Her throat was on fire; swallowing made it even worse. It also felt tight, like the skin had been stitched together. The back of her head throbbed relentlessly, her entire body felt like someone had stepped on her, and her thick mind wouldn't let her catch a memory before it disappeared into the fog. She could catch snippets of some memory, but she couldn't tell if they were real or not. It took a lot of energy to lift a hand and reach for her throat.
Something warm suddenly grabbed her hand, stopping it—it felt like another hand and belonging to a man because of the largeness and callouses. "Don't mess up your stitches, now."
She had been right about the stitches. The deep voice definitely belonged to a man, and she recognized it. An image formed in her head of a man in a green postman hat, blue eyes, stubble framing his mouth, and thin—usually stern—lips that could easily stretch into a smile. MacCready.
Aurora struggled to open her eyelids; she had to blink rapidly to clear her vision. Once she could see, her surroundings weren't familiar. She lay on a bed in a small room made predominately of metal sheets; there was a door, a staircase leading down, a couch with a blanket thrown back like someone had been sleeping under it, a chair, a dresser, and a table with books on top of it.
MacCready stood at her bedside, holding her hand. With his drawn face and strained eyes, it looked like he hadn't slept in days. He wasn't wearing his usual attire: his torn and patched duster and green long-sleeved shirt were gone. Instead, he was shirtless with his right shoulder heavily bandaged. MacCready wasn't wearing his hat either, revealing a head full of thick light-brown hair that wasn't neat and styled but messy and oily. His right thigh had been bandaged too. His disheveled appearance made him look worried, but relief slowly eased his taut features.
"Good to see those green eyes again," he said.
She started to ask him what had happened for him to be hurt again, but he quickly stopped her. "No, don't try to speak; it'll only cause you more pain. Doctor Amari said you wouldn't be able to talk for two weeks, maybe three."
Aurora stared at him—What the hell had happened? He read the question in her eyes; MacCready sighed heavily as he sat by her on the bed—he hadn't let go of her hand yet.
"It's a slight comfort that you don't remember." He told her what had happened with Henley and his gang of Gunners kidnapping her to get payback for them destroying Winlock and Barnes' waystation at Mass Pike Interchange; he elaborated by saying they had left a survivor who told Henley about them. She pointedly looked at his wounded shoulder to express her question. He told her about that too and about her rescuers.
Her eyebrows rose when he mentioned K-L-E-O had been a part of the rescue mission. The Assaultron wasn't overly fond of anyone in Goodneighbor; there had been talk of her coming up with strategies on how to off everyone.
MacCready chuckled. "Yeah, it surprised me that she wanted to come too; though I'm pretty sure she did, not out of concern for you, but because some Gunners had shot at her and she wanted to kill them." He shrugged. "Maybe she doesn't want someone else to take her joy in killing us."
When he grew silent and gave her time to reflect on what he had said, brief flashes of memory began to line up for her. She could now recall waking up in Chatham's pre-war church, a scarred Henley gloating, him beating and kicking her, then being forced to inhale some kind of chem. There wasn't a picture paired with the searing pain cutting at her throat—that must've been the barbed wire.
MacCready noticed the memories were returning. "You remember now?" His voice shook like he hated that she did.
She nodded.
"What all... what all did they do?"
Aurora made a fist and pretended to hit herself, then pointed at her foot as she slightly kicked. She brought a hand to her face and pressed down on an imaginary button like she held an inhaler and lifted a hand like a soaring airplane to display being high.
"Do you know what kind of chem?"
She shook her head; his lips twisted in displeasure.
"Nothing else?" he hesitantly asked.
She looked at him to know by the wariness in his eyes that he meant sexual. She couldn't remember them doing anything, but she didn't hurt like if they had; she shook her head, and he sighed in relief. Obviously, he knew what they tended to do.
His grip tightened on her hand and MacCready lifted his eyes to her—they quivered with emotion. "Aurora, I'm so sorry about this happening to you. If I had never coerced you into helping me kill Winlock and Barnes, you wouldn't be hurt right now. This is all my fault."
