I regained consciousness with a tortured gasp only a few minutes later, the soft soothing murmur of my companion close by my ear. "Dammit. Hold on, Boss. I got ya. Stay still. Don't move. Damn. I've got ya." The encouraging words continued in a round of variations, a constant rumble of concern. That's when I realized I was lying on my good left side, my back propped against the kneeling legs of my bodyguard, warmly supporting my body. He had my right arm held up and over my head, exposing the painful wound on my side. Blood trickled down my arm, soaking the fabric by my shoulder. "I got one already, but this one is really going to hurt." Setting my arm down, he soothed, "Stay still, gotta get this out."
A moment later, the slice of his combat knife forced a tortured scream from my lips as he ruthlessly dug in between my ribs, giving a twisting flick to dislodge the bullet wedged there. "I've got ya. Hold on, almost done." I focused on the sound of his voice, panting shallowly. "Don't move. I've got ya, Boss." A second later, I felt the almost laughable pinch of additional pain from the stimpak MacCready administered to my mangled side. With the hiss of injection, a cool spread of nearly instant numbness blanketed the fiery torment of my ribs and arm. I shuddered in relief, feeling the healing drug work its scientific magic on my body.
MacCready pulled my bloodstained shirt back down to cover the swiftly healing wound and helped me get my arm back into the warm leather jacket. Drained and wheezing from the effort, I just sprawled there, half-supported against his legs. "Better?" he asked, then added quickly, "No, don't answer. I know that's the first stimpak you've ever gotten. They're miraculous, but take a toll. Give it a minute to work, I'm not going anywhere." He patted my shoulder. "Here, let me give you a Med-X. That will help with the pain."
Another pinch of an injection. Soon, my panting breaths deepened into normalcy as the pain subsided. "Th- Thank you." I stammered out. "You saved my life, again. This is becoming a habit."
"Are you kidding me?" was the incredulous, almost angry, reply. "Why are you thanking me? It's my responsibility to keep you alive! Not," he muttered bitterly, "like I'm doing such a good job of it right now." I could feel his sigh of self-recrimination against my back.
"I'm alive, aren't I?" I stated firmly. "Then you're doing your job. Are they gone?"
"Yeah, they were stupid enough to come back up with everyone. That grenade finished them off." His voice grew angry again. "But if I hadn't dragged you here, this wouldn't have happened! There were too many of them for just the two of us to take on. And my 'brilliant' plan was useless. It's always my stupid decisions; I get people killed..." he broke off suddenly and tensed up.
Aha. With the pain taken care of, and the stimpak mending my side, I was able to think a little more clearly. I think this might be important. "MacCready," I began, pivoting slightly to look at him, but staying supported against his legs, "you didn't drag me here. If you remember, the decision was mine. You asked me, and I agreed."
"Why?" the question was asked in a heartbreakingly dejected tone. "I don't get it. You've got your own problems. Why saddle yourself with mine?" His eyes were shaded by the brim of his cap, but the naked expression briefly peeking through made him look terribly young and unsure of himself. It was the look of a man who just couldn't believe in kindness, in humanity, and it stabbed into my heart.
"Maybe because I want to pay forward the kindness shown to me by some complete strangers in an unfamiliar city?" He snorted scornfully, the acerbity returning to his face. "Okay, or maybe because my bodyguard has gone above and beyond trying to teach me how to survive, and I wanted to find a way to help him in return?"
"I'm telling ya, Boss-"
"I know, I know," I interrupted him, "you were paid to watch my back." Sharp, unpleasant memories resurfaced, and my voice grew harsh. "So. Fucking. What?" His eyes widened in surprise. "I've worked with people who would certainly follow the letter of the contract, but no more... who would willingly 'watch my back' as it filled up with bullets." I was working into my tirade now, feeling a bit brash from the stimpak's healing rush. "Some so-called professionals would have moved just a hair too slow reloading, or left me behind when I couldn't get out of the way, despite the pithy platitudes." I pinned him with an angry stare of my own. "And yes, I have been left behind, left for dead, used as a guinea pig for chemical testing. Fortunately, they were simulated exercises and no one was actually killed, but the harsh lesson was there for me to learn."
Unbidden, I felt the sting of bitter tears in my eyes and turned my head away from his piercing eyes, angry heat blossoming in my cheeks. "So when I meet someone with the goddamn strength of character to actually live up to his word, and do his absolute damnedest to help me, paid or not, I'm going to thank him for it, and do everything in my own meager power to show him how much I appreciate it." I sniffled, and felt a tear run down my cheek. Forcing a half-smile, I added, lightly, "Even if he complains a lot and won't take a damn shower. So let me help you if I can, okay?"
