Chapter Text
She'd lost sight of when the days began to blur together like paint dripping from a wet canvas. Monday bled into Tuesday and Tuesday bled into Wednesday and Wednesday… Well, Wednesday bled into the long haul. Wednesday bled into late nights crammed into bathroom stalls with a pad of gauze against her side and a belt between her teeth. Wednesday bled into hailing gunfire ricocheting off of the rust buckets they once called cars. There was a point she might've cared beyond her next meal and a handful of caps.
But now? Now it was easier not to care. Now Lee was going to win herself a bottle with enough kick to leave her down and out for at least the next day and a half if she was lucky.
"You're crazy if you think that'll land." A pair of eyes, hidden by a set of patrolman's shades, darted up to meet the bearded face of a man with his arms crossed. He wore a set of casual clothes that Lee knew all too well. The muggy, red plaid shirt that was more fixer-upper patches than the original material and a set of workman's jeans that really ought to have been retired years and years ago. His hair was balding, enough for Lee to know it'd be gone before the year was over. Not that she was arguing; teasing him about his unfortunate predicament was almost a given when she was in town. He wore that same smug grin he always wore when Lee came to town. Like a permanent fixture, it declared 'I'm going to make a bet and you're inevitably going to prove me wrong because I like a good, terribly placed challenge.'
Lee released a puff of hair that might as well have been the dwindling strands of her remaining sanity. She dropped her forearms to rest flat against the top of the old, metal barrel she'd temporarily leaned herself against. Her rifle rested evenly between two hands, finger itching to play chicken with the trigger guard like the doom-driven idiot she was. A tuft of black hair worked its way down her face, obscuring her vision just enough to dance the line between manageable and annoying. Lee angled her head just enough to see Vadim's looming form beside her. "If you shut up for a moment or two I can focus." Lee blew the hair from her eyes and shook to head to at least attempt to look like she had an ounce of struggle within her bones. Like this wasn't just another afternoon for her. She directed her attention back to the half-a-dozen or so targets scattered before her across the partially walled, partially safe structure that was Diamond City.
One atop the heavy-duty, somehow still yellow, construction equipment. A brown bottle that Lee could've shot with her eyes shut if she really wanted to. She didn't. But the offer still stood if some poor fool wanted to offer up a few caps.
Another beside the ancient statue that she could care less than trying to learn the name of from some long-eroded plaque. A tin can that had two or three more well-placed bullet holes than necessary. Lee liked to imagine it'd eventually be so riddled with lead that it would simply cease to function as a target. She was still a ways off of that but it was apparently the thought that counted, according to those old magazines from the old world.
But honestly. Truly. Fuck the old world.
Another target was slung over the non-functioning power lines above. A pair of rugged-looking hiking shoes with their laces triple knotted into one fat was of string that, was no doubt, never going to come untied unless the gods themselves decided to give a big old fuck you in particular to an old pair of shoes. They were an easy shot, though. Not one that Lee minded. She always needed more aerial combat training, what with the mechanical whatever the fucks that decided her existence was suddenly an issue to their wellbeing and figured the best way to go around that was to divebomb her into nonexistence.
And gods forbid she actually wanted a challenge.
Because why put the next target in a hard place when you could make some poor rookie guard march their happy ass up a few flights of stairs and place an alien toy in a window? Because that was obviously the best course of action when you were trying to get a few caps out of the so-called Starlet Sniper. No muties though, not anymore at least. There was that small reminder that Lee had been the one to take out a suicider before he even cleared the first flight of stairs. She'd been shaking all day then too. Either too much caffeine or not enough, she was still unsure.
A block or so down from the central area, a tire was speared through a branch–by someone Lee wasn't ever going to question who had both the brute strength and the intelligence to be done with it–with a street sign also speared into the same tire. So much for Lincoln Street, she supposed. A few bullet holes marred the metal. Not her handiwork though. Because in her single ounce of remaining professionalism and the bulk of her immaturity, she would've shot a dick into the metal.
