Emerging from the Dugout Inn, I noticed the radstorm had dissipated. It was mid-morning, and the shops were open for customers, the irradiated rain having soaked into the ground or evaporated. Due to the storm, there were very few people aside from the shopkeepers and some security guards posted about. That's a lucky break, I thought, nervously twitching my bandanna over my nose a bit more, but all it takes is one person to recognize me. I'm scared.
It felt decidedly lonely to wander Diamond City without my partner at my side. I had been used to being alone and fending for myself back in my own world. But here, everything was different, and I realized with a pang of sadness how much I needed my partner. Even when he was acting like an asshole, I knew he had my back. It's been less than a day since he collapsed, and I'm terrified to even go shopping without him. When he's around I can be brave, but now? I'm one confrontation away from breaking down in fear.
Now I know why MacCready said he doesn't like to be alone. Even though it was supposedly safe inside the "Great Green Jewel," it wasn't really, not with the Institute's agents on the hunt. And it's not just the Institute. All it would take is a respectably dressed raider with a chip on their shoulder and a handgun to get past the guards and bang! Dead. Sure, Diamond City security would be all over them, too late for the victim. It would be much easier to spot trouble with two sets of eyes. But Mac is sick, and he won't get better unless I help. Breathe. Move. You can do this.
Grabbing a firm hold of my courage, I visited a few of the stalls, mostly looking for purified water and items that might be useful for an extended stay in a small room. The shopkeepers were a bit wary when I fake coughed and sniffled my way though the transactions, but seemed to accept the tale of an ambushed caravan. Aside from a stern "Keep your distance if you're sick!" and the somewhat helpful suggestion to get purified water directly from the lad manning the purifier in the former outfield, there was little conversation.
Not wanting to push my luck, I wrapped up the shopping trip as quickly as possible, cautiously pleased with the varied haul of useful items. One last stop at Takahashi's stand and I returned to the room with my pack full, carrying two bowls of hot noodle soup. As soon as the noodles were safely placed on the nightstand, and the pack dumped on the couch, I allowed myself the luxury of breaking into a few quiet, terrified sobs in delayed reaction.
I had done it. I had managed to go out and get needed supplies without anyone recognizing me, as far as I knew. So why am I still shaking? Taking a couple of deep, bracing breaths, I clenched and unclenched my fists a few times to still the tremors. MacCready hadn't moved, but his color looked normal, and his breathing was deep and even.
"All right, Mac," I said, reaching for one of the noodle bowls. "Take two. You need to drink something." And I need my partner back.
This attempt, I didn't know if it was his more upright position, time spent fighting off the poisons flowing through his system, or the tantalizing scent of the noodles, but when I held the bowl to his lips, he moved slightly. The reaction was feeble, but it was just enough to swallow a scant mouthful of the nourishing broth. I wanted to cheer, hope lifting my spirits, and I tempered my excitement enough to encourage him to drink down another mouthful. "There you go, Mac. That's good! You coming around? I hope so... you need to wake up. Please."
MacCready's lolled his head a little, lips pursed slightly, seeking more broth to drink. His eyes fluttered a bit, but didn't open. Tamping down on my disappointment, I helped him drink the rest of the liquid, setting aside the noodles for my own consumption if he didn't wake up.
"Come on, Mac," I pleaded. "You're so strong, I know you can fight this!" When he sank back into silent unresponsiveness, I choked back a sob. "I need you, love. Please, say something..."
Desperately switching tactics, I started to sing quietly, hoping that music might reach him. It was the first song that came into my head, and rather fitting for my dampened mood.
"Say something, I'm giving up on you
I'll be the one, if you want me to
Anywhere, I would've followed you
Say something, I'm giving up on you"
But I'm not giving up on you! I thought fiercely, I need you to wake up. I need you to say something, prove to me that you're okay.
"And I am feeling so small
It was over my head
I know nothing at all..."
True enough. Without you, I am over my head out here. I broke off briefly with a sigh. Heh, the song is appropriate, and he did say he liked to hear me sing. I guess I can keep going.
Standing up, I rummaged through my pack, still singing quietly. Soon, the low table held the results of my shopping trip: purified water, a second Med-X (damn Doc for only giving me one, it's not like we're using them frivolously), replacement rounds for our weapons, some threadbare towels that could double as bandages, and a couple of matching pretty well-preserved bathrobes. They were dark blue, soft to the touch, and I thought I could probably wrestle MacCready into one when I rearranged him. It's not perfect, but it'll work to keep him easily clothed while he recovers. I'm just lucky I spotted them.
