"...Goodneighbor?" MacCready asked.
The word finally made its way into the part of my mind able to process speech. As soon as we had stepped away from the Old North Church towards the street, I froze up in a panic attack, trembling with abject fear. An overwhelming sense of terror gripped my chest, and my eyes locked on to the ruined block where the former raider camp had been. I struggled to breathe, to force my feet to take the next step. They're gone. They're all dead. The street is clear.
"Huh?" I took a shaky step down the stairs, gripping the cracked wooden railing with all my panicked strength.
But what if there are more?
"I said, 'Are we headed to Goodneighbor?'" MacCready repeated, already on the street, sniper rifle at the ready in a comfortably familiar pose.
There are always more.
My foot landed on the next step down, a thousand miles of courage to force my limbs to move even that much. "Yeah."
No! I can't move!
Finally noticing my uncharacteristic one word answers, he peered back at me. "You okay, Boss?"
I'm so scared! "Mmgh," I managed between quick panting breaths.
Another two steps down to the street, and I was almost weeping in fear.
We're going to get shot.
Danger was everywhere. I knew this, knew it from the very first day when I had to run for my life. This world was awash in anarchic shows of strength and violence... and yet I had the pathetically brainless idea to try and help raise their society out of the miasma of blood? The flicker of anger flared long enough for another step, then fled as my panic resurged.
Me? The goddamn musician? My combat shotgun wavered in my grip, visibly trembling. I'm no leader.
All it takes is another group of raiders, a group not totally high on chems, and we're dead.
I froze again. It's too much.
My companion stood there quietly, watching my slow, tortured progress onto the street. "Hey, have you heard this one?" he said casually. "It's about the Super Mutant who wondered why a rock kept getting bigger."
Distracted, I stared at him incredulously. What?
With a grin, he laid out the punchline, "Then it hit him." He smacked his hands together.
For some stupid, inexplicable reason, this childish joke made me feel just a tiny bit better. RJ deals with this, and worse, every day, and he's not frozen in fear. Hell, he still even has a sense of humor.
What happened to mine?
"Oh, come on Boss, that was pretty good." Putting on a feigned frown, he huffed at me. "No?"
"Sorry, MacCready," I choked out around the lump of fear in my throat. "I don't know how you do it."
"Easy, Boss." One hand propelled me forward, firmly but gently encouraging. "Take one step at a time. You can't roll with the punches if you're not moving. It's a lesson I learned when I was a kid, and you're learning it now. I'll help you."
I focused on taking one more step, breathing deeply and evenly. One shaky step turned into five, then twenty. Without looking for trouble, we carefully made our way towards Goodneighbor and the friends we had there. One step at a time. And I have the best companion in the world beside me. As we walked, MacCready continued to tell me stories from his time in Little Lamplight, and the mischief an entire settlement of children could get into. I took heart in his unbreakable spirit, my panic subsiding with every block we passed.
Of course it helps that we kinda cleared out the route last time we came this way.
"Do you think these make me look mysterious?" I glanced up to see MacCready holding out a pair of mirrored sunglasses. Deacon's sunglasses. The smug grin on my partner's face said it all.
"How?" I groaned, half in stunned amusement. "No, nevermind, I already know..." The distraction of the harmless prank snuffed the last lingering wisp of my fear, my courage finally making its reappearance. God, I love this dork.
"Skills, Boss." He tried them on briefly before discarding them back into his pockets. "Nah, I prefer being able to see my targets clearly."
"Me too. After all, you're the experienced fighter. I'm just the overly hopeful optimist who doesn't belong here." The bitterness rose again for a brief moment until his reply soothed my damaged sense of self.
"No way, Boss. We balance each other out. Everything's going to be all right, as long as we stick together." MacCready's words held the ring of conviction, and I felt myself starting to believe them.
-0-
When we arrived in Goodneighbor, we stopped to trade with Daisy. The Railroad was very generous with their aid and Tom's new ballistic weave, but we were desperately low on stimpaks. She gave me a very long, searching look while we stocked up, finally reaching out to pat my hand with her own withered one. "Having a tough time of it, hon?" she asked in a low voice, not bothering to wait for an answer. "You don't have to say anything, I've got eyes, you know." She looked from me to MacCready and back again. "Little word of advice, though I doubt you need it. Keep looking for the good. You'll find it eventually; it's usually buried under a ton of shit." She pretended not to see the tears in my eyes at her kindness, turning to address my partner. "Nothing yet, MacCready, but there've been delays. The weather down south's been playing havoc with supply lines."
He nodded sharply, obviously unhappy about something, but resigned. "All right. Thanks, Daisy."
With no other immediate plans, we made our way down to the Third Rail. In the afternoon there were few other patrons about. The singer in the red dress was at the bar, and MacCready motioned for me to go on to the VIP room ahead of him. "I just want to have a quick chat with Magnolia." he said. "Go relax, no one will bother you in there, and I'll join you in a bit."
