Chapter 1: October 23
Notes:
Nate wakes up.
“There is a fissure in my vision and madness will always rush through.” - Anaïs Nin, House of Incest
Chapter Text
The glacial pace of Vault 111’s elevator to the surface gives Nate entirely too much time to think. A vague worry that he’s ascending to his immediate death settles in the back of his mind. The last glimpse he had of the world above ground was violently orange, fire consuming everything he’d ever known in the wake of a nuclear bomb. It had finally happened, the end of the world. He steels himself; he’s already searched the Vault, there’s nothing left for him down here, and only one place to go. If he’s immediately vaporized, so be it.
He tries to shake off the growing sense of wrongness creeping up his spine. The Vault had been far too quiet, the air oppressively heavy, rust carving scars of neglect along thick metal walls. There were skeletons everywhere, the ground around them stained black from their long-decayed flesh. He knows it takes a very long time for a body to decompose down to the bones, but tries not to dwell on it. Too many questions come of it. The giant, vicious cockroaches are equally alarming. He wonders if he’s hallucinating all of it - the skeletons, the roaches, Nora dying, Shaun’s kidnapping. A desperate part of him hopes that he is, that he’ll wake up soon.
Every time he blinks, he sees Nora fall back into her cryo pod, a bullet in her head. He can hear Shaun’s wails echoing off the cold metal walls as he’s taken away. He inhales sharply. He needs to find Shaun. Nothing else matters right now, it can all wait.
The elevator crawls upward, he can’t see the inside of the vault anymore. Nate holsters the gun he took from one of the skeletons, crosses his arms, and stops himself from pacing. Finally, after what feels like a lifetime, the shutters slide open, metal on metal grinding and clanking. The sunlight is blinding, he lifts an arm to shield his eyes as he rises up to see the world is…different.
Blown out houses, wrecked and rusted cars, a mess of scraggly trees and bushes everywhere - and those fucking cockroaches. Nothing makes sense, was this all in his head? Was this some sick illusion his mind conjured up? It wouldn’t be the first time, but it would be the most elaborate. He pushes that particular brand of anxiety away - Shaun is the priority. He repeats this to himself, over and over; everything else can wait, I just need to find Shaun. I just need to find Shaun. Part of him knows he’s going to run out of time. When was the last time he took his medication? The night before the bombs fell?
Nate shakes his head, trying to get his thoughts in order. Sanctuary Hills is close to Vault 111, it’s a place to start, if nothing else. So, he gathers himself and sets off down the path. More skeletons are crowded around the fence around the Vault - his neighbors, he realizes. He shudders and keeps moving.
Crossing the bridge into Sanctuary Hills is surreal. his memory of his neighborhood does not match the destruction he walks into. Houses, once pristine and spotless, were now twisted masses of steel and wood. Roofs caved in, walls crumbling, rust overtaking everything - it was a far cry from what he remembered leaving hours ago. He notices movement out of the corner of his eye, light catches against metal and-
“Codsworth?”
“As I live and breathe...it’s- it’s really you!” the robot greets him as though he’s seen a ghost.
“You- you’re still here?” Maybe he's dreaming - seeing someone so familiar in the middle of all this chaos is hard to believe.
“Why, of course I am! Where else would I go?” Codsworth says this like a fact, like there’s nowhere else he would possibly go in this ruined world. “Now, you look positively dreadful, the missus would never approve. Where is your better half, by the by?”
At Codsworth’s polite scorn, he feels shame curl in his gut. He always did have a knack for pointing out when he didn’t live up to expectations. He runs a hand roughly over his mouth, then tells Codsworth the truth, unembellished, “She’s dead.”
Codsworth bounces in place, alarmed, “That…that can’t be right.” He lowers his voice as if to soften the blow, “Is this one of your…flights of fancy, perhaps?”
Annoyance rips through him and he grits his teeth, “She’s dead, Codsworth. And the people that killed her took Shaun.”
Codsworth tuts at him. “It's worse than I thought, you're suffering from hunger-induced paranoia. Not eating properly for 200 years will do that, I'm afraid.”
He suddenly feels as though he can’t breathe. “200 years? What - are you-“
“A bit over 210 actually, sir. Give or take a little for the Earth's rotation and some minor dings to the ol' chronometer.” Codsworth keeps rambling, but he tunes him out. He feels like he’s floating somewhere above himself, the weight of 200 years bearing down on him. Is this hell? It must be hell, if he’s trapped here with Codsworth.
“Sir?”
“Sorry Codsworth, I-“ He shakes his head. “Shaun. I need to find Shaun. Did you see anyone leave the Vault before me?”
“I'm afraid I don't know anything, sir. The bombs came, and all of you left in such a hurry.” Codsworth sounds apologetic, then produces a holotape, handing it to him. “I did find this holotape. I believe the missus was going to present it to you. As a surprise. But then, well...”
“Thank you.” He takes the holotape. It burns a hole in his hand.
“Now, enough feeling sorry for myself.” Codsworth spins his arms as if to shake himself off. Then, he offers, “Shall we search the neighborhood together? The missus and young Shaun may turn up yet.”
“Yeah Codsworth, lead the way.”
Codsworth snaps to attention, telling him to follow as he buzzes around the neighborhood. With every empty house and every over sized bug they squash, Nate’s desperation grows. Shaun isn’t here, no one is here but Codsworth and a small army of enormous flies - and more of those damned cockroaches. He feels cold when Codsworth talks about Concord, and the people there. He decides to take Codsworth’s advice - it’s the only lead he has.
He has a wild thought as he walks by the ruins of his home - maybe there’s something here for him after all. He runs inside and swallows the pain that threatens to consume him. The house is in disarray; chairs broken and overturned, leaves piling up in corners, and the awful smell of decay. He can almost taste the rot.
He tries to tune out his feelings, and purposefully avoids looking down the hall to Shaun’s nursery as he turns down the hall into the bathroom. There - the medicine cabinet is in one piece. When he opens it, everything stops. He stares at the empty cabinet for a long while, not comprehending what he’s seeing. It can’t be empty, it can’t - if it’s empty then he doesn’t have his medication and that means-
“Fuck- where are- dammit, where are my fucking pills?” He’s tearing open cabinets now, throwing the contents onto the ruined floor.
Calm down, a voice whispers in his head.
He takes a breath, and then another. He hangs his head, braces his arms on the sink, closes his eyes, tries to shut out the memories of life before- before hospitals and doctors and psychiatrists and pills, it always came back to the pills. His neck cracks with how hard he snaps his head up, looking at his reflection in the mirror. He knows now that he’s absolutely on borrowed time. He tries to steel himself, surely he could hold himself together. Maybe he didn’t even need the pills in the first place- it had been years since he’d been-
“I’m not crazy, I’ll be fine. Shaun comes first.” He thinks that saying it out loud makes it true. He ignores the voice in his head saying the opposite.
He leaves the house, searching the ruins of his neighborhood for anything useful, finding a sturdy-looking bag and some extra ammunition. As the sun moves overhead and morning slips into afternoon, he sets off for Concord, pretending he doesn’t see the writing on the wall.
There’s a man in tattered clothes lying face down in the middle of the street next to what looks like a mangy dog. He holds his breath against the cloying smell of corpse-rot, eyes watering. He shakes his arms out, and leans down to grab the man’s arms, dragging him to the side of the road. There’s no dignity in this, just like Nora in her frozen coffin. His eyes burn. He wipes his hands and shuts out the thought.
A dilapidated Red Rocket looms over the road, complete with rusted out cars, shattered glass, and overgrown weeds. Then he hears something move- his hand flies to his holster, eyes darting around until they land on a German Shepherd wagging its tail and bouncing over to him. This dog looks different from the one lying dead behind him. Dirty and disheveled, but not scarred or half-rotted. It looks downright friendly. Sagging, he relaxes his hand and kneels down as the dog gets closer.
“Hey boy, what are you doing out here all by yourself?” The dog cocks his head at him.
There’s no collar and no people around, so... “You wanna come with me?”
The dog huffs, and he grins. ”Alright then, let’s stick together.” The dog grins back.
He stands up, inhales, and continues down the road toward Concord. The smell of rotting flesh lingers in his mind.
More fucked up bugs, that’s just fantastic, he thinks. Though, watching the dog rip apart one over-sized mosquito while he stomped the other into paste? That was deeply satisfying. He leans his head back, letting his arms hang loose at his sides as he looks up at the cloudless afternoon sky. Then he hears it - the distant pop-pop-pop of gunfire.
He turns to the dog, “Let’s go check it out, boy.” The dog barks in agreement. He’s suddenly aware that the dog can agree with him. The dog understands him. He discards the thought.
He moved without thinking, again. Except this time there were a lot more bodies than usual. He’s frowning down at a man with a gaping hole in his head - right where he shot him. He was about to swing a machete down on Dogmeat when he fired his gun. They were shooting at me, at us, him and the others, he tries to reason. It doesn’t lessen the guilt twisting in his gut.
“Hey, up here!” He blinks, looks up at the man on the balcony above him. “I've got a group of settlers inside. The raiders are almost through the door. Help us, please!” He sounds desperate.
Raiders, alright, not a very encouraging title, but it does add up. He nods at the man, breathes out. The world comes into focus. He steps inside.
The museum’s recordings, stuck on perpetual loop, are disorienting. He shoots two mannequins before hitting the raider brandishing a shotgun at him. He barrels up the staircase, dodging bullets and taunts from the raiders. Jaunty flute music greets him as he darts into the hallway, and he feels a hysterical laugh bubbling up from somewhere in his chest. The brutality of his actions against the raiders and the cheerfulness of the music don’t align. He’s still laughing breathlessly as he stands above two raiders, their blood pooling on the floor. He thinks that if he stops laughing, he’ll start screaming. The dog whines.
He lets out an exhale that turns into a dry sob. He shuts his eyes tightly, shakes his head, and continues up the stairs. There is a group of raiders on the other side of the wall, they’re trying to break down a door protecting the settlers. He peers through a ragged hole in the wall, takes aim, and downs a man wearing a sack over his head. The others shout, and he bursts through the door, firing two more shots at the man charging him with a tire iron. He collapses, and Nate fires another shot at the last raider - the gun clicks, it’s empty. He looks down at the gun, then up at the raider. He launches himself- faster than sound- faster than light- at the raider, slamming his head into the wall. The raider fights him, grabs at Nate’s hands, but he keeps slamming and slamming and slamming, feeling his hands become slick with blood, until the man goes limp, his face a broken mess. His body is humming with energy, he feels like he needs to keep breaking things. The thought horrifies him, then, before he can examine it further, he hears a voice to his left.
“Hey, over here!” the man from the balcony is waving him over. Nate registers his distinctly old-fashioned clothes, a waistcoat underneath his jacket and a thick scarf wrapped around his neck. A militia-style hat sits at a casual angle on his head.
“Man, I don't know who you are, but your timing's impeccable.” The man extends a hand. “Preston Garvey, Commonwealth Minutemen.”
His mind reels. Didn’t he end up in the future? This sounds much more like the past. “Minutemen? What do you mean Minute- no, actually, don’t tell me. I don’t need to know.” Nate reaches out his hand to shake Preston’s, “Nate Anderson. What are you doing here?” It doesn’t exactly seem like a safe place to be, and these people don’t look like fighters - except for Preston.
Preston’s hand is bloody now, he doesn’t seem to notice. “Looking for a new home, a fresh start. I’ve been with them since Quincy. Thought we could settle down in Lexington, but the ghouls drove us out of there.” He grimaces around the word “ghouls,” like Nate’s supposed to know what that means.
“Ghouls? What are ghouls?” He must be dreaming, this can’t be real - are goblins and banshees also on the table?
Preston looks a little shocked, then his eyes dart down to Nate’s blue jumpsuit. “Wow, I guess you wouldn’t have seen them, if you’re from a vault.” He clears his throat, refocusing. “Ghouls are irradiated people. Most are just like you and me. They look pretty messed up, and live a long time, but they're still just people.” His face turns serious. “The ones I'm talking about are different. The radiation's rotted their brains, made them feral. They'll rip you apart, just as soon as look at you.” He sighs, looking over at the others in the room, then back at Nate. “Either way, we’re trapped here by those raiders. But well, we do have one idea.”
Nate quietly adjusts his world view for the hundredth time that day, inhales sharply, then says, almost against his will, “Alright, let's hear it.”
The man next to Preston - Sturges, he learns - launches into an explanation about crashed vertibirds and ancient suits of power armor. He hears himself agree to help them out of this situation, his mouth is moving without his permission. Looking at the tired faces around him, he can’t help but think that he has no choice.
Before he can leave, an old woman with cloudy eyes stops him. She speaks strangely, as though she’s wandering through a dream. His heart stutters in his chest when she claims she can see the future, it doesn’t sit well with him. He decides to avoid her, she must be crazy. If he starts to listen to her, he’ll seem crazy too. He doesn’t want the scrutiny.
The conversation is short and confusing. If nothing else, at least he has a name for Dogmeat now. He tells him to stay behind, then turns and walks as fast as he can to the door, jerking it open and heading for the basement to find the fusion core.
Stepping into the rusty power armor feels familiar, the same way holding his 10mm does. They are the only two things that have made any sense in the time since he woke up in the Vault. As he rips the minigun from the vertibird, his focus narrows and the world quiets.
He doesn’t think before jumping off the roof. Distantly, he’s glad he didn’t bring Dogmeat with him as he fires short bursts at the raiders circling the museum. Knocking down one, then two, then tree, four, five raiders, he feels like he’s floating.
Then, the sewer grate rattles and an awful, deep growl echoes from below.
The raiders freeze, then start to run as the grate explodes upwards and a giant, horrifying lizard crawls out from the darkness. Two wicked-looking horns curve over an enormous skull, teeth like hunting knives protruding from its jaw. It’s easily 10 feet tall, and angry. Nate’s mind short-circuits. The beast roars. He can see the sound waves coursing through the air and reverberating off the buildings. It cuts a raider to ribbons, leaving a bloody streak on the pavement. He aims the minigun, hopes for a miracle, and starts firing.
Bullet after bullet tears into the creature, barely slowing it’s charge, so he aims lower, tries to take out a leg to stop the monster. It digs it’s claws into a flaming truck standing between them, and he thinks for a moment it’s going to throw it at him, bracing himself. The truck explodes, knocking the creature back, and a leg buckles. When it hits the ground, he empties the last of the ammo into it. The gun clicks, empty, and he stomps over the the beast, still moving on the ground, smashing the back of the gun into its head, over and over, until he has to wrench it out of its skull.
He drops the gun and scrambles to get out of the power armor. Stumbling back, he feels like he’s drifting as he bends over and braces his hands on his thighs. After a few quick, stuttering breaths, he turns back to the museum. When he opens the door, the group is gathered on the first floor. Preston turns to Nate as he walks closer.
“That was a pretty amazing display. I’m just glad you’re on our side, Anderson.” He sounds impressed.
“The feeling’s mutual, Garvey.” He had been holding his own against the raiders long before he arrived.
Preston grins. “You can never have too many friends. Not in the Commonwealth.” He shifts his weight from one foot to the other. “Listen, earlier you said you were glad to help. Well, you did, and we owe you our lives. So here, it ain't much, but it's the best way I can say thank you.” He hands him a box that rattles and some spare ammo.
He shakes the mystery box idly, then looks back to Preston. “What happens now?”
His eyes light up. “For the longest time, Mama Murphy's had a vision of a place called ‘Sanctuary.’” He shrugs. “Some old neighborhood, but one we can make new again.” He looks at him hopefully. “Why don't you come with us? I could really use your help.”
His gut twists at the mention of Sanctuary Hills. Of course, of course that’s where they’re going. Why would his luck be any different? Part of him thinks this must be a sign, but he ruthlessly pushes that thought away. He doesn’t want to get involved, but leaving the group to fend for themselves is... So, he agrees. “All right, Preston. I'm in.”
When they start to move to the door, Mama Murphy stops him again. He tries to put as much distance as possible between them, but she is relentless. She's claiming to know Shaun's alive, that his energy is out there, and where he should start looking. It makes his breathing pick up; this more dire than he thought. He wants to shout at her, get her to leave him alone, but that'd only make things look worse than they already do.
He doesn't believe her- he won't let himself believe her- but she's given him a lead. It's weak and thin, but it's a lead nonetheless. Diamond City is, after all, a city. That's as good a place as any to start looking.
Preston urges her along, freeing him from the conversation she trapped him in. He slides the rattling box into his bag, reloads his gun, and sets off towards the ruins of his home with a group of wayward strangers.
The man’s body is still there, where Nate dragged him on the side of the road. The smell of decay hangs thick and heavy as they cross the bridge to what remains of Sanctuary Hills. Before they reach the first house, Preston pulls him away from the others.
“I'm glad you decided to come with us.” He looks around at the derelict houses around them. “I should have listened to Mama Murphy all along. Pretty nice place she's found for us.” He turns back to Nate with a small smile. “I think we could settle down here, make it a place to call home. What do you think?”
“Yeah, I used to like living here.” Nate says, distracted, not thinking.
Preston’s eyebrows draw together. “You lived here? I thought this place was abandoned.” He looks down at Nate’s jumpsuit again. “Aren’t you from a Vault?”
Still lost in thought, he answers too truthfully, “I lived here before the bombs fell, but I was... frozen or something for most of it. Just woke up a little while ago,” Nate starts, then comes back to himself, “I- I don't know what I'm saying. I don't know what's true anymore. It doesn’t matter.” The words come out in a rush. He can’t make sense of today. A morning spent with his family, then the bombs, then the ruins and the death and the destruction. He’s still not convinced this isn’t an elaborate hallucination.
Preston’s voice lowers, like he’s talking to a frightened animal. “Hey, it's ok. I didn't mean to rile you up. We've all got our past to deal with. No shame in that.”
Nate doesn’t feel like he deserves the kindness Preston is giving him. He feels like a fraud, a failure. He just nods.
Preston clears his throat. “You say you were frozen, did anybody else make it out with you?”
Nate decides to tell Preston the truth. What did it matter? He looks down and answers, “Just my son, Shaun. Someone took him while I was still frozen. I’m trying to find him.” Finding Shaun is the only thing that makes any sense to him now.
His eyes are sad as he looks at Nate. “Damn, I'm sorry. I hope you find him. Let me know if there's any way I can help.”
“Thanks, Preston.”
Preston claps his hand on Nate’s shoulder. “C’mon, let’s go join the others.” He starts walking, and Nate follows.
He offloads the burden of dealing with Codsworth onto Sturges, who seems happy to have some assistance in getting the settlers set up for the night. Nate quietly hopes this new purpose will give Codsworth something else to focus on, instead of picking him apart piece by piece.
As the sun sinks low on the horizon, makeshift beds are dragged into one of the more stable-looking houses. Nate makes a point of suggesting a house across the street from his own. They spend some time around the fire, exchanging stories and answering the questions he asks.
Half-formed thoughts skitter off in a thousand directions as he takes it all in - super mutants, ghouls, deathclaws, roaming bands of raiders, and worse. Everything in this world is distorted and warped by the leftover radiation from the bombs that destroyed all that Nate remembers. He wonders, for a moment, why these people haven’t given up yet. He can’t tell if it’s strength or stupidity, or if that distinction even matters.
Eventually, the group settles down for the night, exhausted. Nate offers to take watch. Using a fallen tree tipped over a rusted-out car, he makes his way on to the roof of a nearby house. Hours pass, and his thoughts bounce around inside his skull, trying to reconcile his old reality with the new one. What else was out there? How was he going to survive? How can anyone survive like this? What does Mama Murphy know? Is Shaun really alive? Would he fail? Is there any hope? Would the sun still rise?
There’s a stream, somewhere behind him. It’s much louder now, he can feel it in his chest, rippling and curling around his ribs. The stream rushes, and he knows- he can feel it- it’s washing away the tiny bridge leading up to the Vault. He swallows, and pulls himself back in, awareness centering on the cool night air, the roof beneath him. He can still hear the stream. He covers his ears with his hands and presses, presses. He takes a breath in. The stream rushes. He exhales.
When Preston comes to relieve him late in the night, he goes to his almost-bed and stares at the ceiling until the sun rises. He doesn’t feel tired, anyway.
Chapter 2: October 24
Summary:
Nate makes some friends.
“Here's the hell of it: madness doesn't announce itself. There isn't time to prepare for its coming. It shows up without calling and sits in your kitchen ashing in your plant. You ask how long it plans to stay; it shrugs its shoulders, gets up, and starts digging through the fridge.” - Marya Hornbacher, Madness
Chapter Text
On the road with Dogmeat, Nate ruminates. The night before comes back to him in flashes, and he tries to make sense of it all.
“Not everyone can say they took out a deathclaw alone.”
“A deathclaw? That’s what you call those things?”
“Yup, pretty accurate name, don’t ya think? Given all the death and claws and whatnot.” Sturges grins at Nate.
He tries to stay close to cover as he weaves his way through battered forests and run down buildings, on edge.
“So what you’re saying here, and I want to get this totally right, is that there are giant, green men who eat people and put them in meat bags?” Nate says, incredulous.
Preston nods slowly, “Yeah, that’s about the sum of it. You gotta avoid those super mutants, man, they’re nasty pieces of work.”
There’s what’s left of a town up ahead. Nate and Dogmeat stick to the tree line, avoiding getting too close. Nate thinks he hears movement coming from the houses.
Nate runs a hand over his face. “Jesus, is there anything else I should know about?”
“Well there’s raiders, you met some of those, plus the feral ghouls, and Gunners, and-“ Preston clearly has more horrible things to add to his list.
“Ok yeah I get it, the wasteland wants you dead.”
“You got that right” Sturges laughs.
Dogmeat growls, eyes fixed on the buildings across the road. The shuffling sounds Nate heard before are getting closer, then he sees-
“Oh you’ve got be to fucking kidding me.” A group of rotting, shambling, not-quite-humans is lurching toward them, picking up speed. Nate aims, fires, then fires again and again. A couple bodies drop to the ground, and Dogmeat charges forward, ripping in to the closet walking corpse. Nate loses himself in the rush of the fight, unloading round after round into their decaying flesh. One gets close - too close - and grabs at him, its rotten, jagged teeth gnashing and biting at him. He gets his gun under its chin, holding it back with his other hand on its putrid forehead, and pulls the trigger. It drops heavily to the ground, and Nate swings around to see Dogmeat on top of the last creature. He moves to stand above it, and puts a bullet between its eyes. He steps back, panting.
“Fuck! Fucking- Jesus- shit, what the hell is this place!” Nate’s hands are shaking. He looks around at the people- no, feral ghouls - lying dead around him and wants to scream. Their twisted faces and ragged bodies taunt him.
“Is there anything good about this place?” Nate finds himself asking.
“There’s settlements all over the Commonwealth, big ones, small ones - just people trying to make their way in the world, despite- ”
“Despite everything trying to kill them?” Nate interrupts Preston, maybe a little rudely.
“I guess you could say that. People around here are tough, they don’t give up easily. You’ll see.” Preston means this with his everything he has, Nate can tell.
Nate takes a shuddering breath, and then another. He reloads his 10mm and looks at Dogmeat. “Well, boy, no way out but through. Let’s get moving.”
Dogmeat barks, his face covered in rotten ghoul blood. Nate wonders if he should wash the gore from Dogmeat’s face, but then looks down at himself and gives up on cleanliness for now. He’s just as bloody.
As the get closer to the city, Nate hears the gunfire, a lot of gunfire. He grips his gun tightly, and hugs the side of buildings as he gets closer to the noise. Dogmeat lets out a low growl, and then Nate hears it-
“Die, puny human!” The voice is gravelly and thunderous, and Nate thinks, ah, this must be one of those super mutants I’m supposed to avoid. He inches closer.
Peering around the corner, Nate sees a man across the street crouched behind an overturned mailbox, firing at the building Nate’s behind. Then Nate does a double take - is he wearing..? Yep, that’s an umpire uniform, sure, why not. Nate accepts the strangeness as just another quirk he’ll need to get used to. There’s a hole in the wall behind him, so he steps over the rubble to the exposed staircase without thinking. Halfway up the stairs, he sees it - him? - the super mutant. It’s facing away, firing a makeshift automatic rifle at the umpire across the street. Nate takes aim and fires a round, but that only seems to anger the mutant. It turns around, roaring at Nate, who fires four more shots in quick succession. The super mutant falls, dead. He hears more gunfire, then an enormous green body falls heavily from one of the floors above Nate onto the ground below. The quiet is deafening.
Going back down the stairs, Nate sees the umpire idly kicking a huge green dog - mutant related, must be. The umpire looks Nate up and down and crosses his arms, leaning back on one leg.
“Not afraid of mutants, huh? You’re our kind of guy.” He sounds impressed.
“Guess not.” Nate says with a lopsided smile. His blood is rushing through his veins, he feels sharper, more aware. “Which way to Diamond City?”
The umpire - or guard, Nate learns - points the way. Nate suddenly realizes where he is - Diamond City is fucking Fenway Park. The baseball field. It explains the get-up the guard has on, but the absurdity of a small city huddled inside a sports stadium gets to him. Nate starts to chuckle, then to laugh, and finds himself bent over cackling like a lunatic. There are tears in his eyes. After a while, he gathers himself and the laughs die down, but the smile doesn’t leave his face. He feels energized, like Shaun is right around the corner. He picks up the pace to get to the city entrance, where he sees a woman about his age in a red coat arguing with a speaker attached to the wall. She doesn’t notice him at first, and continues her heated discussion.
A man’s voice is coming from the speaker. “I'm sorry, but Mayor McDonough's really steamed, Piper. Saying that article you wrote was all lies. The whole city's in a tizzy.” He sounds apologetic.
“Agh!” She shakes her fists at the speaker, “You open this gate right now, Danny Sullivan! I live here. You can't just lock me out!” She’s waving her hands around even though the man - Danny - can’t see her. He doesn’t answer.
“Damn it, Danny, open up!” She huffs and puts her hands on her hips. After a moment, she turns in place, noticing Nate. Her eyes light up.
“Hey, you! You want into Diamond City, right?” She says in a low voice.
Nate's smile widens, “Definitely, you got a plan?”
She - Piper, that’s Piper - looks delighted. “Play along,” she whispers. Then, louder “What was that? You said you're a trader up from Quincy? You have enough supplies to keep the general store stocked for a whole month? Huh.” She turns back to Nate and winks at him. “You hear that Danny? You gonna let us in or are you gonna talk to crazy Myrna about losing out on all this supply?” She has a victorious smile on her face; she knows she’s won.
Danny sighs, exhausted. “Jeez, Piper, no need to play hardball. I’ll let you in”
Piper whips back around to look at Nate, smile widening, eyes sparkling. “Better get inside fast before ol’ Danny catches on to the bluff.” She shakes her arms out and exhales noisily.
Oh, he likes her. Nate laughs, “Sounds good, let’s go” as the heavy green metal door rises slowly behind them.
A heavyset man in a tan suit is waiting for them on the other side, looking furious. “Piper! Who let you back inside? I told Sullivan to keep that gate shut.” He shakes his fist at her. “You devious, rabble-rousing slanderer! The level of dishonesty in that paper of yours! I'll have that printer scrapped for parts.” Something about this man irks Nate, he frowns.
Piper isn’t cowed by his threats “Oooh, that a statement, Mr. McDonough? ‘Tyrant mayor shuts down the press?’” gesturing as though she’s seeing the headline in the air in front of her. “Why don’t we ask the newcomer?” She spins to face him. “You support the news?” Waving a hand at the mayor, she spits out, ‘Cause the mayor’s threatening to throw free speech in the dumpster.”
“Always believed in freedom of the press” Nate says, idly enjoying how it clearly makes the mayor uncomfortable.
The mayor seems to remember himself at that, and abruptly changes course. He’s saying some nonsense about what a great and welcoming place Diamond City is, and Nate ignores him. His irritation blooms hot and sudden when the mayor asks him why he’s there.
“That’s my business, not yours,” he snaps.
The mayor leans back, and doesn’t seem to know how to respond. He exchanges some heated words with Piper then stomps up the stairs into the park. Nate turns back to Piper, who’s eyeing him with consideration. Nate feels his skin crawl.
“A big Diamond City welcome from the mayor,” she scoffs, “Feel honored yet?” Piper pauses and wrings her hands for a moment. “Look, I have an article I think you’d be perfect for. Wanna stop by my office and maybe I can help you with whatever mysterious mission brought you to Diamond City?”
Nate thinks for a moment, looks down at Dogmeat, and then back up at Piper, “Alright, Piper, I’m game.” She flashes a smile at him, and leads him up the stairs into Diamond City.
Nate’s eyes widen as he takes in the sight of Diamond City. Shacks made from re-purposed steel and wood planks are nestled and stacked on one another in the stands and on the field. People mill about, and there’s what looks like a market by where the pitcher’s mound should be. It’s bigger than he was expecting, noisier too. The creaking and groaning of the structures around him makes for interesting background noise.
Abruptly, Nate remembers just how bloody he and Dogmeat are, and feels self conscious. Piper hasn’t commented yet, so he takes that as a win for now. She leads him down the stairs and greets a young girl, maybe 12 years old. “My kid sister, Nat,” Piper explains. Nate smiles at Nat, who greets him warmly despite the gore and grime.
Inside Piper’s rickety shack - Publick Occurrences, she proudly tells him - things are quieter. Piper turns to Nate and asks, “How are you holding up, Blue?”
He furrows his eyebrows. “Blue? Why are you calling me that?”
“Uh, 'Cause of the blue jumpsuit you're wearing? You're a Vault dweller.” She raises an eyebrow at him, like it’s obvious, and crosses her arms. “So here's the deal. I want an interview. Your life story in print. I think it's time Diamond City had a little outside perspective on the Commonwealth. You do that, and... I'll tell you what. I'll help you with whatever you came here to do.”
Nate thinks for a moment. He has no leads, just that Diamond City is where he needs to be. Piper seems to have her nose in everyone’s business, if the mayor is to be believed, so she might actually be able to help. “Ok, deal, let’s do it.”
“Good, let’s get down to business then. So, I know you're from a Vault. How would you describe your time on the inside?” Piper pulls out a small notebook and pencil as she asks.
Nate doesn’t know how to answer this. He barely spent any time in the Vault, it was more like a tomb than a home. “My family and I were frozen. I didn't spend much time there.”
Piper’s jaw drops, her hand pauses writing, “Wait. They boxed you up in a fridge? The whole time? Are you saying you were alive before the War?”
His heart stutters, then starts racing. His veins feel like they’re crackling with energy. The truth is outlandish, but he has no other explanation for what’s happened, so he answers an absurd question with an absurd response, “Behold, I am immortal.”
She’s excited now, “You know, I guess you kind of are, aren't you? Oh my god. ‘The Man Out of Time.’” She scribbles furiously in her notebook, then continues, “So, you've seen the Commonwealth, Diamond City. How does it compare to your old life?” The question comes out in a rush, like she can’t say it fast enough.
Nate’s first thought is that it’s a nightmare. He hasn’t exactly seen the best the Commonwealth has to offer; but then he remembers what Preston told him about the people that live in the wasteland, and how the people now living in Sanctuary Hills keep fighting for their chance at peace and safety. He holds on to that sentiment, “It’s…not pretty. Brutal, harsh, everything wants you dead. But there’s…” He pauses, gathering his thoughts. “There’s a lot of people out here, making their way in the world despite it all. Gives me hope.”
Piper looks vaguely impressed. “That's... surprisingly inspired, Blue. We're definitely quoting that. Now, the big question. Why come to Diamond City? You're looking for someone, aren't you? Who is it?”
He pulls back, feeling exposed. “What makes you think I’m looking for someone?”
“C’mon, Blue, isn’t it obvious?” She rolls her eyes. “You’re a vault dweller out looking for ‘something’, and you clearly aren’t here to trade. You don’t have enough junk on you, or caps.”
Nate brandishes the small tin of bottle caps from Preston at her, “I have caps, see?”
“Right, because pocket change will get you real far.” Piper looks skeptical.
Nate huffs, puts the box away, “I lost family, ok? I'm trying to get one of them back.”
“What's their name, Blue? Who are they?” She’s pressing him, like a reporter should.
The words tumble out of his mouth like lead. “My son, Shaun, was kidnapped. He's not even a year old.”
“The parent after the missing child.” Piper looks at him with sympathy, “As heartbreaking today as it ever was. Tell me, do you suspect the Institute is involved?”
“The Institute? Who are they?” That wasn’t in Preston’s extensive list of horrible things to watch out for in the wasteland.
“That, Blue, is the biggest mystery in the Commonwealth.” Piper shakes her head “No one really knows who or where they are, but their handiwork is all over. Synths - synthetic people - sent from their hidden labs to do the Institute's dirty work.” She lowers her voice, like she doesn’t want to be overheard. “Sometimes they even replace a person with a synth double. A little covert agent no one would ever suspect. Now, not everything that goes wrong has the Institute behind it, but there's always a chance.” She taps her pencil on her notebook, then points at him with it. “That's why I'm asking. So do you think they could be involved? The Institute, or one of their agents?”
“I don't know.” He answers quietly. His mind reels. Synthetic people? That’s a possibility? And they could be anyone? Nate feels an itch on the back of his neck, like he’s being watched.
“No one ever does. That's what makes them so scary. And people wonder why I can't just look the other way.” She looks down for a moment, taps her pencil to her notebook. “For the last part of our interview, I'd like to do something different. I want you to make a statement to Diamond City directly.” There’s something earnest in her eyes. “The threat of kidnapping is all but ignored in the Commonwealth. Everyone wants to pretend it doesn't happen. What would you say to someone out there who'd lost a loved one, but might be too scared, or too numb to the world, to look for them?”
Nate answers with a conviction he does not feel. “You owe it to yourself to find out the truth.” He doesn’t know that he believes what he’s saying, just that he wants to.
Piper smiles gently. “A strong note to end on, Blue, thanks. That's everything. It's gonna take some time to put this all together, but I think your story is going to give Diamond City plenty to talk about.” She slips her notebook into her jacket again and meets his eyes, a serious look on her face. “Look, about your son. I didn't know if you were on the up-and-up before, didn't want to waste my friend's time, but I think he can help you. His name's Nick Valentine, detective extraordinaire. Got an office here in Diamond City. Just look for the neon sign with the heart in it.”
Nate takes that in, then does a mental double-take. “Neon sign with a heart? You sure he's not running a brothel?” It sounds like a brothel, especially with a name like Valentine. He wonders if Piper is messing with him.
Piper laughs brightly, “That would be hilarious. But no, Blue, he's on the up-and-up.”
Nate pauses, cocks his head, “Do you think you can say ‘on the up-and-up’ one more time, make it a nice even 3?”
Piper looks at him blankly, then laughs loud and long. “Shut up, I mean it!”
Nate’s blood is sparkling in his veins. “So you think this Nick Valentine can find Shaun?”
She grins. “Yeah. People don't like talking about him, part of the whole ‘head in the sand’ mindset Diamond City is famous for. But when you're down on your luck, and no one else is going to give you a hand? He's always there.” There’s something fond in her eyes when she talks about the detective.
“That…sounds encouraging.” Nate nods and smiles at her. “Thanks, Piper.”
“Anytime. You take care of yourself, ok? And if you need someone to watch your back out there, you know where to find me.” She gestures to Dogmeat. “Though it looks like your friend here has you covered.”
Nate gives Piper a jaunty salute and steps back out into the world.
Outside of Publick Occurrences, there’s a stand off. A man in a blue coat is pointing a gun at a man in red flannel, yelling about synths and replacements and deceit. The man in red is holding his hands up, begging his brother not to shoot him. The guards are closing in, weapons raised. The man in the blue coat isn’t letting up, and Nate thinks he’s going to shoot when-
BAM
The man’s head explodes, blasted apart by a close-range shotgun shell from one of the guards. Nate looks at the man still standing, and worry creeps in. What if he is a synth? What if the man in the blue coat was right? The guards are telling people to disperse, that there are no synths in Diamond City, but Nate knows that can’t be true. Piper just told him, they can replace anyone. His eyes dart around, looking at the people shuffling away from the gory scene in front of him. He stays close to the wall, and hurries off to go find Nick Valentine, detective extraordinaire, looking behind his shoulder every few feet, Dogmeat close on his heels.
There’s a woman here, hunched over a filing cabinet mumbling to herself. Nate clears his throat and she turns around to face him. She looks drained, slouched over with a weary look on her face.
“Another stray coming in from the rain.” She mutters, then louder, “'Fraid you're too late. Office is closed.” She dismisses him with a waved hand.
Nate steps forward, “I know you must be busy, but I won’t take up too much of your time, miss. It’s important.” He imagines his conviction wrapping around the words.
“You're right.” She sighs. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be rude, but it's just...” She rubs her hands together nervously. “The detective. He's gone missing.”
Missing? How ironic. Nate doesn’t think twice before saying, “I’ll help. Tell me what happened.”
She sighs. “Nick was working a case. Skinny Malone's gang had kidnapped a young woman, and he tracked them down to their hideout in Park Street Station. There's an old Vault down there they use as a base.” She smiles, tight and rueful, “I told Nick he was walking into a trap, but he just smiled and walked out the door like he always does.”
“Who's this Skinny Malone character?” He sounds like a half-baked footnote from a radio play.
“I don't know much about him, but he's from Goodneighbor, and that means he's in the well-pressed suits and machine guns school of thuggery.”
So, mobsters. “Goodneighbor?”
“Yeah, it's a tough neighborhood. Northeast a ways.” She shakes her head. “People with power there care about two things: style and body count.”
A dangerous place, but then again, Nate always did feel more comfortable in dangerous places. Before meeting Nora- before getting stable, he gravitated toward these places. There, he wouldn’t stand out, he didn’t feel quiet so…alien. So broken. People there were used to strange behavior, wild thoughts; he blended into the background in a way he never did in the regular world. He tucks the thought into the back of his mind. The detective comes first.
“I'll find him.” Nate needs him, he has to find him.
“Thank you.” She says gratefully, “Nick should be easy to spot. He's always wearing that old hat and trench coat getup. Please, hurry!”
Nate nods at her, and turns to leave the office. Nick Valentine sounds like a detective ripped from the pages of a comic book - charmingly old-fashioned. He hopes Piper’s right about him. Leaving Diamond City, Nate avoids the main square and sticks to the back alleys, avoiding eye contact with people passing through. Outside the gates, the sun sits low on the horizon, and he starts off towards Park Street, taking familiar roads through and unfamiliar landscape with Dogmeat by his side. He grips his gun tightly, the lights flashing off windows and smooth metal dance in his vision.
He’s rifling through the pockets of a raider lying motionless on the floor, looking for ammo. He tries not to think about how wrong it feels, how callous. It’s not the first time today that he’s done this - scavenging anything useful off of a corpse. Earlier, he had even commandeered some sturdy-looking leather armor from a raider he shot through the neck. It’s coated with blood, like Nate’s vault suit. He thinks it’s starting to soak into his skin, staining his bones.
Dogmeat nudges him with his head, and Nate slips the spare ammo into his bag and stands. The sun is sinking below the horizon now, and a dim blue hue settles over the wreckage. It’s bizarre to see the city so dark; Nate remembers this part of Boston being incandescent at night, vibrant and alive. The world has changed. They keep walking.
A store with blown-out windows is on their right, up ahead. Nate hears movement from inside, and quietly slips over to the nearest opening. There’s a woman inside, grimy and ragged, with a long rifle across her back. She has a belt around her upper arm, and flicks a syringe in her hand. Nate steps into the open, leveling his gun at her. She freezes, then her face twists and she goes to pull the rifle off her back and- Nate fires. She drops. Something inside him aches. He picks up her rifle, some spare clips, then looks at the syringe for a long moment, turning it over in his mind. Dogmeat barks somewhere to his left. Nate shakes his head and moves on.
There’s a hush that falls over the world when they close in on the Common. The heavy silence blankets him, the back of his neck itches, and Dogmeat lets out a low whine. Something’s not right about this place, more so than the rest of the ruins he’s seen. No movement, no animals rustling, no bugs - like the world is holding its breath. Nate steps around the Common slowly, gun in hand. Dogmeat presses himself against his leg as they move. He can see the entrance to the station up ahead, flashing his eyes back to the Common looking for something - anything at all. He notices he’s holding his breath, and doesn’t exhale until he’s under the awning that guards the entrance to the subway.
He hears voices coming from below as he opens the doors. He looks at Dogmeat, nods, then slowly makes his way down the staircase, tucking himself against the wall to lean around the doorway.
The man closest to him turns to the side, and Nate sees his face under the harsh fluorescent lights. His skin is gnarled and worn, eyes a murky black, with a hole where his nose should be. He’s a ghoul - but not feral. He’s wearing a three piece suit and fedora, not tattered rags like those on some of the crazed, mindless ghouls he’s seen before. He’s talking to two other men off to the side, so Nate takes that as the opportunity it is. He fires a shot, watching the ghoul stumble, grab his chest, and fall to the floor wheezing.
There’s a commotion inside, the others have obviously noticed, and Nate picks them off one by one as they charge him and Dogmeat. They tried to shoot him, he saw- he heard- their guns go off, but he’s untouched. His arms tingle, this is a sign. He’s going to walk away from this without a scratch, he knows it. He shakes his free arm out to try to relieve some of the buzzing energy under his skin, then motions to Dogmeat and continues deeper into the station.
As he approaches the subway platform, he spots people- ghouls and men- patrolling up and down the tracks, armed with submachine guns. He’s suddenly grateful he has a rifle, taking aim over the stair railing and quickly firing at the two closest to him. They drop, and the room erupts. Nate ducks, hearing the tat-tat-tat of automatic weapons, bringing a hand up to cover his face as concrete and tile crumble around him. Dogmeat barrels down the stairs, going after a man who’s positioned himself directly in line with Nate. Taking a breath, Nate follows. Together, they make short work of Skinny Malone’s thugs, and Nate feels alive- really alive- for the first time since he clawed his way out of the vault. His blood sings. The lights above sparkle in time with his heartbeat. Nothing can touch him.
Nate’s running now, down the tracks and toward the Vault. He doesn’t stop moving as he takes out the men in his way. Then, he sees a great, metal door looming over ancient machinery and 200 years worth of debris. There are guards here too, Dogmeat latches on to one of them, shaking and tearing at the arm holding his gun. Time slows down, colors fade, Nate fires one shot, then another, and the room is silent. Nate hears his breathing first, then sound and color filter back in. Lowering the rifle, he approaches the Vault door.
The control panel to the Vault is the same as the one he woke up in, a large red button covered by a thick plastic shell and a port for a Pip-Boy connection to operate the mechanism. He jams the wire from his Pip-Boy into the Vault door controls, smashing his fist against the button when the cover snaps open. The door screeches as it opens and Nate flinches against the sound. He grits his teeth, knuckles white where they hold the rifle. Then finally- finally- the door opens and the platform extends.
He rushes forward, hearing voices coming closer. The first man that steps out gets three rounds in his chest before Nate’s gun clicks. The second charges at him with a baseball bat, and Nate whips the rifle up to block the swing. The man stumbles back, and Nate smashes the butt of his gun into the side of his head, then directly into his nose. He falls, and Nate kicks him one last time in the head, for good measure. He reloads the rifle and swings it over his shoulder, jerking his head at Dogmeat to follow him down the stairs into the Vault.
He slows as he reaches the bottom of the stairs - he can hear voices just around the corner. How they didn’t hear the gunfire above them, Nate doesn’t know. He steps out into the doorway with full confidence.
“Hey there, fellas.” He grins, eyes wide. The men turn toward him, fumbling with their weapons, but they’re too slow. Nate’s hand merges with his gun, his fingertips guide the bullets, and they both fall to the ground in a heap.
The walls of the hallway warp and bend outward, making room for Nate as he steps around the bodies. He stops for a moment, and feels the cool metal pulse beneath his feet. He swallows, adjusts his grip on his weapon, and keeps moving. More men with submachine guns are waiting for him up ahead, he can hear them coming to investigate the noise, so he holsters his pistol and readies the rifle. He doesn’t take cover- they aren’t going to be able to hit him. Standing tall, he fires as he walks forward, never stopping. Each bullet hits its mark- he’s sure of it- he fires the extra bullets because he’s frustrated, not because he missed.
Hallways curl around him as he moves deeper and deeper into the vault. Then, a door opens to a cavernous room- across from him he sees a man facing away, talking to someone. He’s- he’s taunting them- it’s Nick Valentine in there, Nate realizes. He levels his gun with the man’s head, and doesn’t stop to think before he fires.
Nick calls out to him when he reaches the platform in front of his cell “Hey, you. I don't know who you are, but we got three minutes before they realize muscles for brains ain't coming back. Get this door open!” Nate breezes past a small window looking into the room to get to the terminal next to the door. He huffs when it asks for a password, turning to dig through the dead man’s pockets looking for the key, annoyance bubbling like boiling water. After he finally opens the door, he steps inside and freezes in place, stunned.
The thing in front of him is in the shape of a man, but wrong. Its skin is worn and gray- artificial, inhuman- there are holes, giant, gaping holes exposing wiring and tubes and metal joints. It’s speaking in a man’s voice, “Ah, my knight in shining armor. But the question is, why does he come all this way, risk life and limb, for an old private eye?”
Nate tries to gather himself- the being in front of him matches the description the woman from the agency gave him, and the man he just killed call it- him- Nick. He has to ask, “What... are you?”
“Told you. I'm a detective.” He sounds exasperated, like he’s had this conversation before. “Look, I know the skin and the metal parts ain't comforting, but it's not important right now. The only thing that matters is why you went to all this trouble to cut me loose.”
Nate inhales sharply, “Are you a synth?”
Nick levels him with a look, “I am. A discarded prototype, anyway.”
He breaths out, looks down, mumbles to himself, “Prototype, ok, alright, a synth prototype.” He sees Dogmeat approach Nick out of the corner of his eye, wagging his tail.
“Hope that's not going to be a problem, because there's not much I can do about it if it is.” He looks down at Dogmeat and gives him a light pat on the head. Dogmeat grins.
Nate thinks for a moment. Synths are supposed to blend in, tearing things apart from the shadows. Openly admitting you’re a synth, looking so obviously artificial- well, that would make for a terrible undercover agent. He shifts his balance from one foot to the other. His nerves settle, just a little. Piper vouched for him, he’ll just have to believe her. Besides, Dogmeat seems to approve.
“No I- no. It’s fine. I’m fine.” Nate loosens his grip on his gun. He didn’t notice how tightly he was holding it.
“Alright then.” Nick frowns. “Now, what brought you out all this way?”
Nate decides that honesty is the best path forward. “My son Shaun is missing. He was kidnapped, but I don't know who took him, or where they went.”
Nick nods slowly. “A missing kid, huh? Well, you came to the right man. If not the right place. I've been cooped up in here for weeks. Turns out the runaway daughter I came here to find wasn't kidnapped. She's Skinny Malone's new flame, and she's got a mean streak.” He straightens up and looks at Nate seriously, “Anyway, you got troubles, and I'm glad to help. But now ain't the time. Let's blow this joint. Then we'll talk.”
“Alright Valentine, lead the way.”
They’re moving quietly down another set of stairs when Nick crouches and waves his hand at Nate to do the same. “Hold up, I hear some of them coming.” A door opens, “There they are. How do you want play this?”
Nate’s suddenly sick of being underground. The cavernous rooms are closing in, suffocating him. He wants out, the nerves in his limbs are going haywire. His body is going to shake apart if he doesn’t move- there’s a gun going off- then a thud, and- He blinks, comes back to himself, looks down- there are three bodies in front of him. Thoughts are running like water, too fast to make sense of them.
Nick’s voice pulls him out of his head, “Hard and loud, huh? Well, it gets the job done. Too bad for whoever cleans up the floors.” He puts a hand on Nate’s shoulder, “C’mon, let’s keep moving.” Nate follows Nick through the doors.
They clear room after room, running up a seemingly endless series of staircases. Nick gripes about the climb, but Nate doesn’t mind it. He has so much energy in his body, he needs to get it out somehow- the stairs almost help.
Nick slows his pace as they come to a sealed door. “Skinny Malone and the rest of his boys are waiting for us on the other side of this door. The name's, uh, ironic, but don't let that fool you. He's dangerous. Be ready for anything.” Nick fiddles with the controls for a moment, then turns to Nate, motioning to the door. It slides open, and they step through.
A man - distinctly round - in an ill-fitted suit is waiting for them on the other side. He’s flanked by two armed guards and a young, pretty woman in a tight dress. This must be Skinny Malone- he looks angry, “Nicky? What're you doin'? You come into my house, shoot up my guys, you have any idea how much this is gonna set me back?” The woman idly spins a baseball bat, looking bored.
Nick raises his voice, just a little, “I wouldn't be here if it weren't for your two-timing dame, Skinny. You ought to tell her to write home more often.”
Then the woman opens her mouth. “Aw, poor little Valentine. Ashamed you got beat up by a girl?” Her taunting digs under Nate’s skin. “I'll just run back home to daddy, shall I?” Something about the way she talks is grating, like nails on a chalkboard.
Irritation rattles through his chest, up his neck, coming to a simmer behind his eyes. He bites out, harshly, “What's the deal with you people and Nick anyway?”
Nick tilts his head to look at Nate, answering, “Darla's a runaway. Her father wanted me to bring her back home. Turns out she skipped town to be with my old pal, Skinny Malone. Mob boss. Never thought he'd manage to scrape together a big enough crew to take over a Vault. Guess life's full of surprises.”
“Hey, who's running this show, here? You got something to say, say it to me.” Skinny Malone does not like to be ignored, it seems.
Nate thinks this is a weak attempt at maintaining power from an even weaker man. Darla holds more authority in this room than Skinny, she’s far more confident, assured. A plan takes root in his mind- Skinny wants what Darla has. He needs to turn him against her. Nate relaxes his stance, lifts an eyebrow, and warms his voice as he looks at Skinny, “Look at yourself, Darla’s playing you for a fool.” Skinny balks, and Nate continues, “You’re better than this, you’re better than her.”
Skinny hesitates at first, waffling over Nate’s words. Nate can see, clear as day, as his face walks through a host of emotions. Denial, indignation, then finally settling on resignation. He knows Nate’s right. Skinny callously dismisses Darla, who furiously stomps away, dropping her bat. Nate feels electricity coursing through his veins, his brain lights up, and a wide smile stretches across his face . Skinny, in a last, desperate attempt at seizing control, gives them a countdown to leave the Vault.
Nick pulls Nate’s arm, “We better get out of here. Fast.” Nate doesn’t move at first, so Nick pulls harder, more insistent, and Nate allows himself to be dragged out of the Vault.
The night air is a relief, after the staleness of the Vault. Nick’s head is leaned back, gazing up at the stars, “Ah, look at that Commonwealth sky. Never thought anything so naturally ominous could end up looking so inviting.”
Nick looks Nate over, considering, his eyes glowing in the darkness. Nate feels oddly exposed; it irritates him, he’s annoyed by this. He clenches his jaw and bites his tongue against the words that threaten to escape.
“You know, I never got your name.”
Nate blinks, “Oh, uh,” he sticks a hand out, “Nate. Nate Anderson.”
Nick takes his hand, giving it a firm shake, “A pleasure. Now, about your son; I want you to come to my office in Diamond City. Give me all the details.” He pauses, looks Nate over. “Besides, I think you've earned a chance to sit down and clear your head.”
“Thanks, Nick. I think- I think I’ll meet you there. I need some air.” Nate’s heart is pounding, he can’t be inside right now- he needs to do something, anything, but sit and talk about Shaun.
Nick nods, “I’ll see you there.” He turns to Dogmeat, “Keep an eye on this one, will ya?” Dogmeat barks and wags his tail. Nate thinks again that Dogmeat can understand them, there’s no way he doesn’t. Nate can see the truth so clearly.
Nick walks off, and Nate shakes his arms out, rubs his hands together, bites his lip. He jerks forward, towards Back Bay, knowing that he needs to move- to keep moving- he’ll break apart if he doesn’t- there’s so much energy he needs to get out, somehow. He’s running now, Dogmeat right behind him. The wind whips past his face, colors streak and twirl and fade around him. The stars are casting tremendous shadows across the ruins, he can almost see them reaching out delicate tendrils toward the earth. He keeps running, running, running, until the sun rises and the world begins to wake up.
Chapter 3: October 25 - October 26
Summary:
Nate settles a score.
“I sat with my anger long enough until she told me her real name was grief.” - C.S. Lewis
Chapter Text
There’s something beautiful about the way the early morning sun shimmers across the Charles, sparkling and fragmenting into little rainbows. The river is murky and sluggish, the first familiar sight he’s come across in the wasteland. He’s sitting on a bench overlooking the water, absently stroking Dogmeat’s head where it rests in his lap. The weight is soothing, keeping him tethered to the earth. They’ve been here for what feels like hours, sitting together quietly, breathing in sync. Then, Dogmeat lifts his head, hops off the bench, and bows into a deep stretch. He looks back at Nate, barks lightly, then starts to nudge his leg with his head. Nate feels the ghost of a smile cross his face, and stands. Dogmeat’s tail starts wagging, and he trots in the direction of Diamond City, glancing back to make sure Nate is following.
Nate can’t get to Nick’s office fast enough. Being out in the open in Diamond City makes him nervous. He’s sure he can feel eyes tracking him from alleyways and rooftops, watching and judging. He ushers Dogmeat inside then shuts the door behind them, a little too hard. Nick is waiting for him, and gestures to a worn armchair in front of a desk littered with papers. Nate sits, and winds his hands together tightly, nails pressing into the skin. Nick takes the seat opposite him, and his assistant hovers behind him with a notebook in hand.
Nick taps a metal finger on the desk, “Good to see you in one piece - both of you.” Nate nods, he doesn’t know what to say. Nick doesn’t seem phased, and keeps talking, “When you're trying to find someone who's gone missing, the devil is in the details. Tell me everything you can, no matter how painful it might be.”
Nate’s fingers tighten, biting into his skin. He doesn’t want to remember this, even though it’s important. Dogmeat noses at his hands, and Nate loosens his grip. He speaks slowly, hesitantly, “We were in a vault, underground. When the bombs fell, we- my family, my wife and son- were frozen. It was some kind of… cryo facility. I remember waking up and-“ He swallows, “There was a man and a woman. They- they killed my wife, took my son- he’s less than a year old.” Nate’s voice cracks, “The man, he- he came right up to me. Bald head, scar across his left eye.”
At this, Nick straightens up, “You didn't hear the name ‘Kellogg’ at all, did you?”
“I- I don’t know. It’s all a blur.”
Nick thinks for a moment, then shakes his head slightly, “It's way too big of a coincidence,” He looks over his shoulder, “Ellie, what notes do we have about the Kellogg case?”
Ellie flips through her notebook, “The description matches. Bald head. Scar. Reputation for dangerous mercenary work, but no one knows who his employer is.”
“He bought a house here in town, right? And he had a kid with him, didn't he? Maybe 10 years old?”
“Yeah, that's right.”
Nate’s ears are ringing, he can’t believe what he’s hearing. Nick’s about to say something, but Nate cuts in, “You’re telling me he lives here? He’s still in town?”
Nick’s voice is steady as he answers, “They both vanished a while back, if I'm remembering right, but that house is still there.” His eyes flick down to Nate’s shaking hands. “Let's you and I take a walk over to Kellogg's last known address, see if we can snoop out where he went.”
Nate launches out of the chair, he’s furious- Kellogg was here the whole time. His teeth are grinding together and his fingers itch to reach for his gun. Nick and Ellie exchange some words, but Nate’s head is full of static and they don’t register. He’s out the door before Nick has finished standing up.
Nick finds him fuming, pacing in tight circles in the alley outside the office. He approaches Nate slowly and says, “Nate, you should know, everything I dug up about Kellogg before his disappearance is bad news. He's more than just a mercenary, he's a professional. Quick, clean, thorough. Has no enemies, because they're all dead. Except you.”
Nate stops pacing. “Leaving me alive? That was a mistake.” His voice doesn’t sound like his own.
“I don’t doubt it. Let’s go see what we can find.”
Kellogg’s house stands silent above Diamond City. Nick checks that the coast is clear, then turns to Nate, “Keep an eye out, will ya? Let's see if I can get this open.” Nate nods and walks over the the railing, gripping it until his knuckles go white.
Nick mutters to himself as he picks at the lock, “That's one heck of a lock. Got something to hide, Kellogg?” He straightens up and turns to Nate, “I can’t get it open, you wanna give it a shot?”
Nate lets go of the railing. His skin feels tight and hot- he’s so angry. Kellogg’s house is right there, it’s been here all along. They’re wasting time- He rears back and kicks the door with all his might. It shudders, so he kicks it again and again, then throws his shoulder against it, trying to shatter the lock. The door gives in, cracks forming along the wood. Nate looks at Nick, who has a frown on his face.
“Well, if it works, it works.”
Nate steps inside, Nick and Dogmeat follow. The house is small and barren, and the ringing in Nate’s ears grows louder. There’s nothing here- he can feel the rage threaten to boil over.
Nick’s looking under the desk, then says, “Well, what do we have here?” The wall to Nate’s right slides open- there’s another room. The overheard light is crackling, and Nate feels his eye twitch. He doesn’t know what to look for, it’s hard to keep his thoughts in order. Nate’s grateful Nick is here, maybe he can make sense of what they’re seeing.
After a moment, Nick points out the cigars on a small side table, “These look unusual, a special brand, maybe? Why don’t we see if Dogmeat can catch the scent, track him down.”
Dogmeat barks, then nods. He’s up to the challenge.
Nate snatches up one of the cigars and goes to turn to Dogmeat when Nick says, “Nate, hold on.” Nate looks at him, Nick’s eyes drill a hole into his skull, “You want some company for the road?”
“No Nick, I- I need to do this on my own.” Part of Nate knows he doesn’t want Nick to see what he’s about to become. He claps a hand on Nick’s shoulder, and tries to weave appreciation into his voice, “Thank you.”
“Anytime. Watch yourself out there.”
Nate nods, then leads Dogmeat outside.
When they find one of Kellogg’s abandoned cigars resting on a wooden crate on the bank of a small, putrid pond, Nate throws the chair next to it into the water. Dogmeat doesn’t comment, and leads him further into the wilds. Nate doesn't think he deserves the patience Dogmeat has for him.
