an apology, too - I’ve been enough of an ass to owe you one.” Flicking a loose thread away, she sat back and sighed. “Or, it could just be that you didn’t look like you should be alone, either.”

John didn’t know what kind of answer he’d been expecting, or if he’d really been expecting one at all. He’d assumed she’d make another attempt to evade, or feed him a random line of bullshit like he’d done after she’d turned the same question back on him. When neither happened, it left him scrambling for a response, all while trying to sort through the confused jumble she’d manage to twist his thoughts into.

Several long seconds went by, until John finally broke the silence with an awkward cough. “So, what you’re sayin’ is...you missed me.”

Ying rolled her eyes, but her lips curved into a grin. “Less and less, asshole.”

“I understand,” John continued, pretending he hadn’t heard. “I can’t get enough of me, either.”

“You’re insufferable,” Ying laughed. She quieted a moment later and sent him a shy smile. “For what it’s worth, though, I’m glad you came back.”

Returning the expression, John ducked his head, scuffing at the gravel with the toe of his shoe. “Yeah, well, turns out it might not be the worst decision I ever made.”

“I can always go back to insulting you. You can’t turn them all into innuendos.”

“Sounds like a challenge,” John chuckled. “But maybe some other time.” He paused and took a breath, adding, “I was actually thinkin’ about gettin’ that drink, if you’re still interested.”

“Yeah, sure,” Ying nodded. She stood and grabbed her bag, turning to hold a hand out to him. John took it, allowing her to pull him to his feet. He still wasn’t sure if he was ready, but somehow the thought of going back into Diamond City had gone from impossible, to merely unpleasant.

Diamond City was a lot smaller than most of its residents wanted to think, and John’s return hadn’t gone unnoticed. Most of the people that approached had been kind enough in expressing their sympathies, but Ying could see that even that was beginning to take its toll on John. Strained as his grins had been before, they’d vanished entirely by the time they reached the market, replaced by a deep frown that pressed his lips into a hard, bloodless line.

They passed the produce stall just as Betsi and her mother were closing for the day. Mrs. Combs’ gaze sharpened as she caught sight of John, and Ying watched as the elder woman nudged an elbow into her daughter’s side and nodded in their direction. Betsi looked up and gave a little wave.

“John! I didn’t know you were back.”

Dread flashed in John’s eyes, but it was gone a moment later. Shoving his hands into his pockets, he forced a smile that looked like it was better suited to a store mannequin and shrugged. “It’s a recent development.”

“Oh. Well, it’s good to see you again.”

“Better late than never,” Mrs. Combs muttered from behind Betsi.

Ying glared a warning at the older woman, but was ignored as Mrs. Combs shoved past her daughter, bright eyes fixed on John. “I’m so sorry about your mother,” she murmured, giving John’s arm a perfunctory pat.

Tensing, John nodded. “Thanks for your help with takin’ care of things.”

“It was no trouble,” Betsi chirped, shooting a pleading glance at her mother.

“Of course not,” Mrs. Combs agreed, her smile bordering on saccharine. “Really, it was the least we could do, seeing as you were --”

“ Mama !” Betsi hissed, cheeks flushing red in mortification.

“-- otherwise engaged,” Mrs. Combs continued, oblivious to her daughter’s discomfort. “It was a lovely service, though. A shame you couldn’t make it, but thank goodness your brother was there. I wasn’t sure he’d be up to the task after your little scuffle, but--”

“Mama, stop !”

“What?” Mrs. Combs asked, blinking at Betsi. “I’m just saying, Martha would have been proud.”

Ying didn’t know exactly what Mrs. Combs was alluding to, but John did. He looked like he was going to be sick.

Fuck missing context, she’d had enough.

“It sounds like you knew her well,” she remarked, mimicking Mrs. Combs’ syrupy tone.

The older woman beamed. “I did. We were good friends, Martha and me. She deserved better than life gave her, the poor dear.” Her gaze flicked to John and she heaved a sigh.

Willing herself to remain calm, Ying pasted on a smile. “I’m sure. It can’t have been easy to make time for her, though, what with running your shop, and dinners at the Dugout. Near everyday, as far as I saw. She was lucky to have such a dedicated friend.”

“Well, I...I certainly did my best,” Mrs. Combs stammered, taken aback. “But like you said, I had my obligations, and Martha didn’t get out much.”

Ying nodded in feigned sympathy. “Oh, of course. Completely understandable, really. I doubt anyone would fault you for finding yourself...otherwise engaged.”

Mrs. Combs glared at Ying through narrowed eyes. “I don’t think I like what you’re implying.”

“Then there seems to be a misunderstanding, because I’m not implying anything,” Ying scoffed, allowing an edge to creep into her voice. “Think of it more as a polite request to shut the fuck up and mind your own business.”

Eyes wide, Betsi grabbed onto her mother’s arm. “We should go.”

“Now wait just a minute,” Mrs. Combs huffed, yanking her arm from Betsi’s grasp. “I won’t stand for this kind of treatment. Especially not from the likes of you .”

“I suppose you could sit, if you’d rather,” Ying murmured doubtfully. “It doesn’t make any difference to me.”

“You’re no longer welcome at my store,” Mrs. Combs spat. “If I catch so much as a glimpse of you, I’ll call security.”

“That’s fine,” Ying shrugged. “I'd honestly rather starve than hand you another cap.”

“Mama, please.” Betsi’s voice was almost a whimper as Mrs. Combs allowed her daughter to drag her away. As they turned down the street, the younger woman looked back, mouthing the words ‘ I’m sorry ’ before they disappeared out of sight.

Ying’s smirk faded as she glanced over at John and found him watching her, his expression inscrutable.

“You’re burnin’ bridges,” he warned in a low voice.

“She’s just mad she’s not the only one fluent in pretentious ass,” Ying snorted.

“Maybe,” John acknowledged, the ghost of a grin playing at his lips. “Still, from where I’m standin’? Don't really seem worth it.”

“That’s for me to decide,” Ying said softly. “They’re my bridges, John.”

John studied her for a few moments, then gave her a slow nod. “Fair enough.”

It was approaching evening by the time they arrived at the Dugout, and the tavern was rapidly filling. The jukebox was on, but only occasional faint strains of whatever song was playing could be heard over the dull rumble of chatter and Vadim’s booming laugh. Stale cigarette smoke swirled around the ceiling in a gray haze, further dimming the low lights, and a couple fans spun in lazy circles circles that did little to offset the heat of so many bodies packed so tightly together.

John had left almost as soon as they’d entered, disappearing down the hall toward the back of the tavern where the public facilities were located. He’d said he wanted to get cleaned up, but Ying privately suspected that he’d just needed an escape. Not that she blamed him, really. Despite agreeing to come with her, he hadn’t seemed all that confident in his decision. Add in what happened with Mrs. Combs, and she’d probably want to get away for a few minutes, too.

After stopping at her room to remove and stash her armor, Ying chose a table as far as she could get from the crowd milling about the bar, and took a seat. A few minutes later the night waitress, Sue, came by to take her order.

“What’ll it be for you, honey? The usual?”

“Sounds good,” Ying nodded. “But make it two.” She hesitated a moment, wondering how long it had been since John actually ate something, and asked, “What’s the special tonight?”

Sue rolled her eyes. “BlamCo. Whatever Vadim says, I really don’t recommend it.”

“Will it kill me?”

“Probably not.”

“Perfect,” Ying smirked.

“Suit yourself,” the waitress sighed. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you. Two?”

Ying nodded, figuring John would be less likely to refuse food that was already bought and paid for. Dirty on her part, but she didn’t mind using a few tricks as long as no one got hurt.

“Alright. I’ll have it out as soon as it’s ready,” Sue called over her shoulder, already turning to head back to the bar.

Lighting a cigarette while she waited, Ying let the sights and sounds of the bar wash over her. The din of the tavern was soothing, in a way, but anxiety still gnawed at the pit of her stomach.

Had she been right to intervene with Mrs. Combs? It sure as hell seemed so at the time. Now, Ying wondered if she’d just lowered herself to the other woman’s level. Martha deserved better than to have her memory used as ammunition to settle a score, and Ying was just as guilty. She’d made her point, but she’d done so by using what John had told her, if not in confidence, at least in private. He could have used the same argument, if he’d wanted to, and with far more authority. He hadn’t.

