"You took out the last two slavers, too? MacCready, you are amazing!" I announced, flanked with nods from both Deacon and Glory- reluctant and impressed respectively. "How did you get inside?"
"Easy. I saw where that one guy came out on the roof and just snuck in that way. The remaining slavers were distracted by your efforts to open the door and didn't even hear me until it was too late." MacCready preened under the praise, and breezily played off his role as "no big deal." But the satisfied gleam in his crystal eyes and the shadow of that little-kid grin playing across his lips gave away his real feelings. He was proud of himself, and rightly so.
"Were you hit anywhere?"
"Nothing to speak of." He shrugged one shoulder, eyes darting around the hallway. "Lucky blow... or three, is all."
Ignoring his pride, I carefully examined him. "C'mon, Mac, let me at least bandage it for you." He gave in at this point, holding out his arm. A new gash in the fabric of his unarmored left arm framed the bleeding wound in his bicep. I took a quick moment to clean and wrap the injury, grinning at his expression of amused tolerance. "Want me to kiss it and make it better?" I teased.
He matched my grin with a leer. "Only if you keep going. I have scrapes and bruises all over... and this weird swelling," he gestured downwards, chuckling pruriently.
"Uh-huh." This time it was my turn to boop the tip of his nose. "Maybe later. Let's go free the captives."
The short hallway leading into the depths of the building held several doors, but only three appeared intact. A hasty camp of sorts occupied the end of the stretch, blocked by debris from the collapsed remains of the structure. Glory remained on watch at the front door, and the rest of us spread out to inspect the area. MacCready and I focused on the first of the rooms while Deacon searched for the slave collar remote.
The first room held three captives. A young, bewildered-looking woman crouched protectively in front of two children. All three showed signs of their ordeal in the haunted look on their faces, the shabby rags barely covering them, and the involuntary cringe when we entered the room. The children stared at us with wide eyes, grubby cheeks tracked with the stark lines of endless tears. They matched the description of the headman's kids from Hangman's Alley, and I breathed a grateful sigh of relief that we had found them.
I had never been the maternal type, and wasn't quite sure where to begin. MacCready on the other hand swung into action the moment he set eyes on the children, allowing me to reassure the woman that we were there to rescue them. He crouched down to address the kids, speaking soothingly to them, showing the never-seen-in-public tender side of his character. By the time Deacon reappeared with a triumphant smile and a small device clutched in his hand, MacCready was sitting on the floor with one child tucked protectively under each arm, hugging him for all they were worth. His eyes were hidden by the brim of his eight-point cap, but a gentle smile peeked through. Deacon took in the tableau in silence, then met my gaze with a chagrined expression. See? There's more to RJ than a hired killer, I thought at him vindictively.
The woman, Rachel insisted on staying with the children with whom she had formed a bond, and returning with them to Hangman's Alley. Deacon quietly explained to me as she collected the kids to have their collars removed that she was the Synth they were here to rescue. "So long as she's free to live her life on her own terms, we're satisfied. We can kill two crows with one round," he breezed, "helping get these three back home. Desdemona focuses on Synth rescue to the exclusion of everything else, so it's nice to be able to help some humans this time."
"Sounds good, Deacon. I think Mac and I can handle the others." MacCready took the collar remote while I helped Deacon escort his charges towards the entrance. Glory took point. Deacon and Rachel each carried one child on their shoulders, and the small group soon disappeared into the Wasteland. I scanned the area after I could no longer see or hear them and, satisfied the coast was clear, went to find MacCready.
It wasn't difficult to figure out where he had gone. A slew of voices babbled from the center room- the cacophony of relief and emotional overflow. Random phrases briefly soared over the general hubbub. "Thank you! We're free!" "I just want to go home!" "We're saved!" "MacCready! I just knew you'd come for me!"
That last phrase, spoken by a feminine voice, spurred me to quicken my steps. What on Earth? Upon entering the room, I froze in shock and my heart dropped at the sight that greeted me. MacCready was sprawled on the carpet, his arms wrapped around a vaguely familiar young woman still wearing a slave collar, her lips locked against his. The babble of excited voices faded into silence as time froze.