Nate stares at the man laying face down on the concrete for a long while. He’s reminded of a man in a similar position, still rotting on the outskirts of Sanctuary Hills. This time, he leaves the body where it fell.
The trees lining the road twist their branches, pointing the way. He can see the reverberations from their footsteps shaking the earth, alerting the ghouls shambling about mindlessly along the shattered road. Nate doesn’t waste any bullets on their rotten bodies, using a nearby crowbar to pull them apart.
Dogmeat takes him through the wreckage left in Kellogg’s wake, bodies both metal and flesh left broken and discarded. The severed head of an assaultron confirms what Nate already knows. They’re on the right track- they’re closing in- it’s almost time.
The sun is sinking below the horizon. A hawk screeches overhead. Nate can see the sound in waves, curling around them like a shroud in the fading light. He puts a hand through the shimmering wisps floating gently through the air, then starts to move with the current. He conducts the orchestra of the wasteland, just for a moment.
With no light, it’s impossible to keep going. They find shelter in the form of a small, run-down hut, lifted on stilts overlooking what was once a creek bed, now dry and choked with leaves. Nate turns on the light of his Pip-Boy, bathing them in an sickly green glow. He’s suddenly afraid they might fail, that Kellogg may elude them. He crosses and uncrosses his legs where they rest on the moldy couch beneath him. Questions start to tangle in his mind. What if they don’t find Kellogg? What if they do? What happens then? Will they-
We’ll find Kellogg, he can’t hide from us forever, a voice whispers.
Nate jerks his head around, no one else is here but- “Dogmeat?”
Dogmeat grins. Nate stares.
You should listen to that holotape.
He has a sinking feeling in his gut, What holotape?
You know which one. Dogmeat tips his head toward Nate’s bag.
Pale green light dances in Dogmeat’s eyes. When Nate looks down at his bag, time slows. He can feel the holotape’s bloody heartbeat wrap around his neck like a noose, and he realizes he has no choice. A memory grabs at him with mangled hands, pressing him down.
He’s looking down at his bourbon, lazily swirling the liquid around, lost in thought. He’s felt disconnected, adrift, since his release. The weight of this new, strange truth drags him down, a lifetime of neutered feelings and little white pills taunting him. Light catches in the glass, throwing off sparks in a miniature fireworks display.
“Who’s got you looking like that?” A woman is sitting next to him, with pretty green eyes and thick brown hair. She’s smiling, her lips are a bright, vivid red.
Nate’s torn from his thoughts, he furrows his brow. “What? What do you mean?”
“You’re moping, drinking alone at a bar. So, who’s that look for?”
He doesn’t tell her the truth. She tells him he looks too sad to spend the night alone. Her eyes are like emeralds. He loves her.
The holotape is a leaden weight in his palm. Opening the compartment on his Pip-Boy and sliding it inside feels like a death sentence.
Weeks wear into months, then years. Nate does what’s expected, and proposes to Nora on their second anniversary. She says yes, and Nate feels like a fraud. Everything has turned grey and bland; joy is dulled, anger neutralized, and sadness evaporated, leaving behind a gaping chasm where magic once lived. As Nate’s stability grows, his love for Nora wanes. He wonders if it’s possible for him to love at all.
They have an easy companionship, and Nate is so, so fond of her. She understands him, better than he understands himself. The guilt that he can’t love her the way he should threatens to consume him. He knows that one day she’ll catch on.
Nora’s voice fills the room. He misses her. She was his best friend. She knew him, knew all sides of him, even the parts he buried.
The day comes, Nora confronts him. She’s crossing her arms, frowning, not looking at him, “Why did you marry me?” She looks tired.
Nate doesn’t know, he can’t answer. His silence says enough. She doesn’t want a divorce, for reasons he never truly understands. She tells him she loves what they’ve built together, even if he doesn’t love her. They settle into a new rhythm, a more honest rhythm.
Listening to her kind words drives a stake into Nate’s heart. Before the bombs, they had been building something. It wasn’t perfect, it was still unfair to Nora, but it was theirs.
Shaun was a surprise. When Nora tells him she’s pregnant, he doesn’t know how to feel. They would sleep together sometimes, to alleviate the itch, but hadn’t planned on turning their lopsided marriage into a proper family. The first time Nate holds Shaun, all he can think about is how he’s going to fuck this up.
As the night wears on, he loses himself in the space between dream and memory.
In the blue-grey dawn, they continue their descent. Dogmeat cuts a sharp left, leading Nate through the tangled brush. The wind is kicking up leaves, clearing a path for them, ushering them toward a rusted fence standing forlorn on the crest of a hill. There, they find bloody bandages carelessly throw over a broken segment of twisted metal. Nate’s body is humming, sparks flying down arms to the tips of his fingers. He shares a look with Dogmeat, who takes off running through a gap in the fence. Nate follows, his feet flying over the jagged earth.
They reach another stretch of fragmented pavement, and Nate sees the silent ruins of Fort Hagen ahead of them. He knows- can feel it in his gut- they’re close- this is the end. Dogmeat bounds up the stairs to the boarded-up entrance and starts whining. He agrees. The wind stops, everything around them becomes sharper, more defined. Light and shadow are thrown into high relief, and Nate can make out the individual grains of wood on the barricade. He has a sudden trepidation - what’s he’s about to do needs to be done alone. He can’t expose anyone to this side of himself. Nate readies his weapon and looks down at Dogmeat, who’s staring up at him silently.
“Time to head back home, boy.”
Dogmeat whines, flicks his ears back, You shouldn't be alone.
I’ll be fine, “Go on back to Sanctuary. I’ll see you there.”
After a long moment of staring into each other’s eyes, Dogmeat concedes. He starts off in the direction of Sanctuary Hills, looking back every few feet with worry. Nate raises a hand as a goodbye, then works his way around the building to find an entrance.
There’s electricity in Fort Hagen, which surprises Nate. In the wrecked buildings he’s seen so far, there’s been no light, no sound of crackling wires, just the deep dark silence of abandonment. He can hear movement above him, the regular steps of a patrol. He cautiously moves up the stairs, then the movement stops. He hears a voice, warbled and full of static.
“I am detecting stealth activity.” There’s no inflection, the voice sounds entirely devoid of emotion. Artificial. That must be a synth- what else could it be- a less evolved version of Nick, maybe? Nate shakes his head, speculation won't help him here. Kellogg has fucking synths.
Red tints the edges of his vision and the walls pulse around him. He rounds a corner and comes face to face with the thing - white plastic parts covering wires and tubes and pieces of metal. Nate opens fire without hesitation, and the synth drops before it can retaliate. Everything goes still and quiet as he walks towards the body. He looks down and feels nothing. Then, more artificial voices echo down the hallway, and Nate snaps his head up and ducks into a doorway for cover.
“Destruction of fellow synth verified.” There’s no remorse or grief in the statement.
Nate exhales and leans around the wall, gun raised. There’s two more synths down the hall, and he dispatches them ruthlessly. The red hue seeping around the edges of his vision grows darker. He continues further into the winding halls of Fort Hagen with single-minded focus.
The light flickering above him is deafening. He wants it to stop- the sound is rattling his teeth- he shoots, and sparks rain down.
A waste of a bullet, a voice says. He shakes it off.
He’s breathing hard now, furious and alight with rage. The red around the edges of the world beats in time with his heart, creeping further toward the center, threatening to envelope everything before him. He’s had the presence of mind to search any containers that look worthwhile, and now has a handful of grenades at the ready. Superior firepower, always useful, he had thought. With the amount of synths and turrets he’s blown to pieces so far, he knows he’ll need it. He’s underground now, there’s a heavy weight to the air around him. He keeps up the pace, stopping short when the loudspeaker fizzles to life.
If it isn't my old friend, the frozen TV dinner. Last time we met, you were cozying up to the peas and apple cobbler. It’s Kellogg, he’s here.
Nate inhales sharply. He continues forward. Everything is red now, nothing is untouched by his anger. Three more synths and a turret lay broken beneath him.
Sorry your house has been a wreck for two hundred years. But I don't need a roommate. Leave.
The flippant remark burns through him. He fires more rounds than he should into the synths charging him. One gets off a lucky shot, tearing a line through the arm of his vault suit. Nate doesn’t register the pain.
Never expected you to come knocking on my door. Gave you 50/50 odds of making it to Diamond City. After that? Figured the Commonwealth would chew you up like jerky.
He’s running now, barreling toward the synths standing in his way. He pulls the pin on a grenade and throws it before him, with little consideration for the blast radius.
Look, you're pissed off. I get it, I do, but whatever you hope to accomplish in here? It’s not gonna go your way.
A turret explodes, raining down metal and bullets onto the floor. Nate rounds the corner and keeps firing, downing synth after synth.
You've got guts and determination, and that's admirable. But you are in over your head in ways you can't possibly comprehend.
Nate’s heartbeat is thundering in his ears, the narrow corridors of Fort Hagen blur, he feels wild. His eyes are so wide that he worries they might fall out of his skull. His fingertips turn into claws, his teeth sharpen and rip through his tongue. He tastes the blood. Nate raises his gun; the synth before him is the only thing clear in his mind now, it needs to die- they all need to die- he’s going to destroy-
It's not too late. Stop. Turn around and leave. You have that option. Not a lot of people can say that.
There’s no stopping Nate now. He can’t stop, not for this, not for anything. The buzzing under his skin turns into a dull roar. He’s so close.
Ok, you made it. I'm just up ahead. My synths are standing down. Let's talk.
There’s blood dripping down his chin from where his fangs ripped into his tongue. He wipes his hand through the mess. When he looks down at his palm, it’s clean. He opens the door.
The lights overhead flick on, one by one, revealing Kellogg standing in a room full of ruined computers. He’s flanked by three synths. He saunters up to Nate, looking amused.
“And there he is. The most resilient man in the Commonwealth. Funny, I thought I had that honor.”
“Fuck you, Kellogg.” Nate spits the words out harshly. “Where the fuck is my son?”
Kellogg chuckles, “You can turn around right now, go back the way you came. He’s not here. He's with the people pulling the strings. The Institute.”
Nate’s world tilts on its axis. “I don’t believe you.”
“You don’t? Are you sure about that?” Kellogg’s looking at him, sizing him up. “Thought you would be more open to the idea, given your circumstances. Guess I was wrong.”
“Why would they want him?” Nate has a sinking feeling that Kellogg may be telling the truth.
Kellogg barks out a laugh, “I have no idea. Pal, I'm just a puppet like you. My stage is a little bigger, that's all.”
Nate’s shaking, vibrating with fury. “Where is it then, huh? Where is this ‘Institute’?”
“Now, that’s something you’d just have to find out on your own. Unfortunately for you, you won’t get that chance.” He gestures to the air around him, “This world, this life? You've seen it. Pain, suffering. Death is its only escape. You should be grateful, Shaun’s in a better place than most. Your time's done. Your son is exactly where he belongs.”
His teeth are grinding together so hard he thinks they might shatter. “I won’t let you get in my way. You’re a dead man, Kellogg.”
“If I’m a dead man, what does that make you? The hero who saves the day? I don’t think so.” He steps closer to Nate, “You want to know what I think?”
Nate glares, eye twitching. He doesn’t respond.
“I think you and I are more alike than you want to admit. Two sides of the same coin. I’ve been watching you, you’re cracking under the pressure aren’t you? The only difference between us is that I’m better at controlling myself. It’s funny, I find myself actually kind of… liking you.”
There’s a ringing in Nate’s ears, drowning out his thoughts. “You’re wrong.”
The man looks Nate up and down, “I’m not. But, I think we've been talking long enough. We both know how this has to end. So, you ready?”
“Are you?”
Kellogg laughs, and Nate loses himself to the rage. Kellogg tries to use a stealth boy to hide himself, but Nate’s too fast. He gets an arm around Kellogg’s invisible neck and uses him as a shield to fire at the synths. Kellogg’s elbow comes back and digs into Nate’s stomach, loosening his grip and letting Kellogg slip away. Nate shoots wildly where he thinks Kellogg is and hears a grunt. His torso explodes with fire, a thick line left behind by a high-caliber bullet bleeds sluggishly as he ducks behind one of the work stations. He grips his gun tight and launches up, looking for movement. He can just make out the distorted edges of Kellogg’s form, and fires into the space where his chest should be. There’s a heavy thud, and Kellogg rematerializes on the floor.
Nate leaves Kellogg there, and searches the files on the only clean terminal in the room. There, he’s greeted with confirmation that Kellogg was being honest - the Institute has Shaun. Ice rushes through his veins. Without thinking, he moves to stand over Kellogg, who is choking on his own blood face up on the dirty carpet. He raises his gun, and Kellogg starts laughing weakly. Nate fires three rounds into his skull, leaving behind a mess of viscera and grey matter. Then he notices something catching the light in the gore. There’s a lingering thought in the back of his mind, this is important, there’s something in there he needs. He kneels down and sticks his hand into what’s left of Kellogg’s mind, shutting out the disgust he feels at his actions. There’s…circuitry? Little wires and pieces of metal connected to some part of his brain. He tears a piece of Kellogg’s shirt and carefully wraps it around the dripping mass. Blood blooms red on the white fabric as he tucks it into his bag and sets off to the elevator back to the surface.
In the elevator, Kellogg’s words echo in his mind, The only difference between us is that I’m better at controlling myself. Nate wants to claw and scream and rage, it can’t be true. He can’t be the same as the monster left to rot in the basement of Fort Hagen. He thinks about the past few days, and part of him worries that Kellogg had a point. He’s starting to lose his grip on the reins.
Outside, the sun is beginning to set. Nate feels hollow, and his mind starts swirling and bending in different directions. Then, a voice echoes down from the sky.
“People of the Commonwealth. Do not interfere. Our intentions are peaceful. We are the Brotherhood of Steel.” An enormous airship is slowly passing overhead, moving towards Boston. Vertibirds disengage and scatter across the sky.
Nate is stunned. The airship feels like an ill omen, a sign of impending doom. He thought he was on the right track before, now he’s not so sure.
Chapter 4: October 27 - October 28
Summary:
Piper finds Nate a change of clothes. Hancock makes an appearance.
“We all move uneasily within our restraints.” - Kay Redfield Jamison, An Unquiet Mind
Chapter Text
Nate stands before the walls of Diamond City, not entirely sure how he got there. He remembers taking a couple stimpaks off an unfortunate raider and stabbing one into his thigh, poking and prodding at his wounds while they sluggishly healed. The pain felt like radio static, fizzling out into a heavy silence. The rest of the walk is wrapped in a thick white gauze.
Nate looks down at his hands, then back up at the wall. He tries to dredge up some memory, something, anything of the last day, but nothing else comes to him. A spark of fear churns in his gut. What did he do out there? What had happened? He clenches his jaw and swallows roughly, turning away from the wall and towards the entrance of Diamond City.
There’s a guard across from Nate in the square by the gates, leaning back against the wall flicking a cigarette. His eyes are tracking him, Nate realizes. He stops, then starts again, those eyes never leaving him. His palms are sweating, he keeps glancing over at the guard, trying not to raise suspicion. He picks up his pace toward the entrance, trying to shake the feeling of the man’s eyes on his back.
He glances over his shoulder and- there he is again. He’s following Nate, except now he’s looking down to fiddle with his watch. He’s sending a message, he’s reporting back. The hairs on the back of Nate’s neck stand up, his fingers twitch toward his gun- he’s being tracked. It would be absurd, but- there’s still a chance- is he working for the Institute? A synth hiding in plain sight?
Nate starts jogging, trying to lose the tail. He takes the steps into Diamond City two at a time, then ducks into an alley. Every person here is suddenly suspect, his eyes are wide, tracking every movement, every detail, looking for any indication that something is not as it seems.
He tucks himself into a doorway, peeking around the corner and- he’s there again, it’s the same guard as before. He’s definitely following Nate, he has no doubt now. As casually as he can manage, he steps back out into the alley, making his way to Nick’s office. Once he rounds a corner out of the guard’s sight, he breaks out into a sprint, swinging himself around corners until he reaches the crackling red light in the narrow corridor outside the detective agency.
He slams his back against the wall, breathing hard, and is dimly aware that he’s drawn his 10mm. Hands shaking, he stands there for a long while, waiting for an enemy to round the corner, finger on the trigger. He tracks every movement, every sound - stray leaves fluttering in the wind, laughter from closer to the city center, an argument happening a few doors down. After what feels like an eternity, he lets out a breath and tucks his gun away, flexing his hand. He lost the tail. Electricity is racing under his skin - Diamond City isn’t safe, he knows this for certain. He drags a hand through his hair, shuts his eyes, takes a steadying breath, then goes inside to talk to Nick.
Piper’s voice greets him the second he opens the door, “C’mon, Nick, give me something to work with here. How is he, really?” She has Nick cornered - literally. His back is to the wall, with Piper blocking his escape.
Nick, hearing the door open, flicks his eyes over to Nate, then back to Piper, “Why don’t you ask him yourself, since you need to know so bad.” He sounds frazzled, like she’s been at this for a while.
Piper whirls around, “Just the man I was looking for!” Nate suddenly feels like a prey animal caught in a trap.
Before she can get started, Nick cuts in. “Piper, he just got here, let him breathe for a moment.” His eyes are on Nate when he says, “I was hoping to see you come back with your son, what happened with Kellogg?”
“Kellogg? You mean the Kellogg? The mercenary?” Piper’s looking back and forth between them, alarmed.
Nate doesn’t know how to start. He opens his mouth, then closes it again, shaking his head and pressing his lips together.
Nick steps around Piper, and gestures towards the armchair, “Sit down, take a second to get your thoughts in order.”
Nate sits, then rests his head in his hands, elbows on the desk in front of him. After a moment, he drags his hands down his face and looks over at Nick, who’s now sitting opposite him, “I found Kellogg. And it turns out he doesn’t have Shaun, the Institute does.”
The room is dead silent. Piper’s jaw is hanging open, and Nick looks thoughtful.
“You’re sure about this?” Nick asks.
“Yeah, I am.” Nate clenches his jaw. “How do I get inside? They have Shaun, I- I need to get inside.”
Piper and Nick share a look, then Piper meets Nate’s eyes. “There’s a bit of a problem there, Blue. You see…” She trails off, wringing her hands, not sure how to continue.
Nick finishes her thought. “There’s no way in, at least not one that anyone knows about.”
“What do you mean there’s no way in? There has to be.” Nate refuses to believe it. They send their synths out into the wasteland, how can they possibly not have a way in? Desperation worms its way up his throat.
“It’s the Commonwealth’s greatest mystery,” Piper sounds apologetic. “No one knows where the Institute is, or what they want.”
Nick taps his fingers on the desk. “I don’t suppose you could get Kellogg to talk? Man like that, working with them for who knows how long, he would have a way in.”
Nate thinks back to Kellogg, lying dead in the basement of Fort Hagen with three bullets in his skull. “I don’t think that’s possible, Nick, he’s not gonna be able to talk, ever again.”
“Dead then, I can’t say I’m surprised.” Nick’s fingers pause their movement, “You know, there could be another way.” He leans back in the chair. “There’s this doctor in Goodneighbor, Amari. She works out of a place called the Memory Den, they have machines there that let you relive memories. If we just had a piece of Kellogg’s brain, we might be able to get something out of it with her help.”
“Jesus, Nick, are you serious?” Piper looks horrified.
Nick looks back at her, “I know it’s grisly, but what other choice do we have?” He turns back to Nate, voice even. “Nate, where was Kellogg? We should go back and see what we can scavenge.”
Nate knew digging in Kellogg’s skull had been important. A part of him feels vindicated, and the guilt for having done something so brutal is quelled, just slightly. “I, uh- I might actually have something.” He pulls out the wet piece of wired brain from his bag, unwrapping the fabric and showing it to Piper and Nick. The room falls silent again.
Piper takes a sharp inhale. "I’m sorry, did you go rooting around in a man’s skull to find this?” Her voice raises an octave. “Am I getting this right?”
“It seemed like it could be a clue?” He doesn’t have a very good explanation for her.
“So you decided to take a piece of mangled brain back with you?” She’s looking at him in disbelief, eyebrows almost to her hairline.
“Yes?” It comes out like a question.
She closes her eyes and exhales noisily. “Well, I guess it’s off to Amari to mess around inside whatever’s left of Kellogg’s mind. I can’t believe this is actually the plan. You’re both crazy.” Nate doesn’t comment on how right she is, at least about him.
“I know Amari, I’ll go with you to help explain the situation.” Nick stands up, “You know the way to the Old State House?”
“Yeah, I do.” Nate gets up and moves to follow Nick.
“Wait, hold up a second.” Piper grabs his attention. He turns back to her, lifts an eyebrow. “Nick doesn’t exactly need sleep, you know. You however, definitely do. Stay here for the night and rest, you really look like you could use it.” Her face is open and earnest, tapping a knuckle to her palm.
Nate doesn’t want to listen to her, he needs to keep moving, he needs to get out of Diamond City. But, he can tell Piper won’t let him go without a fight. He sighs. “Fine, Piper. I’ll stay.”
Her face breaks out into a smile. “Good! I’ll show you the Dugout Inn. You can stay there, I’ll even pay for the room.”
Nate raises a hand to refuse. “Piper, you don’t need to-“
She cuts him off. “I know what kind of funds you’re working with. Let me have this one, yeah?” She flicks her eyes down to his chest. “Also, you’re uh, not looking so blue anymore, Blue. Maybe it’s time to think about a change of clothes?”
Nate looks down at himself. His vault suit is a rusty brown now, a mix of blood and dirt. He admits that she has a point.
Piper walks him to the Dugout Inn, wishing him luck and emphatically telling him to take care of himself. When she leaves him, the feeling of being followed comes back in full force, and as soon as he’s paid for his room he slams the door shut, leaning against it and breathing heavily. They’re out there, watching, waiting for him to let his guard down. He can’t let them get too close, they’ll stop him from finding Shaun. He drags the dresser over to barricade the door, then the nightstand. He adds a chair, for good measure.
Sitting on the bed, he draws his 10mm, resting his finger on the trigger. His eyes don’t leave the door, and he starts tapping his foot. The Institute has Shaun. Shaun, who is 10 years old, not an infant. He’s missed 10 years of his son’s life. The thought makes Nate’s heart ache, he’s a failure. He fucked things up with Shaun, like he knew he would. The walls of his small, barren room pulse around him, closing in. He can hear movement on the other side of the door, and holds his breath. The sound recedes, footsteps walking away, and he exhales.
He sits there, eyes on the door, for what feels like hours. When it’s finally silent on the other side of the wall, he cautiously lays down, gun in hand, and tries to get some sleep.
The next morning the innkeeper gives him a package - it’s clothes, from Piper. He can feel a small smile cross his face, warmth spreading through his chest.
On the road to Goodneighbor, Nate doesn’t hold back. Not against feral ghouls, not against raiders, and not against super mutants. He cuts a bloody swath through the ruins of downtown Boston. Fear has faded away only to be replaced by anger. It’s thrumming in his bones, making his arms shake and spasm. The adrenaline from the fighting has him feeling energized - restless. He shakes out his arms as he approaches Goodneighbor to relieve some of the pressure. It doesn’t work, he feels like he needs to hit something. After bouncing in place a few times, he steps through the entrance.
On the other side of the barricade are a few small shops, a square with people - human and ghoul - milling about, and the Old State House. Nate furrows his eyebrows - the building looks…untouched. It’s out of place. He writes it off as another one of the wasteland’s many, many quirks and starts forward, when a man in a worn leather jacket stops him in his tracks.
“Hold up there. First time in Goodneighbor? Can't go walking around without insurance.” He smirks, and flicks his cigarette to the side, puffing out his chest. He’s posturing, trying to assert dominance.
Nate’s eyes narrow, he doesn’t have time for this bullshit. Anger bubbles over, sending sparks down his arms. “Go fuck yourself.”
He huffs out a laugh. “Oh, we got a tough guy here. How’s about you hand over everything you got in them pockets, or accidents start happenin' to ya. Big, bloody, accidents.” He looks confident, too confident, like he thinks he has Nate right where he wants him.
Nate feels an unhinged smile rip its way across his face, splitting it in two. He’s suddenly excited at the prospect of a fight. This man thinks he’s already won, that Nate’s a pushover. He’s about to show him how wrong that is. His hands twitch, curling into fists. He wants to break this man’s face, to keep hitting him until the buzzing under his skin fades. He’s about to step forward when a voice interrupts them.
“Whoa whoa, time out. Someone steps through the gate the first time, they're a guest. You lay off that extortion crap.” There’s a ghoul approaching them, wearing a tricorn hat and an outrageous red coat, looking like he walked straight out of a history textbook.
Jesus fucking Christ, Nate thinks, this place is a shitshow.
“What do you care? He ain't one of us.” The man gestures sharply to Nate. He’s not entirely wrong - Nate is out of place here, an interloper.
“No love for your mayor, Finn? I said let him go.” The ghoul’s voice drops down, laced with danger. Nate thinks this mayor is a far cry from the portly man in Diamond City.
“You're soft, Hancock. You keep letting outsiders walk all over us, one day there'll be a new mayor.” Finn’s making a bold challenge, out here in the open. There’s a small crowd that’s been gathering, and at this they hold their collective breath.
“C’mon, man, this is me we're talking about. Let me tell you something-“ He casually walks up to Finn, setting a hand on his shoulder while reaching behind his back. When Finn’s guard is down, he sinks a knife into his gut viciously, letting him drop to the pavement. Like it’s nothing.
Hancock tucks the knife away and talks to Finn’s corpse. “Now why’d you have to go and say that, huh? Breakin’ my heart over here.” He turns to Nate and speaks casually, as though he’s just been discussing the weather, not stabbing a man to death. “You alright there, brother?”
Nate’s pissed. The buzzing under his skin is worse now, and he has nothing to relieve it. He’s pissed that this costumed ghoul, Hancock, ended the fight before it began. He’s gritting his teeth, eye twitching, hands opening and closing around nothing. He’s too angry to respond.
“Easy there, killer.” Hancock smirks as he strolls up to Nate. “Now don't let this incident taint your view of our little community. Goodneighbor's of the people, for the people, you feel me? Everyone's welcome.”
“Yeah, sure, great. Thanks, I guess.” Nate’s spitting the words out. He can’t stop the anger flooding his veins.
Hancock gives him a sharp look. “You seem a little upset. We got a problem here?”
“Nope.” Nate relaxes his hands. Picking a fight with the mayor isn’t the best idea, so he tries to reign himself in.
“Good. You stay cool, and you’ll be part of the neighborhood.” He’s got a smug grin on his face, and Nate wants to hit him more. “So long as you remember who’s in charge.” At that, he gives Nate a significant look, full of the violent promises, then turns on his heel and walks off.
Nate runs a hand furiously through his hair, trying to contain himself. Exhaling harshly, he shoves his way through the crowd, marching further into Goodneighbor to find the Memory Den, still fuming.
The Memory Den looks like a worn-out boudoir, with deep red walls and ornate furniture. There’s even a woman in an elaborate feathered dress lounging on a blood-red chaise centered on a platform in the middle of the room. Gaudy, but fitting. Goodneighbor is full of dramatic lunatics, he should fit right in.
The woman drags her eyes up and down his body, a lazy smile crossing her face. “Sorry, but the Memory Den isn't accepting-”
“Not interested.” He interrupts her, he doesn’t have time to mince words. “I’m looking for Dr. Amari, I’m with Nick Valentine.”
She delicately raises an eyebrow. “Hmm. They’re downstairs.” She flicks a hand behind her, gesturing to a stairwell, then settles back in to the chaise.
Nate nods at her in thanks, heading down the stairs, taking the steps two at a time, tripping over himself at the base. When he stumbles into the room at the bottom, bracing himself on the wall, he sees Nick standing with a woman in a white lab coat. Her dark brown hair is drawn neatly back into a bun, her eyes shrewd, crossing her arms as she purses her lips.
“Ahh, there you are.” Nicks eyes sparkle with amusement at Nate, then he turns to the woman. “This is who I was telling you about, Amari.”
She’s assessing him, “Mr. Valentine tells me you two are trying to extract memories from a brain.” She shoots a glare at Nick. “Though he is not being very forthcoming with information. Now what’s this all about?”
“We’re going to need you to pull off the impossible, Amari. We need information, but the perp, Kellogg, is already cold on the floor.” As Nick explains this to Amari, Nate shifts his weight uneasily. He wonders if killing Kellogg was the right choice, if he destroyed his chance at finding Shaun.
“Are you two mad?” Amari looks scandalized. “Putting aside the fact that you're asking me to defile a corpse, you do realize that the memory simulators require intact, living brains to function?”
Nate’s heart sinks, but he’s not ready to give up. “Amari, this brain had inside knowledge of the Institute. Isn’t that enough to try?”
She looks at him, then off to the side, thinking. Finally, she sighs. “I can't believe I'm doing this, but hand over the brain and I'll take a look.”
Nate shares a look with Nick, then pulls the piece of brain and circuitry out of his bag, handing Amari the blood-soaked fabric. She takes it gingerly, unwrapping the grotesque package and pulling out the contents.
She looks stunned. “What is this? This isn’t- wait, this is the hippocampus! And it has some kind of neural interface attached.”
Nick’s nodding at her. “Those circuits look awfully familiar, don’t they, Amari?”
She shoots him a look. “Institute technology, no doubt.”
Nate interjects, feeling impatient. “Can you do anything with this?”
“Maybe. Mr. Valentine is an older generation synth, but Institute architecture is consistent. The implant may fit him, but…” She looks between them. “That’s an incredible risk to take. We’re talking about wiring something into his brain.”
“Don't worry about me, Amari. I'm well past the warranty date, anyway.” Nick says this casually, like it doesn’t matter.
“Nick, are you sure?” Nate’s worried now, he doesn’t want anything to happen to Nick, not if it can be avoided.
Nick smiles at Nate. “If it helps you get your son back, it’s well worth the risk.”
Amari gestures to Nick to sit in a chair next to one of the memory loungers, and he cracks a joke. “If I start cackling like an old, grizzled mercenary, pull me out, ok?” Nate doesn’t think it’s very funny.
Amari tuts at him. “I need you to keep talking to me, Mister Valentine. What do you see?”
“There's a lot of flashes, static. I can't make sense of any of it, doc.” Nicks voice has gone tight, like he’s in pain.
“That's what I was afraid of.” She sighs. “The mnemonic impressions are encoded. There's a lock on the memories in the implant.”
“Tell me you have a way past this, Amari.” Nate’s tense, so tense he feels ready to explode.
“The encryption is too strong for a single mind. But what if we used two? We load both you and Mr. Valentine into the memory loungers. He'll act as a host while your consciousness drives through whatever memories we can find.” Amari’s tapping a finger to her chin as she works through the plan. “Just sit down over there, and keep your fingers crossed.”
Nate obeys, sinking into the memory lounger pod. The shell closes around him, and the world fades away.
Kellogg’s memories are fragmented, distorted. Nate can barely make sense of them. He can hear Amari talking, but can’t make out the words. Emotions that are not his own slither under Nate’s skin. He can’t make out the memories, but he can feel them, can feel Kellogg’s mind. His anger, and his pain. The sensations of Kellogg’s life rush through him, going from extreme to extreme in a way that is uncomfortably familiar. Two sides of the same coin. Nate tries to focus on the task at hand, pushing aside the creeping worry that Kellogg was right, that they are the same. He feels himself age in tandem with Kellogg, growing and twisting and evolving into the hollowed out shell of a man he killed.
After moving through decades of fragmented feelings, Nate can make out the faded outlines of people in front of him. The scene before him is jumping and crackling, like a film reel that’s been pulled from its casing and haphazardly shoved back in. There’s a man sitting in a chair, cleaning a gun, and the emotion sitting in Nate’s chest tells him this is Kellogg. Then, he looks to the other figure, sitting cross-legged on the floor. A child. Maybe 10 years old. Shaun. Nate’s heart leaps into his throat.
Another man walks into the room, wearing a long black coat. He exchanges words with Kellogg, but Nate can only catch pieces of the conversation. Something about an assignment - an assassination - and a scientist who defected. He feels amusement that is not his own unfurl in his chest at the mention of a glowing sea, then the man in the black coat stands beside Shaun, and they vanish in an electric blue light. Nate doesn’t know what to make of this, then Amari’s voice cuts through the fog-
“Teleportation!”
The scene around him freezes, then begins to dim. The foreign sensations fade from his body, and he feels himself returning to the surface. The second the memory lounger disengages and releases Nate, he scrambles out of the seat. “Teleportation? That can’t be real.” He looks to Amari, who’s hovering nearby as if to steady him. “Can it?”
“Memories cannot lie, Mr. Anderson. The Institute has incredibly advanced technology, it stands to reason that if anyone were able to do such a thing, it would be them.”
Nate starts pacing. “But that doesn’t help us get in. I can’t teleport.” He freezes, furrows his eyebrows, and mutters, “At least I don’t think I can.” Then he remembers Kellogg’s last assignment. His eyes go wide, and he whips back around to face Amari, who jumps back slightly. “The scientist, the one who defected - he would know how to get in and out.”
Amari nods slowly. “You’re right, though I’ve never heard of an Institute scientist defecting before. And why would anyone go to the Glowing Sea? It’s uninhabitable.”
“What’s the Glowing Sea?” Nate hasn’t heard that one before- is it off the coast? Does he need a boat? He’ll get a boat if that’s what it takes.
Amari’s face is grim. “A highly irradiated region southwest of here. Without proper equipment, a human would succumb to radiation poisoning within hours, if not minutes.”
Nate bounces in place, feeling antsy. “Perfect hiding place, no one would go looking for him there. It makes sense, Amari.” He inhales sharply. “I need to go there, right now.”
“Now? How exactly do you plan to get through all that radiation?”
“Are you telling me you really don’t have a Hazmat suit lying around?” He shoots her his best smile, trying to charm her.
She sighs. “I can loan you a Hazmat suit. Which I expect to be brought back without a scratch.” She looks at him sternly, then crosses the room to a cupboard, pulling out a worn but intact suit.
Nate suddenly realizes someone is missing from the room. He spins in place, coming back around to face Amari. “Where’s Nick?”
Handing him the suit, Amari looks at him curiously. “Mr. Valentine is resting upstairs, waiting for you.” She’s hardly finished talking when Nate thanks her and takes off up the stairs.
When Nate runs up to Nick sitting on a couch by the entrance to the Memory Den, he has a smile on his face. Nick stands up and looks at him expectantly. “Well, what did you find out?”
“They teleport, Nick! How crazy is that? That’s why no one knows a way in- there is no way in- at least not a door.” Nate’s gesturing as he talks, hands flying around. “There’s a scientist- I think I heard Virgil? He’s in the Glowing Sea- defected from the Institute- Nick, he has to know the way in- I have to go there- talk to him- he knows something- why else would he leave- and the Institute is hunting him- there might not be much time.”
Nick takes a moment to respond, filtering through Nate’s rambling to find the point. “The Glowing Sea, huh? Radiation doesn’t affect me, you know. One of the benefits of being a synth. I could join you, watch your back?”
Nate shakes his head. “Not this time- I’ve got this- plus, Virgil might get spooked by a synth- he left the Institute for a reason- and they’re after him- sent Kellogg after him.” He remembers himself, and apologetically adds, “No offense, Nick.”
“None taken. You may be right about that.”
“Thank you, for everything. I need to get moving- I’d offer to walk you back to Diamond City- really, though, I have to go- right now.” At that Nate jerks toward the door.
Nick grabs his arm. “Wait a second, aren’t you forgetting something?”
Nate laughs. “What do you mean?” He’s smiling so wide his face hurts.
He releases Nate. “A bigger bag, for one. Not to mention bullets, explosives, armor, medicine,” Nick’s counting on his fingers as he makes the list. “You know, the essentials for crossing a radiation-soaked no-man’s-land. Like the Glowing Sea. Which you are about to walk into. Alone.”
Nate thinks he might have a point. “Alright, that’s fair. I have,” he reaches into his bag and pulls out his box of caps, rattling his meager savings. “This much.” He looks up hopefully. “What’ll that get me?”
Nick looks at the box for a long moment. “Not a lot, I’m afraid. Tell you what, let’s take a walk over to get you some supplies, on me.”
Nate pulls back. “Nick, it doesn’t seem like I can exactly pay-“
“Consider it a loan. You can pay me back when you find your son.” Nick’s expression leaves no room for argument. Nate takes the kindness for what it is, and doesn’t fight.
Nick has to physically drag Nate away from the assaultron shop owner. He’s just so curious- why here? Where did she come from? Does she ever leave? She was answering his endless questions gamely, happy to sell him a small arsenal for his trek. She’s sassy- he likes her- but Nick has a point- no time to waste.
Next door, there’s a ghoul behind the counter of a general store. The air seems to sparkle around her, and Nate is completely entranced. She has short brown hair and dark eyes - no white left over, like the other ghouls he’s seen. There’s something about her, something really beautiful, he doesn’t know what it is but she’s definitely special. He suddenly wants to know everything about her. Nate feels his smile widen further than he thinks is possible. Before he can open his mouth to start his barrage of questions, Nick makes some introductions.
“Daisy, sorry to interrupt. This here’s my friend, Nate. He needs some supplies for the road. Food, water, stimpaks, Rad-X, that kind of thing. Think you could help us out?” Nick rests a hand on Nate’s shoulder as he speaks, firm enough to keep him in place.
She chuckles. “Well, if it isn’t Nick Valentine. I’d be glad to help.” Her voice is like sandpaper, and it soothes something in Nate. Her and Nick start bartering, working out prices and quantities.
Nate’s tapping his foot, feeling restless, then he looks over to his right and realizes who they’ve interrupted- it’s Hancock, leaning casually against the counter, watching Nate closely.
“You keep interestin’ company, dontcha?”
Nate beams. “Nick’s great, isn’t he? Really great- a stand-up guy. On the up-and-up- a better friend than most.”
The place where Hancock’s eyebrows would be creeps up as Nate talks, and a slow smile spreads across his face. He lets out a disbelieving laugh. “So earlier, that’s just water under the bridge, huh?”
Nate tilts his head, confused. What’s Hancock talking about? Then he remembers- the almost-fight with Finn- anger at his prize being taken away- nearly punching Hancock. Had he been angry at Hancock earlier? He thinks so, but the feeling is distant and faded, like it never happened at all. It doesn’t matter anymore. “Guess so!” He says cheerfully.
“Alright then, hotshot.” He looks entertained, eyeing Nate and adjusting his posture.
Nick squeezes Nate’s shoulder, grabbing his attention. Nate whips his head away from Hancock, and sees Nick and Daisy watching them. Daisy has a knowing grin on her face. Nate wants to ask about it- what does she see? Is it something he should know about? What- then Nick’s shoving a backpack laden with supplies into his hands. He fumbles, nearly dropping it.
“There, that should be everything. Thanks, Daisy.” He nods towards the mayor. “Hancock.”
“Always a pleasure.” Daisy winks at Nick, then turns to Nate. “Good luck.”
Nate laughs. “Don’t need it, but thanks anyway.” They’re done talking, so now Nate can ask his questions. “So, Daisy-“
Nick pulls him away before he can finish. “Later. You have places to be.”
“Right, you’re right. Sorry.” Nate lets Nick walk him over to the entrance to Goodneighbor, where he turns around to face him.
“You sure you’ll be fine on your own?” Nick asks him.
“Of course!” He swings the backpack over his shoulders. “I’ll see you when I get back. Don’t worry about me, I know what I’m doing.” His blood is rushing, he feels like he’s floating. Lighter than air.
Nick nods in agreement. “That’s true. Be careful, and stay safe.”
“Thanks, Nick.” Nate shakes his hand, then turns and jogs out of Goodneighbor, focused on the task at hand.
Chapter 5: October 29 - November 5
Summary:
Nate acts up. Nick notices.
“Even damnation is poisoned with rainbows.” - Leonard Cohen, The Old Revolution
Chapter Text
Nate stands at the edge of the Glowing Sea, awestruck. It took him more than a day to get here- a frustrating setback. There were too many raiders, too many super mutants, too many obstacles in his way. The Geiger counter on his Pip-Boy is softly clicking, and he can almost see the radiation rising from the scorched earth in front of him. The rest of the Commonwealth may be a wasteland, but this place is desolate.
Gnarled skeletons of trees bend towards him, pointing accusing fingers at sins long past, propped up by twisted pieces of metal so badly misshapen that their original form is indistinguishable from the ruin around them. A thick, yellow-green fog lays heavy over the devastation, and an ominous cloud devours the horizon, streaked with green lightning. He can taste the ozone on the hot, dry wind. It’s…strangely beautiful. Fascinating. Utterly alien.
He studies the scene before him for a long moment, before strapping his armor over the borrowed Hazmat suit and locking the helmet over his head. Light distorts behind the shield over his face, hues of red and blue seeping into the monotone landscape. He looks down to check the map on his Pip-Boy, trying to chart a course through the worst of the shattered earth before him, when he notices the date. It’s October 30th. His birthday. He starts laughing, tears welling up in his eyes from the force of it. Three decades on this planet and this is where he finds himself; on the edge of the abyss, seconds before the plunge.
The air before him glitters, wisps of light curling in waves, parting like the Red Sea before Moses. He follows the path laid out in front of him.
Hours into his trek, Nate starts to think the world may be throwing him a party. The glowing lights dancing around him are more saturated with color, leaving behind swirling trails of yellow-green-red-blue. The shimmering waves of irradiated air let off soft crackling pops, like gentle fireworks. It feels cheerful, encouraging, as though he’s being pushed along by an invisible force toward his goal.
Then, the earth shakes, heavy footsteps approaching behind him, followed by a terribly familiar roar. He whips around and sees an enormous, glowing deathclaw. Green light pulsates behind its thick hide, and its eyes are locked on him. He lets out a laugh, and takes off running. He doesn’t have a minigun this time - he’s outmatched, but he can outrun, outmaneuver. He knows this- can feel it deep in his bones- he’s going to lose this thing on its own turf. He runs faster, laughs harder, a voice chanting in his head, you’re alive, you’re alive, you’re alive, nothing can stop you, you’re alive. The deathclaw is closing in, but he doesn’t feel any fear- he’s faster- quicker- an untouchable man.
He makes a sharp turn around a pile of debris, then slips on a smooth piece of metal and tumbles down a hill into a putrid ravine. Pushing himself up onto his hands and knees, he sees an opening in the wreckage in front of him- a cave, maybe? He scrambles up off the ground and toward it- the deathclaw is almost on top of him now- hot air from its maw on his back- claws inches from his spine.
Diving into the opening and skidding back until the light from the Glowing Sea fades away, he feels the deathclaw shaking the walls around him as it furiously slams itself into the mouth of this small cave, trying to reach him. He’s laughing breathlessly, and bites his lip to keep the sound contained, body shaking with pent-up energy. He’ll just have to wait until it loses interest.
It’s an agonizing wait- he wants to move- needs to move- Virgil is out there- running out of time. Finally, the deathclaw gives up and lumbers off in search of more convenient prey. He forces himself to count to 100 - slowly - to make sure it’s really gone. Then, he cautiously sticks his head out of the cave, checks that the coast is clear, and crawls back up the embankment, heading further into the wastes.
The light from the moon only enhances the beauty of the twisted landscape around him. Cool blue deepens the green in the air, emphasizing the whorls and eddies of color swimming in his eyes. The storm, once hanging over the distant horizon, is close now- too close. He can smell the electricity in the air, making his hair stand on end. He wants to face it- raise a hand to the sky- absorb the power of that green lighting- ignite his bones- crystallize his mind. It’s kicking up dust as it approaches, and he admits that low visibility would make him easy prey for any wandering deathclaws, so he slides into another filthy cave and waits out the deluge.
Thunder booms overhead, the earth rattling from each lightning strike. The dry air moistens, quickly blanketing him in a dense, humid shroud. He closes his eyes, leans his head back, and opens his awareness to the world. He extends beyond his body, seeping in to the yellow-green-blue-red world surrounding him- understanding it- feeling it. His legs become the distant mountains, fingers grow into withered trees, eyes sweeping over the landscape like the wind. He stays like this, at peace with the wasteland, until the storm passes and the sun breaks through the haze.
There’s a small city here, inside an enormous crater gouged into the earth. Not ruins, like the rest of what he’s seen in the Glowing Sea, but a settlement; more akin to Diamond City than the cities he remembers from before the bombs fell. Metal shacks are stacked precariously on top of one another on the far side of the crater, nestled into the rock behind them. A larger metal structure sits in the center, over a yellow-green pool of bubbling, iridescent water. He’s captivated by this place. Walking carefully down the steep incline, he can see people on their knees, hands clasped in prayer, under a large awning on the other side of the pool. He’s drawn toward them, almost in a trance.
A woman stands to greet him. Her eyes are bloodshot, hair lank and grimy, with a strange, blissful expression on her face. He knows she’s talking to him, voice placid, but he doesn’t process the words. He’s too enraptured by the way the light dances around her head.
Her voice turns harsh when she says, “I’ll ask you again, stranger: why have you come here?”
He shakes his head slightly. “I’m looking for a man named Virgil, do you know where he is?” In the back of his mind, he remembers Amari’s warning about humans and radiation sickness in the Glowing Sea. He wonders how these people are still alive.
She purses her lips. “We know of Virgil. Why do you look for him?” She’s suspicious of him.
“I need to talk to him- I’m not a threat.” He imagines his sincerity wrapping around the words.
The woman is silent for a long moment, considering him. He feels oddly exposed, and shifts his weight uneasily. Then she speaks again, “Virgil has secluded himself in a cave southwest of here.” She lifts her chin, looking down her nose at him. “I must now ask you to leave, we do not welcome outsiders in this place.”
He holds his hands up. “Sorry, I’ll- sorry. I’m leaving.” With that, he turns and hurries to the rim of the crater and back down into the wastes, the woman’s eyes burning a hole into his back.
Nate has to use his hands to haul himself up the steep hill before the yawning cave entrance where he knows he’ll find Virgil. At the top, he jumps in place a few times, shaking out his arms to discharge some of the buzzing under his skin, before cautiously stepping in to the darkness.
Turrets line the walls of the twisting cavern, and he feels incredibly lucky that they don’t fire at him. It must be a sign- he’s right where he needs to be- Virgil is just ahead.
He breaks out into a jog, following the contours of the cave walls until- He stops short. That’s a super mutant. Wearing glasses. His mind blanks.
The super mutant’s wide hands are clenched into fists as he stares him down. When he opens his mouth, the voice that comes out is far more measured and precise than he was expecting. “Hold it! Take it nice and slow, no sudden moves.”
He slowly raises his hands. “Are you Virgil?” Then, against his will, he adds, “Nice costume- we match- very festive.”
The super mutant looks horribly confused. “What?”
He shrugs, he doesn’t know why he said that. Do they even celebrate Halloween in the wasteland? Decorations would be pointless- the place already looks like the set of a horror movie- what other-
“Yes, I’m Virgil, but you clearly knew that already.” He interrupts Nate’s swirling thoughts. “Now, who the hell are you, and how did you find me?” He steps forward as he speaks, coming to loom over him.
He can’t stop the flood of words pouring out of his mouth. “I’m just a guy looking for a way in to the Institute- you weren’t easy to find- don’t worry about anyone else showing up- I wasn’t followed- no way- do you know how many deathclaws are out there? Not to mention the ghouls- and the giant scorpions-“ Concentrate. He inhales. “I was hoping you could help me?”
Virgil blinks. “Are you insane?”
Yes. “No.” Nate cautiously lowers his hands.
“You want to get into the Institute, that’s insane.” Virgil shakes his head. “Never mind how nearly impossible that is, even if you were to succeed it'd almost certainly end in your immediate death.” He sounds convinced that Nate wouldn’t make it. He heartily disagrees.
“It’s not impossible- I’ve seen- they teleport- which is crazy, but I saw it-“ He exhales, trying to stay on track. “Do you know how to teleport?”
Virgil’s looking at him like he has three heads. He blinks a few more times. “No, I cannot teleport, but I do know what you’re talking about. It’s called the ‘Molecular Relay.’ De-materializes you in one place, re-materializes you in another.”
His face breaks into a grin behind his helmet. “So, how do I teleport?”
He pinches the bridge of his nose and heaves out a sigh. “Why would you want to teleport to the Institute, of all places?”
“They have my son.” There’s no point in anything but honesty.
His face goes slack, he wasn’t expecting that. “I- I’m sorry, I didn’t realize.”
He flexes his hands. “So, can you help me?
The super mutant looks down, places his hands on his wide hips, and sighs. He looks back up. “I might be able to help you do that, against my better judgment, but I want something in return.”
“Name it.” There’s nothing he can ask for that he won’t deliver.
Virgil turns to the side, lowers his voice. “Before I left, I was working on a serum to reverse this mutation. It’s the only thing that can turn me back.” He pauses and turns back to Nate, leveling him with a serious look. “I need that serum, do you understand?”
He’s confused now. “You weren’t born like this?”
“No, obviously not.” His patience is wearing thin. He clears his throat pointedly. “The serum - will you get it?”
“Yes.” Nate gives him a sharp nod. He can keep this promise.
“Good.” His shoulders sag in relief. “Now, have you ever seen an Institute Courser?”
He frowns. That’s a new one. “No, what’s that?”
“Consider yourself lucky you haven’t, they’re a closely guarded secret.” He pauses, sighs, then continues. “Coursers are Institute synths, designed for one purpose. They're hunters. Operations go wrong, a synth goes missing, and a Courser is dispatched. They're very good at what they do, and you're going to have to kill one.”
Nate nearly cuts Virgil off with how fast he responds. “Done. How do I find one?”
“I can tell you where to start, and give you some help finding one, but you'll have to do the dirty work. Every Courser has special hardware that gives them a direct connection to the Relay in the Institute. It's embedded in a chip in their heads. You need that chip. But to get it, you'll have to find a Courser.”
“And kill it- no problem- what happens after?”
He squints at Nate. “You’re very confident.” His face turns grim, like he feels bad for Nate. “Not gonna lie, the odds aren’t in your favor here. If you do succeed, you’ll need to decode that chip. After that, bring it to me and I can give you the plans for a signal interceptor. That’s your way in.”
Nate’s heart soars. He has a plan, a path forward, a way in. Virgil gives him instructions on how to track a Courser from the Commonwealth Institute of Technology ruins using his Pip-Boy, and sends him on his way. He can’t leave the cave fast enough.
Virgil calls after him, “Good luck finding a Courser chip, you're gonna need it.”
Nate’s already sprinting back out into the Glowing Sea.
On the road back into the more hospitable parts of the Commonwealth, Nate realizes he should get reinforcements for the Courser hunt. Virgil’s warnings were dire, and despite his confidence in his abilities, he doesn’t want to take chances. So, he makes a detour to talk to Nick.
The second his foot touches the ground at the bottom of the stairs to Diamond City, Piper ambushes him. She smacks her hand on his upper arm, grinning broadly. “Hey, Blue, I was hoping I’d run in to you.”
“You were?” He has a feeling he should get used to this kind of abrupt greeting with her.
“Yeah! Nick filled me in on the-“ She looks around and lowers her voice conspiratorially. “Brain business.” Then her eyes crease with worry. “Did you really go to the Glowing Sea? Alone?”
“Just got back, actually.” He waves a hand toward the detective agency. “Was on my way to Nick’s with the update.”
“Great!” She claps her hands. “Let’s go together, I want all the details.”
They’re starting off toward the detective agency when Nate sees a guard heading their way. He grabs Piper’s arm and hauls her off into an alley to avoid him.
“Hey, what-“ She swats at him, he releases her. “What was that for?”
He doesn’t want to tell her what he thinks of the guards in Diamond City, so she gets a non-answer. “Can never be too careful, Piper.”
She narrows her eyes at him. “Right.”
He grins and breaks into a light jog toward the detective agency, Piper curses and scrambles to follow him.
Piper shoves Nate out of the way when they get to Nick’s, crashing through the door and calling up the stairs, “NICK! You home?” A thud sounds from above. “I brought you something!” She winks at him.
Nick’s footsteps sound on the stairs, his voice is weary “Piper, I told you-“ He stops short. “Nate, you’re back.” He looks him over. “And in one piece, too. I hope you have good news?”
He grins. “I have a way in.”
“You figured out how to teleport? Really?” Piper is almost vibrating with excitement.
“Yup. Need to get something first though. A chip from an Institute Courser.”
“A Courser?” Nick looks confused by this, eyebrows drawn together. Piper is frowning.
So it is a secret, if these two don’t know about them. “The Institute has special operatives, apparently. Sort of like hunting dogs. I have to find one, get the chip, and decode it, then Virgil can put together the plans for a machine that’ll get me inside.”
“That does sound promising.” Nick rubs his chin thoughtfully. “An Institute special operative, though… I don’t know, Nate, that sounds like bad business.” He gives him a worried look. “You’re not planning on finding one alone, are you?”
“That’s why I came, Nick. I need your help with this.” He can admit when he’s in over his head. Sometimes.
Piper looks offended. “Do I not get an invitation?”
Nick tries to soften the blow. “We’ll move faster if it’s just the two of us, Piper.”
“What, so I don’t get to see some synth-on-synth violence?” She crosses her arms. “No fair.”
“Maybe next time.” He’d like to see what Piper’s capable of, one day.
She pokes a finger into his chest. “I’m holding you to that, Blue”
“Where are we off to, then?” Nick’s gathering his things, preparing.
Nate inhales, then exhales slowly. “The ruins of CIT. Let’s get going.”
“Right behind you.”
On the way out of Diamond City, Nate leads Nick around the edge of the city center, avoiding the more heavily-patrolled routes. Nick gives him an odd look when they turn down the first alley, but doesn’t comment.
What’s left of the Commonwealth Institute of Technology isn’t too far removed from what Nate remembers. A stately domed building propped up by narrow columns, wrapping around a sweeping courtyard broken up by footpaths. The massive holes in its walls and the barrels of radioactive waste littering the courtyard are new, however. They’ve been standing silently for some time, taking in the sight of it. The Charles is flowing softly behind them, and for a moment it’s almost peaceful.
“Penny for your thoughts?” Nick says, standing shoulder to shoulder with him, looking ahead at the ruins.
Nate huffs a laugh. “You know, it’s funny, I used to live here, before getting married. A few bus stops away. It’s so familiar, but…”
“Very different. I hear you.”
The urge to share his secrets is intense, and he speaks without thinking. “I would go to CIT frat parties to drink and steal stuff from the brothers. Never came out this way for any other reason.” The adrenaline rush from those days feels cheap and frayed in comparison to what he gets from just existing in the wasteland.
Nick chuckles. “Was there a motive behind the petty theft?”
He shrugs. “Not really. They deserved it though.”
“Can’t argue with that.” He nudges him with his elbow. “Lift anything good?”
Nate thinks about this for a moment, then settles on, “Nothing worth keeping.”
They stand there, drifting, for a moment longer. The wind picks up, ruffling his hair, caressing his face. It’s time. He turns to Nick, claps a hand on his shoulder, and says, “Wanna do some hunting?”
He nods, steady and assured. “Ready when you are.”
He tunes the frequency on his Pip-Boy to the bottom end of the band, and they begin their chase.
The signal leads them to an imposing green building, devoid of windows. Nate remembers this being some kind of bioscience company, at one point. There are bodies littering the stairs leading up to the entrance, matching in green camouflage and military surplus gear. They still hold their guns.
Nick keeps his voice low. “We better move carefully. These are Gunners.”
Nate loads a fresh clip into his 10mm. “Noted. Let’s go.”
Inside, there are more bodies, left behind unceremoniously. A man’s voice barks over the loudspeakers, and Nate’s forcibly reminded of every drill sergeant he’s ever encountered. Military training. Dangerous. He’s directing reinforcements to the upper levels, after the Courser. Nate shares a look with Nick, and they step around the bodies huddled around the entrance.
Nate starts running. He charges up staircases and throws himself around corners without hesitation, only stopping to exchange bullets with the Gunners. There’s a frenetic energy building up under his skin, lines of electricity racing down to his fingertips. He’s left Nick behind, but he can’t bring himself to care. The goal is in sight, he just has to make it there. Nick can hold his own.
Narrow corridors wind and bend in green and white curves, until opening into a vast atrium crossed by metal bridges. Explosions start shaking the walls, and he stumbles before finding his footing and continuing his charge. He slides into the next hallway, narrowly avoiding the shots fired from a Gunner further down. He presses his back against the doorway, leaning out and taking aim. He inhales, and time slows, the world coming into focus. His shot meets his mark and the Gunner falls, but not before she grazes his shoulder. Pain explodes like liquid fire up his arm. He pulls back and presses his free hand against the wound, feeling a warm, slippery wetness dripping down his arm. Gritting his teeth, he steps back into the hall and keeps running.
The elevator’s painfully slow descent to his floor is the only thing that stops his movement. Unspent energy is building in his body, shaking his bones and rattling his organs. Drops of blood are staining the white tile beneath his feet, the scent of copper and gunpowder heavy in the air. He stares down at the stark contrast, slides a foot through the mess, briefly captivated. His head snaps up at the sound of footsteps approaching the elevator, and he’s readying his gun when he hears Nick’s voice.
“You have the strategic mind of a bulldozer.” He’s stomping down the hall, annoyed. “Would it have killed you to wait?”
“Sorry, Nick.” There’s energy buzzing under his skin. The urge to move is too great to ignore. Standing in the elevator side-by-side with the detective is almost too much to bear. He can feel his muscles twitching. He grits his teeth so hard his jaw aches.
Finally, the doors open and release them on to the upper levels. From further up the staircase, they can hear a voice, cold and calculating. The Courser. It’s offset by the fearful begging of what he assumes is a Gunner.
Just like Virgil warned him, the Courser is hunting a synth gone rogue. It’s here looking for a way to get in to a cell, to capture the asset.
Nick makes the connection. “That sounds like our mark, ready?”
Nate nods and runs in to the room without a word. He sees a man in a very familiar long black coat with a gun against a woman’s head, her arms raised and bent at the elbows. A sudden and violent rage rips through him, red seeps into the corners of the room, sound falls away, time slows. This is the Courser- it has to be- the voice was too cold, too measured- he knows. His shots meet their mark, the Courser falling before it has time to engage its stealth boy.
