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voltstone · 3 months

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Back Again (F!SS x Piper Wright One-Shot)

|| Perhaps it’s your naive hope that keeps you from breaking down completely. But you know Blue will come back. She will. Blue said as much. ||

In other words, Piper Wright walked out of Diamond City with the woman written as the “View from the Vault.” Though, well, the city folk were quick to suspect that there was something else going on between them… And they weren’t wrong. So when Piper walked back into Diamond City without the woman, there was something wrong. Especially the longer she waited on the Publick Occurrences rooftop. Alcohol in her breath. Less shouting and interrogating for interviews. It was all just…wrong.

[8,547 Words] | [Last Edit: 4/15/2021] (Full One-Shot Post)

“GOD DAMMIT PIPER! I’LL FIND MY WAY, JUST GO! GO AND GET TO THE CITY!”

You still don’t know how you did it. Just left her like that.

“I’LL COME BACK AGAIN! OKAY?! OKAY?! JUST GO! GET OUT OF HERE!”

But, all there is to do is listen to Blue’s screams from when she hurled herself away, narrowly avoiding the two deathclaws that had sprung out of the horizon. Her voice drowned by the suit’s helmet. Bullets and fire igniting her face through the visor…

And then think. Listen to her voice, and then think about how you just left her with the traces of the Glowing Sea rife along the hazmat suit. Which you had to ditch after its helmet cracked from the gunfire of a few raiders—who you also ditched. In the same canal, in fact. Tied together by the ankles of the suit and just booted over the side.

Cracked helmet or not, you’re now really regretting that panicked decision. You don’t care if your haste had saved your ass because radiation is a bitch, and the last thing you need is to be caught in the building storm as it crawls from behind. Rancid thunder and lightening of spitfire—it’s all just the icing of your luck, honestly. And—

You stop short and hold out your hands to confirm that, yes, it is—in fact—raining, and absolutely, the water stings in ways you believe wasn’t a thing before the apocalypse some hundred or two years ago. That’s what Blue told you anyway…

“Shit…” you breathe tightly, forcing yourself further down the road. The echoes of gunfire and more of Blue’s voice replay themselves—the ones that melded in the distance, desperate to keep the deathclaws away from you and instead submerged within the Glowing Sea.

And it did work. Yet, that’s the one thing that keeps your jaw sewn together, and your eyes hard on the outskirts of the city. It worked, and Blue is lost in that radiated wasteland, and you’re alive, right at the foot of Diamond City. Your home. So yay, you’re alive and well. Good time as any to get struck down by the storm. With that thought, you almost just let yourself face-plant into the deteriorated asphalt and beg for the rad storm to just send a bolt right up your ass.

Almost.

You don’t really because…uh, well, to be frank, you’ve asked for similar things before, and the Commonwealth thought it would be funny to give you those scars. Hence why you’ve vowed to never ask for the impossible because—well boy howdy—turns out you would find the Children of Atom in the sewers. And yup, sure, you’d get poisoned too. Oh and let’s throw in the damn rad storm that, you know, just happened to make its presence right after your vacation in the Glowing Sea. Right. Real nice of the Commonwealth there. Quite the joker.

“Piper…” You barely acknowledge the guard before he adds to his grumble: “Paper’s been running good since you left.”

You halt in place with a groan. Who is that anyway? Johnny? Tim? Dan? You turn around and scowl, “Not a surprise. Nat’s capable.”

With his next, rather invasive, question, you know it’s Bobby from behind the mask: “So…that woman. The one from the newspaper? ‘Out of Time’ or somefink? Or 'View from the Vault?’ Y’ left with her, didn’t you?”

You narrow your eyes, working your jaw. Like you really needed the additional, constant reminder. “Yes,” you murmur, “I did… She’s capable.”

“R-Right…” You turn away and barely catch Bobby’s quiet, “Hope so.”

Oh what the hell does Bobby know? He’s just the stupid guard of the bunch. All talk and no brain. Or, well, brawn too. All talk and no double b’s.

So forget him. How about you deal with the closed gate that most certainly closed the moment you stepped out? Arms crossed, you watch the speaker with a tight lip. And, slowly, Danny’s voice mumbles, “…uh, Piper? Is that you again? Kinda creepy just lurking in front of the door like that.”

You roll your eyes and snap, “Would you just let me in, Danny?! I may be one for the law and all that, but don’t think for a second I’m out of stuff I can stick up your—”

“Okay! Okay! Jeez, Piper! Just like— Pipe down, will you?!" You arch a brow and tap your foot. "So, uh, like…go through the guard’s door. Mayor’s not too happy. Well, I mean, he’s never happy with you, but anyway, yeah. Still wants you out, and there’s a storm and everything, so you know, protocols.”

You hum, “Uh huh. Right, Danny…”

“So, yeah! I’ll let you in secretly. Wait, no. Discreetly… Discreetly? Discreetly, yeah. That’ll look better on my referral—”

“Uh, Danny? About that storm and everything?”

He pauses. “Yeah, what’s up? It’s getting pretty gnarly, isn’t it?”

“I’M STILL OUTSIDE!” you bark.

“Shit, right! Okay! Guard door! I’ll unlock it, okay?! I-I’ll make sure nobody sees you—uh huh!”

You click the roof of your mouth irritably as you stalk over to the door, and by the time his frantic jangling of his keys and lock wrenches the thing open, you’re sopping wet in acid rain. You flick your hat roughly in your hand as you storm inside, splattering fat droplets of water against the concrete. Danny wheezes and shuts the door, muttering something about how guard duty outside wouldn’t be fun at this hour. (Lucky they got the saps like Bobby to stand watch, then…)

He haphazardly reaches your side and rushes, “You’re not just going to walk out from the front door like that, are you?! People will see—”

“Make sure he writes discreetly on your referral then, Danny,” you retort, slipping on your press hat.

Danny deflates, and as you walk down the front entryway, he grumbles, “Ma’s right… You are a bully.”

Whatever. So you’re a bully. With a lazy, though gruff, wave of your hand, you stroll down to Publick Occurrences, which right front and center to the entrance anyway. So, like, Danny doesn’t need to worry his pretty head. Not tonight, at least. Well, really not ever since you’re still a citizen, and legally you shouldn’t be kicked out every single time you try to get back in. In short, you’re protected by the law. Some laws. …a law, with a former lawyer to back you up.

Every. Single. Time. You can’t just let yourself step two strides in front of you before reminding yourself of who just just up and left. You can’t, can you?

“Piper!”

You stamp to a halt and twist around. She’s gotten taller… A smile manages to worm itself on, and you squeeze Nat’s shoulder as she hops from the newspaper stand. “Hey! How’s the paper runnin’?”

“Good,” Nat chirps with a quick, added, “Ever since Blue fixed the printer…” Her frown is slow to come, and it has the same, conflicted grace that forces your smile to dwindle. “Wait, where is—”

“Glad that it’s doing well,” you cut across, slipping away from her lingering side-embrace. “I guess I was wrong about the ol’ nuts and bolts.”

“P-Piper…? What happened?” Your hand closes around the front door’s handle, though you hesitate to open it. You hear Nat’s footsteps behind you, and she asks, “Did… Did you guys make it to the Glowing—”

Your other hand raises, and you snap, “Just—!" It hangs there for a moment, and your smile is not one at all but instead a tight, distraught glower. You don’t guide it to Nat, however. You keep it focused on the door. "Just run the paper,” you deadpan before slamming the door behind you. The front of the house spits back at you as a welcome, the metal and wood groaning against your steps as you make your way up the stairs. And at the height of them, you pause, chewing the inside of your cheek as you hold yourself.

You need something to do. A way to think. But not too much. Just enough to forget about how to remember. So you sit your ass down at the terminal because, sure, here’s an idea: while you wait, you can write about some of your adventures. Maybe you won't publish all of them, necessarily, but to write about… About Blue and… And the struggles outside the city…

You feel your lips flatten into a hard line because you damn well know you’re not going to be typing anything. Not at your terminal for any private matters, nor the typewriter that’s not far from you—for printing. None of it. You just— You know that the story isn’t over, right? There will still be tales and news and paragraphs to detail. It— It can’t just end with two deathclaws tearing after Blue and into the Glowing Sea, gunfire and clips of her voice behind you… I-It just can’t be.

How… How did you just leave her…?! How were you able to just walk all those miles within that day, and wind up back at your house? It didn’t even feel like a home anymore, despite hearing Nat’s voice, and seeing your typewriter, and feeling the terminal underneath your palms as you strangle the screen through a hissed cry.

“D-Damn it…Blue,” you whine softly, resting your head against the screen. It blips to life, but all you can think about is that Pip-Boy on your vault dweller’s wrist, and then the blue of her suit, and a starry night… Her kisses and hugs and the way she cradled you that one night.

God, why did you leave?! Why did you listen?!

It’s all you ask. It’s the only thing you ask, and come to find, you have one answer:

Because Blue told you to, and she promised that she’ll come back. And she will.

I know you will, Blue… I-I hope you do.

[+ + +]

You don’t know how long you’ve just been staring at the ceiling for. An hour? A few minutes? Equally plausible. Oh, and did you take a nap? Who knows! Probably, if you’re feeling this sluggish. With a blink and a swallow, you also determine that you’ve been drinking too. On your bed with a leg hung over the side. As you move to reach for— Oh, yup. Here’s a bottle. With a light grin, you arch a brow and crack open the lid. One of Vadim’s concoctions, you’re sure. Nuka-Cola with some vodka—though he always adds something else. An extra kick since the vodka isn’t enough for him.

And not enough for you too, it seems. Especially tonight. You drain a good chug of it before coughing yourself back across your bed, the clinks of more bottles rolling underneath the bed-frame as you do so. The Nuka-Cola mix is still tight in your hand, and you rock your jaw in thought, eyes back to the ceiling. You also wonder if Nat had checked on you within the past few hours. Or, well, during the storm that had rolled by. Did anyone inside know about it before you did? Maybe not. Mayor McDonough has always been the worst with that… It’s like he wants everyone to go all ghoulish just to be able to kick—

H-Hey! Now wait a minute! Is that why that fuckin’ synth’s always trying to lock you out?!

You stew for a moment and hiss, “Dumb, wired bastard.” Another few sips. “Gonna earn yourself another fuckin’ story for that… Piece of scrap shit…” You teethe the edge of the bottle’s neck with a thoughtful eye closed. Of course…if you did do that, you would be tossed out with another gaping hole up your ass—one that isn’t natural. And dammit, Nat would be stuck here to pick up the pieces of your mess. Damn. And he’d get away with it. You know it. He knows it. All because he looked at you in the odd, inhuman way you grew to recognize from Valentine. Of course, Nick’s nothing less than human. He’s just, well, fitted with robotic parts. But there is that look. Oh, there is that look—especially when he’s brought in front of a bowl of noodles as if it’s nothing more than just calories to gain and burn.

The mayor, however, is nothing less of a scumbag.

Which is why you're sure that he’s absolutely a sy—

“ACK!”

You wrench upright and choke on the neck of the bottle, spraying the booze across your little nook. Holding the base of your throat, you scowl. (It’s not the first time you’ve accidentally tried to drink while laying down. It’s very embarrassing. You know you’re not three, but… Yeah. Embarrassing.) With the bottle now empty, you roll your eyes and toss it to…someplace. You aimed for the corner of the room, but you’re now watching it roll underneath your bed. There’s a brief blip of curiosity to what you’d find under there, though the list of all of your habits deter you. At this point, there might as well be a skeleton under there.

So with your hand kept on the base of your hat (for balance, you think), you teeter towards the roof door and step through. The rain has cleared by now, though the roof from its straight platform to its edges is still slicked with simmering water. You look across the main hub of Diamond City, and the steam from the acid rain wafts with the neon lights, and you can hear the sopping steps of very few of your city folk.

Up above, though, is what really draws your attention. It’s a complete and utter blanket of stars—bright pearls poked into a sheet of black, singed with purples and greens.

You trip over yourself and are nearly thrown over the edge. Lucky for you, your hand snagged the lone pipe that you’ve yet to figure out where it connects to. It fumes with heat, and sometimes it smokes, so it’s important in some whatever way. And tonight, it caught your fall. So yay.

With a light groan, you sink onto the rooftop, eyes back to the sky high above. It even looks similar to the night or two prior. Well, it should since the constellations haven’t really changed within seventy-two hours—give or take some. Or maybe forty-eight. Oh who knows and who cares? You're hammered!

You laugh quietly to no one. All alone. With those stars…

And, to yourself, you barely whisper the name of whom you hope is able to see them. But, well, Blue probably can’t. She’s still stuck in a haze of radiation, after all. Alive, dammit. Alive with two deathclaws wrangled and beaten.

There’s a choked cry that escapes you, and you rub your eyes with your sleeve.

She has to be alive…

[+ + +]

Because if she isn’t, then why was it just this night? How goddamn cruel does a joke from the Commonwealth have to be? After that first night, it just decides to whisk her away from you? Just like that?!

Whatever the case, cruel or not, you don’t stop yourself from revisiting it. How the two of you found a small, makeshift shack for the night—her power-armor off to the side with a hazmat suit at its feet. The two of you in its doorway, looking out into the night’s sky with a dim lantern set on a few broken shelves behind you. Tossed blankets and pillows (with curious stains, of course) scattered on the inside. You with a lit cigarette, and Blue with her share of the cram…

“Doesn’t get any calmer than this?” you muttered through an exhale.

She grinned into the can and nodded. “Yeah. Suppose not. Though there’s still a bit more excitement than when I just reclined in a chair way back in the day.”

You snorted a laugh, which forced your cheeks to burn and gaze to dart away (because what adult snorts anymore?). Even so, you remarked, “What an old timer you are…”

“An old timer slowly being roasted by the radiation…”

“Well, I mean, you do eat all of those canned food like they’re nothing,” you murmured.