Nodding my acquiescence, I headed into the back room. The place looked exactly the same, scattered couches, kitch and other random collectibles on the walls and in the cabinets. I was able to take a moment to think, staring at the decorations without seeing them. The space was quiet, only muffled sounds from the bar reaching this far into the room.
Why did this happen? I'm no one, nothing important. Not suited to this world. If this was only a game, I would have probably enjoyed it, the fascinating story, the colorful characters. But it's not, and I want to go home. Pain and blood and violence... I hate it, I hate it all. I'm sick of this place, sick of hurting, sick of the radiation, the inedible food, the cold, the constant fear for my life.
In the reflective silence, I took out the toy soldier that MacCready had given me, kept close to my heart in a pocket of my leather coat. Turning the wooden figurine over in my hands, my thoughts wandered.
And yet, I care deeply... for him. I'm in love with his gorgeous soulful eyes, that snaggletooth grin, the fire of his spirit, the touch of his hand...
I'm not who I was. I don't know who I am now.
Humming quietly, I started to sing to myself. Lyrics to a song about the conflict of changes, sad and slow, and so perfectly matching my mood that I put my heart into it. I hadn't sung in months, and making music eased an ache in me I didn't even realize was there.
"It's not simple to say / Most days I don't recognize me
These shoes and this apron / That place and its patrons / Have taken more than I gave 'em"
Not so much an apron now as a shotgun, I sighed. I definitely don't recognize myself anymore.
"It's not easy to know / I'm not anything like I used to be, although it's true
I was never attention's sweet center / I still remember that girl."
I lifted my voice to the chorus, rough from lack of practice, but on pitch.
"She's imperfect but she tries / She is good but she lies
She is hard on herself / She is broken and won't ask for help..."
Huh, I got help, though. Help in the form of a snarky mercenary who can make me laugh... The rest of the chorus was lost in fractured whispers as I lost my breath, until the last line.
"She is gone but she used to be mine."
I started on the second verse a little more strongly, still facing the wall, allowing my voice to reverberate back at me in a weird almost-echo. The words were muscle memory, coming out without my having to think about it, this song having been one of my favorites to sing when I was lonely back home. At the bridge, I punched the additional lyrics, using my own altered word – "drive" instead of "life" – trying to rekindle my own battered spirit with the music.
"... / And then she'll get stuck
And be scared / Of the drive that's inside her
Growing stronger each day / 'Til it finally reminds her
To fight just a little / To bring back the fire in her eyes
That's been gone, but it used to be mine-"
I broke off with a startled squeak as a warm arm tucked around my waist. "I didn't know you could sing," MacCready said softly in my ear, leaning his chin on my shoulder. He smiled when he saw me tuck the toy soldier back in the inner pocket of my jacket.
I laughed a little self-deprecatingly, shaking my head. "I can't, not really." At his querying lift of an eyebrow, I continued. "I mean, I can generally carry a tune, you need to in order to be a music major, but my voice is terrible... nobody likes it. I do best in large choirs where I can't be heard, you know?" Shrugging, I looked down. "It's one reason I don't sing around other people, as much as I enjoy it."
"I'm not sure why you care what other people think. I wouldn't." His arms tightened around me, and he pressed his cheek to mine, the rasp of his slight goatee a comforting feel. "So you'll never give Magnolia a run for her money," he said in an honest assessment, "So what? I'd still like to hear more."
I couldn't tell if he was joking or not about wanting to hear me sing. "I don't know..."
Together, we moved over to one of the couches to sit down together. Taking a different tack, he asked, "What was that song you were singing, anyway? It was kinda pretty, but the words were sad."
"Remember when I told Deacon about telling stories?" At his nod, I explained, "The song is from a musical, one of my favorite storytelling methods."
"I'm familiar with the idea. We do have radios here."
I felt my face heat up in embarrassment. "Sorry..." He silenced any further apologies from me with a quick brush of his lips across my burning cheek before sitting back to hear the rest of my answer. "Uh, so...it's called 'She Used to be Mine'. Basically, it's a song sung by a woman who is going through a lot, and lost control of her life. She's mourning the person she used to be, and trying to find a new sense of self." A warm hand covered mine, giving a gentle squeeze. "It's... appropriate."
Blue eyes regarded me from under the shaded green cap. "Do these musicals of yours have songs for every occasion?"
"Just about." I mentally ran through the list of songs and shows I knew. "I don't know all of them, of course, but there are a lot."
"Got one for me?" A sly grin twitched the corner of his mouth. "I bet you don't."
A roguish young man with a heart of gold, a snarky attitude, and an orphan background? Probably dozens. "I bet I do." With growing confidence, I poked him teasingly. "If I find the perfect song for you, what do I win?"
"My undying loyalty and admiration?" His eyes twinkled with challenge.