Sound filters back in to the world, but the red around his vision doesn’t fade. He’s distantly aware of the Gunners in the room fleeing for their lives. His footsteps shake the building, threatening to collapse the structure around them, as he walks up the body lying on the floor. When he raises his gun, he can hear Kellogg laughing as he empties his clip into its head.
“Was that really necessary?” Nick asks harshly.
Nate’s breathing hard, shaking with unspent energy. “How else are we getting the chip?”
He holsters his gun, kneels down, and works his hand inside the bloody mess he created, parting fragments of skull and grey matter until he feels a thick, heavy cylinder where the brain stem should be. Wrapping his fingers around it, he tries to dislodge the chip, but it won’t budge. He curses, adjusts his grip, sliding his fingers further into the gore and tucking the chip into his palm. He tears it out with all the force he can muster. The chip makes a wet, squelching pop as it comes loose. He holds it up to show to Nick.
He can’t read the expression on Nick’s face. “Remind me not to give you a reason to do that to me.”
Two sides of the same coin. Kellogg’s voice worms its way under Nate’s skin. The red edges around the world fade, and he’s acutely aware of the blood and viscera coating his hand. He looks down at the chip. What kind of man would do that? A desperate one. The rationalization doesn’t help lessen the guilt settling thick and slimy in his gut. He closes his hand around the chip and looks back up to Nick, about to speak when a voice calls out to them.
There’s a young woman with short, choppy red hair wearing tattered clothes behind glass in a room to the side. Nate feels the hairs on the back of his neck rise. The Courser was after a synth, is this- she looks so human, how- could she- When Nick walks over to her, he wants to pull him back, keep him away from the threat. She’s asking for her release, for her freedom, but he doesn’t trust her words. She could be lying- a trap set by the Institute- waiting for him to let his guard down. He stands, tucks the chip away, and readies his gun, preparing for the fight he knows is coming- but does he really know? Can he trust himself? Maybe not, not now, not after he dug around in someone’s brain for the second time without thinking.
Nick lets the woman out, and as she steps into the room she freezes, eyes locked on what’s left of the Courser. He guides her around the body, one hand outstretched behind him signaling to Nate to stay where he is, as though he doesn’t trust him to let her go without a fight. She looks terrified, body shaking and tears welling up in her eyes. He’s suddenly, viciously aware that she’s scared of him. Of what he might do to her. A great chasm opens up in his chest, all the anger from earlier vanishing in to it. Disgust and horror take its place. He feels like a monster.
As soon as she’s past Nate, the woman breaks out into a run, like she can’t get away from him fast enough. He lets out a shuddering exhale, holstering his gun and running a hand over his face. “Fuck. Fuck.”
“Not your finest moment.” Nick speaks frankly, honestly. Without accusation.
His voice shakes. “Nick, I’m so sorry, I don’t-“
He holds a hand up. “I don’t need an apology.” He pauses, lowers his hand, gives him a hard look. “Just try not to lose sight of yourself in all this.”
“Yeah, I- yeah.” He doesn’t deserve the grace he’s been given.
Nick approaches him and puts a hand on his back, gently pushing him forward. “Look, I know you want to find your boy, but you clearly need to take a breather. We’re finding somewhere to hole up for the night, get you patched up. We’ll bring the chip to Amari in the morning.” His tone leaves no room for argument. He allows himself to be led out of the room, down the elevator, and back in to the wasteland.
Nate tries to stifle the irritation he feels at Amari’s inability to help with the Courser chip. It’s not her fault, and she still gave you a lead. He runs his hands through his hair as he and Nick leave the Memory Den. They’ve been given instructions to find the ‘Railroad’ by following the ‘Freedom Trail.’ Something about the secrecy of the organization makes him nervous, like they’re watching him too, alongside the Institute. Despite this, he’s relieved that their secret hideout won’t be difficult to find. The clue they’ve been given is…obvious, to say the least. As they leave Goodneighbor, he’s oddly disappointed no one tried to rob him this time.
Outside the gates, he turns to Nick. “So, what do you know about the Railroad?”
Nick shrugs. “Not much. The Railroad is in the business of freeing synths. As far as I know, they’re the only ones with enough gall to go up against the Institute.”
“That explains the subterfuge then.” He shakes his arms out. “Right, let’s get down to it.” He opens the map on his Pip-Boy.
Nick squints at him. “Wait, you know where you’re going?”
He looks at Nick, incredulous. “We’re looking for the Freedom Trail, right? Big red line running through the city?” Rolling his eyes, he says, “I’ve lived here my whole life, Nick, I know what the Freedom Trail is.” If the Railroad didn’t want to be found, they should have chosen a less obvious secret code.
Nodding thoughtfully, Nick says, “Fair enough.”
He grins. “C’mon, let’s go be tourists.”
Nate’s out of breath from their indiscriminate ghoul-slaughtering in the crypts below the Old North Church, vaguely jealous that Nick doesn’t have the same problem. A series of white lanterns led them from the upper level down to where they are now, standing in a few inches of putrid water and bones. He tries to ignore the damp feeling seeping into his socks. There’s a medallion in front of them, emblazoned with the Freedom Trail insignia set into the brick wall, attached to a thick red wire.
Nate points. “Think this is important?”
Nick nods thoughtfully. “Most likely.” He steps up to the medallion to prod at it, and it moves.
“Huh.” His eyebrows raise. “It spins.”
“Some kind of password, maybe?” Nick keeps fiddling with the medallion.
“What would that even be?” Amari didn’t say anything about a secret password. He’s worried they’re about to hit a dead end.
“Let’s see here…” He starts spelling out a word, R-A-I-L-
No way. There’s no way it’s just their name. Nick keeps spinning the dial, then a heavy thunk sounds from behind the wall, and a portion of brick slides to expose a dark tunnel.
Nate whistles. “Well, I’ll be damned.”
“This feels too easy, could be a trap.” Nick lowers his voice. “Stay on your guard.”
He nods and readies his weapon. They step through the opening together, creeping down the corridor lit up yellow-green by Nate’s Pip-Boy. The walls framing them fall away into an open space, the smell of mildew hanging thick and wet in the air. Then, they’re blinded by construction lights from the other side of the room. He raises a hand to shield his eyes, and notices the distinct sound of a minigun’s barrel whirring.
“Stop right there.” When his vision clears, he sees a woman standing on a platform across from them, flanked by two armed guards. There’s something statuesque about her, greying light brown hair cropped into a neat bob and a measured confidence in her posture. She’s staring them down, assessing them. “You went through a lot of effort to arrange this meeting.” Pressure builds behind Nate’s teeth. “But before we go any further, answer my questions.” He bites his tongue, hard. “Who the hell are you?”
It doesn’t work. “It wasn’t that much effort- it’s not like the Freedom Trail is a secret- pretty famous actually-“ The woman’s face is turning stormy. He needs to stop talking. “And the lanterns all over the place- a literal breadcrumb trail- kinda hard to miss-“ She’s clenching her jaw so hard he can see the muscle twitching. He really needs to stop talking. “Besides, your password- c’mon, it’s just your name-“
“That’s enough.” Her hands are on her hips, one finger tapping out an irritated rhythm, composure momentarily broken. Before she can continue her questioning, a man walks in to the room, wearing sunglasses. Indoors. She snaps at him, “Deacon, where've you been?”
Deacon spreads his arms wide. “You're having a party. What gives with my invitation?” Then, he looks over at them and his eyebrows peek out over the top of his sunglasses. “Oh, I see you invited the Courser-killers.” He grins broadly. “Nice.”
Nate shares a look with Nick. How does he know that already? It’s barely been a day. He has questions for this man. He inhales, about to start firing, when Nick grabs his arm and mutters, “Don’t do it.” Nick’s standing completely still, eyes not leaving the woman across the room. Nate’s mouth clicks shut.
The woman seems just as blindsided as they are. “You're saying these intruders actually killed a Courser?”
He can hear Deacon roll his eyes by tone alone. “If you're done interrogating them, you might want to show these Courser-murdering machines a little courtesy. Just a thought.”
“Killing a Courser is no small feat.” She looks thoughtful. “Last question. Why are you here?”
Nate’s already talking by the time she finishes her sentence. “We have a Courser chip- that’s why we killed it- which, by the way, how did you-“ Nick elbows him, and he refocuses. “We need it decoded. Can you help?”
The woman looks stunned, and Deacon looks positively gleeful. She schools her face and crosses her arms, and Nate realizes she’s about to say no. Panic wells up inside him, and he goes to make his case, but Deacon beats him to it.
“Dez, we need to let them in. They've got an intact Courser Chip, for god's sake.”
Dez huffs, returns her hands to her hips, and considers this for a long moment. “Fine. We’ll help you decode the chip, on one condition.” She gives them a piercing look. “We want the data on that chip. You can get a copy of that data.”
Nate looks to Nick and raises his eyebrows. He gives him a small nod, it’s the best they can hope for. He turns back to Dez. “Deal.”
When Dez leads them through the tunnels behind her and into Railroad headquarters, Nick whispers to him, tension in his voice, “Try to keep your foot out of your mouth from here on out.” Nate gives him an apologetic smile.
Nick stands with Nate on the edge of the Glowing Sea, looking out over the alien landscape before them. The decoded data courtesy of the Railroad is burning a hole in his pocket, and the urge to move is growing. Nate hands Nick the helmet of his Hazmat suit while he plots their course to Virgil’s cave, and sees him turning it around in his hands out of the corner of his eye.
“Alright, I have a route.” He takes the helmet back.
“Once more unto the breach. At least for you.”
“Huh. Shakespeare.” He tilts his head at Nick. “I figured you would be a pulp fiction, detective noir kinda man.”
Nick laughs. “I contain multitudes.” Nate opens his mouth, but Nick cuts him off, “Yes, I know that’s Whitman.”
He grins and fastens the helmet over his head, jumping in place a few times in anticipation. When he looks over at Nick, he’s suppressing a smile ineffectively with his metal hand. His voice comes out muffled from behind the helmet. “What, is it the suit? Because I know I look like an idiot.”
Nick chuckles. “Just, uh,” He clears his throat and composes himself. “Just a bit.” Sweeping a hand out in front of them, he adds, “Lead on.”
The further they walk into the Glowing Sea, the harder it becomes for Nate to keep his thoughts in order. They ebb and flow like the radioactive air, pushed along by the current. He is once again mesmerized by the beauty around him, head moving in wide arcs tracing the sparkling lights gently parting for them. At one point, he swears he sees a piece of metal wink at him, and he moves to try to tug it free from the earth, but Nick pulls him away before he can. He feels a strange sense of loss.
Hours pass, and Nate grows frustrated with their pace. There’s a terrible buzzing under his skin, he needs to move- to go faster- release some of the energy shaking his teeth. He starts jogging, Nick keeping pace. The buzzing under his skin vibrates out to become sound, turning into shrill whistle in his ears. Under the noise, he can hear the mechanical movements of Nick’s body. Gears rubbing together, the stretching of plastic skin, a soft whirring from somewhere in his chest. It’s unsettling, the artificial sound of it, but somehow comforting. Nick is honest about what he is, more so than most.
Nate keeps up the pace until they scramble up a steep incline that he remembers leads to a ravine dotted with caves, when Nick grabs his shoulder and hauls him back, pressing him down. He’s about to ask him why they’ve stopped, but Nick holds a finger to his lips, urging him to stay quiet. He points ahead of them, over the ridge, and they slowly creep up to the edge, staying low. Then, he sees it- a great, glowing deathclaw- the one from last time maybe? A rematch. He smiles, sparks flying down his arms, fingers twitching. Definitely a rematch.
“We have to go around,” Nick whispers.
Nate shakes his head, matching his voice to Nick’s. “Can’t, there’s an army of radscorpions over that way, ran into those bastards the first time.” There’s only one solution here. He knows it- he’s going to win- he already beaten this thing once- this time he’ll make the victory permanent.
“Then what do you suggest?”
He thinks for a moment, then, “Screw it.” He starts pulling grenades out of his bag, tearing a piece of a shirt in his backpack to wrap the bundle. He looks at Nick. “Stay here.”
Nick is watching him with growing worry. “What are you-“
He’s already running. His feet don’t touch the ground, riding the wind. He skids down the incline directly into the deathclaw’s line of sight, then bellows from somewhere deep in his chest, “HEY! REMEMBER ME?!”
The deathclaw bellows back. It remembers him, he’s sure of it. He takes off down the ravine, jumping over piles of twisted metal and shattered bricks. He’s going so fast that light warps around him, the shimmering air bending out of his way. He knows one of these caves has an opening on the other side of the ridge, he just needs to find- there, it’s there.
Laughing, he takes a sharp turn and throws himself into the darkness of the tunnel, the deathclaw right behind him. He pulls the pin on one of the grenades, dropping the bundle and sprinting faster- faster- faster- focused on the light at the other end of the cave, when the explosion shakes the earth and makes him lose his footing. Scrambling back to his feet, he hears the deathclaw let out a gurgling roar behind him, throwing itself against the sides of the cave.
The walls, shaken by the explosion and the deathclaw’s pained thrashing, start to crumble. Still laughing, he dives out of the cave, narrowly avoiding its collapse. He lies on his back, chuckling breathlessly, until Nick rushes over the ridge and comes to a stop beside him.
“Are you alright?!” His eyes are scanning him, worried.
He sits up. “Never better- I had a score to settle with that thing- and I won.” He’s untouchable, nothing in the wasteland can beat him.
Nick glares, hands on his hips. “That was a hell of a plan.” He jabs a finger at him. “You’re lucky it worked out.”
Moving to stand, he brushes himself off. “Stop worrying so much. I’m fine, see?” He throws his arms out and spins around. “Not a scratch.”
“This time, maybe.” Nick’s frowning, but doesn’t push.
Nate bounces in place a few times, shaking out his arms. The energy thrumming through his body is crackling now, like lightning through his bones. The hot, yellow-green-red-blue air pulses in time with his heart. As they continue their trek, He can see Nick watching him out of the corner of his eye, and tries to suppress his annoyance at the concern. He’s fine.
He can feel the rhythms of the Glowing Sea like a physical touch, embracing him. Warm hands slide up his arms, over his shoulders, wrapping around his chest, reaching inside and cradling his racing heart. The air feels more like water now, muffling sound and lifting his body off the ground. Light filters through the waves, sending sparks flitting through shifting motes of color. He’s moving in slow motion, like the old videos of astronauts on the moon, barely tethered, weightless. The thought makes him giggle, and Nick looks at him strangely. He shakes his head, it’s none of his business, this is just for Nate. A secret the world is sharing with him.
His fingers tap out a beat on an invisible drum by his hip, he can see the reverberations in the air. They bounce off the ground, the trees, the ruins, and return to him like an echo. But there’s a gap in the echo, a place where the beat finds a home. It catches his attention, he needs to know what it is. Light shimmers, the slow, thick movement of a pool of water to his left. The colors are spectacular, yellow and green broken up by fluorescent orange. It bubbles, letting off wisps of glittering, iridescent air from the depths. Nate feels a tingle in the back of his mind. This pool has something he needs.
He’s transfixed. How could he have missed this the first time, it’s stunning- the most magical thing he’s ever seen- it’s singing to him- whispering his name. He tears off before Nick can stop him, wading in to the water up to his thighs and swirling a hand through the colors. The glistening threads of yellow-green-orange begin to vibrate, laughing as they twirl up his arms, sinking in to his skin and painting his blood. He can feel it rushing through his veins and in to his heart, igniting in a vibrant, pulsating light. He knows he needs more, more of whatever is in this pool. It’s making promises to him, whispering in his ear. He can hear it from somewhere outside his body, the voice isn’t coming from within. It’s going to help him find Shaun- fight the Institute- he knows it. He moves further in to the pool, to absorb more of its beauty, its knowledge, when he’s dragged back out of the water.
He spins around, furious, about to rip Nick apart for interrupting him, when he suddenly feels lightheaded and stumbles. A metal hand steadies him, and his knees begin to give out. Nick tosses his arm over his shoulders and starts marching them away from the pool. He’s saying something, but Nate can’t make out the words over the awful pounding in his head. His stomach churns.
He’s too weak to fight as he’s half-carried to a submerged Red Rocket, Nick slamming the door behind them and lowering him to the ground, leaning him back against the wall. Nate’s stomach lurches, and he tries to unfasten the helmet, but his fingers are shaking too badly. Nick helps release him, and he slumps over and vomits bile.
Nick works one of his arms out of the Hazmat suit, digging through his bag to pull out a pouch of RadAway. He feels the pinch of the needle dig into the crook of his elbow, and hears Nick drag a chair over to sit on while he squeezes the bag.
After several minutes of tense silence, Nick speaks, voice laced with quiet fury. “What the hell was that?”
“Nothing, I’m fine.” The answer is automatic, a reflex.
“You are not fine, you have radiation poisoning.” Nick sighs, then gentles his voice. “What was that back there? That was… Nate, I don’t know what that was. You tried to take a swim in toxic waste.”
“I’m fine, Nick.” He’s alive, isn’t he? Nothing’s wrong, really- he’s just a little restless- and the pool was so beautiful- He’s fine. Nick’s glowing eyes are leaving trails of orange light in the air.
Nick’s face is stony. “You could have died, if I wasn’t here then you would be dead. You can’t do much of anything if you’re dead.”
This silences him. He takes a deep inhale, then lets it out slowly, closing his eyes. There’s a war in his mind - the part of him that knows Nick is right battling the part that knows he’s right, that the pool is full of promises, ones he desperately needs. There is no victor.
He opens his eyes and looks up at Nick. “I don’t know what I was doing, I think I’m just tired. Haven’t been sleeping much. Thanks, for pulling me out.” He doesn’t know if he means his words, just that he needs Nick to think he does.
Nick looks at him for a long moment, then sighs and slaps the RadAway to Nate’s shoulder. “Hold this, will ya?”
Once he has the bag in his grip, Nick pulls out a cigarette and lights it, the burning end casting deep shadows on his face. He takes an inhale, then breathes out lightly, allowing the smoke to curl around his face. He hands the cigarette to Nate, trading him for the RadAway. He takes a drag before passing it back. They sit in silence, passing the cigarette back and forth, until it’s worn down to the butt and the bag of RadAway is empty.
After a long and supremely frustrating battle with a nest of radscorpions, Nate and Nick haul themselves up the mountain hiding Virgil’s cave. Nick’s trench coat is torn in several places, and Nate is smeared with ashy dirt. What a pair we make. At the mouth of the cave, he turns to Nick. “You ready?”
“Always. Let’s do this.”
He nods, and leads Nick through the tunnel to Virgil’s laboratory. The super mutant is waiting for them at the end of the corridor, eyeing Nick warily.
He glances at Nate. “You again. You’re alive.” He turns to Nick and crosses his arms. “I thought you were supposed to be killing a Courser, not befriending a synth.”
He doesn’t trust himself to talk to Virgil, not after last time. He hopes that Nick will cut in, that he’ll get out of here without saying much.
Nick obliges. “He did both, with my help.”
“Hmm.” Virgil is silent for a long moment. “Impressive. Did you manage to get what you need?” He talking to Nick like he wants to avoid interacting with Nate. He thinks that’s fair.
Confusion grows on Nick’s face, he’s noticed this too. “Why don’t you ask him yourself?”
Virgil heaves out a sigh. “Don’t particularly want to discuss Halloween costumes again. I’m sure you can understand.”
Nate’s grateful his helmet covers the blush spreading on his face. He wants the earth to swallow him whole. Nick shoots him a bewildered look, and he can only shrug.
Shaking his head, Nick takes over again. “Yes, we have the code.”
Virgil smiles, it’s the first time he’s seen this expression on his face. “Good, good. Because you've gotta make it in there. For all our sakes.” He turns around a rifles through piles of papers and blueprints, then comes back with a roll. “Came up with some schematics for you. Wasn't easy; these hands are ridiculous.” He looks at his hands, then mutters, “Fine motor skills have gone to shit.”
Nick takes the plans, opening Nate’s bag and sliding them in. He feels a bit like a child in this moment. “So, how does it work?”
“Here's the simple explanation: you need to build a device that will hijack the signal the Institute uses to teleport Coursers, and send you instead.” Virgil says this like it’s the easiest thing in the world. Nate supposes that the hard part will come when he gets to the Institute, not before.
“Straightforward enough, though these plans look complicated. And expensive.” Nick turns to him. “I think we’ll need some help building this.”
He bites his tongue and nods sharply. Better to keep quiet. Nick nods back, then says to Virgil, “Thank you.”
Virgil’s eyes are drilling in to Nate. “Don't you forget our agreement. I've helped you as best I can. If you make it in there, you find that serum. It's my only hope for ever being... normal.” He points at him. “So you find it.”
“You have my word.” At that, Nate bites his tongue. Nick and Virgil exchange goodbyes, and Nick leads him out of the cave and back in to the Glowing Sea.
Outside, they plan their next move. It’s clear to Nate that they need help, Nick was right about the complexity of this machine. He’s turning the plan over in his mind, letting the silence hover in the air around them.
Nick eventually breaks it. “So who’s helping build this thing? The Railroad?”
He shakes his head. “No, there’s something about them I don’t trust.” Their secrecy makes his skin crawl.
Nick raises an eyebrow. “You got other options?”
He inhales, remembering Preston, still in Sanctuary. “I might know a guy. Are you up for a trip to Concord?” He wants Nick to stay with him, keep him focused.
“Lead the way, I’ll be right behind you.” Nick gives him a small smile.
They start the long march north, blueprints for an impossible machine in hand. Nate feels something like hope bubble up in his chest. He’s so close.
Chapter 6: November 6 - November 20
Summary:
Nate finds Shaun.
“Flies are born to be eaten by spiders and man to be devoured by sorrow.” - Voltaire
Chapter Text
Nick watches him closely during their walk from the Glowing Sea to Sanctuary. Nate is uncomfortably aware of his assessment of his movements, his words, his behavior. When he had tried to take watch when they set up camp, Nick had glared at him until he relented and pretended to sleep. There was too much to think about, to consider. The unknowns of what comes next. Of finding Shaun. When he closed his eyes, a kaleidoscope of colors exploded behind his lids. He could see his thoughts twisting and swirling, running through each other and tangling together.
By the time they’re walking past the Red Rocket on the road to Sanctuary, Nate is ready to crawl out of his skin. He feels exposed, seen too clearly. Unasked questions hang heavy between them, the air choked by answers Nate doesn’t have. What happens when he gets to the Institute? What happens when he finds Shaun? What happens after? His focus has been on getting Shaun back, not on how he’s going to be a parent. He pushes the question aside, it’s too much to try to answer now.
The body left unceremoniously on the side of the road in front of the bridge to Sanctuary has been removed, maybe buried. Something loosens in Nate’s chest. He exhales for what feels like the first time in days, body sagging slightly. He didn’t want to be the one to clean up the mess.
Then, the reality of what he’s about to ask of Preston hits him. This is no small task, it’s too much, far too much, with no reward. He’s relying on Preston’s kindness, stretching the limits of what would be reasonable. His body tenses up again.
When they cross the bridge, a loud, happy bark catches his attention. Dogmeat comes bounding down the road, tongue hanging out and tail wagging.
You’re back! He runs to Nate and jumps up, pressing his paws to his chest.
He stumbles back from the force. “Hey, Dogmeat.” I missed you. He strokes the back of his head, scratching behind his ears, noticing he’s wearing a collar now. There’s no name tag.
He jumps when he hears a voice above them. “Well, look who it is.” Preston’s talking to them from on top of the house they’re next to, rifle in hand. Nate hadn’t noticed him at all. “Hang on, I’m coming down.” He swings the gun over his shoulder, turns away, and disappears behind what’s left of the roof.
Dogmeat drops down and leans against Nate’s legs, a steady weight. He turns his head to Nick, who says, “This our man?”
Nate nods. “Yeah, that’s him.”
Preston smiles at them when he rounds the corner. “It’s good to see you again.” His eyebrows draw together. “When Dogmeat came back without you, we got worried something happened.”
Nate hadn’t thought of that. A sudden spark of annoyance flares to life in his chest at Preston’s concern. Shoving aside the feeling, he chooses the polite response. “Thanks, for looking after him.”
He shrugs. “He mostly looks after himself.” He turns to Nick. “You must be Nick Valentine, I’ve heard a lot about you.” He stretches a hand out. “Preston Garvey, Commonwealth Minutemen.”
Nick gives him a firm shake. “My reputation precedes me, it seems.”
Nate forces himself to continue with the pleasantries before asking the impossible. “How’ve things been around here?”
“Good, Codsworth’s been a big help.” Nate bites his tongue against a cutting remark, of course he has. Codsworth was always good at inserting himself places, welcome or not. “We got in touch with a farm nearby,” Preston gestures to somewhere behind them. “The family there - the Abernathy’s - are giving us supplies to get through the winter. I help them with raider problems, Sturges repairs their equipment, it’s a good system.”
Shit. Nate really hadn’t thought about that. He knows he should care about what happens to these people, but it’s a challenge dredging up the emotion. He continues down the polite route. “I’m glad it’s working out.”
Preston doesn’t seem to notice how his sincerity is forced. “Me too. Feels like we’re building something here.” He looks lost in thought for a moment, then comes back to himself. “Anyway, how’re you doing? Have you found anything out about your son?”
Finally. Nate inhales, then lets it out slowly. “Yeah, I think I know where he is.”
Preston grins, like he’s genuinely happy for Nate. “That’s great news!”
He shares a look with Nick. “Yes, and no.” He gathers himself before continuing. “He’s at the Institute.”
His eyes widen, and his voice is quiet when he says, “Oh man, that’s…I’m so sorry.”
The annoyance builds. He stomps it down, now’s not the time. “I, uh- I have a way inside. That’s the good news.” The words come out a touch too harsh.
His eyebrows fly up. “What?”
He clears his throat. He doesn’t want to rehash the last two weeks. “It’s a long story, but I have the plans to a machine that can teleport me into the Institute.” Please just leave it, don’t ask too many questions.
“Teleport?”
The question is fair, but it still bothers him. He has to stop himself from biting out his words. “Like I said, it’s a long story.”
Preston shakes his head. “You’re gonna have to tell me one of these days.” His voice is incredulous. “Teleportation, wow, didn’t see that coming.”
He flexes his hands, intentionally keeping them from forming fists. “Yeah, me neither.”
“You should show those plans to Sturges, see what he can do with them.” He tilts his head back toward the rest of the settlement. “C’mon, let’s go find him.”
Preston takes them further into Sanctuary, and Nate notices that the houses are looking…more solid. Fewer holes. They’ve clearly been busy the last couple weeks, building up a place to call home. He’s quietly impressed by their determination to make the best of a bad situation. A sudden thought hits him- is he going to have to live here again? Raise Shaun here? The line of questioning makes him nauseous.
They find Sturges tinkering with a generator behind one of the houses, and Nate lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding when they don’t run into Codsworth. A small mercy.
Sturges reacts to Nate’s story the same way Preston did - disbelief at first, but surprisingly easy acceptance. Nate supposes things are pretty ridiculous in the wasteland, and that the people living here are good at rolling with the punches. It’s making things easier for him right now, so he decides to take what he can get.
He hands the plans over, and Sturges’s eyes light up. He pours over them, muttering to himself, before looking back up at Nate. “This won’t be easy, but I think I can pull it off.” He looks back down and starts muttering again, “Might be a challenge getting enough materials for this though.”
Nick steps in to talk through the specifics with Sturges, leaving Nate with his thoughts. The pressing weight of what happens next is bearing down on him, forcing the air from his lungs. He doesn’t feel ready to find Shaun, not at all. He has to, he has no choice, but the unknowns are starting to eat him alive. He’s already made so many mistakes- how much worse- would Shaun even- how can he- Before he can really get going, Preston pulls him aside.
His face is serious, voice low. “Nate, this isn’t going to be easy to build.”
Nate swallows. “I know.” He looks away from Preston, guilt, desperation, and a strange reluctance warring in his chest. After a moment, he looks back, meets his eyes. “I know I have no right to ask you to help with this.”
Preston waves him off. “No, I want to help, we all do.” He looks at him apologetically. “But, if you’re going inside the Institute, there’s something I need to ask you to do. In exchange for helping.”
There’s always a catch to a kindness. He can respect that, even if it sets off sparks of unearned irritation in his veins. “Ok, what is it?”
“If you really can get inside, it’s an opportunity I can’t ignore. The Commonwealth can’t ignore.” Nate thinks Preston sounds a bit too self-righteous in this moment. “It’s a chance to learn as much as we can about those bastards.” Fair enough. “I’ll talk to Sturges, figure out how to do it, but you need to get as much information as possible and bring it back with you.” He pauses and looks away, then lowers his voice when he meets Nate’s eyes. “I know your priority is finding your son, and I’m not gonna ask you to do something that jeopardizes that, but I need you to try.”
Nate nods slowly, thinking over Preston’s words. He doesn’t have to help him, none of them do, and he’s asking for so much. He doesn’t want to make a promise, but he can at least try, the same way he is for Virgil. “I’ll do what I can.”
“That’s all I ask.”
With that, Preston excuses himself and walks off to return to his post by the bridge to Sanctuary. Nate takes a deep breath in, holds it, then exhales, about to return to Nick and Sturges, when his luck runs out.
“Mr. Nate!”
Fuck. “Codsworth.” He nods at the robot, grinding his teeth.
“Oh, sir, I’ve been dreadfully worried! When you didn’t return, I thought, perhaps…” He pauses, spins his arms. “It doesn’t bear thinking about.” He clears his non-existent throat. “Have you found any clue of Shaun’s whereabouts?”
The annoyance simmering in his chest grows. “Yeah, I have a plan.” God, just leave me alone.
“Marvelous! What wonderful news!” He takes a significant pause, Nate’s skin crawls. Here it comes. “Now, I must urge you to consider how you might be perceived, so to speak. Young Shaun needs a good role model, and you can’t be that if you wander around like…well…like this.”
He snaps at the robot. “Like what, Codsworth.”
His voice takes on a lofty tone, judgmental and disapproving. “Like a common criminal. Far too much dirt, and not to mention the blood.”
Nate’s hands clench into tight fists. Why the fuck did Nora buy him? Was it just to spite him? “That’s really not your business.”
Codsworth tuts at him. “Sir, I merely-“
He bites out the words through gritted teeth. “Leave it.”
“Hmph. Very well.” Offended by Nate’s rudeness, Codsworth buzzes off, finally giving him some space.
He huffs out a breath and runs a hand through his hair, trying to stifle the annoyance building under his ribs. He’s saved from having to stew in his emotions when Nick calls him back over.
When he rejoins them, he crosses his arms and looks between Nick and Sturges. “So, what’s the word?”
Sturges gives him a toothy grin. “We’ve got our work cut out for us, but I think we can make it happen.”
A tentative hope begins to eclipse his irritation. “What needs to be done?”
Nick cuts in. “We put together a list of ruins to scavenge, places where we can find the supplies we need.”
He nods. “Sounds doable.” A straightforward task, a clear goal in sight. The bigger questions can wait until after.
Sturges puts his hands on his hips. “We’ll need more than scrap. We can get a lot of materials from traders coming up this way, but we need the caps to pay them. Or anything valuable enough to sell.”
Nick elbows him. “You up for a lesson in Commonwealth economics?”
He grins. “Let’s get down to business.”
Sturges whistles when he looks over his handiwork. “I think I’ve outdone myself.”
The machine looks deeply out of place among the low houses and greenery of Sanctuary. Three enormous, imposing metal arms cradle a thick, triangular platform. There’s a makeshift satellite dish and haphazardly constructed terminal connected to the apparatus, along with several generators. It looks outrageous. Nate feels like this might not be the best idea, but what choice does he have? He hopes it ends up being worth all the bullets, stimpaks, and long walks with Nick it took to build.
His eyebrows draw together when he looks at Sturges. “You sure this will work?”
Sturges is entirely too cheerful when he says, “85 percent certainty.”
He sighs. “Good enough. Are you ready?”
“As I’ll ever be.” He pulls a holotape out of the pocket of his overalls. “Here, like we talked about. Load this into a terminal once you get inside and download whatever data you can.”
“I’ll do my best.” He takes the holotape and steps toward the platform.
Nick clears his throat. “Wait a second.” Nate stops and looks at him. “This isn’t exactly something you can plan for. Once you get inside, you’ll have to make it up as you go along.”
He’s stating the obvious, so he tries to interject. “Yeah, I-“
He cuts him off. “Let me finish.” He gives him a long, hard stare. “Whatever happens in there, whatever you find, just don’t let this be a one-way trip.”
Nate considers his words, looking down at the holotape still in his hand. It would be easier if it was. He sighs, tucks it away, and looks back up. “I’ll see you on the other side, Nick.”
“We’ll be here. Good luck.”
Sturges turns on the machine when Nate steps into the center of the platform. A deafening whirring sound starts up, sparks arching from one arm to the next. The cacophony grows impossibly louder, shaking his bones and making his heart pound against his ribs. He can hear Sturges yelling, but can’t make out the words. The last thing he sees are Nick’s wide, worried eyes, before he is consumed by electric blue fire.
The floor rises up to meet him and he stumbles, gasping for air. The blue light around him fades, and he finds himself in a circular room, walls covered by wires and tubes. He shakes his head, trying to make sense of his surroundings, to slow down his racing thoughts. He’s inside- holy shit- it actually fucking worked. He blows out a breath, trying to keep himself on task.
There’s only one exit, leading out into an oddly clean room with a large terminal in the center. He wants to keep moving- to storm the castle- destroy anyone in his way- find Shaun- but he made a promise. Preston didn’t have to help him, and all he asked for was data, data he can get from this terminal. Part of him wishes he never agreed to these terms. He grits his teeth and reigns in his emotions.
He forces himself to slow down, to load the holotape, download the data. It takes a lifetime, and Nate taps out an irritated rhythm on the top of the terminal, watching the progress bar inch forward. He can’t get the holotape out of the terminal fast enough when it’s done, stuffing it into his bag, drawing his gun, and flipping the safety off. It’s time.
When he turns away from the terminal, the walls pulse, the sound rippling through the air. He taps his foot to the floor, watching a wave roll out from where he stands, down the hallway, and around a corner. That’s where he needs to go. He moves quickly and quietly down the corridor, not pausing as he follows the wave around the corner and- he freezes.
There’s a man in front of him, flanked by two Coursers in their long black coats. He begins to raise his gun, but sees movement out of the corner of his eye. Another Courser, this one with a rifle leveled at his head. His eyes dart forward, the other two Coursers have their weapons trained on him. There’s no escape, not this time.
He locks eyes with the man in front of him. He’s older, with wispy grey hair and deep wrinkles set in his face. Pale, almost translucent skin hangs off his thin, skeletal frame. His green eyes, surrounded by deep shadows, bore into him from a gaunt face. He looks sick. Nate can hear his labored breathing.
When he speaks, his voice is quiet, but harsh, authoritative. “I know why you’ve come here.”
Nate’s hands flex around his gun, rage flaring to life. His voice shakes with the force of it. “Where the fuck is my son? I know he’s here- I saw Kellogg with him- where the fuck-
“You saw a clone.” He says sharply, nearly spitting out the words.
He shakes his head, refusing to accept the answer. He’s come too far, done too much, to believe this. “You’re lying- he’s here-“ He speaks louder, fury tinting the edges of his words. “I found a way inside- you can’t stop-”
This man won’t let Nate continue his tirade. “You are here because I allow it. Because, foolishly, I had to see for myself.” He looks down for a moment, then back up at him. “You came all this way looking for your son. Well, you found me.” He spreads his hands out. “Here I am.”
The world stops spinning. Nate’s arms go slack. Sound falls away, and all he can hear is the man’s raspy breaths. No, that can’t be right, this can’t be- He opens his mouth, but the man cuts him off.
“And here you are.” He curls his lip as he speaks. “A broken man who wandered blindly from his tomb.” His voice is soft, but it echoes through the corners of Nate’s mind. “I was curious about you. As anyone would be about their own flesh and blood, where they came from.”
Half-formed thoughts skitter around Nate’s head, unable to connect into anything coherent, crackling and sparking before they can solidify. He flinches from the feeling. He can’t process what he’s hearing, what he’s seeing. This man’s eyes are the same shade of green as Nora’s. He doesn’t know what to think of that. This is his son?
His inner turmoil goes ignored. “So I went looking for you in the archives. Then I found the report.”
The floor drops out from beneath him. His knees feel weak. Part of him knows what this means, what comes next. Dread claws its way up his throat. He wants to press his hands to his skull, to stop his ricocheting thoughts, but he’s frozen in place, pinned by his words. By Shaun’s words. This is his son. Does he- does he know-
He scoffs. “’Dishonorably discharged, institutionalized’ it said.” The words rip in to Nate like bullets. “I didn’t want to believe it, I had to assume it was some error in the record.” His voice drops down to almost a whisper. “But I read it, and then I read it again to be sure.”
He wakes up confused, limbs heavy. He tries to move, to orient himself, but he’s trapped. He looks down and sees his arms and legs secured to a hospital bed. His head feels full of cotton, he can’t keep his eyes open. He was afraid of something. What was it? He can’t remember.
Disgust coats his words. “You attacked your own squad, practically bled your superior officer dry with the knife stashed in your boot.”
It’s inside him- he needs to get it out- it’s going to make him hurt them, he can’t let it- He’s clawing at his neck, trying to get it out- needs something sharper- get it out- his knife- He presses it to the skin of his neck, digging in- hands grab him, hold him down- he struggles- they don’t know- he needs to get it out- he fights back, desperate- needs to get it out-
“They had to pry you off of him like a rabid dog.” He’s looking at him like he’s scum, the lowest of the low. Nate can feel the bruises forming on his arms.
He shakes them off, and tries to get away. There’s something blocking the escape- he needs to get out- why are they- can’t they see- he needs to get out- there’s something warm and wet coating his hands- he’s being held down, face against the floor- someone’s screaming- why can’t they see- he needs to get out-
“They locked you away for a year and then they let you go. They never should have let you out.” He sighs, then continues. “Maybe they should have put you down. Save us all the trouble.” Blood drips from Nate’s hands on to the stark white floor.
The nurses and doctors avoid standing too close. He’s been deemed unstable, violent. They tell him he’s dangerous, a threat to society. He thinks they’re right. He can’t remember why.
“Call it sentimentality, or perhaps morbid curiosity spurred on by a change in my perspective.” He meets his eyes with a hard, piercing stare. “I’m dying, an aggressive form of cancer. Incurable. I will not live to see the new year.”
Nate blinks, reality and fragmented memory blurring. There’s someone shouting in his ear, telling him to stop resisting. He squeezes his eyes shut, tries to take in the words from the present, pushing aside the past. He’s dying? He’s come all this way, and Shaun is dying?
“I’m sure you know what it feels like, to know that your time is running out. Perhaps not as immediate as outrunning an atom bomb, but no less harrowing.” Nate can’t read the tone in Shaun’s voice, can’t make sense of it. “As the cancer in my body spreads, so too does the need to know the truth. I released you from that Vault because I had to know if the animal in that report and my father were one in the same.”
He feels dizzy. He was released on purpose? Set loose into the Commonwealth? Shaun set him free to…test him? A test he clearly failed. The hatred in Shaun’s voice rips into his chest, leaving behind gaping, festering wounds. The blood dripping on to the floor is tinged with the yellow-green of rotting flesh.
Shaun lowers his voice, something almost sad in his tone. “I wanted to see what you would do, who you would be.”
Nate’s ears are ringing. He failed. He fucked everything up.
His voice turns steely. “I have never regretted anything more in this life.”
Their faces, once soft and concerned, have turned stony, harsh. They’ve pulled away, as though he is a stain, tarnishing their lives. Like he’s a poison.
“You showed me just how vile you are.” Disgust and disbelief contort his face. “I saw what was left of Kellogg. Of the Courser. You slaughtered them, defiled their corpses, committed unspeakable acts, and to what end?”
Nate fires three rounds into his skull, leaving behind a mess of viscera and grey matter.
The chip makes a wet, squelching pop as it comes loose.
“What kind of man would do that?”
He can’t read the expression on Nick’s face.
He can hear Kellogg laughing.
What kind of man would do that?
“You are a monster.”
The raider fights him, grabs at Nate’s hands, but he keeps slamming and slamming and slamming, feeling his hands become slick with blood, until the man goes limp, his face a broken mess.
His hands twitch, curling into fists. He wants to break this man’s face, to keep hitting him until the buzzing under his skin fades.
His fingertips turn into claws, his teeth sharpen and rip through his tongue. He tastes the blood.
He pauses, to consider his words. “But, I am not. I will allow you to leave this place, I will not stoop to your level.”
The edges of Nate’s vision are turning dark. His hands are shaking violently, he can’t keep track of his thoughts. An emotion is swirling in his chest, threatening to burst through his ribs. He doesn’t know what it is.
He motions to the Coursers. “Take him away.” He’s not looking at Nate when he quietly says, “Let me die in peace.”
The Coursers step forward, grab Nate’s bruised arms and start to haul him off back the way he came. He wants to fight them, to get to Shaun, to explain- but what is there to explain? Shaun knows. He knows Nate is a monster. He leaves behind a trail of putrefying blood and gore. A stain marring the crisp white tiles. Something shatters in his mind.
Nate’s knees give out when his feet hit the ground back at Sanctuary, and he catches himself with his bloody hands when he falls. He’s gasping for air, but his lungs won’t fill. Lights start dancing in his eyes. He feels like he may be dying.
He thinks he can hear someone calling his name, but he can’t tell who it is over the awful rushing in his ears. A hand lands on his back, and he whirls around, knocking it away. His vision is hazy, but he can make out the orange glow of Nick’s eyes. He’s on his knees to stay on Nate’s level. His hands are raised, and he cautiously lowers them.
“You gotta breathe, Nate.”
He takes deep, gulping breaths, and his vision starts to clear. His head is pounding, fragments of memories and words throwing themselves against the walls of the cage in his mind. He sits back on his heels and looks at his hands. They’re shaking, the stains have vanished.
Preston’s voice gets his attention. His words are hesitant, quiet. “What happened? Did you find-“
He barks out a harsh laugh. “Oh, I fucking found him alright.”
He looks up at Preston, who doesn’t seem to know what to say. His mouth is slightly open, eyebrows creased in the center. When Nate starts chuckling, then laughing, the crease deepens.
He tries to say something, but Nate can’t hear him over his own laughter. It’s bellowing out of his chest, ripping him apart. It doesn’t sound happy; it sounds unhinged.
Nate registers the emotion on Preston’s face. He’s afraid of what he’s seeing. He wants to taunt him, to push and poke and prod at him. This is nothing, nothing. Still laughing, he says, “What, am I frightening you? Are you scared, Preston?” He should be scared, he should be terrified.
Preston breathes out, “Jesus, Nate, I’m worried about you.”
“Garvey, give us some space.” Preston nods at Nick’s words, still looking at Nate, and walks away.
Nick tentatively sets a hand on his shoulder, saying, “Let’s get a little distance between us.”
Nate’s breathless laughter starts to die down, and he moves to stand. Nick gets a hand around his bicep, helping him up. He walks them over to the low stone wall surrounding Sanctuary, pressing him to sit. His body is shaking, teeth chattering.
Nick takes a moment before asking, “What happened?”
He runs his hands over his face, thoughts bouncing around inside his skull. “I found Shaun.”
“What happened.”
Nate lets out a hysterical giggle. He purposefully doesn’t look at Nick, he doesn’t want to know what kind of expression he’s wearing. “He’s not 10, he’s- fuck, he’s old, older than me.” His breath hitches, and he chokes out, “He’s dying. Cancer.”
Nick’s voice stays neutral. “Do you know what he’s doing there?”
He runs his hands through his hair. “Running the damn place, it seems like.” His hands land on his thighs, squeezing the muscle tightly. “Threw me out after he spoke his mind.”
Nick moves to sit beside him. “It wasn’t a friendly conversation, I take it?”
Nate’s voice drops down to a whisper. “He hates me.” Inhaling sharply, the words rush out of him, “He called me a monster.” He turns wild eyes to Nick. “God, I think he’s right.”
Nick presses a hand to his shoulder and squeezes. He keeps his voice low and steady. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what else to say.”
He clenches his hands into fists, nails biting into the meat of his palms, and closes his eyes. He focuses on the weight of Nick’s hand, the cool stone beneath him, the sound of the water behind them, and breathes. There’s nothing more to say.
Chapter 7: November 21 - November 30
Summary:
The aftermath.
“No motive is pure. No one is good or bad - but a hearty mix of both. And sometimes life actually gives to you by taking away.” - Carrie Fisher, Wishful Drinking
Notes:
cw: suicidal thoughts
Chapter Text
Nate spends the first day after his nightmarish trip to the Institute in a haze, replaying Shaun’s words over and over again. The memory plays on repeat, drowning out the present. He can’t escape it, Shaun’s face is superimposed over everything he sees. If he closes his eyes, the memory only becomes more vivid. Nick pointedly takes his guns away from him, and he can’t decide if it’s a kindness or a cruelty. Either way, he doesn’t fight it. He can’t justify leaving behind another mess for someone else to clean up.
He stays away from the residents of Sanctuary, and finds himself losing track of time. Every time he blinks, the sun is in a new position in the sky, hours feeling more like seconds. The memory of meeting Shaun plays faster and faster as the day wears on, his words becoming sharper, cutting deeper. Nate is torn between desperately wanting it to stop and wishing it would swallow him whole.
Sitting behind a house on the edge of the settlement leaning back against the rotting wall, he combs over the past few weeks. Shaun was right to say what he did, more than he probably knew. He only had the report and the path of destruction he carved through the wasteland to base his opinion on, but he was right. Nate can’t deny it. If he knew the rest, he wouldn’t have let him leave. Part of Nate wishes he hadn’t, while another part is selfishly relieved he didn’t have the full story.
Nick and Dogmeat trade off coming to check on him, though he doesn’t acknowledge them. He can’t. They’re gone by the time he’s registered their words, Shaun’s voice drowns out everything else. When the sun has set and the moon has risen, he begins to seriously consider wandering off into the night and letting the wasteland take care of him, putting his fate in someone or something else’s hands. He may not have his guns, but he can let the decision fall to whatever waits for him out there. It would be easier. He’s tired of having to choose.
Before he can make a move, he hears a voice whisper in his ear, If you do it, I will never forgive you. It sounds like Nora, and cuts through the repeating memory clear as day. He freezes, a chill running down his spine. She sounds like she’s right there next to him, but when he turns his head he’s alone. It’s enough to make him abruptly aware of his surroundings, Shaun’s voice fading into background noise instead of the cacophony it had become. He closes his eyes, tilting his head back against the wall and exhales slowly. His plan starts to feel like a betrayal rather than a reprieve.
Some time later, Nick comes back and stands next to him. He offers a hand, voice low and even when he says, “Everyone else has turned in for the night. You should come sit by the fire a while.”
Nate doesn’t respond, but takes the hand, letting Nick make the choice for him. They sit in silence by the fire until the sun rises and he hears the sound of someone waking up in the house behind them. He quickly makes himself scarce, retreating to what’s left of his back yard. It’s cowardly and he knows it.
Shaun’s voice is quieter now, and the world around him has come into focus. He spends the entire day staring up at the sky, shivering, watching the clouds roll by. Winter has arrived, and the chill settles into his bones. How had he not noticed? Was he stuck that far in his own mind? He watches his breath form wisps in the air above him.
Nick appears in the back yard periodically, sitting in a lawn chair and smoking, talking about nothing in particular. Nate can’t bring himself to respond, so he grunts every now and then to show he’s listening. He isn’t, he’s just letting the words wash over him, they keep him tethered to the earth. When Nick isn’t talking, he feels like he might start floating away. He’s drowning out the last whispers of Shaun’s voice.
Dogmeat joins him when the sun starts to set, pressing his body against his side. The warmth is welcome, though he doesn’t feel like he’s earned it. Selfishly, he accepts the comfort. He spends the night counting the stars, Shaun’s words fragmenting into pieces and trailing off into moments of blissful silence.
Time passes slow and syrupy. He’s lost count of the stars many times, only stopping when light creeps over the horizon and blurs them against the sky. Dogmeat rises with the sun, and starts nosing at Nate insistently, trying to get him to move. He ignores him. He bites his arm, not breaking the skin but firm enough to hold, and drags him until he’s sitting upright.
Get up. He’s not going to leave it.
Nate sighs. Fine, have it your way.
When he stands, he notices how stiff his fingers feel. He cups his hands around his mouth and breathes out, trying to warm them. He’s almost grateful for the cold; it’s slowing down his body, so maybe it will slow down his mind. The persistent buzzing that had crawled across his skin is dulled now, easier to ignore.
With a few forceful nudges, Dogmeat herds him inside the house, and Nate stands in the living room unsure of what comes next. His face itches, and when he scratches it he realizes he hasn’t shaved in a very long time. The feeling of his beard having grown in is suddenly unbearable; he needs it gone- right now. He marches down the hall to the bathroom, walking in to the mess he left behind weeks ago. He doesn’t recognize the face staring back at him from the mirror.
Taking a sharp inhale and turning away, he kicks around the debris on the floor until he finds a straight razor. Lucky break. Dogmeat bounds out of the room, only to return a moment later with a canteen, like he knows exactly what Nate’s thinking. He feels like he might possibly be losing his mind, but takes the water anyway. A question to be answered later, if ever.
He avoids meeting his own eyes as he methodically shaves his beard. With every pass of the razor, he counts his growing list of failures.
Nora.
He runs the razor over his cheek.
Shaun.
He shears the hair from his neck.
Virgil and his serum.
His mustache falls away.
Wasting so many people’s time, with absolutely nothing to show for it.
The razor drops into the sink, his face clean-shaven again. It lessened the itch without lightening the load.
He has so much to atone for; catastrophic mistakes, unforgivable decisions, a river running red with blood spilled, all for nothing. He could spend the rest of his life trying to make up for what he’s done, and it would never be enough. Bracing his hands on the sink and breathing out shakily, he decides to start small.
He goes to talk to Preston.
He finds him walking the perimeter of Sanctuary, rifle in hand. When he approaches, Preston stops his patrol and greets him with a slightly wooden, “Hey.”
The last time they spoke had not been a pleasant experience, for either of them. Preston’s right to be wary. Nate doesn’t know how to apologize, not in a way that matters, so he offers an olive branch.
Turning over the holotape loaded with Institute data in his hand, he says, “I should’ve given you this already. I don’t know what kind of information it has on it, but maybe you’ll get something out of it.”
His eyebrows raise, face softening as he takes the holotape. His voice is warmer when he says, “Thanks, anything is better than nothing. We’ll put this to good use.” Then he asks, “Are you gonna be staying here a while?”
He looks back to Sanctuary, and his stomach twists. “I don’t think so.” Staying would eat him alive, he’s sure of it.
Preston nods, like he expected the answer. “What’s next for you?”
It’s one hell of a question. Nate has no idea what comes next. He’s quiet for too long, so Preston breaks the silence. “It might not be my place to say, but you look like you could use a little advice.”
He’s not wrong, but what he says still bothers Nate. It makes him feel exposed, seen in uncomfortable ways. He shoves the emotion aside, he’s fucked up enough with Preston. Forcing a slow exhale, he says, “Go ahead.”
Preston’s voice is steady and assured, he doesn’t try to beat around the bush. “Not having a goal, something to work toward, that won’t do you any favors. Give yourself one.”
This makes Nate pause. He doesn’t know what he was expecting him to say, but that wasn’t it. It makes him curious. “How do I do that?”
“Help yourself by helping others. Give back, do the right thing.” He says it like it’s the simplest thing in the world.
He must be talking about Sanctuary, but that’s the one place Nate can’t stomach. He quietly says, “I can’t stay here, Preston.”
He shrugs. “You don’t have to. I know a few places that are looking for an extra set of hands.” Giving him a pointed look, he adds, “Think about it.”
“Alright.” He sighs, mulling over what Preston’s said, then nods and says, “Thanks, for the advice.” He’s surprised to find he means it.
Preston gives him a small grin. “Anytime.”
With that, he leaves him to his patrol, wandering back toward the houses. Dogmeat keeps nudging his hand each time he starts to get lost in his head. It’s uncanny how he seems to know when Nate starts to drift. He’s both grateful for and unsettled by it.
He ends up crossing paths with Nick, who glances behind Nate at Preston’s retreating back. “You patch things up?”
Nate’s voice is rough, jagged along the edges. He sounds tired, even to himself. “Maybe, hard to say. He gave me some advice.”
Nick prods him for more information. “Yeah?”
“Find a purpose. Try helping other people. The kind of thing you’d expect from Preston.” It comes across more dismissive than Nate intended.
“Decent advice.”
He might as well be honest, so he tells Nick the truth. “I’m not sure helping settlements is something I’d be any good at.”
He considers this for a moment, crossing his arms and tapping a finger against his elbow. “Maybe start smaller. I might have something for you. I need to head back to Diamond City, I think you should come with me.”
Nate’s eyebrows draw together. “And do what?”
“There’s probably a pile of cases waiting for me, you could help me out with one or two. Keep yourself busy.” He eyes his shirt, too thin for the dropping temperatures. “It’ll give you the chance to get something warmer, too. Freezing to death isn’t a pleasant way to go.”
It feels like training wheels on a bike, baby steps toward learning to be a halfway decent person. It’s also a way out of Sanctuary, and a distraction from a past that keeps lunging for his throat. He agrees to go with Nick.
Nate doesn’t know how Nick can stand living in Diamond City, how he can shrug off the feeling of being watched at every turn. The walled city is more prison than home. Dogmeat must have the same thought as Nate, he’s watching the guards carefully as they approach the gate.
Nate shares a look with Dogmeat. I don’t trust them.
Dogmeat’s face is grim. You shouldn’t.
As they walk down the stairs to the city, Nick glances at Nate and says, “Now would be a good time to put your caps to use, get something a bit warmer. Leave the Hazmat suit with me, I’ll take it to Amari next time I’m in Goodneighbor.”
Going directly into the city center is worrying, but he does have Dogmeat with him. Besides, the Institute shouldn’t be overly concerned with him anymore. What reason would they have to track him? He’s not a threat, not anymore. He’ll be fine. “Good idea, I’ll catch up with you.”
They part ways when they reach the market. Dogmeat stays close, watching Nate’s blind spots. He rushes through pleasantries, is ruder than he should be, gritting his teeth between words. Dying from exposure would be a humiliating way to go, so the errand is worth the frustration. It has to be.
When he gets to Nick’s office, Piper is there. Again. She’s clearly been brought up to speed, because she greets him with a grin and a wave instead of a barrage of questions. He grits his teeth, feeling exposed and raw.
Nick flashes him a quick smile. “Good, you’re here. I have a case I’d like you to take a look at.”
Blowing out a breath, Nate forces himself to stay on track. “Let’s hear it.”
“We have a missing person, Earl Sterling. He lives here in Diamond City, and was reported missing a few days ago. I have some other cases I need to work on, so I’ll give this one to you.”
Piper cuts in before he can respond. “And I’ll help, Blue.”
He doesn’t mean to be short with her, but the words come out harsh anyway. “Why would I need your help?”
She rolls her eyes. “Because I’m really good at asking questions, and I have connections.”
“Ok, fair.” She has a point, and it’s not like he has any experience investigating anything, let alone a missing person. He wouldn’t know where to start.
“Great!” She snatches the file from Nick. “C’mon, let’s stop by my place so I can get some things. We’ll go over the file there.”
He takes a deep, steadying breath. “Alright Piper, let’s go.”
As they’re leaving, Nick says, “Any time you need help, just come knocking.”
When they get to Piper’s house-newsroom, he notices someone missing. “Where’s Nat?”
She looks at him like he’s asked something monumentally stupid. “At school, obviously.”
It does seem obvious now that she’s said it, and he feels a bit foolish. “Oh, I didn’t realize school was still a thing.”
One of her eyebrows raises. “Seriously?”
“I don’t know how things work.” He’s getting defensive, and can’t keep the tone out of his voice.
She doesn’t seem to be offended, just amused. “You have so much to learn.” She claps her hands. “So, about this case. Earl lives on the other side of Diamond City. I say we get in his house and snoop around a bit.”
It makes sense to him, so he says, “Alright, sounds like a decent place to start.” He gets up and steps to the door.
“Not so fast, we gotta wait.”
“Why?”
She rolls her eyes at him. Again. “Because breaking and entering is usually frowned upon. We need to wait until there’s less people around, avoid suspicion.”
He feels even more foolish than before. Everything she’s said has been painfully obvious. “You may have a point.”
“I always do.” She takes a breath and pushes him to sit on the couch. “Anyway, I wanted to apologize.”
“Apologize? For what?”
She wrings her hands nervously. “For writing that article about you. Airing out your business to, well, pretty much the entire Commonwealth.”
Nate groans, puts his face in his hands. He forgot about the interview. Will he have to explain what happened to everyone now? His words are muffled when he says, “What did Nick tell you?”
She hesitates before answering. “Not much. Just that you found your son and it didn’t end well. I figured you’d tell me the rest if you wanted to. I won’t push, not this time.”
He drops his hands down, leaning back into the couch, relieved. “Thanks, Piper.”
She joins him, tilting her head back. “And, hey, at least most people won’t know it’s about you.”
His eyebrows knit and he turns his head to look at her. “Why wouldn’t they?”
“You’re suitless, that was your big defining feature.”
“Suitless? What the hell does that mean?”
She holds his stare. “No Vaultsuit, Blue, you don’t look like a vault dweller anymore.” Snapping her fingers at him, she says, “C’mon, keep up. And yeah, sure, the Pip-Boy is a bit unique, but other than that you look like a wastelander. Real…grizzled.”
He huffs. “I feel like I should be offended.”
Grinning, she turns away again. “You should, I wasn’t saying it to be nice.”
He cracks a smile, for the first time in days. She’s not going to coddle him, it’s a relief.
Standing up, she brushes herself off. “That’s enough of that! We have some time to kill, and you’re going to help me fix the printing press.”
He follows, but voices a concern. “But I don’t know anything about printing presses.”
“Luckily I do. Just do what I tell you. Always good to learn something new.”