I felt like I had been punched in the gut, like my V.A.T.S. system had invoked on its own to slow time, chiseling the scene irrevocably into my brain. Desperately, I tried to force reason into my emotional reaction, my thoughts racing. It's not what it looks like, I clung to the pithy phrase like a lifeline. You've been together for months now. He's never even looked at another woman in all that time. No. You know him better than that. And yet, my guts churned with heartbroken betrayal at the vision in front of my very own eyes.
Do you trust him, or not? The question echoed in my frantic mind.
I blinked. Yes, I thought firmly, forcing my body to relax. Yes, I do. I trust him with my life, my heart, my very soul.
Like a silent crack of thunder in my head, time resumed its normal flow.
MacCready pushed the young woman off of him, twisting out from underneath her and breaking the embrace. "What the hell, Trudy?!" he yelled, standing up. "What was that all about?" He snatched up his hat that had been knocked onto the floor, glaring at her. My heart returned to its normal place in my chest.
Trudy? She was one of the girls from that, ah, party over the winter, wasn't she? One of the ones Hancock said could never catch MacCready's attention. Not for lack of trying, if I remember correctly. Trudy had been the girl fondling Mac's thigh. Huh.
Trudy was not about to be dissuaded. "I knew it," she gasped, eyes shining. "I knew you'd rescue me as soon as you found out!" She crawled forward on her knees, reaching out to grab his duster.
"You hit your head or somethin'?" MacCready asked irritably, pulling away. "The only reason the boss and I are here at all is because Hancock sent us. Best save your," and his voice took on a tone of distaste, "thanks... for him." He scooped up the remote that had clattered away and handed it to me with a murmured, "Here, just press the green button to release the collar. I'll check the last room. I gotta get out of here." With a quick apologetic squeeze of my shoulder, he left.
"The Boss?" Trudy wiped a few tears away and finally looked up to notice me. She went very still, her face immediately a mask. "Oh," she said in a very quiet voice, barely even glancing in my direction when I unlocked her slave collar. Once free, she moved off to one side, silently staring at the floor, tears rolling unchecked down her face.
Oh dear.
The next person I approached was also familiar, and proved to be Mona, Hancock's other "girl" from the Third Rail. To my relief, she thanked me, then went to keep Trudy company as soon as her own collar was off. I breathed a sigh of thanks and focused on freeing the remaining five victims: one more woman and four men. Like the slaves in the first room, everyone showed signs of rough treatment at the hands of their captors and were in varying degrees of poor shape. One of the men was dealing with a massive wound on his leg, left untreated by the slavers, and I was quick to dig out a Stimpak to his immense gratitude.
By then, MacCready had returned to the doorway. Blatantly ignoring Trudy's adoring gaze, he gestured for me to come with him. "Boss? I need you for a second. The rest of you, stay here." Satisfied that I had done what I could for the time being, I followed.
The last room was partially collapsed. It was also where the slavers had thrown most of the useless junk taken from the victims. MacCready squeezed past the debris, leading me to a tiny corner. A faint red glow lit our movements and I soon laid eyes on a half-conscious boy curled up against the shattered wall. He looked to be no older than twelve and was covered in deep bruises.
"He actually looks better now," MacCready murmured in my ear. "Raiders had left him for dead. Stimpak saved his life."
With shaking hands, I removed his collar and tugged gently on his sleeve to get him to come with us. As soon as we reached the hallway, it became glaringly obvious why the raider-slavers had treated the boy so harshly. Though torn, muddy, and bloodstained, his uniform was that of a Squire in the Brotherhood of Steel- younger recruits raised alongside Brotherhood soldiers and trained to become full-fledged members when they reached adulthood. My eyes widened at the implications of a nearly-dead Squire all alone in a slaver camp.
"Guess that explains the power armor outside," MacCready brooded, helping the boy sit up and take a sip of purified water from our supplies. "This is not good, Boss."
The boy suddenly shook his head, looking about frantically. "Help!" He gazed at me in fright, then with a start of recognition begged, "Sarge! Please, my name is Squire Von. Our patrol... We were," he broke off in a sob. "We were ambushed! They... killed..." The rest of his sentence was lost as he started crying. He turned towards MacCready, clutching tightly.
"You're safe now, Squire Von," I assured the boy, leaning in for a three-way hug to comfort him as he wept. "We're going to get you home."