"Huh, I thought I already had that as part of your contract."
"Point; though we're way past the contract thing, angel. I hope you realize that." Grabbing my hand, he held it in both of his, his demeanor sobering. "You saved my son, Anne. Nothing I can do will ever repay that, and I'll spend the rest of my life loving you, trying as best I can." As quickly as he grew serious, he was back in a playful mien. "Now, we were making a wager?"
"Hmm." I pondered. "How about a weapon?"
"How's that?"
I nodded, deciding. "If I win, you find me a weapon, a really good one. I want to be able to defend myself better."
"All right, though you already have the best weapon in the Commonwealth: me." He preened briefly at my light laugh and grinned. "And if I win?"
You won't. "You get to ask for something of like value from me." I almost regretted it when the grin on his face became practically lascivious. Good thing I'm going to win this one. There are so many good musicals out there.
"Okay. You have to sing the song, though. I'll decide if it's right." MacCready bargained. That little sneak is trying to stack the deck. My voice isn't good enough to sing a lot of them properly. Ah, well. All I can do is try.
Giving him a long look, long enough that he actually blushed, I finally nodded. "Agreed. Let me think."
MacCready sat back against the cushions, hands behind his head in a relaxed slouch as I wracked my brain thinking of songs. "Hard Knock Life?" Hmmm, good, but no... he's not in Little Lamplight anymore. "One Jump" from Aladdin? That's a possibility. Maybe something from Oliver? Pippin? Some of the stuff from Hamilton might be good, but I can't possibly sing it. Argh. The longer I sat there thinking, the wider his smile grew, certain of victory. Cats? Rent? Les Miserables? Miss Saigon? No... Into the Woods? Wicked? Possibly. Avenue Q? Gah, no. The minutes ticked by.
"Can't think of anything? Time's running out." He tossed at me lightly.
"I don't remember there being a time limit." C'mon, think!
"I just made it up. Anytime now, Boss, while we're young!" He stuck his tongue out at me in a childish raspberry. And he has a child, too.
Wait, that's it!
I sat up in sudden conviction. "All right. I've got it." Taking a couple of breaths to warm up, I explained the scene. "It's a musical called The Secret Garden. In this scene, a widowed father is telling a story to his sick son, who's asleep. There's a lot more to it than that, but that's the gist of it."
MacCready's eyes narrowed and his face stilled as he nodded.
I took one last bracing breath, then started on the recitative. "When we left off last night, the hideous dragon had carried the maid to his cave by moonlight..."
To his credit, MacCready listened intently, hanging on every word. I know my voice was still rough, even though the melody was pitched in a lower key and easier for me to sing.
"I said someone must save this sweet raven-haired maiden / Though surely the cost will be steep.
So we lads all drew lots, / Our insides tied in knots,
And I won, and the rest went to sleep..."
The song was in a lilting 6/8 time signature, and the melody was relatively simple and catchy. As I continued, my voice became more confident, relating the tale of the knight who killed the dragon and won the maid's favor. MacCready blinked when that line came along, and his mouth dropped open a little when I sang of their marriage and the son she bore. He sat dumbstruck at the chorus.
"Race you to the top of the morning! / Come, sit on my shoulders and ride!
Run and hide, I'll come and find you, / Climb hills to remind you,
I love you, my boy at my side!"
I stared across the room for the second verse, focusing on the music.
"Now, another foul dragon's appeared, / I must leave you.
He's scorching our land with his breath..."
I built up to the section mentioning the son's illness, knowing that if my companion was listening as closely as I thought, he would instantly recognize himself in the music. The melody crescendoed at that point, and I followed the emotion as best I could with my second-rate voice.
"Would to god I could stay and instead slay your dragon, / This beast who sits hunched on your back.
Would god I could wrench him away from your bed, / Or cut off or tear off his terrible head,
Or breathe out my fire on him 'til he was dead / Or beg him to spare you and take me instead!"
I heard an almost gasping breath, and closed my eyes to better remember the next lines; mentioning the man's now deceased wife, and having to leave the son in the care of family. Finally, I reached the final chorus.
"And you know that as soon as I can I'll return, / So be brave, son and know that I long
To race you to the top of the morning! / Come, sit on my shoulders and ride.
Run and hide, I'll come and find you, / Climb hills to remind you
I love you!
I love you, my boy at my side!"
When I let the last note fade away, there was silence between us. I heard the slight, ragged breathing of the man next to me and clasped my fingers together in my lap, staring at them, not daring to look at him. I thought it would be appropriate, as much as he loves his son, but I didn't think it would hit him this hard...maybe it was too close to his own story. A quiet sniff, then a trembling hand reached out to grasp mine. Looking up at him, he gave me a genuine, if sad, smile as he bushed at his eyes with his free hand.
Before either of us could say anything, Daisy's voice called from the doorway. "MacCready? I have a letter for you."