Blue shrugged. “Yeah, I guess. Habits die hard, I guess. It doesn’t help that the cram tastes the same.”

“That should be concerning.”

“Oh, believe me, it is.” The can was tossed backwards into the shack, her eyes outward. You inhaled more of your cigarette as she murmured, “Still… Sometimes it’s nice finding the things that are kept the same. The stars are another thing, you know.”

You hummed gently, “I’m sure it is…”

“And…you know what? With those few things, it’s easier, I guess, to get used to everything else,” she said. You watched her profile, and deep in your chest, you felt more of the fluttering that had been plaguing you for months. A nice, timid thing. Coy though persistent. …especially the latter that night, as it turned out. With another exhale, you turned away to blow it to the side, if to also collect yourself.

“What other things?”

“Hmm?”

“The stuff that stayed the same.”

She pondered for a moment, then said, “Nuka-Cola. Probably is a concern too, but I’m not complaining…” Blue thought for another minute. “Codsworth—or, at least, most of him. I think he’s lost a few bolts while I was in the vault. …uh, and I think your hat too.”

You blinked. “W-What?”

Blue chuckled—the way that always twisted your heart and burned your gut—, and she turned towards you. “Yeah… I mean, of course I doubt I’ve seen that one before. And it's…dirty.”

“Hey, I’ve tried my best,” you retorted playfully.

“I know, I know,” she snickered. “But yeah. It’s what everyone always pictured reporters and journalists to wear. So, I mean…fitting.”

You felt the brim of it with a quiet smile, then murmured, “I mean, I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t inspired by the look. And lucky. Clothes that fit and match are rare, you know.”

“…yeah.”

You eyed the grey tie and under-layers of the Silver Shroud outfit, the trench coat laid on the floor behind you. “I guess costumes do well though,” you said, a bit sly.

Blue rolled her eyes and replied, “Well, it’s not so much a costume anymore.”

“I guess.”

“You guess?”

You giggled (again, what kind of adult—? Never mind), and answered, “Yeah.”

“Okay…” Her voice dropped, and it peeked the…well, persistent fluttering that really had no business growing throughout your torso the way it did. “And what’s your opinion on women running around in costumes all day?”

You swallowed. Well…damn, did you have an answer. But the answer was…something. Like a big something.

Even if you constantly get in over your head, and earning the wrong side of people is your talent, this is just— Wait, yeah. Forget even—you do get in over your head, and you do so through your talent—which is earning the wrong side of people. So what were you about to do? You didn’t know what you were doing. You’re still even surprised yourself. Maybe it was the smoke, or the booze the few hours before, or just…um, w-well, the mood of it all. Intimacy, you guess. Regardless, you leaned in after she arched a brow curiously, and the touch of her lips against yours was… It’s not like you’d never kissed anybody before—never mind had a short fling—, though this felt deeper. Like it meant something other than a drunken bump in the night.

Mainly because when you broke away at the feel of your scalding cheeks, startled by embarrassment, Blue had followed and quickly snagged you back in. She wasn’t going to let you get away with that. Not so easily, anyway. And with her leeching your timidity away, you numbly put out your cigarette with the edge of the doorframe, and she left you breathless as you flicked the rest of the stick away to somewheresville.

You didn’t really know if you should say something—about…well, something stupid, really. Probably about how gum-like her lips were, except without the radiation. But, again, stupid, so all you could do was groan into her and allow Blue to hold you tight. Which she did. Very, very well. Enveloped you from the rest of the world so she could have you, in that shack, all to herself. It was the reporter side of you that wanted to just have everything in words, or narrated, or anything in between, but the woman side of you—which Blue was most definitely focused on—wanted everything how it was: no words.

Retrospect is a bitch, yet you can’t help but feel that foresight was what drove the two of you that night. Keeping the words out of your mouths to not waste time. Neither of you knew that there would be two deathclaws, and then the prospect of traveling with both at your tails within the Glowing Sea… No. The most Blue probably knew was that you needed an itch to be scratched, and by her only.

And you? All you knew, and all you know now, is that you were falling… And falling… And falling…

You just don’t want to wake up. Not if it means slipping out of Blue’s arms.

[+ + +]

Well… Fucking ow.

You hiss as you strip yourself from the road of acidic mud and stare groggily into the outline you so graciously left. You can even see the rim of bubbles along the silhouette of your head that, ultimately, were the breaths which suffocated you awake. You gaze around in the midst of your stirring hangover, and everybody around you is frozen and rightly startled. Then you glance up at your roof as a bottle (maybe one that snuck out) teeters over the edge, only to clink its way down to a soft, gentle landing.

Right. Yeah, okay. Let the flesh and bone have the fun splat and just give the glass some cushion…

Oh, and where’s your hat now? Let’s see… Oh yes. Nice. So deep in the mud, having landed underneath your chest, that you have to go wrist-deep to get it out. What the absolute, applaudable, signature prank there, Commonwealth. Real snazzy and stuff. As you thwack! the mud out of your hat to pile itself in one slopped mound, you’re quickly discovering that you could have not landed in a more soggy part of the street. Whether that was luck or misfortune, you don’t know. Humiliating luck probably. Or petty misfortune. Tato tato.

“What happened?! Are there mole-rats—” Everyone turns to look at Nat, who stops dead to stare at you. For a moment, you seriously believe that she thought you’re a mole-rat yourself at first glance. “Oh…” she grumbles, deflating. Then there’s a frown, and Nat glances up at the roof before you again. “Did you just—?!”

“Ech…” you spit muck before getting to your feet. You stuff your hat into your coat pocket and mumble, “Imma shower…”

“What?! Don’t act like you didn’t just fall from the sky!” Nat bickers, and you groan before twisting around.

Already, before you even point towards her chest, the small crowd that had gathered is slowly stepping back into their morning routines. “What are they teaching you?! The sky isn’t the roof, Nat!”

“I— Well they taught me that that’s called a hyperbole!” She sets her hands on her hips in a way that terrifies you. It looks too much like a mirror’s reflection. You hate it. “I thought that was something you know well!”

Maybe the reflection standing right in front of you snapped something into place. Or you’re terribly, sort of, hungover. Regardless, you spit, “I know how to write the truth about what’s happening around—outside those walls and everything—whether people like it or not!”

“Well, okay,” she hisses, “you idiot. I was saying you know that 'cause you’re the writer. You actually care about that stuff!”

“Pfft.”

Her eyes bug out, and you turn your back to her and trudge towards the door. "P-Piper!“ you hear Nat snap. "Where are you going?!”

“I’m goin’ through the back!” you answer with a shove of the door. “Relax!”

“The back’s through the freakin’ roof!”

You bark through a hiccup, “L-Language! You little shit!” and stagger inside. You barely catch Nat slapping her hand across her forehead with a roll of her eyes. You’re half-way up the stairs (then down a few steps, then up again) when you hear Nat’s slam of the door.

“Piper! You just fell from the roof!” she snaps.

“I am not drunk…” you assure her, and though it’s the truth, it also feels like a lie. You can hold your drink alright, but damn, hungover doesn’t seem accurate.

Nat, too, finds a way to poke a gaping hole in your claim: “You just fell off it!”

“A-And?! I know how to get to the shower, Nat!” you retort. “Alone… It’s not the first time.” You push through the door to curl around its hugging wall, then down the staircase towards the back of the house. As you stagger across the dirt landing, you bet Nat’s really regretting her excitement to have the third door upstairs (to the roof) instead of the back like any normal place. Nevertheless, because yeah, you have indeed found your way to the shower while drunk before, she lingers at the height of the stairs with her arms folded—presumably with the familiar scowl in tact as well.

The shower is just a haphazard shack built into the side of Publick Occurrences. Enough walls to cover, though it’s all wood except for the makeshift plumbing. You sway at the clothing rack before you decide that, yes, you shall clean both yourself and your clothes all at once. And as soon as the faucet is turned, and the water garbles and spits the first wave of water out, the soaking of your clothes into your skin is, clearly, the correct choice. When it filters out into its usual stream, even more so.

You don’t, however, anticipate the soap and rag right underneath your boot, so the moment you reach to find said soap, you flip.

Har. Har. …Commonwealth.

Though you do have to give the vindictive, comedic force some credit: as it turns out, being eagle-spread, face-first into a clean pool of water is so much better than the packed, sopped mud of the street. So you just lay there, letting the water puddle around your cheeks while you inhale the metal that makes up the shower floor. The drumming of the water almost masks hurried steps from down the stairs. You can feel your sister’s dry sarcasm before you lift your head: “You know, this is a lot more sad than if I just caught you naked.”

You flop back. “Oh hush…” you muffle into the ground.

“A-Are you trying to drown yourself?!" Yes. Yes you are. So you wave your arms roughly from over your shoulder to get her away. This is a private matter, and it has nothing to do with Nat. Other than her being your sister, and you her…guardian. Of sorts. Kind of. Legally and by all accounts, yes, but sort of cause, hey, you’re a failure who always dips out, right? And oh look, you’re so much of one that she’s taking care of you; Nat, with a labored sigh, wrenches you upright by your shoulder and grumbles, "Now would you quit being stupid and take a normal shower for once?”

“Yeah, yeah…” you drawl, completely disregarding what she meant by for once… "Now git so I can…whatever.“

Nat squints at you, then mumbles, "Fine. I’ll just be selling…the newspapers…”

“Good.”

“…right.”

She does leave, though, and you’re still underneath the pattering of the shower. You can’t help but feel like it resembles the rain just the night prior a little too much. Nor can you help that, as the mud soughs off your clothes and face, you still feel so empty. Honestly, the mud might as well be all of your weight, and it’s now just going down the makeshift drain. You don’t know what to do with yourself other than just curl up and lean further against the wall. There still isn’t any tears that threaten—you’re just too dry even now—, and perhaps it’s your naive hope that keeps you from breaking down completely.

But you know Blue will come back. She will. Blue said as much.

[1 ½ Months Later]

An anomaly happened.

You were (and still are) slugged in the couch, Nuka-Cola in one hand with a cigarette in the other when, remarkably,Mister Zwicky comes in through the door to Nat’s directions for an interview. Just, like, without being prompted by you. No convincing to be had. By this point, you’re sure you reek of desperation underneath the nightly guzzling of alcohol, so maybe that had something to do with it. Or this is all a rouse and the city is plotting to throw you out through an over-arching scheme—who knows at this point?

Though the fact that it’s Mister Zwicky sitting on the other side of the couch, patient and collected as ever, is what peeked your interest. Not that you’re doing anything about it. You’re just sitting there, baffled, while trying to come up with a question. And after a minute passes, you come up with a well-articulated and definitely not pathetic, “So…um, you have something for the paper?”

“I believe so,” he hums. “Definitely something that could spruce up the news after last weeks article on…remedies for bloodbugs, was it?”

You answer, tightly, “That’s an important thing for people to know…”

“It is, it is,” Mister Zwicky says with a nod. “But…well,” he adds, “that was the most, err, striking thing you’ve written within the past few weeks.”

“…really,” you reply, blunt.

“Unless you count that…thrilling article you wrote after quite the trip to the Dugout Inn.”

You narrow your eyes. “How do you know that?”

The old man shrugs and says, “Well, Piper, you could’ve only written that drunk on Vadim’s drinks.” Mister Zwicky pauses, and he briefly eyes the small, gathering pile of empty bottles at the edge of your coffee table. “Not to mention that it had your infamous zest that you get those nights.”

“Huh.” So that explains the morning you woke up on the printer. And to Nat’s confused shouting once she realized your hand was in the ink. And that the ink was out in the first place. Nevertheless, you inhale more of the cigarette and lean into the couch. “I thought that one would’ve been a good one to read.”

“…if people got through the typos and awkward syntax,” he murmurs under his breath. You stare at him with a twitch, and the schoolteacher raises his hands. “Now, now,” Mister Zwicky says, “I get it. But never mind all that… Uh, well, sort of.” He scratches the back of his neck and breathes a sigh. “I'm here because I do have something for the paper. Nothing like what you’d usually put down, but…well, hopefully something to pick it all back in order. If you’re still able, anyway.”

“I can still write,” you grumble defensively.

Mister Zwicky nods along. “Yes, I think so too. So can you? Write about some of the stuff the kids are working on. Some nice things that they could turn in for the paper.”

“Like some big group project for a grade…?” you ask lazily, through a puff of smoke.

He sways his head side-to-side as he answers, “More like a…'view from school’ sort of thing. Different perspective of the world? A new insight?”

You work your jaw in consideration. Mister Zwicky’s always known how to fluff your good side—even when you had to sit in front of his desk to hear about whatever detention Nat had that day. Speaking of, is there no school today? That or it’s one of his few break hours. “…m'okay. I’ll bite,” you drawl carefully. “What would they be talking about anyway?”

As you flick the end of your cigarette into the ashtray, Mister Zwicky replies, “Well, some of what they thing about the city, stories they’d like to share.” He pauses, and you brace for his next few words: “…what they think it’s like on the outside.”

You braced for it, and it still stings. You inhale another drag, turned away, and sigh a quiet, “…right.”

“L-Look, Piper. This isn’t you, is it? Hell, you’ve managed to get the folks around here worried.”

“Yeah, a good two if you’re up in arms with Nat,” you retort.

“There’s more!” he insists.

“By how much?!”

Mister Zwicky pauses again, this time with a slight wince. “More, I assure you… Even so, everyone’s noticed. You usually crank out a few months’ worth of articles and stories and such for the paper with each visit. About the outside. Everything you’ve investigated and the like…”

“Yeah? So?”

“You’ve gone radio silent this time, Piper.”