There was a long, long moment of silence, and I was sure I had offended him. I had just started to try and sit up when-
"I- I don't know what to say." His hand tightened on my shoulder, and I turned to look back at him. He was gazing down at me with a speculative look I had never seen before. "Truth is, I haven't been able to rely on anyone since I was a kid. Everyone I've met has betrayed my trust in one way or another, usually involving violence. Maybe someday I'll learn that you're different... if you're willing to be patient with me?" The last few words were almost wistful.
"As patient as you've been with me the last few days? I'd be happy to." I smiled at him, and he responded with one of his own, a genuine smile that lit up his deep blue eyes and had me catching my breath. Okay, he's really handsome when he smiles. "You certainly deserve it."
"Thanks, Boss," he responded flippantly, the brief moment of connection fading away as his sardonic emotional shield resurfaced with a vengeance. "Now, do you think you can stand up? I can't feel my legs anymore."
We spent the night on top of the overpass. Cutting the power to the lifts effectively secured our safety, giving us time to scour the outpost for valuables and recover from our battle. Unbeknownst to me at first, MacCready had suffered from the final charge as well, taking a bullet in the shoulder as he had gotten us to cover. He had taken care of himself as ruthlessly and efficiently as he had my wounds, digging out the round and stabbing a stimpak in his arm before dealing with me. It was a bit of a shock to realize what kind of life this man had led; a life where knowing how to remove bullets with a combat knife was essential. The dichotomy between our lives had me deep in thought the rest of the afternoon as we sorted through the pile of potential loot. The occasional comments were tossed back and forth between us, a more companionable exchange bordering on friendly banter.
"I thought you said you couldn't throw a grenade," from MacCready as he stripped the armor from a Gunner, heaving the remains off the overpass afterwards.
"I can't. At least, not far enough to have passed training. You did notice we were almost killed from the shrapnel both times?" I was busy trying to resurrect whatever food had been cooking over the small fire the Gunners had set up. It didn't look good.
"Bad throw, fast reflexes- same result," was the philosophical reply.
"Hmph."
And later, when we had stopped to eat-
"I do envy your sniping ability," I remarked wistfully across the fire to him. "You were able to pick off those guards without them even realizing where you were." The food was no better than what we had in Goodneighbor, but at least the fire was warmly cozy, soothing the remaining bruises the stimpaks didn't quite heal completely.
"Impressed? I'm completely self-taught you know." He took a swig of beer. "Picked up a sniper rifle at ten and never looked back. Figured it was better to hit my targets at long range."
"Ten? Kinda young to be handling firearms, isn't it?" I commented carefully. "Did your parents ever find out?"
"Never knew my parents," he responded briskly. "Grew up in the Capital Wasteland, that's Washington D.C. to you, in a cave with a bunch of other kids. Called the settlement 'Little Lamplight'. I was even the mayor for a while, if you can believe it," he chuckled. "When I turned sixteen I left, like all the others who aged up. Lamplight was for kids only, you know? We couldn't trust adults; a lesson that's been reinforced ever since." He picked at his food idly.
"Wow. I'm sorry."
"Why?" He shrugged dismissively. "It's the way the world works. You just learn to roll with the punches."
"Or away from badly thrown grenades," I commented dryly, provoking a laugh and a grin.
"That was kinda close," he snickered. "Right, no more grenades for you!"
"Deal."
After a good night's rest in a couple of cots we found in a shipping container, we stuffed our packs practically to bursting with valuable items to sell or trade. My attire had been enhanced with a set of body armor, scrounged from the best of the dead Gunners' pieces. I was also sporting a new weapon, a combat shotgun to replace my missing rifle. Since MacCready preferred to work at long range, we decided to keep him unarmored and mobile. But I wasn't as agile, or as skilled with a weapon, so armoring me and giving me a short-range but powerful weapon seemed to be the best solution. I practiced for a good part of the day, learning to move in the armor and getting used to the heft and range of the shotgun, with MacCready easily slipping into the role of instructor again. Once satisfied I could handle myself with a modicum of skill, we started heading back to Diamond City.
On the way back, we detoured to check out the tunnels mentioned in the flyer, but the raiders there had been taken care of by unknown assailants. MacCready had taken one look at the shreds of flesh scattered about and hastily ushered us out of the area as fast as we could move. He refused to elaborate, and his pale face and thin-lipped frown convinced me it was better not to ask. We stumbled through the entrance of Diamond City near midnight, exhausted from our prolonged forced march. Yefim at the Dugout Inn merely handed us a key without a word, waving us to room #2 again. I barely remembered us collapsing onto our respective sleeping spaces.