He resigns himself to another lesson in humility. He’s spent so much of his time in the wasteland convinced he knows what he’s doing, but it’s become apparent that he was wrong. So, he lets Piper take the lead.
After a long and arduous lesson, it’s finally late enough for them to start their search, according to Piper. He tried to wash his hands, but they’re stained by the ink from the printing press. As subtly as possible, he tested out if they’d leave a mark on Piper’s couch - they didn’t. That would be pretty damning evidence to leave behind at a break-in, and he doesn’t want to put Piper under more scrutiny.
She leads him through the back alleys of Diamond City to a small shack tucked away in a corner of the walkway. He’s grateful they avoided the city center; they left Dogmeat behind with Nat, so he doesn’t have another set of eyes watching the guards. His nerves are frayed and worn, and being out in the open is only making it worse. Annoyance is festering under his skin, being on high alert is becoming grating. When they get to the door, Nate tests it with his shoulder. It should be easy enough to break down. He steps back in preparation.
Piper gets in his way and whispers harshly, “Absolutely not!”
The irritation starts bubbling over and he snaps at her, “It’s faster than finding the fucking key.”
She snaps back, “We don’t need the fucking key. I can pick a lock. Have a little faith.”
Her tone shocks the frustration out of him, leaving behind what feels like shame. “Sorry, Piper.”
“You better be.” She glares at him, then pulls a bobby pin out of her pocket and starts working on the lock.
It doesn’t take her long, the door swings open in under a minute. Embarrassment at his overreaction settles in his stomach. His instincts have led him astray many times since he left the Vault, he needs to stop following them automatically. Reality slaps him in the face: what if he had gotten them caught with his half-baked plan? What would happen to Piper? To Nat? He swallows heavily.
Inside, Piper starts rifling through drawers and shuffling papers left laying around the cramped space. Nate stands in the center of the small room, feeling a bit lost. She seems to know what she’s doing, there’s something systematic about the way she’s digging through Earl’s belongings. He wants to help, to not be entirely useless, but doesn’t know where to start.
Swallowing his pride, he asks, “What are we looking for?” He’s not a detective, he has no idea what to do in this scenario.
She doesn’t stop her search, and absently answers, “Clues, hints, anything that would tell us where he went.”
“Right.” That…isn’t terribly helpful. He’s still hopelessly lost. He decides to make himself look busy, opening drawers and cabinets at random. Nothing seems out of place, just an average wasteland home.
Closing a drawer with a thoughtful look on her face, Piper says, “This place looks like it’s been empty for a few days.” She starts tapping a finger to her chin, scanning the room.
He frowns, looking around and trying to see what she sees. It doesn’t look abandoned to him, just cluttered and in need of a dusting. What the hell is she picking up on? Spinning around in place, he tries to piece things together, but no answer comes. Awareness that he would have failed spectacularly if he’d done this alone creeps in. He’s really not smart enough for detective work, that’s becoming painfully clear.
When he finishes his pointless look around the room, he sees Piper on hands and knees, one arm stuck under the couch. She gasps and drags out a small slip of paper, holding it up victoriously. “Aha!”
He stops his fruitless efforts. “What? What did you find?”
She stands, waving the paper at him. “A receipt, he went to the surgery center, got himself a new face.”
“Excuse me?” A new face? You can just change your face? Alarm builds in the back of his mind, sending lightning down his spine. He can feel his heart pick up speed. Could anyone change their appearance? How would he know someone is who they say they are? This new, horrible piece of information has him reeling.
She shoots him a look. “You didn’t have facial reconstruction pre-war?”
“Facial reconstruction, sure, for people whose faces got blown off. But you’re talking about a brand new face.” His voice is getting louder, fear seeping into the words.
“Shh! You’re gonna get us caught.”
He shuts his mouth and grinds his teeth. A problem for later, then. Another thing to keep track of. Now he can’t be confident anyone is being honest about who or what they are. Human-like synths were bad enough, this is catastrophic.
Piper doesn’t seem to notice his mounting panic. “The surgery center should be empty, we can poke around and see what we can find about Earl.”
“Is more breaking and entering the best idea?” It seems like a terrible idea now. Breaking into Earl’s house was bad enough, another round of trespassing is just asking for trouble.
She clearly disagrees with his assessment. “Do you have another suggestion?” He doesn’t. “No? Then let’s go.”
They make it to the surgery center without incident, only crossing paths with one guard on their way. Nate had kept his full attention on the guard as he continued his patrol, not noticing anything out of the ordinary. He’s still unsettled. He starts putting together excuses and half-formed plans in case they get caught, ones that hopefully keep Piper out of trouble. If anyone questions them, he’ll take the blame- he can make up some story about being the mastermind- or threatening her- something that keeps the focus on him.
When they get to their destination, Piper tells him to keep watch while she figures out the lock on the hatch leading to the basement. He’s not sure what he should do if someone walks by, but obeys anyway, leaning his shoulder against the wall. He could be a distraction, cause some kind of commotion while she slips away?
Before he can come up with anything better than that, he hears Piper take a sharp inhale behind him. “Blue, there’s a ton of blood here.”
His heartbeat picking up, he looks over his shoulder at her and states the obvious. “Not a good sign for a surgery center.”
“Generally, no.” She kneels down to pick at the lock on the hatch, tongue stuck out between her teeth. After a moment, the lock clicks and she looks up at him. “Got it, let’s go see what’s what.”
Piper glares at him as he shoulders her out of the way to climb down the ladder first. If there’s something awful waiting for them at the bottom, he might as well be the one to find out. It’ll give her a chance to get away. When he lands in the dimly-lit basement, a thick, coppery-sweet smell hits him, coating the back of his throat. The air is heavy and wet, the taste of it all too familiar. A rotting body is down here. It makes him want to vomit.
There’s a man across from him, thin and pale, hunched over something he can’t see, muttering to himself. Piper drops down beside him with a quiet grunt when she lands too hard, and the man snaps his head up and turns toward them. His face is splattered with blood, and in his hands is a decapitated head. Nate registers the pile of body parts on the floor in front of the man and reaches for his gun. Their investigation has taken a turn, it’s not about clues anymore; now it’s about survival.
Piper’s the first to break the silence. “Doc Crocker, we just wanna talk.”
Crocker lets out a high-pitched giggle, dropping the head unceremoniously. Nate can’t see his eyes behind his dark goggles. He stands and says, “Oh, naughty, naughty! You're not supposed to be down here! But that's ok. I can fix that. I can fix anything.”
He’s unraveling, falling apart at the seams. The situation is worse than Nate thought. This man is dangerous, unpredictable. He’s impressed by how calm Piper is keeping her voice. “What did you do to Earl Sterling?” The answer seems a bit obvious to Nate, given the pile of decaying body parts on the floor.
Crocker grabs a gun off a nearby table, running the barrel along his cheek. Nate levels his gun at his head. They’ve stepped on a landmine, it’s clear to him that there’s only one way out. He hopes Piper sees this too.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa, let’s all stay calm here.” She’s keeping her voice low and even, trying to diffuse the building tension. “Doc, just tell us what happened.”
Nate’s gripping his gun like a vice. The room is small, there’s nowhere to hide. If Crocker starts shooting, he has a good chance of hurting both of them. He needs to make sure the doctor doesn’t make the first move. If Piper can’t calm him down, he’ll have to step in.
His voice warbles, pitching up and down. He’s going to crack, very, very soon. “Earl was a bad patient. Good patients leave happy, but not Earl. No, Earl didn’t want to be happy.” He sounds angry when he whispers, “It’s not my fault he didn’t want to be happy.”
Piper takes a breath, then asks, “Did something happen during the surgery?”
Crocker’s words are thick, like he’s holding back tears. “He made such a mess, I had to clean it up. So I can keep making people happy.”
“Ok, ok. So you want to fix your mistake? We can do that, just put the gun down.” Her tone is gentle and placating, he can tell she’s trying to keep the situation under control.
Nate thinks she’s giving him too much credit. He’s like a bomb about to go off, the time for gentleness is long past. Her plan isn’t going to work. He steadies himself, he has a good idea of what buttons to press. He can guess at what Crocker’s feeling, and how to redirect it.
Crocker stretches out his neck, waving the gun around. Alarms sound in his mind, he needs to put a stop to this before Crocker decides to turn against them. He knows how this needs to end. “So you fucked up a surgery, and your solution was to chop a man to pieces? You’re fucking sick.”
He flinches, like the words are a physical blow. Nate keeps applying pressure, ignoring Piper whispering at him to stop. He’s pushing him towards his inevitable conclusion, he’s positive he’s echoing what Crocker is already thinking. This story can only end one way, it just needs a shove in the right direction. “Did you think you could just live with yourself after this? Keep on going, business as usual?”
He knows- he knows- what will happen after this. It doesn’t stop him from biting out, “There’s only one place you should be aiming that fucking gun.” He puts the last nail in the coffin. “Save us all the trouble.”
He can see the moment Crocker snaps. It worked. He lets out a wet chuckle before whispering, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Then, he swallows his gun, choking out a wretched, gurgling wail. Before either of them can move, he pulls the trigger and paints the walls red, collapsing on to what remains of Earl Sterling.
"Goddamnit, Blue.” She wipes a hand across her face, then wearily says, “We could’ve gotten him to turn himself in. Willingly.”
He holsters his gun and tells her the truth. “There’s no way he would’ve come quietly.”
She gives him a hard look. “You don’t know that.”
He’s pretty sure he does. He knows what he saw - an unstable man on the edge. There’s nothing more dangerous. He knows that better than anyone.
She sighs. “We’re going to security, we need to report what happened.”
Diamond City security is the last place he wants to be, but after what he’s just done, the punishment feels appropriate. Even if he was right to do it, the blood is still on his hands. It’s better this way - Piper can keep her conscious clean and he can live with the weight of doing what’s necessary. He’s not proud of himself; he’s sickened. It doesn’t change the reality of the situation. It had to be done. Better to do something monstrous than let something monstrous happen to Piper.
He sighs. “Alright, let’s go.”
“C’mon, we’ll fill Nick in tomorrow. You’re staying on my couch tonight.”
It’s clear he doesn’t have a choice, so he decides not to fight her. Piper drags him along to Diamond City security, and he purposefully doesn’t say a word to the guards, letting Piper take the lead.
Nate sleeps fitfully, finding himself awake long before Piper. The sound of Doc Crocker swallowing his gun is burned into his memory, he needs something else to focus on. He’s restless, the buzzing under his skin is returning, making it hard to keep still. Dogmeat is watching him closely. Under scrutiny, he wracks his mind for something to do. At a loss, he ends up occupying himself with cleaning his gun, methodically disassembling it and laying out the pieces neatly on the coffee table. His mind wanders, and he forcibly keeps it away from Earl Sterling and his fate.
He’s felt lost since his trip to the Institute, adrift with no sign of the shore. He’s not sure where he fits in to his strange new reality. Preston’s words echo in his mind, help yourself by helping others. It’s frustrating, the altruism the man has. But, what does he have to lose? If nothing else, it would give him something to do. Sitting still is becoming unbearable. Besides, the list of things he has to atone for is growing longer by the day. He needs to balance out his debts.
Small footsteps on the stairs shake him out of his thoughts. He looks up to see Nat, yawning and stretching her arms over her head.
She smacks her lips and gives him an unimpressed look. “Do you do anything else but sulk?”
His huffs, mildly offended. “What’s it to you?” Dogmeat plants his head across his legs, steadying him.
“You’re in my house, mister. I ask the questions.”
Fighting a child is the last thing he should be doing, so he backs down. “Ok, Jeez, sorry.”
Dogmeat grins at him. Outdone by a preteen.
Shut it. He frowns down at him.
She throws herself on to the couch next to him. “Whatcha doing?”
He looks down at the disassembled gun, then back up at Nat, and says flatly, “Cleaning a gun.”
She rolls her eyes, the resemblance to Piper is striking. “Sulking and cleaning a gun. You’re a real downer.”
“Alright, what should I do instead?”
“Make me breakfast.” She’s not asking, she’s telling.
He tries to suppress a smile. “Sure, just point me in the right direction.”
With Nat bossing him around, he puts together a haphazard but passable meal. By the time Piper wanders down the stairs, Nat has eaten and Nate feels more than a little flustered. She laughs at him when he tries pleading with his eyes. Save me, I’m not cut out for this.
“Nat, leave him alone. Go get ready for school.”
“Ugh, fine.”
When Nat disappears up the stairs, he whispers, “Is she always this sassy?”
Piper chuckles. “Absolutely, keeps me on my toes.” She sits on the sofa and starts putting his gun back together. “So, what’s your next move?”
He joins her, thinking over what he wants to say. Dogmeat gives him a pointed look. After a moment, he answers, “I have the names of a few places that could use an extra set of hands. I think I’ll check it out.”
“Alright.” She’s smiling when she looks at him. “I’m coming with you.”
He opens his mouth to protest, but she shushes him. “I’m coming whether you like it or not.”
He sighs. “Why?”
“You lack finesse, shoot first ask questions later isn’t always the way to go.”
He doesn’t have a response to that, so he just glares at her and crosses his arms.
She’s right. He can hear the amusement in Dogmeat’s voice.
“See? Can’t argue with the truth.”
He’s fighting a battle on two fronts, so he starts grasping at straws. “What about Nat?”
She finishes assembling the gun and hands it to him. “Nick and Ellie can keep an eye on her while I’m gone.”
That was his only piece of ammunition against her, she has him beat. He says the words aloud while looking at Dogmeat. “Fine, you win.”
The buzzing under his skin worsens as they walk, making his fingers twitch. Dogmeat keeps bumping his hands, which is only bringing awareness to the feeling. By the time they reach their destination, Nate’s ready to tear his skin off.
Oberland Station, as it turns out, is a converted railroad depot surrounded by a modest garden. The two women there greet him and Piper with the barrels of their shoddy guns. It takes everything in Nate’s power - and Piper’s tight grip on his arm - to not draw his own in response. They aren’t off to a great start, he’s already grinding his teeth, so he lets Piper open the conversation. She’s better with people, anyway.
She keeps her voice even and friendly. “Let’s take it easy now, we don’t mean any harm.”
The women share a look, and the one closest to them says, “How do we know you ain’t raiders?”
Oh for fuck’s sake. If they were raiders, why the hell would they answer truthfully? The question is so unbelievably stupid he can’t keep himself from asking, “Do we look like raiders to you?”
Piper elbows him and whispers, “Cut it out.”
The woman shifts uneasily, eyes looking them over. “No, suppose you don’t.” She relaxes, just a little. “Why’re you here? We weren’t expecting any traders.”
Piper takes a tentative step forward, angling herself in front of him. “We heard you might need a hand, do you mind filling us in? So we can see if we can help?”
Her eyebrows raise, and she lowers her gun, motioning to the other woman to do the same. “We got some raiders who’ve been paying us visits, and we’re running out of things to take.” This place is far too exposed, almost entirely indefensible. He can see why it became a target for raiders.
The other woman adds, “Didn’t expect anyone to actually show up.” She eyes them suspiciously. “What’s in it for you?”
His hands have formed fists, keeping himself in check is a struggle. He bites out, “Nothing, do you want the help or not?”
Piper takes over again, standing directly in front of him now. He realizes she’s trying to keep their attention on her and away from his bad manners. “Why don’t you tell us where they are, we’ll go take care of them for you.”
She gets the women talking while Nate simmers in his building anger. He doesn’t have a good reason to be this annoyed, not that that’s ever stopped him. Piper’s trying to get a location out of them, but they’re more preoccupied with listing everything the raiders have taken from them. He doesn’t want to undo all the goodwill she’s trying to build, but he’s ready to start screaming in frustration.
Dogmeat sounds worried. Calm down, Piper’s handling it.
He ignores him. He can’t take it anymore. “Get to the point.”
They glare at him, but it gets them the information they need. The second the woman says, “They’re at Backstreet Apparel,” he turns on his heel and walks away, Dogmeat keeping pace.
It takes Piper a moment to catch up with him, she was probably trying to smooth things over with the women. When she falls into step beside him, she says, “Jeez, Blue, I thought pre-war people were supposed to be nice. Polite, even.”
“I’ve never been nice. Don’t know what gave you the impression that I was.”
“Yeah, that’s becoming obvious. You could at least try, though.”
He stops and glares at her. She sounds so much like Codsworth right now, without the pretentious accent. It makes the anger that’s been building under her skin boil over. He gets in her face and speaks through gritted teeth. “I don’t need to be nice to help them.”
She doesn’t back down, matching his tone and pushing him back with a hand to his chest. “Stop that! Don’t you dare take your shit out on me.”
She’s right to say it, but it doesn’t stop the irritation setting off sparks under his skin, so he turns away from her, running his hands through his hair and lacing his fingers together behind his head.
Dogmeat bumps into him forcefully, making him stumble. He doesn’t need to say anything for Nate to get the point. He closes his eyes and takes several deep breaths. He waits until he’s able to look at her without saying something cutting, then turns back around, biting his tongue forcefully.
“Look, you’ve had a lot of bad things happen recently, I get that.” She jerks a thumb over her shoulder at Oberland Station. “But it’s not their fault. And it’s not my fault, either.”
He runs a hand over his mouth, not sure how to respond. Dogmeat presses into his leg, and something loosens in his chest, just slightly.
“If you gotta take all of that out on someone,” She motions to him with her hands, “At least make it someone who deserves it. Like the raiders we’re about to squash.”
He can’t help but ask, “Isn’t it not their fault either?”
“Nope, it isn’t. They didn’t destroy your family, but they did destroy someone’s. Or they will.”
“So they deserve it?”
“Exactly.” She swats at him. “So get your shit together and let’s go bust some heads.”
By the time they approach Backstreet Apparel, Nate’s feeling less like a ticking time bomb and more like an exposed wire. Dogmeat kept nudging his hands when they formed fists, reminding him to loosen them and keep himself focused. This time, it helped. Piper made a good point, and he can’t help but think that it would be worth listening to her.
Dogmeat whines when they’re about a block away from the store, so Piper and Nate stay low and stick to the sides of the buildings lining the river before coming to a stop behind an overturned refrigerator.
They peer out over the top, and Nate spots a turret above the doorway to the store, with another loaded into a shopping cart on a re-purposed tractor trailer. There’s at least one raider outside, keeping watch.
Ducking back down, he looks to Piper. “How should we play this?” She’s clearly the better person to be making decisions right now.
Piper chews her lip for a moment, thinking. Then she says, “Give me your rifle.”
He hesitates, and she rolls her eyes. “Blue, I’m a good shot, I’ll deal with the turrets and you and Dogmeat can cover me.”
He sighs, handing over the rifle and some ammunition. “Alright.”
She steadies the rifle on the side of the refrigerator. She takes a moment to find her mark, and exhales slowly, squeezing the trigger. The turret in the shopping cart explodes, knocking the raider next to it off the trailer.
“You are a good shot, impressive.”
She grins, eyes focused down the sights of the rifle. “I know, right?”
Piper lines up her shot on the second turret as it spins to face them. She hits it, but it's not enough to destroy it. It starts firing down in their direction, making them take cover.
When the turret stops firing, cooling down, Piper leans back out to take another shot. Before she can, a raider appears to Nate’s right, yelling and winding up a swing with a tire iron. He wasn’t paying enough attention, how the hell did this asshole get so close without him noticing?
Without any kind of plan, he launches up, dodging the swing and reaching for his pistol. He’s slow, too slow, and isn’t ready for the second swing. The raider catches him in his side, just under his ribs, knocking him to the ground, wheezing.
It hurts. He can’t take in a full breath, lungs contracting and pressure flaring along his side. Spasms race along the muscles of his torso, keeping him from getting back up. He looks up, seeing the raider bringing the tire iron over his head, a cruel smile on his face, before Dogmeat rips into his leg, distracting him. Nate tries to fumble for his gun, hands clumsy, but the raider’s chest bursts while he flails on the ground, and he collapses. Piper stands behind him, rifle in hand.
She kneels next to him, setting the rifle aside, and he gasps, “The turret-“
“I blew it up already.” She pries his hands off of where he’s pressing them into his side and pulls his shirt up, poking around the area. When he flinches at her touch, she says, “Ok, not great.”
He stops her when she pulls out a stimpak, voice thready. “I’m fine, I’ll walk it off.”
She rolls her eyes. “Blue, that would be way more believable if you weren’t rolling around on the ground like a kicked puppy.”
“You’re wasting a stimpak, I’m not even bleeding.”
“On the outside, sure. Let’s not find out the hard way that you’re bleeding on the inside.” Slapping his hands away, she sinks the needle into his waist and depresses it.
After a moment, the tightness in his chest lessens and he’s able to take a full breath. The tension in his body releases, and he pushes himself up to sitting. He takes a few steadying breaths, then slowly stands.
Piper pokes at him. “See? It helped.”
“Yeah, yeah, you were right.”
“Again.” She grabs his arm and drags him toward Backstreet Apparel, not returning the rifle. He doesn’t fight her on it.
They take their time searching around the building, looking for exits. There’s only one way in on this level, the fire escape above them has rotted away on the first floor, far too high up to reach, leaving only the front door. It’s not ideal.
Piper presses her ear to the door and says, “I hear voices, we’re gonna have to move fast.”
“How do you wanna do this?”
She thinks for a moment, then says, “It’s dark out, there’s no light to give us away when we open the door. If we go slow they may not hear us.”
“And if they’re looking at the door?” It seems like a pretty significant flaw in her plan.
She waves him off. “We hope they aren’t. Or we shoot them faster than they shoot us.”
He wants to say something sarcastic, but bites his tongue. Piper told him off for taking out his anger on her earlier, he’ll save it for the raiders. He can’t come up with a better idea, anyway.
Piper readies the rifle, and they crouch down while Nate very slowly twists the knob, inching open the door and praying the ancient hinges don’t make any noise. He gets it open just enough for Piper and Dogmeat to slip inside, staying behind a row of display cases. He joins them, closing the door behind him.
There are two raiders on the other side of the room, deeply engrossed in their conversation. Piper meets his eyes and points to the one furthest from them, then back at herself. He nods, he’ll take the other.
They take their aim, and Piper whispers a countdown. Firing in tandem, the raiders drop on the other side of the room.
There’s commotion further in the store, from what Nate guesses is one of the back rooms. They hold their position, but no one comes to investigate. They’ll have to flush them out. He stands and jogs toward the back hallway, avoiding a tripwire in his path, Piper behind him.
He picks up his pace as he nears the hallway, turning his head back when he hears Piper call out, “Blue, wait!”
A turret goes off to his side, and he finds himself on the floor getting dragged back by Piper. He tries to shrug her off and push himself to his feet. Before he can get upright, he becomes abruptly aware of a searing pain ripping its way through his thigh. Collapsing back against the wall, hands coming to meet his leg, he looks down. It’s bloody and torn by a volley of bullets from the turret.
There’s a lot of blood, and a lot of holes. He very stupidly says, “That’s not good.”
Piper whisper-shouts, “You think?” and grabs a wad of bandages from her bag. She packs them over the worst of the mess, taking his hands and slapping them down on his leg, making him groan behind closed teeth. “Press down.”
He obeys, feeling sweat start to bead on his forehead. Breathing through his nose, he wills himself to stay calm. This is bad, really bad. There are still raiders here, and he’s easy prey.
Dogmeat bumps his shoulder with his nose. Stay calm, you’re not alone.
He feels her wrapping something around the top of his thigh and looks down to see a belt being tightened as a makeshift tourniquet. She cinches the worn leather, making him bite his tongue harshly to keep from shouting, knocking his head back into the wall.
He barely feels the pinch of the first stimpak, and only knows she uses a second because he watches her do it. Her hands cover his and press down hard. She keeps her eyes down the hall, and he fights to control his breathing as he feels the stimpaks get to work.
After what feels like a lifetime, she glances down and lifts the bandages, assessing the damage. Replacing his hands, she looks up and says, “Me and Dogmeat will take care of the rest, try not to bleed out on me, ok?”
“I’ll do my best.”
She pats his good leg and stands, leaning around the corner and easily destroying the turret that he completely missed. He turns his head toward the hallway, watching them enter a room to the right, hearing a short but intense gunfight. Holding his breath, he drags his pistol closer, taking aim down the hall. His arm sags when Dogmeat comes bounding back out, followed closely by Piper. She salutes him with a grin and picks her way up the staircase.
He listens to the pop-pop-pop of gunfire in the upper levels of the building, body tense. He should be up there with her, watching her back. Instead, he’s bleeding and immobilized, feet from the front door. He knocks his head back against the wall, swallowing thickly. What’s the point of him, if he can’t even make it past the first floor? He has to do better, he needs to do better. He can’t allow himself to be a burden. He’s not worth anything if he’s a burden. His heart is stuttering in his chest, and spots are dancing in his vision.
Noise on the stairs makes him turn his head, leveling his pistol with the hallway. It better be Piper. If it’s not, he doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do without her.
He exhales shakily when he sees her familiar red coat, relief flooding his veins. She marches up to him, Dogmeat by her side, and puts her hands on her hips. “Good, you’re still alive.”
“So are you, that’s two for two. Plus Dogmeat.”
“So three.” She flops down next to him, leaning back against the wall and drawing her knees up.
He grunts instead of giving her an actual response.
Knocking her shoulder against his, she says, “How’s the leg?”
He peels back the bandages, showing her a constellation of holes and flesh. “Better, it missed the bone. I’ll be fine in a couple hours.”
She fights back a smile that threatens to grow on her face, before she starts laughing.
“What’s so funny?”
“You-“ She snorts, laughing even harder. “You’re really bad at this.”
He glares at her. “At what, exactly?”
“Not getting shot. Or bludgeoned.” She pokes at him. “I bet if you went upstairs, you’d’ve blown yourself up on a landmine.”
He tries to bite back a smile. With the rate he’s going, that’s exactly what would have happened.
“See? You know I’m right.”
He gives up on hiding his smile, turning to her and saying, “Probably. I didn’t do great today.”
“No kidding.”
He waits for Piper’s laughs to taper off, leaning his head back against the wall and closing his eyes. They sit for a while, not talking, Dogmeat laying at their feet.
Nate breaks the silence by asking, “So, now what?”
She wraps her arms around her knees, resting her head against her legs and turning her face to him. “Go back to Oberland, let them know we’ve done some pest control.”
He’s suddenly very worried that they’ll need something to prove the job is done, something grisly and horrible. The words come flying out of his mouth before he has the chance to think about them. “We don’t have to bring any heads back as proof, do we?”
She looks appalled. “No, good god why would you even think that?”
He sighs, relieved. “I don’t know, this place is so goddamn weird. Good to know that isn’t a thing.”
She starts laughing again. “It’s definitely not.”
He elbows her. “Stop laughing at me, I’m still learning.”
She takes a few deep breaths, calming herself down. “Ok, ok, I’ll stop.”
They sit quietly again, and Nate takes a moment to undo the tourniquet, gritting his teeth as the blood returns to his leg.
Piper softly asks, “What are we doing after Oberland?”
The easy answer is to go help another settlement on Preston’s list, but Nate knows there’s something else he needs to do first. He’s been putting it off too long. Without the pressure of finding Shaun, he has no excuse for avoiding it. He should do this by himself, but a small, frightened part of him wants Piper to be there, to not be alone.
His shoulders sag, and his voice comes out soft and sad. “I think I need to bury Nora.”
Piper doesn’t ask him who Nora is, she’s smart enough to figure it out on her own. They don’t talk much on the road to Oberland Station, and Nate keeps his distance while Piper breaks the good news to the women living there. She returns with a shovel, but doesn’t bring attention to it.
They set out for Vault 111, only stopping when the sun sets and they’re forced to make camp for the night. Piper tosses him a new pair of pants without a word, and he’s thankful she hasn’t tried to draw him into a conversation. He doesn’t feel ready to talk, not beyond what’s necessary. He doesn’t sleep that night, keeping watch with Dogmeat by his side.
When he takes them the long way around Sanctuary, avoiding going through, Piper doesn’t comment. They walk in silence until Piper stops him with a hand to his arm, softly saying, “This looks like a nice spot, what do you think?”
They’re in a small clearing, surrounded by large trees and bunches of wildflowers. It’s quiet, almost peaceful. “Yeah, I guess it is.”
She hands him the shovel, and he starts digging while she walks away. As he moves the earth, he lets his mind wander to the places he’s been avoiding. It’s unfair, so incredibly unfair, that Nora’s life ended the way it did. She was a good person, made him a better person, even though he fought her on it. She had dreams, aspirations, ones that she was going to make her reality. She wanted to change the world, piece by piece, and he really believed she was going to make it happen. Instead, she got nuclear armageddon and a bullet to the head.
He stops digging to wipe his eyes, and notices that Piper’s been collecting rocks, stacking them neatly by the open grave. It’s a small gesture, but it makes his heart twist in his chest. He doesn’t deserve this quiet kindness. It should be Nora standing here, not him. He starts digging again, this time with more force.
His motions start to slow after a while. Nora didn’t deserve a life in the wasteland. She wasn’t a killer, wasn’t capable of monstrous things the way he is. This place would have ground her into dust. She was too gentle, too trusting - she married him, after all. She didn’t deserve to die, but she didn’t deserve to live like this either. An awful, desperate part of him is almost jealous. She didn’t have to see what’s become of the world, of her son. She doesn’t have to find a way to keep living after everything fell apart around her.
He finishes digging, the sun hanging low in the sky. His blood feels like ice in his veins. He moves to walk to the Vault, but turns and looks at Piper instead, unsure of what to say.
She makes the decision for him. “I’ll come with you, unless you tell me not to.”
He just nods, and they don’t say anything to each other. She stays with him as they take the elevator into the Vault, as he opens Nora’s cryo pod, as he carries her stiff, cold body to the grave. When he kneels down to push the dirt over Nora, she kneels next to him and silently does the same. They place the gathered rocks in neat lines around the edges of the grave as the sun sets.
He sits back at the foot of the grave and draws his knees up, resting his arms across them. His eyes start to burn, and he brings a hand to his face and takes a shaky breath. Dogmeat lays down next to him, while Piper sits on his other side, pressing her shoulder to his. She wraps an arm around him when his shoulders start to shake. He wishes he could apologize to Nora for what he did to her son, but he can’t. It opens a pit in his stomach.
They sit this way for a long while, until Nate takes his hand away from his face and exhales slowly. After a moment, Piper asks, “What was she like?”
It hurts to talk about this, but he needs to tell her. He can’t be the only one carrying this memory with him, it’s too much to bear alone. “Smart, really smart, a lawyer. A public defender, she stood up for people who needed it. She believed in them, thought everyone was capable of changing for the better. She always had something good to say about everyone, even people who didn’t deserve it.”
There’s a smile in her voice. “She sounds really special.”
“She was.” He inhales, then exhales slowly and says, “She was so excited to be a mother. She was great at it.”
“Were you?”
“Was I what?”
“Excited to be a father?”
That makes him pause. He avoided asking himself the same question, at all costs. The honesty he shows Piper surprises him. “I don’t know.”
Piper doesn’t respond, and instead leans her head on his shoulder and sighs. They sit quietly for a while longer, until he feels her weight grow heavier and hears her breathing even out. It’s been a long day, and it can’t be a comfortable way to sleep, so he whispers, “Piper, wake up.”
She jerks upright, blowing out a breath. “Sorry, Blue.”
He moves to stand, reaching a hand out to pull her up. “Don’t be. Let’s go.”
They find a place to spend the night, and while Piper sleeps he leans back against a tree, Dogmeat’s weight across his legs. He hopes Nora is happy, wherever she is, finally free of him. The afterlife isn’t something he thinks he believes in, but it’s a pretty thought. He absently strokes Dogmeat’s fur and listens to the sounds of the forest around them until the sun rises.
They’ve been walking aimlessly, headed vaguely south, without speaking for most of the morning. It started to snow, a blanket of white settling across the ruins, muffling the ambient noise of the Commonwealth. Piper eventually breaks the silence.
“I think we should go back to Diamond City for a couple days, see how Nat’s doing.” She nudges him with her elbow. “Maybe Nick has a case for us.”
“Is the world ready for another round of ‘Nate Anderson: detective extraordinaire’?” The joke comes out absentmindedly.
She throws her head back and laughs, loud and long. “Ok, probably not. Once was enough.”
When he hears her laugh, something settles warm and solid in his chest. It makes him feel lighter, easing the heavy pressure that’s been threatening to crush him. He’s suddenly struck by a thought - he never wants her to stop laughing, not for anything. It almost feels like a purpose.
Chapter 8: December 1 - December 15
Summary:
Piper makes her case.
“My God, a moment of bliss. Why, isn't that enough for a whole lifetime?” - Fyodor Dostoevsky, White Nights
Notes:
cw: graphic depiction of a corpse
Chapter Text
Nate taps his foot, leaning against the wall of the bank vault, arms crossed, resisting the urge to pace. They’ve been on the move for a few days, scavenging supplies, bullets, valuables, anything they can get their hands on; it’s been…good. Not sitting still, methodically combing through ruins and getting into scraps with raiders, super mutants, ghouls, anything that crosses their path. He’s almost been able to ignore the crawling sensation running through his bones, but now it’s becoming very, very noticeable.
Piper’s busy picking the locks of the few safety deposit boxes that haven’t been opened in the past 200 years, too busy to notice his fidgeting. Dogmeat rolls around in the dirt on the other side of the room, close to the hole blown in the side of the building that exposes the vault to the outside. Nate tries to focus on his movements. He grinds his teeth against the pressure building at the base of his skull.
He has to break the silence, the quiet sound of Piper picking locks isn’t enough. “What do you think you’re gonna find in these things?” It’s not a great question, it has an obvious answer, but it’s better than nothing.
She answers absentmindedly, focused on the lock in front of her. “Something worth selling, hopefully.”
When she doesn’t keep talking, he asks, “So why don’t we do this all the time?”
She grins, eyes focused on her task. “It takes a while, these are serious locks. Plus, they don’t always have something good inside.” She cheers when the lock clicks open, pulling out the box and rifling through the contents. “Ugh, just a bunch of prewar money.”
He frowns when she dumps the box on to the ground. “Isn’t that worth something?”
“Nah, it’s useless.”
“Why?”
She raises an eyebrow at him, picking up one of the bills gingerly. Staring him down, she waves it around, and it falls to pieces.
“Ah.”
Turning back to the wall of locked boxes, she says, “200 years will do that to paper, you know. It doesn’t always hold up.”
He doesn’t respond, letting silence fall around them. It’s too much to stand still, so he pushes away from the wall and starts walking a line between Dogmeat and Piper, kicking safety deposit boxes out of his way. He has the inexplicable urge to clean the vault, get the debris off the floor, sweep up the dust, and put the boxes in their rightful place. He kicks the next box a little too hard, sending it into the wall and startling Dogmeat.
When he turns and heads back toward Piper, she asks, “Hey, do you wanna learn-“
“Yes.” He cuts her off, veering away from the path he’s carving through the floor and coming to stand beside her.
Handing him a screwdriver and a box of bobby pins, she takes a few out for herself and begins explaining the process, miming the movements in the air between them. He starts working on a lock, Piper over his shoulder giving him instructions. Once he’s gotten the hang of pushing on the tumblers, she goes back to her own lock, turning him loose to learn mostly by doing.
He almost catches the second pin on the lock, before over-tightening the screwdriver and snapping the bobby pin. Trying again, he snaps the next bobby pin before he can shift the first tumbler into place. He keeps working, but can’t seem to make it past the second tumbler. A pile of misshapen and broken bobby pins collects at his feet. Piper’s steadily opening safety deposit box after safety deposit box while he struggles to make any progress on his first.
Every snap of a bobby pin breaking sounds like a gunshot, getting louder and louder. He’s lost count of how many times he’s tried to open this godforsaken lock. The next pin is in his fist as he raises up to the locked box, knuckles white, pressing furiously against the metal, arm shaking.
Dogmeat leans into his leg. Punching it won’t help.
He takes a steadying breath, exhaling through his nose. “Yeah, yeah.”
“What?” Right, Piper’s here.
“Nothing.” He loosens his grip on the pin, sliding it in to the lock and purposefully not looking at Piper. He needs to be more careful, she’ll think he’s nuts if she finds out he’s talking to Dogmeat. Shooting a dirty look down at him, he gets nothing but a grin in return.
Forcefulness is getting him nowhere, so he loosens his grip on the pin and works it down the tumblers slowly, applying the lightest pressure he can on the screwdriver. The lock clicks open, screwdriver turning the mechanism, and he releases a breath he didn’t notice he was holding. “I got it!”
Piper asks, “What’s inside? Please tell me it’s something useful.”
He opens the metal cover and pulls out the box, opening the lid. There’s a single piece of paper inside. It’s a deed. He sighs. “We’re now the proud owners of 15 Commonwealth Ave.” He looks at her with raised eyebrows. “How fancy.”
“And very useful.” She sighs, then says under her breath, “There has to be something in one of these.”
They work in silence, finding nothing of value in the wall of locked boxes. He’s getting better at this, finding a rhythm and focusing on what’s in front of him. After a time, the focus begins to fade, the quiet becomes grating, and his fingers start to twitch.
“Can I get your opinion on something?”
He inhales, gathering himself and blinking a few times. Flexing his hands, he says, “Yeah, of course.”
She keeps working at a lock while she talks, eyebrows drawn together. “I’ve been working on this story, it’s kinda getting me in some hot water.”
“Is that the one that had the mayor so upset?” Upset seems like an understatement for what he saw outside the gates of Diamond City that day.
“Yeah, that one. Good first impression, right? Anyway, I got this weird feeling about him, and the evidence just keeps piling up.”
“What kind of feeling?”
“I think there’s a chance-“ She cuts herself off. “Hear me out, ok?”
“I’m listening, lay it on me.”
“I think there’s a chance he’s a synth.”
Nate snaps his bobby pin inside the lock. He needs more information right now. Trying to keep his tone casual, he prods at her to keep going. “Oh yeah?”
“He has an agenda, one I can’t put my finger on. And it’s not just that he’s looking out for the wealthier constituents, a lot of times it just doesn’t make sense - for anyone. They don’t investigate missing person cases in Diamond City. It never happens. People vanish all the time and nothing happens. There’s always an excuse why they can’t do anything about it, but that doesn’t hold water the longer you look at it.”
He starts fishing the pieces of broken bobby pin out of the lock. Suspicious? Sure. Corrupt? Probably. But he’s not connecting the dots, so he asks, “How does that make him a synth?”
“People going missing usually means the Institute is involved. It’d benefit them if no one in Diamond City asked any questions. Besides, he keeps getting these couriers - strangers, no one knows who they are. They show up every couple months, never the same one twice, and I can’t figure out what they’re doing, what they’re giving him. Or what he’s giving them.”
Her conclusion is starting to make sense. He replays his one interaction with the mayor of Diamond City in his head, looking it over with new eyes. “Didn’t he also go a little overboard on you for the article? Kicking you out of the city, I mean.” It was very public, he even had the guards in on it. Nothing about that was normal.
“Exactly, it’s one thing to bad mouth me, another to evict me.”
With a fresh bobby pin, he forces his shaking hands to get back to work on the lock. “’The lady doth protest too much.’”
She looks at him, confused. “Are you…quoting Hamlet at me?”
“Yes.” He keeps his eyes on the lock, pressing cautiously at the tumblers.
“Huh. Didn’t take you for a reader.”
“Rude, Piper. I read plenty.” The bobby pin snaps and he sighs, pulling another out of the box. “My point is that he’s acting like he has something to hide.”
“He is, but what he’s hiding isn’t really clear. I have my suspicions, and him working for the Institute adds up, but I don’t have any proof. At least nothing solid.” She snaps her bobby pin, cursing, and it makes him feel better about his own performance. Just a little.
“Yet. You don’t have any proof yet. You should keep digging, maybe something else will turn up. Just try not to push too many buttons in the process. Getting kicked out of Diamond City probably won’t help your investigation.”
“That’s a good point.” She quietly adds, “Thanks, for listening to me.”
“Anytime.”
Nate just barely resists the urge to look over his shoulder as they work their way through the rest of the safety deposit boxes. An uneasy feeling squirms under his skin; synths can look so human, you’d never be able to tell you’re looking at one. It’s wrong, an affront on nature, blasphemous. It’s unsettling. A synth in a position of power is even worse. He needs to be on his guard.
They give up after a while, with nothing to show for their efforts. Piper looks troubled as they walk away from the bank, frowning and uncharacteristically quiet. He decides to give her some time to gather her thoughts before he asks her about whatever’s bothering her.
There’s a clean hole through the mole rat’s head, a small puddle of blood pooling underneath. Standing over the carcass, Nate glances at Piper and considers giving her the rifle permanently. She’s an excellent shot. Dogmeat sniffs at the mole rat’s head, then looks back up at him.
They’ve been standing here staring for too long. Nate breaks the silence. “So are we doing this here or back at camp?”
“Here, it’s gonna get really gross.” Piper’s voice is flat and absent, she’s still troubled - and not by the mole rat.
“Great.” It’s not great, not by any means.
When neither of them make a move, he asks, “Do you want to…”
She shakes her head. “I really, really don’t.”
They should have talked about this more beforehand. “Well I don’t know how to. Do you?”
Piper shrugs, still looking down at the mole rat. “In broad strokes.”
He sighs and rolls up his sleeves. “Ok, give me some direction.”
He’d rather be doing anything other than butchering an over-sized rodent, but the sun is beginning to set and they ran out of food this morning. They could take their chances looking for something in the ruins, but this was the more logical choice. At the time. In practice, it doesn’t feel so logical. With Piper’s guidance, he inexpertly loosens the skin around the mole rat’s hind legs until he can peel it away from the flesh of its body with a few firm tugs. It takes everything in him not to vomit.
When she tells him how to get the organs out, he pauses. “Piper.”
“Mhm?” She looks just as nauseous as him.
“I hate this.”
She nods, agreeing, then says, “We could always find some rad roaches. Those aren’t so bad.”
That’s even worse, as far as he’s concerned. There have to be limits. “I’m drawing the line at eating bugs. There’s only so much I can take.”
“Just…don’t cut too deep. We’ll have to start over if you hit an organ.”
It takes several passes with his combat knife to cut deep enough to allow the organs to tumble out on to the ground. He really didn’t want to have to do this again, the caution was worth it. After cutting out a few haphazard chunks of gamey meat, he gives up on finishing the job. It’s enough for the night, it’ll do. Piper hands him what’s left of a sheet to wrap their meal, and they walk back to their camp without saying a word.
Later, when the sun has set and their fire is starting to die down, Nate notices Piper still looks troubled. She’s rhythmically picking at her nails, tapping her foot and staring into the embers from the log next to the fire. The sound is grating, it’s making him grind his teeth. Dogmeat whines. Getting her to talk about what’s on her mind may make her stop.
From his place next to her he asks, “What’re you thinking about?”
Her hands pause, then start back up again. “It’s nothing.”
“Something’s bothering you.” He prods at the fire with a stick, keeping his tone light and even. “Is it about the mayor?”
“No, it’s not that.”
That’s not what he was expecting, but it doesn’t change the strategy. “Talking about it could help.”
She sighs. “I don’t know, Blue.”
Knocking his shoulder against hers, he says, “It can’t hurt.”
Piper knocks her shoulder back against his, holding her hand out for the stick. He gives it to her and watches the embers fly as she starts poking at them. She didn’t tell him to leave it, she’s thinking over what he said. He lets the silence hang until she’s ready to start talking. Sparks fly off the dying fire at Piper’s movements, dancing up in to the night air. His eyes track them as they weave their way through the smoke until they blink out of existence. He wonders where they go when they die.
Piper’s voice startles him. “I’m worried-“ She stops short, putting the stick down and wringing her hands together, shifting her weight on the log before starting again. “I’m worried I’m messing up with Nat.”
He frowns. “Why?”
“The paper doesn’t exactly pay well. I can’t give her the things other kids have.” She’s sitting stiffly, using a different tone when she says this, like she changed her mind about where she was going to take the conversation. There’s more to this than just money.
“It’s not just about that, is it?”
She sighs, deflating a bit. “No, it’s not.”
Nate gives her space to answer, reaching over and grabbing the stick. Jabbing it at the fire is at least giving them something to look at, and something to do with his hands. He needs to keep his mouth shut, to let her talk first. He doesn’t want to scare her off by pushing too hard.
“I’m setting a bad example for her.” She starts chewing her lip, tapping her heel on the ground. He’s never heard her sound this unsure of herself.
“How?” He sets the stick down.
“Taking big risks, ruffling feathers, not taking no for an answer when the truth is still out there.” She starts picking her nails again, it’s almost unconscious. “She’s starting to do what I did when I was her age, and I don’t want her to end up like me. She’s already so…”
Nate pulls at her wrist to stop her assault on her nails. “Bullheaded?”
Piper chuckles and lets him pull her hands apart, setting them on her thighs and flexing her fingers. “Yeah, that.”
“Would it really be so bad if she takes after you?” He thinks the world could use more Pipers.
Making a face, she says, “She’d be in danger, I’d say that’s bad.”
“You don’t know that for sure.”
“I guess. I’ve been trying to steer her away from the riskier stuff, but she doesn’t listen to me, not really.” She scowls. “Everything’s a debate now.”
“Would any twelve year old listen to an adult telling them no? I wouldn’t have.” He definitely didn’t. It’s the nature of being twelve. “Besides, it’s…I think it’s a good thing she gives you a hard time.”
Shaking her head and glaring at him, she says, “How is that a good thing? I can’t keep her in line, that’s a pretty clear parental failure.”
The answer’s simple. “She’s not afraid of you.”
Piper looks at him quizzically.
He keeps going. “She’s comfortable enough to talk back without worrying about what would happen. I’d say that’s a pretty clear parental success.”
She takes a slow inhale, then turns back to the fire and says softly, “I wasn’t thinking about it like that.”
“I’m not saying there aren’t risks, following after you isn’t the safest career path.” Piper laughs a little. “But it’s not as bad as you think. From where I’m sitting, at least.”
She smiles and whispers, “I’ll have to keep that in mind.”
Dogmeat stays up with him after Piper goes to sleep, watching the fire finally die. He thinks over his conversation with Piper, looking for the parts he can do something about. There’s nothing he can do about Piper and Nat’s relationship, it’s not his place to get in the middle, but there is something he can do about their lack of spare caps. Commonwealth settlements don’t seem to pay much for whatever help they can offer, but he can give whatever they get to Piper. He’ll have to start looking for work - real work - soon.
“There’s people living at Starlight Drive-in now?” Piper stands up from ruffling Dogmeat’s face, listening to his explanation of their next stop.
“That’s what I’ve heard. It’s recent.” A drive-in is a strange place for a settlement. Wouldn’t it be mostly pavement? And cars? How are they going to grow anything? Not that they can, it’s decidedly winter, the ground would be frozen. Maybe they’re planning on raising brahmin? But how would they get the feed-
“Are you even listening to me?” She’s glaring at him.
“What? Yes- yeah, definitely.”
“Uh-huh.”
Very convincing. Dogmeat’s grinning from behind her back.
“Sorry, what were you saying?” He hates when they team up on him. It’s happening more and more.
“Later.” She points at a man staring them down from the top of the hill, just outside the fence to Starlight. “Time to make a good first impression, Blue.”
As they get closer, the man pointedly cocks his shotgun. A clear message. Nate keeps his hands away from his own guns, in case their new shotgun-wielding friend gets trigger-happy. He doesn’t say anything, leaving them to start the conversation - it’s intimidating, Nate can admit that. He wonders if they’ve made a mistake coming here.
Piper steps in front of him and starts talking, voice open and friendly. He tries to keep his face relaxed, sending signals that he’s not a threat while she does the heavy lifting. She gets a name out of him - Roger - and seems to put him at ease enough to get them inside.
Roger’s face hardens when Nate walks past him. His act must not have been believable. It’s fair, Nate wouldn’t give himself any grace either, if he were Roger.
Beyond the fence, there’s a wide stretch of asphalt scattered with rusted out cars - the remains of the drive-in’s last audience. A couple cars have been dragged away from the building near the fence, making room for a lopsided shack pieced together with plywood and corrugated steel. There’s more people here than he was expecting - five that he can see, plus Roger, working on what looks like the foundation of another shack. When they get closer, the group has a quick conversation amongst themselves that he can’t hear. Three of them set down their tools and make their way over to Piper and Nate.
Piper introduces herself first, then Nate and Dogmeat, exchanging pleasantries with the settlers and complimenting their handiwork. They introduce themselves in turn: Pete, James, and Rebecka. He repeats their names to himself, trying to commit them to memory. Pete has a beard, James is bald, Rebecka has brown eyes. Pete, beard. James, bald. Rebecka, brown eyes.
Piper keeps the conversation going while Nate starts to drift again, their voices falling into a distant hum in the background. How are they going to survive here? If crops are out, it has to be livestock- or maybe they’re setting up a trading post? It is near a road, surely they’d get some caravan traffic. But how would they even sustain themselves? Are they rich? They don’t look-
His attention is wrenched back to the present when he catches an abrupt shift in the atmosphere around the conversation. Rebecka’s sidling up to Piper, a grin on her face. He didn’t hear what she said, but he knows that tone- low, warm, suggestive. She’s not even bothering to hide it, she’s flirting with Piper, right out here in the open, it’s such a fucking risk- He subtly adjusts his position, moving closer to Piper and glancing over at Pete and James. What he sees makes him pause. James is rolling his eyes, like this happens often, Pete’s just laughing-
Nate looks at Piper. She’s blushing. “Yes- yeah, we’ll, uh- we’ll take care of that for you!” Piper’s voice is higher than normal. “See you later!”
Rebecka winks, and Piper drags him away. What the hell is going on?
He feels vaguely lightheaded from the sudden panic and immediate crash into abject confusion. Once they’re out of sight from the drive-in, Piper tells him they’re on their way to Concord to deal with a group of raiders that have set up camp there. He needs to ask about what just happened, it’s not something he can ignore.
“So…” He hesitates. Piper lifts an eyebrow at him, silently telling him to continue. “People are…ok with that sort of thing?”
Piper stops walking, looking at him sharply. “Is that gonna be a problem, Blue?”
He waves his hands, placating. “No, no, not at all.” Definitely not. “I was just wondering.”
She narrows her eyes, then starts walking again. He falls in to step beside her.
“Most people don’t care. We all have bigger fish to fry.” She looks at him pointedly. “The ones who do care are pretty old-fashioned. Stuck in the past.”
He flashes a small smile at her. “Good to know.” He’s relieved, it’s for the best that mentality get left in the past. Something to keep in consideration. Now that it’s out there in the open, he tests the waters by teasing her. She looked so flustered. His smile widens and he nudges her with his elbow. “So, Rebecka, huh?”
Her face goes red and she huffs. “Shut up.”
“She was kinda pretty, wasn’t she?”
“Shut up.”
“I just thought it was interesting how-“
Piper takes off her hat and smacks him with it again and again, “Shut up, shut up, shut up.”
He mimes zipping his lips, holding his hands up in surrender. He’s going to bring this up later, without a doubt. Dogmeat barks and bounces around their legs, clearly thinking the same as Nate. Letting Piper keep her dignity for now, he puts his mind to work, focusing on not getting shot in downtown Concord.
Walking in to Diamond City still rattles Nate, but it’s getting easier to talk himself down from the ledge. Piper and Dogmeat being here helps. Seeing Nat helps. Knowing the Institute - Shaun - are done with him now that he’s no longer a threat helps. He’s on edge, but it’s manageable. It’s fine. He’s fine. If he’s keeping his hand close to his pistol, that’s no one’s business but his own.
Dogmeat takes off when they’re through the gate, tail wagging. They find him pawing at the door to Publick Occurrences; Nat must be inside, he’s getting attached to her.
Nat nearly knocks Piper over with a hug when they get inside, with Dogmeat trying to shove himself between them to join in. They look good together, as a unit.
He takes a moment to glance around the room, assessing what he sees with new eyes after his mole rat-fueled conversation with Piper. Everything he’s seen so far in the Commonwealth has been a little banged-up, a little worn-out, but now he’s noticing that Piper and Nat’s house is a little more banged-up and worn-out than average. The couch is sturdy, but obviously patched; their pots and pans are all dinged and stained from overuse; the printing press gets makeshift fixes instead of new parts. The last time he went through their cabinets, there wasn’t that much food - less than he’d expect for two people. And Piper’s spent her limited money on him?
They have another settlement to visit, maybe this one will actually pay them with more than a firm handshake and a ‘thanks’. He’s going to need to figure out a way to make caps reliably, there’s no way he’s paying anyone back at this rate.
“Blue!” Piper pokes his arm to get his attention, drawing him back out of his head. “You gotta stop daydreaming so much.”
“Sorry. Were you saying something?”
“Yes. I have to check in with someone, about that thing I told you at the bank. Can you stay here?”
“Of course.”
“Great. Don’t burn the place down.”
Nodding sharply, he says, “No fires, got it.”
She keeps her weapons on her when she walks out, leaving Nate alone with Nat, who’s sizing him up in a way that’s making him nervous. He gingerly sets down his guns - it’s the polite thing to do - and decides to make small talk.
“So,” He clears his throat. “What have you been up to?” Not a great start.
She says flatly, “School.”
Dogmeat looks between them. Cagey, isn’t it?
He’s right. “There’s no way you only do school.”
“We get a lot of homework.”
Now he’s curious. “You’re too smart for that to take up all your free time. I don’t buy it.”
She narrows her eyes at him. “I’ve been working on something.”
Raising an eyebrow at her, he says, “That’s vague.”
“Why do you wanna know so bad?” She’s really making him work for it, he can respect that.
“Would you rather sit here in silence for who knows how long until Piper gets back?"
She huffs. “Fine, I’ll tell you. But you can’t tell Piper.”
“Why not?” That’s suspicious, he doesn’t know if he should be hiding things from Piper on behalf of her little sister.
“’Cause it’s not ready yet. I mean it, you can’t tell her.”
It does make it better that she’s planning on telling her on her own. “Alright, I won’t say anything.” He silently tells himself he’ll fill Piper in if it’s truly concerning, Nat’s safety needs to come first.
Nat holds up a pinky at him, face serious as death.
He looks down at it, then back up at her. “Really?”
“Swear it.” She’s not kidding, even a little bit.
He decides she deserves to be taken seriously, and if this is what she wants him to do, he can meet her where she’s at. He links his pinky with hers and solemnly promises to keep her secrets.
This seems to satisfy her. She crosses her arms and says, “You know Sheng Kawolski?”
“I do not.”
“He runs the water purifier in Diamond City. He has a monopoly, but that’s another story. I know he’s hired people to help him with the purifier, but it’s always outsiders. No one seems to know what happens to them, they just vanish. He says they skip town after getting paid, but I don’t believe him.”
“I see.” Wow, she’s not fooling around is she? “That’s worth investigating.”
“And I’m not doing this because I’m holding a grudge, either.” She says this like there’s something he should know. She has history with Sheng? What’s got a preteen making enemies with a water salesman?
Holding his hands up, he says, “I didn’t think you were.” It has him curious though, so he adds, “Why are you holding a grudge?”
“I’m not! We’re even. He got the message after I punched him for trying to kiss me.”
He’s going to tell Piper. He’s absolutely going to tell Piper this. “He tried to kiss you?!” He needs more details, it shouldn’t be hard to track down Sheng Kawolski. Surely Diamond City would allow him this brand of vigilante justice.
“I know, it was gross.” She makes a face. “Right in front of everyone at school.”
It keeps getting worse. Why is she so nonchalant about this? “And no one did anything?”
Nat rolls her eyes at him, like he’s the one with the inappropriate reaction. “I told you, I handled it fine. Got detention though.”
“You got detention?” His heart is pounding and red starts to gather in the corners of his vision. How does anyone think this situation is remotely acceptable? This is a new low for the Commonwealth.
“I know right? He shoulda gotten it too.” Her hands are on her hips, scowl on her face.
That doesn’t make sense. He’s missing something. After a moment of looking at her in confusion, the pieces start to fall in to place. He asks, “Nat. How old is Sheng?"
“Eleven, why?”
Jesus Christ. “Just…wanted to be sure.” He pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs, trying to settle his racing heart.
Dogmeat starts laughing at him. He glares down at him, As if you knew any better.
Refocusing, he throws himself on to the couch. “So, do you have any evidence?”
She runs up the stairs and returns with a folder full of notes, joining him on the couch and spreading her findings out on the table in front of them. She has profiles on the people who’ve gone missing; names, descriptions, the clothes they were wearing, dates, even sketches of their faces. It’s incredibly thorough, she even has a time line of when each person entered Diamond City and when they vanished. She’s just like Piper, minus a couple inches, he thinks with quiet amazement. She’s done her research, and is just missing a few pieces of the puzzle.
He could help with that, and it would keep her from getting too close to something potentially dangerous. “What if you had someone go undercover and take a job from Sheng?”
She sits up from where she had been leaning over her notes on the table, gathering them together and tucking them back in to the file. “You offering?”
“Yeah. Next time I’m in town I’ll see what’s going on over there. I’ll report back, maybe with some evidence for your story.”
The folder gets tucked away under her sweater. “And you won’t tell Piper.”
He grins. “I won’t tell Piper, promise.”
As if summoned, Piper slams the door open, eyes narrowed and jaw set. “Tell me what?”
He jumps and, a little panicked, asks, “Were you listening at the door?”
“Tell me what, Blue?”
She has him backed against the ropes, he has no choice but to stonewall her. “Nothing to tell, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Nathaniel William Anderson, you tell me right now.” She stomps her foot, getting frustrated with him.
He’s come this far, no sense in backing down now. He made a pinky promise. “You know, that would be significantly more effective if you actually knew my full name.”
Nat cuts through the mounting tension. “He was gonna teach me how to throw knives.”
Nate looks at her, dumbfounded. That’s a good lie. She’s even making a caught-out expression, it’s downright believable. Distract Piper with something more scandalous than the truth. Granted, it makes him look bad, but he can’t fault her for it. Now he just has to play along. “I thought we had a pact?”
She says loftily, “I’m selling you out.”
“Blue, that’s just as bad as setting fires! You could get her hurt!”
Thanks, Nat. “I know, Piper. Sorry, won’t happen again.”