Aurora smiled at him as she shook her head; she patted his hand on hers. She didn't know how to express what she wanted to say. She looked around in frustration; spotting the table, she made a writing motion to explain that she needed something to write on.
"Why didn't I think of that?" MacCready said as he got up, searched around on the table, then returned with a pencil, paper, and a book to write on. Against the protests of her body, Aurora forced her battered form up and leaned against the bed frame to sit up. Her head swam at the movement—whatever drug they used still affected her.
"Are you alright?" he asked when he sat back down on the bed with her requested items.
She nodded as she took the pencil, paper, and book—her head had stopped spinning now.
"I know that chem is still in you; don't try to pretend it's not. Tell me when you feel it."
She cut her eyes up at him and gestured at her throat to signify that she couldn't talk.
MacCready chuckled. "You can still make a sign."
Aurora turned her attention to the paper with a grin pulling at her lips—even though she couldn't speak right now, she would still find ways to pick at him. She wrote what she wanted to say about Henley trying to dishearten her by saying that MacCready wouldn't come, but he did, and that was all that mattered.
MacCready read what she wrote then looked at her in surprise; she smiled and gestured at the note to emphasize she meant what she said.
He grabbed her face. "Of course I'd come for you; I'll always come for you. You're the only true friend I have." He leaned up to hug her.
Aurora returned the hug, hating how much she loved him around her. She wished they could be more than friends.
***
She had woken up in MacCready's bedroom; he didn't want to leave her at the Memory Den where he couldn't keep an eye on her. Since his bedroom practically became her hospital room, Doctor Amari made house calls when she was still too sore to walk. She also received visitors: Daisy, Hancock, and Fahrenheit—since she never left his side—a Neighborhood Watch that wanted to check on her, and Magnolia from The Third Rail. K-L-E-O never visited her, not that Aurora expected her to.
MacCready helped her a lot—as her recovery drew on, he held onto her as she walked around to ease her tense muscles. When the exercise Dr. Amari had forced on her wore her out, MacCready would carry her back to his bed or a chair. Since it was too dangerous for her to go downstairs for food, he brought it up and ate with her.
His being so gentle and patient with her only increased her feelings for him. He didn't look at her the way she snuck peeks at him. Damn her fickle heart, thinking it could find love in this wasteland. This was why she didn't form connections, for they were easily broken and cause more pain than being shot.
***
A strange noise jolted MacCready out of sleep; it sounded like a strained cry. He heard it again, along with labored breathing and sounds of a struggle. Aurora.
He flung back the blanket and jumped to his feet; he looked over at her. Aurora sat up in bed beating her arms, legs, and torso in a panic; her nails had left red scrapes on her arms. Her eyes were wild as she tried to knock something off.
"Aurora! Aurora, what is it?" he asked as he ran over and seized her arms to stop her from hurting herself anymore.
She tried to pull her arms out of his grasp as she continued to squirm to get away from something. Her eyes still frantically searched her body, her face frozen in horror.
"Aurora, talk to me! What is it?"
She struggled to speak; she could only make croaking sounds, but MacCready heard a 'b' before her voice gave out and read 'bugs' on her lips.
"Bugs are on you?"
She bobbed her head and attempted to say something else, sounding like she wanted him to get them off. He looked her over himself but couldn't see a single dark spot crawling over her. She was hallucinating.
He met her eyes. "Aurora, there's nothing on you."
She adamantly nodded her head.
"No, there's not; you're hallucinating."
Aurora shook her head and he read her lips that she could feel them.
"They're not real; here" —he pulled one of her captive hands to feel his face. "See? You can feel me because I'm real—the bugs aren't. I can't see anything on you."
She looked from her hand on his face to her lap to compare the real from the hallucination. Her wide pupils slowly regained normalcy as realization dawned on her that he was right. Aurora calmed down as she snapped out of the delirium.
"Are the bugs still there?" MacCready asked.
She shook her head but kept her eyes downcast in embarrassment; he heard her attempt to say, 'I'm sorry'.
