Fandom Begin Again: A Fallout 4 Story

[bag-o-donuts]

Diamond City, the Great Green Jewel. Descending the central stairs after weeks of investigation should have felt like a return to his usual rhythm, but for Detective Valentine, the barking vendors and familiar creak of metal underfoot didn’t quite settle him the way it used to. Nick doubted the city had changed in his relatively short absence, which meant something about his own perspective had shifted instead. It was a disconcerting thought.

Then again, everyone’s favorite boogeymen seemed to be making more moves recently. The Institute had been long feared by the locals and just about everyone else in the Commonwealth, but recent events involving a certain pre-war popsicle turned desperate mother on the hunt suggested there was more in play than even Nick had suspected. Evelyn’s search for her missing baby had turned up a real humdinger of a mystery, complete with cyborg mercenaries, courser units, and now an escaped scientist somewhere out in the Glowing Sea. He’d bet a thousand caps (if he had them) that things around Boston were about to be shaken up in a big way.

As if to underscore his hunch, a newspaper hawker–Piper’s kid sister–belted out the latest headline into the passing crowd: “Another Sleeper Agent? Institute Plant Found Dead in Diamond City Market!”

He’d heard as much from Evelyn during their walk from Vault 114. Hearing it from the kid’s mouth, permeating the awareness of every already-paranoid citizen within these green walls, made Nick’s metal hand dive into the pocket of his trenchcoat in search of a cigarette. Though he had no nerves to settle, the habit had always been a soothing routine. At least it had been for the other guy.

And the new other guy. But Nick didn’t want to think about that just now.

Any direct leads on Institute activities were in Evelyn’s hands. Facing down the prospect of marching into an extremely radioactive hellscape, she’d jumped at the chance to follow up on the only other clue Nick had to offer: rumors of a secretive group dedicated to helping Institute escapees and gathering information to take down the faceless organization once and for all. They were just as likely to be crackpots and dreamers as an actually useful resource, but that would be up to her to find out.

Until Evelyn decided she needed another consult, the synth detective decided to get back to business as usual. There were plenty of other people in the Commonwealth with problems that needed solving who could use a helping hand, even if their woes were the run-of-the-mill sort.

The door to Valentine’s Detective Agency was locked when he got there, which meant Ellie was out. Nick let himself in and hoped to find the comfort of familiarity he’d been missing at the gate, but even here in his own office it eluded him, like everything in it had been shifted a centimeter to the left. Not for the first time, he wished he could drink.

There was a pile of closed out casefiles on his desk that had been awaiting final review since before his trip to see Skinny Malone, but these were ignored in favor of diving through the cabinets for something unsolved. He paused to exhale a false breath and a plume of smoke with it, turning to stub out the half-finished cigarette in an ashtray. Ellie always complained about the possibility an ember would fall onto the stacks of papers and light the place up like a tinderbox. It was a valid concern.

Midway through his search, Nick heard the office door open. Speak of the devil.

“That you, Ellie? Sorry to say, but the vacation’s over. I can’t seem to find the Maloney file. Care to give me a hand?”

---

The Glowing Sea?

A deceptively beautiful name for such a terrifying place, Evelyn thought. Nick and Dr. Amari had given her the full rundown on what awaited her there besides an Institute defector: a desolate landscape, creatures mutated to unimaginable extremes, and enough ambient radiation to melt the skin off her face inside an hour. Combing through a hundred square miles for a single man could take days, or even weeks.

In short, it would take an incredible amount of preparation just to step foot there, and that was time she didn’t have. She’d already lost years on ice while Shaun grew up without his mother. A month or more just to get some technological insights from a stranger who might be dead already felt like an eternity. Nevermind what it would take to find whatever synth assassin unit and kill it to make use of those insights.

The obstacles standing between Evelyn and her baby were starting to pile impossibly high. Fortunately, the curiously old fashioned synth detective had offered up a lead on a potential alternative: another organization operating within the shadows of the Commonwealth who, unlike the Institute, did so for a noble cause. Trafficking escaped synths and spying on Institute activities was their modus operandi, according to Nick. If anyone besides Dr. Brian Virgil might have the knowledge she sought, it would be them.

The Freedom Trail had the added benefit of passing right outside Goodneighbor’s front door–no travel or preparation required. Evelyn had walked it plenty of times before the war: on a history field trip in elementary school, once with Nate when they first started dating, and a thousand times more as she walked between their tiny apartment in the North End and Suffolk Law School while studying for her degree.