Later that night, after Nat’s gone to bed, Piper confronts him. She had glared daggers at him earlier, but saved the interrogation for later, it seems. Sitting with Nate on the roof of Publick Occurrences, she aggressively flicks a cigarette and asks, “Were you really planning to teach my little sister how to throw knives?”
He chuckles, deciding to give her something closer to the truth. “No, I don’t even know how to throw knives. She made me promise not to tell you.”
“She’s twelve.”
“I know, I know. She said she’ll tell you when she’s ready.”
Piper looks skeptical. It’s fair, but he’s trusting Nat to come through on her word.
“How about this, I promise to tell you if it turns in to anything concerning.” He extends a pinky at her.
Affronted, she says, “This is serious, Blue.”
“Extremely serious.” He wiggles his pinky at her. “C’mon, it’s only fair I make the same promise with you.”
“Of course you did.” She sighs, trying to fight back a smile and failing. Linking her pinky with his, she shakes their hands then tosses her cigarette into the alley below them, leaning back and staring up at the night sky.
This new, strange normalcy he’s found with Piper and Nat is…good. It settles something in him. He’s quietly thankful he’s been allowed into their lives, despite his faults. He’ll keep his promises to the sisters; it’s something that matters. Their trust is something he can’t lose, now that he’s gained it.
Preston had been vague about what kind of help the settlements he listed were looking for, and Nate thinks that may have been on purpose. He didn’t expect manual labor to be a part of the mix. When the farmer had jovially handed them shovels and pointed to a large barn leaning precariously on the other side of his field, Piper had looked at him pleadingly. He still said yes. They might get paid for this one, he had thought, that makes it worth it.
Hours later, he’s not so sure. There’s a layer of calcified who-knows-what underneath the limp hay, and it takes so much more effort than it should to break it away from the floor beneath. The hay itself is a minefield, piles of brahmin shit are everywhere, old and new and stinking. The smell of it may never come out of his clothes. Dogmeat wisely made himself scarce, keeping his distance from the barn.
Piper keeps shooting him dirty looks as they work, not trying to hide them at all. He’s purposefully ignoring her; he’s been getting more and more irritated as the day has gone on and he doesn’t want to snap at her for it. He can wait it out, keep himself from exploding.
Piper loses patience first, breaking the tense silence that hangs over them. Spearing her shovel into the hay, she asks him, “What are we doing, Blue?”
She’s not asking about the farm chores he’s roped them in to, she’s asking him why they’re doing any of this. If she wants to pry, he’s going to make her work for it. “Shoveling shit in a barn, is that not obvious?”
“You know what I mean.”
“Just come out and say it.” If she wants to have this conversation, she needs to be upfront about it.
“Fine! We’ve been going around helping all these people, but not asking for anything in return. We’re doing community service. You don’t seem to even like doing it, so why are we doing it? Is this penance? Are you paying penance for something?”
Her word choice is appallingly on the nose, it makes him pause for a moment before going back to shoveling with renewed vigor. “Maybe I am.”
“For what?”
Goddamnit. She’s not letting this go, he can avoid it all he wants but she won’t stop until she gets an answer. He doesn’t think about his words before saying, “For what I did to my son.”
She doesn’t respond right away, pausing before she says, “What happened?” Her voice doesn’t reveal anything to him, perfectly level.
It’s been weighing on him, pressing down from all sides. It’s easier to talk about now, less suffocating even if it still tears him apart a little. He tells her everything- almost everything. He tells her about getting to the Institute, about seeing Shaun, sick and angry and seemingly in charge, about the judgment handed down to him. He doesn’t tell her about the report that Shaun found. She deserves to know what kind of man he is, but he doesn’t want to lose her too.
Piper shakes her head. “I don’t understand.”
“What’s not to understand? What I did in-“ No, she doesn’t know that part, start over. “What I did to the Courser and to Kellogg was disgusting. I hurt a lot of people- I used a lot of people, and it was all for nothing. I fucked things up with Shaun now he’s dying at the Institute- he’s not even a prisoner there, he’s on their side- that’s all on me. I have so much to make up for, Piper.”
“Blue, that doesn’t make sense. The Courser and Kellogg, sure, that’s on you, but the rest? C’mon, you have to know that’s not your fault.”
“He’s my son, I’m responsible-“
“You weren’t around for most of his life, you were in a freezer. The way he turned out has nothing to do with you.”
“Still-“
“Stop it. That part isn’t your fault, ok?”
“I’m not a good person. Shaun saw that. I have to make up for that.” She doesn’t know the whole story, she wouldn’t be saying all this if she did.
“You’re not completely a bad person, either.” She’s getting annoyed with him, voice getting sharper and eyebrows drawn low on her face.
“Yes, I-“
“Nope. You’re not.”
He glares at her. She’s not letting him make his case anymore, it’s frustrating.
Sighing, she yanks her shovel out of the hay and starts chipping away at the caked layer of dirt and shit. “Maybe you’re not all good, but you’re not all bad either. I wouldn’t stick around if you were, and I definitely wouldn’t let you around Nat.”
He doesn’t answer, movements slowing as he thinks that over. She has a skewed vision of him, clearly. She’s missing too much information to make the right call here.
Her voice is calmer when she says, “You’re allowed to be more than one thing.” She has so much confidence in what she’s saying, it’s alarming.
“If you say so.” He doesn’t believe her, not really. There’s no way he’s going to live up to her expectations. It might be worth trying, even if he fails he can at least say that he made an effort. It’s not a fresh start - he’s already squandered that - but it’s at least a chance.
She grins at him. “Now, keep shoveling. If we’re doing community service, we’re doing it right.”
The smell hits him first, rot laced with a foul sweetness hanging thick in the air. Piper wrinkles her nose as they continue down the road, coming to a stop when they round a corner and see the body lying face down in the middle of the pavement.
“Jesus.” Piper breathes, and he can’t help but agree.
The body faces them, clothes pulled taut over bloated flesh, face swollen so far the features are unrecognizable. Someone passed them by before him and Piper, their shoes are long gone and there’s not a gun in sight. No one wanders alone without a weapon. They could just walk around them, hold their noses and continue on their way, but he’s never been good at leaving well enough alone. It’s a horrible thing to leave them laying in the middle of the road, even if that seems to be the norm in the wasteland. He takes a deep breath and steps toward them.
“You better not try to bury them, we’re not starting a habit of wasteland funerals.”
He wouldn’t, he just wants to get them out of the way so they can rot out of sight. Besides, he doesn’t have a shovel. “I’m just gonna move them.”
Dogmeat whines, and Piper gives him a significant look. “I don’t think that’s the best idea.”
Brushing her off, he says, “It’ll only take a minute.”
As he gets closer, the smell becomes oppressive. He winces, swallowing heavily, and starts breathing through his mouth. It doesn’t help, now he can taste it. There’s no getting away from the stench, so he tries to hold his breath.
Their face is the only piece of skin exposed, molted by vibrant pink veins standing in stark contrast to marbled flesh. They look like a child’s drawing, harsh lines and abstract shapes. Every part of them is swollen, pressing against the confines of their skin, looking ready to burst. He’s almost afraid to touch them, worried they’ll pop like an overinflated balloon. Their eyes are gone, hollow sockets staring at nothing, crusted fluid running down their cheek and over their nose onto the pavement. Their mouth hangs open, their final exhale frozen in place.
When he’s close enough to touch them, he stops for a moment, shaking his arms out. He’ll be quick, this will be fine, it’ll take a minute then it’s over. Their arms move easily when he grabs them, tightening his grip above their elbows and trying not to focus on the smell. There’s something loose about them, and a warning starts sounding in the back of his mind. He ignores it, it’ll be fine. He starts to tug and feels something slip beneath the cloth of their sleeves, and he reflexively tightens his hands. The warning gets louder. He needs to be quicker.
Deciding speed will be the best approach, he pulls harder at their arms, moving the corpse a couple of inches- and everything goes to shit. A viscous, sickly yellow liquid pours out of their nose and mouth on to the pavement, assaulting his senses with a wretched, indescribable smell. Before he can react to the thick, slimy puddles of something on the pavement, the skin on their arms shifts and comes loose. He loses his balance, grasping at their arms harder as he’s sent backwards onto the ground. This proves to be a mistake. He’s peeled the skin of their arms off entirely, turning it inside out, leaving two horrific tubes of rotting flesh on the pavement.
He shrieks, scrambling backwards away from the corpse, eyes watering. Turning away, he gets to his feet and stumbles back toward Piper, starting to cough and gag.
“Oh my god.” He starts pacing, shaking out his hands.
“Holy shit, Blue.” She looks as horrified as he feels.
He keeps pacing, holding his arms out in front of him like they’re diseased, breathing heavily. Piper’s taking deep, quick breaths, and when he looks back at her, her face is screwed up.
She slaps a hand over her mouth, shoulders beginning to shake and eyes shining with unshed tears.
He gives her an incredulous look. “Are you laughing?!”
Muffled behind her hand, she says, “No!” She definitely is.
The situation is so outrageous- it could not have gone worse. Without meaning to, he feels his panting breaths turning into huffs of hysterical laughter. “Why are you laughing? That was messed up.” His eyes start to sting, the only alternative to laughing is to run screaming into the wilderness.
“If it’s so messed up, why are you laughing?!”
She’s got him there, but it’s still her fault to begin with. She started it. “Because you are!”
She snorts, laughing even harder. “It’s not funny.”
“No, it’s not!”
“The sound you made, oh boy.”
“I think it was justified!”
She can’t get any words out to respond, choking on her laughter and bending in half, face in her hands. He can’t catch his breath, overtaken by the ridiculousness of what’s happening. Eventually Piper looks up at him, and this only makes them laugh harder, unable to process what’s happened in any other way.
This cycle continues for far too long, Nate’s stomach hurts from where he finds himself on the ground, flat on his back with an arm over his eyes. Piper’s next to him on her knees, holding her middle, tears streaming down her face. They start taking settling breaths, trying to collect themselves, when a passing trader wanders up the road. He looks at them, on the ground next to the road, then over at the corpse Nate’s mangled, then back at them. Picking up his pace, he shoots them suspicious looks.
Nate and Piper go silent as he passes, then look at each other. Piper sputters, and they fall apart again.
“Blue,” she gasps out between barks of laughter, “That was so much worse than just leaving them there.”
“You were right, I know.”
“Was that-“ She takes a steadying breath. “Was that more of your weird penance?”
Probably. “No.”
“I don’t believe you.” She wipes her eyes, more collected now than before. “Are you looking for forgiveness points? Because that’s not a thing that happens. There’s no one keeping score.”
Maybe, maybe not. He’s certainly trying to keep score, even if no one else is. He placates her for the time being. “I hear you, I hear you.” Pushing himself to his feet, he gives her a hand to join him. “Let’s get out of here, please?”
They both avoid looking at the body when they pass them by, Dogmeat leading the way back to Diamond City. Nate feels downright lucky when they don’t encounter any more corpses.
It takes them a while to completely collect themselves, breaking out into giddy laughter whenever they make eye contact for several miles. Nate feels lighter than he has in years. When they approach the walls of Diamond City, they’ve come back down from their hysterical high.
Piper says lightly, “I’m gonna need to stay in Diamond City for a while. I have to get back to writing, and it’s the holidays, so I need to be with Nat.”
“It’s time for me to start looking for work, anyway.” He nudges her with his elbow. “Got any leads?”
“Any place where there’s a lot of people you should find someone who’s got a job or two. Bunker Hill, Goodneighbor, Diamond City, you’ll find something at any of them.”
“I think Diamond City’s seen enough of me for now. I’ll try the others first.” Goodneighbor is on the way to Bunker Hill, he’ll start there.
They come to a stop outside the gates, facing each other. Nate looks down at Dogmeat, then back up at Piper. He’d feel better if her and Nat weren’t alone in the city. They’ve made it this far, but things with the mayor seem to be heating up. “Dogmeat’s gonna stay here. Someone needs to keep an eye on you.”
She makes a face. “A dog, though?”
Dogmeat huffs, taking offense.
Nate shrugs. “He’s a smart dog.”
Piper tilts her head, looking him over. She lowers her voice and asks, “Will you be ok?”
“I’ll be fine, stop worrying so much. Focus on Nat for a while.”
“Alright, alright. You’ll come visit?”
“I will.” After he’s made some money, however long that takes.
Nate waits until Piper and Dogmeat are inside the gates before setting off toward Goodneighbor. The late afternoon air is crisp and cold, the sun shining down from a cloudless sky. It doesn’t take much time for the quiet to set in. He tries to convince himself it’s refreshing, that he doesn’t miss Piper’s comments, but it’s not very effective. He’ll adjust, it’s fine.
Chapter 9: December 16 - December 30
Summary:
Nate looks for work.
“I discover myself on the verge of a usual mistake.” - Walt Whitman, Song of Myself
Chapter Text
Nate’s night spent alone was unbearably restless. With no one to occupy his focus, it’s impossible to keep himself from wandering off into the more chaotic corners of his mind. He’d been able to sleep, but for less than an hour at a time. Jerking awake, heart pounding, he’d been compelled to move- keep moving- and the cycle would repeat. It’s the worst night he’s had in a while, and the morning light could not come fast enough.
The sun is just starting to peek out over the buildings surrounding Goodneighbor when he approaches the gates. It’s early- maybe too early- will anyone be awake and ready to give him a job? He doesn’t want to wait- waiting is agonizing.
Nate steps through the gates very cautiously, not wanting to be subjected to another shake-down- he has plans, ones that don’t involve extortion. The guard standing by the door yawns loudly- long night? Or early start? What are the guard rotations like here? How are there enough-
He shakes his head. Focus, you need to focus. But what’s he supposed to focus on? He doesn’t have a lead beyond ‘there might be jobs in Goodneighbor,’ Who’s he supposed to ask? The guard? That may not be the worst idea- though they don’t look particularly friendly, he may just be laughed off. It’s so goddamn hard to tell.
Movement from the row of shops in front of him catches his attention. It’s Daisy. His unasked questions from weeks ago come flooding back- he has so much he needs to talk to her about- he stops that train of thought. She could give him a lead on a job- or maybe she has one? There’s no reason for him not to talk to Daisy- and certainly no one here to stop him- now’s his chance.
“Daisy!” He waves as he jogs over to her. The few people in the courtyard turn their heads his way- it’s possible he said that a bit too loud. He’ll have to try to control his volume.
She doesn’t seem perturbed, greeting him warmly. “I was hoping I’d see you again. How’s the Commonwealth been treating you?”
He speaks in a rush, barely understandable. “Strangely- some good and some bad.”
She chuckles. “Sounds about right.”
Breath, focus, slow down. This time when he speaks, it’s more measured, calmer, decipherable. The questions he’d normally ask himself internally are said out loud. How long has she been in Goodneighbor? Why’d she decide to set up a general store? Does she like it? Where’d she grow up? Why does she open so early? Does she ever take a day off?
When she answers, he focuses on every word, every syllable, every letter- he doesn’t want to miss her answers. She’s been here longer than she can remember. Setting up the store seemed like the thing to do. She likes it well enough. She grew up in Roxbury. She gets more business the longer she stays open. Sometimes she’ll take a vacation, but not often. The serene smile that grows on her face as he talks never wavers.
His mind is tugging at the reins, racing ahead of him, urging him faster, faster, faster. He pulls it back in, ruthlessly. There are so many questions he could ask her, but none is as important as the next. “So, Daisy, I was hoping you could point me in the right direction.”
The abrupt shift in the conversation doesn’t phase her. “I can try, what do you need?”
“I’m looking for work, know anyone hiring?”
“As a matter of fact, I do. The bartender down at the Third Rail, Whitechapel Charlie, is looking for some muscle.”
“Great- thank you. I’ll go talk to him.” He goes to turn away, then stops short. “Shit, they’re probably closed right now, aren’t they?”
She tilts her head, amusement in her eyes. “You’re in luck, they never close.”
A bar in the remains of State Street Station is…kind of ingenious. The name’s a bit on the nose, but that’s not the worst thing, he supposes. The Mr. Handy behind the bar is also ingenious- and explains why the bar’s always open.
“You here for a drink?” Charlie has an accent, though it’s blessedly less posh than Codsworth’s.
“Not this early. Besides, I’m light on caps. Heard you might be hiring for something.”
Charlie looks him over for a long moment, scanning him with his eye…stalks? Appendages? They hover over his guns, then drag back up to his face. “I need a dirty boy to do some dirty, dirty work. Blood on the pavement, bodies in the ground, that kind of thing. Interested?”
Daisy did say he needed muscle, so the nature of the job isn’t that surprising. And money is money, after all. “I could be convinced.”
It’s a clean up job - or ‘kill everyone in sight’ job - clearing out the warehouses around Goodneighbor. For an anonymous client. Anonymous client could mean anything. He doesn’t want to get himself in trouble with the powers that be. Burning bridges isn’t the best course of action, but Daisy wouldn’t lead him astray. He knows she wouldn’t. Charlie names a price for the deed, and Nate has no idea if what he’s offering is a reasonable amount. He’s never been good with money, and the currency system is completely different than what he’s used to. There’s no use haggling if he doesn’t know where to aim, so he accepts the first offer he gets.
As he’s leaving, Charlie calls after him, “Remember, no witnesses.” Nate turns and salutes him in response.
Standing outside the door of the first warehouse, he realizes that ‘no witnesses’ might be impossible. There’s a guard directly behind him, and another a short ways up the street. They both can see him, clear as day. He turns slowly in place, facing the guard across from the warehouse, and tries to lean casually against the wall behind him- maybe he can wait him out. He probably looks incredibly suspicious, but there’s no way around it.
The guard smirks, then pointedly looks away from the warehouse.
Nate’s eyes narrow. Apparently the guards aren’t going to stop him from some early morning breaking and entering. Are they in on it? They seem in on it. He sighs, electing to take what he can get.
It takes him an embarrassingly long time to pick the lock, going through a staggering amount of bobby pins. Around the fifth attempt, he hears the guard behind him start to snicker. It’s annoying, he could at least offer to help, since he’s already in the know about the job.
He eventually gets the damn door open, making a point to glare at the guard over his shoulder before stepping inside- and he did not think this through at all. He’s being fired on the second he closes the door behind himself, all element of surprise gone. He presses his back flat against a column to his right, drawing his 10mm. So much for ‘no witnesses’- the sound of the submachine guns firing into the wall facing the street isn’t exactly subtle.
He’d been wondering if he was about to execute innocent people, so the rapid gunfire is a strange relief. They’re not innocent, no one innocent would automatically open fire like that. They also look suspiciously like the gangsters that kidnapped Nick, all wearing fedoras and pinstripe suits. It lessens his guilt.
Nate quickly falls into a rhythm. Wait for their clips to empty, lean out, fire. By the second floor, he starts the see the trails of displaced air behind the bullets. They’re forming thin white lines, connecting the walls and weaving a disorganized web through the building. Wait for the sound of an empty clip, lean out, fire. The system is repetitive, but it takes him safely to the top floor without any holes in his body. Looking around at the carnage, he pauses. What the hell is he supposed to do with the bodies? Shaking his head, he decides he’s leaving them here. Charlie didn’t say anything about corpse removal- it’s someone else’s problem now.
Before he leaves, he has a sudden realization. Sure, the guards saw him enter the warehouse, but they also clearly knew there were people in here already. There’s…a lot of stuff- useful stuff- just lying around. If he took some, who would even know? They’d probably just blame the suits.
He waves a hand through the white lines in the air before him, disturbing the intricate web. It’s in his way. He can’t rifle through the warehouse for too long; now that the gunfire stopped, the guards would expect him to leave. Stimpaks are an obvious choice, so he grabs several from on top of a cabinet and buries them deep in his bag. A couple of boxes of bullets make their way into his hands next. He freezes when he opens a drawer full of chems. Hesitating, he reaches a hand out, then pulls it back, repeating the motion a couple times. It takes a very serious and very stern internal lecture to get him to leave them behind. He’s not good with moderation, it’s a dangerous path to walk.
The next two warehouses continue in more or less the same way. Pick a lock, wait for the sound of an empty clip, lean out, fire, fill his pockets. By the end, he figures he’s owed the stolen goods based purely on the amount of bullets he had to use. There’s a relentless sparkling feeling running up and down his arms, he feels like he’s being electrocuted with every step he takes. Before leaving the last warehouse, he runs up and down the stairs a few times, trying to expend some of his excess energy. It doesn’t work.
Charlie doesn’t mention how painfully obvious he was about the job when he passes him a box of caps over the bar. Nate thinks he should have known better, there was no way that would’ve gotten done without someone noticing. Too many men, too many guns.
The warehouse job took most of the day, so he should be tired- especially after how little sleep he got the night before. He has enough caps now to afford a room, so he makes his way over to the Hotel Rexford with full intentions of trying to rest. He can’t stop moving- his fingers flex when he takes off his armor and sets his guns aside, he has to shake an arm out every few breaths as he makes an attempt at cleaning himself up, sitting on the bed is impossible.
Rest will evade him tonight, there’s no way around it. He needs to do something with himself, so he racks his mind trying to come up with options. He lands on the Third Rail- it’s a bar, bars have booze, booze would slow him down. Probably. It feels a little foolish to give the caps he just earned back to Charlie, but there’s no other option in town. Bouncing in place a few times, he leaves his room behind and takes the steps two at a time until he’s back inside the Third Rail.
There’s music echoing up the stairs leading to the Third Rail. It stops him dead in his tracks. The ghoul manning the door gives him a hard look, and he stumbles forward in a daze.
There’s a woman in a sparkling red dress on the makeshift stage by the bar. The way the dress catches and refracts the light is dizzying, he can’t look at her for very long without feeling like he’s shaking apart. He can still listen to her, though- the music is astonishing. It’s wrapping itself around his brain, sinking into the folds and slowing down his thoughts. Standing transfixed at the edge of the barroom, he only regains control of his limbs when she stops singing and the music pauses. She’s stepping down from the stage, either done for the night or taking a break, and the buzzing that had been momentarily soothed comes back in full force.
He needs to do something about this, he feels like he’s going insane. Flexing his hands, he approaches the bar and leans against it, grabbing Charlie’s attention.
“Back again, eh?”
“So it seems. Got any whiskey?”
Nate throws back the whiskey the second it lands in front of him, pulling a face and knocking the glass against the wood. One’s not going to be enough, he can already tell. When he slides the glass back across the bar to Charlie, he fills it again without a word.
The second glass goes down a bit easier, but it’s still not enough. Charlie’s drifted off to deal with the other patrons at the bar, leaving Nate to flounder with an empty glass, tapping his fingers against the bar in a frantic rhythm.
He’s moments away from reaching over the bar and just grabbing a bottle - consequences be damned - when the back of his neck starts prickling. There’s someone looking at him. His fingers pause their movements and he holds his breath. Trying to keep his body loose and relaxed, he slides his eyes down the bar to see who’s watching.
The worry that had been building in his chest suddenly feels catastrophically stupid. There’s a woman a few seats down from him, watching him with interest, twirling her hair. He’s in a bar. People look at other people in bars. He’s not in Diamond City. No one is hunting him.
His automatic reaction is to turn away, politely decline without exchanging words- but there’s no reason he should. She’s pretty- curly brown hair, dark brown eyes, and a confident set to her shoulders. The whiskey isn’t doing its damn job, but something a bit more physical could work. He flashes her a toothy grin, and she slides out her seat and moves to lean into his space.
He gets her name - Emma - and she gets his, laying her hand on his arm and leaning in even closer. They make small talk in low tones- what’s she doing in a place like this? His fingers lightly tug a lock of her hair. What’s he doing in a place like this? She walks a hand up his chest, pulling at his collar. Is she from here, or just visiting? He rests a hand on the small of her back. Does he want to get out of here? She gives him a coy smile.
It takes them less than ten minutes to make it back to Nate’s room, hurriedly pulling off their clothes and falling back onto the bed. Emma presses him back into the mattress, licking inside his mouth without preamble while his hands squeeze her thighs. She pulls away, biting at his lip and making him groan, then licks her palm and wraps her hand around his dick, giving it a few short tugs until he’s fully hard. With a cocky grin, she steadies herself over him, sinks down, and moans as she rocks her hips against his.
She pushes him down when he tries to sit up to get his mouth on her- he takes the hint, he’s not the one calling the shots right now. Emma swirls her hips before setting a frantic pace, moans growing louder. She looks- she feels- fantastic. He wants to touch her, but he’s pretty sure doesn’t want him to, so he lets her take what she wants. Leaning forward, she rests her hands just under his collarbones then digs her nails in, scratching down his chest and leaving behind angry red lines. He hisses, it’s uncomfortable, but the pain gives him something more to focus on. Between that and her tight heat wrapped around him, he doesn’t notice the buzzing under his skin anymore.
Emma starts rubbing her hand in fast, tight circles over her clit, grinding down on him. She shudders when she cums, and he feels her walls pulse around him, dragging him closer to the edge. Panting, she rises to her knees and slides down the bed, wrapping her hand around him again, twisting around the head of his cock with each pass until the tension snaps and he cums against his stomach.
Sparks race over his body- pleasantly, for once. He’s breathing heavy, eyes closed, coming down from the high when he feels Emma move off the bed. Her clothes rustle as she gets dressed, and he opens his eyes and turns his head to the side to look at her.
“That was fun.” She’s buttoning her shirt, shooting him a flirty grin.
He chuckles. “It was.”
Fully dressed, she puts her hand on the doorknob and looks back at him with a wink. “Nice meeting you.”
She’s already closed the door by the time he says, “You too.”
He lets himself lay there for another minute, basking, before reluctantly getting up and cleaning himself off. He was right about something physical working, he feels so much more grounded than he had earlier. It’s enough to grant him a few blissful hours of sleep before he wakes, the awful buzzing having returned.
Nate exhales slowly, counting to five. The lock on the Boston Public Library’s exterior door is exceptionally uncooperative. When Daisy offered him a job with a cheeky grin and handed him a book to ‘return’, he’d assumed he would be walking through the front doors, super mutants be damned. Instead, he’d found the main doors boarded up and the stairs leading to the Copley Station entrance echoing with the rough voices of more than a couple super mutants. Less than ideal.
The door clicks open, and he slowly creeps inside the library. His ears start ringing when he sees what’s left of the place. It’s in shambles; papers are littering the floor, half the books are singed or torn, and the furniture is mostly destroyed. There’s something about the sight that makes him much sadder than the rest of the ruins he’s seen. This had been a special place, once.
An explosion from down the hallway drowns out the ringing, and the sound of a full-fledged battle deeper in the library makes itself very apparent. It’s remarkable how much he’s able to miss when he disappears inside his own head. It’s going to get him hurt one day if he’s not careful.
He leans against a door frame and peers down the hall, fumbling for his gun when he sees the super mutants charging toward him. His focus narrows, the edges of his vision sharpen, and he puts all his effort into not getting shot.
An hour later, he starts to wonder if Daisy is trying to kill him. He’s lost count of the super mutants he’s killed, and the robots guarding the library don’t care to distinguish friend from foe. A few bullets have grazed him, but there have been many, many near misses for worse injuries. Fatigued and irritated, he fires more bullets than necessary into the center of the protectron lumbering toward him. When it falls, a sudden hush falls over the library. He’s alone now - and, surprisingly, still alive.
Resting his forehead against the return kiosk, he drops Daisy’s book inside and sighs. He’s shaking, sparks flying behind his eyelids- his bones itch. The urge to do something is consuming him, but what exactly he should be doing isn’t clear. It’s hard to think in the aftermath of the fight, like trying to hold water in an open hand. Scattered words and half-formed sentences ricochet off the walls, he can’t keep up with his thoughts. Trying to breathe slowly, he desperately wishes everything would just slow down.
He decides to go to the Third Rail after he talks to Daisy and jabs himself with a stimpak or two. A drink, maybe a warm body, that could help. He can justify spending a few caps for some peace.
For such a rowdy town, the Third Rail is surprisingly tame tonight. Maybe it’s too early for the party to really start. On his third drink, Nate’s vision is starting to go fuzzy and soft, though his mind hasn’t gotten the message quite yet. He’ll have to drink himself to sleep, it seems- Charlie will probably let that happen, he has a feeling he won’t get cut off until things become dire.
He listens to the low hum of conversation around him, toying with the idea of- and he needs to pay better attention to his surroundings, because there is suddenly someone pulling in a stool very close to him that he did not see coming. A bearded man wearing a worn flannel sets his elbow on the bar, leaning his head against his hand and grins at Nate. His features wobble in Nate’s swimming vision.
He stiffens, that’s not friendly interest. If it was, he wouldn’t have dragged the stool so close that their legs touch. When it becomes clear that this man is flirting with him, panic rushes up his spine. He glances around them, but no one’s looking their way. No one’s shouting vitriol at them, or calling them slurs. He remembers his conversation with Piper- people don’t care so much anymore. And what a fucking relief that is. He might as well enjoy the benefits.
Breathing out, he refocuses, relaxes his body, and lets it happen. This is the second time in less than a week he’s been approached by someone here. Maybe there’s a novelty to him being new in town, or maybe he’s just an easy mark. Either could be true.
Just like with Emma, they’re out of the bar before very long. Being pressed into a wall in a dirty alley, a mouth attached to his, face getting chafed by a beard, is a familiar experience. Sinking to his knees and undoing the man’s pants is even more familiar, like slipping on a pair of well-worn shoes.
Nate wraps a hand around the base of his cock, keeping him from being able to slide too far into his mouth- he won’t make that mistake again. It’s clear that was the right choice - his new friend doesn’t have very good manners. His hips keep jerking forward, despite Nate’s hand trying to keep him still. Rolling his eyes, Nate hurries his pace, already annoyed with the situation.
His annoyance worsens when the man doesn’t warn him before he cums in his mouth. No decorum whatsoever. Closing his eyes, Nate tries to calm himself while he lets the man finish his orgasm, holding the cum in his mouth. When he pulls off, he petulantly spits it onto the pavement.
He stumbles to his feet, gets a lackluster hand job, and watches the man walk back out of the alley, never having learned his name. Knocking his head back into the bricks, he groans in frustration when his mind starts racing once again. After a moment, he trudges back into the Third Rail to buy a bottle of vodka, deciding to stop beating around the bush.
It's been days- he’s had nothing substantial to occupy his time for days. Going out and picking fights with raiders may kill the time, but it doesn’t pay. Daisy doesn’t have any more leads for him, so when he’s approached by a man named Rufus in the Rexford with a work offer, he can’t say yes fast enough.
What should have been a simple fetch job turns into a brutally slow crawl through downtown Boston. He’d been instructed to bring back a brewing machine, which turned out to be a modified protectron ‘Drinking Buddy’ who didn’t know the meaning of haste. Nate had to clear a path for the stupid machine to slowly meander its way through, turning what should have been a quick walk into an hours-long fight.
They get back to the Rexford eventually, and he tries his best not to bite Rufus’s head off for the frustration of it all. Accepting his payment, stashing his guns in his room, and walking directly into the Third Rail, he looks for something to ease the tension in his back.
Several drinks in, when he’s calm enough to have a pleasant rather than belligerent conversation, he scans the barroom to see if there’s anyone worth approaching. His eyes land on a woman with jet-black hair, who blushes and looks away when he grins at her. It’s not a clear invitation, but it’s worth talking to her to find out.
She smiles shyly when he introduces himself, seeming pleased when he leans into her space and starts asking her questions. Her name is Cassandra, and she has the whitest teeth he’s ever seen. Once she starts talking, it’s easy for her to keep going- he’s grateful for that. It’s hard to focus on what she’s saying, too busy watching the way the light catches on her teeth. He pays enough attention to respond at the right points, and gets himself an invitation back to her apartment.
Cassandra’s a little unsure of herself, a little nervous, when they get back to her room in an apartment building around the corner from the Rexford. He kisses her slowly, testing the waters and giving her space to change her mind. She pulls him closer, sitting on the bed, and he takes that as permission to go further.
Nate figures it’s best to focus on her instead of him, and tugs at her pants in askance. He lets her take them off, not wanting to accidentally pressure her. Once they’re off, he wraps his arms around the underside of her thighs and buries his face between her legs, losing himself in the taste and smell.
Cassandra’s fingers grip his hair, holding his head in place- her sudden enthusiasm is charming, it makes him chuckle. Keeping up the pace, he moans when her thighs close around his head and she shakes her way through an orgasm. When she releases his hair, letting him come up for air, he wipes his mouth and leans over her, asking if she wants to go further. She’s quiet, doesn’t meet his eyes, and he takes that as a no.
Pushing himself off the bed, he gives her an easy smile and says, “That’s fine. Thanks, for having me over.”
“You’re leaving?”
“Yeah, I’ll get out of your hair.”
She pulls the covers over herself and says, “Oh, ok.”
She wants him to stay, even if she’s not saying it outright. He can’t stay- his skin is crawling with unspent energy, staying still is going to be impossible. He pretends like he doesn’t notice how her face falls as he walks out the door.
When he gets back to his room at the Rexford, he doesn’t wait to see if the buzzing will stop on its own- he cuts to the chase and starts drinking whiskey straight from the bottle. He’s taken to keeping at least one bottle of liquor on hand for nights like this- it’s almost enough to get things to slow down. Not always, but almost. He tells himself he’ll stop drinking quite so much tomorrow.
Days after the Drinking Buddy incident, Nate’s about ready to start chewing bricks. The new year is right around the corner, and he can’t bear to think about what that means. He needs a distraction. He figures one more job should be enough to get him the caps to pay back his debts, plus extra for Piper and Nat, but nothing has come his way since Rufus.
When he asks Daisy for another lead, she frowns and thinks it over for a moment. “I don’t know about anything solid, but Hancock might have something cooking.”
It’s not perfect, but it’s enough for him to thank her and make his way to the Old State House. He hasn’t seen the ghoul since his visit with Nick, and hopes he isn’t holding a grudge over Nate’s less-than-friendly behavior at the gates. Before stepping inside, he bounces in place a couple times, reminding himself to stay calm. No fights, no insults. He needs to not be thrown out of Goodneighbor, so he needs to not piss off the mayor.
Once inside, he’s directed up the spiral staircase to Hancock’s office. The doors are open, and inside is the mayor, a woman in singed metal armor, and an impressive array of chems. Hancock’s back is to the door, and the woman eyes him from the couch she’s sitting on. He’s heard about her. Fahrenheit, Hancock’s enforcer, lieutenant, bodyguard, something like that. The words people have used for her aren’t consistent, but he gets the idea. Another person to not piss off.
She clears her throat in lieu of saying anything to him, and Hancock turns around. When he sees Nate, he grins and leans back against the counter behind him, crossing his arms.
“Well, well, well, if it isn’t our newest arrival.” There’s something dangerous about his tone, measured and knowing. “I heard it was you who took care of my little warehouse rat problem.”
Several things click into place in rapid succession. Hancock’s the mayor of Goodneighbor. The guards work for him, and they looked the other way when he broke in. He’s probably the anonymous client. Those are his warehouses. He robbed those warehouses. Does Hancock know that? Is he toying with him?
Willing himself to keep a straight face, Nate decides to push forward as though he’s unaffected. He doesn’t like the idea of being toyed with. If Hancock has something to say, he can come out and say it. “That’s me. I’m looking for work. Heard you might have something.”
Hancock’s grin turns into a vicious smile. “Now why would I give payin’ work to someone who stole from me?”
Despite knowing he’s been caught, Nate’s rapidly losing patience for this game Hancock’s playing. He’s made it obvious he knows, so the question is infuriating. Impulsively, he says, “If you didn't want to be robbed, you should have hidden your shit better.”
Fahrenheit laughs openly at his brazen words. Nate wants to slap himself, so much for no insults. He’s already in the wrong here, even if Hancock’s games are bullshit. He’s only digging a deeper hole for himself.
“That so?”
He should say something apologetic- or at least diplomatic- to smooth things over. Instead, he lets his frustration get the better of him and insults Hancock more. “Your security is trash and you should have paid better for the job.”
Hancock pulls out a switchblade and starts twirling it in his hand. “Got any other suggestions for me?”
Now he’s being threatened, that much is clear. Maybe it’s the days of nothing but banging his head against the wall, or it’s the relentless buzzing under his skin, or it’s the fact that his mind hasn’t slowed down in weeks- whatever it is, it boils over into rage, hot and sudden. He’s done with this game Hancock is insisting they play. Whatever control he still had over his tone is gone, and he hisses, “Stop wasting my time. Do you have a job or not?”
The switchblade comes to a stop. Hancock tilts his head and eyes him appraisingly. His posture relaxes, and the sharp edges of his voice smooth out into something more amused. “I just might.”
Nate has to take a slow, steady breath to calm himself down when he doesn’t continue. It’s a small mercy that Hancock finds him entertaining and isn’t going to knife him. “What is it?”
“I got reconnaissance needs.” He’s beginning to think Hancock’s not continuing on purpose, just to bother him. The smirk on his face supports his theory.
Nate smiles tightly, hanging on to his composure by a thread, and says, “What kind of reconnaissance needs?”
“There's a lot of weird talk coming in about a place called the Pickman Gallery. It's Raider territory up there, but they've been quiet. Like, uncomfortable post-coitus quiet? Snoop it out, and give me the word.”
He’s not sure why he wants to insult Hancock again, but that certainly doesn’t stop him from saying, “Real shit outfit you’re running if you don’t already have someone to do this.”
Hancock chuckles, “Mouthy, ain’t ya?”
There’s something about the way he says this that gives Nate pause. Amused and…interested? Is he interested in him? He wants to put pressure on it, see where the cracks will form. Curious now, he says slowly, “So I’ve been told.”
“I like it.” Hancock waves a hand. “Now get goin’, I’m payin’ you to scout, not stand around.” He looks Nate over before he leaves, in a very obvious way. He is interested. After all that? He shelves that information for later. What a fascinating development.
Walking back down the spiral staircase, Nate shakes himself internally. He should not be using this information for anything. There is nothing fascinating about it. He is not going to think about this any more. He’s not.
Almost to the gate leading back out into the ruins, he stops and groans. Hancock didn’t tell him where to find Pickman Gallery. Running his hands through his hair, he decides to ask Daisy instead. He needs a break from the mayor.
On the way to Pickman Gallery, Nate has to drag his thoughts away from Hancock’s possible interest every few minutes. He needs to focus, he’s going to get shot- or stabbed- or blown up if he doesn’t focus. Getting into a messy, disorganized fight with the raiders outside Pickman Gallery grants him a short reprieve from his mental tailspin, but when the last man falls in a heap next to the front door of the gallery, he’s assaulted by questions he doesn’t want to entertain.
Why would Hancock be interested, after the two belligerent conversations they’ve had? He rifles through the pockets of one of the raiders, fishing out a stimpak and some bobby pins. Is the belligerence why he’s interested? Another raider has a handful of caps in her bag. Is Nate interested? He yanks the scope off of a rifle, it’ll come in handy at some point. What would sex with a ghoul be like? He considers taking a reasonably well-maintained shotgun, but decides against it. Do ghouls have dicks? Nate stops and stares blankly ahead. That one isn’t so easy to ignore.
The second he acknowledges the question, the floodgates open and now he can’t stop thinking about it. He wishes he could pull his brain out of his ears, if only for a moment of peace. There’s been a near-constant stream of questions and comments and everything in between for weeks and it’s driving him mad. It’s easier to go along with it, let himself be carried by the current, because when he tries to resist they just seem to get louder.
And now here he is, thinking about whether or not ghouls have dicks. He sighs, ready to give up. It’s just not worth fighting. Ghouls don’t have noses- does the radiation affect all soft tissue? Or is it just cartilage? He wants to put his head through a wall. Does it vary? Do some ghouls have dicks and others don’t? For a brief, distraught second, he wonders if he should be checking for that.
What are you, a scientist? The voice that whispers in his ear sounds suspiciously like Dogmeat.
He shakes his head and bats the air around him. It’s frustrating, but they’re right- this is a preposterous thing to be fixated on. It isn’t relevant- it’s only relevant if he’s seriously considering- he isn’t, absolutely not. It’d be a terrible idea.
Nate closes his eyes, counts to ten, and readies himself in front of the door to Pickman Gallery. Pistol in hand, he slowly opens the door, only to duck behind the frame when a volley of bullets nearly eviscerates him. Adjusting his grip on his gun, he exhales- time slows and the colors inside the gallery desaturate when he leans around the entrance and takes aim. A couple well-placed shots drop the raider shouting something from down the hall. He’s about to fire on the second when the building shakes, explosions sounding from the upper floors, making him stumble. When he regains his footing, he hits the other raider in the leg, then in the chest.
There’s no more movement on this floor, so he gingerly steps inside, gun pointed up the stairs. It’s suddenly very, very quiet. Frowning, he tries to parse through the sounds he just heard. Was that a missile launcher? It sounded like a missile launcher. A few minutes go by, and no one comes rushing down the stairs at him. He holsters his pistol and counts his blessings. Whatever happened upstairs just did him a favor.
Nate decides to start investigating on the first floor, turning into the room to his left and- he stands perfectly still in the doorway. Realizing he isn’t breathing, he inhales sharply and starts coughing, the smell hitting him like a freight train. It takes him a long while to process what he’s seeing.
There’s a pile of bodies- parts of bodies- in the center of the room, all wearing the makeshift clothes and armor he’s come to associate with raiders. They’re placed purposefully, like they haven’t just been discarded. They’ve been arranged. On the walls are grotesque paintings, dark red and deeply sinister. The name of the building suddenly makes far more sense. This isn’t a raider hideout; this is a demented art gallery, and the medium is the raiders themselves.
He’s seen plenty, this is more than enough to report back with. Not bothering to search the rest of the house, he turns around and runs back out, not stopping until he’s out of the North End.
What he stumbled upon in Pickman Gallery is enough of a shock to keep his mind off his earlier crisis- for a few blocks. Now, racing the setting sun and closing in on Goodneighbor, the shock is wearing off and the spiraling thoughts are back in full force.
He tries to rationalize. There’s no point in wondering if ghouls have dicks if he isn’t planning on fucking a ghoul. There isn’t. He isn’t. If he was, it wouldn’t be Hancock. He’s not thinking about it, it’s not a consideration. It doesn’t matter that the mayor might have shown some interest in him. It also doesn’t matter that he could use that interest as a way to answer some questions. It definitely doesn’t matter that it’d be an excellent distraction from the sparks igniting in his veins and the approaching new year.
“Motherfucker.” So maybe he is thinking about it, but it’s only to tell himself exactly how bad an idea it is. Hancock’s the goddamn mayor of Goodneighbor, Nate has no business mixing sex and politics- and the two short conversations he’s had with Hancock so far have made Nate fantasize about punching him.
But then again, he’s a drifter. He doesn’t live in Goodneighbor, he’s not one of Hancock’s citizens. And there’s something entertaining about exchanging barbs with him, even if it’s frustrating in the moment.
“Son of a bitch.” Good fucking lord, he’s actually considering it.
He’s out of time to talk himself out of this corner he’s in, coming to a stop outside the door leading into Goodneighbor. Exhaling noisily, he tugs at his hair and mutters, “Get it together, Anderson.”
When he stops at the Rexford to stow his guns and strip off his armor, he tells himself it’s just because he’s sick of carrying it all around. There’s no other reason for it.
Hancock’s alone in his office, writing something in what looks like a ledger, when Nate knocks on the door frame. Looking up from his work, he grins and waves him in, saying, “Close the door behind ya.”
Goddamnit. His self control is tenuous at best, a closed-door meeting is the last thing he needs. Knowing it’s a terrible idea, he still closes the door when he enters, crossing his arms in an attempt at holding himself together.
Closing the ledger and leaning back on the couch, Hancock asks, “So how’s my little scout doing?”
Nate’s fantasizing about punching him again. “I’m not your little anything.”
Laughing, he stands and saunters to the counter at the back of the room, asking over his shoulder, “What’s the word over at Pickman Gallery?”
Following Hancock so he doesn’t have to shout across the room, he decides not to mince his words. If he’s quick, maybe he can make it out of this without doing something wildly impulsive. “Someone’s been using raiders to make fucked up, abstract sculptures. Like a serial killer would.”
Hancock turns, looking disgusted. “Seriously? That’s messed up, even for this town.”
“It wasn’t pretty.” Nate shifts his weight, looking down for a moment and trying not to picture what he saw. His fingers start tapping against his arm unconsciously, urged on by the blood rushing through his veins.
Hancock’s voice, suddenly much closer, makes him look up again. “I’ll bet it wasn’t. Here, I think you’ve earned this.” He presses a glass of dark liquor into his hand.
It’s not the only thing he’s earned. Nate watches the light dance around the glass as he swirls the liquor, thinking about the best way to ask for his caps.
Hancock beats him to it. “Caps are on the counter.”
There’s one small problem with that statement - there’s no box of caps in sight. The only place it could be is behind Hancock where he leans back against the counter. He’s directly between Nate and his payment. On purpose. There’s a challenging glint in his eyes, daring him to say something.
He’s been given two options: tell Hancock to move like a coward, or get up close and personal. Whatever self control Nate walked in with vanishes. It may be a bad idea, but he’s done far worse. And he’s practically been given an invitation, who is he to ignore that?
He moves closer, leaving less than an arm’s length between them. Downing the contents of his glass, he watches Hancock’s eyes drift down his neck. There’s no doubt now that he’s interested. The tension between them is building, a rope pulled taut.
Nate leans around him to place his glass on the counter, hovering in his space for a moment before pulling back. He decides to be direct. Graceless, but direct. “So are we gonna do something about this?”
“I dunno.” Hancock pushes off the counter and steps closer, inches away from him. “Depends on what you think ‘this’ is.”
Not wanting to be outdone, he closes the distance, until they’re breathing the same air. The back-and-forth is enticing, but he’s done with whatever game they’re playing. “Do you wanna fuck or not, Hancock?”
The tension snaps, so loud Nate’s sure he can hear it. Hancock wastes no time with responding, instead grabbing his chin and dragging him in for a filthy kiss. Hancock’s face, lips, even his tongue are all vaguely leathery- though Nate can’t say it’s unpleasant. He so busy cataloging sensations and trying to match Hancock’s movements that the arm wrapping around his waist and pulling him in closer startles a gasp out of him. He grabs fistfuls of Hancock’s ridiculous, gaudy coat and pushes him back until he hits the counter.
Then, Hancock pulls away. Nate sways forward and tries to drag him back in, but Hancock’s grip on his chin tightens, and now he’s looking at him curiously. He tips his head from one side to the other, studying.
“That a good one?” Hancock asks after a moment.
“What? What’s a good one?” Why is he being asked nonsensical questions now?
“Whatever you took. Wanna share?”
Nate frowns. “I’m not on anything.”
“You lyin’ to me? Your pupils are huge.” Hancock jostles him, teasing. “Dead giveaway.”
Hancock must be losing his mind. “Must be a trick of the light.” Nate grins, teasing back. “Unless you drugged the booze you just gave me.”
Pushing them away from the counter, Hancock scoffs, “I’d never, I’m hurt you’d even suggest that.” He resumes titling Nate’s head around, inspecting him.
His antics make Nate start laughing lightly. “I’m not on anything, I swear.”
Sliding his hand from Nate’s chin to the back of his neck and squeezing lightly, Hancock makes a dangerous proposition. “Do ya wanna be?”
He really, really shouldn’t, but since he’s already making poor choices tonight, he may as well go for broke. “Yes.”
Hancock releases him, only to spin him around and push him toward the door, grabbing his wrist when they cross the threshold and leading him across the landing to another room, closing the doors behind them. This must be Hancock’s room, there’s a bed pressed against the far wall, a couch on the opposite side with a low table in front, and some mismatched furniture filling the rest of the space. Hancock points him to the couch and says, “Sit down, make yourself at home. Lose the shoes while you’re at it.”
Nate sits, scanning the table in front of him, and yanks off his boots. There’s chems laid out haphazardly, many he can identify and a few he can’t. Some small trays, a few spoons, a belt, and a mirror are mixed in- Hancock doesn’t mess around.
Sitting next to him, Hancock tosses a couple syringes of Psycho into the mix. Nate’s not touching those, he knows that for sure, his temper doesn’t need any more encouragement. He leans back, throws an arm over the back of the couch behind Nate, and says, “Pick your poison. Unless you need a recommendation.”
Nate glances over at him, narrowing his eyes when he sees the smug look on his face. This is a test. Hancock’s testing him. He thinks Nate’s new to this. The insinuation is so infuriating- Hancock doesn’t know him- he’s going to pass this patronizing test with flying colors.
It’s been a long time since he’s done this, but he’s fairly confident he can hold his own- and not make a fool of himself. He’s determined to prove Hancock wrong now, too much is at stake to lose his nerve. Yanking out the knife he’s stashed in his boot- always good to be armed- he slams it a bit too hard on the table and pries open a box of Mentats. His jaw aches from how hard he’s clenching it.
The Mentats are probably not a great choice, his bones are already electrified and his mind is running circles around the confines of his skull. They’ll speed things up, but it’ll be directed. Controlled chaos. He isn’t patient enough to wait for them to get to work in the conventional way, so he dumps a couple out into his palm, drags the mirror closer, and pours them out onto the surface. The knife’s handle is the perfect size to crush the pills, and the blade makes forming a neat line with the powder much easier.
He leans over the line, blocks one nostril, and snorts it in one go, like he has something to prove. In a way he does, Hancock can fuck right off with his tests and games.
Sitting back up, he glares daggers at Hancock, who whistles lowly, blank eyebrows raised. Without saying anything, he leans over, grabs two of his own, and pops them in his mouth, crunching them between his teeth and smirking at Nate.
It takes no time at all for the Mentats to kick in. Every detail of Hancock’s gnarled face comes into stark focus, and Nate notices, for the first time, the contrast between his brown, bloody irises and blackened sclera. When he speaks, the words come out in a rush. “What, nothing to say?”
“Something’s got me curious.” He’s doing it again, that intentional pause that drives Nate up the wall.
“What?” He hates how effective this tactic is.
“What’s a prewar, vault-dwelling smoothskin like you doing propositionin’ ghouls and doin’ chems like that?”
Nate’s already racing heart starts battering his ribcage. How the hell does Hancock know that? His brain-to-mouth filter must be gone, because he asks, “How the hell do you know that?”
Hancock shrugs. “I read an interestin’ article.”
So much for no one knowing Piper’s article was about him. His past is the last thing he wants to talk about, if Hancock asks one thing about it- about Shaun- he’s leaving.
But he doesn’t. When Nate stays silent, he says, “Like I said, it’s got me curious. I can’t say this was what I expected.”
“You’re making a lot of assumptions about me. Better be careful with those.”
He laughs. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
Fed up with the questioning and not wanting the conversation to drift back to the contents of the fucking article, Nate decides to hurry things along. Twisting around on the couch, he says, “I’m done talking,” and pulls Hancock in by the back of the neck for a kiss that’s anything but gentle.
The hand on the back of the couch tangles in Nate’s hair, wrenching his head back to expose his neck. There’s no lead up before Hancock’s sucking a vicious, dark bruise into his skin. Nate groans, encouraging him, and he starts biting a line up to his jaw. The pain is excellent, Nate’s frustration with Hancock and unsteadiness at the reminder about the article evaporate, letting him exist in the moment without distraction.
When Nate presses his hand between Hancock’s legs and feels his hardening length, he giggles. He can’t help it; there’s a fluttering feeling in his chest from the Mentats, he feels giddy and lightheaded, and his preposterous question just got answered.
Hancock pulls away, hand still gripping his hair, and narrows his eyes. “Kinda rude to laugh with your hand on someone’s dick.”
Still giggling, a bit breathlessly, Nate explains himself without thinking it over. “I was wondering if ghouls had dicks, just found out they do.”
He doesn’t look impressed with his explanation, so Nate tries to distract him with a bit more pressure, a bit more movement. It works, and Hancock drags him back in to lick into his mouth, releasing his hair to squeeze the back of his neck.
Hancock lets him go easily when he pulls away, opening his legs with a grin when Nate drops to his knees and starts undoing his pants. He laces his fingers behind his head and says, “Well ain’t you full of surprises.”
Nate pauses and looks up. “Hancock?”
“Yeah?” He’s smirking now. It’s needlessly smug.
He smiles tightly, pulling out his cock. “Do me a favor?”
“What kinda-“
“Shut the fuck up.”
To his credit, Hancock does, in fact, shut up when Nate gets his mouth on him. He’s quickly learning that the leathery texture to Hancock’s skin extends everywhere. It’s an interesting feeling, one he’s starting to enjoy- more than he probably should.
Hancock warns him when he’s about to cum, and since he was actually polite about it, Nate makes a point to hold him in place and swallow.
Breathing heavily, Hancock pulls at Nate’s shirt, silently telling him to undress. He does, letting Hancock yank his shirt off and stepping out of his pants. He’s pulled on to his lap, straddling his thighs, and Hancock spits in his palm and wraps a hand around his cock while the other grabs at his waist, fingers digging into the flesh.
Working him through his orgasm, Hancock pulls him down and kisses him languidly.
Nate stands on shaking legs, Hancock steadying him for a moment before joining him. He jerks his head to a door off to the side of the room and says, “There’s a bathroom, with running water. Get yourself cleaned up, I’m not lettin’ you in my bed like this.”
It’s fair of him to say. He’s sweaty, dusty, even a little bloody from the day’s activities. Faking offense, Nate says, “Presumptuous, Hancock. Very presumptuous.” He still obeys, taking advantage of the indoor plumbing.
When he returns, Hancock’s shirtless- and hatless- on the bed, propped up against the headboard. He waves him over, and Nate slides in to place next to him. He hands him a cartridge of Jet and says, “Nothin’ better after a good lay.”
Pressing down on the top of the cartridge, Nate closes his eyes and inhales deeply. The cartridge is gently pulled from his hand, and his arm drops in slow motion. When he opens his eyes, each blink feels like it takes a lifetime. Everything is suddenly, blissfully, quiet. Calm. A weight is lifted off his shoulders.
He doesn’t remember laying down, or closing his eyes, or Hancock pulling the covers over him. For the first time in months, his mind slows down, granting him a moment of peace.
Nate wakes up slowly, feeling unusually rested. It takes him a moment to figure out where he is, but Hancock’s scarred, leathery back provides a decent clue. He didn’t mean to spend the night here, but he can’t say he’s entirely upset about it. As much as Hancock gets under his skin, he still had fun last night.
A thought strikes him, like a firework going off. There’s absolutely no reason the fun can’t extend into the morning- if Hancock’s up for it. It’s his turn to make some assumptions, though he feels like he’s actually going to be right about them.
A wandering hand across his stomach, a few teasing bites to his neck, and Hancock’s awake and more than ready to match Nate’s enthusiasm. It doesn’t take long to end up straddling him again, one arm braced by his head and the other wrapped around both their cocks. Nate finishes first, Hancock not long after, panting into each other’s mouths.
Nate smirks. It’s also his turn to be smug. “Pretty decent wake up call, huh?”
Tangling a hand in the hair at the back of Nate’s head, Hancock gives him a shake. “Ain’t that the truth.”
With one last, searing kiss, Nate heaves himself off the bed and starts gathering his clothes. As he’s dressing, he hears Hancock light a cigarette.
“Heading out?” The question’s casual, there’s no ulterior motive to it.
Nate sits on the couch, lacing up his boots. “Yeah. Things to do, places to be, you know how it is.”
Hancock chuckles, and the room falls quiet again. He stands and heads for the door, a slight bounce in his step.
“Nate.”
He turns back, hand on the doorknob, and raises an eyebrow with a small smile.
“Stop by next time you’re in town.” Hancock’s gaze is weighty- and oddly enticing.
The smile grows. “Maybe I will.”
He leaves the Old State House feeling lighter than he had the day before. He tries to hold on to it, shoving aside the whisper in the back of his mind telling him what day it is. He’s not ready to think about that, not yet.
On the landing leading to his room in the Rexford, he freezes, closes his eyes, and considers throwing himself back down the stairs. He forgot his fucking caps.
Chapter 10: December 31 - February 25
Summary:
Nate’s going through the motions.
“Time moves in one direction, memory another.” - William Gibson, Distrust That Particular Flavor
Notes:
cw: suicidal thoughts
Chapter Text
On New Year’s Eve, Nate recognizes he has no choice but to let his mind take him. Knowing what’s to come, he wishes he’d bought a second bottle of moonshine and hopes the first will be enough to see him through. The door to his room at the Rexford is locked, a dresser dragged in front of it, just in case. It’s hard to tell if he’s trying to keep something out or keep something in.
“Just in case.” He taps out the syllables in the open air.
Nate paces, scrubbing his hands through his hair over and over, grabbing the bottle on the dresser each time he passes to take a swig. The moonshine doesn’t go down easy. Bobrov may be best, but moonshine is still moonshine. He starts counting his steps, seventeen to walk from one wall to the other, fourteen if he takes longer strides. He decides to just take the damn moonshine with him. Fourteen strides, his hand touches the wall. He takes a bitter pull from the bottle, choking back a cough. Fourteen strides, his hand touches the other wall. Another mouthful burns his throat.
His mind starts slipping to dark and desperate places. He needs something else- something more- to keep himself from sinking. He runs through everything he can think of, knowing full well he’s only delaying the inevitable. A list of states comes out in a rush, then a list of cities. Then, when he recites every one he can remember, a list of streets. By the end, he thinks he’s just making them up. Maybe multiplication tables-
He slides down the wall, coming to sit heavily on the floor. It’s useless, he’s never been good at math. The bottle taps rhythmically against the wood floor, pausing after every whispered count to fourteen, then starting over again. After three rounds, he starts knocking his head back into the wall between counts. Fourteen on the bottle, one on the wall.
You’re acting crazy.
“Shut up.” His voice slurs.
The thin black lines separating the wood paneling on the wall start to move, curling up from the floor, agonizingly slow. The ones behind his back drag icy fingers up his arms. He closes his eyes, wondering if they’ll wrap around his neck.
He’s too deep in his cups, there’s no other explanation for it. He refuses to believe there’s another explanation. He can’t go down that road. Acknowledging it makes it real, and when it’s real it’s dangerous.
A distant cheer erupts beyond the cage he’s locked himself in. He exhales shakily.
Shaun’s dead.