With a sigh, Ying stubbed her cigarette out in an old can that served as an ashtray and slumped against the back of her chair. Maybe she’d gone about it the wrong way, but the truth was she didn’t regret stepping in. Even if she’d kept her mouth shut, she doubted it would’ve made a difference. John didn’t defend himself because he didn’t believe he was worth defending. He’d said as much in the market, as if Mrs. Combs’ silly threats carried any real weight.

Sue arrived, pulling Ying from her musing. She paid the waitress and thanked her, turning her attention to her plate.The macaroni was overcooked and the cheese sauce was lumpy where it hadn’t been thoroughly mixed. Probably not the best thing to pair with moonshine, but she’d had worse. She’d only taken a few bites of the sticky orange mixture when John slid into the seat across from her. Wordlessly, she nudged the second plate in front of him, studying him from beneath her lashes as she finished chewing.

His hair was still damp, hanging in loose tendrils around his collar. He’d shaved, Ying noted, though there wasn’t much that could be done about his clothes. She’d only been half joking about burning them, but she wasn’t about to suggest going by his house for a fresh set. It was still an improvement, and more importantly, he looked like he was feeling a little better, too. The dark circles beneath his eyes hadn’t faded, but he didn’t look quite as pale as he had when she found him out in the plaza.

“I wasn’t sure if you’d be hungry or not,” Ying said with a nod at his plate. “Or what you liked.”

“This is fine,” John shrugged. “Thanks.”

The next several minutes went by in silence as they ate. John picked at his food, but didn’t so much as touch his drink. Probably for the best, Ying decided. Despite her earlier quip about hitting the bar, she wasn’t really in the mood anymore, either. She was starting to get antsy again, and all the noise was setting her teeth on edge. From the looks of it, John wasn’t doing much better.

Ying watched as he ran a hand over his eyes, thumb and middle finger pressing into his temples like he was trying to ward off a headache, and pushed her chair back. “Come on.”

John stood, brows furrowed in either pain or puzzlement, but followed Ying without complaint as she led him to her room.

Inside, she dropped her bag to the floor and flopped down on the foot of the bed, resting her back against the wall. “I’ve got Med-X in there, if you need it,” she said, tipping her chin towards her pack. “There may even still be a dose of Addictol around here somewhere.”

Sitting down beside her, John shook his head. “Ain’t so bad when it’s quiet.”

As soon as he’d finished his sentence, Vadim’s boisterous laugh echoed down the hall, muffled, but still clearly audible from behind the door. Ying grinned. “Well, it’s quieter , at least. I doubt they had Vadim in mind when they built this place.”

“Probably not,” John agreed with a chuckle. He broke off with a wince and tipped his head back, closing his eyes.

He stayed like that for so long Ying began to wonder if he’d fallen asleep. Trying not to disturb him, she carefully slid off the bed and grabbed her pack. She searched through it for another can of water and gently set it on the nightstand before climbing back onto the mattress. When she was settled again, she looked over to find John watching her.

“Hey. About earlier...that shit with Louise...”

“In the market?” Ying asked, doing her best to ignore the sudden lurch of her stomach.

“Yeah.” John sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Never meant to drag you into any of that.”

Ying blinked as the full meaning of his words sank in. She’d been prepared for anger or disapproval, not an apology. “You didn’t drag me into anything,” she corrected firmly. “I jumped into that one all on my own. I’ll admit I could have handled it better, but even Betsi knew her mother was out of line.”

“Don’t make her wrong,” John muttered, staring down at the thin blanket that covered the bed.

“Bullshit.”

John looked up at that, the twist of his lips bitter with self-loathing. “What she said was true. Ma deserved better than me runnin’ out on her like that.”

“You stayed when it mattered,” Ying said softly. “When she needed you.”

“Not like I should’ve.”

Ying nodded. “You’re probably right. There probably was more you should’ve done, or things you should have done differently. And it’s all irrelevant, because you’re using the wrong word. No one’s perfect. No one is ever going to measure up against should . A better question is, did you do everything you could ?”

“I could have stayed,” John argued through gritted teeth. “I could have been there for her more than I was, and I could have been less of an ass to my brother after everything. Look, I appreciate what you’re tryin’ to say, but you ain’t gotta make excuses for me.”

“I’m not making excuses for anyone,” Ying sighed. “If you want to put yourself on trial, I can’t stop you, but you should know, your jury is biased as fuck. I’m not going to be a part of that, and I’m not going to help you beat yourself up over any of this, either.”

John swallowed and looked away, his hand curling into a fist in the bedding. “I left ‘cause I didn’t wanna see her like that again. ‘Cause I couldn’t stand the thought of...of ‘em puttin’ her in the ground.”

Wrapping her fingers around his, Ying gave his hand a squeeze. “That’s not a crime, and it’s sure as hell not a failure.”

He snorted at that, but slowly relaxed his grip on the blanket. “Still feels spineless.”

“Say it is. So what?” Ying asked, arching a brow. “You’re allowed to say, ‘this is too much’, and take a step back to figure shit out. That doesn’t make you a bad person, and it doesn’t mean you loved her any less. Anyone that says differently can eat a dick.”

“You really believe that?”

“That anyone who disagrees with me can eat a dick? Absolutely.”

“You know what I mean,” John chided, bumping her with his shoulder.

“I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t, but all that matters is what you believe.”

John frowned, but didn’t answer, his expression blank as he stared at the far wall. Leaving him to his thoughts, Ying grabbed her armor and set about repairing one of the straps that had come loose in the blast from Brick’s grenade. She hoped the silence meant John was at least considering what she’d said, but she wasn’t so naive to think one conversation would be enough to change his mind. That was fine. She wasn’t going anywhere.

Neither was he, she realized as he let out a soft snore. Not tonight, anyway. She looked over, a faint grin curling her lips when she found his head tipped back, mouth slack in sleep. Reaching over, she gave him a shove, biting back laughter as he slowly tipped over face-first into the pillow without waking.

Finishing up with her armor, Ying set it aside. She slipped from her jeans, hanging them over the back of a chair, and turned out the light. John could stay as long as he wanted, but he could move the fuck over while he was at it, because she sure as hell wasn’t going to sleep on the floor. Her room, her bed. He mumbled something unintelligible as she stretched out under the blanket, but was out again moments later.

For the first time in a long time, Ying followed soon after.

Chapter 14 Summary:

A big thank you to Raven-raine and Bubonic Johnson for helping with this chapter! I also want to thank everyone still reading for their patience with my sporadic updates. <3 This chapter was difficult to write as it was. Throwing a pandemic into the works did not help.
Warning: This chapter contains sexual content. Read at your own risk.

Chapter Text

Awareness returned in slow, languid waves that lapped at the edges of her mind. Still, Ying resisted, hovering in that nebulous realm between dreams and waking. This was their time, a few minutes of peace stolen from a world that was constant in its demands for war. It never lasted long, but Ying would stall while she could. The Commonwealth wasn’t going anywhere, and whatever battles the day would bring could wait.

Shifting so her back was flush against the plane of John’s chest, Ying let out a soft sigh. His breath was hot against her neck, his arm a warm weight over her hip. He stirred, tightening his hold on her, then relaxed, his hand splayed over her abdomen just beneath her breasts. Lulled by the steady rise and fall behind her, Ying dozed, until the last vestiges of sleep faded like wisps of fog in morning sunlight.

His name a mumbled greeting on her lips, Ying rolled over, cupping John’s cheek as she leaned in to kiss him awake. With only a few scant inches between them, she froze, her sleep-addled brain snapping to the realization her body had been content to ignore.

It wasn’t him.

Her stomach sinking, Ying could only stare in dismay as his nose twitched and thick lashes fluttered open. John blinked, then bolted upright, eyes going wide. At the same time, Ying snatched her hand away and scrambled back...right over the edge of the bed.

“Shit! You okay?!” Tossing the blanket aside, John was halfway out of bed before Ying waved him back.

“I’m fine,” she grunted, pushing herself up to sit cross legged on the floor.

The concrete was chilly against her bare legs and Ying shivered, tucking her hands beneath her thighs to keep as much of the floor from touching her as possible. Her hip throbbed from where she’d landed on it, but it was dulled by the familiar ache behind her sternum. It hurt like it always did when she slipped into her past, when that inevitable jolt of recognition surged through her like the current of a live wire. It hurt, but so did the way she could still feel John’s arms around her, his warmth at her back. A different kind of pain, somehow sharper than the old ache.