I had also swiped a couple of newspapers from Publick Occurances. The reporter we had met on our first visit, Piper, I think? was nowhere to be seen when I lifted a selection of issues. I figured if I ran out of things to say, I could just read the news aloud. It was better than nothing, and could even be a valuable resource to keep up with the local doings around town.
In the meantime, my attempt at singing had done nothing to bring my partner around, and I decided to quiet the rumbling in my stomach with the leftover broth-less noodles. The second bowl could wait a little. Even cold, the food was extremely tasty. The slight revival from my short nap was exhausted, and I wanted nothing more, other than my partner to wake up, than to curl back up for a proper sleep. With the last dregs of my energy, I dressed MacCready in the bathrobe while resettling him to rest on his side, tossing the extra cushions back on the couch. I climbed in behind his still, silent form, snuggling against his warm back for a proper rest. If he wakes up, I yawned, I'm right here to help.
-0-
An arm smacked me across the face as MacCready yelled unintelligibly, writhing and flailing. I reacted quickly, pain cutting through the fog of deep sleep. I twisted upright to grab the offending limb, pulling him into a comforting hug. Must be a nightmare. He continued to struggle, muttering incoherently, but soon tired himself out, slumping into my arms, still murmuring. "N... no!" he cried weakly. "Gotta... ...away..." he panted, batting his hand weakly. "...can't... ...her..." A wrenching moan shuddered his lean body as he leaned heavily into my embrace.
"I've got you, RJ," I soothed him, not knowing if he could hear me. "I'm here." The room was dark, the only light coming from the crack under the door. I didn't know exactly what time it was, but guessed it was probably evening, and not too late.
At my words, he quieted, the wracking shudders easing. I reached up to feel his forehead, which was hot to the touch. Doc Sun said his fever might come back. I hope it won't be as bad. Wait, I'm supposed to give him a booster, right?
I rearranged our position on the bed, laying back to support MacCready against my side as I flicked on the light and reached for the marked syringe holding the booster anti-venom. He followed my guidance, his IV-lined arm helpfully lying across my stomach. Mimicking Doctor Sun's smooth motions, I injected the medication into his veins, watching his face carefully for any reaction. A pained crease furrowed his brows, and his breathing hitched once or twice.
Fully awake now, I merely lay there quietly and held MacCready's hand, my other arm reaching up to lightly tease the thick brown mass of his hair. After a few minutes, he sighed deeply and opened his eyes, unfocused and glazed. "Anne?" he croaked.
"I'm here." He's awake! He's awake! I exulted deep in my head. Hope resurged in my heart, and everything suddenly felt less scary, less bleak.
He lifted his head slightly, wavering. "Where am I?" His voice sounded weak and distant, but it was a complete, if confused, sentence. "It's cold."
"We're in the Dugout Inn in Diamond City," I explained, rubbing my thumb across the back of his hand. "You collapsed in a fever and this was the closest place with a doctor. I'm glad you're awake. Are you feeling any better?"
"How..." he trailed off, lowering his head, muttering. "...Dizzy. Hurts. How'd I get here?"
"I carried you, of course. You were unconscious." And let's just leave it at that. I'd rather not relive last night. "You're still hurting?"
He groaned quietly. "So much. Feels like my veins... are on fire," he gasped, shifting uncomfortably. "Can't..." he gritted his teeth, sweat breaking out across his forehead.
"Hold on." I grabbed the Med-X syringe, deftly inserting into the cannula. The relief that followed the application of the painkilling medicine was almost palpable. MacCready's breathing evened out as he relaxed back onto the mattress with a light sigh.
He was quiet for so long I thought he had drifted off again until he muttered sleepily, slurring his words more than a little, "Thanks, angel... can... count on you. You're the closest thing to family... I've got." He sighed again, resettling his head on the pillow to fall back asleep, his forehead smoothing out in slumber, free from pain.
He thinks of me as family? The realization stabbed deep into my core, twisting. I quietly disengaged myself from MacCready's sleeping form, fully awake and ready to tackle the deferred chores waiting for me. I'll think about that later.
The soaking clothes were as clean as time would get them, and I changed into the second bathrobe to add my own outfit to the mix. I scrubbed the ichor stains to the point of unrecognizability in the cool water, hanging everything to dry from the shower curtain rail. I had only the one ballistic reinforced set, and a spare change of pants, but MacCready had insisted on holding on to his tattered duster and green outfit. The bathroom looked like a dry cleaners by the time I had finished, but I always felt better wearing clean clothes.
Of course, MacCready waking up however briefly, helped my mood as well. He's going to be okay! I told myself, bolstering my spirits with hopeful rhetoric. Everything is going to be okay, as long as he's alive and on the mend.