And last but not least. The singular panel of glass in a high-rise across the way. Why value the things you can't produce anymore when you can destroy them instead?
"Can't hardly think when you're yapping about," Lee said, voice dripping with that same annoyance she'd carried in her shoulders throughout the whole of the day. A sharp pain in her back was really beginning to become more prominent the longer she leaned over this damn barrel with a group of umpires watching her like she held the world in the palm of her hand. "The longer you stay quiet, the quicker I get to fuck off and we all get to be happy for an evening."
Lee returned to her position, finger dancing along the trigger guard like the doom-driven idiot she was. She grazed the cool metal with her index finger and hesitated. Distantly, she heard gunfire ringing clear through the winding streets and alleys that made up the bulk of Boston. And briefly, only briefly, she pondered who the hell was making such an awful ruckus nearing sundown. But really, truly, her expectations ought to have been at zero.
"Fifty caps says you can't hit the support out from that scaffolding." Lee followed the man's finger up to the explosion-sized hole in the side of the building formerly infested with muties. There, she spied a half-collapsed heap of scaffolding where, sure enough, there was one support still standing.
She tsked between her teeth, nodding to herself before turning her attention back to the gear-clad man who was impatiently waiting for her response. "Make it seventy-five and I'll take your bet. I'd have them ready though because I'm not in a waiting mood."
The only response she received was in the form of that same man reaching for the pouch dangling from his belt. He fumbled around its contents, fingering through the caps until he came to his own conclusion. He nodded acknowledgment, placing a few stacks of flattened caps atop the metal barrel before taking a step back.
That was all she needed, really.
A meal and caps enough to last her to the next town over.
So Lee did what any A-grade gun nut did and aimed down the scope.
First, the bottle. It shattered into a million and a half different pieces, cascading down the body of the construction unit and further until the individual shards mixed and meshed with the already-existing glass on the ground.
Second, the can. It was knocked back. Understatement of the century right there. The damn thing took off with the bullet, flying across the partially enclosed area until it hit the ground with a clatter and proceeded to roll a few feet across the cobble.
Third, the shoes. To put it lightly, they swung a cartwheel around the powerline, taking in the force of the bullet. It was a wild sight to see, and one, Lee noted, that could be repeated. The shoes slowed to a stop, still hanging on for dear life.
Fourth, the dreadful toy alien that was absolutely staring into the very depths of her soul down her scope with its single eye. To repay the creepy, little devil, she made sure to hit the little man right in his giant cyclops of an eye, knocking him back away from the window.
Fifth, the window. There was really nothing more to be noted about that one other than the fact that she hoped she pissed off a mutant or two.
Sixth… no more Lincoln Street sign.
"What was that you said?" Lee angled her head away from the scope to see Vadim just in her peripheral. The knowing look in her eyes and the slight smirk on her lips. What a cocky bastard. "Something about being crazy, I think."
"Yes, yes. I get it." He shook his head, humor evident across his expression in the form of a loose-lipped grin, nodding all the while. "I simply enjoy testing your… what is the word…" He furrowed his brow, and for a moment, Lee might've confused him for someone else; what, with the fact that he was using his brain for something that wasn't one of those insane stories he seemed so keen on regaling to every other person that stepped foot into the bar. "Talent!"
Lee shook her head, smirk turned grin.
"Don't forget the money shot."
"Can't a gal celebrate?"
Of course they didn't honor her with a response. Who the hell wanted to fumble for a coherent reason why she shouldn't celebrate a free meal? None of them, apparently.
Lee repositioned herself so that she faced the partially exploded building. Wanted a moment. Long enough to gauge the distance between herself and the scaffolding. Long enough to know it would be a clean shot and either the guards had atrocious aim or she was just talented. She was leaning toward the former on account of all the bullet holes that littered the building's exterior.
The city really needed to invest in better training.
Hells, even the Minutemen had a better shot and that was saying something because the lot of them were farmhands turned standing soldiers.