He rubbed her arm. "Hey, there's nothing to apologize for. This isn't your doing; you didn't choose for this to happen."
Aurora didn't look up at him to show that she believed him. MacCready pulled her into his chest. "I'm the one who should be sorry. You've done nothing but help me and you're suffering because of it."
She didn't pull back to deny him—he told the truth—but she rubbed his back in comfort. MacCready couldn't believe her—she had never portrayed resentment at him for nearly getting her killed or maimed for life. He tried to comfort her, and she comforted his guilt. She was a special woman.
It wasn't long before he felt her go lax in his arms and Aurora's head drooped in sleep. He needed to lay her back on the bed so she could sleep better, but he didn't want to let her go. His vow to let her go to protect her still stood, but it got harder to believe in every time she was in his arms.
***
Hancock and Fahrenheit visited them again a week later.
Aurora had gained enough of her strength back where she could walk around unaided; her coloring had also improved—she wasn't so pale and haunted looking. MacCready still didn't like the sight of those black stitches around her neck, a constant reminder that she had almost been decapitated and taken from him.
They were in MacCready's bedroom, Hancock and Fahrenheit seated on the couch, Aurora in a chair, and him propped against a wall.
"So, how are things? Need some noise?" Hancock asked.
"Nah; it's nice and quiet around here," MacCready said with a grin at Aurora.
She rolled her eyes; pointed at him then with her fingers as scissors, pretended to cut her tongue.
Hancock laughed. "Cut out his tongue? I'll help hold him down, then it'll be really peaceful without either of you talking!"
They both scowled at him, which only increased his laughter.
A rueful smile pulled at her lips when Aurora shook her head and stood to go get something; she didn't even take a second step before her legs gave out and she headed for the floor. MacCready shot out to catch her before she could slam into the floor; her whole body was now limp and her eyes were wild and unfocused, seeing nothing at all.
"What's going on?" Hancock asked, all humor gone from his voice.
MacCready cradled her as he stood and headed toward his bed. "That damn chem the Gunners gave her; this is one of her tamer hallucinations." He laid her down and pulled the blanket over her.
"A tamer one?"
"They range from bugs on her, to where she's actually punching the walls, seeing someone she's killed, sobbing about her dead son, to this. I hope they don't get worse; she'll recover in a few minutes." He went back to sit on the couch, eyes not leaving her for a second.
"That's some fucked up shit, man." Hancock looked at him. "No idea what the name of that drug was?"
MacCready cut his eyes at him—he had an eager and hungry look.
"You don't need it," Fahrenheit said deadpanned as she pulled on her cigarette.
"And, why not? I'm a drug addict, in case you didn't know. News flash!" he comically exaggerated with his hands, revealing a banner. "I'm a chem head!"
"Because I won't be gentle taking care of you like MacCready's doing. I put up with enough shit from you," she added under her breath, but with a smile.
"Neither of you are fun," Hancock mumbled as he turned to look down at Aurora.
MacCready had heard enough tales about what went on in Hancock's Drug Room: from him trying to jump off the balcony thinking he could fly, to him being extremely lovable, or him stripping and walking around without pants. Yeah, he had it easier.
Aurora's eyes finally slowed jumping, and they closed in sleep. Seeing her drift out of the hallucination eased MacCready.
"How is all this going, MacCready?" Fahrenheit asked.
"Not good on either of us. I'm so tired of not being able to sleep; I can only imagine how it's affecting her. She tries to hide it, but I can see the strain in her eyes; she could at least tell me so I can make it easier on her... or make a sign—Hell! I can't even talk right!"
"Sounds like you need a break."
"But I'm all she has; she wouldn't leave me, so neither will I."
Hancock turned back around. "I have something that can help..."
MacCready rubbed his hands over his face. "No matter how many times you suggest it, Hancock, the answer's the same: no—I will not join you in that downward spiral."
"What a Grouch," he said. "And what are you talking about downward spiral? My stuff gets you high; you don't get low like when you..."
Hancock continued talking, but MacCready just tuned him out.