Fallout 4: Alight

Alight: Part 1

Author's note: In the Fallout 4 game, Preston Garvey is a character that, due to trauma, suffers from depression and possible thoughts of suicide, albeit not by his own hand. Readers sensitive to this subject should note that this element will be present in Garvey's storyline.

"Alight"

Rosie had been at Sanctuary Hills for two weeks now. It was much different than the life she'd known before. She'd never lived so closely with so many other people. There were a little over ten settlers now, and Rosie knew them by name. They knew hers, as well, though only a few of them knew her story, ad speculation abounded over the grey-eyed girl with the long rifle. No one had forgotten how she'd emerged from the darkness to save their community. The result of this was a friendly sort of apprehension, which was fine with Rosie.

She'd fallen into a sort of schedule, one that was beginning to slowly turn the thrown together community into her home.

Preston Garvey was part of that schedule, and he wasn't sure, really, how it had come to be so. She'd seemingly appointed herself his guardian. Preston thought it might have been her way of making things level; they'd met when she'd been hired to assassinate him. A deadeye shot, had she actually taken that job to its conclusion, he'd have been a goner. Not only had she spared him, she'd also saved his life. From then on, that seemed to be her goal.

Every morning, he woke at sunrise. The slender woman would be in his room, sleeping, lightly, in the chair. Sometimes, she followed him after dinner, when he had the second shift, and actually came in with him. Sometimes they spoke, sometimes, not. Either way, she'd settle into that chair, stretch her long legs onto the windowsill, and lay the rifle across her lap. Their conversation, if they were speaking, would fade off, and he'd fall asleep, knowing she was awake, her sharp eyes lazily watching the darkness, like a resting panther.

If he had first shift, he wouldn't see her until the morning. He assumed she slept through the first half of the night in her own bed, when he was patrolling. He'd head home after his shift, and not see hide or hair of her. But every morning, when he woke, she was there. He had no glass in his window, so he assumed she got in that way.

If he actually asked her about the room thing, she just gave him a look. Rosie had some real intense grey eyes, and that look felt cold as ice. He tried convincing her that he didn't need guarding, and that she could watch over someone more valuable - like the women's house, or the guards on duty, but that went nowhere, as well. He decided, after receiving a few of those frigid stares, to just let it go. She was going to do what she wanted, anyway. Most of the settlers in the community were saddled with trauma-based quirks in one way or another. Rosie just seemed wild, a little skittish. She'd told him that she'd been having trouble with raiders at her homestead, so he assumed she was easily spooked as part of her survival approach. Deadeye girl wanted to play his bodyguard, he had no complaint. She wasn't hard to look at, and she was easy to talk to. When she spoke, that is.

After a week of it, he'd gotten used to sharing his bedroom.

During the daytime, Rosie seemed to vanish. He wondered where she went, what she was doing. Then he realized that dinner was getting better. Someone, Bea said, was leaving meat in the cookhouse on a daily basis. Preston didn't have to think too hard to realize that a certain expert with a rifle was probably out there, doing some practice shooting on the local wildlife.

Rosie turned up for dinner that night. She didn't always make an appearance, but tonight, she'd gotten back early and had time to clean up. Her ginger hair was down, long and loose, making her look younger, revealing a little of her actual age. She took a plate of food, went to find a seat outside on the patio. It had been warm today, and most people were eating their dinners outdoors.