You tense your jaw and shake your head. With your leg folded over the other, and arms crossed, you grumble, “And what? This whole school-thing is this grandiose pity-party to get me to write a word about the Commonwealth? Well here you go! Bullshit. There. I did it.”

He watches you sadly, and dammit, how many times are you going to just take that side-glance without just hucking your bottle at a face? Okay, well, a couple more apparently because you can’t bring yourself to do it. Even so, you hate it. You hate the way his pity carves itself into the aged lines of his face, so you turn away. Mister Zwicky heaves a sigh, and he murmurs, “I should’ve known… You’ve been grieving, haven’t you?”

“Waiting. I’ve been waiting,” you correct, each word spat out.

“In this age…they’re the same thing, Piper. You know that,” he murmurs grimly. “What did it?”

For a split second, you forgot that the Nuka-Cola is just the soda you grew up with and not Moonshine. So much so you stare into the bottle in confusion before a slow, whispered, “A pair of deathclaws… Right at the Glowing Sea’s doorstep.”

He nods, hands together. “That’ll do it,” the old man grunted. “And, uh, you’re just hoping?”

“…waiting.”

Mister Zwicky thins his lips. “Yes, of course.” He turns to you again, taking his eyes off of his hands. “It’s that woman, right? The one in the blue jumpsuit— Or, well, in that Silver Shroud coat, yeah?”

“Y-Yeah,” you answer quietly.

“I see. And you think she’ll be back?”

You frown, though answer wholeheartedly, “I know, teach. She’s going to be back. I-I just know it.”

“She better…”

[+ + +]

You didn’t leave the couch hours after Mister Zwicky left, nor when Nat had trudged in, the stack of newspapers under her arm lighter than when she brought them out. Not by a lot, mind, but noticeably lighter. And then she slumps at the other end of the couch, to which you can’t help but notice how much it reminds you of yourself. If only Nat knows to never do that. Be like you. Since, well, you’re a secret-not-really alcoholic who likes to romp around the Commonwealth and get into trouble, write about said trouble, then advocate to other people about how to avoid those said troubles.

But you doubt she does, given that it seems to be her talent, parroting you.

Or sassing you, either or: “Are you dead or just lazy? You haven’t moved all day.”

“Dead,” you scowl. “How many got the paper?”

“More than last month,” Nat murmurs. “And they’re actually reading it and stuff.” Your scowl deepens. You almost ask what they do with it usually, but you figure learning about how defiled your line of work is on a regular basis is…not going to be something that will help your self-esteem. Like you have one to begin with. Regardless, even if you wanted to ask, Nat notes her own line of thought before you could: “Probably because it’s different than normal.”

You grumble a breath and finish your bottle of Nuka-Cola. “Yeah… Next week’s gonna be on the school.”

“Really?”

“Kind of.”

Nat ducks her head back and groans. “So he did ask you about that assignment.”

You hate that your knee-jerk reaction is to do the same, so you just tighten your grip on your kneecap, hunched forward with your head in your other hand. …so he did make that for a grade. Maybe a good trip down to the Dugout Inn is a good idea for tonight. “Yeah, I guess,” you finally respond, hollow, both to your internal decision and Nat’s outward comment. However, that said, Nat’s quieter than she usually is, and you turn to her passively curious. “What is it?”

She tenses before her jaw tightens in thought. “So, um… Well, it’s nothing.”

“Okay. What is it?” you press, the nosy reporter in you peering out.

Nat shifts in her seat and holds herself. “Um, so uh, why do you go with Blue so much?”

You freeze, then turn your eyes away. “Oh… Well, uh, she's…” You frown and shrug. “She’s real important, Nat. A-And I mean, I just… I—”

“If you’re about to try and say it, I already know you’re gay, Piper,” Nat deadpans.

Your words die at the base of your tongue, and you rush, “I-I’m not gay! I like men t—” You blink while she continues to stare at you, confused, and you sigh. “Never mind.” Preference for women or not, you’re definitely going to keep those few nights where some hotshot managed to find his way beside you at Vadim’s bar. Always some wanderer because the men in the city are…gross. But, you’re definitely not going to tell her because they all meant nothing other than letting off steam, which Nat wouldn’t understand anyway. You squint at her as her confusion begins to break. Well…Nat shouldn't understand.

“…ew.”

“Nat!” you snap, now wickedly flustered. You then tense your brows and ask, “Who told you that stuff?!”

“Sheng,” Nat answers bluntly.

You hiss air. “Sheng Kawolski?!”

“There’s not any other Sheng around,” Nat grumbles. “But yeah,” she adds, almost nonchalant, “he did. After he tried to kiss me again.”

You’re going to pummel a child. Over the head. With your typewriter. Maybe even sandwich his face into the printer so that he’s the next story. …but then again, that would be murder, so not exactly a good plan. Aggression towards one stupid boy aside, you slump back into the yellow couch. You don’t even know if you’re sober enough at the moment to walk out the door over to his house anyway. That, and now as you think of it, Sheng is the one who brings purified water to Diamond City. And good, purified stuff too. Better than the few who came before him, anyway. So…you guess you can’t pummel a good cause either.

“Piper?”

“Hmm?”

Nat frowns, her eyes to her lap where her hands wring together. “Why have you stayed for this long?”

You nearly choke when you ask, “W-What do you mean by that, sis?”

She watches you at the sound of your attempt to lighten it. You can practically hear it—how sis is continuously pinging around her thoughts. “I-I mean… You always leave. And I know it’s just 'cause that’s what you do. For the newspaper and stuff. And you’ve always done it 'cause…I dunno. But, like…” Her frown stitches itself tighter, and she pulls away. “You haven’t even walked out of Diamond City since you came back. Not even for some trading…”

“I, um—”

“Because Blue said?” Nat mumbles. You can’t find your words. You only manage a shrug and a meek nod. “…do you love her? Like, like that?”

It takes you a moment, though you nod again and whisper, “I-I do…yeah.”

“And that’s why you’re just waiting here? Because she said she’ll come back?”

“I know she will,” you murmur. “I know. She’s told me to run before, to this shed. Twisted my ankle before I could but I… I got to watch her.” You smile and say, “Took down this sentry bot on her own. And these things are huge, Nat. I always avoid them even when they’re off. But she did it. Ripped out its power cell and used it for her own suit.”

Nat blinks, in awe, and asks, “She has a suit…?”

“One of those military ones, yeah. Power-armor.” You hum a laugh and note, “Multiple, actually. She lugs her favorite around but leaves it outside the city.”

“Wow…” She frowns after a moment. “But…w-why did you leave?”

You shrug, drained by the sudden shift, and breathe, “Because… I don’t know. She told me to go to the city, and she never did before.” You chew the inside of your cheek and turn away from Nat’s grim sympathy. “Don’t look at me like that. I know she’s going to come back.”

“…but she told you to walk so far away. She—”

“Nat! I told you, she’s coming back!”

“I-I’m just saying! Why do you keep saying that anyway?!”

Your throat tightens, and you lean into your hand, against the arm of the couch. “Because the moment I don’t,” you whisper, “that’s when I’m going to starting thinking about it, and then I won’t stop believing she’s dead, and… Nat, she has to come back. I don't— She can’t be gone.” To your heavy chest, you feel Nat scoot over and rest into your side. It’s the closest she get’s to a hug, so it’s a nice thing. Subtle, though substantial in Nat’s own way. You swallow your whimper. “Sometimes you have to suspend the truth until your hope runs out…”

Nat shifts against your shoulder and murmurs, “Doesn’t that make you a hypocrite?”

“Or just human,” you mumble. You wrap your arm around her and rub the side of her bicep. “If or whenever you go out there for your own adventures, you’ll understand… The people here need the truth before it comes, but if it already has… I mean, let it pass in their own way.”

“…and your own way is believing that Blue’s alive?”

“She is,” you answer firmly. “She has to be.”

A long, long stretch of silence passes. And as the seconds drag by, stars pepper your thoughts again. Stars, and that shack, and Blue… You can’t stop thinking about it. You just can’t. So when Nat eventually breaks the silence, there’s nothing within you to defend against your gradual tears: “When she does come back, you’ll go outside again, right?” You hold your head weakly, and everything within the past couple months falls on you. One with Blue. The other without. But you hope that you’ll get another night again. At least one. Just one is all you as for now.

So you can’t answer your sister. You suspect she knows the answer to it, of course, but it’s never verbalized…

[+ + +]

It doesn’t come to a surprise that the last, good night comes back to haunt you again. And you know you’re still in that measly bed of yours with beer bottles just toppled over by the legs of its frame, but holy shit, you can allow yourself just one continuous sleep thinking about it, can’t you?! Just revisiting how Blue cradled you against the wall of that makeshift shack, teeth grazing and nipping new marks along your shoulders, clothes slacked and unkempt as the two of you continued to uncoil yourselves as the night went on.

Perhaps it was the mere inkling of something separating the two of you—something like a pair of deathclaws—that did it. Had you and Blue just explore, and touch, and kiss without rest. An in between of sex and lovemaking, you supposed then and suppose now. Not that it wasn’t the latter, though you wonder how much inexperience with Blue’s body would qualify as such. Maybe it does, you still don’t know.

Regardless if it was sex, or fornicating, or lovemaking, or just screwing around for the hell of it—that all doesn’t matter, does it? Not as you hold onto one moment in particular, where you clung onto her shoulders, hips moving to the rhythm of her hand, as she whispered delicate, sweet things in your ear. Things that, really in any other instance, would sound corny and ridiculous. But shoot you for finding “You’re so soft…” and “I don’t want to let go of this" nice to hear while she’s goading hot sex out of you with that starry night high above the shack. Corny and ridiculous be damned, her way of words with the melding edge of her tone did you just right.

Oh God, how right Blue did you.

Her breaths slicked along your neck as you hissed air into her ear, uncaring of the wall flushed against your back. And once you tipped over the edge, you couldn’t have been any happier with your bumbling, spur-of-the-moment kiss at the mouth of that little shack. Blue was right there. Right with you. So when she murmured, quietly, "There we go… I got you. I got you…” you believed every word.

You still do.

Though you wish you could’ve done the same as what you did that night: give back. Roll Blue against the strewn blankets along the wooden floor and just give it your all. Send her on cloud nine. Over her own edge. Right underneath the film of stars and night, glinting through the roof of that little shelter of yours…

[+ + +]

And now?

It is certainly the time of night where those same stars glisten, though you find that you’re not as fond of them anymore. Part of that is a lie, actually, since even the thought of those stars bring about the good memories of Blue, but then again, the good memories remain to be the equivalent of burning the back of your hand with your cigarette. And you like your cigarettes. So, you know, it’s an appropriate comparison.

You laze your way upright and meander over to your desk. With Nat asleep, now’s a good time as any to hit the bar, right? With a bitter scowl, you dawn your hat and creep down the stairs. From around the stairwell, you can hear her light, dozing snores. Good, you think. She’s having a good sleep tonight. You debate lingering to watch for a moment, though that’s immediately shattered since you don’t know what you’d do if she woke up to you standing there. So, within a few minutes, you’re out the door, striding mindlessly for that hitch of beer. Maybe you’ll try to scrounge up some pastry or bite to eat for Nat later, if you’re sober enough.

If…

On a stool you slump, eyes heavy and glazed from the neon lights hung around. They carve deep shadows along all of the shapes and curves of your hands, and you breath a deep breath before folding your arms and slouching over the counter. A thought then hits you: what if, just for fun, the Commonwealth is going to decide to poison you tonight? That would be fun, right? And this time, if you try to throw it up again, people don’t do anything about it? Or they will…but because you’re a pathetic scrub. Yeah? Fun, right? The world could just piss all over your parade right now, regardless of how lonely your parade is. And alcoholic.

Damn, you really are a mess without the consistent adrenaline pumping through you, aren’t you? A sack of fermenting tatos without that sweet, sweet ringing in your ears? Or the burn of radiation after a quick, accidental dip in a lake—and you really don’t understand how Blue’s able to just swim in the stuff…

You slump further into the counter, drumming your fingers in thought as you wait for whatever disgusting beer would be served—maybe poisoned, who knows? Though, at the thought of Blue coming by to lay eyes on your body sunken in the mud, suffocated and poisoned, isn’t something you want. Not even in the midst of your bitter, sour and snide turn of events.

Where the hell was Takahashi with the beer?

Wait.

Dammit. Hold on. That pile of noodle-serving scrap doesn’t sell beer… And you’re not— Oh for the love of God, you’re not even at the bar. Stupid noodle stand.

…oh well. Where the hell was Takahashi with the noodle cup?!

You slap down a handful of bottle-caps, and immediately a bowl of noodles slide themselves across the counter and into your cheek. Disgruntled, with a noodle plastered over your nose, you glare to the side where the robot stands, washing a bowl in their mechanical hand.

“Nan-ni shimasu-ka?" Takahashi buzzes.

You chew the inside of your cheek. That sounded rude. In a soured note, you grumble, ”No, I knew where I was!“ Even so, you get back to your bowl, starting with sipping the strand of noodle off your face. As you indulge, a second bowl slides by, and it clinks against your own. You pause and turn towards the robot. "W-Wait, what?! I didn't—”

Actually, did you pay for two?

Before you can investigate the exact number of bottle-caps you’d just slammed onto the counter, you see a shadow slink up the bar, and you hear the crunch of steps. That silhouette. You swear it looks familiar.

So, albeit with hesitance, you turn around.

Even in the dim, neon lights, you know this isn’t just the Commonwealth being the cruel jester it tends to be. If it is? Well then, you just hope your next spot of beer is poisoned.

Regardless, because you know it’s not, you whisper, “B-Blue…?”

“Well…I did say I would come back, didn’t I?”