It hadn’t been a dream or a memory. It hadn’t even been conscious, but he’d held her like he always had, like they’d been molded for each other. She hadn’t realized how much she’d missed that - how she craved it - until he’d reminded her. Then it was gone, leaving her cold and bereft.

“I’m fine,” Ying repeated in a whisper, willing the words to be true. She wasn’t going to do this again. Not here, not now, not in front of him. There’d be plenty of time to fall apart later.

Time .

As if relying on that fickle old bitch had ever worked out in her favor.

A sudden bubble of manic laughter worked its way up her throat, and she had to slap her hand over her mouth to hold it in. Her shoulders shook with the effort, her teeth bit into her palm, but somehow she managed to keep quiet, until John knelt and hugged her to him. To Ying’s surprise, what escaped wasn’t a laugh at all, but the low, wrenching keen of a wounded animal.

“I’m fine,” she gasped, frantic. Pleading. “I’m fine. I’m fine imfine! ”

John tipped her chin back so she’d look at him, his fingers sliding through her hair. “You don’t have to be.”

His voice was a bare murmur, softer than Ying had ever heard. Not permission, but an invitation; shelter to ride out the coming storm. She couldn’t have held back any longer if she’d tried.

A hot rush behind her eyes dissolved John’s features in a mosaic of color. It spilled down her cheeks, and with a strangled cry, Ying buried her face in his shoulder as the first sob broke free. More followed, shuddering through her with the force of physical blows. Helpless beneath the onslaught, she fisted her hands in John’s shirt, clinging to him like a woman drowning as wave after choking wave crashed over her.

She cried until her throat felt like she’d gargled shards of glass, gagged as her mouth filled with the taste of salt. Her nose dripped. Her eyes must have been red and swollen, but John only gathered her closer. Eventually her sobs turned to whimpers, and those to hiccuping breaths. When she was finally spent, he sat back, pulling her with him so she was draped over his lap, her head tucked against the curve of his throat while he traced idle patterns along her back.

She couldn’t say how long they stayed like that. Hours, or minutes, it didn’t matter. Soothed by the steady thump of his heart beneath her hand, Ying was in no hurry to pull away. With every beat, the wild skitter behind her ribs slowed a little more until it started to resemble the sedate rhythm pulsing against her fingertips. Closing her eyes, she pressed her face into the crook of his neck and let out a tremulous sigh.

Gods, but it felt good to be touched again. Such a simple pleasure in life; easy to take for granted, yet so difficult to admit to needing.

The heat of his skin was a balm. It suffused her limbs with every lazy pass of his hand, warmed her belly, left her boneless and breathless in turn. She arched into the touch, greedy for more contact, and John was quick to oblige. The pressure of his strokes increased, and Ying bit her lip, trying not to squirm as little sparks of static danced up and down her spine.

Her heart quickened once more, and she drew in a ragged breath. His scent filled her nose, sweat and whatever soap he’d used the night before. Beneath that was something she couldn’t define. Unique to John; foreign, yet somehow not. It tickled at her thoughts, evoking bright bursts of remembered sensation: the slide of sweat-slicked skin, the blunt scrape of teeth at her throat, the tangle of damp sheets around her legs.

He was all around her. She felt like she was drowning in him, and it still wasn’t enough.

Her hands moved without conscious direction, slipping beneath his shirt to skim along his sides and chest.

Fuck, but he was hot. She’d always thought it had something to with the radiation, but even now, his skin smooth save for a dark trail of blond at his navel, heat rolled off of him in waves. The muscles of his stomach jumped and trembled beneath her fingers, and John let out something between a groan and a sigh. He caught her wrists, stilling the movement of her hands long enough to shrug out of his flannel.

A little voice in the back of her mind hissed a warning as she tugged at the hem of his tee, but it was distant, muffled by the pounding rush of blood in her ears. It faded entirely when John pulled his shirt over his head in one hurried motion. He tossed it aside and dragged her against him, his touch gentling as he cupped her face. Their lips met, tentative at first, then more insistent. His mouth was soft against hers, fuller, but he tasted like he always had and she drank him in.

They broke apart, panting for air. Ying yanked at her tank top, uncaring when one of the seams split as she pulled it off. It was just another barrier between them, another obstacle to overcome.

Letting it fall to the floor, she rose up on her knees and hooked her thumbs in the waistband of her panties. She got one leg free, only to leave the scrap of fabric hanging forgotten around her other ankle when John grabbed her waist and pulled her back into his lap.

He kissed her again, hard and urgent, reaching down between them to fumble with the button to his fly. The eager tremble of her fingers made her clumsy, but Ying helped as best as she could. When it finally came loose, he wrapped an arm around her back to keep her in place and lifted his hips, shoving his jeans and underwear down around his thighs.

His breath hissed from behind clenched teeth when her hand closed around his cock, his fingers digging into the backs of her thighs as she sank down on him. She was wetter than she thought she’d be with so little preparation, but it still burned as he stretched her. It didn’t matter. Neither did the cold bite of the concrete or the bruises she’d have the following day. All that did was the feeling of him inside her, the proof that for this one moment, she wasn’t alone anymore.

Pressing her forehead to John’s, Ying rocked against him, her nails dragging long red welts down his arms. He gasped against her mouth, harsh pants mingling with her own as he thrust into each roll of her hips. Neither was going to last at the frenzied pace she’d set, and it wasn’t long before she faltered, spine going rigid as her inner muscles clenched tight around him. Dropping her head to his shoulder, she bit down to muffle a ragged cry. John followed soon after, the dig of his fingers nearing painful as he ground her hips down on his cock and came with a shuddering groan.

Neither moved as they fought to catch their breath. Even as their sweat cooled and he grew soft inside her, Ying was loath to break that connection. It couldn’t last forever, though. Eventually, John sighed, idly rubbing his cheek against her hair in a gesture so familiar - so wrong - it spurred her into motion.

On Shaking legs, Ying stood, making her way to the nightstand. Grabbing the water she’d left there the night before, she took a long drink. It was stale and warm, tasting faintly of metal, but it gave her an excuse to avoid John’s gaze. What happened between them was a mistake; a mutual lapse in judgement brought on by loneliness and grief. She wouldn’t deny that, but that didn’t mean she wanted to see his face when he arrived at the same conclusion.

Behind her, she heard the zip of John’s pants and the creak of ancient springs as he moved to sit on the bed. Ying set the water down and reached for her jeans, watching him from beneath the spill of her hair as she tugged them on.

John perched on the edge of the mattress, hands clasped loosely between his splayed knees. His posture was relaxed, at odds with the rapid clench of his jaw, the occasional twitch of his fingers as he gazed at the floor. Suddenly, he looked up, too fast for Ying to look away or pretend she hadn’t been watching him. They stared at one another, the silence growing heavier with every second that passed. Unable to stand the tension any longer, Ying turned away first, hurriedly scooping her discarded tank top from the floor. She finished dressing, muttering a curse as she heard a few more stitches pop in the torn seam of her shirt, and cast a furtive glance toward the door.

It would be simple enough to come up with an excuse to get away, and John wasn’t stupid. He’d take the hint and leave, but then what?

“I can pretend to sleep, if you want,” John drawled from behind her, his tone tinged with amusement. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

Ying sent him a puzzled glance over her shoulder, and John just shrugged, his lips curling in a faint grin. “Sneakin’ away while I’m watchin’ sorta defeats the point, y’know?”

Not exactly what she’d been thinking, but close enough that Ying felt her face heat in embarrassment. “It’s my room,” she muttered, crossing her arms over her chest. “I don’t have to sneak out.”

John nodded, and his gaze turned sober. “Fair enough. You want me to go, I’ll go.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You ain’t said much of anything, really. That’s what I’m gettin’ at.”

Running a hand through her tangled hair, Ying gave a tired sigh. “What do you want me to say, John? This -- It happened, okay? It’s done.”

A moment of weakness, that was all. It wouldn’t happen again.

“If that’s how you wanna play it,” John agreed. The response came easily enough, but his eyes were wary. “Just makin’ sure we’re on the same page, here. If I misread-”

“What? No!” Ying interrupted with a firm shake of her head. “ No . You didn’t misread anything. It’s just...look, it doesn’t need to be complicated. Nothing’s changed.”