There was idle chatter all around her. Some doubtful and others making bets. Ten caps. Twenty caps. Even thirty for a single shot. Too much, Lee decided, to piss away on the off chance that she wasn't actually going to hit the shot.
Lee could honestly and freely admit she was full of herself.
And in the same breath, back up that statement.
She squeezed the trigger and a single shot rang out. She was acutely aware of the way every pair of eyes was trained on her back and the way they snapped up to the scaffolding immediately when it began to fall in on itself just like she'd anticipated. And then she was distantly aware of the way the guards swapped handfuls of caps like children with candy the day after a holiday. Lee pocketed the handful of coins atop the barrel, shoving them into her own pockets–an issue for her future self–and disappeared into the crowd of umpires with well-practiced ease.
She climbed the steps leading into the city, momentarily blinded when the great, bright lights beamed at her with the intensity of the sun. Even into the evening, the city was alive. Children ran the bases in the market streets, timing each other again and again until they beat the so-called records set by their parents. A few people browsed said market stalls, entertaining the idea that baseball was, in fact, America's most violent sport, much to Lee's dismay. She'd played a good few games out west and none of them consisted of brutally murdering the enemy team. She could go her whole life without ever having to watch another baseball game but if she had to hear Moe go on and on about every false fact he'd ever heard, she was going to give herself an assault charge. But she digressed. Even Takahashi's stand was lively with half a dozen wasters filling their stomach's with something suspiciously old world.
But she wasn't there to ponder the daily happenings of those who inhabited Diamond City.
Lee was there to get her free meal and, by association, her free booze, return to the room she'd rented, and get shitfaced.
And not necessarily in that order.
Because there was truly no way in hell she was about to entertain Vadim's crazy stories while sober.
_____
"And then I held its neck in one hand." Vadim raises his left fist in the air, throttling an invisible beast with all the force he could manage. Slowly, as if he were fighting against something, he brought his right hand up, clutching a dulled kitchen knife in a white-knuckled grip. "With this one…" He shook his hand for good measure, metal reflecting the soft light emanating down from the slow-moving ceiling fans. "I stabbed the beast through the temple." He pointed to the side of his head with his left hand, face twisting up in an expression of faux pain. "Fed me for weeks. Never had a better steak in my life.
A few people voiced their disbelief in the man's triumph. There was reliably no feasible way he'd taken down an aggravated yao guai. Not alone at least. And certainly not with a pocket knife that had no business being called a knife at any rate. She'd seen it before. The stubby, nub of metal that had seen far better days before being committed to a life of cutting and slashing to make a haphazard, terribly tasting meal.
Lee didn't mind his stories though. Reminded her of the conversations with her wife. Outlandish in every way and still believable in their own right.
A dark feeling washed over her at the thought. Brief and only noticeable if one were to look at her more in-depth than she would ever prefer. She ran her finger across the smooth lip of the glass she'd been nursing, brown liquid sloshing against the side. Absent-mindedly, her other hand dropped to play with the single holotape through the material of her pants. It was dented and wouldn't properly fit into any still-functioning holotype player but there was something warm about it. A goodbye and a hello all in one.
Where the hell did that woman even get her hands on a holotape recorder anyway?
Without warning, red clouded her peripheral and Lee looked up to see a woman in a red trench coat settling into the barstool beside her. The woman in a red trench coat. The same woman she'd seen crawling around town at all hours of the day and night, soaking up information like a sponge. Piper Wright. Journalist by day and… well, she supposed a journalist by night as well. She wore a news cap that proudly declared her a member of the press across a slip of faded paper shoved into the brim. Her hair was a little longer than shoulder length. Hardly long enough for danger to come calling though.
Smart.
Momentarily, Piper's gaze flickered to her own and Lee immediately found the wall behind Vadim's head to be the most interesting thing in the room. Paint clippings, water stains, and all, it was a… funky wall. Far more interesting than her newfound companion, that was for damn sure. Because, really, that was the least suspicious thing she could've done when a nosy reporter was about to tear into her like she'd been trying to do for the last week and a half. "Two glasses of what she's having, please."