“Blue…” You laugh through a choked breath and tilt your head to the side with a quiet, if sad, smile. “You… You um…”

She blinks, then shrugs. “Yeah. I mean, well, I did just get my hair cut.”

“N-No… Your—”

Blue plucks her sleeve. “Oh yeah. Found this in some bunker. Pretty nice, isn’t it?”

Okay, well…the maroon suit is nice, but, “That scar… You…”

Caught red-handed, Blue shrugs and grins sheepishly. Three jagged lines right across her face. Deep and unruly. “I, uh, actually lost those two by popping in this parking garage—it was…way off the map. But, uh, yeah. Didn’t expect the third one…” Her words trail off as you embrace her, head nestled against her neck. There’s nothing to stop your breathless cries into her collar, and she hums a laugh as arms wrap around your waist. “So, uh, yeah,” she murmurs quietly. “The Glowing Sea’s a bitch to go through…”

“God, Blue…” you breathe.

“But I did say I’d come back. Nothing was going to stop that…”

You nod and pull away to peck her cheek with a tender, long kiss. “I know. And you did.”

A/N: She is my wife and yes, Piper has blown me up on numerous occasions. With molotovs, any other throwables, and a launcher in a very, very small room. No I won’t stop giving her throwables. Did reconsider the grenade launcher though… Hope you enjoyed! :D

#volt's library #fallout 4 #fallout 4 companious #piper wright #female sole survivor #sole survivor #fanfiction #one-shot #ao3 #wattpad #Second-person #the commonwealth has a vendetta against piper #but she got a bowl of noodles #also loosely based on a frantic trip to the glowing sea in which i told piper to go (by accident lol)#there were three deathclaws and a radscorpion #and i play exclusively on survival mode #reposted from last account #if this looks familiar it's because i yoinked it from my last (dead) account

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whatbecomesofthebrokenheartedfic · 7 months

Text

What Becomes of the Brokenhearted

Fandom: Fallout 4

Rating: Mature

Relationships: Female Sole Survivor/Nick Valentine, Sole Survivor & Piper Wright, Nick Valentine & Piper Wright

Additional tags: friends to lovers, slow burn, found family, canon divergence

Summary: Nora wakes up two hundred years in the future after losing her husband, her family, her whole world. In Diamond City, she thinks she may have found the one man in the wasteland who can help save her son, the only part of her life before the war she has left.

TW: discussion and representation of depression, anxiety, and suicidal ideation. Eventual gore and body horror. Eventual smut.

00. Blue Prelude [1/2]

[> Next] [read on AO3]

Once they were back inside Diamond City Security’s patrol perimeter, Nick pulled his matchbook and cigarette pack from his pocket. They could afford to be a little distracted now that they were relatively safe—and he’d been anticipating that for the last three days, ever since he’d smoked the pack down to the last cig.

“You mind?” he asked with a sidelong glance at Piper, tucking the filter between his lips. She never did, but he always asked anyway.

She waved his words away as he struck a match against the palm of his right hand and cupped the delicate little flame at the end against the cold, humid breeze that whistled down Lansdowne Street. It was looking like rain, and had been since the two of them had crawled out of a manhole on the other side of the Commons an hour ago. Hopefully the weather’d have the decency to let them get back inside the city before dumping something acidic or radioactive on their heads, but Nick wasn’t willing to bet on it.

Piper cocked her head at him as he returned the matchbook and now-empty pack to his pocket. “You’re not gonna share, huh?”

“Not while you’ve got lungs to ruin,” Nick replied.

She scoffed halfheartedly at him. “I should have left you locked up in that office.”

Nick chuckled. God, but it was good to be headed home. “Anything new around here since I’ve been gone?” Nick asked, waving to the guard with his free hand as they rounded the corner onto Brookline and came within sight of the next security checkpoint. Unless the guard at the post was brand new, Nick would be recognized—he was hard to mistake for anybody else, even at a distance. Sometimes, like now, it wasn’t a bad thing—couldn’t complain about not being taken for a raider and shot at.

Piper was easily recognizable too, for that matter, in her bright red coat. Heh. Diamond City’s own dynamic duo of fashion disasters.

Piper’s response to his question was just a hair too slow, and he caught the edge of a grimace as he looked at her again. She made a noncommittal noise, which in Piper-speak translated to a “Yes, but I’m not going to talk about it right now,” maybe with a side order of “Yes, and you’re not going to like it.”

Well, damn. A guy gets locked in an office for two weeks and the world has the nerve to go on without him. Piper did that thing with her hands where she twisted the fingers of one in the palm of the other and then switched. That side order might actually be a full entrée. Whatever it was, it had her in knots. Silence from Piper was just as loud as anything she shouted at the mayor about.

“Alright, hold up,” the checkpoint guard said as they approached the blockade, holding up a hand, and then— “Wait a second. Nicky Valentine?”

“The one and only,” Nick said without a hint of irony.

“Damn,” the guard said, drawing the word out like he was genuinely a little surprised. Nick didn’t know his name; maybe if he saw the man’s face, but the umpire helmet obscured any distinguishing features except for his voice, which Nick didn’t recognize. “Word around town was you were dead. Or, uh—you know, whatever.”

A fair portion of his good mood curled up and died right there on the cracked pavement. Yeah, whatever, because things that aren’t really alive can’t really die now, can they? Nick sighed—or rather, he made a noise that sounded like a sigh even though he didn’t have lungs, or functioning vocal cords, and in the end what the hell difference did it make?

Really was no place like Diamond City.

“Not yet,” Nick replied, smiling thinly.

“Are we good to go, then?” Piper cocked her hip, and her head, and an eyebrow to boot, and Nick’s smile twitched towards genuine. Never missed a change in tone, that one.

The guard stared at her for a heartbeat, and then turned deliberately back towards the corner they’d just come around, every bit a dismissal as his next words. “Yeah, go on.”

“Much obliged,” Nick said, touching the brim of his hat. “Stay safe out here.”

He didn’t get a response, and Piper wasted no time rolling her eyes and stalking around the barricade. Nick had to jog three strides to catch up with her, and he kept his mouth shut as she sighed through gritted teeth, as the guard’s radio crackled with static, and Boston’s old metal bones groaned around them.

As they turned onto Jersey, Nick cast another look at Piper out of the corner of his eye. Her lips were pursed, her brow furrowed. “Not the warmest welcome I’ve ever had,” he said lightly.

Piper blew out another sigh, tired instead of irritated this time, and the hard line of her shoulders eased just a bit. “Well, that’s whatcha get for hanging around with Diamond City’s own social pariah.”

“Couldn’t ask for better company,” Nick said with feeling.

She cringed, freckled nose wrinkling. Not ready yet, then. That was alright. They’d have time now that he wasn’t stuck going stir crazy in the vault Overseer’s office. No need to push the issue.

Nick flicked ash from the end of his cigarette. “How’s Ellie been holding up?”

“About as well as you’d expect,” Piper said. “Last time I saw her she was holding one of your ties and crying into a photo album.”

Now there was a heartbreaking mental image. He’d have to find a way to make it up to her. Again. “Poor gal. Not gonna let me leave town again for a month, is she?”

“I’m not either,” Piper said. “In fact—”

A single loud clang of metal—distinct from the ever-present, bassline groan of skyscrapers, and instantly recognizable to any resident of Diamond City—sent a flock of large black birds erupting from the top of the Wall and wheeling across the cloud-bruised sky. The sound was followed by the rapid click-click-click of a chain unwinding.

Shit. Nick looked at Piper, snuffed the cigarette in the palm of his right hand, and tucked the butt in his pocket.

“That’s the gate,” Piper said as he drew his revolver. “It’s not even—oh, hell.”

Nick bolted toward the Wall, Piper at his heels, and jumped and then ducked below the low barricade that ran along the sidewalk parallel to it. Piper swore quietly from behind him and leather scraped as her coat caught on something, but then she was right there beside him, her own pistol in hand and her shoulder pressed up against his.

“Jeez, could you not sprint straight toward danger?” She elbowed him, but not hard. “This is exactly the sort of thing that got you whacked unconscious by a crazy broad with a baseball bat,” she hissed.

“See anything?” he asked, checking the way they’d been walking, but the street was just as empty as it had been a moment ago. He craned his neck to see past Piper, who was looking down her sights the way they’d come, but there was no sign of anything out of the ordinary there, either.

“Nothing,” she said.

A deep boom echoed through the streets as the city gate finished its descent. A dog barked from somewhere in the direction of the courtyard. The wind sighed softly, Piper panted beside him, and his coolant pump thumped in his chest.

But, other than that, nothing. No gunfire, no shouting. What the hell?

Piper was peering at him, brow scrunched in the same way his was. Nick gestured for her to follow and crouch-walked his way further south along the barrier, towards the security checkpoint that spanned the last few feet of Jersey before the courtyard.

Nick recognized the broad build of the guard standing—standing, casually, like there was nothing wrong—atop the barricade, and he frowned.

“Hey, Hank!” he called, waving and leaning around the end of the barrier. The guard jumped at the sudden sound. “Where’s the trouble?”

Hank hesitated for just a second, evidently processing—Nick Valentine, we thought you were dead, or whatever—and then lowered his half-raised rifle, shoulders relaxing marginally along with it.

“You can put the piece away, Nicky,” Hank said, nodding toward the two of them. “The trouble’s standing right next to you.”

Confusion wrinkled Piper’s nose, followed up almost immediately by fury. She stood straight up out of cover, one fist balled at her side and the other squeezed around her pistol’s grip.

“That rat bastard,” she ground out.

“Pipes—” Nick stood, reaching out to take her arm, but she was already shoving her pistol back in its holster and stepping past him.

“I’ve had it this time, Nicky!” she snapped, taking long strides that turned into a run as she passed under the checkpoint. Nick hurried to follow her.

The courtyard looked the way it always did on an average day in Diamond City, except for the gate being down before it got too dark to see, and the edge of anticipation in the air. Wagons and pack brahmin ringed the weathered old statue in the center of the open space, and caravanners shifted nervously around them, weapons at the ready. There was Cricket, with her distinct yellow headscarf and pink eyeshadow Nick could see even from here, one of the Vault 81 runners, a handful of dogs, and even one of those ghoul horses from out west past the Glowing Sea.

Piper ignored it all, striding straight up to the intercom and slapping the call button with more force than was strictly necessary. “Danny Sullivan, you open this gate right now!”

Danny’s voice, crackling over the speaker, was strained. “I got orders not to let you in, Ms Piper.”

“Oh, screw your orders!”

“Mayor McDonough’s really steamed this time. I’m sorry; I’m just doing my job.”

“Just doing your job?” Piper laughed, high and shaky.

The mayor, huh? No doubt the rat bastard in question, and no wonder Piper was so upset. She’d been pressuring McDonough about security’s refusal to investigate missing persons for nearly a year now, and—

Oh god. Hopefully things hadn’t come to a head since he’d been missing, though that would be one hell of a coincidence—

“Protecting Diamond City means keeping me out, is that it?” Nick leaned back to dodge one of the hands she waved for emphasis. Out of the corner of his eye he caught sight of the crowd that had been milling around the courtyard beginning to coalesce into a half-circle a few feet behind where he and Piper stood, no doubt drawn by her volume.

“Oh, look, it’s the scary reporter! Boo!”

“Piper,” Nick said lowly.

“Ms Wright,” Hank said from her other side. He’d come down the checkpoint steps by the intercom, and moved to put a hand on Piper’s shoulder, but she swatted it away.

“I live here! You can’t just—” She curled her hands, like she had them on Danny’s shoulders and she was shaking him. “—lock me out!”

Nick stepped forward, up beside her, and leaned into the intercom. “Hey there, Danny,” he said. “What seems to be the trouble?”

“Is that Detective Valentine? Jeez, what happened to you? It’s been weeks.”

“Ran into some trouble on a case outside of Goodneighbor,” Nick replied. Though it was more like trouble ran into him, multiple times, at high velocity, and was made from hickory. Darla would’ve made Moe Cronin proud with that swing of hers. “Piper here pulled me out of it. Woulda been scrap metal without her help. You mind filling me in on what’s going on?”

“She didn’t tell you?”

Piper hissed a sigh through clenched teeth and met Nick’s eyes, shaking her head subtly. Whatever it was, they could talk about it later. Right now they needed to convince Danny to open the gate.

“Well, we’ve been a little occupied trying to get back to the city in one piece,” Nick said neutrally. “So we haven’t had too much time to chat about any new goings on.” He found an angle and went with it: “But it sure looks like things have been busy around here. Lotsa caravans parked out front today. Simon handing out free chems in there, or what?”

“We’re all just standing out here in the open,” Piper snapped, picking up on it immediately. “Not really a great way to bring in business! Do you want to be the one explaining to Crazy Myrna why she’s missing out on all this stock?”

From behind them, there was a chorus of murmured agreement from the caravanners. For once it sounded like the two of them might be on the side of the popular opinion.

Danny exhaled a drawn-out, staticky sigh. “Okay, listen, the whole city’s—”

Piper wasn’t having it. She leaned closer to the speaker, voice dropping in pitch and trembling with pent-up emotion. “This is wrong and you know it, Danny!”

“Jeez, alright!” There was a beat of silence on the other end of the speaker. “Alright. No need to make it personal. Give me a minute.”

Some mechanism powered up within the Wall, and the winding chain began clicking again. The crowd that had gathered behind them began to shuffle back to life.

Piper’s hands trembled the same way her voice did. Her cheeks were flushed, eyes damp with angry tears. “Thank you.”

Hank started to lift his hand like he was going to put it on Piper’s shoulder, and then thought better of it. “Ms Wright, listen—”

Piper pointed a finger in his face. “Fuck off.”