He eyed her a moment longer and nodded, visibly relaxing. “It’s your call,” he shrugged, shifting so he could reach for his shirt. Pulling it on, he stood and waved toward the door. “Hey, you hungry? The Dugout ain’t got much in the way of breakfast, but it’s food.”

More like whatever was left over from the night before. Still, Ying nodded. She wasn’t really hungry, but if nothing else, it would serve as a distraction. Having Vadim as a sort of buffer couldn’t hurt either.

There were no waitresses working this early, so they made their way to the empty bar. With no other patrons, they had Vadim’s undivided attention. Even at this hour, he was as boisterous as ever, and happily waved them over.

“John! Is been long time, yes? Good to see you again, friend! And you,” the bartender boomed, turning to Ying. “Favorite customer! Sit, sit. Relax and have drink.”

“Vadim, it can’t be more than a little past nine,” Ying said dryly. Even she had standards.

“Eight-fifty-two,” Vadim corrected with a glance at the clock. “Is good time for drink.”

John flashed a grin as he took his seat and shook his head. “Much as I appreciate your enthusiasm, I think I’m gonna stick with food for now.”

Heaving an exaggerated sigh of disappointment, Vadim looked back at Ying, eyes hopeful. “And you, favorite customer?”

Ying rolled her eyes. “You call everyone your favorite, Vadim.”

“Is true,” the bartender laughed. “You buy moonshine, you favorite customer. You buying?”

“Sorry, not this time.”

“Bah, have it your way, spoilsports. I will go and see what we have. But later, you come back, yes?” Vadim coaxed, grinning at John. “First one is on the house. We talk about shithead brother too good for moonshine.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

Vadim disappeared in the back of the bar and returned a few minutes later with two plates of tatos and what looked like fried Cram. Not the most appetizing of meals first thing in the morning, but better than the leftover BlamCo Ying had feared. Vadim stayed while they ate, chatting with both of them as he set up for the day. As Ying had hoped, the bartender served as an excellent distraction from her thoughts. Until Yefim called him into the back and she and John were left alone at the bar.

Nothing’s changed , Ying reminded herself, and by all outward appearances, that seemed to hold at least some semblance of truth.

John joked like he always had, and their familiar banter came as easily as it had before that morning. But something still felt off. Strained. A near palpable current of tension thrummed between them, alerting Ying to every laugh that sounded just a little too forced, every grin that seemed a bit too bright.

In hindsight, sitting at a table might have been better. Seated side by side as they were, Ying was uncomfortably aware of John’s proximity - and the direction her thoughts insisted on taking because of it. By the time John pushed his plate aside, Ying nearly sighed in relief. For one that made a habit of clinging to denial, she never had been very good at pretending.

Even John had fallen quiet, idly rubbing his thumb along the edge of his glass of water, his expression troubled. After a few minutes, he cleared his throat.

“Been thinkin’,” he began, looking up at her. “S’probably about time I head back home. See what Guy’s done to the place.”

“I could go with you...” Ying offered, no longer caring how awkward their meal had been. She hadn’t been there when Martha died, but she was here now. If John wanted to go back, she’d support him however she could.

John gave her a quick smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Thanks, doll, but this feels like somethin’ I gotta do on my own.”

“I understand.”

“Appreciate it,” John nodded. “And hey, thanks again…for everything.”

“Any time, okay? I mean it,” Ying added softly. “You know where to find me.”

“I do,” John smirked.

He slid off the bar stool and Ying started counting out caps to pay Vadim. John stopped her with a wave of his hand.

“Don’t worry about it. Vadim can put it on my tab.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. I still owe you from last night, anyway. See ya around?”

“Yeah. Yeah, of course.”

With a little wave, Ying watched him head toward the exit and sighed, leaning forward to prop her elbows over the bar. She didn’t like the idea of him going back alone, but if that’s what he wanted, she had to respect his wishes. Besides, some distance between them wasn’t a bad idea. She’d made enough of a mess as it was.

What the hell had she been thinking?

She hadn’t been, obviously, and there was no one to blame but her. She was lonely, more than she’d ever been, but that was no excuse. Some mistakes couldn’t be fixed.

There were no do-overs this time around, no taking it back.

The thought made her wince, but the sharp stab of guilt she expected never came. Shame, yes, for using John yet again, and for her behavior both before and after. But guilt? That particular emotion was strangely absent.

Did it really matter anymore?

Ying tried to force the traitorous words back into whatever dark corner of her mind they’d come from, but they stubbornly echoed again and again, like some awful children’s rhyme she couldn’t get out of her head.

...Did it?

She recalled the day Hancock announced he was no longer a ‘touring’ ghoul, and proudly proclaimed her the sort a man didn’t go wandering on. More than a year together, and he hadn’t, not once. Not during spats or her long absences working with the Railroad. Not even when he’d been certain she hadn’t survived her initial trip to the Institute.

No, she was the one who’d strayed, and after only a few short months apart.

Still Ying couldn’t summon guilt, only a slow burning anger that snaked its way through the pit of her stomach. What right did he have to judge her? What right did anyone?

Hancock wasn’t there. He didn’t know what it was like to try to get back only to have every attempt end in failure. He didn’t know how it felt to hope beyond all reason for a rescue that never came, to try to salvage the broken pieces of her soul day after day in a cycle that seemed like it would never end.

It was John that filled a part of that terrible void, John that made the ache recede.

It wasn’t enough; it would never be enough, but it was something .

So fine. Maybe she didn’t feel guilty, but so what? She’d paid more than enough for her sins, with interest to boot.

Ying glanced at the clock. Not yet ten.

Did it really matter anymore?

Did anything?

“ Fuck standards,” Ying muttered. “Hey, Vadim. Let me get a drink.”

The house was dark and empty. John had known it would be, but seeing it with his own eyes hurt every bit as much as he’d imagined. The first thing he noticed was that Ma's chair was gone, but that wasn’t so bad. His last memory of the damn thing would haunt him the rest of his life as it was. But it wasn’t just her chair that was missing. As John walked about the small living room, he realized all of Ma’s things were gone. The shelves and table were bare of her little knick- knacks, the broken vase she’d been so proud to show off to Ying was missing from the table, her clothes were gone from the dresser, and even her hairbrush no longer lay on top.

Every trace of her was gone, as though she’d never lived there at all. Guy had taken everything .

Storming to the back room, John aimed a kick at the dresser as he passed, snarling in grim satisfaction as the front of the lowest drawer buckled under the force. Stingy bastard could’ve at least left him something to remember her by. It was probably just a bunch of junk to him, anyway.

Yanking the sheet that hung over the doorway hard enough to tear it from the nails, John let it fall to the floor and ducked inside. He dropped to the mattress and began rummaging through the shelves, tossing aside books as he went. After a few moments, he found what he was looking for. Hidden behind a stack of comics was a tin of mentats and a couple canisters of jet. For emergencies, or so he’d told himself when he'd hidden them. He wasn’t sure if this actually qualified, but considering he’d burned through the last of his stash a couple days ago, now seemed as good a time as any.

He was still pissed after the first hit, so he took another, flopping back on the mattress with his arms propped behind his head. As the second wore off, he got a good look at his clothes and realized Ying might’ve been on to something when she’d suggested burning them. By the third, he’d concluded that they were definitely beyond saving, and sat up to find something at least semi-clean to change into. When he tried for a fourth, John found the canister empty and tossed it aside. Grabbing a pack of cigarettes off a crate that served as a nightstand, he started to head for the porch only to sit back down as he realized what he was doing.

There was no reason to smoke outside now.

It still felt weird as he shook one out; weirder still when he lit it and watched the thin stream of smoke curl towards the ceiling. Scrubbing a hand over his face, he sighed.

His anger had faded with the high, but he didn’t actually feel any better. It wasn’t even Guy he was pissed off at. Not really. Coming back would've hurt even worse with Ma’s things in every corner. Packing them away should’ve been something they did together, but there was no telling when John would’ve been ready for something like that, and patience wasn’t really Guy’s thing. Besides, he had no right to expect his brother to wait around on him after the way he’d left things between them.

No, he wasn’t mad at Guy. The real target of his ire, like always, had been himself.

For running out in the first place, for not getting his shit together when it actually mattered, for ruining what was left of his family…

….for more than likely fucking up the one good thing he had going in his life.