"Of course."
Lee couldn't knock her for using decent manners. Wouldn't knock her for using decent manners. Not when too few people valued pleases and thank you, enough to catch her off guard when someone actually tried to be a decent person. So she didn't. She settled into her drink again, throwing back the remaining contents until the glass was drained of its nauseating liquor and she could still feel the burn in the back of her throat.
She heard material shift, leather meshing against the cloth cushion atop the barstool and she knew she needed to be far less sober to deal with this woman. "You're Lee, aren't you?"
There it was.
Lee raised a set of scarred eyes to meet Piper's, hand falling away from the holotape at her side to drum against the stitching holding the cushion together. She released a heavy puff of air, forcing a tight-lipped smile across her lips if only for pleasantries sake. "That's the name. Don't wear it out."
"I'm looking for a story."
"Boston Public Library's got a few." She raised a single hand toward Vadim and pushed her empty glass toward him, silently requesting another. The man obliged, picking up a dirty, brown bottle from behind the counter, and filling the glass in a single, fell swoop before doing much of the same with the additional glasses Piper requested. He pushed them toward the duo and Lee nodded her thanks before turning back to face Piper. "I hear it's crawling with big, green idiots this time of year. You'll fit right in."
"My color's red but I appreciate the suggestion." A brief, grim expression fell across her lips but it was soon pushed aside in favor of eyeing the rifle slung over Lee's shoulders. The brown, leather strap had seen better days and was certain not being shit brown was one of them but who was she to judge? "Where'd you learn to shoot like that?"
"Here and there." She picked up her newly refilled glass, pondering the hangover she was surely going to feel in full force come tomorrow. Lee brought the glass to her lips, downing a third of it with well-practiced ease. The tension in her shoulders began to relax again, body sagging with the addition of even more liquor. It hadn't hit her yet and it probably wouldn't for a little while longer. But when it did… "Don't you have an opinion piece to start a neighborhood riot over?"
"Unfortunately for you, I'm free all evening and I know a story when I see it." As if to prove her point, Piper picked up one of her newly acquired glasses and repeated the same action, albeit with far less grace. The moment the liquid touched her lips, she damn near recoiled in disgust, a sour taste filling her mouth. Still, she downed a solid portion of the glass before setting it down with one hand and bringing the other to her lips, silently contemplating her decisions leading up to the last few moments.
Lee raised a brow at try action but was otherwise silent, allowing Piper a moment to recollect herself. "Fortunately for me, I know how to say no in several different languages. Among other things." Like the wonderful person she was, Lee forced a smile before turning her attention back to the man behind the bar. "Vadim, I'm going to turn in early for the night. Too many dogs barking up the wrong tree." She reached into the depths of her disorganized pockets, hand fumbling to retrieve the caps she'd only just won shooting the scaffolding. Finally, she deposited them onto the countertop. "Another round for the folks who believe your story."
"Of course," he said, turning to face a man sitting on the opposite end of the bar. "See, now you must believe me."
She smiled that same tight-lipped grin, albeit not forced this time, at the groans and sighs that could only mean agreement at the other end of the bar, before raising her glass to her lips once more. With little hesitation, she tossed back the rest of the liquid, relishing in the burn that coated the back of her throat. Lee stood up and stretched her arms behind her back, careful not to bump the rifle. "There isn't a story here. Not one I'm interested in telling and not one your little paper needs."
Before Lee could so much as take a step in the direction of her room, Piper caught her forearm. Warm fingers curled around her wrist, holding her in place. Well, they really weren't. Lee could leave whenever she pleased because this really wasn't worth her time or patience. But she stood still. Maybe it was the liquor. Or maybe it was the polite thing to do for someone who knew how to say please. "I think you'll find that I'm a very persistent person when something calls my attention. Just a few questions is all I ask. You seem like a reasonable person. And a reasonable person might be interested in a bottle of, respectfully, whatever the hell that brahmin piss was that you were drinking."