Hank held his hands up in surrender, grumbling under his breath as he turned and headed back to his post on top of the barricade. Piper closed her eyes, clasped her hands behind her head, and blew out a long breath.

Crisis averted—for now. The matter of what new beef was going on between Pipes and the mayor would be something he’d have to dig into, but it could wait until after they’d gotten settled. He owed Ellie—well, he owed Ellie a lot, but after the last two weeks he owed her more than usual. If cases hadn’t been piling up in his absence, maybe the three of them and Nat could take the day to do something relaxing.

Piper let her hands fall back to her side, and Nick reached out to touch her arm briefly. She managed a small smile. Whatever had gone down while he was away was clearly bad—but nothing they couldn’t handle together. Hopefully.

Something cold and damp touched the seam on the outside of his left hand and Nick nearly jumped out of what skin he had left.

He looked down to see a German Shepherd staring up at him with big brown eyes. Its tail wagged, its tongue lolled, and it shifted from paw to paw in doggy excitement.

“Dogmeat,” Nick said, kneeling to scratch behind his ears. Dogmeat woofed in recognition of his name. “Well hey there, fella. Where’d you come from?”

“He’s with me,” a contralto voice said from somewhere over Dogmeat’s head, and Nick looked up to see dirty leather hiking boots and long legs clad in Vault-Tec blue standing about six feet away—it was the runner he’d noticed when he and Piper came into the courtyard.

Yeah, definitely a runner, if the muscular curves of her calves and thighs were any indication. He didn’t let his gaze linger, pulling it up past her charcoal winter coat and dirty fur collar to her coppery, angular face, framed by glossy black fringe. She was looking him over warily, dark eyes narrowed, one hand resting on the barrel of a laser rifle slung on her back, ready to pull it into position. He didn’t take it personally; the folks in 81—at least the ones he knew—were nice enough, but their surface workers tended to be jumpy.

Except now that he was paying attention to her, he could see the number on her collar wasn’t an 81, but a 111.

Huh.

Alright. He knew 81—everyone around here did; it was hard not to know the people supplying you with clean water and real coffee—and he’d had too much time to get familiar with the Overseer’s office of 114. There was a 95 down past Suffolk this side of the Glowing Sea, a 75 in Malden, and that business down in the other DC involved some kid from 101. Maybe 111 was outside of the Commonwealth and that’s why he’d never heard of it, or maybe it just opened up to the surface. 81 had only opened up, what, a decade ago now?

The woman inclined her head at Dogmeat, keeping her gaze just shy of Nick’s. “Do you two know each other?” Her voice was something out of an old pre-War movie, lacking the accent that had two centuries to evolve after the bombs fell. Her teeth were white and almost perfectly straight—not wasteland dental work, for sure. Were freckles normal for a vaultie? He was no expert on human biology, but didn’t you get those from the sun, or could they be genetic?

“Sure, we’ve worked together a time or two,” Nick said, looking back at Dogmeat so he didn’t have to look at her anymore. This was going to be something—he could feel it churning away in his nonexistent gut already. He glanced down at her hands; the right still squeezing the barrel of her rifle, and the left hooked deceptively calmly in her coat pocket. Her short nails were painted with chipped green polish and she had an honest-to-god gold wedding band on her left ring finger.

Hand-me-down, maybe? Who did that anymore?

“I see,” she said, like that was the answer she expected and not a completely absurd exchange. She drummed her fingers on the barrel of the rifle, and then squared her feet like she’d come to a decision. Nick scratched under Dogmeat’s chin, and leaned back as Dogmeat lunged to lick his face.

Then, before he could formulate a reply for her:

“You’re Nick Valentine, yes? The detective?”

Nick paused before looking back up, but she still flinched at the motion—because he was a synth, because she didn’t know him, because this was the surface and he could imagine how frightening that would be to a vault dweller, some combination of the three?

“That’s right,” he said lightly.

She looked at Piper. “And you’re…?”

“Piper Wright, Publick Occurrences,” Piper replied, every bit the professional reporter sniffing out a scoop. No doubt she’d noticed the vault number by now, too.

Recognition raised the woman’s eyebrows slightly. “You work for the newspaper.”

“I run the newspaper,” Piper corrected. “We’re the hard look at the truth. You got a story for me, Blue?”

The woman moved her mouth like she was going to say something, then closed it again and started over. “I—maybe. I’m sorry if this is a bad time,” she said quickly, and then took a steadying breath, and looked Nick right in the eyes. “But I need your help. I’m trying to find a missing person.”

Ah.

Nick gave Dogmeat one last scritch behind the ears, and then stood slowly. The woman didn’t flinch this time, but every tense line of her body said she wanted to step away from him, even though she didn’t follow through. Probably, she’d never seen a synth this close before—or maybe she had. Wasn’t like any other rust bucket wearing this face was the conversational sort. Anyway, he got it—she was a slight gal and he was pretty sure intimidatingly tall was part of the older models’ build specs. No offense taken.

“Well, you came to the right people,” Nick said gently. “If not the right place.” He inclined his head at the gate. “If you want to talk right now, we can head to my office.”

“So soon?” she asked, voice ticking up, brimming with carefully concealed desperation, and Nick’s heart broke for her.

“Sure,” he replied. “I’ve been away for a while so I’ll have to get settled, but that shouldn’t take long.” Ellie wouldn’t be happy, but she knew him. “We’re headed there now. You can walk with us if you like.”

Tears welled in her eyes, but didn’t fall, and her neutral expression didn’t shift. “Thank you,” she said breathlessly.

Nick gave her a brief smile. “Bit early for that, but the pleasure’s mine,” he said.

“You mind if I tag along?” Piper asked. “I’ve been reporting on disappearances across the Commonwealth. Unfortunately, yours is far from the only one.”

“Piper’ll be able to help you just as much as I can,” Nick said. “For a case like yours, we typically work together.”

“Yes, that’s fine,” the woman said. She shifted from one foot to the other, and her fingers flexed as she squeezed the rifle barrel. “I… I’m a little out of my depth, here. I’d appreciate any help you’re willing to give.”

Nick nodded. “We’ll do what we can, Missus…?”

Her expression did change, then—she blinked back her tears and pressed her lips into a thin line. His mistake—missing person, wedding ring—

“It’s Nora,” she said, voice rasping. She cleared her throat. “Just… Nora.”

A picture he didn’t care for but that was far too common out here started to form in his head. Nick nodded once. “Alright, Nora. I can’t promise anything, but we’ll have you break down the whole story and then see what we can do, alright?”

She nodded, unwilling or unable to speak.

Nick stepped toward the gate, and Piper moved to fall into step beside him. “Office is on the other side of town, so it’s a bit of a walk,” he said over his shoulder. “Ever been to Diamond City before?”

Nora hesitated fractionally before answering. “Not—no. No, I haven’t.”

Huh. The missus thing, he could infer a lot from, but it was weird that that one tripped her up—maybe that was how she knew who he was. She hadn’t been a client in the past, had she? No, he’d remember a woman that looked like her. And he’d definitely remember the unusual vault number.

Piper caught his eye. One-eleven, she mouthed, and Nick tipped his head forward in a subtle nod.

“Piper!”

Nick stopped dead in his tracks just past the turnstiles as McDonough, flanked by a pair of guards that trailed reluctantly behind him, stalked down the stairs that led into the city proper. His face was red, mouth twisted into a furious snarl under his moustache. In one hand, he clutched a bundle of papers hard enough to crumple them.

Piper squared her shoulders and gritted her teeth. “Time for round two,” she muttered.

“Pipes…” Nick said pleadingly. A second round of whatever pissed the mayor off badly enough that Piper didn’t even want to talk about it might get them 86’d—permanently.

McDonough shook the handful of papers at her as he moved closer. “Who let you back inside? You devious, rabble-rousing—”

“Oh, we’re gonna start with the name calling today, huh?”

“—slanderer!”

Nick glanced over his shoulder at Nora, who was frowning and leaning to see around him at what all the commotion was. He held his bad hand by his side and lifted one finger—one second—and pretended not to notice the way she stared at it.

“The level of dishonesty in that paper of yours! I’ll have that printer scrapped for parts!”

“Ooh, is that a statement, McDonough?” Piper spread her hands wide. “What a headline! ‘Tyrant mayor shuts down the press!’ How about this one? ‘Tyrant mayor throws free speech in the dumpster!’”

“Enough!”

“Oh, you’ve had enough?” Piper leaned in. “What about the people of Diamond City? Do you think they haven’t had enough? How long are you going to let the disappearances of your citizens go uninvestigated?”

“I have already told you—”

“That security doesn’t have the time to help?” Piper cut in. “That’s a load of crap, McDonough, and you know it. I want the truth. What’s the real reason security never investigates any kidnappings?”

Behind him, Nick sensed Nora shift closer.

“Isn’t it because you order them not to?” Piper asked, in a tone that said she didn’t need an answer. “Got a justification for that one? I’d love a quote.”

“Enough!” McDonough bellowed. “I told Sullivan to keep that gate shut because I’ve had enough of your disgusting conduct! From now on, consider you and that little sister of yours on notice. This is your final warning.”

“You have no right—” Piper started, just as Nick said “Now hold on—”

McDonough whirled on him, every ounce of vitriol redirecting in a split second, and stuck a finger in Nick’s face.

“And you, Mister Valentine, can consider yourself under the same warning. Longtime resident or not, condoning this blatant scaremongering will not be tolerated.” His eyes narrowed and he wagged his finger like he was scolding a child and not a synth a foot taller than him and nearly twice his age. “You are here only due to the goodwill of the people of Diamond City, and I can assure you that allying yourself with this muckraker is rapidly wearing that thin.”

Piper somehow bulled up even more and took a deep breath, no doubt about to lay into the mayor again, but Nick caught her wrist and held it there, and met her eye with a significant look when she turned to tell him off, too.

Let McDonough win this round. They sure as hell couldn’t—the best they could get was this, right here: getting to walk away without being tossed without any time to tell Nat or Ellie what was happening.

McDonough stood there for a second, looking between the two of them, face flushed, and then turned on his heel and stalked toward the ticket booth, guards slouching along behind him. No doubt poor Danny Sullivan was about to be on the receiving end of a similar tirade.

“Oh, god,” Piper said through gritted teeth. “Natalie.”

She bolted forward, footfalls echoing sharply as she dodged around a trader and out of sight up the stairs.

Nick sighed as the mayor lit into Danny, as the hubbub of traders going about their business picked up again in the courtyard, as the city moved on around him. He caught Nora’s eye over his shoulder, and she subtly raised one brow at him.

“We better get going,” he said, moving toward the stairs.

“Do I need to check in with the gate guard?”

“Think he’s gonna be tied up for a bit.”

“I don’t want to get you in trouble.”

Well, he did appreciate that. “Ah, we’re already in it.” He waved a hand—the good one this time, and stuffed the bad one in his pocket with his forgotten cigarette. “I’ll let ’em know you’re a client later. They don’t usually ask too many questions about that.”

“Alright.”

As they passed through the interior gate, he carefully didn’t see the sign hanging on the chain link fence beside it: HUMANS ONLY—NO MUTANTS, NO GHOULS, NO SYNTHS. But he wasn’t a synth, he was the synth, Diamond City’s own local curiosity, only here because of the goodwill of a man thirty years dead and his own obvious nonhuman nature. Nick was the one synth that couldn’t pretend to be anything but.

Nora would almost certainly notice it too, and she’d have questions. They always did. With any luck she’d save them until after he’d gotten the opportunity to ask his own and the details of her missing person sorted out.

In the few minutes they’d been caught up just past the turnstiles with the mayor, a gentle rain had started to fall. Neon and stadium lights turned the city into a lightshow bright enough to rival the Glowing Sea’s corona of radiation. Merchant stalls ringing the infield still buzzed with activity, and would continue to do so for a few hours yet.

For all its flaws—and boy, it sure had them—it beat the hell out of anywhere else in the Commonwealth. Guilt and gratitude warred in the back of Nick’s mind, like they always did when he returned from a case and saw the city like this, and for once gratitude managed to win out. It definitely beat the inside of the overseer’s office.

Off to the left, halfway down the stairs, Piper was already standing over Nat on their front porch, saying something quietly. Nat wouldn’t be happy about being pulled away from hawking papers, which was almost certainly what Piper was doing.

Nick glanced back; Nora was looking out over the city with an expression he couldn’t quite pin down. If he had to describe it, pained would be a good synonym. Her lips were pursed just slightly, her brow quirked in some repressed emotion, her eyes narrowed critically. Dogmeat whined and pressed against her leg, looking up at her face, but she didn’t acknowledge him.

“Quite a sight, isn’t it?” he asked, and the corners of her mouth twitched downward slightly.

“Yes, it is,” she murmured.

Well. It might not be much compared to a vault, but it was still—for better or for worse—the safest place in the Commonwealth.

“If you don’t mind a detour, we’ll be picking up Piper’s sister from her office,” Nick said, pointing. “It’s just right down there.”

Nora stared for a heartbeat. “Yes, that’s alright.” She dragged her gaze away from the sisters to meet his eyes briefly before looking away again.

“Something to ask?”

Nora hesitated, and then—so unexpectedly he almost moved away—took a step toward him and lowered her voice. “Would the mayor really have them both kicked out of the city?”

Huh. “You know, before today, I woulda said probably not,” he replied honestly. “Not really something he has the authority to do anyway, but after that business out there, I wouldn’t put leaning on the city council past him.”

Nora frowned. “I see.”

“Nicky!”

Nick turned at the shout to see Nat glaring up at him from Piper’s porch. She stomped her foot, squared her shoulders, and planted her fists on her hips.

“Where have you been?”

“On a case, kid,” he called back. He motioned for Nora to join him as he sauntered down the stairs. “Where else?”

“You’re never out on a case that long,” she shot back.