He still hadn’t sorted out his feelings on Ying, but she’d proven to be one hell of a friend when he’d needed one most. John wasn’t so greedy as to want more than that - at least he hadn’t thought he was until that morning.

In hindsight, he should’ve stopped it. It wasn’t that it happened that bothered him, but more how . He didn’t mind quick and dirty, and sex could be as much a comfort as a release, but something about it just didn’t quite feel right. It wasn’t just that she’d been upset, either, though he sure as hell could’ve shown some fucking self control for that alone. He hadn’t though, and there was nothing he could do about it now.

As much as Ying wanted to pretend nothing had changed, and as much as John wanted to play along, he couldn’t shake the feeling that they were both just lying to themselves. The question was, how much had changed, and what would it mean for them going forward?

John still didn’t have a word for whatever the hell this was between him and Ying. All he knew was that is wasn’t worth losing over something as frivolous as sex.

Too bad he hadn’t thought of that earlier.

Gathering the clothes he’d set aside, John changed and stuffed the tin of mentats and the remaining inhaler into the pocket of his jeans. He shoved a handful of caps into the other, and left, catching the door out of habit so it wouldn’t slam. Everything that had ever made the little shack home was gone, somehow rendering the place even more claustrophobic. There was no reason for him to stay, even if he’d wanted to.

He kept his head down as he walked through the streets following a route he’d tread countless times before. Though the stands were considered prime real estate in Diamond City, few could afford such extravagance. The western stands were all but abandoned. Even security rarely visited the area, and those patrols that did come that far were easy enough to dodge. With a quick look around to make sure he wouldn’t be noticed, John climbed the stairs and sat down in the shadow cast by an old house at the top of the stands.

It was quiet here, comfortable in the shade. The view wasn’t nearly as stunning as the lake at night, but it certainly wasn’t something to scoff at either. Here he could think, get high, get away , all without ever stepping foot outside the gates. That was important once, back when he’d needed to stay close for Ma, but couldn’t stand another minute being cooped up in the house.

Pulling the chems from his pocket, John set them on the bleacher beside him and let his mind drift as he watched the city below. Hours passed, the shadow of the box growing smaller as the sun moved across the sky. When only a sliver remained, he made his way back down, but couldn’t bring himself to return home.

Shoving his hand in his pocket, John heard the jingle of caps. Between what he had on him, and what was left at the house, he had enough to get back into Goodneighbor if he wanted to. To his surprise, he didn’t. There was somewhere he wanted to be right then, it just happened to be the last place he actually ought to go.

He lit another cigarette, debating the pros and cons in his head. By the time he crushed the spent butt beneath his heel, he’d already made up his mind.

She’d said any time, right? Seemed pretty earnest about it, too, despite how weird things had been at breakfast.

Fuck it. If she didn’t want him there, she’d tell him.

The Dugout hadn’t yet reached its peak, but there were still enough patrons this late in the evening to keep Vadim busy. When John didn’t find Ying sitting at the bar or any of the surrounding tables, he slipped down the hallway that led to her room. It didn’t occur to him until he knocked that she might be out, and for a split second, he almost hoped she was. There were so many reasons this was a bad idea, so many ways he could fuck up even further.

Just as he thought about turning back, the door swung open, and she was there.

“Hey,” he managed, his mouth suddenly gone dry. “Wasn’t really sure if you’d be here, or if maybe you just wanted to be left alone. Or...fuck, you weren’t asleep were you? I can come back -”

“Are you coming in or not?” Ying interrupted, arching a brow.

Letting out a slow breath of relief, John nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, sure.”

Chapter 15 Notes:

I apologize for the wait! I don't get much time to myself anymore with the pandemic, but I'm working on this whenever I can. Thanks to everyone that's still reading! I can't say how much I appreciate your patience

Chapter Text

Nothing’s changed.

It became something of a mantra over the days following their indiscretion, as if Ying could will the words to be true simply by saying them often enough. She’d had little success so far. In fact, the lie grew more obvious with each repetition until it seemed her own inner voice was mocking her, daring her to admit the truth: everything had changed.

Or, maybe it was just her.

John certainly didn’t seem to notice that the elephant in the room had grown to jurassic proportions. He still teased and joked with her like nothing had happened, apparently already having worked through his initial awkwardness. Ying wished she could say the same, but it would take a better liar than her to sell that particular untruth.

The bruises had faded, but a playful nudge was all it took to bring back their dull throb. A single smirk or grin from him made her lips tingle the same way they had after he’d kissed her, and his scent...there was no escaping his scent. The few times he’d left, it lingered long after he was gone, permeating her clothes and her bed. It didn’t help that he sat just as close to her as ever, or thought nothing of pulling her into a random hug. Why would he? That was just John, as far as Ying could tell, and per her own insistence, nothing had changed .

It was something of a relief, then, when one week slipped into two, and she had to return to the caravan.

Time away would do her good, Ying decided, and any reluctance she felt at leaving only underscored her need to do so. She couldn’t expect to make rational decisions with temptation staring her in the face at every turn. At the very least, she had a few days to clear her head and go back to some semblance of normal - or what passed for normal before she’d slept with John and turned the entire concept on its head.

That should’ve been the end of it.

Like she’d hoped, distance provided clarity, but somehow, she felt more troubled than ever.

She’d blamed that morning on loneliness and grief. While that was true at the time, it didn’t explain why she kept thinking about it - or why she was still thinking about him .

For something she’d called a mistake, Ying hadn’t done much to acknowledge it as one, or to prevent it from happening again. Hell, she’d practically hung out an invitation.There’d been no repeat, or anything close, but John had shared her bed nearly every night since. She’d told herself that she didn’t want to send him back to an empty house, but that, too, was just another excuse. The truth was, she liked having him there. She wanted him there.

The days weren’t as bad, when Ying could keep busy moving from one distraction to another. Night was where her ghosts lurked, when loss and regret cut their keenest. Having John with her helped keep the worst at bay. There was comfort in feeling the warmth of another person next to her as she slept, in waking to the sight of his face instead of the same four lonely walls.

Was that really so wrong?

In spite of her clumsy efforts to ignore what had happened between them and the tension that ensued, Ying had found something like peace with John in the days after. It wasn’t perfect, but for a few fleeting moments, she was free of the constant struggle involved in simply getting through another day. Only later did the guilt set in, pricking at her like the itch of a healing wound; one she couldn’t help but scratch.

Once healed, it would be just another scar...and they’d be just another memory. It would fade, like all the rest, and even her ghosts would desert her. She’d truly be alone.

Fear, sick and cold, coiled in the pit of her stomach and slid fingers of ice along her spine. Clenching her teeth against a shudder, Ying forced her attention to the broken stretch of road ahead. One step and then another, and another after that, until the thunderous pound of her heart settled to a dull thud. Slowly, the vice around her lungs eased its iron grip and the numbness in her hands receded to a stinging tingle. When the worst had passed, Ying drew in a shaky breath and trudged on.

That night, she helped Brick and Lou set up camp. While they were off tending to Sally and Maybel, Ying got to work building a fire. She saw Kit approach, but ignored her as the older woman took a seat and propped both hands atop her walking stick. She watched in silence, thin lips pulled into a frown, as Ying added one final log to the small blaze and sat back.

“You seem like you got somethin’ on your mind.”

Keeping her eyes fixed on the twisting and leaping of the flames, Ying shook her head. “I’m fine.”

“Bullshit,” Kit scoffed. “Wherever your head’s at, it ain’t here.” Producing her pipe from one of the many voluminous pockets in her duster, she tapped it against her stick to empty it, then dipped into another pocket to pack it. “You don’t wanna talk about it, well that ain’t my business. Just make sure it stays that way,” she added, teeth clenched around her pipe's stem as she leaned forward to pluck a lit twig from the fire. “Like I told you already, what happens behind those walls don’t concern me. So long as you keep it there and not on the road.”

“It’s not something you need to concern yourself with,” Ying insisted stubbornly. “I’ll do my job.”

Puffing on her pipe, Kit nodded. “Glad to hear it.”

Seeming satisfied that she’d made her point, the old merchant let the subject drop as Lou joined them at the fire. A few minutes later, Brick sat down next to Ying, and passed her a small sack of jerky. She took a strip with an absent nod and bit into it, only half listening while he and Lou joked and bickered with one another. By the time they fell quiet, the fire had burned to a low glow. Kit was the first to leave, muttering that she wanted to get an early start the next morning. Ying followed soon after, nearly falling into her bedroll with an exhausted sigh.