She was silent then. Almost like a ghost. Her face was twisted up something strange, like something foul had gone and gotten itself stuck in the back of her throat. And she couldn't deny it. It did taste like brahmin piss. Still, she halted and settled back atop the barstool. "I have the right to refuse to answer any question I please."
"I'm afraid that's not quite how an interview works."
"It is when you're the one asking."
If looks could kill, Lee might've dropped dead on the spot. Might've was a wonderful word, though, because she watched as Piper struggled to find the leather-bound notepad she kept contained in the folds of her coat. Still wonderfully alive, she leaned to rest her head in her hand, elbow against the bartop. "Any day now, darling."
Now she bore a glare that could kill. Gone though, it was, and quickly replaced with something Lee couldn't quite place. Wasn't quite sober enough to place either. Piper pressed her pen against the paper and scrawled a few words Lee couldn't make out. "Who are you? What is your name?"
Lee raised a brow, confused. You're Lee, aren't you? If her mind wasn't deceiving her, the journalist knew exactly who she was from however long she'd spent asking around. "You know who I am, Piper." When Piper didn't respond, she closed her eyes, sighed, and honored the question even further. "Lee."
"Just Lee?"
"Just Lee."
"Well, just Lee, what's brought you to Diamond City?" She almost looked genuine, Lee decided. For whatever reason, there was a look of genuine intent across her face. Like Lee's life was the most important thing in the world, if only for fifteen or so minutes over a beer and some conversation. She mimicked the gunslinger, slouching just enough to rest her side against the bartop.
Lee could've been honest.
Could've was a strange word.
She could've been halfway across the Commonwealth by now.
Could've. Would've. Should've.
"Little of this, little of that."
And it was true. She was in the city for a little of this and a little of that. Nothing Piper needed to know about and nothing she felt like telling a journalist who wanted nothing more than to plaster her across the morning paper.
Even so, Piper wrote down the response, only looking up at Lee when she'd finished the six-word response. She eyed the still-filled glass beside her own empty one and pushed it across the countertop so it sat in front of Lee. "And what does little of this, little of that entail?"
Lee shrugged. "Business."
She hardly missed the look of intrigue that washed over Piper's face. The way her gaze sharpened like a rad-eaten creature to its prey. Lee twisted the glass around so that its faded logo faced her. Some old bar, she figured. So much of today was simply based around some old thing someone dug up in their backyard. She brought the lip of the glass to her mouth and tossed back half of the cool liquid, closing her eyes for only a moment.
"When did you first start handling guns?"
Lee shrugged again. Though, maybe she was honest. Because she spent a solid twenty seconds deep in thought, considering when the hell she first picked up the stock. "My old man took me hunting the moment I started walking. Probably scared away half the hunt tromping around the forests like I did. Took him a few years for his wife to give him the okay to put a gun in my hands though. Five or six. Missed just about every shot I took."
Again, Piper wrote down the response in that notepad of hers, only stopping halfway to look up at Lee for a beat. The gunslinger was staring elsewhere. Not at the wall or the glass. Just somewhere, deep in some thought that was neither here nor there. Reminiscing maybe. So she ducked her head down, and penned the words to paper again. Idly, though, she drew her pen to the side, distracted, marking a figure down beside the scrawled penmanship. The crude, curved brimmed hat all the way down to the revolver tucked at their waist. The poncho at their shoulders and the single, silver ring on their left hand.
Piper broke the silence as she often did when it grew to be too absolute, again raising her attention from the faded, leather notepad. "Where are you from?"
"Out west."
"Where out west?"
"West of here. West of there," Lee said. Disinterest for the question pulled at her lips in the form of a fine line. "Just about west of everywhere that brain of yours can probably think of."
