Once we closed the door to the room, I plopped down on the couch, stretching my legs out in front of me and laying my head back across the cushions. "Whew! Vadim is a character, isn't he?" I said to MacCready. He didn't reply, and took a seat on the other end of the couch gingerly. His earlier relaxed mood had shifted and he looked almost unsure of himself. "What's up? Are you okay?" I asked him, sitting up straight.
"Hey Boss," he began tentatively, "got a moment to talk?" He spoke quietly, sitting very stiffly and bolt upright, hands clenched over his legs, looking like he was steeling himself to say something.
"Of course. What's on your mind?"
"I, ah..." he paused clenching and unclenching his fingers in a nervous gesture. Fidgeting, he looked around the room, scanning the walls, the low table, the bed, everything, as if looking for the right words to be lying there for him to read and not have to think about it. "I just wanted to say... to ask... ah, fuc- I mean, damn it. Never mind." He stared angrily at his hands.
Hearing him stop himself mid-syllable from cursing yet again, I figured now was as good a time to ask as any. Maybe I can ease the conversation around into whatever he wanted to say. "Okay, I just have to ask- why do you keep stopping yourself from cursing? You're not going to offend me, you know."
His slight smile at the change of subject was genuine, and he had relaxed a little, but still sat upright. Seizing on the topic like a lifeline, he answered in a more normal voice. "Heh, I figured you'd ask me about that sooner or later. It's not about you; it's about a promise I made to my son, Duncan, when I left the Capital Wasteland. I promised to clean up my act and to be a better person. Cursing was the most obvious thing I could think of to start. I guess that sounds pretty stupid coming from a guy who shoots people for a living."
"Not really. Any start is a good one with the right intentions behind it." I reassured him. "Where is your son now?" I asked, curious. Duncan can't be more than a toddler. If MacCready's wife passed away, who's taking care of him?
"He's with his grandparents, Lucy's parents, back in the Capital Wasteland." MacCready's shoulders slumped slightly and he stared at his clenched fists. "We were on our way to visit them after Duncan was born when it... when it happened." He took a shuddering breath, then calmed himself and continued in an emotionless voice. "We made the mistake of holing up in a metro station one night. We didn't know that the place was infested with ferals. They were on her before I could even fire a shot. Ripped her apart right in front of me." A shuddering breath, and a moment of silence. "There was nothing I could do. Took everything I had to escape with Duncan in my arms." He stared straight ahead, the words almost coming out on their own in a unstoppable thread of heartbreaking memories.
"When I finally arrived at her parents' homestead, they reluctantly took us in. That is to say, they reluctantly took me in; they adored Duncan. I lived there for a while, but it was strained. When Lucy died, they no longer saw me as a relative, just the dumb kid who got their daughter killed bringing their grandson home. They never wanted us to get married in the first place, and they blamed me for Lucy's death. I'm not entirely sure they were wrong, either." He pounded his fist into this thigh angrily. "It was my stupid decision to use that metro station. Maybe it would have been better if we'd died there with her."
"No." I reached out and placed my hand over his. "It was an accident, a tragic, horrible accident, but it wasn't your fault." I gave his hand a small squeeze. He blames himself, maybe he needs to hear this from an outsider. Not entirely sure it would help, I tried. "You may have lost your wife, but you saved your son. That counts for something."
He looked at me from the corner of his eye. "Maybe. I don't know anymore." His voice was somber. "Not like it helped."
"What do you mean?"
"My son... he's sick. I don't know what's wrong with him. All I know is that it's some sort of disease and it's eating him away from the inside. One day, he's playing out in the fields behind the farm... the next he took a fever and these blue boils popped up all over his body. Last I saw he was almost too weak to walk." He angrily dabbed at his eyes. "Honestly, I don't know how much longer he's going to last." His voice broke on the last word.
"Are there any doctors down there you could've taken him to?" I suggested quietly.
His response was immediate and sharp, pulling his hand away to gesture wildly. "Every doctor I've talked to was worthless! They never even heard of the disease!" He slumped again, head in hands, his voice a low desperate whisper, pleading. "I don't need them... I need someone like you."
My heart fluttered a bit at those words. "What can I do? If you need my help, I'm there."
"You've already helped me with the Gunners, I feel horrible asking for more." he admitted bitterly. "At this rate you're going to own my contract for life."
I shook my head at him. "Just until I get home," I corrected. Having a bodyguard for life? I could live with that. The thought popped into my head rebelliously. "Besides which, MacCready, we're friends. Whatever you need, count me in."
He laughed, a harsh sound threaded with genuine relief. "I was hoping you'd say that." He took a deep, bracing breath, turning to face me, speaking quickly and intensely. "All right, here's what I know. A few months ago, I bumped into a guy named Sinclair who claimed his buddy caught some kind of a disease. He even mentioned the fever and blue boils like Duncan has. They dug up information about a cure at a place called Med-Tek Research, and even managed to grab the building's lockdown security codes."
He spoke quietly, as if to convince himself. "I mean, there's no way that's a coincidence, right? Med-Tek has to be the place. But Sinclair's buddy died before we managed to break in, and he gave up. All I have left is that lead and the codes. It's too dangerous to go alone, the place is crawling with feral Ghouls." That last admission came out in a reluctant voice and he trailed off sadly.
"We took out the Gunners, and helped Danse find that transmitter. If there's a cure, we'll find it." I said, hopefully with conviction. Between the two of us, I think we can probably handle a locked down building infested with ferals... I hope. He's done so much for me, it's the least I can do to help. "Don't give up hope."
He gave me a grateful look. "Thanks... partner. I'll show you where it is on your map. We can go whenever you're ready. And... and thank you for caring."
"Get a good night's sleep, MacCready. We'll head out first thing in the morning."