Sleep never came.

At best, she managed a fitful drowse, only to be startled awake minutes later at the slightest sound. This continued for several hours until she finally kicked her blanket aside. She still had time before her watch, but Lou was more than happy to end his early, and it wasn’t long before his quiet snores joined the others. Shooting an envious glare in his direction, Ying snatched up her PipBoy and loaded Davis’ program. After a few moments, it froze, and so did she, fingers still poised above the switch.

No one’s coming.

The thought struck hard and fast, catching her like a physical blow. It wasn’t anything she hadn’t already considered, but this time was different. This time felt like an admission. She’d run out of hope long ago. Now, she couldn’t even muster denial.

No one was coming. Not this time or the next. No matter how many times she sent out her silent call, no one was ever going to answer. The chip was never going to fire. A hundred attempts or a hundred thousand, the result would always be the same.

All her worries about scars and memories were pointless. Her ghosts had abandoned her the moment she activated that chip.

Turning the PipBoy off, Ying stuffed it back in her pack and stared out at the blurred line of the horizon until the sky lightened.

Dawn came, but the sun remained hidden, swallowed by black clouds that promised rain. After a hurried breakfast, Kit ordered them to break camp and get moving. Unlike the previous day, Ying’s thoughts were oddly quiet, but the reprieve did little to improve her mood. She was tired and irritable. More than once, she found herself biting her tongue to keep from snapping at Brick or Lou. None of her current circumstances were their fault, a fact she fought hard to keep in mind as the day went from bad to worse.

By midmorning, the first fat raindrops fell. Soon, they swelled to a deluge, and in a matter of minutes, Ying’s clothes were soaked through. Conceding the day was a loss, Kit directed the caravan towards the nearest settlement. Unfortunately, the quickest route meant a trek through the ruins - one Ying volunteered to take point on. The sooner she no longer had water squelching between her toes, the better.

Travel was slow as she led the caravan down flooded streets clogged with waterlogged trash. Sally and Maybel bawled the entire way, no happier than she was skirting flooded potholes and mounds of sodden debris.

Ying did her best to stick to the main roads. They were wider, if nothing else, allowing the passage of a brahmin without too much difficulty. Gradually, the streets narrowed, choked by derelict cars that slowed their progress. Twice, they had to unload the brahmin just so Kit could coax her through what was otherwise an impossible pass.

Anxieties ran high, dampening even Brick’s jovial enthusiasm. The area and their limited mobility set the perfect stage for an ambush. Ying could practically feel the target on her back, an incessant itch between her shoulder blades that only intensified when they were forced to stop once again. A cargo truck blocked the road, half buried beneath the rubble of a collapsed store front. Shipping crates were still stacked high on the truck’s bed, a few hanging precariously close to the edge. Those that had already fallen jutted from the muck, caged by chunks of concrete and spires of twisted rebar.

With no other choice, the caravan was forced to find another way. Gritting her teeth in annoyance at yet another delay, Ying turned down the first traversable alley she found. Overhead, the rain continued to pour down and the temperature dropped. Soon, Ying was shivering as rivulets of cold water streamed down her back, too busy cursing the leaden skies to pay much attention to the slight tug of resistance at her feet.

A deafening crack split the air as sparks flashed in her peripheral and something slammed into her leg. Ying tumbled to the ground, head spinning as a high-pitched whine droned in her right ear. Brick and Lou darted towards her, their shouts muffled and distant. She struggled to stand back up, confused when her leg buckled beneath her.

A dull ache started in her thigh, just above her knee. It sharpened to a burning throb until it felt like fire racing from her leg to her toes. Blood soaked her jeans and the ground beneath her, mixing in swirling eddies of rainwater that stained the pitted asphalt in streaks of crimson.

Again, Ying tried to pull herself up, letting out a ragged cry as she was forced back down by Lou’s bulky frame. He had his gun drawn in one hand, and the other fisted around the chest strap of her armor. With an unceremonious yank, he dragged her back behind a dumpster and leaned out to fire at something beyond her view. More shots rang out, accompanied by whoops and howls.

Ying tried to make sense of it, but a low buzz started from somewhere deep inside her skull. It grew louder and more insistent, spreading along her arms and legs. Her limbs felt heavy and cold, but her head felt light, and the awful throb in her leg was fading. Suddenly, Lou’s blurry face filled her vision. His lips moved, but the words were like static, lost in the noise that filled her head. He gave her a shake that rattled her teeth, and Ying swallowed hard against a wave of nausea, the taste of copper coating her tongue. The last thing she saw was the glint of glass and a streak of red. Warmth flooded through her leg, and then everything went dark.

Ying woke to a darkened sky. The clouds had thinned to gray wisps, and the moon was high overhead. A fire crackled nearby, bathing her in soft orange light. The night air carried a chill, but between the fire and the thick blanket that covered her, she was almost too warm. Throwing the blanket back, Ying sat up, sucking in a quick breath as her leg twinged in protest.

“I’d take it easy if I were you,” came Kit’s chiding voice. Ying glanced over and saw the old merchant seated at the fire, the stem of her pipe tucked in the corner of her mouth. “Doc Miller barely got you patched up as it is. Odd bit of luck findin’ a doctor all the way out here. Ain’t likely to be another if you go tearin’ somethin' loose.”

“How bad was it?” Ying asked, leaning forward as far as she could for a closer look. From her hip down, her right leg was encased in makeshift splint, her lower thigh and knee swathed in heavy bandages. Ying touched a spot on the cloth, the stain near black in the dim light, and grimaced when it felt wet and sticky.

“Bad,” Kit said curtly, puffing on her pipe. “Doc said you lost a lotta blood. Thought for sure we’d be diggin’ a hole for you by now, and it’s only ‘cause of Lou we ain’t. Waste of stims, far as I figured,” Kit shrugged. “but hell, here you are.”

Ying nodded, scanning her memory for any clue to what Kit was talking about. She remembered the muddy rain water turning a deep red, the tingling numbness that gave way to white-hot pain, but everything after was a blurred haze of vague sound and color. “I’ll be sure to thank him.”

With a grunt, Kit got to her feet. “See that you do. And in the meantime, rest up. I wanna get back to Diamond City as soon as you’re able.”

“We’re going back?”

“Where else?” Kit asked, spitting toward the fire. “You’re no good to me like this.”

Swallowing an indignant retort, Ying let out a sigh. The merchant had a point. A couple weeks of downtime would give the stims plenty of time to do their job. She didn’t have much in the way of savings, but it would hold her over until the next run. “Yeah, alright.”

“Good.” Considering the matter settled, Kit wandered back to her brahmin, leaving Ying by herself.

She wasn’t alone long. Lou came by a few minutes later to add more wood to the fire. He grinned when he saw her sitting up and turned to ladle a bowl of something from a small kettle nestled in the coals.

“Thought you were done for,” he chuckled, handing her the bowl.

Ying took it with a small smile and thanked him, examining the contents. Some kind of stew; thin, but better than jerky and dried mutfruit. “I hear I have you to thank for that,” she said, taking a bite.

Lou rubbed at the back of his neck and shrugged. “I didn’t do nothin’ you ain’t done for me or Brick.”

“Still, thank you. I’m not even sure what happened.”

“Trip wire,” Lou explained. “Rigged up to one of them pipe guns. Raiders must’ve known the way was blocked. They were just waitin’ for us to come through...”

Ying stopped listening, her mind flashing to that moment in the alley when she felt something catch at her feet.

A trap. She’d walked right into a fucking trap.

“Was anyone else hurt?” Ying interrupted, scanning the camp for Brick.

“Nah, not really. Brick took a hit. Probably broke his nose again, but he’ll be fine.”

“I’m sorry.”

Lou waved off her apology and shook his head. “Don’t be. Rain like that? Coulda happened to any one of us.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

“Don’t worry about it too much. It all worked out.”

No longer hungry, Ying set her half-finished bowl aside and gave Lou a weak nod. “Hey, I’m pretty tired. I think I’m just going to try and get some sleep, okay?”

“Sure thing,” Lou agreed quickly. “It’s been a helluva day, huh? And here I am just yappin’ away. ‘Bout time I hit the sack, myself. You take care, alright?”