Maybe not today, maybe days- weeks- ago, but now there’s no denying he’s gone. Nate’s eyes are dry. Shouldn’t he be crying? He should be crying. His son is dead and he hasn’t shed a single tear. A poor excuse for a father, if he could have even called himself one in the first place.
He’d shared the responsibility of caring for Shaun with Nora, those few weeks he’d been alive before the bombs fell, but it had always felt like taking care of a friend’s child, not his own. He never told Nora, afraid of what she would think and hoping it would change with time.
Instead, he got shoved in a freezer and Shaun grew up without him. Nate hopes he knew what a blessing that was, how much better his life was without him in it.
Peering at the bottle with one eye closed to bring it into focus, he’s vaguely impressed he’s made it halfway through its contents already. Maybe he’ll drink himself to death, fall asleep here on the dirty floor and never wake up. It’s darkly tempting. He sways while sitting down, almost falling over as he takes another swig.
I wanted to see what you would do, who you would be.
Nate laughs bitterly, taking another pull from the half-empty bottle. These days? A tornado of sex and booze and death ripping his way through the Commonwealth.
Look at yourself. What would people think?
“Shut up!” The bottle shatters against the far wall.
What a waste.
It’s impossible to tell if it’s him or the bottle. He thinks it may be both. He tries to draw his knees up to rest against them, but his legs won’t cooperate. The movement sends the world tilting sideways, and he slumps to the floor. It’s for the best, he was having trouble holding his head up anyway. Hoping the black lines that detached themselves from the walls don’t turn on him, he lets his eyes close.
Nate wakes up on the floor feeling like he got hit by a bus. He has a few moments of abject misery against the hardwood before he has to drag himself to the toilet to get better acquainted with the contents of his stomach.
He wishes he had something on him to fix how awful he feels, but he’d decided he was above chems before the night he spent with Hancock. Which is idiotic, in hindsight. Too sore in the head to stand for very long, he throws himself into the bed to wait it out.
Part of him wishes Piper was here. Not right now, when he’s shaking and sweating from a devastating hangover, but maybe when he feels less like he’s been run over. Tomorrow. He’ll go to Diamond City tomorrow. He has what he hopes is a respectable amount of caps from the jobs he’s taken, even if he hasn’t retrieved the ones he forgot in the Old State House. It’s a good time to pay back his debts and slip some extra into Piper’s pockets.
He runs a hand over his face. That’s not the only reason he’s going to Diamond City and he knows it. There’s something selfish and rotten inside him that craves the normalcy he’s found around her and Nat. He knows he doesn’t deserve it, not for a second, but he’s too weak to stop himself.
Nate tries to tell himself that he’s fine, that his heart isn’t racing and there isn’t a cold sweat breaking out over his body, but the evidence is stacked against him. It’s been a while since he needed to step through the Diamond City gates by himself; he’d forgotten how much of a challenge it is. He hesitates outside for long enough for one of the guards to tell him to move along.
Seeing Piper, Nat, and Dogmeat will be worth it. Paying Nick back will be worth it. Keeping his promise to finish Nat’s investigation will be worth it. A sudden determination to see these things through overwhelms the encroaching fear, and he’s able to convince himself to step inside. He’ll be fine.
When he knocks on Piper’s door, it’s a bit frantic. He swears he can feel eyes on his back, but when he glances over his shoulder he can’t tell who’s watching. Being out here with his back to the rest of the city makes him too exposed, too easy a target. Frustration races through him; he thought this would be done, that after Shaun- it should be over, they shouldn’t care anymore. The feeling erodes into worry. Is he putting Piper and Nat at risk by being here? Maybe he shouldn’t have come.
He’s about to turn away and march back out of the city when the door swings open and Piper pokes her head out. When she sees him, her face brightens, lifted by a cheery smile. Before he can say so much as a ‘hello’, the smile drops and her expression crystallizes into something more shrewd. He’s abruptly dragged inside, door slamming shut behind him, and Piper starts shaking a finger in his face and demanding he explain himself.
He pushes her hand away. “Whoa, ease up. Explain what?” Now that he’s inside, he feels like he can breathe again. It’s a jarring transition.
“Your neck.”
He blinks a few times, trying to orient himself. “Oh. That.” He forgot about that. Hancock did some noticeable damage, he really should have considered using a stimpak before coming here. Too late now.
“Yeah, that. How did that happen?”
Falling back into their easy banter settles something in him, putting his feet back on solid ground. He’s not going to tell her the truth, but he is going to annoy her - she just gave him the perfect opening. He schools his face, serious and maybe a little patronizing, and says, “Well, when two people are really enjoying exploring each others’ bodies-“
She cuts him off. “Enough! I don’t need details.”
It’s good to do this again, to mess with her and keep things simple and lighthearted. Teasing, he says, “I thought you wanted me to explain.”
“You are a child.” The grin she’s failing to fight back betrays her. She’s enjoying this too. “I leave you alone for two weeks-“
“Can we be done with the third degree?” As entertaining as this is, he doesn’t want her to ask too many questions. He’d rather focus on the present
Thankfully, she takes pity on him. “Fine, I’ll let you off the hook. For now.” She turns away and gives him some breathing room.
He sets down his rifle, then is hit in the face with fabric when he looks back up. Tearing it away and holding it at arm’s length, he scowls at Piper. “Why are you throwing things at me?” Shaking it out, he sees that it’s a scarf.
“Cover yourself up before Nat gets back, you floozy.”
He starts laughing, winding the scarf around his neck, all discomfort from earlier forgotten. It may be a bit of a departure from the rest of the conversation, but he needs to tell her, warm and quiet, “It’s really good to see you, Piper.”
The shift does not go unnoticed. “Uh..you too?” Squinting, she asks, “Are you feeling alright, Blue?”
“Yeah, I am.” He finds he actually means it. Changing the subject, he asks, “What’s Nat up to?”
Piper lets him. “She took Dogmeat to a friend’s place. Thanks, for leaving him here. Those two are attached at the hip.”
That’s even better than he’d hoped. “I can see it.” Shaking his head slightly, he remembers his manners. “No need to thank me.” Then, he remembers his original mission. “I have something for you.” Another subject change. He’s having trouble staying on target.
She looks suspicious, until she sees the two boxes of caps he drops on the table. Then she looks confused. “What’s this?”
“Caps. Figured you could use them.”
She crosses her arms, glaring. “I don’t want your caps.”
He does the same. “Well I don’t need them, so you should take them.”
“I’m not taking your money.” She’s being needlessly stubborn about this.
“If you don’t, I’ll just give them to Nat.” She wouldn’t fight him on this, it’s a great backup plan.
“You wouldn’t dare.”
“I absolutely would.”
It takes a while, but he does eventually win that battle. In the morning, he tells Piper he’s going to see Nick, neglecting to mention he’s making a stop after that.
He pays a visit to Sheng Kawolski, who is all too eager to let Nate unblock the water filters in the reservoir his shack sits on. It takes less than two minutes in the water and a single question to find out exactly what happened to the drifters who worked for Sheng. He takes notes on his Pip-Boy, then the reality of what he’s done catches up to him. It’s January and he jumped in a reservoir fully clothed.
Waterlogged and more than a little miserable, he shivers his way back to Publick Occurrences. Piper is, in his opinion, too ready to believe his lie when he tells her he fell in the reservoir accidentally. While she’s busy laughing at him, he slips Nat the Pip-Boy, open to the notes he took. On his way to Diamond City, he decided it was time to get rid of the thing. It identifies him too readily, so he made sure to add ‘it’s yours now’ to the end, knowing Nat will make better use of it.
Against his better judgment, Nate ends up taking Hancock’s offer to stop by the next time he’s in Goodneighbor. Then he does it again. And again. The fourth time he finds himself walking up the spiral staircase in the Old State House, he’s beginning to notice it’s become a pattern.
Hancock gets under his skin - really gets under his skin. There’s no reason for Nate to keep coming back here. He’s still fantasizing about punching him every time they talk. But now, lying on Hancock’s mattress, panting, with the ghoul draped over his front, he has to admit that he does know how to show him a good time.
Hancock’s boney shoulder is right in front of his face, and as his breaths start evening out, he notices it again- a smell, subtly clinging to Hancock’s skin. It’s familiar but he can’t place it. He’s noticed it before, every time they’ve been close, and now the question it asks is dragged to the forefront of his mind. What does it remind him of? The need to know is urgent and all-consuming.
At first he tries to be discreet. Turning his head to the side, he presses his nose to Hancock’s skin and takes a slow inhale. What is that?
Hancock rolls off of him, so Nate follows, grabbing his arm and holding it to his nose, inhaling more obviously. He needs to know. Now that he’s thinking about it, he’s sure he’ll go insane if he doesn’t get to the bottom of this.
“What-“ Hancock tries to pull his arm away, on his side facing Nate. “Are you sniffing me?”
“Just-“ The more Hancock tries to yank his arm away, the tighter Nate holds on. “Just gimme a second.”
“Let go-“ Hancock’s pulling back hard, so Nate uses his weight to pin him down, holding his arm with both hands. All subtlety about his mission gone.
Then it clicks - Hancock smells like a corpse. It’s faint, not overpowering like a real corpse. The cloying sweetness is unmistakable now that he’s identified it. He…doesn’t hate it. Releasing Hancock’s arm, he sits up and lets the relief of an answered question settle in his chest.
Hancock sits up slowly, confusion written all over his face, and asks, “Wanna fill me in on what that was?”
Nate doesn’t think before saying, “You smell like death.” Nodding to himself, he’s too busy cataloging this new information to pay attention to Hancock. Death, that’s exactly what it is.
Blinking a few times to refocus, he looks at Hancock. Who is staring at him. Silently. Realization that he said that out loud hits him. Hurling insults at Hancock isn’t anything new, but that wasn’t one he was planning on sharing.
Before he can think of anything to say to explain himself, Hancock throws his head back and laughs. Now it’s Nate’s turn to stare, confused by what’s happening.
Leaning back on his arms and shaking his head, Hancock says, “You’re somethin’ else.”
At least he’s not angry. Nate would deserve a bit of ire for that comment. Instead, Hancock lets it go after a few moments and offers him a cigarette. He accepts, and quietly thinks to himself that he’s getting too comfortable, if he’s saying things like that without meaning to. It doesn’t help that he keeps spending the night, even though he always pays for a room at the Rexford. He should just leave, go back to his room and keep a little distance.
He ends up staying the night.
Next time he ends up in Goodneighbor, Nate makes it a point to not go to the Old State House. It’s a safe place to land after he’s finished handling a group of ferals that were lingering on a caravan route, and just because he’s here doesn’t mean he needs to visit Hancock. He can show a little self control, for once.
He’s falling into a routine, one that’s beginning to make him antsy. Diamond City to Goodneighbor to Bunker Hill, catching whatever work he can find between the three to keep himself occupied. Between that, he’s falling into bed with anyone who looks his way and drinking himself into oblivion more often than not. It’s predictable, and he’s learning that predictable may not suit him.
The only times he doesn’t feel like the walls are closing in on him are when he’s in Diamond City with the Wright sisters, or when Daisy makes time for him between customers. And, he has to reluctantly admit, when he spends a night with the goddamn mayor of Goodneighbor.
He knew it was a bad idea, getting involved in any way with Hancock. And here he is, thinking about him again. The point of avoiding the Old State House was to not think about the ghoul. Variety. He needs a bit more variety in his life. Something else to spend his time on. He must be bored and clinging to anything remotely interesting. That has to be the reason this keeps happening.
The sound of the door opening brings him back to reality. He must have lost focus for too long, because Emma is shooting him a glare and slamming the door behind her.
This is going to be a problem.
January bleeds into February, and Nate’s routine continues to press down on him from all sides. It’s only a matter of time before he does something drastic to avoid the growing claustrophobia. He’s taken to running between Goodneighbor and Diamond City, trying to purge some of the restless, kinetic energy that won’t seem to leave him alone. It never works, but he’s gotten fast. He tells himself that it’s useful, and not a sign of bone-deep boredom. He also tells himself he’s not embarrassed by the amount of times he’s fallen flat on his face after slipping on a patch of ice.
Sitting on the floor of Publick Occurrences helping Piper fold copies of the latest paper does lessen the feeling that the walls are closing in around him. It’s mind-numbing, only made tolerable by Piper’s running commentary. The smallest things are making his blood boil, and right now the fact that he can’t keep his over-long hair out of his face is infuriating.
The third time he makes a frustrated noise while pushing his hair back, Piper says something. “You can do something about that. Right here, no less. We have a barber in town.”
She’s not wrong, it would be a convenient solution to the problem, but he can’t bring himself to put that amount of trust in someone he doesn’t know. “I’m not letting a stranger next to my head with scissors.” Piper, on the other hand, he trusts. “Would you do it?”
After a short staring contest and a put upon sigh, Piper says, “Fine, but only this time. After that you’re on your own.”
Piper gives herself a muttered pep talk before she starts cutting. Not exactly encouraging, but he’s come this far - too late to back out now. The moment he hears the scissors close by his ear, every muscle tenses. Knowing there’s a sharp object right next to his head that he can’t see is testing the limits of his self control. After every cut, he has to remind himself that this is Piper, that she’s not going to attack him, that he’s safe with her behind him.
“-always had a knack for getting in trouble?” The second half of Piper’s question gets his attention.
She must have been talking about the fight he almost started with a shop owner the last time he was here. Over what, he’s not sure. Not wanting to lie, or reveal too much, or let on that he wasn’t listening, he pulls out the most benign answer he can muster. “I sure gave my parents hell.”
Laughing, she says, “Why am I not surprised. Was it just you and them?”
Not as benign as he was hoping, apparently. He just opened himself up to a line of questioning he’d rather avoid. He keeps his answer short. “I had a sister.”
“You had a Nat too?” Her voice is a little quieter.
“No, she was older than me.” God, he misses Maggie. Her absence feels like losing a limb.
The snipping pauses, and Piper says, “That explains so much.”
“What?”
There’s a smile in her voice now. “You’re a little brother. Everything makes sense now.”
He feels justified in elbowing her for that comment, even if it only proves her point.
Hancock’s been shooting him strange looks from the moment he walked in the door. By the time they’re rolling up their sleeves and laying out syringes of Med-X, he’s outright staring. Nate can’t make sense of whatever expression he’s wearing, and it’s bothering him. He’s not even saying anything, just looking him over in silence. He can feel his face starting to twitch, anger heating up his skin and vibrating his bones.
He tries to keep it at bay, but it gets the better of him before very long. “What the fuck are you staring at?”
Hancock starts laughing, the sound makes Nate grit his teeth. “Relax. Your hair looks like it went ten rounds with a razorclaw and lost. What the hell happened?”
Just as quickly as it came, the anger vanishes. Piper may not have been very good at hairdressing, but she got the job done. He grins and says, “Piper. And it can’t be that bad.”
He looks at Nate for a long moment, then smiles and shakes his head, saying in a low voice, “Like night and day.” Then louder, “She needs to stick to writing papers.”
Preoccupied with wrapping a tie above his elbow and looking for a vein, he absently says, “I’ll tell her you said that.”
Nate can’t seem to steady the hand holding the needle to his skin. Why is he shaking so much? He searches his memory, looking for a clue. The only thing he can think of is that he didn’t eat today. He just wasn’t hungry. When was the last time he did eat? Was that yesterday? It’s hard to tell.
A hand plucks the Med-X out of his. Hancock steadies his arm and presses the needle to the vein. A prick, then the tie’s loosened and the needle’s pulled away. His hand wraps around the inside of Nate’s elbow and holds tight. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d call you a rookie.”
Nate doesn’t respond, sinking back into the couch when Hancock pulls away, watching him pull a belt tight over his arm and grab his own syringe. There’s a practiced ease to the way his hands move, one that Nate shouldn’t be impressed by. He’s been doing this more, watching Hancock’s hands. Not thinking anything of it, just looking. Observing.
“I got a question for ya.” It sounds light, innocuous.
His eyes are getting heavier, warmth washing over his skin and sinking down to the bones. “Shoot.”
Tone still light, Hancock says, “You can hold your own in a fight. You a natural scrapper or did ya pick that up somewhere?”
He mumbles out the answer. “They teach you lots of things in the military.” Then, his brain catches up with his mouth and he sits up straighter. “Fuck. You’re such a bastard.” He keeps doing this, waiting until Nate lets his guard down to start asking probing questions.
Hancock ignores the insult. “You? With that massive chip on your shoulder?”
“Screw you.” He had no intention of telling Hancock that.
“How’d that happen?” There’s no getting out of this one, Hancock has a look in his eye that tells Nate he’s not going to let it go.
Sighing, he says, “My old man got in my head.” He should stop there, but pressure behind his teeth urges him on. “Got me convinced the only way to be a man was to serve your country or serve time. I didn’t want to make the same choices he did, so I joined up. Probably still chose wrong.” Avoiding eye contact, he tries to make his voice casual, unaffected. “But you know how it was then, that’s what a lot of people did.”
“I don’t, actually.”
He looks back at Hancock and raises an eyebrow. It would be a hard thing to miss. Before the bombs, everything seemed to revolve around the military.
Tilting his head back on the couch, he says, “Wasn’t alive for that.”
His understanding of how ghouls are made doesn’t account for this new, frustrating piece of information. Enormous amounts of radiation are part of the mix. Like from an atom bomb. Is Hancock fucking with him? He wouldn’t put it past him. Needing more to work with, he asks, “Aren’t all ghouls prewar?”
Turning his head back to Nate, he grins and says the most annoying thing he possibly could. “Not this ghoul.”
He’s deliberately not expanding on that, Nate’s sure of it. Facing Hancock and moving closer, he stares him down and demands an explanation.
“Found this fun little experimental drug and thought to myself ‘who am I to turn down a good time?’”
Nate can understand that mentality, but he’s getting the feeling there’s more to this. “So you took a random drug you found, not knowing what it would do, and turned yourself into a ghoul in the process?”
“No, I knew what would happen.” He doesn’t expand on that, but this time there’s something closed-off about the way he says it. He’s not trying to get a rise out of him, he just doesn’t want to talk about it.
He surprises himself when he’s able to drop it and not dig in deeper to whatever it is Hancock’s not telling him. Instead, he focuses on the part that really annoys him. “So you’re not 200 years old.”
The grin that dropped off Hancock’s face returns. “Nah, more like sixty. Or something.” He waves a hand. “I stopped countin’.”
He has no reason to be this annoyed by this, but knowing that doesn’t stop his mouth from saying exactly what he’s thinking. “You’re not even a real ghoul.”
Hancock takes offense to that. Rather than let him throw a new insult back, Nate decides there are better ways to spend the evening and focuses his attention on being an effective distraction.
Nate makes a point to keep stopping by the Valentine Detective Agency even after he’s paid his debts to Nick. He’d been more stubborn than Piper about accepting the offered caps, so he resorted to passing the box to Ellie when he saw her outside the agency. The nobility of it all is expected, but no less inconvenient.
Listening to Nick talk is the biggest draw of visiting. He’ll share news from his trips between the larger Commonwealth settlements - purposefully omitting details on his own doings - in exchange for hearing about the cases Nick’s working on. Nate usually can’t make any helpful suggestions, but he can nod along and let Nick talk through the case out loud. It’s a habit he’s built that he can accept. There doesn’t seem to be a downside to it.
Today though, Nick doesn’t have a case to talk about. The air inside the agency is more somber than normal, and despite not wanting to pry where he’s not welcome, Nate coaxes an answer out of him.
“I have a loose end to tie up, from the original Valentine.” He looks like he’s a thousand miles away. “Been thinking about opening the case up again.”
They’ve talked about this before, Nick’s inherited memories from his human namesake. He’s getting the feeling Nick is unsure of where the original Valentine ends and he begins, but Nate…doesn’t know how to help with that. It’s too big a question for him to try and grapple with. Instead of bringing this up, Nate nudges him to continue. “What’s the case?”
“There was once a fella by the name of Eddie Winter, king of organized crime in Boston. Before the bombs, Eddie Winter went and turned himself into a ghoul, two hundred years before it was fashionable. Hell, he was probably the first one.”
He’s telling Hancock that he’s not special for turning himself into a ghoul. He’s not even the first one. Subtly pinching himself to try to concentrate, Nate tunes back into what Nick’s saying.
“I think he’s still out there, in his bunker, waiting things out. He has a lot to answer for.”
He may not be able to help Nick work through his complicated identity woes, but he’s decent at being muscle. He can help with the Eddie Winter side of things. Besides that, he owes Nick more than a few favors, so he asks, “Do you wanna go get him?”
Nick thinks this over for a long moment, holding eye contact without revealing anything of what he’s feeling. Then, he leans back in his chair and says, “Maybe. I’ll think about it.”
“Alright.” Nate won’t ask again, not directly. He’ll let Nick bring it up if he wants to. He seems to need some space, frowning and looking distant, so Nate makes his goodbyes shortly after asking.
As he’s leaving, Nick calls after him, “Try to stay out of trouble. You don’t need a repeat of the Glowing Sea.”
What does that mean? He tries to brush it off. “I’ll do my best.”
Outside the agency, he realizes can’t shake off Nick’s words. What was he talking about? His time in the Glowing Sea feels so far away. He tries to remember something, anything that Nick would have meant, but nothing comes to mind. He remembers Virgil, the strange city in the crater, the colors, but it...feels like remembering a dream. The details are right there, but when he reaches for them they slip away.
Suddenly unsteady on his feet, he braces his hand on the wall of the alley. Inhale. Colors unlike anything he’s ever seen. Exhale. A whisper, but when he leans closer, it dances out of his grasp. Inhale. Tension shared over a cigarette, but about what? Exhale.
Uncertainty makes his skin crawl. It was months ago, of course he can’t remember clearly. That must be why he can’t place it. There’s no other reason for it.
Nate puts Nick’s comment aside in favor of more pressing matters, like why he keeps gravitating toward Hancock, and why Hancock keeps letting him. What does he get out of this? There’s no way Nate is his only option. He’s not even nice to him. More often than not, he’s blatantly combative. It doesn’t make sense, he’s never been turned away - not once. Sometimes Hancock will make him wait while he does whatever it is mayors do, but it’s never been a no.
He keeps telling himself he’s not going to come back every time he starts to think about next time. But then there is a next time. There’s always a next time. This is turning into a habit; he’s acting like an addict after their next fix.
He stops short on the spiral staircase. A fix. Maybe it’s the chems. It has to be at least partially because of the chems. If he doesn’t let chems into the mix, it might give him some clarity. This time, he’s going in sober.
He barely spits out a greeting before dragging Hancock off to his room, too annoyed with himself to care about being rude. Hancock just seems entertained by it, which only makes Nate more annoyed.
It takes no time at all for Nate to back Hancock up against the door, tossing his ridiculous tricorn hat across the room, breaking something that he doesn’t investigate. Hancock isn’t too put off by this, apparently more interested in getting Nate out of his shirt.
As he starts pushing Nate toward the bed, he asks, “So you’re not gonna let me show you any hospitality, huh?” He’s come to learn hospitality usually means chems. The exact thing he told himself he’s going to avoid tonight.
“No chems.” He’s almost surprised by his self control.
“Alright hotshot, have it your way.”
Nate’s hands stop wandering. That’s familiar. Why is that familiar? He pulls back a little. “Have you called me that before?”
“Yeah.” He doesn’t offer up any more information, instead working on drawing Nate’s attention back to finishing what they’ve started.
It bothers him, knowing that it’s familiar but not being able to place it. He tries to let it go, put it into a box and shove it into a dusty corner, but it keeps growing legs and marching back out. Pushing it back works for a while - it helps that Hancock is a very good distraction - but eventually his mouth takes off before his brain can stop it.
“Are you sure you’ve called me that before?”
Hancock looks at him incredulously, standing with his hands on Nate’s hips, buried in his ass. “You’re askin’ that now? Am I boring you or something?”
Sex now, answers later. Fine. He can be patient. But not without a barb or two to retaliate for the deflection. “You’re moving a little slow. Getting tired, gramps?”
Hancock takes the bait, and does his best to keep Nate from catching his breath- or getting sidetracked again. It works, for a while.
But despite Hancock’s efforts, he’s not distracted from the question for long. He can’t let it go; it’s becoming impossible to ignore. First Nick’s comment, now this? The need to know is growing. He doesn’t want to give in to the impulse, so he shuts his eyes and listens to Hancock light a cigarette, trying to stay in the moment.
Without enough of a distraction, his control wanes and he can’t stop himself from sitting up and asking, “When did you call me that?”
Hancock groans. “You’re still on this?”
Stealing the cigarette out of Hancock’s mouth, he says, “Just tell me.” He may as well get an answer out of this, if he can’t get himself to drop it.
He glares, watching Nate take a drag. “Your first day in Goodneighbor, when you and Nick were talkin’ to Daisy.”
Nate frowns. He remembers meeting Daisy - knowing she was important - but Hancock wasn’t there for that…was he? Unease settles in the base of his skull. He’s a little breathless when he asks, “You were there?”
Hancock snatches the cigarette back out of Nate’s hand. “Don’t tell me you forgot about me. Here I was, thinkin’ I was memorable.”
He doesn’t say anything. Something is crawling up his spine, tightening its grip. It feels a lot like fear.
“You sure were. Don’t see a change of heart like that every day.”
What the hell does that mean? He’s missing something, maybe several somethings. Fighting back the panic over what else he doesn’t remember takes a substantial amount of effort.
A hand in his hair makes him release a breath he didn’t know he was holding. Hancock tugs lightly and says, “Though with you around, I see it on the regular.” Pulling back, he lights another cigarette, handing it to Nate with a lopsided smile. “You really know how to keep things exciting.”
Nate makes another attempt at piecing together the memory, but there’s something murky about it, like trying to read a book through a layer of gauze. He knows the words are there, he just can’t quite understand them. Getting nowhere, he tries to drop it. It’s nothing, it was a while ago. That’s why he doesn’t remember it.
He has more important things to be worrying about anyway. Like how he has to reluctantly admit that it might not just be the chems drawing him to Hancock.
Chapter 11: February 26 - ?
Summary:
Nate gets serious.
“We're all just one step up from the beasts and one step down from the angels.” - Jeannette Walls, Half Broke Horses
Chapter Text
The days keep coming, and there is something inside of Nate that is aching and savagely hungry. He’s been trying to satiate it with sex, chems, death, to no avail. There is never enough. He doesn’t know what it is, what it wants.
Boston proper is becoming oppressive in its sameness. The jobs are still risky - and getting riskier by the day - but the backdrop never changes. Crowded buildings, piles of rubble, the same sounds reverberating off the walls, day after day. When he seriously considers charging headfirst into a skyscraper filled with super mutants, on his own, he decides enough is enough. He needs a change of scenery. Sex and chems will be the same no matter where he is, he can at least control his brushes with death.
Sanctuary seems like the best place to go, though his list of options is sparse at best. He hasn’t been back in…months? Has it been months? Preston’s list of settlements asking for assistance has long since run dry, maybe he’ll have another. If he doesn’t, it’s a long enough walk to give him some time away from downtown. Nate’s restless enough to beg if he has to.
He really must be desperate if he’s willingly going back to Sanctuary. Walking up the road to the settlement, he nearly turns around more than once. This place is nothing but a reminder of a life dead and gone, one that was more dream than reality. The need to do something, anything different to try to quell the insatiable thing living deep in his chest spurs him on.
Before the bridge, there’s something new. A makeshift watch tower with a man leveling a rifle at his face. Calling it a watch tower is a bit generous, he’s only about five feet off the ground, but that’s enough to give him a clear shot. Nate raises his hands.
He’s wearing a hat that looks a lot like Preston’s, and his voice is gruff when he shouts, “Who are you?”
He’s being treated like a threat.
That’s a joke. He’s one person, how is he in any way a threat.
Wishing he wouldn’t, he opens his mouth and starts a fight. “Who the fuck are you?”
They go back and forth like this for entirely too long, with Nate refusing to answer and the man jabbing the rifle at him as a threat. It would have been faster to just answer politely and play along, but he’s too annoyed by how asinine the reception was - if he were a threat, he wouldn’t be strolling up to the front door in full view of the guard. He knows he’s not doing himself any favors, but he can’t let this go long enough to make nice.
The stand off ends when Preston takes notice, waving at the guard and walking up to Nate. “Take it easy, I know him.”
He forces himself to breathe out slowly, there’s no reason for him to be picking fights just because he’s bored. While Preston waves off the guard, he collects himself as best he can.
Preston starts walking him into Sanctuary, like he’s welcome here. “It’s been a while since I saw you. How’ve you been?”
Not knowing how to answer, he avoids the question entirely. “It has. I visited those places you told me about.”
Preston lets him change the subject. He claps him on the shoulder and says, “I know, I heard about what you did.”
He doesn’t sound angry, so word about Nate’s less-than-friendly attitude must not have made it to him. It wouldn’t help to let on to this, so Nate charges ahead to the question he came here to ask. “Got any more?”
“Ha! Always. I’ll give you a few places.”
When they get closer to the middle of the settlement, Nate can’t help but notice that Codsworth makes a sharp turn to avoid them, going inside of Nate’s old house rather than cross paths. It’s not unwelcome, even if it does sting a little. He earned that reaction.
Preston takes him inside another house with patched walls. The interior is furnished now, and though everything looks rough, it’s a place people actually live in. The room he’s taken to is an office, there’s a battered desk, some mismatched chairs, and a hand-drawn map of the Commonwealth tacked to the wall. It’s detailed, with notes in the margins that Nate only skims over.
“Quite the set up you have here.”
“We’re rebuilding the Minutemen. This is our temporary headquarters.” He’s proud of this, it’s evident in his tone and in how he stands just a bit straighter.
Nate’s heard bitter talk about how they fell apart, nearly everywhere he’s been- Preston has his work cut out for him. He decides not to bring up their poor reputation. “How’s that going?”
Preston hands him a torn piece of sturdy paper with a few places listed, no details on what kind of help they need, just like last time. “Good- great, actually. We get new recruits all the time, and more settlements joining the cause. It’s…really something. To see it all come together like this.”
He at least sounds optimistic, and Nate’s not going to stomp all over it. “That’s great, Preston.”
Preston looks at him with a grin. “Since I was the last Minuteman, that made me the de facto General. It’s a lot, being in charge of something like this, but I think we can really make it work this time.”
Nate whistles. “A serious promotion.”
He shrugs. “Someone needs to do it.” With a smile, he adds, “I’d ask you to join but I have a feeling you’d say no.”
There is nothing that Preston could say that would ever get him to accept the offer. “Yeah, probably. I’ll stick to the lists.”
“I’ll take it.”
Preston offers him a place to stay the night, but the thought of trying to rest here is unbearable. He needs to leave, as soon as possible. In a fit of uncharacteristic friendliness, he talks to some of the settlers, asks a few questions, and tries not to make a nuisance of himself. Codsworth continues to avoid him, but the feeling is mutual in the end. It feels like he’s trying to repair something he broke, and when that thought surfaces he decides to make himself scarce. And if he slips a box or two of caps into Sturges’ workbench before he leaves, that’s his business.
There’s a party in the Third Rail tonight - it’s obvious the moment he steps through the door. He’s come to realize that there isn’t a pattern to them, they happen when they happen, including on…whatever day of the week this is. At some point, he stopped paying attention to that. Days- weeks- are running into each other, it’s pointless trying to keep track of them. Running all over the greater Boston area working on Preston’s new list hasn’t helped.
It’s crowded, with groups clustered around tables and lining the bar. The largest is congregating around the wall by the stage, pressing into the center. He can hear Hancock’s voice above the noise, which explains the crowd.
A gap forms and Nate sees Hancock, standing with a foot propped up on a chair, addressing the group. Nate’s chest expands, an emotion he’s been refusing to name forcing his rib cage out. He doesn’t approach, standing and watching the way Hancock commands the room.
It’s a testament to his charisma that he’s as popular as he is for having led a violent coup. Or how unpopular his predecessor was. Daisy had told him in broad strokes what had happened - Hancock led a crew of drifters to violently depose the tyrant before him and Hancock installed himself as mayor. He knows there’s more to it, but hasn’t asked. It’s hard to see him as a dictator, even though he fits the definition. He’s too well-liked. Nate’s been trying to fit in what he knows about Hancock’s history with what he knows about Hancock from their time together. Things are slowly beginning to make sense.
Nate’s shaken from his thoughts when a hand lands on his lower back, making him jump. A man clutches a beer, saying something to him, but he’s too busy dragging his mind away from the scene on the other side of the barroom to pay any attention. The gesture is overly familiar for a stranger, but he supposes he’s garnered a bit of a reputation for being unlikely to say no, even if he’s been too preoccupied with Hancock to make the rounds as of late. When he leans in to whisper in Nate’s ear, he pulls back reflexively. Normally, he’d be more than up for this, but Hancock is right there and even across the room he has his undivided attention. As usual.
Before Nate can gather himself enough to stop whatever this is in its tracks, a different hand lands on his shoulder, sliding around the back of his neck and drawing him away.
He hears Hancock loud and clear, solving the problem for him. “’Bout time you showed up.” The hand on his neck turns into an arm draped across his shoulders, pulling him back to the crowd Hancock had come from.
“Must’ve lost my invitation.” The smile that stretches his face almost hurts, the stranger completely forgotten. Hancock’s eyes are almost sparkling under the lights, and Nate can’t bring himself to look away.
The crowd lets Hancock - and by extension, Nate - through easily, and Hancock settles them in the middle, completely unsurprising to Nate. He’s seen this before, people clamoring to get Hancock’s attention, and hasn’t failed to notice that Hancock, to some degree, enjoys it. Placing himself at center stage makes sense, as does the exaggerated, almost artificially benevolent way he addresses the people around him. Like a king gracing his adoring subjects with his presence.
Fahrenheit appears at his side, pressing a drink into Nate’s hand. He raises it at her in thanks, then downs it instantly, grimacing at the burn. Moonshine, of course. She laughs at the face he makes.
Hancock pitches his voice louder, addressing the crowd. A rousing speech, no doubt. Not that Nate’s listening, he’s busy taking in the confident set to Hancock’s shoulders, the fiery look in his eyes, the fervent cadence to his voice. A cheer erupts, he must have ended on a strong note.
The arm over his shoulders leaves behind a rush of cool air, and Hancock accepts a bottle from someone, popping the cork and tossing it aside. He locks eyes with Nate, wiggles the bottle and smirks. Nate has a feeling he knows where this is going.
He puts his glass down on a table behind them as Hancock’s hand reaches for his chin, pulling him in closer and tilting his head back. Nate opens his mouth and winks. Laughing, Hancock starts pouring more than a few fingers of what tastes like whiskey down Nate’s throat. He exhales slowly through his nose, a hand wrapping around Hancock’s wrist, and relaxes for as long as he can. When he hits his limit, he squeezes his hand, and Hancock pulls the bottle away, dragging him in for a ferocious kiss.
In the back of his mind, Nate thinks Hancock might be trying to make a point. He’d be lying to himself if he said he minded it, but he refuses to think too hard about what it means, putting more effort into matching Hancock’s intensity.
When they separate, Nate takes the bottle from him, taking another pull. Hancock leans in his space, making him inexplicably nervous. He drinks more than he probably should in one go to combat the feeling. Huffing, Hancock says, “That’s ambitious, do ya not want to remember this?”
“I’ll let fate decide.” He tips the bottle back again, thinking that he’s probably not going to remember tonight and-
Nate wakes up face down in bed, wondering why he keeps doing this to himself. He turns his head to the side, cracking open one eye, and sees Hancock. He wishes that were a surprise. It’s starting to feel inevitable, the way he gravitates towards him. Deciding that he’d rather not suffer through this alone, he starts tapping Hancock’s cheek. When it doesn’t work right away, he speeds up and taps harder, knowing full well he’s being annoying.
At some point, Nate closes his eyes again, still tapping incessantly, only stopping when Hancock hoarsely says, “Quit it,” and pushes his hand away.
Eyes still closed, Nate asks, “How’d we get here?”
“I dragged your ass back. Ya don’t remember?” His voice is like gravel, clearly not pleased with being woken up.
Nate grunts. “No, nothing after you dumped half a bottle of whiskey in me.”
Hancock starts chuckling. “So ya blacked out…almost immediately.”
“Go fuck yourself.”
He can hear the self-satisfied grin in his voice. “That’s what I got you for.”
Nate groans, opening his eyes just to glare at Hancock. “That was horrible, you can do better.”
Hancock ignores him. “You were saying a lotta shit about fate last night, what was that about?”
Nate’s not entirely sure, but he has a feeling he knows what he was hung up on. Something like… “’Fate spares the man it has not already marked.’”
“Yeah, you kept sayin’ that. Repeatin’ it doesn’t make it make more sense.”
“Beowulf.” Daisy’s been reading it, which got Nate thinking about it, then fixating on it. And apparently drunkenly saying it enough for Hancock to comment.
He sighs, exasperated. “That doesn’t help.”
Nate fights back a grin, ineffectively. Not wanting to miss the opportunity to be irritating, he says, “Maybe it’ll make more sense in Old English, I could-“
Hancock groans. “I take it back, it’s too early. Keep it to yourself.”
That’s for the best, he was just going to start speaking gibberish to bother Hancock. He can’t remember most of last night, so trying to explain himself would be impossible anyway. Worry filters into his throbbing head, and he asks, “Did I do anything embarrassing?”
“Define embarrassin’.”
Nate buries his face in the pillow and heaves a sigh. He did, he absolutely did, and maybe it’s for the best he doesn’t remember. Hancock laughs at him, and Nate blindly reaches a hand out to push his face away. The feeling that he’s getting too comfortable is back, as it usually is in the mornings he finds himself in Hancock’s bed. It’s getting less powerful the more he ignores it. Part of him knows he shouldn’t ignore it, but it’s become unavoidable - like an oncoming train.
Nate’s routine continues, with the addition of Preston’s settlement list breaking up the monotony. Sometimes, he’ll make a stop in Diamond City to bring Piper along - particularly when the ask seems like it’s too much for one person. He’s been trying to space out the time between when he leaves Goodneighbor and when he sees Piper, knowing that he tends to look a bit rough after a night there, and not wanting to field her concerned questions as to why.
Now, halfway through dealing with a group of raiders for one of Preston’s settlements, he’s glad he brought her along, if only because he’s trapped himself. Their plan had been sound - Piper would handle the raiders on the first floor while Nate dealt with the upper levels. What they didn’t account for was one of the raiders throwing Molotov cocktails indoors. In a mostly wooden house. From there, the plan fell apart. At least she’s on the first floor, with an easy way out.
The fire spreads quickly, cutting Nate off from the staircase and forcing him deeper into the house. Trying different doors on the third floor, he looks for a way to get out instead of burning alive. One room had its exterior wall blown out, facing another building. It’s not far, he could make the jump to the window across the street, and there’s a roof below he could jump to to get down to the ground. It’s a great idea, this will be easy. He can absolutely make this jump.
He takes a running start, and does make it to the next building. But, instead of catching the open window, he bounces off the siding and hits the roof below, knee twisting viciously. There’s a wet pop, and he collapses, tumbling to the ground and getting the wind knocked out of him when he lands. Gritting his teeth and sucking in a breath, he tells himself he must have slipped when he jumped. That should have been easy. He did not misjudge that.
He pushes himself upright, assessing his knee. Pain is lancing up and down his leg, its epicenter on the top of his knee, throbbing in time with his heart. It’s making his eyes water and his hands shake, and takes everything in him not to shout at each little movement. Feeling around, it becomes immediately apparent that it’s been dislocated. Easy solution, no problem at all.
Piper appears around the corner of the house, running over to him. “Blue, are you alright? What happened?”
He speaks through clenched teeth, resting one hand above and one hand below his bent knee. “Jumped, missed. Knee’s out of socket.”
“Crap, ok let’s just-“
He takes a deep breath, then forces the leg down to the ground, shifting everything back in to place. He has to bite back a scream, the pain crescendos then settles back into a dull throb. He bites out, “It’s fine, I got it.”
She hisses, “Why would you do that?”
“Were you gonna carry me?”
She doesn’t have an answer for that, sputtering for a moment before saying, “That was a huge gap to try to jump, what were you thinking?”
“Save the lecture, there wasn’t another way out. I’m fine, aren’t I?” He stumbles to his feet, keeping pressure off his throbbing knee.
She lets him lean against her while he limps away from the inferno, not convinced by his platitudes. She worries far too much, he’s more than capable of taking care of himself. His plan worked, even if it didn’t go the way he thought it would.
He takes more risks like this when he’s restless, and Piper clearly can’t handle them. He decides it’s for the best that he keeps his distance from her on those days, it’s only upsetting them both - in different ways. Besides that, she’ll just keep trying to stop him, and he can’t have that. He’s an adult, he can make his own choices. He’s fine.
Nate’s had a long week- or weeks, he can't really tell anymore. After another trip to a settlement, this time to do more farm labor, he decides he’s earned a night of drinking and listening to Magnolia sing at the Third Rail. Nate’s glancing idly around the barroom between songs when he sees something that makes him wish he knew how to mind his own business. There’s a young woman, gangly in the way that only teenagers are, sitting at a table, drooping every few seconds. When she opens her eyes, they’re glassy and unfocused. She’s in deep. And she’s not alone - there’s a man talking to her, seemingly unconcerned with her state.
Nate looks around, maybe someone else noticed too? But no one’s paying them any mind. He realizes with dawning horror that he might have to be the one to do something. Before he can tell himself exactly why he shouldn’t get involved, he’s standing on unsteady feet and cutting a wavy path over to her.
Shouldering in between them, he waves the man off, who says something that Nate doesn’t pay attention to. He sits heavily in the now vacant seat, grabbing the table to keep himself from falling over, and leans forward, snapping his fingers in her face. “You good?”
She hums in his general direction. Not a response he can work with. She needs to sleep this off, but if he asks her where she’s staying he won’t get an answer, and she probably shouldn’t be alone while she rides out whatever it is that she took. There’s no way in hell he’s babysitting her, he’s not equipped to deal with that. Tapping a finger on the table, he runs through his options. It’s too late to go to Daisy, taking her to the Rexford would mean he had to stay with her - which he is not doing - so that leaves one option. This counts as mayoral duties, doesn’t it? He can make this Hancock’s problem.
Getting her up the stairs and out onto the street is time consuming. The bouncer makes a move to get in their way, so Nate mumbles Hancock’s name as an explanation, which must be enough for the ghoul to let them go without a word.
Nate carves a winding path around the corner of the Old State House, almost dragging the girl along. She has an arm around his back, hanging on to his shirt with the other hand, leaning heavily against him. He has to get a hand under the arm holding his shirt to keep her upright. It’s incredibly undignified, for both of them. The entire time they walk, Nate keeps asking himself what the hell am I doing? And why the fuck did I get involved? And Jesus Christ what is wrong with me?
They stumble into the building, almost toppling over when they hit the stairs. He has to hoist her up each step, pausing halfway up to make a rude hand gesture at a guard smirking at him.
The doors to Hancock’s office are closed, but he can make out voices through the wood. He shouldn’t be interrupting, but he needs this to be over - it’s not a social call, anyway. Knocking on the door, he tries to steady his companion as she sways dangerously, gripping on to his shirt.
Fahrenheit opens one door, looks at them standing in front of her, then opens the other and steps to the side without a word. Hancock walks over, face unusually blank, and crosses his arms. “Whatcha need?”
He must be interrupting something important, but without another option this is the only way he can think to end his current predicament. He waves his free hand at her vaguely and says, “A place to stay,” ending the sentence abruptly when he remembers he doesn’t know her name. That should be enough to convey the message.
Hancock’s face goes from blank to steely in an instant, barking at Fahrenheit to get the girl set up on the upper floor. Fahrenheit peels her away, Nate having to disentangle her hand from his shirt when she doesn’t let go. He’s the last thing she should want right now, she’s much better off with Fahrenheit.
When they start off to the stairs, Hancock grabs Nate’s arm with bruising force, dragging him inside and closing the doors. He sounds angry when he says, “Tell me that wasn’t what it looked like.”
That’s irritating, why’s he so against giving her a place to land for the night? “I didn’t know where else to bring her, she’s not in great shape in case you couldn’t tell.”
Hancock sighs, looking away for a moment, almost deflating.
It takes him a moment, but Hancock’s reaction starts making more sense now. Nate’s heart sinks. “Did you think…?”
Much calmer now, Hancock shakes his head. “My mistake, got ahead of myself.”
Unable to leave it be, Nate asks in a small voice, “You really think I’d do something like that?”
“It would’ve surprised me.” He sounds sincere, but it doesn’t help the feeling simmering in his stomach.
He sighs. “But you still thought it.” He can name the feeling now, it’s disgust. At himself. For being the kind of person that would make Hancock think that.
Shaking his head, Hancock says with finality, “It’s nothing, forget it.”
Nate’s going to have a hard time forgetting that, but he lets it go. Sighing loudly and swaying with the force of it.
Hancock straightens out his crumpled shirt and pushes him back to his room, telling him to sleep it off. Nate lies awake for a long while, unable to stop himself from ruminating. Is this how people see him? A loose cannon incapable of controlling himself? It makes something twist viciously in his stomach. A new low, even if his intentions had been good. He doesn’t fall asleep until the sun starts to rise the next morning.
Nate’s lulled into a false sense of security when Hancock doesn’t mention the night before when they wake up. He’s lacing up his boots when the calm atmosphere is shattered by a terrifying statement.
“You and I need to have a conversation.” It’s not said lightly, the way Hancock usually talks.
Nate doesn’t like where this is going, trepidation squeezing his chest down tight. “Alright, what about?” He tries to keep his voice aloof, very worried about what he’s about to say. Hancock sounds serious.
“I know you get around.” He may as well have dropped a bomb in the middle of the room.
He pauses, stunned into silence. What is he supposed to say to that?
“It’s not about last night, it just got me thinking.” Hancock drops next to him on the couch, voice still measured, not looking at Nate.
Nate leans back, unsure how to respond. He just looks at Hancock, waiting for him to continue.
After a moment, Hancock catches Nate’s eyes and says, “I’ll make you an offer. You want to keep coming here as much as you do? You keep that shit outta my town. I don’t want to see it, I don’t want anyone tellin’ me they saw it. Not in Goodneighbor.”
Nate’s stunned again. He hadn’t expected that. He hesitates for a moment too long, because Hancock adds, “I ain’t asking for much.”
He isn’t, he really isn’t. Nate should just walk away, call it quits while he’s ahead, but he’s too invested now. It happened almost without him knowing, and now losing whatever it is he has with the ghoul doesn’t seem worth denying him this. It’s a small request, completely within his control to abide by. Ignoring the apprehension wriggling in the base of his skull, he quietly says, “Alright. I will.” The words taste like ash in his mouth.
Nate leaves the Old State House rattled. He shouldn’t be doing this sort of thing, his past attempts at letting feelings take hold have been failures, what’s to say this will be any different? Someone is going to get burned. Hancock is going to get burned. Nate will be the one lighting matches.
Under his breath, he asks himself, “What am I doing?” Making a mistake, it seems.
He stops before he reaches the gate. The girl from last night is sitting at a bench, looking blankly ahead. He repeats the question, “What am I doing?”
He’s already done enough, he shouldn’t continue to get involved in whatever is going on with her, but he opens his mouth before he can think better of it. “Hey, everything alright?”
“Hey, Nate.”
Great, she knows his name. Always a good sign. He tries not to dwell on it. “I didn’t get yours.”
“Mel.”
“Right.” She didn’t answer his question. It’s the perfect opportunity to end the conversation and leave well enough alone. Naturally, he does the opposite. “You didn’t answer my question.”
She looks away. “I don’t know. I’m out of places to go, no caps either.”
He’s the worst person possible to help in that situation, why’d he push the issue? It’s not like he can do anything about it. But, he knows someone who could. Preston. He’s good people, he’d know what to do here. “If you need somewhere to land, there’s a settlement up north that could use another set of hands.” He doesn’t know that that’s strictly true, but Preston likely wouldn’t turn her away.
“How am I supposed to get there? No guns.”
“I’m heading there anyway, you could come with.” That’s not true. That’s not even remotely true.
She agrees, to his horror. Standing and brushing herself off, chin set as though she’s trying to appear braver than she feels, she follows him out of the gates.
Before they get too far from Goodneighbor, he takes off his holster and hands it to her with the 10mm inside. “Here, you’ll need this.” He can find another.
She takes it with a nod, fixing it around her hips.
They walk mostly in silence through downtown Boston, Nate trying to avoid starting fights with the people and things that prowl the city. He doesn’t know how familiar Mel is with a gun, and doesn’t want to find out the hard way that she’s new to shooting.
When they break away from the tightly clustered buildings and reach the suburbs, Mel gets more talkative, asking him questions that he deflects by tossing them back at her. She’s not the most forthcoming with information, but he learns enough to glean that she couldn’t stay at home for some reason or another, and tried to make her own way. Which did not go as planned.
It’s bizarrely like talking to another version of himself. Taking her to Sanctuary is starting to feel like he’s trying to make up for his own mistakes and push the mirror image of a younger him away from wandering down the same roads. It’s nauseating even thinking about it, and he wants to slap himself for how pretentious and self-absorbed the sentiment is. She’s not him, she’s herself, and he’s doing the absolute bare minimum.
As they’re approaching Concord, Mel stops suddenly in the road, frowning. Nate turns to face her and asks, “What’s up?”
“How’re you supposed to keep going when everything’s already ruined?”
She’s asking you?
He waves the voice off, ignoring the look Mel gives him. The question bothers him. He wants to yell at her, shake her shoulders in an effort to knock some sense into her head. But something about the lost expression on her face makes him reel himself back in. He’d asked himself the same question, many times. He decides to tell her something neutral, hoping his words will give her the chance to figure it out for herself.
Despite his best efforts, he still sounds annoyed when he says. “You just keep fucking going. That’s all there is to it.”
She nods, not looking convinced. It wasn’t a very encouraging statement, but that’s what she gets for asking someone like him.
Sighing, he tries to soften the blow. “Listen, I’m not the best person to ask. The place we’re headed, there’s good people there. They’d give better advice than me. You’ll have to ask them.”
That gets her moving again, and with a whispered “Alright,” they make their way to Sanctuary. He hopes that this is the second chance she’s looking for. That he hasn’t led her more astray that she already was.
He makes a brief introduction to Preston, who’s thankfully the one manning the watch tower this time around, then leaves Mel in his perfectly capable hands. On his way back towards the city center, unsure of where he’s going, he starts to notice buds forming on the trees. Little flecks of pale green sitting against the stark wood of the branches and twigs. When did that happen? He’s suddenly aware that it’s been warm enough to go without a coat. He’s not even wearing one right now. Shaking his head, he vows to start keeping track of the days more effectively.
Chapter 12: ?
Summary:
The past keeps pace.
“There is no peace, I'm sorry to say. We find it. We lose it. We find it again. We lose it again.” - Kurt Vonnegut, Slapstick
Notes:
cw: suicidal thoughts
Chapter Text
The situation with Nora is becoming uncomfortably serious. Nate thinks she’s getting too invested in him without truly knowing what she’s getting into, so he decides to tell her about the worst parts of himself. He quietly hopes that she’ll wash her hands of him after he does, that he won’t need to wait for the other shoe to drop anymore, so he tells her everything he remembers from the events leading to his discharge, filling in the blanks with what he’s been told.
He keeps his explanation detached, clinical, to avoid making excuses for himself. She now knows about him losing his mind and attacking a superior officer. She doesn’t find out about the fear, or the sleepless nights, or the fire that nearly burned his mind to ash.
But, as usual, Nora’s capacity for understanding is unmatched. Saintlike. She doesn’t shy away from him, like she should. Instead, she asks, “Would you do it again?”
It’s a strange question, he can’t tell where she’s going with it. He answers honestly. “Not if I can help it.”
“Then it’s not you who did it.” She grabs his hand and laces their fingers together. “This Nate and the one you just told me about are different people.”
“What do you mean?”
“You take your medication, right?”
Usually, but not always. He does when he needs to, when he feels like he’s slipping. As long as he has them around, he’ll be fine. Since he has it under control, he doesn’t tell her this, instead giving her the answer she’d want to hear. “Yes.”
“We aren’t ourselves when we’re sick. You were sick, and now you’re not. I don’t recognize the person you’re describing, so he’s not here in this room right now. It’s just you.”
He knows she’s trying to be comforting, but something twists in his stomach. He doesn’t feel like a different person, it still feels like that was him that made those choices. He did do those things, and he can’t take any of it back. If it wasn’t him, why would he be the one living with the consequences? It was him. He is that person. He’s both of those people. He lets her have her half-truth. There’s a monster inside him that he has to keep under control, at any cost. But it’s still him, the monster is him.
Nate’s been feeling…off. Unbalanced. Restlessness is starting to creep back in. He cuts his visit with Piper and Nat short - against Dogmeat’s advice - and decides to speak with Nick before he leaves Diamond City. He hasn’t stopped by in a while, and should make an effort while he’s here.
Halfway through their usual exchange of information, Nick goes quiet. Nate lets the silence hang, and eventually Nick tells him he’s been tracking down Eddie Winter. There are holotapes that each have part of a code needed to enter his bunker, and Nick’s found most of them. He asks Nate to come with him to find the last, then to infiltrate the bunker. Nate readily agrees; he said he would, after all.
Everything goes as expected when they track down the remaining holotapes. Out of respect for Nick, Nate doesn’t listen to them, acting more as backup rather than leading the charge. On the road, Nick explains more about his history with Eddie Winter. The grudge is personal, a death caused by Winter was someone important to the original Valentine - and, by extension, to Nick. Nate wonders how Nick keeps these two parts of himself separate.
When it comes time to make a move on the bunker, something in Nick hardens in a way that unsettles him. It feels like their positions have flipped from where they were months ago. Now Nate is along for the ride, keeping Nick from losing himself in his quest for vengeance.
Everything goes to hell when they reach the bunker. Nick charges ahead, Nate barely able to keep up. He doesn’t stop when he’s hit, and Nate sees more than a few pieces of plastic skin fly off him. He tries to tell him to slow down, but Nick’s on a mission. He’s settling a score.
In front of the locked room where they’ll find Eddie Winter, Nate makes Nick stop with a hand to his arm before he enters the code. “Hey, are you good?”
Nick grits out a harsh, “I’m fine,” and shrugs off Nate’s hand.
“You don’t seem fine.”
Nick gives him a long, hard look. He goes to say something, then seems to rethink it, closing his mouth and looking away. “I want this to be over. Winter’s here, it’s time to end this.”
Seeing that he’s not getting anywhere, Nate lets him go. “Alright, lead on.”
Nick’s through the door and raising his gun on a ghoul in the center of the room before Nate can blink. When he follows, he’s worried- just for a moment- that Nick’s going to start firing without asking questions. He hasn’t been acting like himself since they got to the bunker. Nate still doesn’t relax when Nick lets the ghoul- Eddie Winter- ask the first question. Followed immediately by a demand for them to leave. Nate thinks it’s a little overconfident of him to say; he’s out numbered and Nick looks more than ready to pull the trigger.
“I'm not going anywhere until I get what I came for.”
Winter starts talking, rambling about robot overlords and dismissing Nick entirely. He doesn’t believe Nick is a mirror image of the detective. Not an unfair assumption, but he could not be more belittling if he tried. Then he shifts his weight slightly.
Nick shoots him in the leg. Eddie Winter falls to his knees, hand going to his gun. Nick shoots him twice in the chest.
Time seems to stop, freezing Nate’s feet to the ground. He has never seen this kind of brutality from Nick. He’s looking at himself, standing in Nick’s position. It’s disturbing, wrong, not the way things should be. He crippled a man without warning, killing him soon after. Winter wasn’t even reaching for his gun. This isn’t how Nick does things. Nate knew Winter wasn’t walking out of here alive, but he’d thought Nick would try to get more information out of him, a confession maybe, not execute him without something concrete.
When Nick doesn’t move, standing over Eddie Winter’s lifeless body staring blankly at it, Nate unfreezes himself and pulls him away. Nick shakes him off, marching out of the bunker without a word, Nate on his heels.
They don’t say anything to each other for a long while. The world is upside down and backwards.
Nick breaks the silence first. “I’m sorry you had to see that.”
“Don’t be, it’s only fair.” Nate gathers himself, then adds, “I get it.” He understands having something vengeful inside yourself. And how difficult that can be to control.
They walk back to Diamond City, Nick haltingly telling Nate the rest of the story with Eddie Winter, and his fears about what comes after this. His mission is complete, and he doesn’t know where that leaves him.
Nate doesn’t know what to tell him. He knows full well that it’s impossible to separate the two halves of yourself without losing who you are in the process. He hopes Nick is able to figure out his new place in the world after this, even if Nate can’t help. This is a chance for a new start, and those are vanishingly few and far between.
After the mess with Eddie Winter, Nate keeps himself busy and away from Diamond City, trying to sort through the tangled mess inside his head. He doesn’t take on jobs, sticking to community service for the settlements on Preston’s latest list, stopping at Goodneighbor in between.
It’s been raining heavily- endlessly- and Nate’s sure at this point he’ll never be dry again. But the days continue to warm, and eventually the winter chill recedes. The change is enough to override the misery of a constant downpour, and Nate starts to feel better. Great, even. More alive than he’s felt in a long time.
After a few uninterrupted days of feeling excellent, he decides he’s finally allowed to visit the Wright sisters again. His blood sings when he walks- walks, not runs- from Goodneighbor to Diamond City. Boston is a drab city, especially after the bombs, but now he’s seeing the colors with fresh eyes. The windows that haven’t been shattered catch and reflect the light, throwing abstract shapes up against the walls of neighboring buildings. The shapes wobble and warp in time with Nate’s heart, he thinks they might be cheering for him.
When he sees the walls of Diamond City rise up over the ruins, he’s not worried. For once. This time, he’s certain he’s untouchable. He can handle anything the city or the fucking Institute can throw at him. He’s so confident, he even waves at a guard when he walks through the gates. It doesn’t matter that he gets a strange look for it. He’s proving a point.
Nat lets him inside after a couple knocks to their door, stopping him before he gets too far and telling him to stop dripping all over the floors. He takes off the light jacket he’s been using to shield himself from the rain, setting aside his guns.