Next, I reorganized our packs, divvying up the meds, food, and water equitably, and counting out our stash of caps into makeshift pouches with the amounts inside clearly labeled. Tallying up the total, I was surprised at how much we had earned in our travels over the last several months. Selling scavenged items, weapons, ammo, and armor, as well as the payments for helping out the various factions added up quickly. Geez, it's a good thing caps are light or we'd be overburdened. As it is, they take up a lot of space in our packs. And it's dangerous to carry this much money on us, as well. What I wouldn't give for a safe or a storage room; somewhere we can keep extra supplies.
I sighed sardonically. Why not ask for a three-bedroom, two-bath house with a white picket fence while you're at it? At the thought of a house so like my own (minus the picket fence), I dropped the remaining caps with a slight jingle, holding my head in my hands. What am I going to do?! I wailed silently in my mind. I'm so tired of running, so angry at having every answer lead to another question, another roadblock! MacCready says the best way to handle the Commonwealth is to keep moving forward. By hiding from the Institute like this, am I moving forward, or just running away?
And who am I to ask everyone else here to give up power, power they need to live, just so I can get home? I saw the water purifier in the outfield. It needs power to make clean drinking water, and that's just for the residents of Diamond City. I don't know what the numbers Tom showed me mean exactly, but I certainly understand the "magnitude of energy unseen since the big boom 200 years ago." It was enough power to have decimated the Commonwealth. How can I justify draining all that power? Stealing clean water from farmers and traders?
I can't.
In a fit of anger, I swept the table clean of our packs, the carefully organized items scattering across the floor. Hot tears of frustrated anger tracked down my cheeks as I paced around the room. I wanted to scream my frustration, my fury at the Institute and "Father", my sudden realization at the overweening hubris to even think of asking Vault 81 to donate their power to charge my Pip-Boy's battery. I ached with homesickness, sore and tired and hurting, and just wanting to go home.
I...can't.
I spared a worried glance at MacCready who was sleeping restlessly, tossing and turning, moaning unintelligibly but otherwise looking better. Just watching him soothed a deep ache in my soul and helped me ground my temper. Stepping over to the bed, I checked his temperature, absently caressing his cheek while I did so. He quieted at my touch, his forehead feeling warm but not fevered. A faint smile touched his lips. "All right, Mac," I murmured quietly, "I'll find a solution... somehow." As long as he's around, I can do anything.
Leaving my partner to rest quietly, I tidied up the packs and set them against the wall. The next task awaiting my attention was probably one of the most important, if not my favorite. Grabbing the maintenance kit from my pack, I laid out our weapons on the low table for a good cleaning.
Cleaning my own weapons was easy. It was a chore we had performed countless times; nearly every evening and at the first opportunity after a fight. The task was so familiar, so routine that I even started humming to myself quietly. Disassembling and reassembling the components of the familiar firearms helped me calm down and prepare to tackle the more challenging, to me, job of working on MacCready's two guns.
He was very particular about weapon maintenance, and rightly so. His life and the lives of his charges depended on the condition of his equipment. I started with the pistol, a relatively simple handgun. It was free from extra modifications, and reasonably easy to clean and oil, though I made sure to give it an extra-good going over. MacCready is fanatical about these, and I want to do him proud while he's out for the count.
Once the pistol snapped back together, I reverently picked up the sniper rifle. MacCready almost never let his beloved weapon leave his person, and I was nervous about cleaning it. But, I thought, it's been dropped and I can't just leave it dirty. If I'm careful, anything I do will be much better than nothing. Mac can go behind me and clean up anything I miss.
I turned the rifle over in my hands, examining the mechanisms in order to properly disassemble it. To my surprise, my tracing fingers found a series of deep scratches in the wooden hand guard of the well-loved weapon's barrel. Concerned that it may have taken hidden damage indicated by the gouges, I turned the rifle over in my hands. Right where Mac's fingers would cradle the weapon when he fired was a short series of carved words, some quite faded. Peering closely, I found the oldest of the words scratched out in a careful, steady hand. The letters were smooth, shallow-edged and darkly faded, but still legible. It spelled out the name "Lucy." I blinked away sudden tears and traced down the guard to the next, right underneath; slightly newer, but still quite worn. "Duncan."
"Of course," I whispered to myself. This is a man who values family above all else. The names were a permanent reminder, cradled in the palm of his hand, of everything important to him.
And yet a third word, small and neat, caught my eye. It was a little farther down the guard, the carving much fresher, lighter wood showing inside the carefully incised letters, edges crisp and sharp. My heart jumped and I caught my breath in a quiet sob as my fingers traced the name. "Anne."
A slight sound of throat clearing from the bed caused me to look up. Glittering blue eyes regarded me from shaded brows. "Hey, uh... you have some time to talk?"