“Yeah, you, too. Goodnight, Lou.”

“‘Night.”

Laying back, Ying tucked one arm behind her head and stared up at the stars peeking through the breaks in the clouds. The camp grew quiet and still, but despite her previous claim, sleep remained elusive.

Lou was right; any one of them could’ve missed that trap. He’d even given her the perfect excuse with the rain, but deep down, Ying knew better. She didn’t see that trap because she hadn’t been looking. She’d been too wrapped up in her own bullshit to even care. If her own stupidity got her killed, that was her fault, but it wasn’t just about her. Minor as his injuries were - this time, at least - Brick shouldn’t have to pay the consequences for her mistakes.

And Ying shouldn’t need the reminder.

Once, maybe, when she was fresh from the vault and survival was all that mattered. She’d cared for Nate and done her best as a mother, but the bombs had forced change that marriage and a child never could. She’d learned to rely on others, and to be someone they could rely on in turn. Out of necessity, in the beginning, but later because she actually liked the person she’d become.

That all seemed like another life. Two, when it came down to it.

Ying didn’t know if she had it in her for a third.

Kit kept the caravan camped for four days. By the second, Ying was up and able to hobble around on the crutches Brick made for her. On the fourth, she was able to walk without them, though with a pronounced limp. Her leg was still sore, her thigh alternating between bouts of numbness and pins and needles, but the bullet wound had sealed into a shiny pink scar. Kit offered to stay another day, but Ying was reluctant to delay the caravan any more than she already had. They headed back for Diamond City that morning.

It took about two hours before she was ready to admit she might have acted prematurely. The tingling had been uncomfortable enough, but it was nothing compared to the burning throb that raced its way from her hip to the tips of her toes in a seemingly unending circuit. Somehow, she made it until they camped for the night, and around midmorning the next day, they arrived in Diamond City’s square.

Ying did her best to help Brick and Lou unload. When they were finished, Kit caught her eye and waved her over. Ying waited near Kit’s stall until Brick and Lou had collected their pay and headed for the gates. Once they’d disappeared inside, the old merchant handed her a sack of caps.

After everything that happened, Ying hadn’t expected to be paid. Certainly not the amount the weight of the pouch suggested. “What do I owe for the doctor?”

Kit shook her head, her expression unreadable. “It's taken care of. Right now, you got bigger things to worry about.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you and me need to have a talk,” Kit retorted. Her odd gaze held Ying’s for a few moments, her gruff features softening as she sighed. “I like you, kid. I really do. But this is where we part ways.”

“Part…wait, you’re firing me?”

“It’s nothin’ personal.”

“If this is about my leg --”

“Ain’t the leg I’m worried about,” Kit interrupted. “It’s you .”

“Me,” Ying snorted, rolling her eyes. “I’m touched, but I don’t need your concern.”

“That’s your business.” Kit straightened, tilting her head so her good eye was fixed on Ying. “But I’ve been around long enough to know what’s what. You ain’t the first waster lookin’ to self destruct.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Ying scoffed, hating the quaver in her tone, the tremble of her fingers that persisted no matter how tightly she clenched her fists.

“I know you ain’t focused on the job,” Kit shot back. “You show up lookin’ like hell, you barely touch your rations and you spend your nights fiddlin’ with that thing on your wrist. Whatever’s eatin’ at you is gonna get you killed. Maybe that don’t matter to you, but what happens when it’s one of the boys bleedin’ out in the middle of nowhere instead?”

Grinding her teeth against a sudden urge to cry, Ying shook her head. “I won’t let that happen.”

“Neither will I,” Kit said quietly. “I’m sorry, girl. I wish it coulda worked out.”

“I’ll get it together,” Ying insisted, inwardly cringing at how desperate she must seem. The caravan was just a job, but it passed the time. For a couple weeks out of the month, she had a sense of purpose, flimsy as it was. Nothing so grand as rescuing runaway synths or establishing settlements, but there was still the satisfaction of a successful run, a break in the endless cycle of monotony her life had become.

Taking a deep breath, Ying struggled for a calm she couldn’t feel. “Look, I know I fucked up, okay? You’re right, and I’ll do better, but I need this job.”

“Sorry, kid. You get your head on straight, and maybe someday we’ll talk. Today ain’t that day.”

Swallowing hard, Ying offered a curt nod. She wasn’t going to beg, even if it would’ve somehow swayed the old merchant. “Are we done here?”

“I said what I had to say.”

“Fine.”

Fighting back the petty impulse to fling the pouch of caps at Kit’s feet, Ying stuffed them into her pocket and shouldered her pack. As much as it bit at her pride to accept what was clearly the older woman’s charity, she still needed to pay for her room and food. Without another word, she headed into the city.

The Dugout was nearly empty when she arrived, with only a couple regulars seated at the bar. Ying ignored them as she strode through, barely acknowledging Vadim’s bellowed greeting as she quickly made her way to her room. Once she was safely inside, she closed the door and leaned heavily against it, squeezing her eyes shut against the burn of tears.

She’d made a mess of things. Again. Kit wasn’t wrong about that, but fuck. Couldn’t she see she was trying? Couldn’t any of them? Harder than she ever had in her entire life. It would never be the same - that fucking chip saw to that - but still, she’d tried, until it felt like she’d shatter beneath the strain.

No more , Ying decided, angrily wiping at her eyes. No more pointless rituals or wasted efforts. No more wallowing in a past she no longer had a place in. She’d survive because it’s what she did, and fuck anyone that expected more.

Throwing her pack in the corner, Ying flopped on her bed. She didn’t plan on falling asleep, but the exhaustion of the last few days quickly caught up with her. When she awoke, the room was dark and peals of drunken laughter floated from down the hall. She thought about trying to go back to sleep for whatever remained of the night, but the growling of her stomach soon had her out of bed and searching for a fresh set of clothes.

Dressed and as clean as she could manage with the tavern’s facilities, Ying wandered into the common room, stopping short when she saw John seated at the bar, deep in conversation with Vadim.

Neither man had noticed her yet. She could turn back before they saw her and they’d never know the difference. Still, she didn’t move, rooted in indecision as she watched John throw back a shot of amber liquor. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he turned his head and Ying knew she was spotted.

As their eyes met across the room, she gave a sight shake of her head, gaze flicking to Vadim, and tipped her chin toward the hall. Hoping he’d get her meaning, Ying slipped back to her room. She didn’t have to wait long. A handful of minutes later, there was a quiet knock at her door. She opened it to find John waiting outside.

“Hey. Wasn’t expectin’ you back yet.”

Trying for a grin, Ying limped aside to let him in. “Neither was I.”

John's eyes scanned her form, a frown tugging at his lips when he noticed the bandages wrapped around her leg. “You’re hurt.”

“A little,” Ying admitted, sitting down on her bed. She let out a bitter little chuckle and shrugged. “Lucky for me, I have plenty of time to heal. Nothing but, actually,” she added quietly, looking down at hands. “Kit fired me.”

“‘Cause you got banged up?” John asked, incredulous. A moment later, his eyes narrowed, and a muscle ticced in his jaw. “Did my brother -- ”

“No, nothing like that,” Ying interrupted quickly, then sighed. “I managed this one all on my own.”

“Oh.’ Careful to keep from jostling the bed, John eased down beside her and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “Wanna talk about it?”

Ying snorted. Where would she even start? Losing her job was only the latest mistake on a list that began with walking into Davis’ office, and the events that led to that were another story entirely.

“Not really.”

“You change your mind, I’m here.”

He said it like he was stating a fact. There was no hint of disappointment, no fishing or prying for more. She could tell him or not; there’d be no judgment either way. No pressure.

No expectations.

Reaching up, Ying stroked the rough stubble of his cheek and slid her hand to the back of his neck. He turned to face her and she tugged his head down, pressing her lips to his.

Like the first time, John didn’t hesitate. He returned the kiss, gently at first, then with more insistence. He cupped her cheek with one hand while the other began a slow trek down her side. Ying shivered at the sensation, heat pooling low in her belly as his fingers curled around the swell of her hip. Suddenly, he pulled back just far enough to break the kiss and let out a shaky sigh against her lips.

“You sure this is a good idea?”

“Probably not,” Ying admitted. “But I don’t care.” Her heart was still fluttering against her ribs, and she was dizzy with the taste of him but she managed to find the words to ask, “Do you want me to stop?”