“Well I was this time,” he said, and ruffled her hair with his good hand. “Sorry I worried ya.”

She swatted at him. “I wasn’t worried,” she said defensively.

“Sure, sure. You coming with us to the office?”

“Yes,” Piper said.

“Yeah, but I don’t know why,” Nat groused. “Are you guys gonna tell me what’s going on or not?”

“I already said later.” Piper squared her shoulders and looked at Nick, determined. Her earlier fury and worry looked to have cooled into calm now that she’d verified Nat was safe, but it was the sort of calm that carried an undertone of wariness. “Let’s get to it.”

“Alright then,” Nick said.

He led them the rest of the way down into the infield, and then made a sharp left at the base of the stairs, and then a right onto Third Street, unwilling to cut through the market this time of day. Going past the security building and school was typically faster, and he caught less stares from people who thought there shouldn’t be an exception to the no synths rule. And he was not in the mood to deal with Myrna screaming at him from across the square. Not today.

The Wright gals trailed a little way behind him; Nat still haranguing her sister to tell her what was going on and Piper staunchly refusing, and Nora followed behind them, looking around at everything like she was seeing it for the first time. Maybe she was. He’d find out eventually.

It was dark under the upper walkways, and only got darker as they hung another right onto Second Street. The only light on was the one bolted to the wall beside Arturo’s door, halfway down the road.

His sign was off. Ellie really did think he was dead, huh.

Boy. It looked like guilt might win out after all.

Nick picked up his pace, ducking under the corner of the tattered red awning that had come loose again and into the alcove that housed the door to his office.

“You coming, Blue?” Piper said. Nick glanced back; she stood under the edge of the awning looking back down the street.

Nora’s response was distant in more ways than one. “…Yes, I… yes.”

Well, he’d be hesitant to follow three complete strangers down a dark alley, too. Especially if he knew one of them was Natalie Wright.

Nick pushed the door open to find his office dark. “Ellie?” he called. “You here?”

There was a crash from up in the loft, a surprised “Nick?” and then bare footsteps hurrying down the stairs. Nick stepped fully into the office, and Piper and Nat followed him. Nora must have at least been under the awning by now, but he didn’t look back to check as Ellie burst around the corner, loose hair making a frizzy halo around her head.

“Oh my god, it’s you,” she said. Her eyes were wide and red and wet, and Nick’s heart broke for her exactly the way he knew it was going to.

“Hard to mistake this mug for anybody else,” he said, holding out his arms for her.

She threw her arms around his neck and he squeezed her tightly, lifting her to her tiptoes. She took a shuddering breath, and he rubbed her back up and down with his good hand, trying to soothe two weeks of hurt as best he could.

They stood there like that for a solid minute, Ellie breathing tremulously, Nick swaying her gently. He’d have gladly stood there all night if that woulda made her feel better, but…

Guilt was definitely winning this round.

“I got a client with me, Ellie,” he said lowly.

She sniffled against his shirt. “Of course you do.” She said it gently and he knew she’d understand, but he couldn’t pretend that one didn’t sting a little. She leaned back, wiping her eyes with the back of one hand and leaving the other on his shoulder. “Give me just a minute?”

“Take your time, sweetheart,” he said. She nodded, took a handful of calming breaths, and then gave him a one second gesture and stepped past the curtain into the other room.

Nick straightened, and glanced aside at Piper and Nat, standing quietly in the doorway, and beyond them under the awning, Nora, staring down at the ground.

He cleared his throat. “Ma’am—” her head jerked up at the sound of his voice, “—if you want to have a seat here at the desk, we’ll get started in a moment.”

He moved further into the office, switching the lights on and stepping around his desk. It looked like Ellie had been sitting here earlier—there were photographs of the two of them and the Wright gals spread across the desk, one of his ties, a handkerchief, all the detritus of someone crying over a loved one.

Over her employer. He wasn’t that good a boss. Poor gal probably needed a vacation now more than ever, and here he was opening up another case before he’d even had time to tell her he wasn’t dead. Or whatever.

Piper made a beeline to Ellie’s desk. “You guys mind if I borrow a notebook?” she asked, not bothering to get a response before opening one of the drawers. That was alright; she knew where they were for a reason. At least she brought her own pens.

Nat stared down Nora in the doorway for a second, and then darted past Piper—who thwacked her with a notebook—to sit on Ellie’s desk. “I’m not making us any money if I’m not selling papers, you know,” she said loudly.

Nick smiled to himself; there it was.

“We can afford to cool the engines for one afternoon, kiddo,” Piper said.

“That’s not what you were saying yesterday,” Nat countered. Piper stuck her tongue out at her.

Nick settled in his own chair, on the side of the desk opposite the door, and made his body relax, trying to appear as unintimidating and open as possible.

Nora stepped into the room and looked around warily, like she was expecting some sort of trap. Or maybe she was just curious. The tiny little office, with its cramped layout, and filing cabinets and boxes literally overflowing with case files, was no doubt a far cry from whatever facilities they had in a vault. How people living literally underground had more square footage than Nick and Ellie did, he’d never understood. Diamond City real estate went for a premium.

Every line of Nora’s body was tense as she sat at the literal edge of her seat so that big laser rifle had enough room between her back and the back of the chair. Dogmeat flopped down at her feet, tongue lolling, the only one in the room totally at ease.

“You want something to drink?” Nick asked her. “We got a couple different teas, purified water, maybe a soda or two?”

“Do you have coffee?” She sounded hopeful—like a vault dweller wishing for a comfort from home.

“We might have a few packs left. Pipes, we got any coffee over there?”

“Uh, you’ve got chicory tea,” she said, rifling through the little box of beverage components they kept on top of the minifridge by Ellie’s desk.

Nora actually smiled, very faintly. “Chicory tea sounds lovely.”

“One chicory tea comin’ up,” Piper said, and sauntered out of the room to fill the pitcher.

“I’d like a cola!” Nat called after her sister.

“Get it yourself!” Piper said from the next room.

“So, listen,” Nick said gently, without leaning forward. “I’m sure you’re eager to get started, but the way I like to handle these things is to take it a little slow during the interview. You’re gonna remember more details if you’re relaxed and have space to think, alright? So we’ll take it easy for a couple of minutes while you get comfortable and then we’ll get down to brass tacks.”

“I understand,” Nora said. “But I don’t have much to go on.”

“That’s alright too,” he reassured. “We’ll see what I can do with what you’ve got, alright?”

“Alright.”

Piper swept back in the room, followed by Ellie, who was a little red in the face still but otherwise put together. She’d done her hair up in a French twist; it was much less frizzy now.

“I’m sorry about that, honey,” she said to Nora. “It’s been a rough couple of weeks with Nick gone. I’m Ellie Perkins, detective’s secretary.”

“Nora,” Nora said. “Um. Client, I suppose.”

“Missing person, El,” Nick said softly.

Ellie mouthed oh. “I’m so sorry,” she said, full of feeling. “But you’re in the best place in the Commonwealth for it, now. Nick’s specialty is finding people. We’ll do whatever we can to help you, alright?”

Nora’s shoulders somehow tensed further at that. “Thank you,” she said stiffly.

She looked like a woman on the edge of a panic attack. Her back was straight, her heart was beating quickly and her breathing was shallow, her hands were balled into fists resting on her thighs.

He got it. The office was small, and the number of people trying to share its square footage was a little high right now. He didn’t care for crowds, either.

“You know, in a case like yours, the devil is in the details,” Nick said. “I’m gonna be asking you a lot of questions, so we may be here a while. You’re welcome to take your coat off and settle in.”

She sighed a little. “Right.”

Nick turned in his seat to give her some semblance of privacy, but kept her in his peripheral vision as he started clearing off the desk. Nora leaned forward and ducked out of the strap for the laser rifle, then held it in her lap for a moment, staring as if she didn’t know what to do with it. Very carefully, like it was a wild animal that might bite her if she moved too fast, she leaned it barrel-up against the wall beside the chair.

Unused to carrying a weapon, maybe, or unfamiliar with that particular kind.

“Where’s that photo box?” Nick asked, hands full of the photographs Ellie had spread across the desk.

“Here!” Nat said, and stretched forward to hand it to him. Her arms were too short to reach, and before he could scoot the chair back Ellie had the box in hand and was holding it out to him.

Nora winced as she leaned forward and pulled her arms from her coat. Was she injured? Surely her first stop in Diamond City would be to see the doctor if she was. But if she was desperate and had never been here before… Alright, that was one more thing for him to pay attention to.

“Thanks very much,” Nick said, dropping the pictures in. Ellie passed the box back to Nat.

Nora hung the coat neatly on the back of the chair, but didn’t lean back. Well, alright, he’d take a marginal settling over none at all. Sometimes people had a hard time relaxing. Far from the first time he’d seen it.

And then she swept a hand behind her head and pulled a long braid of hair over her shoulder. Had to reach her hips, at least. Then, at last, she sat back in the chair and folded her hands in her lap. Still not at ease, but doing better.

“Tea,” Piper said, leaning around Ellie to hold a steaming mug out to Nora.

“Thank you,” she said again, a little less stiff than last time, accepting the mug.

“I dunno how strong you take it, so it’s pretty potent,” Piper said. “I figure you can water I down if it’s too much. Or—Ellie, do we have—”

“Cream and sweetener?” Ellie asked.

“No, thank you,” Nora said. She gestured to Piper with the mug. “This is perfect, actually.”

“Couldn’t be me,” Piper said. “I like a sweet drink.” She grabbed a cola from the minifridge and rolled up her sleeve to twist the cap off with her forearm. Then she flicked the cap with her thumb and Nick caught it with his good hand.

“You’ll rot your teeth right outta your head drinking that crap,” he told her. He swiveled his chair and dropped the cap in the rainy-day fund mason jar they kept on the bookshelf behind the desk.

“Hey, I brush,” Piper said, and smiled at him.

“Detective,” Nora said quietly.

Well, alright, then, she was done waiting. Nick caught Piper’s eye and gave her a significant look, and Piper nodded and turned to her little sister.

“Hey, Nat,” Piper said. “Why don’t you go hang out in the loft for a bit, maybe get some schoolwork done?”

“Why?” Nat asked suspiciously, dragging out the word.

“Because we’re about to have a long conversation, and I don’t want you to get bored.”

Nat stared at her. “Bullshit.”

“Natalie, language!” Piper barked, and Ellie turned away so the two sisters couldn’t see her stifle a snort.

“I’m almost thirteen! That’s old enough to sit in on cases!”

“It’s really not,” Piper said.

“You were only sixteen when you started the newspaper!”

“So you’ve still got four years to go, kiddo.”

“Piper!” Nat said pleadingly, and turned to Nick. “I’m not a little kid anymore. I can handle this stuff if you guys would just let me.”

“Maybe next time, alright? Just not right now,” Nick said gently.

Nat scoffed and kicked her feet, and looked from Nick, to Ellie, to Nora, and finally back to her sister. Then she seemed to deflate.

“Fine, whatever. Can I at least sit out on the deck?”

“If you take the umbrella,” Piper said. “And come back inside if you see any angry politicians.”

Nat sighed loudly, but didn’t protest further as she slid off the desk and slouched out of the room, cola in hand and bag slung over her shoulder. She plucked her sister’s umbrella from her hand as she passed. There was a long moment of anticipatory stillness that stretched between the four of them that remained as her footsteps thumped up the stairs, across the loft above the desk, and as the door onto the deck opened and then closed again.

There was a beat of silence as Nora’s gaze traveled back to rest just shy of his. Waiting.

“Alright,” he said. “Whenever you’re ready.”

Her voice was flat. “Where would you like me to start?”

“Why not with who it is we’re looking for?”

Nora nodded, taking a deep breath. “My son. He’s four—” She closed her eyes, swallowed hard. “No. Five weeks old, now.”

Jesus. Wasn’t the first missing kid he’d been asked to track down, though this one was on the younger side for sure. Typically, in the aftermath of a breakup, one parent decided any kids would be better off with them rather than their former partner—but sometimes it was something else. Raider ransom, or worse. He got the feeling this case wasn’t going to be typical.

“His name is Shaun.” Nora’s voice broke over the name, but she didn’t stop. “He’s—he’s got his dad’s blue eyes, and my freckles, and black hair, and skin a little lighter than mine. He…” She held up a hand, lips quivering, trying not to cry.

“It’s okay, honey,” Ellie said, gentle as always. “You don’t have to say anything more.”

Nora nodded once, exhaled shakily. Nick pulled a clean handkerchief out of the desk drawer and held it out to her.

She hesitated a little, but still took it. “Thank you,” she said, sounding sincere.

Nick nodded, and gave her a second to dab at her eyes.

“Now, I know this might seem like an impertinent question,” Nick said after a moment. “But it’s important to get a complete picture of what we’re dealing with, here.”

“I understand,” Nora said again.

“Is your boy’s father still in the picture, or is it just you?”

The tears that welled in her eyes were answer enough, but she blinked them away, or tried to, and dabbed again at her face when they ran down her cheeks. It looked like his earlier prediction was spot-on, unfortunately. Nora was alone.

“It’s—just me,” she ground out. “The—the people who took Shaun, they—they killed him.”

She couldn’t hold the tears back, then. She pressed her fingers to her lips to stifle a sob, and then covered her eyes with her hand. Bent forward to rest her elbow on her knees, cradling her head. Tears rolled down her cheeks and dripped onto the bright blue fabric of her vault suit.

He shouldn’t feel envious of that, of crying. But he did.

Setting her notebook and pen down, Piper stepped forward, brow creased and lips downturned in concern, and reached out to lay a hand on Nora’s shoulder. “Hey, Blue…”

Nora nearly jumped out of the chair when Piper made contact, jerking away and sucking a breath through her teeth. Her eyes were wide, like a cornered animal.