For a brief moment, Lee almost thought she'd offended her. That she finally said something that forced a reaction from the quick-lipped journalist. Not Piper though. Pissing off Piper was damn near impossible. And she only cemented the fact by moving on to her next question. "You learned to shoot from your father then?"
"Nope," Lee said, popping the p.
Piper raised a brow at the response, setting her notepad aside for a beat. There it was again. Genuine intrigue. Who is this woman? "Where'd you learn to shoot?" She was giving ground, she knew that; showing her interest in this strange woman. It was a weird feeling. Because, well… who the hell was she?
"Here and there," Lee responded similarly to just about every other question she'd been asked. Carelessly, she brought a hand to drum against the leather guarding the strap hanging dangerously from her shoulder. The gun. Rifle, more deliberately. It was a dulled sort of thing. Had a lever but Piper couldn't place just what it was. "Picked up a few things just about everywhere I've been."
Piper eyed the rifle slung over their backside. Eyed the notches carved into the stock. Twelve of them. She fingered for her notepad, putting the small fact to memory. "Why are you drifting?" It was an honest question. "Don't you think your skills could be utilized in an organized group? Take the Minutemen for example."
"Not a drifter." Lee tossed back the remainder of their drink and waved Vadim over again, pushing her glass toward him. He looked at it apprehensive for a beat before repeating the earlier process. However, besides it, he planted a glass of water, silently communicating something of no relevance to the woman beside her. Lee took the first glass with little hesitation and brought it to her lips, screwing her eyes shut at the accompanying feeling. "Already said I had business here," she gritted out through the burn.
Piper eyed the glass of water and nudged it toward Lee. It could've been inconspicuous. But Piper was the furthest thing from inconspicuous in situations like this. Not her own doing. Just the desire to know more. "The second part of my question still stands."
She looked up at her then, spitfire response already dancing across the tip of her tongue. "Who said I'm not already part of some group?"
The look Piper sent her was a strange one. One that begged for the clarification Lee wasn't going to give. "And what group are you part of?" It's almost challenging, the way her voice dipped, urging the gunslinger to further explain herself.
Lee only grinned in her near-drunken stupor. "Said I would reserve the right to skip any question I please."
Piper closed the notepad, setting it down atop the countertop with disregard as to where her pen rolled off to… Which just so happened to be the base of the glass of water. "You know, it's hard to write a story when folks don't answer questions."
"Oh, I do."
There was a charm to her, Piper admitted as much to herself in a seldom passing thought. Maybe it was the way she carried herself. The cool indifference that sheathed her very being like a coat. Maybe it was her. The scars that crawled along her visible skin like a snake along a gravel path. The ones across her hands more like a patchwork quilt than blemishes across her skin. There was a story there. Beneath the radioactive dust and the dirt and grime that coated her features. So she hardly considered the words before she spoke them, "What if I were to shadow you while you went about your business? Only a week at most. Few days at the very least. No questions. Just watching."
"No."
She should've seen that coming a mile away. No. Not a deterrent though. She dropped one hand to bounce on her thing and another flat against the countertop. "You don't even have to talk to me. Just pretend I'm not skulking behind you and we can all be happy, little campers."
Lee turned to face her properly then, drink resting in one hand, rolling it around its bottom rim. "What's got you so determined to get a story out of me anyhow?"
"I told you I'm a very persistent person."
She sighed.
Loosely, Lee brought her hand to gesture down at the partially obscured pistol at Piper's thigh. Hardly something to be reckoned with. Not bad. "You know how to use that thing or is it just for show?"
For a beat, Piper beamed. Then she remembered where she was, steeling her expression. "My father told me it's unwise to underestimate a gal you don't know all that well."
"Fine." Lee threw back what remained in her glass and stood abruptly, stumbling back a single step before she caught herself against the lip of the countertop. She squeezed either of her hands a couple of times, collecting her bearings before nodding to herself. "Takahashi's. We leave at dawn. I won't be waiting around if you're late."