“No.”

“Good.” Shifting her leg until she was straddling his lap, Ying smirked. “Neither do I.”

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Riana1 on Chapter 1 Fri 29 Jun 2018 09:43PM UTC

this is utterly brilliant

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1. Mistress_of_Squirrels on Chapter 1 Sat 30 Jun 2018 07:29AM UTC
  
  Thank you! If you haven't yet, I really encourage you to check out the story in the link!
  
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Raiven_Raine on Chapter 1 Wed 04 Jul 2018 02:52AM UTC

this is great so far! you already know how much i love the humor style in your writing and Ying's dry wit...
but hey, i totally caught this:
"Relay . This isn’t a science fiction novel. And yes. The modifications I’ve made should render our current limitations a thing of the past.”
and i totally giggled a bunch at it. clever. XD (i laughed twice. one for the 'this isn't a science fiction novel" (cuz i love it when books or movies or whatever say they aren't what they are...) and then for the cleverness of the foreshadowing.

Last Edited Wed 04 Jul 2018 02:53AM UTC

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1. Mistress_of_Squirrels on Chapter 1 Wed 04 Jul 2018 10:18AM UTC
  
  Alright, let me just say I'm so happy someone picked up on that!! I don't really trust myself with foreshadowing, but I figured I'd try it since this was for fun and then I worried it was too forced.
  <3 <3 thanks for the comment!
  
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2. 1. Raiven_Raine on Chapter 1 Wed 04 Jul 2018 10:54AM UTC
    
    i think it was very well done. it didn't seem forced at all. of course i might be looking at it a little biased... but i try very hard to read with fresh eyes. and i think it was very well done how you had him sorta snicker about it. it set what he said off as something significant, but not in a forceful way. i loved it. nice touch!
    
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Malady1121 on Chapter 1 Tue 12 Nov 2019 10:59PM UTC

Hooolllly hell that's intense, I'm very excited to keep reading! I love Ying, her characterization and thought process, it's always a good time reading her.

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Riana1 on Chapter 2 Sat 30 Jun 2018 02:43PM UTC

you are brilliant at this, your word choice just shines

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1. Mistress_of_Squirrels on Chapter 2 Sun 01 Jul 2018 01:45AM UTC
  
  Thank you!
  
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FreshMess on Chapter 2 Sat 30 Jun 2018 08:37PM UTC

Love the dialogue in this and we get the first Slog cameo... she's much more buggy about trading in-game ^_^

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1. Mistress_of_Squirrels on Chapter 2 Sun 01 Jul 2018 01:48AM UTC
  
  I love the Slog! And I know she can be a little undecided about trading but after the fifth time of rescuing her from raiders, Deirdre and I have a bond ;)
  Thanks for commenting
  
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Katie (Guest) on Chapter 2 Wed 04 Jul 2018 02:21AM UTC

I LOVED this chapter! I am so excited to read the next one. I keep refreshing hoping there will be another. Your writing style is smooth and flows easily, and the tiny details you include really paints a picture and provides appropriate atmosphere during character interactions that make it feel animated.
I wasn't sure how I felt about it at first, but after this chapter I know I'm going to read this entire fic.

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1. Mistress_of_Squirrels on Chapter 2 Wed 04 Jul 2018 10:20AM UTC
  
  Thank you for giving it a chance! I honestly wasn't sure about posting. It's nice to know someone is enjoying it as much as I've enjoyed writing it
  
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Raiven_Raine on Chapter 2 Thu 29 Aug 2019 01:48AM UTC

"you alReaDY leFT kuDos hEre!" shut up. i wanna leave more. i was apparently farther behind in catching up than i thought i was...

one of the things i love best about Ying is her indomitable spirit. even when it looks like she's to the point of giving up, she forces herself to go on thru sheer willpower, spite, or some other goal she finds.
i also like the touch of mentioning the girl ghouls wear wigs. it's something i always thought about because none of the guys have hair... so i wanna say.... YES!
this: “You’re a bad liar,” John countered with a good-humored smirk.
i think it's super cool to have character get to 'meet again', even though it's a slightly different version of one of them. i also super dig the 'alternate life paths' deal. what if we'd done things differently? what if small choices were made different? what if...? wings of a butterfly. it's fun to muse on Chaos Theory.

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neneshell on Chapter 3 Wed 04 Jul 2018 05:04PM UTC

Why hasn't she gone looking for Nick? If he exists in this timeline, he'd be in Diamond City already.

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1. Mistress_of_Squirrels on Chapter 3 Wed 04 Jul 2018 05:38PM UTC
  
  I'm aware ;)
  Posting is about two chapters behind what I've got written, so we'll see where it goes.
  
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Riana1 on Chapter 3 Sat 07 Jul 2018 03:18PM UTC

this made my day thank you

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Raiven_Raine on Chapter 3 Sun 01 Sep 2019 02:22AM UTC

i love that you did John's POV here at the start. that was cool to see. i also love drunk Ying..... and Vadim. and thei interaction. because.... yeah... i love Vadim. so much. lol
also love Kit and how Ying has to play by her rules ^_^
it's cool to see Ying have to do things like that. it's good for her. lol as much as she hates it!

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LolaShepard on Chapter 3 Thu 05 Dec 2019 12:40AM UTC

This is gonna be so much fun to read ! IM SO EXCITED LOL

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Autumn__Rose on Chapter 4 Mon 26 Aug 2019 08:03PM UTC

H.O.L.Y. S.H.I.T. YES YES YES ANOTHER CHAPTER

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1. Mistress_of_Squirrels on Chapter 4 Thu 29 Aug 2019 12:27AM UTC
  
  ;)
  Sorry for the long wait!
  
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makkuromurasaki on Chapter 4 Tue 27 Aug 2019 09:39PM UTC

It's a special kind of joy seeing a fic get updated after a long time. And this chapter, I was definitely not expecting the Quincy part. I think it's really cool how you wrote the scenes, especially the ones with Marcy and Mama Murphy. I'm so happy you updated, this story has such a good premise and it's really well written and I'm super excited to read more!

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1. Mistress_of_Squirrels on Chapter 4 Thu 29 Aug 2019 12:26AM UTC
  
  Thank you so much for the kind words! I'm happy to hear you enjoyed the chapter and appreciate you leaving a comment. I know the feeling when a fic I thought was likely abandoned gets updated lol. I don't intend to go that long between updates again
  
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Malady1121 on Chapter 4 Thu 14 Nov 2019 03:52PM UTC

Wow, this is pretty enthralling. It's a strange sort of intrigue, reading someone pretty much falling apart. You wanna keep reading to see if they ever start picking up the pieces yknow? I really like it :)

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LolaShepard on Chapter 4 Thu 05 Dec 2019 12:46AM UTC

My heart hurts for Ying >< 10 years feels too damn long

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Xhivae on Chapter 5 Tue 03 Sep 2019 05:35PM UTC

OOOOOOOH BOY. OOOH BOY. HMMMMMMMAAA KELLOGG'S TOASTED FLAKES???? AAAAAAA

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makkuromurasaki on Chapter 6 Fri 06 Sep 2019 07:11AM UTC

I just love these new chapters, the story is so well written, as Hancock says, you got me at the edge of my seat. I think it's brilliant and I'm super excited to read more!

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1. Mistress_of_Squirrels on Chapter 6 Mon 09 Sep 2019 11:53AM UTC
  
  Thank you! Getting comments always makes my day, so thank you so much for taking the time to leave one :)
  
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Riana1 on Chapter 6 Tue 10 Sep 2019 02:29AM UTC

THIS IS BRILLIANT AND I LOVE IT

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Malady1121 on Chapter 6 Fri 15 Nov 2019 03:39PM UTC

I DIDN'T SEE THAT COMING WHOA this adds a whole new layer of messed up. This is amazing

Last Edited Fri 15 Nov 2019 03:39PM UTC

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Xhivae on Chapter 7 Mon 23 Sep 2019 04:23AM UTC

This story is so good ;; I never knew how much I needed a time travel au fic until I found this one! (I've been scouring for more after re-reading the fic like 5 times.) I'm really interested in seeing more. Thanks for writing!

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Riana1 on Chapter 1 Fri 29 Jun 2018 09:43PM UTC

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Xhivae on Chapter 5 Tue 03 Sep 2019 05:35PM UTC