Cringing, Piper yanked her hand back. “Sorry!”

“No, no—” Nora shook her head, holding her hands up placatingly. She was breathing hard. “I’m—I’m sorry, you just—you startled me.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s—it’s fine.”

He understood Piper’s impulse. This was… difficult was too mild a word. This had never gotten easier to watch. This was a wound open and weeping along with her in the back of his own head. He wanted to reach across the desk and take her hand, to provide the anchor he would have liked himself, but that clearly wasn’t how she operated. That was fine.

“I’m so sorry,” Nick said softly. Nora nodded. It wasn’t enough. It was never enough. But it was damn near all he had to offer. Sometimes there was no comfort and you just had to go through the motions.

“Where were you when this happened?” he asked, after Nora’s breathing had steadied somewhat.

She closed her eyes and twisted the handkerchief in her lap. “I was there. I…” She looked from Nick, to Piper, to Ellie, and back again. “This is going to sound unbelievable,” she said.

“Don’t worry. We’ve handled some pretty strange cases before,” he reassured. “Just tell us what details you remember.”

“We were in a vault when it happened,” she said. “It—was an experiment, I guess. The vault, I mean. It was some sort of… cryogenic facility.” She huffed. “The—we thought when we went in we’d be put into apartments or barracks or something, but—”

What?

“—they put us in these pods instead, and the doctor said it was some kind of decontamination before we moved into the living quarters, but then—”

“Wait,” Piper cut in, beating Nick to it. “What do you mean when you went in?”

Nora looked at her blankly, and suddenly everything clicked into place—the wedding band, the perfect teeth, the accent. A vault that was actually cryo storage. The bottom dropped out of Nick’s world and time slid to a stop—except it didn’t, according to his chronometer; the moments kept ticking by like they always had. It was just some strange trick of perception that made the second and a half following Piper’s question seem to last a lifetime.

Funny thing, that. You go your whole life thinking there’s no one else that can relate to your specific situation and then, with no warning at all, someone does, and she walks straight into your office and tells you about it.

“When the bombs fell,” Nora said flatly.

“She’s pre-War, Pipes,” Nick said.

Nora’s dark eyes flicked over, actually met his, briefly. “That’s right,” she whispered. “I—I know it sounds—insane, or—”

“It doesn’t,” Nick reassured. “No, it doesn’t. In fact, folks being around from before the War is a lot more common than you might think. You met any ghouls yet?”

She mouthed ghouls like she was trying to remember what it meant. “No. I mean—not the ones that are people,” she clarified. “The… other ones, yes. I came across the river from Cambridge to get here. The guard said they were bad up there.”

Piper whistled lowly, and Nick nodded. “Ferals. Yeah, they’re pretty thick the other side of the Charles. The uh, ghouls that are people, though, they stop aging once they change, so there are a few of ’em that were around before the War.”

“Really?”

“That’s right,” “So, this vault you were in—one-eleven?”

“Yes.”

“Has it been opened to the surface before?” Just because he hadn’t heard of it didn’t mean other folks hadn’t.

“I don’t know.”

“Where’s it at?”

“The Concord suburbs,” she said. “Just north of the river. The Concord River, not the Charles. A place called Sanctuary Hills.”

“Concord’s quite a walk,” Nick said mildly. “You come all that way yourself?”

“I had Dogmeat,” she said. His ears perked up and his tail thumped against the ground at the sound of his name, and Nora absently stroked the top of his head. “And some other help besides.” Her jaw clenched. “It’s still taken a week to get here.”

“Hey, now, that’s no mean feat. The Commonwealth’s a dangerous place.”

“It used to be a thirty-minute drive.”

Nick blinked. “Alright, that’s fair. But still, don’t put yourself down.”

She ducked her head, pursing her lips tight. Bucking against it.

“Now, I know this will be painful,” he started, and she held very still, like a radstag in a spotlight. “But I’m gonna need you to share everything you can remember about that day. You take as much time as you need, alright? And just say so if you need a break.”

She nodded.

“So—you enter the vault, and what happened next?”

“We were told to get in line at the bottom of the elevator,” she said. “There were already workers in the vault, I suppose. They gave us these suits—” she gestured to herself, “—and told us to change. Dana was holding Shaun, so I changed first, and then held Shaun while Dana changed. That was the last time that I…”

She trailed off, staring into space, and tears rolled down her cheeks. No doubt she’d worked that one over in her head a dozen times by now. If he hadn’t taken the baby back, her husband would still be alive, but she might not be.

Nick took a stab at it. “You can’t blame yourself for something like that,” he said, gently as he could. “You had no way of knowing.”

“I’m his mother,” she snapped.

“And Dana was his father,” Nick countered. She clenched her jaw at that one. “Was there another reason you weren’t carrying him?”

Nora dried her face with Nick’s handkerchief, preparing herself. Off to his side, Ellie shifted her feet, and Piper’s pen scratched across her notebook.

“I had a c-section,” Nora said. She frowned slightly, eyes flicking across the three of them in turn. “Are…”

“Some doctors still do them,” Ellie said softly, and Nick nodded.

“Okay. I was told I couldn’t carry anything heavier than my baby for six weeks, but when the warning sirens started going off, we had to run, and so Dana—” She took another deep breath. “Dana insisted.”

“You’re still recovering, then?” Nick asked. That’d explain the wince when she took off her coat earlier.

Nora hesitated. “Yes.”

“Jeez, Blue,” Piper muttered.

How much did that rifle weigh, compared to an infant? Maybe it was comparable; maybe she just didn’t care, and getting here to get help finding her baby was more important to her than her own health. He’d be willing to bet on that, actually. Maybe he could convince her to talk to Doc Sun, just to make sure she was really healing alright.

“So you change, Dana takes the baby, and then what?”

“Like I said earlier. The doctor told us we were going to go through a decontamination procedure before being brought deeper into the vault. He had us climb in these pods, and then it felt like the air was being sucked out—I could hardly breathe, and…

“It felt like…” She stared past him, into the middle distance, and then closed her eyes. “It was like when you’ve fallen asleep, but don’t realize it, and come back to consciousness all at once. Except instead of it being suddenly daytime, it was dark and cold, and I thought I was dreaming…”

Two hundred years in the blink of an eye. Damn. “What made you realize you weren’t?” Nick asked.

She swallowed thickly. “I heard voices. One was a man’s; it was deep, and rough. I couldn’t tell if the other was a man or a woman—I didn’t hear them at first. It was only once the man said something else I realized he must be speaking to someone.”

“What were they talking about?”

“I couldn’t tell. It was muffled. I tried to clear away the frost on the pod window so I could see them, but it was so thick, and my breath kept fogging it up. Then—”

She choked up suddenly, and pressed her fingertips to her lips to stifle a sob.

“Then I heard a baby cry, and Dana’s voice. I don’t—I don’t know what he said, either. But he sounded panicked.” She shuddered. “I started trying to get the door open, but there was no latch on the inside that I could find, so I rubbed the glass with my sleeve to see what was happening.

“It was dark, but I could see there was a man holding something up at Dana? I didn’t realize at first what it was, because the other person was trying to take Shaun, and Dana wouldn’t let them have him, and then there was a sound like another bomb going off and—

“I think I screamed. And the man turned and walked towards me, and I thought he was going to—” She gaped for a moment. “He leaned right up to the glass and looked at me. And then he said something, but I don’t know what. I still couldn’t hear him well, but when he started talking I tried to read his lips.”

She shook her head. “And then they just—walked away. Shaun was crying and Dana wasn’t moving and I kept trying to find the latch but—” She waved her hand, unable to speak, and Nick’s gaze fell again on her torn nails. She’d tried to claw her way out.

She sobbed again, but then held up a hand. Set her jaw. She was shoving it down.

“I’m s-sorry,” she started, and Nick shook his head.

“You don’t have anything to apologize for,” he said. “Now, you said this man came right up to you—so did you get a good look at him?”

She nodded.

“That’s good,” Nick said encouragingly. “We’ll circle back to that in a minute. Now what about the other person?”

“No. They were wearing some kind of—it looked like a clean room suit. It was all white, and covered their face, I think. I didn’t see it, anyway. There was a tube running to something on their back.”

“And this is the person who took Shaun? Which way’d they go?”

“Back toward the elevator,” she whispered.

“Did you see anybody else?”

“No, only those two.”

“And after that?”

She stared past him. “I… don’t remember.” She swallowed. “I don’t know if I blacked out, or if the pod was reactivated. I was trying to get out, and then I was falling out.” She shrugged, but the line of her shoulders was tense, clearly ill at ease with the idea. “Then I left the vault and made my way here.”

She was leaving something out—someone must’ve pointed her this way, because no way was Fenway Park a pre-War person’s first destination after waking up after the apocalypse. His gut told him it wasn’t relevant, at least not now—she had said she’d had other help.

But her supposed blackout… that might complicate things. If the cryostasis had been reactivated, they’d have no way of verifying the timeline…

They needed to focus on what they could verify. “Alright.” Nick leaned forward in his seat. “Now, this man. You think you can describe him for me?”

“Yes.” She met his gaze and managed to hold it. “Where do you want me to start?”

“How about his outfit? Was he in a suit, too?”

“No. He was dressed like a—raider?”

Nick nodded.

“Like a raider. At the time I thought he was dressed strangely, but now I think it was patchwork armor. I don’t know for sure.”

“That’s alright. Do you remember anything else about what he was wearing?”

“No, just that his clothes were dark.”

So—patchwork armor, possibly a raider, more likely a mercenary—maybe one of the Gunners? They didn’t work solo, but Nora might not have seen the whole team. Whether the vault was broken into or was already open to the surface would tip his opinion about it being one of the smaller gangs or not. He doubted it, but there was no way to know for sure.

There was still the question of the person in the environment suit, if that’s indeed what it was. Those were a valuable piece of tech, and hard to come by, especially if they were pre-War. He knew Becky Fallon made one, once, but she was a professional seamstress and the customer had paid an arm and a leg for it. How well it worked he didn’t know, but it still looked homemade—a far cry from the sterile white Nora described. Regardless, it was likely not something small-timers would have access to or the caps for.

“Now, how about his physical appearance?” Nick asked. “Skin, hair, approximate age, distinguishing features. That sorta thing?”

She twisted the handkerchief again, closing her eyes. “He was white, bald or balding, with a beard. I think he was middle aged—he looked like he was on the older side, anyway. Or like he’d been out in the sun a lot. He seemed weathered.”

“That’s a good start,” Nick said. He redirected a portion of his processing power to running through faces and descriptions they had on file—from cases closed and otherwise. Filtered out the little gangs, prioritized Gunners, independent mercs, and the big-time raider gangs. It wasn’t guaranteed that he’d come up with anything, but he liked to think he was on top of the names and news going around the Commonwealth. If he didn’t come up with anything, he’d change his focus—at that point, anything would be worth a shot. And he’d been wrong before.

“Now, distinguishing features? Anything stand out about his appearance?”

Nora frowned. “He had a… slash across his face. This side.” She pointed to her forehead, just above her left brow, and drew a line down over her eye and cheek, stopping beside the corner of her mouth. “I remember because it was still stitched up.”

Now that was a solid detail. A wound like that was noticeable, and would almost certainly leave a prominent, depending on how long it’d been. Nick added that criteria to his search, and—

—got a hit almost immediately.

Nick held up his good hand. “Hold on a minute. Would you recognize this fella if you saw him again?”

Nora took a breath, and then nodded. “Yes.”

“You’re sure?”

“Absolutely.”

“Ellie,” he said, turning to look up at her. “What have we got on Conrad Kellogg?”

She turned on her heel toward the many boxes of documents stacked in the corner of the room. “Let me find the file.”

Nora sat forward, frowning. “Who’s Conrad Kellogg?”

“Local mercenary,” Piper said, clicking her pen. “Real scary guy.”

Nick turned to Nora. “Now, let me be clear: I don’t know if this is your man, so let’s not make any assumptions. But Piper got a pretty good look at him, and an alright photo, so we’ll have you look at that and see if you recognize him, alright?”

“Okay.”

“Now, to answer your question—this fella’s a merc, and allegedly a damn good one, or at least a well-supplied one. Swept into town a couple months ago, started throwing money around—chems, weapons, real estate, you name it. But nobody knows who he works for; just that he just disappears for days at a time. Nobody in Diamond City has the sorta caps that he does, except the upper stands folks, and last I checked, my contact there said he’d never seen the guy before.”

“Found it,” Ellie said, and reappeared at Nick’s shoulder holding a stack of documents held together by a paperclip. On the top of the stack, there was a photo—taken from below and to the left, pointed upwards at a man leaning against a balcony railing and smoking a cigar. The angle wasn’t ideal for identification, but it did show one thing very clearly: a scar, running from above the man’s left brow and down over his cheek.

“Take a look at this,” Nick said, sliding the photo out from beneath the paperclip and passing it across the desk to Nora. She took it, frowning deeply.

She stared at the photograph for a long moment, holding it with both hands.

She looked for a long time. The air in the office seemed to still, as Nick, Ellie, and Piper watched Nora, waiting. Her hands trembled, making the photograph quiver.

“What sort of person would do this?” she whispered. “And—why?”

Wasn’t that always the question? “Don’t think that’s something we can know, at least not yet,” Nick said gently. “Not until we find who we’re looking for.”

“This is him.” She looked up at him sharply. Her teary eyes were narrowed in determination. “I’m sure of it.”

“Easy,” Nick said. “He’s not the only one I want you to have a look at, alright?” His internal search hadn’t pinged anyone else yet, but jumping to conclusions wouldn’t help.

Nora set her jaw, unhappy but hopefully willing to cooperate. She didn’t protest, at least.

