Crossfire - Fallout 4 - [R J MacCready x Sole Survivor]

Chapter 20

Instantly he regretted his question. Dawn's breathing was growing more and more erratic, and she shirked away whenever he drew near. Fear and anger - all mixed into one - and it was written clear as day on her face. "He's..." she began, but she struggled, as if the very act of speaking would cause her immense pain. She cleared her throat and tried again. "Shaun is..."

But that was it. Saying his name had tipped her over the edge, and any vestige of control she had was lost as she crumpled to the ground. A hard thud, a cloud of disturbed dust, and she openly bawled into her trembling hands.

MacCready had seen her cry many times before; but she was silent, her voice choked by whatever emotion had taken over at the time. But now? As he watched her as she wailed - watched her completely shatter into someone he no longer recognized - he realized that he shouldn't care about how she felt.

He shouldn't care about the Minutemen. About their cause. About her.

But he did.

And he realized just how much, right then.

His body moved without any forethought. Actions first. Consequences be damned. But he relied on his instincts. He remembered how he always did.

So when he knelt down with her - wrapped his arms around her in a tight grip - and he knew that this is something that she needed. Something that would at least comfort her, despite the tears and whatever event had happened in the Institute.

This is what she needed.

His hand moved in a slow rhythm across her back. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "You don't have to tell me. Just breathe, okay? Nice and slow."

She listened to him, and though she did not lean into his embrace, her breathing lessened into the same tempo as his. Her tremors died down, and her anguish simmered into broken sobs, but it was enough to know that she had overcome her previous state.

This was not how he wanted their reunion to be like. This was not how he wanted to see her.

And God, a harrowing thought had crossed his mind. If Duncan did not make it, or if he couldn't save him in time, then this could have been him.

Just when he thought he was doing the right thing, to comfort her, she shoved him away. MacCready stumbled a few steps back, jarred and unsure of what to do next. He was about to ask her what he did wrong, but Dawn had already stomped past him.

"Don't follow me," she said with finality.

And all he could do was stare at her with a dumbfounded expression.

She did not look back.

---------------------------

Fifteen pieces of metal was laid out across the workshop bench, each component cleaned and modified. MacCready checked them over once more before he meticulously reassembled his familiar rifle. His ritual. His solace. He knew his way around his gun like every scar on the back of his hand.

But he felt a small tap to his shoulder, and he cocked his head to glance behind him. It was Preston, armed with a gentle smile and a water flask held out in his hand.

"Morning, MacCready," Preston craned his neck to look at the array on the workbench. "Y'know, if you keep on taking it apart, you'll lose a piece one day."

MacCready took the flask and drank, his throat no longer dry before he carried on his work with deft hands. "I never lose a piece," he said. "Never miss a shot, too."

Preston chuckled. "I wouldn't doubt you for a second."

Two pieces were left on the table, and MacCready carefully fitted them together before he connected it back to his gun. Fifteen pieces assembled, his rifle now whole. He raised it up carefully to check his sights were properly aligned.