“Where’ve you been? It’s been ages.”
He didn’t think it’d been that long, just enough time for him to get his bearings. He doesn’t argue with her assessment. “Around, sorry it took so long.”
Satisfied with his answer, Nat lets him go. Piper’s taken up residence at the low table in front of the couch with her typewriter, barely sparing him a glance while her fingers fly across the keys. He doesn’t take offense, she’ll come up for air eventually. He grabs the book he left here last time off the table, settling down on the floor with his back to the couch. Nat stretches out behind him, flipping through her notes, and Dogmeat works his way between Nate’s legs, shoving his face between Nate and the book.
Been a while. Dogmeat’s parroting Nat now, they’re spending a lot of time together so it’s to be expected.
So I heard. He runs a hand over Dogmeat’s head, holding the book up higher to read it around him.
Unlike Nat, he takes it a step further. What’s wrong?
Nothing, I’m fine. His concern is unwarranted, Nate’s doing fantastic right now.
And yet, he’s not letting it go easy. Are you sure?
Yes, now stop asking. There’s nothing to worry about, Dogmeat’s fretting for no reason.
Dogmeat lets it go, resting his head on Nate’s legs. He’s able to focus long enough to read, an excellent change of pace, and takes full advantage. The sound of rain on the roof is soothing instead of jarring, and sharing space with Piper and Nat makes something warm and happy expand in his chest. A moment of peace, after so long without.
He was right to stay away until he felt better. The distance was worth it, even if he missed being here. Some loneliness is preferable to subjecting the sisters to the darker parts of himself. He’d rather they never see them at all.
When Nate is released from the hospital, all he has are the clothes on his back and a prescription in his pocket. It’s a long walk to Revere Beach, but he knows he can jump the turnstile there - it’ll be faster than walking the whole way. He doesn’t get off in East Boston, knowing how showing up at Ma and Dad’s door would end. There’s only one place he can think to go, and that’s further south. To Maggie.
Sure, she hadn’t visited him, or sent any letters, or called, but she was still his big sister. She’d always have his back. No matter what. What happened was worse, so much worse, than anything that he’s done before, but he won’t let himself consider that it may have been the final straw. That would be too much to bear.
He walks slowly up to her house just as the sun begins to set, trying to piece together what he could say to explain himself. It’s a jumbled mess, he hopes that Maggie will be able to pry the words out of him. She’s always been good at that.
It takes him a long time to knock on her door. When Chuck answers and sees him on their stoop, he doesn’t say anything. Neither does Nate, they just stand there and stare at each other. Maggie appears behind him, then clings to her husband’s arm when she sees Nate. Like she’s afraid of him.
Maggie doesn’t say a word to him, it’s Chuck that tells him to leave. He spends the night wandering the streets in a haze.
Whatever remains of Nate’s good mood is burned away in a flash fire. It’s easier to give himself over to the boiling anger than allow what’s beneath it to surface. He throws himself into fighting the many foes the Commonwealth has to offer - all without getting paid. He needs a target, someone who deserves his fury, and he finds plenty. Killing and maiming doesn’t make him feel any better, if anything it makes him feel worse. Now the anger is mixed with disgust at his actions. It doesn’t stop him. There’s something clawing and screaming inside his mind and it demands retribution.
After countless bullets and more stimpaks than he’s willing to admit to using, he convinces himself that he has the snarling beast inside his chest leashed tightly enough that he can be around other people without killing anyone. With the indiscriminate violence over - for now - he presents himself at Hancock’s door. It’s late when he gets to the Old State House, and Fahrenheit has left Hancock alone in his office. He waves Nate in, muttering something about needing to finish whatever he does in his ledger.
Nate can’t imagine sitting still, patience worn down to nothing, so he occupies himself with rummaging through drawers, unrepentant in invading Hancock’s privacy. He doesn’t stop him, just shoots him an amused grin. At one time, this would have only made Nate more incensed, but now he appreciates the leniency he’s given.
The agitation does not go by unremarked for long. “What’s got you all bent outta shape?”
Nate answers too quickly, almost interrupting Hancock. “Nothing.”
“If ya say so.” He doesn’t sound convinced, but lets the matter rest.
Hancock keeps writing and Nate keeps rifling. He comes across older ledgers, but can’t make it through a single sentence when he flips through them, his mind racing ahead of him and refusing to follow his lead.
The door opens, and a man in clothes far too clean for the wasteland walks in. His hair is slicked back and stringy, features oddly pointed, with an air about him that says he’s sure he’s holding all the right cards. Nate hates him instantly.
There’s a coldness to Hancock’s voice. He doesn’t like him either. “Richie. To what do I owe the pleasure?”
Nate stops listening entirely, too bothered by the sharklike grin on Richie’s face. He’s arrogant, downright smug, about what he’s saying to Hancock. Richie’s voice has a taunting edge to it, which makes Nate hate him more. The cooling embers in his skull reignite, he can almost hear the match strike.
He stops his pointless rummaging, he couldn’t focus on anything other than how much he doesn’t like the look on Richie’s face if he tried. Admittedly, he’s not trying very hard, but it wouldn’t be worth it anyway.
Hancock stands, approaching Richie but keeping a fair amount of distance, the tension in the room rising. Whatever they’re talking about is losing its cordial pretense. Nate should really be listening, but it’s getting hard to hear much of anything. Their voices are coming through muffled, and red is forming around the edges of his vision.
Richie’s posture changes, hands relaxing by his sides. Nate is very aware that one is hovering above his gun. Hancock doesn’t match his stance, maybe he’s not seeing the same thing Nate is, and Nate’s not willing to take chances. He positions himself behind Hancock, forcing his feet to move slowly instead of charging the way he really wants to. The fire in his mind is sending white-hot sparks down his arms. His hands shake with the effort it takes to keep them still.
Richie starts monologuing, looking more and more smug with every word. Hancock crosses his arms, the line of his shoulders going rigid. Nate’s control starts slipping worse than before, the furnace that’s flared to life in his skull is demanding action.
After what feels like a lifetime, he can’t keep his mouth shut anymore. He wants this asshole to stop talking. “Give it a rest.”
Richie scoffs, not even looking at him. “Call off your dog.”
Nate left his guns on the far side of the room, leaving him with only his fists, but that wouldn’t stop him if he- Hancock pulls Nate back by his shirt. He didn’t notice he was moving. His whole body is shaking, and the only thing keeping him from snapping entirely is the feeling of Hancock’s fist against his back.
Richie and Hancock keep talking, but Nate couldn’t hear the words even if he tried. The fire is rampaging through his mind, a deafening roar ringing in his ears. It hurts.
The moment Hancock releases his shirt, he’s flying at Richie with unbridled fury.
He’s quick enough that the first punch hits without Richie having enough warning to dodge. Nate’s fist makes a satisfying crunch when he connects squarely with Richie’s pointy nose. Richie starts fighting back, and he’s certainly not a pushover, but the flames searing the inside of his skull are more painful than any blow he lands. Nate hardly notices them. He keeps hitting Richie’s smug, infuriating face as hard as he can, feeling his knuckles split but taking no notice of them.
There comes a point where he realizes he can’t stop. Though he doesn’t try very hard, too enraged to call it quits and not thinking about the limits of Richie’s body. Even when he stops swinging back, Nate doesn’t let up, pinning him against the wall to keep him upright.
His foot is kicked to the side, making him lose his balance and stumble. An arm wraps around his waist, pulling him back from where he’s pinned Richie, who slides down to the floor. Nate over did it. The fire hasn’t stopped, it’s worse now, he’s clenching his jaw so hard he may shatter the bone, needing to do something to douse the flames. He wants it to stop.
Someone starts pushing him out of the office, and Nate spins around to confront whoever is bold enough to try. It’s Hancock. Of course it is. He’s saying something that Nate can’t hear above the inferno, shaking his head to get rid of the roaring sound that’s driving him mad. Hancock keeps pushing at him when he doesn’t move, every few steps, while the guards deal with what he’s left of Richie.
The first thing he can hear above the cacophony in his head is the door to Hancock’s room slamming shut, then he’s pressed against the wall. It takes him a second to realize he’s struggling against Hancock’s hold. That must be why he’s holding him by his shirt and pressing down hard.
He’s saying something to Nate, but he can’t make out the words. His heart is about to break through his rib cage, and he’s shaking so badly he thinks he’s about to fall apart, crumble to the ground in pieces. God, his head hurts.
He closes his eyes, eyebrows knitting together with the force of it. All he can see is red. He still can’t stop it. Of this he’s certain. He can’t stop, it’s not in his hands anymore. He has to wait it out, hope that it ends.
It takes a moment to recognize that the harsh, frantic breathing he can now hear is his own. At some point, he stopped struggling, and now he grabs Hancock’s wrists tightly and holds on, desperate for something to keep him tied to the ground. When the fire recedes enough for him to think, he realizes that he’s afraid.
Then he can finally hear what Hancock is saying. “Hey, hey. Look at me.” He grabs his face, Nate’s hands follow, eyes opening reluctantly. “It’s over.” His eyes are wide, brows pulled tight. Is he worried?
Caught off guard by seeing worry rather than disdain on Hancock’s face, his mouth gets ahead of him and he tells him exactly what’s happening. “I can’t stop.” The fire is out of his control, he can’t douse it on his own. It’s terrifying. He’s terrified of what’s happening.
He didn’t give enough context for that, so Hancock misunderstands. “Yeah, you can. He’s done, you made sure of that.” His thumb is running over Nate’s cheek. It’s unexpected, but something that he can focus on, so he doesn’t pull away.
Even if that wasn’t what he meant, he can see where Hancock’s coming from. He tries to slow his breathing, focus on the feeling of Hancock’s hands against his face, the wall behind his back. Hancock doesn’t say anything, just watches him closely. He wonders what he’s thinking, what he makes of the spectacle Nate just made of himself.
Nate doesn’t know what he was necessarily expecting from Hancock after all that, but he’s jarred by the treatment he receives. Something rougher, aggressive- that would make sense. A fitting punishment for what he’s done, in line with the mess inside his head. Instead he gets…whatever this is. It doesn’t feel earned or deserved, but it helps. He doesn’t know what to do with this. Accepting it feels wrong, but he can’t bring himself to deny it either. In the end, he lets it happen. Hancock waits out the fire with him, until it’s nothing but smoldering embers.
After he nearly beats Richie to death, Nate isolates himself in the wilderness, making a point to avoid picking any fights. There’s a simplicity to being alone in the forest, letting him fall into a straightforward routine focused on survival. It’s hard to complicate that.
Eventually, he admits that he can’t hide out here forever. He isn’t ready to go back to Goodneighbor, still off-balance from Hancock’s reaction to his ruthless, unhinged behavior. He also can’t go to Diamond City, clearly too volatile to be around Piper and Nat, not wanting to expose them to this part of himself. More than anything, he doesn’t want to lose them. He should do something to make up for what he’s done, so he decides another list from Preston is a good place to start. He’s not too far north from Sanctuary, so it makes sense to go there first.
As he walks around the water surrounding the settlement heading for the bridge, he notes that the trees are green, leaves unfurled and adding some color to the world. The passage of time is beyond him, nowadays. He should be paying better attention, but he’s been very distracted. Too distracted. It’s getting out of hand.
When he comes into sight of the watch tower, he’s startled by a rifle aimed straight at his head again, this time with Mel behind it.
Her face is like stone. She shouts down at him, “Give me one good reason not to shoot you.”
Raising his hands slowly, he can’t come up with one. But then again, he wasn’t expecting this kind of reception. He tries to think back, piece together why she’s so ready to do this, but nothing comes to mind. Sure, he wasn’t the most welcoming, but he didn’t think he did anything worthy of this. He hadn’t seen her last time he was here, is she angry at him for avoiding her?
Then Mel surprises him again, lowering her rifle and grinning broadly. She disappears around the back of the watch tower and comes jogging straight up to him. He lowers his hands, unsure what to make of the situation.
She punches his shoulder, hard. “Why’d you avoid me last time?”
Ok, so maybe she is a little angry about that. Just not enough to shoot him over it. He rubs the place where she hit him. “Jesus, sorry. Didn’t realize it mattered to you.”
She rolls her eyes at him, thoroughly unimpressed, and changes the subject. She tells him she joined the Minutemen with a radiant smile, and he congratulates her. He tells her he’s looking for Preston, and she tells him where to find him, waving him off after he promises not to avoid her again and returns to her post.
It’s like she’s an entirely new person. She seems more sure of herself, less lost. It’s good to see. He’s relieved that Preston was able to help her turn things around. Something loosens in his chest, lightening his steps and making it easier to breathe again.
Nate wasn’t surprised when only Nora’s family turned up for their wedding. He told her that would happen, but she convinced him to invite his parents and Maggie anyway, under some misguided attempt at burying the hatchet. Nora might be the most forgiving person on the planet, and as a result she thinks everyone else shares her mindset. So, Nate’s not surprised. A small part of him may be disappointed, but he shoves it aside ruthlessly. There’s no use in holding onto something long dead.
An hour into the reception and Nate’s starting to think that his suit may be about to strangle him. He excuses himself as gracefully as he can and slips outside, sitting heavily on a bench and putting his head in his hands, breathing slowly.
After a time, he hears footsteps on the sidewalk. Paying them no mind, he keeps gathering himself for his inevitable return to the party he doesn’t want to be at.
“Nate?”
He knows that voice. It’s like a lance through his heart, taking all the air out of his chest. Lifting his head, he thinks for a moment that he’s looking at a ghost. “Ma?”
Pale with dark circles under her eyes, she looks thinner than he remembers. Her hair is stringy, like she hasn’t bathed in a while, clothes wrinkled and hanging off her frame. The way her face hangs, the dullness of her eyes, how still she is; he knows she’s in one of her black moods. For an instant, he wonders if he’s the cause. It wouldn’t be the first time.
They look at each other for a long moment. Nate has no idea what to say, head spinning with questions that he doesn’t think he deserves to ask. Ma fiddles with her purse, mouth a flat line.
Then, she sits next to him on the bench. He’s shocked that she’s willing to get so close. They haven’t spoken since before, and he never thought he’d see her again. He tries to hold his breath, afraid she’ll run if he so much as moves a finger.
“I thought when Maggie- I thought it wouldn’t- you wouldn’t-” She exhales slowly. “I thought it would pass you by.”
He knows this, even if they never talked about it directly. Every time he reminded her of herself, it twisted the knife. Now, he’s landed the final blow. He says what he’s wanted to say to her for years. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”
She takes his hand and whispers, “I know.”
They sit together in silence, both looking ahead, Nate gingerly holding her hand like a lifeline.
She takes it away. “I can’t forgive you. I can’t.”
His heart sinks, but he isn’t surprised. What he’s done is beyond redemption. “I understand.”
He hears her exhale shakily, then with a tight, thick voice, she says, “I still love you. I can’t stop it.”
He doesn’t know what to say to that. It hurts worse than if she had said nothing at all. She stands abruptly and starts to walk away. He feels unbearably hollow.
But she doesn’t leave right away, instead she stops to look at him, whispering, “Don’t contact us again,” then turns and hurries down the sidewalk without another word.
He stays on the bench for a long time, entirely numb, only rejoining the party when Nora’s brother comes out to look for him.
Nate continues to avoid downtown, telling himself that he needs a while longer before he’s ready to be around too many people. To prepare for his return, he sticks to the outskirts of Boston instead of the woods, easing himself into the transition. The aimless wandering- running, he’s mostly been running- gets tiresome after too much repetition, so when an idea strikes, he grabs at it and holds on with bruising force.
It takes him a few tries to find one still standing this far from the city, but he eventually comes across a mostly-intact church. It may not be Ma’s parish, but at least it’s Catholic. The windows are all shattered, but the walls haven’t crumbled, so he takes it as a sign it’s worth going inside to see what the damage is.
The heavy wooden doors are largely uncooperative, but with enough force- and a few curses he almost feels guilty about- he’s able to open one enough to slip through. Nate absently crosses himself when he gets past the threshold, a reaction so ingrained he barely notices it.
It’s in chaos, bibles are scattered around, debris covers the floors, and what’s left of the faithful still sit in their pews. It would break Ma’s heart to see this.
He looks one of the skeletons in the eye-sockets. “Good thing she can’t.” He’s talking to the skeletons now, a clear sign he should find someone living to talk to.
The altar is…mostly in one piece. Enough for his purposes, at least. Dim, gray light is coming in through the windows from an overcast sky. It gives him what he needs to start this foolish process and get it over with.
He clears a spot in front of the altar, kicking around the votive candles littering the floor, looking for one that’s not shattered. Finding one that’s only a little cracked, he takes out his lighter and- stops. Dropping his arms and closing his eyes, he takes a shuddering inhale, trying to calm the nervous energy rippling through him. After a moment, he goes back to his task with shaking hands.
The lit candle is placed on the altar, a warm orange glow standing alone in the wreckage. Nate gets to his knees, clasps his hands together, placing his arms on the altar. Closing his eyes, he rests his forehead on his hands, unsure of what he wants to say. He doesn’t want to talk to God, or the Saints, but he does want to do one last thing for Ma. Too little, too late.
“Eternal rest grant unto- oh what the hell am I doing?” He can almost see Ma clutching her pearls. The image makes him smile, a reminder of a time he and Maggie would test the limits of her patience.
He exhales, steadying himself against the burning in his eyes and starting over. “I’m sorry, for everything. I wish- I wish I would’ve talked to you sooner. Before I-“ He stops, taking a deep breath. “The house is gone, I can’t give you the burial you would’ve wanted. And I’m no priest-“ he breathes a laugh at that. He’s really no priest. “But I’m sure you made it up there no problem. I hope it’s everything you wanted it to be.”
Letting that hang in the air, he abandons the idea of saying an acceptable prayer. It wouldn’t mean much, coming from him, so it’s better to do this in his own words. He’s not getting into Heaven, not under any circumstances. Saint Peter would find him wanting. He listens to the sound of his own breathing for a while, hearing the birds singing outside the church.
When he stands, he places a hand on the altar next to the glowing candle and whispers, “Rest easy, Ma,” then leaves without looking back.
Outside, there’s a moment where he considers burning the whole place to the ground. Then he figures the candle might do it for him, so he leaves the destruction up to his mother.
A few days of sunny weather- and a sunnier mood- make Nate deem himself fit to rejoin what’s left of society. He’s not ready for Diamond City, something about how he feels is fragile, like he could shatter at any moment and fall back into the darkness. He doesn’t want to shatter in front of Piper and Nat.
Goodneighbor is the safer option, so he makes his way there, arriving later than he intended. He was farther from the city than he thought. Daisy’s shop is closed, which is a bit disappointing, but there are lights on in the Old State House. A good sign.
He’s just reaching the top of the spiral stairs when Hancock leaves his office. They look at each other for a long moment, Nate not knowing what to do, or what kind of reception he’s about to receive. He rolled the dice with this one. The way they left things was…good. He thinks. But he can’t let go of what happened before that.
It only takes a moment for Hancock to break the silent stare-down with a smile and a tug on his arm. To Nate’s relief, he doesn’t bring up Richie, instead regaling him with a story about an overconfident snake-oil salesman that he needed to run out of town the week before. He’s starting to notice that he actually pays attention when Hancock speaks, instead of losing track of the words like he does with most people.
When they get through the doors to his room, his attention is abruptly dragged away. He holds a hand up to make Hancock stop talking when he sees something very interesting. “What is that?”
Hancock tries to stop him when he marches toward the book lying on the nightstand, but he shakes him off. The hesitance to let him see whatever this is only makes it more enticing. He’s not going to quit now.
He picks up the book, marked halfway through, and something sparks to life beneath his sternum. Unbelievable, this is unbelievable. He spins around wearing a grin he couldn’t possibly contain. “This is Beowulf.”
Hancock sighs, tipping his head back. He knows he’s lost, Nate’s not easily deterred.
Nate’s heart soars. “Oh, this is too good. You’re reading Beowulf.”
Trying to save face, he deflects. “How do you read that bull? It’s so bad.”
Nate tosses the book on the bed, coming up to Hancock and wrapping his arms around his waist. His body is vibrating in a good way, a giddy way. He leans in and teases, “If it’s so bad why are you halfway through it?”
Still deflecting, but now starting to smile, Hancock says, “That’s my business, not yours.”
Nate laughs, shaking him a little. “You’re gonna make me guess?”
“Yep.” Then he frames Nate’s face with his hands, smile turning brilliant, and kisses him like the world is ending.
Nate admits that he’s in over his head after falling into his second hedge in an attempt to walk to East Boston. He’s wasted- beyond wasted- and in no shape able to make the journey. It’d be ambitious even when sober, his decision to go all the way out to Jamaica Plain was stupid at best. It was even stupider to not leave before the last train. Besides, even if he does make it back, there’s no way he’s sneaking in unnoticed. Mind made up, he redirects his stumbling to find a damn payphone.
It takes him a while to build up the courage to make the call. Even though it’s not the first time he’s done this, he doesn’t feel any better about inflicting himself on them when he’s in this state. But what option does he have? It’s a miracle the cops haven’t picked him up already, and a night in the drunk tank would be much, much worse than a night missing, as far as Dad would be concerned.
So, with a heavy heart, he calls Maggie.
It’s Chuck who answers, taking his mumbled explanation and meandering apologies in stride. He tells him the intersection he’s found himself at, and Chuck tells him to stay there until he can get him. Hanging up the phone, Nate lurches toward the street, sitting down clumsily, and props himself up against a telephone pole.
Chuck’s a saint. He’s glad Maggie found him, though he worries that his missteps may drive a wedge between the happy couple. Once again, Chuck’s on his way to peel him off the sidewalk, rescuing his fiancée’s troubled younger brother.
“What am I doing?” He’s appalled with himself, he should just find an alley to sleep this off, there was no reason for him to call for help. It’s his fault he’s in this state to begin with.
Before he can successfully push himself upright, Chuck’s car pulls up to the curb. Nate sinks back down when Chuck steps out and looks at him. Nate guiltily avoids eye contact.
There’s a smile in Chuck’s voice. “Hey, kid.”
Defeated, he says, “Hey, Chuck.”
He’s heaved off the sidewalk and poured into the passenger seat, a tangle of loose, gangly limbs and regret. Chuck turns the volume down on the radio, a kindness Nate doesn’t know how to react to, so he stays silent. They’re not far from Maggie and Chuck’s apartment, so Nate doesn’t have much time to piece together anything resembling an explanation before they’re pulling up to the curb out front.
Chuck hauls him inside, where - to his horror - Maggie is waiting. She directs Chuck to dump him on the couch, then waves him off. He disappears down the hall, flicking switches as he goes, leaving them in a glowing bubble of light.
When he’s gone, Maggie sits next to him and lifts an eyebrow, not impressed. “You’re drunk.”
He’s suddenly very preoccupied with the texture of the couch. “Yup.”
She shakes her head and sighs. “Who’s even giving you this stuff?”
“I ain’t a narc.” He’s not telling her shit about where he got the booze, or who he was with. That’s just asking for trouble.
She pinches his arm, making him squawk. “Say it right.”
He rubs the spot she pinched him, frowning. “What do you care?”
“I don’t, but Dad sure does.” She…does have a point. Best to not be in the habit, in case he slips up around him. She’s usually right, and while he can admit that, he doesn’t have to like it.
He sighs, and rephrases. Petulantly. “I’m not a narc. Satisfied?”
She grins. “Better.”
Rolling his eyes, he mumbles, “Dad’s a frickin’ hypocrite.”
“Yeah, he is.” She shifts on the couch to face him fully. “Look, you have less than a year left until you’re home free. Just…hold on a little longer. Try keeping the peace. Maybe stop doing this sort of thing without an exit strategy. If not for yourself, then for Ma.”
He holds her gaze for a long moment, knowing that she’s right even if he doesn’t want to hear it. He speaks softly when he answers, “I’ll try.”
She gives him a small smile. “Good.” Then her brow furrows and the smile drops. “How is she?”
He doesn’t want to talk about this, it’s why he went out and got loaded in the first place. But he’s not going to lie to Maggie, not about this. “It’s bad again.”
She just nods and pats his arm. Standing up, she gives him a light push that topples him easily, chuckling as she does it. “Get some rest, we’ll get you an alibi in the morning.”
She starts walking away, and he stops her. “Maggie.”
“You ok?”
In a small voice he says, “Yeah. I- why did you help me? You coulda just sent me home.”
She says it like it’s the easiest thing in the world. “I’m your big sister, I’ll always have your back. No matter what.”
Nate’s not sure how long it’s been since he was last in Goodneighbor, but some time must have passed. Last time it was sunny- or at least, he thinks it was. Now it’s raining again, and has been for…days? It’s unclear. He didn’t mind the rain this time, the way it catches the light is beautiful. Little rainbows falling from dark clouds.
He’d floated up the spiral staircase of the Old State House, positive his feet never touched the wood. Something is hot on his heels, but he’s keeping one step ahead of it. If he doesn’t falter, he can cheat time.
The sun comes out when he sees Hancock. In the back of his mind, an orchestra begins tuning up, discordant sounds quaking with anticipation. The way shadows fall on Hancock’s face shakes something inside of him. He wants to study the lines.
When he gets his hands on Hancock’s leathery skin, the orchestra strikes up a tune, symbols crashing in time with his heart. They take each other apart slowly and thoroughly, and Nate feels closer to him than ever before, hardly able to tell where he ends and Hancock begins. It’s sublime. Transcendental. Nate’s not sure if he’s dreaming, the way the light moves around them calls wakefulness into question.
The orchestra slows its pace in the afterglow, ending on a blissful, ringing note. The silence it leaves behind isn’t oppressive, it’s blanketing them in warmth like the sun after a long winter.
Nate sits up, one leg bent and the other stretched out in front of him. He pulls Hancock back to lay his head on Nate’s thigh so he can trace the lines of his face, the way he wanted to when he walked in. Hancock moves easily, closing his eyes when Nate’s fingers start following the grooves and ridges of his skin.
They keep moving, after he’s followed the lines of one it changes shape and shifts into something new. The dim light of the room amplifies the contrast, and little whorls of brown and gold dance across his face. Nate tries to follow them, but they slip away before he can catch them.
Eyes still closed, Hancock quietly says, “You sure you wanna do that? This mug ain’t a pretty sight.”
The insecurity doesn’t suit him, so instead of taking the route to an easy insult, Nate’s honest. “I like this mug.”
Hancock smiles, changing the shape of the scarring. Nate doesn’t try to smooth the new lines away.
Time is frozen, here in this moment. Nate knows that if he stops his movements it’ll pick back up again, and he doesn’t want this to end. He doesn’t have much time left, so he needs to halt it wherever he can. Outside of this warm, glowing moment, something terrible lurks.
He keeps tracing the magnificent hills and valleys of Hancock’s face, mesmerized. He wonders if Hancock ever feels like this, like the end is catching up to him. The words slip out unbidden. “Do you ever think about dying?”
Hancock frowns and opens his eyes. “Not often. Do you?” He sounds almost hesitant to ask.
Nate presses down on the new lines that formed. These don’t belong with the rest. He suddenly feels like he shouldn’t share what he knows, that it’s meant for him alone. He also doesn’t want to lie. It’s too big a question, one that doesn’t have an easy answer anyway, so he says, “I don’t know.”
Hancock’s frown deepens. A hand comes up to grab Nate’s hip. “And what the hell does that mean?”
Too distracted by trying to smooth the frown away from Hancock’s face to explain any further, Nate murmurs, “Whatever you want it to mean, so long as you stop frowning so much.”
He squeezes the hand on his hip, sighing. “Then I’ll take it as a no.”
Chapter 13: ???
Summary:
Lines blur.
“I can’t explain to you or to anybody what it’s like inside me. How could I begin to explain; I can’t even explain it to myself.” - Franz Kafka, Letters to Milena
Notes:
cw: suicidal thoughts, domestic violence, infant death, issues with consent
there is another cw that I'm choosing not to tag for spoiler reasons - it's in the end notes if youre concerned. it's consistent with the tone of the rest of the fic, and not one of the major archive warnings
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
After his period of intermittent, self-imposed exile, Nate makes up for lost time. He’s doing chems without Hancock more frequently than with him, taking more and more each time, ignoring the risks. His tolerance is heroic. On some level, he knows that’s alarming, so he purposefully avoids mentioning it to anyone- or just Hancock, Piper doesn’t know about the chems at all. It’s always outside of Goodneighbor and Diamond City, so there’s no way for his secret to come to light.
A side effect of all the chems is a lowering of standards. He hasn’t said no to a single proposition - not one - in weeks. No matter how repulsive he finds them, something in him is always screaming for more, more, more. More chems, more regret, more pain. It could be a punishment, or it could be a way to combat how dull everything feels. The more unsavory they are, the more reliably he can convince them to make it hurt, and it’s the easiest path to pain without death he can find. He’s avoided going anywhere but Daisy’s and the Old State House when he’s in Goodneighbor, out of a nagging worry that he won’t keep his promise to Hancock. So far he has, but it feels like a tenuous thing.
Most of his time is spent high, or drunk, or naked in a stranger’s bed. Or an alley. Or behind a tree. Clearly he’s not picky anymore. Pushing his limits is the only goal he seems to have these days. Trying his luck at every turn. It’s a new kind of monotony, one that feels fast and frenetic but is no less suffocating than before. He hasn’t been to Diamond City since he started his rampage, so the place he feels most like a human in is Goodneighbor, but there’s a wriggling feeling of guilt that rises up in his throat when he wanders back into Hancock’s bed after warming someone else’s.
He decides he’s been following this destructive routine for long enough, it’s time to shift back to a different kind of monotony. The old kind of monotony, where he made the rounds and did useful things, instead of trying to run himself into the ground. Maybe if he switches between the two, he’ll stop feeling like he’s drowning. He can control himself, use moderation, stop doing things that make him question why he’s still trying at all.
Then, one day when he’s getting ready to camp out in a partially collapsed house, he catches a glimpse of himself in a mirror.
It’s shocking.
He looks terrible.
Approaching the mirror in a daze, he looks at himself- really looks at himself- for the first time in months. A fog he didn’t realize was surrounding his mind lifts, and he takes stock of what he sees.
His face is ragged, sallow. Eyes bloodshot and sunken deep in their sockets. He’s lost weight. A lot of weight. Now that he’s aware of it, he feels weaker than he’s used to. When he presses a hand to his chest to slow his racing heart, he can’t help but notice that he can feel the ribs much easier than he should.
He steps back to the wall and slides down it. There’s a sharp, slow clarity to his thoughts in this moment. In contrast, it highlights just how scattered and frantic they’ve been up until now. An awful, inescapable realization slams its way to the front of his mind from behind a locked door.
It’s happening again.
He’s not in control, not even remotely. He tries to think back, pinpoint when exactly everything started, but it’s impossible. Memories are blurring together and he’s not sure if they’re in the correct order. Besides, he’s missing some. He’s missing some.
There are scorch marks on his brain from the fire that’s started rampaging through his skull. It’s back, and it’s furious. The last time was bad, but this time feels worse. The painful awareness of his reality bestowed upon him by his broken mind is cruel. He can’t stop, and now he knows he can’t stop, no matter how much he wants to.
He starts pushing himself up, maybe to try to do something about what’s happening, but he gives up quickly. It won’t matter, these terrible moments of clarity never last. They only seem to give him enough time to feel bone-deep terror, but never enough to actually do anything about it. The last time he had one this intense, everything went to hell within days. His mind is going to burn itself to ash, and this time it’ll take him with it for good. Total annihilation. A comet disintegrating in the atmosphere.
Nate hits the ground with a thud after two bullets lodge themselves in his chest. He coughs, blood slipping out of the corner of his mouth. Everything is slowing down, his fingers are going cold. He’s met his end. The sound of wheezing, shallow breaths fill the room, joined by fingers on a keyboard. He turns his head to the left and sees Kellogg, furiously typing at an unusually clean terminal.
He has enough strength to lift his gun, it’s within reach. He could shoot Kellogg while he’s distracted, but he doesn’t. Instead, he accepts his fate as it’s been given to him. He’s been marked.
Disbelief and fury war across Kellogg’s face. It’s an interesting combination of expressions, one he’d comment on if he had enough air to get the words out.
Then Kellogg straightens up and moves to stand over him. His expression shifts when he raises his gun. Now he looks scared. Nate starts laughing weakly, and Kellogg starts looking terrified.
When he watches Kellogg squeeze the trigger, all he feels is relief.
Nate doesn’t think anything of it when Hancock comes up behind him, covering his eyes with one hand and pressing a Jet inhaler to his lips with the other. Trusting him completely, he breathes in when instructed and- that wasn’t fucking Jet.
His knees buckle almost immediately, Hancock catching him around the middle before he falls. A cold sweat breaks out all over his body, a pounding headache flares to life, and his stomach starts churning viciously. He clenches his teeth against the onslaught and grits out, “Was that fucking Addictol?”
Hancock half-carries him over to the couch, setting him down. With a hard look on his face, he gives a clipped answer. “Yep.”
Nate hunches over, miserable and shivering violently as the Addictol flushes his system with a vengeance. “Why?”
The couch sinks to one side when Hancock joins him, pulling him by his shoulder to lay sideways, head in his lap. “If I think ya look too strung out, there’s a problem.”
Without an answer, Nate just closes his eyes, curling into a pathetic ball, accepting he has no choice but to ride this out. He hates that Hancock has a point, the Addictol wouldn’t be this intense without something to flush.
Once Nate’s had a chance to adjust to the sudden transition, Hancock asks, “How ya feelin’?”
Nate groans. Just because it’s not shocking anymore doesn’t mean it isn’t horrible.
He sighs, then runs a hand through his hair. “Yeah, I figured.” After a moment, he adds, “I’m gettin’ worried.”
Nate forces himself to speak, needing to know more. “About what?”
Hancock exhales loudly, searching for the right words. He lands on, “That I’m givin’ you too much. You don’t look good, Nate.”
It would be easy to blame Hancock, to make him take the fall for Nate’s indiscretions, but he knows that’s not what’s happening here. “Not your fault. This one’s on me.”
They fall into silence again. Hancock’s right, he should be more cautious about how much he’s using. But then again, he’s not always with Hancock. He can’t monitor everything he does. So, Nate doesn’t need to be clean so much as he needs to be careful.
"Listen, I’m not always with you, and can’t do anythin’ about what you do when you’re not here, but I can do this.”
Every muscle in Nate’s body goes rigid. That was similar, too similar, to what he had just been thinking. A deep, frothing worry gets its claws in his brain and he asks, “Are you reading my mind?”
The hand in his hair stops moving, frozen in place. Hancock sounds incredulous. “No, just statin’ the obvious. Saying shit like that doesn’t help your case.”
He doesn’t answer, focusing on relaxing his body one muscle at a time. It was a coincidence, nothing more. He doesn’t need to hold on to that.
The hand in his hair starts moving again. “You’ll cool it down for a while?”
“Yeah, I will.” Nate doesn’t want it to be a lie, but it may be. He’s not sure that he will, but he can at least try. Saying it is almost enough to make himself believe it. He should thank Hancock, that’s the right thing to do. He takes a breath and-
A good few days earns him the reward of finally visiting Piper and Nat after avoiding them for too long. He’s stayed away from the chems, like he told Hancock he would, and he’s been mostly fine for long enough to allow himself this. With the weather warm now, he and Piper have taken to sitting on her roof after Nat goes to sleep, watching the stars and sharing cigarettes.
When she pulls out a fresh one, he suddenly gets an idea. An excellent idea. One that will bother her immensely. He just needs to catch her off guard, drop the bomb when she won’t see it coming.
She’s fishing around in her pockets for a lighter, giving him the perfect opening. Pulling out his own, he leans in, flicks it to life, and can’t contain his grin when he says, “Pretty girls don’t light their own cigarettes.”
Piper reels back immediately, eyes like saucers when she looks at him aghast. It takes everything in him not to laugh. She rips the unlit cigarette out of her mouth, takes off her hat, and starts smacking him with it, hissing, “Do not flirt with me.”
He holds up his hands to block her strikes, unable to hold back the laughter anymore. He catches her hat mid swing, yanking it out of her hands and-
Convincing Hancock to come with him on some of his riskier jobs was easy, suspiciously easy. Nate figures he’s probably bored, being stuck in Goodneighbor so much, so it does make sense that he’d be willing to jump at the chance. They’ve done this a few times by now, and today was just as electrifying as the first. It’s not often that he meets someone able to match his intensity, and Hancock does just that.
Standing victorious on top of a skyscraper filled with dead super mutants, Nate looks out over the world below. He hears Hancock open a questionable beer behind him. The sky is clear, he can see for miles, and they just made it to the top of the building with only a few scratches. The elation humming in his bones is incredible, he feels alive. The joy can’t be contained, it needs an outlet, so he starts bellowing into the void beneath him, listening to the echoes as they bounce off the ruins.
Hancock laughs, and Nate whirls around, running up to him and grabbing his arm with a breathless, “C’mon, you have to try it.”
Even though he looks skeptical, Hancock doesn’t resist when Nate drags him to the edge of the roof. “Why?”
“Because it’s fun. Live a little, Hancock!”
Hancock doesn’t take much in the way of convincing for this either. In less than a minute, they’re both standing on top of a ruined skyscraper, screaming into the open air like lunatics. Nate must step a little too close to the edge, because Hancock grabs his arm and tugs-
“I mean, doesn’t it feel a bit strange sleeping around like that when you have feelings for Hancock?”
Nate wasn’t expecting this line of questioning from Piper while cloud watching of all things. He had only mentioned the recent misadventure into the wrong bed because it was ludicrous. He deflects, poorly. “Who’s saying I have feelings for Hancock?”
She twists her head to look at him with raised eyebrows. “You’re not fooling anyone, Blue.”
Sighing, he admits she has a point. He may have made a mistake in filling her in on that situation. “I regret telling you about that.”
She barrels forward, undeterred. “Answer my question.”
“Christ, you’re such a journalist.” Sighing louder than the last time, he’s honest with her. “I don’t feel great about it, ok?”
“Then why are you still doing it?” She says this like it has an obvious answer. He shouldn’t do it if he feels bad about it, but here he is. Without a real explanation.
“I don’t know.” He runs his hands over his face, growing defensive without reason.
“Maybe it’s time to figure that out.” She graciously drops the subject, pointing up at the sky and saying, “That one looks like a rad stag.”
He follows her finger and nods. “Huh, it kinda-
Nate clenches his jaw, knowing that the question was rhetorical. Standing perfectly still, he tries to control his breathing and not let his expression betray him. It’s a small miracle that he isn’t on the ground already. His face is throbbing, his racing heart pressing against his cheekbone. Dad always did have a mean right hook.
“Where were you?” His voice is low and dangerous, freezing the blood in Nate’s veins.
He already knows, he’s made that clear. Lying now would only make things worse, and the truth is exactly what got him here in the first place. Nate keeps his mouth shut and his face blank. He got too cocky, it’s no wonder someone caught them. And in a town like this, there was no way word wouldn’t spread like wildfire.
When Nate stays silent, he’s thrown back into the wall, bouncing off the corner of the side table and sending a vase to the ground, shattering. Absently, he thinks about how he’s going to fix it. Maybe he needs to replace it entirely. It’ll upset Ma to know that it’s broken. They haven’t seen her in a few days, probably off gallivanting around town in search of something wonderful. Tensions are high without Maggie around to act as a buffer between them.
A hand in his shirt pulls him away from the wall and slams him back into it, getting his attention. Nate bites the inside of his cheek, willing himself to keep quiet and not dig the hole deeper.
Dad drops the pretense and issues his ultimatum. “No son of mine is a goddamn faggot.”
Nate nods, biting down viciously, mind made up. He swears to himself that he is never getting caught again.
Nate bites the inside of his cheek to keep himself in check. He’s not confident who started it, but it’s very likely he made it worse than it needed to be. They’re in sight of Bunker Hill, so a small crowd has gathered around them. The more shit that pours out of this man’s mouth, the hotter the fire in his mind burns. Little bolts of lightning are shooting down his arms, and the insults being hurled at him are drowned out by the roaring flames.
He gets right up in Nate’s face, spitting out his words, and he bites down so hard he tastes blood. A shove to his chest is all that it takes to make his control snap, and he tackles the man to the ground, straddling him and grabbing his shirt, pressing his knuckles into his sternum. Then he starts punching. The fire burns higher and higher, red coating this man’s face and clouding-
It becomes apparent that he over did it very quickly. Huddling in a corner of a chem den of all fucking places, needle still in his arm, his head starts dropping. It’s getting very hard to keep his eyes open. He slaps himself, weaker than he normally would- a clear sign that he’s in too deep.
Nate can’t pass out here, he doesn’t know these people and he barely knows where in the Commonwealth he is. Mentats. That's what he needs. They’ll keep him awake long enough to get out of here and find another hole to crawl into-
Keeping secrets from Hancock feels worse than ever before. He’s started applying similar rules to him like the ones he has for Piper and Nat. If he’s been messed up for a few days, he keeps his distance. Simple. Easy to follow.
The result is that when he’s with Hancock, it feels like taking a breath of clean air after spending weeks in a coal mine. Like being a real person again. One question and Hancock’s ready to join him on a job, following his lead down the street on their way to Cambridge.
His heart expands when he turns around and sees Hancock following him at a relaxed pace, smiling.
He matches the expression, starting to jog backwards, and gives him a lighthearted challenge. “Try to keep up.”
Hancock chases after him, laughing, and says-
He knew bringing Piper with him to Weston Water Treatment was a good idea. He knew it. The moon is full tonight, blanketing the world in a pale, luminescent glow, and everything around her is shining. The feeling bubbling up in his chest takes his breath away.
He needs to let her know how incredible she is, how could he not? He grabs her face in both hands, looks her straight in the eye, and says, “You have a beautiful mind, Piper Wright.” Then he throws his hands up and cheers.
Piper covers her mouth when she laughs, then pulls it away and whispers, “Quiet! You’re gonna-
The moment he opens his eyes, he knows he’s in deep shit. He doesn’t recognize the room, which is nothing new, but the sinking feeling weighing him down is all too familiar. Frozen in place, he can’t seem to get his limbs to work. There’s a woman in his face saying something to him, glaring, but the words aren’t processing. Their tone is, but there’s not much he can do about his current predicament. She probably wants him gone. That’s fair.
He blinks, then he’s being hauled out of the bed by two women. The second must be her roommate, that would make sense. They work together to shove him out the door, slamming it behind him. He leans heavily on the stair railing, trying to get himself to move. There’s lead in his bones. By now, he’s accepted that he inherited Ma’s black moods. Accepting them doesn’t make it any easier to deal with them.
With a sudden burst of determination, he gets himself down the stairs and onto the street. He makes it about a block before his legs stop working again, sliding down the brick wall behind him, and watches the cars go by until the sun sets again.
Warm nights spent on Daisy’s roof are some of his favorites. She’s easy to talk to, and doesn’t seem to mind when his thoughts take them down unexpected paths. He tries not to dominate their conversations, instead asking questions to get her to keep talking. He thinks he could sit and listen to her talk forever.
She leans down and grabs two more beers, handing him one. They pop the caps and settle back in their chairs, watching the sun sink below the horizon.
There’s a lull in the conversation after Daisy finishes her story. She turns to him with a smile and says, “You know, you remind me of my sister.”
His eyebrows raise. It doesn’t sound like a bad thing, but he’d like to be sure. “Really? In what way?”
Turning back to the sunset, she takes a sip. “Hard to say, it’s a feeling more than anything. You’re like her in a lot of ways.” Looking back at him, her voice turns wistful. “Free as a bird.”
He decides to take it as a compliment instead of an insult. He’d like to know more about her sister, so he-
The rad storm has them stuck inside this building for a few hours at least, leaving them with time to kill. Piper’s getting restless, he can tell by the way she’s pacing. They need a distraction. He spins around in place, looking for something to help with that, and lands on a radio. It gives him a brilliant idea. If it works, then it’ll be perfect.
Fiddling with the dials, he gets the radio to blare to life. He tunes it to a station playing upbeat music, then whirls around and looks at Piper. She’s giving him a strange look, but she’s smiling so it can’t be all bad.
He takes her hands, and starts to pull her around the floor. “C’mon, dance with me.”
She tries to pull away, but she’s laughing now so he’s definitely winning this one. “I can’t dance.”
“No such thing.” He spins her around, also laughing. It’s infectious.
He wears her down eventually, and they end up cutting a very amateurish path across the floor, laughing until-
The way the sunlight streams into Hancock’s room makes something unfurl inside his chest. The beams catch pieces of dust floating through the air, flickering with color. If he reaches out, he could pluck the strands of light like a harp. He almost does, until he remembers he’s not alone.
Hancock is sitting up against the headboard, watching him. He wonders what he’s thinking. He wishes Hancock could see what he’s seeing, but it’s always been just for him. No one else can see them, or maybe they’re not supposed to. He’s not entirely sure.
Then it occurs to him that while he might not be able to see them, he could still feel them. He wants so badly to be able to share this with Hancock, he needs to at least try.
On his knees, he faces him and whispers, “Close your eyes.”
Hancock looks at him suspiciously, so Nate covers his eyes for him. He doesn’t remove the hand, and the corners of his mouth turn up. Perfect.
Nate reaches out and runs his finger through one of the beams, taking a sharp breath when he feels it reverberate around the room. He does it one more time, letting his eyes slip closed, feeling the waves of light shudder through his body.
His hand drops from Hancock’s face, following the sounds with his mind. He can see them even with his eyes closed. The hairs on the back of his neck stand up.
But can Hancock? Eyes still closed, he reaches out and presses a hand to Hancock’s chest, just over his heart. Then he asks, “Can you feel that?”
He doesn’t get an answer, so he opens his eyes and looks at Hancock. He’s looking at him, brows drawn together. He answers softly, “I think so.”
Nate smiles wide, leaning forward-
He shouldn’t have gone inside. It was obvious from the state of things outside that he wouldn’t run into anything pleasant here, but he went in without really thinking it through. There’s bullet holes everywhere, smashed glass and upended drawers with the worthless contents left behind littering the floors. There’s only one room in this shack. The bodies laying in the center can’t have been here long, but they’re not what makes him stop. They don’t make his heart fall to the floor.
It’s the crib in the corner.
He shouldn’t get any closer. It’s too quiet, there’s no happy ending to be found here, but he can’t stop himself. He holds his breath as he walks across the room, looking down very slowly when he reaches the crib.
The baby looks like they could be sleeping. But they’re too still, far too still. There’s no blood, no bullet holes, just a dead baby lying alone in a crib. They were left here to die by whoever killed their parents.
Nate lurches back, heart racing. He can’t seem to pull enough air into his lungs. He crouches down on the floor, tangling his hands in his hair, and tries to breathe. He wants to vomit. His breaths sound more like sobs, though his face stays dry.
After a while, he can’t stand the smell anymore, so he stumbles to his feet. Swaying where he stands, he takes another look around the room. He needs to do something about this. He’s not leaving these people to rot here. Mind made up, he goes outside, searching the exterior walls, then the shed on the edge of the property. Inside he finds just what he needs, two gas canisters.
Going inside the second time is nearly impossible. He hovers in the doorway for several long moments, a canister in each hand. Swallowing heavily and steeling himself against what he knows awaits him, he goes inside and gets to work.
Working from the outside in, he draws thick lines of gas on the floor, purposefully not putting any on the bodies. That somehow feels too disrespectful. When one canister empties, he leaves it on the floor and starts on the second.
The room is coated now. He can walk outside, toss a lighter, and let the gas do its job. But he doesn’t. He stands in the center of the room, feeling like his head is underwater. The lighter in his hand strikes, a little flame blooming in front of him.
Inhaling sharply, he snaps it closed. He’s trembling, teeth clacking together like it’s the middle of winter. A few more sharp, short breaths and he walks back outside, tossing the last canister in the room behind him as he goes.
The sun started setting when he was inside, and now it’s barely above the horizon. Long shadows cast themselves across the world. He flicks the lighter again, looking at it for a long moment before tossing it in the open doorway and stepping back.
While the shack starts to burn, he sits heavily on the grass. The flames engulf the small wooden building quickly, and Nate silently watches them devour what’s left of the lives of a family he never knew.
Nate’s exhausted, bone tired, every muscle aches and he wants nothing more than to sleep. But Nora’s tired too, and it’s at least partially his fault, so he can’t leave her to handle it on her own.
She sticks her bare feet in his lap, and he does his best to work out the tension he finds there. It’s easier to listen than to talk right now, so he’s grateful that she seems content telling him stories instead of asking him to contribute.
When her latest story finishes, she taps a heel on his thigh and says, “I’ve been thinking.”
This requires a response, so he looks at her and hoarsely says, “About what?”
She smiles, eyes sparkling. “Names.”
Ultimately, the name will be her choice. He doesn’t want to be involved in that beyond encouraging her. On some level, he knows he should examine that, get to the bottom of why he doesn’t want to be involved, but he refuses to. “What did you come up with?”
Tipping her head to one side, she says, “Shauna for a girl.” She tips her head to the other side. “Shaun for a boy.”
The papery skin on Shaun’s face is sloughing off, leaving a trail of wet, decaying flesh behind and he approaches. The smell is overpowering, making his eyes water and his nose run.
His green eyes are sharp and clear, the hate in them undeniable.
Nate wants to move, to run away, but he’s frozen to the ground. He can only watch as Shaun gets closer.
His jaw isn’t working right, as though it’s hanging loosely on the hinge. Nate can still understand his words with frightening clarity. “I am the shape you made me.”
An orange glow lights up under Shaun’s ribs, so bright Nate can see it through his clothes. The flame spreads quickly, burning Shaun first then reaching scorching tendrils out to Nate. “Filth teaches filth.”
Nate tries to scream, but the fire takes all the air from his lungs.
Coming to Goodneighbor when he’s like this is the opposite of what he should be doing, but his feet carry him there anyway. Since he’s already breaking his rules, he ends up at the Third Rail instead of the Old State House after buying his customary - and pointless - room at the Rexford. Why he still does this, he can’t say for certain. He doesn’t know who he’s trying to fool at this point. He goes to the bar figuring that just being around other people will help him adjust enough to being around one specific person.
Nate feels like a passenger in his own mind, watching the world move without him present. He’s watching someone else drink that bourbon. It’s not him sitting in this chair. It’s not even his ears listening to Magnolia. He can’t hear her at all.
The flames from the burning shack followed him, burrowing deep in his mind. Nate can’t feel them, but the person he’s watching can. It must be uncomfortable.
Then he’s back in his body and the fire is burning him. It’s not uncomfortable, it’s fucking unbearable. He slams back the rest of the bourbon in his glass.
The world comes in and out of focus, rapidly shifting between reality and dream with no way to distinguish top from bottom.
At some point, he’s offered chems. He can’t say no to that, there’s a decent chance they’ll pull him out of whatever state he’s in.
The Med-X - Mentats combo seems to work the best, and it does its job this time around. Except it also makes him painfully, painfully aware of what he’s doing.
When faced with a good choice and a bad choice, Nate inevitably will find a way to make a third, worse choice. Like right now. When his brain catches up with his body, inside a woman just as high as he is in the Hotel Rexford.
He shoots up, grabbing her around the waist and tossing her on the bed and off of him, scrambling away and searching for his clothes. His breath comes fast and harsh, stars dancing on the edges of his vision. The woman he just threw aside doesn’t seem to care too much, going for another syringe and paying him little mind.
Stumbling out into the hallway, Nate gets his bearings then goes to his room on the floor below. Inside, he paces, tearing at his hair. What the fuck is wrong with him? Why would he do that? He had one rule given to him and he broke it. What the fuck is Hancock going to say? He needs to tell him, even if he can’t give him a good reason why he did it in the first place.
Heart sinking, he also thinks this is as good a time as any for Hancock to find out that Nate’s not worth much of anything. The room is spinning and he feels weak at the knees. He can’t tell if it’s the chems or something else.
His feet carry him to Hancock without any plan as to what he’s going to say. He’s going to own up to it, accept the judgment handed down to him, and walk away from this whole situation. It’s the right thing to do. He’s done enough damage.
“Where were you?” Ice burns chilled lines through Nate’s veins.
He lies. “The Third Rail, listening to Magnolia.” Maybe not entirely a lie, but not the whole truth either. Why is he lying right now?
Hancock’s face is carved out of stone. He doesn’t believe the half-truth, not in the slightest. “That wasn’t all you were doin’, according to Ham.”
Fuck, he knows. Of course the bouncer would have seen him leave with her. He’s so, so deeply in the wrong here, but that doesn’t stop a well of anger from bubbling up deep in his chest. The fire burns higher, turning wild, destroying any reason that tries to surface. He doesn’t say anything back, just holds Hancock’s hard stare.
“And you just lied to my face.” The expression Hancock’s wearing makes something twist inside him.
Nate bites his cheek, forcing himself to stay silent. The need to apologize and the inferno demanding more suffering battle inside his head. Spots dance across the room, it gets harder to breathe. What the fuck is he doing?
“That was the one thing, the one thing, I asked you not to do. And you did it anyway.” He’s never heard Hancock sound hurt before. It’s worse than he ever could have imagined.
He’s so angry, why is he so angry? He’s the one at fault and yet he can barely contain the vicious words sitting just behind his teeth. Why would he want to make Hancock hurt more?
Hancock’s voice gets louder. “Then you come here to- what, to flaunt it?” He makes a frustrated sound, looking away and shaking his head. When he looks back at Nate, the words do their best at righteously eviscerating him. “Am I wastin’ my time? I mean it. Am I wasting my fucking time with you?”
Instead of apologizing, like he should, Nate gives in to the fire raging behind his eyes and says the meanest, pettiest thing he possibly could. “You’re acting like a jealous housewife.”
Hancock laughs bitterly. “Well, fuck, Nate, would you know a thing or two about jealous housewives? You do this shit to your wife?”
The floodgates have opened, and now he’s throwing all the disgust and hurt he feels back at the only person in the room that doesn’t deserve it. In this moment, Nate goes for the hardest blow. The truth. It’ll be worse than a lie. “Yeah, I did. You’re not fucking special.” Nora may not have known, but that doesn’t absolve him. And now he’s using an old hurt to worsen a new one.
Another frustrated noise, then, “Why the fuck do I put up with you?” It’s a rhetorical question.
Nate doesn’t know the answer to that. Instead of honesty, he goes for a low blow, trying to provoke Hancock. To drag him down into the filth with him. “Because your life would be boring without me. You have all this fucking power- you took all this fucking power- and now you have your pick of it all, right?”
Hancock’s blank eyebrows draw together, head shaking slightly from the jarring change in direction. He doesn’t answer.
Now that he’s started, the end goal is becoming clear. He really, really wants Hancock to hit him right now. “You have your pick of what chems are yours, what caps are yours, who ends up in your bed- is that why you did it? Seems like that might be it.” That’s not true, not from what he’s seen. He just knows it will hurt. He doesn’t stray from the destructive path he’s laying out before them. “I was just a little more challenging than your fucking usual.”
Hancock’s face twitches, demanding an answer where there is none. “What the fuck are you talkin’ about?”
Nate’s spitting his words out, throwing them like knives. He just needs to keep pushing, he’ll break eventually. “Scared of the truth? Hurts, doesn’t it?”
Hancock raises his voice again, stepping into Nate’s space. “Why are you doing this?”
His head hurts- he wants to bring Hancock down to his level- he wants Hancock to hit him- he doesn’t know. Nate doubles down. “Someone needs to tell you how it really is. Everyone else seems too busy kissing your ass.”
He throws his arms out wide, one brow lifted like he’s confused. He probably is confused, Nate’s taken things for a turn. “You’re the one who fucked up tonight, not me.”
Out of ideas, Nate starts grasping at straws, saying anything he can think of to twist the knife. “You just don’t like that I’m not under your control, like everyone else here. Your little power grab didn’t work on me. You’re just like any other fucking tyrant-“
Hancock slaps a hand over his mouth and runs him back until he hits the wall. Nate almost bites him, but turns the ferocity back on to the inside of his cheek.
“Stop, just fucking stop.” He takes a deep breath, squeezing the hand over Nate’s mouth slightly, then pulls away. “You owe me an explanation. A real one.”
Without an answer, Nate makes the obvious choice, dropping his eyes to the floor and muttering, “I’ll just go,” as he tries to slip past Hancock.
But Hancock isn’t interested in letting him go, it seems, pushing him back and biting out, “Like hell you will.”
“There’s no explanation to give. I don’t know.” He has no idea why he did any of what he did tonight. If he tried to explain, none of it would make any sense.
“How can you not know?” Hancock doesn’t like that answer at all.
Nate’s eyes start to burn, he should be able to give a better reason but he can’t. “I don’t- I just don’t fucking know.” He forces himself to look up and meet Hancock’s eyes. “You’re wasting your time with me. You are. I can’t- if I can’t even explain why I fucked up this bad then you’re wasting your time.”
Hancock holds his gaze for a long moment, then asks, “Did you mean what you said?”
On an exhale, Nate tells him the truth. “No.”
This doesn’t seem to make anything better. Hancock’s expression goes stricken for a moment before he schools it and asks, “Then why?”
“I don’t know, I can’t explain.” He tries to slip around Hancock again. “I should go.”
Hancock stops him again, sounding exhausted now. “I can’t let you go.”
“Why would you even want me here?” It’s a fair question, in Nate’s opinion. He’s done his best at incinerating the bridge tonight.
“I can’t let you leave, even if I kinda hate you right now. Not when you-“ He stops short, takes a steadying breath, and lowers his voice to almost a whisper. “You look like you have one foot in the grave. You’ve been actin’ like it too. I keep thinkin’ that the next time I let you walk outta here, you’re not gonna come back.”
There’s a day when Nate stops what he’s doing and has a terrifying realization. Something is happening to him. Something is happening to him and he is scared beyond anything he’s ever felt before. The forest fire tearing its way through his skull has pulled back enough to grant him a shocking moment of clarity. A sense of impending doom nearly takes him out at the knees.
At least they’re not deployed, that gives him more leeway to figure out what the fuck is wrong with him. But who’s he supposed to go to? A superior officer? And say what, exactly? ‘Hello sir, I think there’s something in my mind driving me crazy’? That would go over great.