Nick flicked through the stack of papers, didn’t find what he was searching for, and looked up at Piper. “Didja get anything on the kid while I was gone?”

In the corner of his vision, Nora sat forward. “What kid?”

“Hold on a minute,” Nick said.

Piper and Ellie glanced at each other, which answered his question well enough.

“Nick, we dropped it. We’ve been looking for you,” Piper said.

Right, of course. He nodded, worked his jaw. Right now wasn’t the time to deal with whatever it was that made him feel; he pushed it back and focused on the matter at hand. He’d smoke it off later. “Alright. How long since we’ve had eyes on him?”

Piper counted on her fingers. “Nine days, I think?” She looked to Ellie for confirmation; Ellie nodded.

“We don’t have anything new, Nick,” she said.

“Wait. Why are you investigating this man in the first place?” Nora asked. “And what was that back at the gate about a rash of kidnappings the mayor won’t let anyone investigate? Are they related? And what kid?”

All good questions. Alright. “Well, that’s sorta what we’re trying to find out,” Nick said, leaning back in his chair. “You wanna take this one, Pipes?”

Piper clicked her pen and cocked her hip, fixing Nora with a serious look. All professional reporter again. “Have you ever heard of an organization called the Institute?”

Nora’s hesitation lasted only a fraction of a second—but that was enough.

“No,” she said.

Boy, did she have one hell of a poker face. Not a single tell but the hesitation, at least not that he caught. Piper launched into her “boogeymen of the Commonwealth” spiel and Nick turned it over in his head. So: sometime in the last week she’d had a run-in with the Institute, or, more likely, someone who knew about them and told her. Doubtful she’d still be alive if she’d encountered one of their scavenger teams. Not many folks could say they walked away from that.

She said she’d crossed the river at Cambridge… and she was toting that fancy laser rifle. It wasn’t the sleek red and white of Institute firearms; maybe she’d ran into that Brotherhood of Steel squad that holed up in the police station. She had said she’d had other help besides the dog.

He’d been avoiding the area—and the soldiers themselves, whenever they came into town to resupply. In an ideal world he’d have more than secondhand knowledge about what they were up to in the Commonwealth, but it wasn’t like he could stroll up and ask. He could only imagine what their precious Codex said about synths, especially since the alleged reason they’d rolled into town was to search out the Institute.

Could only imagine what they’d told her about synths, but at least she hadn’t called him any names yet. Still—there was a difference between being polite because you were a polite person and not being overtly hostile because the synth was the only one who could help you and you didn’t want to piss it off. He was either a good detective and folks pretended they didn’t notice the synth bit or he was a crime against nature and needed to be put down. God forbid he be just some guy.

Here was the most important question, though: why would she lie about it?

He could think of at least one very good reason, and it was sitting across the desk from her.

Didn’t matter right now, anyway, on any count. He and Piper’d figure it all out eventually, one way or another. So she didn’t trust him; he couldn’t exactly blame her for it. She still needed help.

“You think Kellogg works for them,” Nora was saying.

Piper made a finger gun at her. “Bingo.”

“Where does the kid come in?”

“A little less than three weeks ago now, Kellogg shows back up for the first time in weeks with a little boy in tow,” Nick started. “Not an infant,” he added before Nora could start to look hopeful. “Kid looked to be Nat’s age.”

“What’s unusual about that?” Nora asked.

“To be fair, not much,” Nick said, shrugging. “Could be he’s just settling into town with his son.”

“What was unusual is how secluded he kept the kid,” Piper said. “I asked Nat; he never showed up in class, always got hustled around by Kellogg when he was out and about, which wasn’t often. We were already looking into Kellogg; might as well look into the kid too, just in case it was something else.”

“We’re not sure if they’re still in town or not,” Ellie added, tapping Nick’s shoulder. “Like we said, we stopped surveillance when you went missing.”

“What did he look like?” Nora asked.

“Uh, dark skin, dark hair,” Piper said. “That’s all we got. I don’t think any of us saw him up close.”

“Huh. Do you know anybody who did?” Nora asked absently. She was staring into the middle distance again, and she had one hand twisted in the end of that long braid of hers. Nick could practically see the gears turning in her mind.

Before he could ask what she was thinking, something thumped against the ceiling above Nick’s desk. A moment later, the floorboards creaked, and then slow footsteps plodded down the stairs. Nat pushed the curtain aside to see all four adults staring at her as she stepped back into the office, and, true to form, she didn’t look intimidated in the slightest. No wonder Piper was worried about her following in her sister’s footsteps.

“Natalie,” Piper sighed. “You haven’t been on the deck at all, have you?”

“Like you wouldn’t do the same thing,” Nat shot back.

Piper scowled.

“Good thing I wasn’t, too.” Nat looked at Nick. “I talked to that kid. I can describe him.”

“No kidding,” Nick said.

“Nuh-uh. It was just the once but I remember it ’cause it was weird. The press jammed that morning and Piper had just fixed it so I went to pick up noodles to celebrate, and he was leaned over the bar trying to have a conversation with Takahashi.” She looked at Nora. “Newbie mistake. And he didn’t know how to use chopsticks. Obviously he hadn’t been in Diamond City very long.”

Nat shrugged. “So I asked him where he came from and he got really weird and said mister somebody told him not to talk to strangers. So I said Takahashi was a stranger and he said robots didn’t count, and anyway Tak wouldn’t talk to him except for saying what he always says. So I asked why I’d never seen him at school before and he said he didn’t go to school in Diamond City, but when I asked where he went he got really weird again and said he wasn’t allowed to say, and I said that sounded like bullcrap, and then that scary guy showed up out of nowhere and led him off towards the west stands.”

“What did he look like, Nat?” Nick asked patiently.

“Like her,” Nat said, pointing to Nora. “Like a little kid version, with the same nose and freckles and everything. But with blue eyes. And a boy.”

“How little?”

“I dunno, like, ten?” She shrugged again. “He was shorter than me, anyway.”

“That was him,” Nora said, sounding distant.

“Hold on a minute,” Nick started.

Nora whipped to face him, making full eye contact this time, shoulders tense, leaning forward in her seat. “Cryostasis—”

“Whoa,” Nick said, holding up a placating hand. “Now, let’s not—”

“I don’t know how long I was asleep the second time,” she insisted. “I don’t even know how or why I woke up at all! It could have been ten minutes; it could have been ten years. The amount of time that already passed, I—” Her eyes welled again. “Please,” she said. “Can we just—follow up on this? Just to be sure?”

Desperation colored her tone, made her voice crack, and the way she looked at him was—

Hell, how could he say no?

“We will,” he said, hopefully sounding reassuring. “We will, I promise. Okay?”

She stared at him, and if he hadn’t been watching for it, he probably wouldn’t have noticed the twitch in her lower eyelids. She didn’t believe him.

“Okay,” she said anyway.

“Okay,” Nick repeated. “Got another question for ya. Do you know if we’d be able to get back into the vault? It might do us good to have a look around, and the computer system may have dated logs that we can use to find out how long you were out for.”

Nora somehow tensed further. “I didn’t—fuck,” she said vehemently. “I should have thought of that.”

“You were dealing with a lot.”

“That’s not a fucking excuse,” she snapped, and then immediately clapped a hand over her mouth, looking mortified. “God, I’m sorry,” she said into the ensuing silence. “I didn’t mean—I’m sorry. That was inappropriate.”

Nick empathized, but let her sit with it for a moment anyway. Then he said, “You’re still dealing with a lot.”

Whatever retort she had for that—and she had one, judging by the way her jaw clenched again—she didn’t voice. She looked down at her hands in her lap, twisted the ring on her finger, inhaled and exhaled. “Right,” she muttered.

“So—the vault?”

“Right,” she repeated. “I think I could get back in with my Pip-Boy,” she said, holding up her left arm and her vaultie-standard portable computer. “I don’t know for sure.” She took a deep breath. “Obviously there’s some way in, right?”

“That’s the way to think about it,” Nick said, nodding. “So—here’s how I think we should go about this. We start by checking out Kellogg, and any other folks who match your description. If that doesn’t turn anything up, we can head up to Concord and check out the vault. How does that sound?”

Nora nodded.

“Alright.” They needed to wrap this up. Nora was clearly in no state to continue, even though she seemed to be chomping at the bit to get going. Whether it was stress, or the late hour, or exhaustion, or something else, target fixation and beating herself up wouldn’t help them in the slightest. She’d have a clearer head in the morning.

“I think it’s about time we called it a night,” Nick said. “We can pick this up again in the morning, if that’s alright with you.”

Nora looked up at him sharply. “Morning?”

“I’d like a little time to go through our other files, see if we have anyone else who fits your guy’s description. Like I said earlier—I can’t say for sure that Kellogg is the man we’re looking for, just that he fits the bill.” Nick softened his tone. “So, yeah, morning. The gate’ll be down by now, so nobody’s getting in the city, and we can get an early start tomorrow, be up before it opens, if you like, to make sure Kellogg doesn’t leave if he’s here. That sound good?”

Nora hesitated. Obviously, it didn’t sound good. “Okay.”

“Okay,” Nick said. He’d have to keep an eye out tonight in case she decided to take matters into her own hands. If everything else she’d gone through hadn’t slowed her down, he doubted his reassurance would. Leaning back in his chair, he looked at Piper. “Would you mind walking her to the Dugout on your way home? Tell Vadim she’s on my tab.”

“Sure thing, Nicky.”

“Seven work for you?” he asked Nora. “’Bout a half-hour before the sun’s up.”

“Yes, that’s fine,” she said. “Detective, about payment—”

Nick waved her off before she could get started. “We can talk about that when we find your boy,” he said.

She stared at him. “Seriously?”

“Seriously,” he said. “I don’t take any fees until after a job’s done, and I haven’t even started working. For now, let’s focus on finding out what we can. Alright?”

She hesitated, then nodded quickly. “Thank you.”

“No problem.”

Piper ruffled her sister’s hair affectionately. “C’mon, Gnat, let’s get hit the road.” She gave him a little two-fingered salute over Nora’s head. “See ya in the morning, Nicky, Ellie. C’mon, Blue, what’re you waiting for?” Then she was out the door.

Nora stood up suddenly, and ducked her head. “Thank you both again,” she said quietly, and followed Piper.

Nat was the last to leave, sliding off Ellie’s desk and dragging her feet, and then, when the door was swinging shut behind Nora, she turned a sharp one-eighty and launched herself toward Nick, giving him only a second to prepare himself before she flung her arms around his neck and buried her face in his coat.

Nick hugged her back, patting her between the shoulder blades, and shook his head at Ellie as she mouthed “Aww.”

“I’m glad you’re not dead,” Nat muttered into his shoulder.

“Me too.”

She pulled back and pointed at him—a Piper move. “Stay out of trouble,” she said sternly.

Nick smiled. “You too, kiddo.”

With that, she left, too, sprinting out the door to catch up with her sister.

The office was felt larger than it was with just the two of them that were left. He’d only gotten back a little while ago, but somehow, it felt like he’d never left. It coulda been any other night after seeing off a client; Ellie’d work quietly for a little while yet before heading to bed, and Nick would be burning the candle at both ends, just like always.

Ellie smiled ruefully. “It just never stops, does it?”

“Sure doesn’t,” he agreed.

She sighed heavily, and leaned up against the desk. “How did your other case shake out?” she asked. “Or is that a silly question, considering I haven’t seen you in two weeks?”

“It went better than you’d expect,” he said. “Turns out, our runaway wasn’t an unwilling participant after all.” Nick shrugged. “Decided she’d have a better life as some gang boss’ gun moll than doing whatever daddy had planned for his little girl here in DC.”

Ellie blew out a sigh. “And she decided to abide by that decision…?”

“Eh, not exactly. Shoulda seen Piper. Two minutes and she had the gal convinced her new beau was all talk and no action. Made the poor fella cry when she walked out.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Ah, well, it was Skinny Malone, if you can believe that, and he’s a soft touch. That’s why I’m still kicking; he got all sentimental about the old times and threw me in an office instead of just shooting me. Guess the guy’s only real friends are his enemies.” He rubbed the back of his head. “The dame sure wasn’t, though. Got me good with a swatter. A couple of times.”

Ellie pinched the bridge of her nose between her index fingers. “You are unreasonably lucky sometimes, you know that?”

“Hey now, I like to think some of it’s just good old-fashioned charm.”

“If you keep laughing at death, one day death’s gonna laugh back,” she countered. “God, Nick, you need someone to watch your back. What if Piper hadn’t been able to track you down?”

“I’da figured something out.” He would have; in another day or two he was sure he coulda convinced some of Malone’s boys to turn on their boss.

“You need a new partner,” Ellie said firmly. “And not another Marty; someone reliable.”

“I know, I know,” he said. “You find me one of those, you let me know.”

Ellie pursed her lips. “Believe me, I will.” She sighed heavily. “But—not tonight. I am cried out and exhausted, and I am going to bed.” She stepped forward, into his space, and then leaned down to kiss his cheek. “Goodnight, Nick.”

Nick smiled after her. “Night, El.”

She was right, of course. She usually was. But it wasn’t something he had time to worry about. They had a case to solve. He needed to review the Kellogg file, and dig through others for anything similar to Nora’s missing kid—while he had the time.

Nick sat back in his chair, fished his half-smoked cigarette out of his coat pocket, and lit it again, watching the smoke curl upwards toward the rafters. Rain drummed distantly against the roof. The neon sign outside hummed. Up above him, Ellie breathed softly.

He’d give it until the rain stopped, if that long. The night wasn’t over yet.

#my beta can't stop me from posting this because she's not here #will be up on ao3 once we're finished with the rest of the chapter #nick valentine #fallout 4 #piper wright #sole survivor #nick x sole #fallout fic #fallout oc

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