Something tells him he doesn’t have much time, so he goes to the one place he can come up with on base that may be able to actually help. It’s a long shot, but there must be a reason why Ma keeps going back.
He’s shaking like a leaf from his place in the confessional, waiting for the priest, wondering if he’s making a mistake. Before he can leave, the priest joins him, and they recite the worn out words he’s memorized by now.
When it comes time to actually talk, he freezes up, unsure of what to say. The priest is kind, soft-spoken, and pushes him just enough to get him going. And once he’s going, he can’t stop. He confesses to everything that’s frightening him. The bonfire in his mind, the voices whispering terrible things in his ear, the unshakable feeling of being followed. And, most damning, the fact that he’s starting to believe the Devil is controlling him-
He gets cut off eventually. The priest seems unshaken, but also unaware of the magnitude of what Nate’s trying to tell him. He barely hears the advice given to him, all based in scripture and a belief he doesn’t hold and unusable for the problem at hand.
He leaves with a prescription to fast and recite his Hail Marys. Everything goes to hell a few days later.
What they have has been tenuously repaired through profuse and sincere apologies, but there’s still an undercurrent of tension. Primarily because Nate still can’t explain himself. Hancock will ask, and Nate’s answer doesn’t change. He still doesn’t know. All he’s able to say is that he’s always been a sinner, and he hates himself for it.
After a few tense visits, Hancock drags Nate off to a job instead of the other way around. It goes more or less to plan, they work well as a team and avoid any major injuries in dealing with the raiders holed up in Monsignor Plaza. Nate ends up making some risky choices, sure, but it worked out in the end.
On the way back to Goodneighbor, it becomes apparent Hancock disagrees. He’s not happy about the recklessness, and keeps asking him why he did certain things. Nate doesn’t have an answer, he rarely does, so he doesn’t understand why Hancock won’t take the ‘I don’t know’ for what it is.
He won’t let up, it’s been going on for blocks. Every time he asks, he sounds angrier than the last at Nate’s inability to explain himself. A small part of him knows that Hancock’s right to feel like that, but it’s completely overridden by the boiling anger that he can’t seem to shake. The match strikes, the fire grows.
He’s trying to breathe through the fury, stamp out the flames and keep his wits about him, but then Hancock asks again.
The fury explodes beyond reason. He can’t help it, it floods his veins and fans the flames to a raging inferno. He tangles his hands in his hair and yells, turning away from Hancock, before spinning back around, impossibly furious. Hancock’s eyes widen when he rushes him, slamming him against the wall, grabbing fistfuls of his shirt. Like a rabid dog. He gets right up in his face, not able to process his expression through the red haze swimming in his eyes.
He feels something sharp break the skin on his stomach, just slightly. Hancock has a knife to him. Something twists in his chest, he thinks Nate’s dangerous, that he’ll hurt him. They should have put you down. The anger vanishes. He can’t stop himself, so maybe Hancock will do the honors.
Dropping his head on to Hancock’s shoulder to not have to see the expression on his face, he grabs the hand around the knife, holding it in place. The wildfire rages, undeterred. Squeezing his eyes shut, he can’t hold back the desperate, guttural sound he makes, or the frantic whispers that follow. “I can’t stop, I can’t stop, I’m sorry, I can’t stop.”
Hancock tries to take the knife away from his stomach, but Nate won’t let him, instead pulling it closer to himself and digging deeper into the flesh. He talks to him low and measured, like talking to a frightened animal. “Let go of the knife.”
This isn’t how this should go- he should just gut him and be done with it. Why is Hancock giving him more chances? He shouldn’t be getting any. He wants to tell him over and over, you should hate me, why don’t you hate me, I need you to hate me.
Hancock responds to something he didn’t realize he said out loud. “I don’t.”
Forcefully pulling the knife away from Nate, his voice is goes tight. “I can’t.”
With the knife gone, Nate buckles like a marionette with the strings cut. Hancock catches him, then follows him to the ground, keeping his head pressed to his shoulder. His breaths are ragged too. Nate’s getting what he wanted. He’s dragging Hancock down with him.
A hand tangles in his hair, and Hancock says- begs, “Just talk to me.”
Nate wants to be honest, but being honest means admitting to things that he can’t confront. If he names them, they become real. He’s been overworking himself; if he wasn’t, this wouldn’t be a problem at all. He gives a half-truth. “I’m tired, I’m so fucking tired.”
It’s not a good answer, and it’s one that won’t keep Hancock at bay for long, but it’s enough for right now. They stay huddled on the ground next to a broken building for-
Nate really shouldn’t be around Piper right now. It’s a mistake, he knows it’s a mistake, but he’s lost. Adrift at sea. Time is slipping away from him, reality going with it. He’s stopped being sure who he is in all of this. Or where he is. Or when.
It’s late, they’re about to settle down for the night in the camp they’ve made in an abandoned shack, and in a moment of desperation he opens up to her in a way he knows he shouldn’t. “Piper, I think-“ He hesitates, then tries again, “Something’s-” He stops again, unable to find the words.
She frowns. “What’s going on?”
Instead of taking the hand that’s reaching out to him, he takes the coward’s way out. “I just don’t know who I am anymore.”
Piper knocks her shoulder against his. “Well, I do. You’re Blue.”
She says it like it’s the simplest thing in the world. He wishes he were braver than he is.
Nate tries to inhale when he wakes up, but something is crushing his lungs, not letting them fill. Opening his eyes, he sees Hancock’s leathery shoulder in front of him. He still can’t breathe.
“Hancock.” His voice comes out hoarse, and his arms don’t lift when he tries to move them.
The ghoul stirs, weight shifting across Nate’s chest and forcing more air from his lungs.
Nate wheezes, “Hancock.”
“Yeah?” He sounds completely unconcerned about what’s happening.
“Get off.” His wheezing is getting quieter as he tries to bring in air to lungs that won’t fill.
Neutral and unbothered, Hancock says, “I am.”
Getting desperate, Nate tries to get his body to move and whispers, barely audible, “I mean it.”
“I am.” It sounds like a recording of what he just said.
Nate’s vision dims, he’s suffocating and Hancock won’t fucking move-
The first time Nate woke up somewhere unfamiliar with no memory of the last night, he was a little concerned. By now, he had come to expect it. Normally, he’s at least in a bed. This time he’s on the floor in a trashed apartment littered with bodies and bottles. Not off to a great start today.
He slaps himself a few times to finish waking up, then pats himself down. At least he slept fully clothed this time. Things could be worse. When he stands, he takes stock of himself, craddling his aching head for a moment, then shaking out his limbs and flexing his fingers. No injuries, that’s good.
Satisfied with his assessment, he steps around the bodies on the floor and darts down the stairs, not slowing when he reaches the street. A horn blaring in his ear helps him narrowly avoid getting hit by a car. The thought makes him laugh, despite the headache. Today’s turning out to be lucky.
He whistles while he walks aimlessly down the block, sorting out where exactly in Boston he is. It doesn’t take him long to work out, but then when faced with what comes next, he hits a wall.
Then, a terrifying thought hits him.
“Oh god, I’m turning into Dad.”
That’s unacceptable, he can think of no worse fate than following in his father’s footsteps. There’s only one thing for it. Mind made up, he turns around and starts jogging back to where he knows he’ll find a recruitment office.
At some point, Nate must have agreed to this. He’s not sure why, but he must have. The hand around his throat is squeezing so hard he can barely breathe, rubbing uncomfortably against the bite marks he presumably encouraged. Everything about this is uncomfortable- the man behind him moves, and Nate corrects himself. It’s fucking painful.
What is wrong with him? He’s not even enjoying this.
He’s done, more than done, but it’s easier to just wait it out than say anything and have to explain himself. It won’t take that much longer anyway.
In an effort to focus on anything else, he tries to sort out where he is. Being in the middle of the woods is completely unhelpful. Without a landmark, he flips through his memories, closing his eyes and ignoring the sounds and smells around him. Not much to be done about what he can feel. Is he on the road from Somerville Place? Maybe, but- no, Piper would be with him in that case. If not there, then where? Was he coming back from Sanctuary? No, the woods aren’t this dense on that road. Where the fuck is he?
The hand around his throat tightens further, cutting off his air entirely. He grabs at it, but doesn’t pull it away. He doesn’t fight back. Why isn’t he fighting back? Spots start dancing in his vision. Somewhere far away, he thinks, He’s going to kill me. I’m going to let him kill me.
Nate wakes up alone, still unsure where he is. Pushing himself to his feet, he slowly turns around to make sense-
Nate stands before the walls of Goodneighbor, not entirely sure how he got there. The fire in his throat matches the one raging in his mind. The world around him is muffled, lights bleed together and leave fluorescent trails in his eyes. It must be late, there’s only a handful of people inside. No one pays him any mind.
There’s a party at the Third Rail. He can hear the music reverberating up the stairs, can see Magnolia holding court over the people gathered at her feet. Charlie cuts off a belligerent drunk, Ham drags them outside. The world moves on without Nate there.
He’s climbing the stairs of the Old State House. The guards don’t ask him any questions, they stopped asking a long time ago. Hancock isn’t in his room, he’ll have to wait. He’s not going to be welcomed, not this time. He resigns himself to whatever fate Hancock decides for him. It’s no less than he deserves. He sets down his weapons, takes off his armor, and leans against the dresser.
Hours pass. Maybe minutes. Possibly days. The door opens, and he blinks, arms tightly crossed in front of him, eyes on the floor. His heart is pounding in his chest, he doesn’t want to look up.
Footsteps approach him, and he raises his head, avoiding looking directly at Hancock. The footsteps stop. He waits for the questions, the accusations, but none come. It’s silent.
He forces himself to look at Hancock, swallowing painfully. His face is unreadable. Nate’s heart drops. When Hancock starts walking closer, his breathing picks up, arms tightening, jaw clenching. He can’t explain himself, it hurts to talk, the sound barely comes out, what would he even say-
Hancock raises a hand toward Nate’s face, and he flinches, eyes squeezing shut. The blow never lands, and he forces himself to look back up. Hancock’s hand is still raised, and he holds Nate’s stare as it slowly moves toward his face, coming to rest on the hinge of his jaw. Why did he flinch? Hancock’s never hit him, not once. Not even when he did his best to earn it.
A thumb under his chin pushes it up, exposing the mess he made of himself to Hancock, who gently runs a finger across the worst of it. He lets Nate’s head come back down, sighing and holding his face in both hands, pressing their foreheads together.
He whispers hoarsely, “I’m not gonna ask you right now.”
Nate can only nod.
He leans back and pulls Nate away from the dresser, tugging at his clothes and pushing him toward the bed. For a moment, Nate’s worried. He’s not sure how to say no to him. But the need never arises. Hancock jabs him with a stimpak then joins him on the bed, pulling him so they lay back to chest and holding on tight. Nate’s heart is trying it’s best to break free from his chest.
Able to talk again, Nate goes to say something- he’s not sure what- maybe a thank you, maybe an apology. He inhales, but Hancock stops him before he gets anywhere.
“Don’t. Not right now. We’re talkin’ tomorrow.”
Nate keeps his mouth shut. Hancock doesn’t say anything else. The care he’s been shown tonight is jarring, like it is every time Hancock doesn’t punish him for his mistakes. He keeps defying expectation, in a way that Nate’s not sure how to handle. It doesn’t fit with the rest, with the type of person Nate is. He shouldn’t be given these things.
In the morning, the conversation will be difficult. Nate will be honest in a way he hasn’t been. They’ll hash things out, coming out better for having done so. He’ll accept the good thing he has right in front of him, and he’ll stop trying to destroy it.
Pretty thoughts, but not ones he can let himself have. It doesn’t work like that, not for him. The doom that’s been biting at his heels is getting closer and closer. It’d be best to remove himself entirely, stop creating problems for others and deal with his own.
He can tell Hancock is trying to stay awake. He makes himself lay there for a long time, listening to his breathing as it slows down and evens out. He pulls away quietly, slipping out of bed and lacing up his boots. When Nate leaves Goodneighbor, he wonders if he’s making another terrible mistake.
Notes:
cw: this chapter contains infidelity
Chapter 14: July?
Summary:
Hancock isn't buying it.
“When you are mad, mad like this, you don't know it. Reality is what you see. When what you see shifts, departing from anyone else's reality, it's still reality to you.” - Marya Hornbacher, Madness
Notes:
cw: psychosis
Chapter Text
Nate can’t remember the last time he slept. The first few days, it’s his misery that keeps him awake, shame and guilt not allowing him a moment of rest. Mistake after mistake play on repeat behind his eyelids, forcing him to look over the fiery path of destruction he’s left in his wake. It doesn’t come as a surprise, this is what he’s best at, but he’s disgusted with himself for having allowed it to happen again.
He watches the stars most nights, forcing himself to confront what he’s done. He was right to remove himself from the equation, his presence only causes harm, but leaving Hancock without saying a word was cowardly. Breaking his rule and visiting Piper was no better. He needs time to…do something. Get his act together, maybe. If that’s even possible.
Then, someone starts following him. He’s an easy target, out here alone, so now he can’t let himself sleep. That would make things too easy for whoever is tailing him, and Nate’s not going down easy. He stops making camp, weaving through buildings and under broken highways with little light to guide him, picking up his pace when the sun rises. The path he cuts is nonsensical by design, to keep his tail from being able to predict where he’ll go next. He can hear them, on the very edge of his senses, but never catches sight of them. They’re good, but not good enough to stay completely hidden.
He thinks he may have lost them around Natick, but when he circles back towards Boston, no plan in place, he hears footsteps that are not his own. Maybe he can’t see them, but they’re still there. Just good at hiding. He turns around and cuts a meandering path through the wilderness, covering his tracks as he goes. Another day, then.
There are a few nights out in the woods that he’s sure he’s put enough distance down to rest, but only for a couple hours at a time. It helps keep his mind fresh, he doesn’t need more than that. He intentionally keeps these times sporadic, not on any sort of pattern; that’ll make him harder to corner.
He’s long since given up on keeping track of time. There’s no way for him to know how many days it’s been since he left Goodneighbor, but it feels like it’s been enough time to go back toward the city. It’d be nice to see another person up close, instead of through the bushes where he’s hid himself. Besides, he’s almost out of bullets and down to his last stimpak, with only a handful of caps left. Bleeding out from one too many mole rat bites would be a stupid way to die. So, it’s time to look for work. Scavenging has kept him afloat for now, but it’s unreliable at best.
There’s work in Diamond City, but it’s too much of a risk to go there when he’s being followed like this. He’ll be trapped, the guards aren’t trustworthy- it’s not safe there, not by a long shot. Bunker Hill’s been light on jobs, and they usually pay very little. He doesn’t have the supplies to make them worth it. Going down his list of possible leads, he lands on one that he wishes he’d forgotten. Bobbi No-Nose in Goodneighbor was looking for another set of hands. He sighs. That could be doable.
Going back to Goodneighbor is…maybe not a great idea. But, he’s been out here a while, and he left without warning last time he was there. After everything he’s done, that may have been enough to get Hancock to write him off completely. His chest tightens. Swallowing past the lump in his throat, he tells himself that’s for the best. Hancock’s been too forgiving, so Nate had to force his hand and cut things off before he could do any more damage. Out of any other viable options, he decides to try his luck with Bobbi.
He takes a winding path back to the city, doubling back several times and keeping his route inconsistent; he’s not going to make it easy for them. When it gets too dark to keep going, he finds a building sturdy enough to barricade himself in, then gets ready to sit in silence for the night, listening for footsteps. In the dim glow of the moon through the partially shut curtains, a radio comes to life on its own. It makes a discordant sound, then shuts itself off just as quickly.
Nate stops breathing.
He’s not just being followed. He’s being watched.
And they’re getting sloppy.
He knew he had a tail, now they go and do this? It couldn’t be any more obvious. If he’s going to be watched, he’d prefer if they at least put a little effort into it. This is just insulting. And through the radio? Now he knows exactly who’s following him. The answer should have been clear before, but now he has indisputable proof. It’s the Institute. They’re keeping tabs on him, though he’s not sure why. It may not make sense to him, but he doesn’t have insider information on their reasoning.
Nate exhales slowly. If they’re getting this disorganized in their hunt, then he’ll be able to see them coming before they get too close. He’s done well enough out here in the wilderness, so there’s no reason he can’t keep it up in the city. He’ll be fine. He can handle it.
Nate paces just out of sight of Goodneighbor, coming up with a plan. Hancock has to have moved on by now, there’s no way he’s still waiting after everything. He can just slip in, unnoticed, and go to Bobbi’s. It does mean walking by Daisy-
Something moves behind him.
He whips around, pistol out and pointed at the empty air. He’s still being followed. They wouldn’t be stupid enough to tail him into Goodneighbor- or maybe they would? They’ve been pretty fucking stupid so far. Making a frustrated noise, he holsters his gun again. If they want him they can come and get him.
But it does give him pause. He doesn’t want to put a target on Daisy’s back. He’ll have to avoid her too. He rubs his hands over his face, annoyed by the situation he’s fallen into. Two people to avoid, both directly in his path to get to Bobbi. Exactly what he needs right now.
He’ll have to be fast, if Daisy sees him he can give her a nod and keep moving, she’ll think nothing of it. And Hancock can’t be interested in him anymore. It’ll be fine. He’ll be fine. He shakes his arms out and steps through the door to Goodneighbor.
Daisy’s with a customer, not looking in his direction. The perfect opening. He slips by her unnoticed, and with no one else stopping him, he’s able to jog down the alley to Bobbi’s place without interruption.
The job itself is complete bullshit. Digging. He’s digging. Without much in the way of supplies, the meager payment Bobbi’s offering will have to do. But when he reaches the tunnel, his heart stutters in his chest. The job doesn’t seem quite so easy anymore. He has to put an enormous amount of effort into lifting his feet when he walks down into the dim red glow of the brick and earth tunnel, trepidation threatening to collapse his lungs entirely. In this moment, there is nothing he’d like to do less than walk any further into this place.
He goes anyway, motivated by an unfortunate lack of caps and few options. Bobbi’s other hired hands barrel out of the tunnel and Nate nearly follows them, not wanting to take any chances with whatever is down there. When it turns out to be mirelurks they’re running from, he forces himself further, leaden weights in his boots but a known enemy in sight.
Bobbi comes to investigate after he’s dealt with the crabs. She offers him a new position as her gun. He tells her she’ll need to get him some bullets if she wants that to happen. They look at each other for a long, tense moment before she agrees. She tells him they’re looking for the Diamond City strongroom. He recognizes that this is a way to make caps and get supplies, so his discomfort with the tunnel business will have to take a back seat.
From there, he’s told to go find her associate in Bunker Hill, someone who’s going to make the digging go by much faster. He doesn’t argue, but asks questions to get a better idea of what he’s getting into. He learns that the associate recently got out of lockup in Diamond City. A decent sign, he’s not with them. He also learns his name is Mel, which makes him pause, brain firing off useless sparks trying to connect things that don’t add up. He shakes his head. She said ‘he’, not ‘she’; this is a different Mel from the one living in Sanctuary.
And, as he comes to find out, a worse Mel. He agrees to the job as it’s explained to him, then tells Nate he needs to make some modifications to a combat eyebot he has, and that he’ll need a few hours. He makes the time to flirt with Nate. Badly. He pointedly ignores him, telling him instead to meet him outside of Bunker Hill so they can make their way to Goodneighbor together. Something about Mel makes Nate think he’s likely to slip away without notice.
Waiting is painful. Nate keeps his back to a wall, watching the caravans enter and exit Bunker Hill, trying to keep himself from running away. He can feel eyes on the back of his neck, though whenever he tries to pinpoint where they’re coming from, they vanish. Nate’s appalled at how relieved he is when Mel finally appears at the gates, eyebot in tow.
It’s late when he gets back to Goodneighbor, Daisy’s shop thankfully closed. One less person to avoid. He tells himself again that Hancock’s done with him, he has nothing to be concerned about, but he still pushes Mel along to Bobbi’s as fast as he can without being too suspicious.
Walking down into the dig feels like entering the underworld. A sense of impending doom seizes his heart, and he tries to push it aside for the time being. He needs these caps. Bobbi waits for them in the dim red glow, and in an effort to stop the flirting, Nate announces that he found the worse Mel. Without any context, Mel looks both confused and offended, but it’s enough to get him to stop. Nate takes the victories where he can.
When the eyebot blasts the first hole in the soft wall of the tunnel, it takes everything in him to not turn around and run back out the way he came. It’s loud, way too fucking loud; it’s going to disturb something down here, something that should never be disturbed. He’s sure of it. Steeling himself, he follows Bobbi and Mel anyway. He’s out of options.
There’s something under the mirelurks’ rapid clicking and their gunfire, a sound that pulls at his attention, just over his shoulder. It vanishes when he turns his head toward it, straining to hear. Something isn’t right down here. The dim, sickly light, the sounds just out of reach, the damp smell of rot, and irradiated, diseased earth are wrong. All wrong.
The headlights on Bobbi and Mel’s helmets cast stark shadows on their surroundings, making it hard to distinguish movement from shifting light. It’s dangerous, he wants to tell them to turn them off, but it would be impossible to move if they do. He’ll need to be alert, they’re not alone down here.
As they go deeper, the air starts to weigh them down. It’s hot, like a furnace; there’s steam rising off of a thin, filmy pool of water lit iridescent green by clusters of mushrooms. His hair starts to stick to his forehead, clothes shifting uncomfortably under overheated armor.
They break into a subway tunnel, Nate too busy handling the feral ghouls inhabiting it to see what station. He doesn’t need to orient himself to his surroundings, he just needs to keep moving. To get back to the surface. The air is becoming oppressive, hot and humid and stealing his breath from him.
He can make out the sound from earlier - faint whispers just beyond the range of his hearing. There’s more than one, all talking over each other and muddling the words further. One of the ferals is still moving, so Nate marches over and puts an extra bullet in its head. The whispers don’t stop. He walks over to each rotting body on the ground and does the same, trying to figure out which one learned how to talk.
Bobbi calls out for him, annoyed and uninterested in delays. He follows her and Mel deeper into the subway, infuriating whispers trailing behind him. It’s becoming apparent to him that they’re being followed. The blasts from the eyebot disturbed something down here, like he knew they would. The heat from the air starts to sink into his mind.
They go deeper, ruined basements and narrow brick hallways pressing down on him from all sides. It’s boiling down here, and in his desperation to avoid burning alive, he tears off his armor, tossing it into a corner and pulling his shirt away from his body. It barely helps, there’s a fire growing taller behind his eyes.
Mel raises an eyebrow. “You sure you wanna do that?”
He doesn’t care about Mel’s opinion, so he tells him just that. He doesn’t ask again.
In another narrow, earthen tunnel, something runs fingertips down his arm.
He turns and fires, but the shadow recedes before he can hit it. He doesn’t lower his gun, looking for any sign of movement.
Bobbi curses, then says sharply, “Stop wasting bullets.”
He has more important things to deal with beyond her shitty fucking job, so he responds with a bitter, “Fuck off,” and lowers his gun when he feels ready. It has nothing to do with her.
Basements, brick hallways, and narrow tunnels blur together until they find themselves at the end of the road. One more blast then they’ll be out of this hell hole. Nate pointedly ignores the fact that they have to go back through it - just being outside of it for a while will be enough to make the return bearable.
The world shakes, unsteady on its feet. Nate walks backwards, taking the rear. He needs to make sure nothing sneaks up on them.
Excited by seeing the end at long last, Mel and Bobbi go on ahead of him without sparing a glance. He stays where he is, gun at the ready, for a long moment. Watching. The hole in the ground remains the same, no footsteps sound from below, no splashing from the water underneath the floor. It’s quiet. Nothing’s followed them here, waiting for him to turn his back so it can strike.
Satisfied for now, he follows through the door and into a warehouse. There’s light shining through the windows. They’re above ground. Clearly not a strong room. In the center stands Bobbi, looking furious, and Mel with his hands up. And Fahrenheit, flanked by two heavily armed guards.
This is not Diamond City.
Fahrenheit clarifies some things. Namely, that Bobbi tricked them into robbing Hancock. Nate’s heart is desperately trying to escape his chest. He tried to rob Hancock. After everything he’s done, he added one last insult to the mix.
When they’re given the option to turn back the way they came without bloodshed, Mel needs no further convincing, running directly back into the tunnel. Nate is frozen, head spinning with the implications of what he’s done and the terror of facing the darkness again.
Bobbi says something to him, and he turns his head in slow motion to look at her, dimly aware of what she’s saying. She wants him to help her finish the job. That’s…not an option for him. He’s done enough heinous shit to Hancock. He wanted to give him a clean break, not keep rubbing salt in the wound.
When it becomes obvious he’s not helping her, her face twists and she goes for her gun. Before she can get very far, a mini gun whirs to life and she hits the ground, body riddled with holes. Nate stares down at her blankly.
A sharp whistle makes him jump, then look up at Fahrenheit standing above him. Her face is blank, but there’s a fire in her eyes. “I’m letting you live, but only because Hancock wants to talk. Go back in your little tunnel and pay him a visit.”
He closes the door behind himself and presses his back to it, breaths coming hard and fast. Gripping his gun tight, he tries to center his mind. He has no other option but to go back through this godforsaken tunnel, and what lies at the end is unpleasant at best. Hancock’s not going to be happy about this failed robbery - he wasn’t happy about the first, but this one comes with so much more baggage on top of it.
On a forceful exhale he whispers, “No way out but through,” and pushes himself forward into the abyss.
The initial descent was terrible, but this is indescribably worse. He’s alone, and despite not thinking much of Bobbi or the worse Mel, having them there bolstered his courage. As he moves deeper into the tunnel, the walls start to pulse out of time with his heart, disorienting him. The rhythm is off-center. He stumbles, using the wall to keep himself from falling.
Another room, better lit than the last. The buzzing from the harsh fluorescent lights makes him grind his teeth, he wants to shoot them out but needs the light - and the bullets. He’s running low again, even after Bobbi outfitted him.
The tunnel splits, one side leading into inky darkness, the other a dim red glow. It was red at the beginning of the tunnel, before the subway, this could be short cut. He doubles back when he sees oversized lobsters in the entrance to a larger room. Not worth it, with the amount of ammo he has left. Without a light, the pitch black of the narrow tunnel is suffocating. The darkness is so thick he swears he can taste it. Pressing a hand to the wall, he gingerly steps through it, willing his trembling knees to keep him upright.
He’s back in the subway. Whispers talk over each other, blurring the words beyond any recognition. They’re getting loud. He wants to make sure the dead ferals aren’t behind them, but with so few bullets left it would be too much of a risk. He needs those for whatever else may be down here. Unable to convince himself to leave it, he takes the time to stomp through a few skulls, nearly retching at the feeling of his foot cracking through the bone. The whispers don’t stop. Panting, maybe from exhaustion, maybe from fear, he shakes his arms out and pushes forward.
The whispers become deafening, competing for his attention but never saying anything he can understand. He wants to figure out what the words are, but they’re indistinguishable from one another. They get so loud that he has to cover his ears, desperate for some silence. They don’t stop. He hears himself plead, crouched on the ground and pressing against his skull so hard he thinks he may crack it. Maybe if he does, they’ll leave him alone. Time passes. He starts shouting at them, begging for mercy. His heart is skipping every other beat. The fluorescent lights above him buzz, and he focuses on the sound. It begins to overtake the wretched whispers surrounding him, lessening the cacophony enough for him to stand again. His entire body is shaking. He keeps moving.
Another earthen tunnel greets him. He stands frozen in front of it, unable to get his feet to move. Underneath his heart pounding in his ears, he hears the distinct sound of an artificial voice. A synth’s voice. Every nerve in his body lights up like a firework, and he jerks forward before he’s able to register he’s moving. He skids and bounces off a brick wall, ignoring how it tears the skin on his arm, and scrambles up the stairs and into another goddamn tunnel. He loses his footing, and tumbles down into black, slimy water.
Holding his breath, he listens closely to the sounds around him. The synths are further away now. He can’t make out most of what they’re saying, but he does hear one thing clearer than a cloudless sky.
His name. They’re looking for him.
Very slowly, he pushes himself upright, trying not to disturb the water and make a noise that will draw them closer. What do they want with him? Following him around the Commonwealth and even into the tunnel - what does he have that they want? He doesn’t want to find out, so he starts backing up, feeling cautiously for the stairs behind him and keeping his breaths shallow and silent.
Another narrow tunnel, another room glowing dim and red. Holding his breath again, he listens intently. They haven’t gotten any closer. With the end in sight, he makes a break for it, charging up the stairs, through another fucking tunnel, and throws himself through the door to Bobbi’s basement. He kicks the door closed, then moves a heavy metal desk in front of it to keep them at bay.
His back hits a wall, eyes fixed on the door, gun in his shaking hands. He needs to get out of here, out of Goodneighbor, out of the city. They keep finding him too easily. But he can’t leave yet. If they come back through this tunnel, invade the town, the damage they’ll cause is astronomical. And it would be entirely his fault. He has to wait it out, hold the line, keep them at bay. He may not have many bullets left, but he has to do what he can.
Nate stands motionless apart from his breathing, staring at the door. Each blink is a failure, a moment when something could come crashing through the door and destroy him. A clock is ticking somewhere above him, the only indication that time hasn’t stopped completely. No sound emerges from the tunnel; not a creak, not a groan, and not a single footstep. The door stays firmly closed. Nothing tries to emerge, to pound on the metal and cave it in.
He takes long, slow breaths, relaxing his grip on his gun, knowing he can’t stay here forever. When he can finally pry himself off the wall and go back up the stairs, tentatively believing the synths haven’t followed him all the way up here, his heart starts racing once again.
He can’t leave Goodneighbor yet. He has to go explain himself to Hancock. It would be simpler to just run, but this isn’t a personal issue. This is a business issue. Cutting the cord won’t work here, like it worked the last time he went down that path.
When he steps outside to face the consequences of his actions, the sun has long set. It’s late, very late. His chest tightens. He spent an entire day underground.
Nate feels like he’s walking to his execution, slowly moving up the staircase to Hancock’s office. It doesn’t help that the guards took his guns. It’s fair, but it solidifies the feeling that he’s on his way to the gallows. The doors to the office are open; he braces himself and steps inside. Hancock is on the far side of the room leaning back against the wall, crossing his arms. He’s not looking at him, and Nate’s heart sinks. He knew this would be bad, but knowing that doesn’t make it any easier.
“Close the door.” It’s not a request.
The door clicks shut behind him. Hancock doesn’t speak for a long moment, then finally looks up, quietly furious. “What. The fuck.”
Nate flounders, he doesn’t know what to say. His mouth opens, but no sound comes out.
“You run off in the middle of the night, just to show back up and try to rob me?”
He can at least explain the second part, so he gives Hancock the weak excuse as it is. No embellishment. “I didn’t know it was you I was robbing.”
This doesn’t help anything. Hancock looks more angry than before. He sounds it too. “But disappearin’ for weeks, that was on purpose.”
Nate starts to think the robbery may not be what Hancock’s actually upset about. He doesn’t have an explanation that he can put into words; he didn’t think he’d need one. His absence was supposed to make Hancock wash his hands of him, stop letting him come back around and darken his doorstep. It should have taken a few days for that to happen. And it’s been weeks - though, he doesn’t really believe it’s been that long.
When Nate doesn’t answer, Hancock slams his fist down on the counter. He lets out a harsh breath and hisses, “I thought you were dead.”
They stare at each other for a long moment. Nate can’t sort out how he’s supposed to respond to that. Or how he feels about it.
Hancock has more to say, it seems. “I sent someone to Diamond City, to ask Piper if she’d seen you.” He walks closer. Nate forces himself to not retreat. “Come to find out, you fell off the fuckin’ map. No one knew where you went. Gone. Just like that.”
He talked to Piper? She’s wrapped up in this? Nate starts to feel sick.
Without an answer from him, Hancock’s jaw starts twitching. Venomously, he demands an explanation. “Got anythin’ to say?”
He doesn’t. He has no idea what to say. There’s no answer. He had to stay away, he’s only going to cause more harm if he sticks around. And on top of everything else, he’s being followed. Danger is nipping at his heels.
Hancock runs a slightly shaky hand over his mouth, looking away. After a long exhale, he looks back at Nate, voice cold. “’Course not. Fine. I’m gonna go clean up your mess now. We’re talkin’ when I get back, sort your shit out while I’m gone.”
He slams the door behind him, making Nate jump. He barely made it out of the tunnel and away from the synths tailing him, and he walked right into a different kind of trap. One that he can’t handle with violence. Out of the frying pan and into the fire.
It wasn’t supposed to go this way. Nothing about this situation is making any sense. Why is he still bothering with him? And he involved Piper? What did he even tell her? All the guilt he’s been keeping tucked away while doing Bobbi’s job comes back in full force, making his stomach churn violently.
The air displaces behind him. Something just moved.
Spinning around to face the doors, there’s nothing there. He exhales, standing still as a statue, eyes darting around the room frantically to catch any other signs of movement.
A voice over his shoulder, words too jumbled to make sense of.
Jerking his head to the side, the whisper fades out of his reach.
“Shit.” He’s been followed.
Unsticking his feet from the floor, he turns in a slow circle to scan the room. There has to be some kind of source. But what would that- he doesn’t know how Institute technology works- how is he supposed to- the radio. Last time he caught them, it had been the damn radio that gave them away. He stomps over to the thing, intent on smashing it to pieces-
A lamp flickers. He stops moving, holds his breath, and turns slowly toward it.
The light wobbles. Then drops to the ground.
They stare at each other. He knows it’s there, the element of surprise is gone, that should be enough for them to leave him the fuck alone. What does it even- He blinks, and the light shifts to the right. Everything becomes horribly clear. It’s going to turn him into one of them. That’s why the Courser was so human, there was only one piece not made of flesh- he should know, he saw everything inside its skull. He can’t let them get him.
It starts sliding toward him. Changing shape. Growing legs.
Every nerve in his body is on fire, he’s grinding his teeth so hard they may shatter. It’s coming for him. He stumbles back to get some distance, hitting a low table and losing his footing, sending him to the floor surrounded by chems and bottles. It’s still following him, slow like a predator stalking its prey.
Scrambling backwards on his hands, he tries to keep it away from him, but hits something solid. The light speeds up, elongating its strides. Nate feels frozen, there’s nowhere to go, it has him cornered.
It burns when it touches him, and he starts tearing at the skin of his arm where it landed, trying to shake it loose, to get it out. But it’s faster than he is, sinking under the flesh and clinging to the bone. It tears an electrified path up his arm, over his shoulder, and wraps itself firmly around his spine. He can hear it laughing.
Then it goes up. On its way to his brain stem.
His hands fly up to the back of his neck. Maybe he can intercept- white-hot rods of iron fuse to his spine as it climbs, it’s already starting. He’s running out of time.
Something bulges under his skin, just under the base of his skull. A chip is forming.
“No-“ He slams his head back into the wood behind him. “No, no, no-“ There’s no time to waste, so he digs his fingers in as hard as he can, scratching and trying to break the skin. The thing under his skin squirms.
“Fuck.” It’s not enough, he can’t get it out like this. He needs something sharper.
He blindly reaches down to his boot to get his knife. When had he closed his eyes? It doesn’t matter. He lines up the blade with the terrible, writhing thing beneath his skin and digs in. The fingers on his free hand worm their way into the cut along with the blade, pulling the skin apart and looking for the intruder. He can feel the blade cut the skin on his neck, on his fingers, but the pain isn’t there. Fear is overriding it. He needs this thing out before it turns him into one of them, before he becomes a mindless killing machine. The knife digs deeper.
His wrist is abruptly dragged away from his head and twisted, forcing him to loosen his grip on the knife. It’s pulled from his hand. Nate opens his eyes to see Hancock on the floor next to him, holding his wrist in a punishing grip. His eyes are wide. “Jesus Christ, what the hell are you doing?”
Is it not obvious? He’s getting the goddamn chip out of his brain.
Hancock grabs the wrist on his free hand, forcing it away from his neck. He’s making things difficult for no fucking reason. If he’s not going to let Nate tear it out, he’ll just have to bash it out.
Gathering his strength, he inhales, closes his eyes, and slams the back of his head against the wood as hard as he possibly can.
Hancock curses.
He does it again.
Hancock yells something that Nate can’t hear over the sudden ringing in his ears.
One of his hands is released, and he instantly has it working its way back into the wound on his neck, digging around for the piece of unknown technology he can feel forming under his skin. Nate opens his eyes when he’s shoved forward a few inches, blinking rapidly when he finds both his hands pinned to his chest, another set of arms wrapped around him. Pushing back with his feet, he tries to hit the back of his head against the wood, but now Hancock’s behind him, holding him in a vice grip.
Nate starts panicking, twisting his body to get out of the hold. “No- let me- fuck, you can’t-“ his words dissolve into incomprehensible sounds. When he registers the shadowy figures closing in on them, he struggles harder, pressing back into Hancock and trying to free his hands.
“Stop it, for fuck’s sake- I got him, back off.” The figures stop their approach. “Get out, no one comes in but Fahrenheit.”
He doesn’t want to see the shadows up close, so he slams his eyes shut again. Hancock needs to let him go, he can feel the terrible thing nestled in the base of his skull, carving a home for itself. He’s running out of time. His voice cracks. “Let me go.”
“Not gonna happen, so stop fightin’ me.” Hancock’s gravelly voice has an edge to it.
Why is he trying to stop Nate? He needs to get this thing out of his head. The danger is so obvious, so painfully apparent. Maybe- maybe if he feigns cooperation he can get an opening.
He slows down his struggling, every muscle tensed. The grip on his arms loosens, and he gets one hand free. It goes back to trying to get the chip out, fingers sinking into his flesh and rooting around for something that keeps slipping away from them.
“Goddamnit, you gotta stop.” Hancock wrenches his hand away and pins it to his chest again.
The thing twists under his skin, pressing against the bone. He needs to get Hancock to let him go, this is a disaster waiting to happen. “I have to-“ He’s out of breath, but uses all the strength he can muster to struggle harder, pressing back against him to use his legs to get some leverage. “Let go- it’s in me.”
Hancock only tightens his hold. “Nothing’s in you.”
How can he not feel it? It’s pulsing and writhing right below the skin, he should be able to feel it where it’s pressing against his shoulder. Frustrated that Hancock’s missing the obvious, he bites out another explanation. “Yes, there-“
Hancock shouts over him, ignoring the very important information Nate’s trying to tell him. “Stop messin’ around, just do it.”
Something pierces the skin of his thigh through his pants. His eyes fly open and dart down to his leg. There’s a needle sticking out of him. What the hell are they doing? He screams, kicking out wildly until he feels his foot connect with something solid, hearing a grunt.
Hancock’s arms bear down on him. He’s talking to someone else when he says, “Walk it off, we’re good.”
Nothing about this situation is good, not in the slightest. There’s other people trying to stop him? How can no one see what’s happening? He pushes back against Hancock again, trying to twist out of his grip, but he’s too weak to break free. Months of wearing himself ragged have taken their toll. He should have planned better.
His breath starts slowing down, and it gets harder to lift his legs. He pleads his case. “It’s in me- I need to- it’s in-“
“I got you.” He’s not listening.
His eyes won’t stay open, and it’s getting hard to keep his head upright. He lets it fall back onto Hancock, and keeps trying to tell him what’s happening. “I gotta get it out-“
“It’s ok.” It’s not ok.
He stops struggling entirely, bones turning to lead. “It’s gonna kill me.”
“I got you, you’re ok.”
He can hear his heart racing in his chest, wonders if it’s about to explode, and everything goes dark.
Nate wakes up violently, shooting out of an unfamiliar bed and falling to the floor in a heap. He takes in his surroundings.
It’s Hancock’s room. Why would he be in Hancock’s room? The ghoul should be done with him by now, this doesn’t add up. Digging deeper into hazy memories, he pulls forth what he can. The tunnels, the awful tunnels. Walking into Hancock’s storeroom and seeing Fahrenheit. Bobbi, lying dead on the floor. Descending back into the darkness. Thinking he would never see the surface again.
Then what? He shakes his head in an effort to dislodge something that’s stuck. He talked to Hancock, that’s why he’s in the Old State House. Then something attacked him. His hands fly up to the base of his skull, digging in and feeling for the chip. The shifting lump is gone. He closes his eyes and tries to remember more. He…tried to damage it. He must’ve done enough to keep it from solidifying. A small mercy. He bought himself some time.
But it still came for him here. It will come back, this he knows for certain. He needs to leave. Now. If it comes for him again he may not be so lucky, and then he’ll be in their hands. A living weapon. He can’t let that happen. Scrambling to his feet, he frantically looks around the room for his belongings. His boots are here, a good enough start.
He’s just finished lacing them with shaking hands when Hancock walks in, looking drawn. He takes in Nate cautiously standing to his feet, and his face turns to steel.
Tight and angry, he says, “Where the hell do you think you’re goin’?”
Nate’s heart speeds up, is Hancock going to try and keep him here? A hold up is the last thing he needs right now, he needs to put as much distance as he can between him and this place. He figures Hancock’s owed a little honesty, so as he moves to the door he says, “I need to get out of here.”
Hancock looks furious now, pushing him back until he stumbles, placing himself between Nate and the door. “Back up. Not until I get some answers.”
Nate tries to push past him, Hancock shoves him back again. “I said I need to get out of here.” Is he not hearing him? This isn’t a game, he needs to leave now.
Hancock doesn’t seem to understand how dire the situation is. Instead, he asks harshly, “What the fuck was that last night?”
He’s trying to keep him here. His heart stutters. This can’t happen. Nate needs to get out. He moves to one side, and Hancock follows. “Get out of my way.”
Pushing him further back into the room, Hancock says, “No. You ain’t goin’ anywhere. Not after that.” Through gritted teeth, he asks slowly, “What is going on?”
He needs to get out of here, Hancock needs to stop. He’s a liability, the longer he stays here the worse the outcome will be. Stepping to the side, he tries to get around Hancock again, but he just gets in his way. Frustrated, Nate bites out his words. “Nothing, get out of my- just let me go.”
Hancock raises his voice, grabs him by the arm, and shoves him back again. “That sure as shit wasn’t nothing. Tell me what’s wrong with you.”
He thinks there’s something wrong with him? There’s nothing wrong with him, but there will be if Hancock doesn’t let him leave. He starts pacing, looking for a way to get to the door. “I need to get the fuck out-“ He feels around the base of his skull again, just to be sure, then mutters, “I can’t let them get me.” That’s crystal clear, sharper and more defined than anything else.
Anger melts into alarm on Hancock’s face. “That ain’t a sane thing to be sayin’.” His voice is lower, gentler, when he says, “What the hell is gonna help? What do we need to do to-”
“I don’t need anything- there’s nothing wrong with me! I’m fine!” He’s shouting now. He can handle this on his own, he just needs to get out of here. Something is wrong but it’s not him. Not yet.
Hancock takes a deep breath, closing his eyes. When he opens them he says, “You can’t keep going like this, you’re gonna destroy yourself.”
Nate laughs harshly, there’s no joy in the sound. Better to die on his own terms than accept what will happen to him if he stays. He won’t be missed anyway, so he throws his arms up and tells Hancock, “Who cares! Who fucking cares what-“
“I care, asshole!” Hancock cuts him off.
Nate stops moving. That doesn’t make any sense. After everything he’s done? There’s no way that’s true.
Is Hancock trying to trick him? Catch him off guard so he can’t escape?
He starts pacing again, faster this time. Side to side, never looking away from Hancock, waiting for an opening. The realization solidifies. He is trying to trick him. It’s a trap, he’s not going to let him leave, even though he needs to leave. A chill runs through his veins; is Hancock working for them? Is he the reason the chip tried to take him last night? Is he stalling him, just so they can make another move?
Nothing else makes sense.
His heart twists. How could he be so stupid. All this time, Hancock was tricking him. Stringing him along. Anger flares to life, rolling flames streaking across his mind. He needs Hancock to move, but he can’t bring himself to hurt him, even knowing that he’s been betrayed. His words will have to suffice, so he spits them out for maximum effect. “You care- like I’m supposed to- this is a fucked up way of showing you care.”
Hancock’s voice is louder again, tinged with disbelief. “Are you serious? You tried to stick a knife in your head. Why would I let you leave after that?
He had to, he had no choice. It bought him some time. He doesn’t understand, or he’s pretending he doesn’t understand. If he thinks Nate’s fucked up then that’s on him. “You just want to control me.”
He shakes his head. Almost to himself, he says, “Oh, not this again.”
“What’re you gonna- so you’re-“ Frustrated, he flexes his hands and tries to move around Hancock, who just follows him. “You’re gonna lock me up until I do what you want?” Trap him until they can make another move?
Nodding, he confirms Nate’s fears. “Yeah, if that’s what it takes to get you to talk to me.”
Nate changes his strategy. He knows some of the things Hancock is insecure about, what worries him. He may have been lying the whole time, but if he wasn’t, it’s worth pushing on the sore spots. He thinks something’s wrong with Nate, so he shifts the blame for that assumption and places it squarely on Hancock. “Maybe it’s your fault.”
Hancock’s jaw hangs open for a second, then his eyes go wide. “What?”
He keeps applying pressure. “If something’s wrong with me then it’s your fucking fault.”
Nate darts to the left, Hancock follows. He keeps pacing, flexing his hands and keeping his movements irregular to catch him off guard. Hancock matches his pace, staying between him and the door.
He needs to push it more, so he pulls forth memories to cut deeper. “You- the chems you’ve- it’s all those fucking chems-“ He trails off, electricity racing up his spine and making him clench his jaw too tightly to speak.
He makes a frustrated sound. “What are you even sayin’? We’ve barely-“
“You’re trying to fry my brain-“ He shakes his head, sparks are flying inside his skull and it’s getting harder to keep on task. He needs to leave. “It- all of it- another fucking power grab-“
Hancock has to visibly calm himself before saying, “Why would I do that?”
This line isn’t working, so Nate goes for an even lower blow. One that he knows will hurt. “How else could anyone stand to look at you?”
Hancock’s brows draw together, and he pulls back a half step as though shocked.
Seeing this makes something inside of Nate start to wither and die. But he needs to leave, he can’t stop now. This may not even be Hancock. He digs deeper, one tiny opening is all he needs. “You did it so I wouldn’t run away screaming- you knew-“ He hates himself for what he’s saying, but he needs to fucking leave, so shaking his head again he forces the words out, “It’s the same- it’s why you’re high all the time, you can’t stomach it either.”
Hancock runs a hand over his eyes, taking an unsteady breath. It gives Nate the opening he’s been looking for. He charges past him to the door, twisting out of his grip when he gets a hand around his arm, and throws himself down the stairs and out the door.
He doesn’t stop running until he’s well out of sight of Goodneighbor. When he stops, he has to crouch down and put his head in his hands, breathing harshly from something other than exertion. If Hancock really is Hancock and not some impostor, then he should know by now that Nate’s nothing but trouble. It’ll be over for good.
When he stands up, he realizes that he has no supplies, no armor, and no guns. Just himself against the wasteland. Taking a deep breath, he starts walking.
Chapter 15: August??
Summary:
Nate proves a point.
“He'd been wrong, there was a light at the end of the tunnel, and it was a flamethrower.” - Terry Pratchett, Mort
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Outside the walls of Goodneighbor, Nate starts to feel like he can breathe again. The relief lasts for half an inhale before bone-deep regret makes him double over.
That may have been one of the worst things he’s ever done. If Hancock is an impostor, then the vile things Nate said wouldn’t have phased him in the slightest. But they did. They wouldn’t have worked if they didn’t affect him. He just said all that to Hancock. What has he done? Betrayal and cutting accusations. Unforgivable, hateful words. Again and again.
But he tried to trap him, no matter how many times Nate told him he had to leave. He told him about the chip, didn’t he? The memory is hazy, but he must have. He would have warned him. The real Hancock would have listened, not tried to cage him in and make him an easy target.
The two sides of his mind rage against each other, tearing him in two. His hands nearly crack his skull from how hard he has to hold it together to keep it from splitting down the middle.
Nate keeps walking.
Very quickly, that proves to be a mistake. With his mind elsewhere, he doesn’t notice the heavily armed Gunners directly in his path. Not until several warning shots splinter the ground directly in front of him.
Knowing he’s unarmed, Nate doesn’t try to make a stand, instead letting go of his head and running for his life - pointedly still in the opposite direction from Goodneighbor. It’s not safe there, he has no choice but to push forward. He can outrun their bullets.
The first few miss him, but his luck doesn’t hold for long. When he’s just past the Gunners, his side explodes, radiating angry flashes of searing energy. Nate stumbles, but stays upright and moving, his shirt sticking to his skin, wet and warm. He takes a sharp left around a building, trying to break their line of sight, and stumbles again. It takes a moment for the fiery lines to start rushing up his bones from his calf, but once they start they do not stop, worsening with every limping step. He keeps going, knowing that if he doesn’t he’ll end up with even more holes.
Around the corner, he gets out of their range. They don’t chase him, more intent on guarding the building rather than tracking him down. Blood is soaking his boot, slipping down his leg in waves. He steps wrong on a piece of metal and loses his footing, catching himself on his hands before his face hits the debris. Something snaps, viciously. He rolls onto his back on the ground, one hand clamped over his mouth to stay quiet, teeth grinding together, and lifts the other to inspect it.
This also proves to be a mistake. The bones on his wrist grind together when he moves it, and his fingers aren’t responding. It’s broken.
Nate forces himself to breathe steady, taking his hand from his mouth and cradling his wrist to his chest. He needs to get out of here. He’s too exposed, too vulnerable, too easy a target like this. They found him so easily, they’ve been following him across - and under - the Commonwealth, like they’re trying to wear him down. He needs to keep moving.
When he rolls to use his good arm to push himself up, the shredded skin on his side throbs violently, forcing him to stop moving before he can get upright. He bites his tongue to hold back the shout threatening to burst free, and gets his unsteady legs under him. Nate keeps limping away from the Gunners, formulating a plan. He’s moving far too slow, and without both hands he’s not going to be much of a challenge to fight when they track him down. Getting shot to hell was a setback he couldn’t afford.
“Not your finest moment.”
Nate jolts, then looks around at the ruined buildings. When he blinks, he sees his bloody hand wrist-deep in a Courser’s skull. He shakes his head and pushes forward.
After half a block, he decides he needs to look at his leg, maybe to do something to get himself moving quicker. He tucks himself into a doorway and slides down the wall, tearing his pants to see the damage. There’s a single, bloody, oozing hole, with no exit. His heart stutters. A bullet is lodged inside his leg.
When he pushes around the outside of the wound, he hears a faint buzzing. Nate holds his breath and pushes down harder. The buzzing gets louder. The ground leans sideways, making him press a hand to it to stay upright. That’s not a bullet.
They’re tracking him.
First Hancock, now the Gunners? Is there anyone in this godforsaken place that isn’t in the Institute’s pocket? His heartbeat pounds in his ears, warping his vision around the edges as it does.
“It’s fine, I’m fine, I can handle this.” If he says it enough, it’ll be true. He just needs to get the device out. Without a second thought, he tries to work his fingers into the opening, feeling for the tracker.
He bites his cheek to keep himself from screaming, hard enough to fill his mouth with blood. Nate’s heart starts crawling up his throat. He can’t get deep enough, can’t get a grip around the damn thing. They’re serious about this, they don’t want him getting away.
His mind lights up again, fury eclipsing reason. How could he be so stupid, of course they wouldn’t let him get away easily. He should have seen this coming. Since he can’t get the fucking thing out of his leg, there’s nothing here to be angry at other than himself, so he takes the rage out on the only target he has. His good hand digs into the cluster of holes in his side, and he tells himself the pain is no less than what he deserves.
“Is this penance? Are you paying penance for something?”
Nate’s teeth grind together. “Got a lot more penance to pay now.” He stops pressing down, blowing out a harsh breath. Tracking device first, a suitable punishment for his stupidity later. He tries to pry it from the muscle again, knocking his head back against the wall and swallowing an anguished sound as he does. It’s not working, he needs something thinner, sharper, longer to get it out.
Opening his eyes, he glances around him, then stops. He’s been here too long. They’ll be on him soon enough. He needs to keep moving. But where? He needs supplies, something to get this thing out of him before it’s too late, but where would he be safe for long enough to do it? Nate goes through his memories. How were they tracking him before? The radio, the light, both of them used electricity. That must be how they keep finding him. He needs to stay away from anywhere with power.
Somewhere with supplies and no power. A tall ask. He combs over his mental map of the new Boston, and lands on the one viable option he has. Mass Bay Medical Center. A hospital without any power, close enough for him to get to before they find him. It hurts to walk, but if he pushes himself they won’t catch him.
“Tell me what’s wrong with you.”
Nate grinds his teeth again, desperately angry that Hancock couldn’t see what was happening right in front of him. That he wasn’t really Hancock after all. “There’s nothing wrong with me, just some holes and a busted wrist.” He tries one more time to get the device out of his leg, tears building in the corners of his eyes and white lights overtaking his vision. “And a fucking tracker in me.” Once he gets that out, he can make a break for it.
Plan in place, he pushes himself back up the wall and onto his feet. He sways in place when his vision goes dim, then forces himself forward after a few bracing inhales. Every step sends fire up his leg, then his spine. He’s starting to feel lightheaded. This entire situation, the last few days have all been a train wreck. Why him, of all people? Why won’t they leave him alone? The mind games are beginning to wear him down.
He sees something move out of the corner of his eye.
Spinning toward it, he holds his breath and watches for movement. He stayed here too long, they’ll be on him soon. He needs to keep moving. When he can’t hold his breath any longer, he exhales and starts cutting down alleys to the main trade road, trying to ignore the echoing voices that are demanding his attention. He has more important things to be concerned with right now.
But he isn’t paying enough attention, not in the slightest. From small graveyard at the end of the alley, he hears a feral ghoul make a guttural, hungry sound. When he turns his head, he corrects himself. It’s a few feral ghouls. And he’s unarmed, unable to outrun them. He’ll have to stand his ground.
Nate scans his surroundings, and when he sees a rusted tire iron he lunges for it, gripping it tight in his good hand and pressing his bad one to his chest, trying to ignore the pain that flares when he moves.
The first feral dives for him, jaw hanging loose. Nate gets a lucky swing in, cracking the tire iron across the side of its skull hard enough that when the feral falls, Nate has to jerk it out of its head. The next feral gets the jump on him, crashing into him and raking vicious nails across his abdomen when it leans in to bite at him. He pushes it away with his good arm, stumbling when the motion puts too much pressure on his torn calf. It lunges again, but Nate’s put just enough distance between them to swing at it, clipping its arm and hearing a sickening crack. The feral doesn’t falter.
It distracts him enough for another feral to flank him. He sees it almost too late, bringing up his broken wrist to block its gnashing teeth. As it sinks them into his forearm, his already jostled wrist and the tearing of his skin making his stomach heave and his vision go white. He swings at it, hitting it twice, and it falls to the ground in a heap. He stumbles over it, spots overtaking his vision, breath growing shallow. His wrist is screaming, fresh blood runs in rivers from the holes in his body, making his skin feel warm in some places, cold in others. It’s disorienting.
Something collides with his back, sending him sprawling with a rotting, mindlessly angry body on top of him. He feels his shoulder get torn to shreds, but the pain is growing distant as sound falls away and his vision grows dimmer. He rolls them over, throwing the feral off and swinging the iron at its head. This time, when it sticks, he doesn’t have the strength to pull it out.
Panting, Nate lies surrounded by feral ghouls, bleeding into the pavement. He wants to get up, but he can’t convince his legs to work. Or his eyes. He closed them at some point. He hears the tire iron hit the ground when he loses his grip on it. His heart is pounding, every beat a little louder than the last, until it’s the only thing he can hear. The frantic, buzzing thoughts inside his head center and converge into one. This is a fitting end for him.
Notes:
Next chapter: Nate faces the music.
sabbig on Chapter 1 Sat 21 Jun 2025 02:15AM UTC
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roachenjoyer on Chapter 1 Sat 21 Jun 2025 09:59PM UTC
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sabbig on Chapter 2 Sat 21 Jun 2025 02:35AM UTC
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roachenjoyer on Chapter 2 Sat 21 Jun 2025 10:00PM UTC
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Cherry8Soda on Chapter 3 Thu 22 May 2025 09:15AM UTC
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roachenjoyer on Chapter 3 Thu 22 May 2025 11:53AM UTC
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LovingEm on Chapter 3 Sun 25 May 2025 02:41AM UTC
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roachenjoyer on Chapter 3 Sun 25 May 2025 03:31AM UTC
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sabbig on Chapter 3 Thu 26 Jun 2025 12:18AM UTC
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500_Fandoms on Chapter 4 Wed 28 May 2025 12:28PM UTC
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roachenjoyer on Chapter 4 Wed 28 May 2025 01:17PM UTC
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sabbig on Chapter 4 Thu 26 Jun 2025 12:44AM UTC
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500_Fandoms on Chapter 5 Mon 02 Jun 2025 12:08PM UTC
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roachenjoyer on Chapter 5 Tue 03 Jun 2025 01:24AM UTC
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500_Fandoms on Chapter 6 Mon 09 Jun 2025 12:56PM UTC
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roachenjoyer on Chapter 6 Mon 09 Jun 2025 01:40PM UTC
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Stuartette on Chapter 6 Tue 22 Jul 2025 05:45AM UTC
Last Edited Tue 22 Jul 2025 05:45AM UTC
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roachenjoyer on Chapter 6 Tue 22 Jul 2025 01:15PM UTC
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Stuartette on Chapter 9 Sat 16 Aug 2025 09:37PM UTC
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roachenjoyer on Chapter 9 Sun 17 Aug 2025 01:22AM UTC
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eviltw1nk on Chapter 12 Tue 02 Sep 2025 10:23PM UTC
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roachenjoyer on Chapter 12 Tue 02 Sep 2025 11:13PM UTC
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ModulusCopper on Chapter 14 Sun 07 Sep 2025 03:39AM UTC
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roachenjoyer on Chapter 14 Sun 07 Sep 2025 01:16PM UTC
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eviltw1nk on Chapter 14 Sun 07 Sep 2025 04:18PM UTC
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roachenjoyer on Chapter 14 Sun 07 Sep 2025 04:37PM UTC
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