As she followed the Trail in discreet silence, an overwhelming pang of sadness nearly clouded her eyes with sudden moisture that was quickly blinked away. She hadn’t quite gotten used to the way happier memories surfaced from the ruins like ghosts. There had been no time at all to mourn the people and the life she’d lost, but it seemed grief wouldn’t stand to be ignored for long. It was just lucky it hadn’t caught her off guard at a more critical moment. Yet.

War and time had ravaged the once-familiar streets, but even when the faded red line disappeared beneath the debris, it took no effort at all to pick it up again. At first, Evelyn wasn’t even sure what she was looking for. Following the Trail to its terminus at the Old North Church appeared to be the intended objective, but even that seemed a little obvious for a secret organization. So it wasn’t until she noticed a red circle and number painted onto one of the many seals she’d been passing over that Evelyn realized there was more to it.

“Ah, crap.” Crouched over the worn bronze, she grimaced and glanced back the way she came. Retracing her steps would take hours, but was still a fraction of the time posed by the Glowing Sea option. Even so, impatience and anxiety were settling into her gut and making her skin crawl.

She could figure it out when she got there.

A couple of hours later, Evelyn stood in front of an even bigger seal set into the wall of the Old North Church catacombs, wondering how she ever thought that was a good idea. The uneasy awareness of being underground made it difficult to concentrate on the puzzle itself; not claustrophobic before the war, awakening in the crypod, trapped and unable to intervene in the most traumatic experience of her life, had left her understandably wary of tight spaces.

C’mon, just think. The rotating wheel reminded her of a safe lock, and so it stood to reason there was a combination. The letters and numbers gathered during her walk pointed to which letters to point to and in what order, but given she’d missed the first half, several numbers in the sequence were missing. Something, something, I, something, R, O, something, D.

She stood staring at the seal, picturing the letters in her head and feeling like the world’s dumbest game show contestant. Second half’s gotta be ‘road’. Road. … Oh. Her hands grasped the outer edge of the bronze plate and maneuvered it clockwise, then back, and clockwise again, over and over until she stood back to see if her guess was correct.

A mechanical groan resonated throughout the narrow chamber and shook several centuries worth of dust from the ceiling, and for a terrifying moment, Evelyn thought her success might also bring the place down on top of her. But no bricks shifted out of place save the ones mounted to the hidden door, which swung inward to reveal a passageway entirely devoid of light. She switched on the Pip-Boy’s flashlight, and the neon glow barely illuminated six feet ahead before disappearing into darkness.

Anxiety fluttered in her chest before Evelyn drew her gun. Kellogg’s gun, until recently. The weapon that had killed her husband, a heavy and brutish thing that, in moments like these, she needed to make her feel a little brutish, too.

The passageway swallowed up the sound of her footsteps. It was almost too quiet, with no telltale scuffle of ferals rousing from slumber or the burrowing scratch of molerats. Just when she thought the air seemed to open up into a wider space ahead, a blinding light snapped on with an audible rush of electricity. The muzzle of Evelyn’s gun came up reflexively, but she had to take one hand off the grip to shield her eyes, trying to blink the spots from her vision.

 

[Lucyfer]

…Your cheek against mine
Where can we go
When will we find that we— ​

The melody that played out from a leather pack was silenced by callused hands, as the familiar security gate of Diamond City came into the sight of tired blue eyes.

Ada Burr, former denizen of Diamond City, hadn’t been back in five years. Seeing the place felt like another gut punch, in a string of them. Perhaps the truth was, she hadn’t been cut out for leaving. Perhaps, her parents were right, and she should have kept herself busy with scavenging, and returning with her finds to sell in Diamond City, or Bunker Hill.

Of course, the woman wasn’t going home to lay down and cry over everything that had happened. No, she approached the guards, who had the Diamond City radio playing in the background, some stuttering fool now giving the news about the airship that had appeared in the Commonwealth.

“What’s your business in Diamond City?” the guard asked. No one she recognized, but then, Diamond City was always bigger than she realized – even back when she lived here.

‘Valentine.’

“Visiting family,” she lied. She had no intention of swinging by home. She’d not cut off communications Rosanna or Thomas, “Burr,” she added as the last name. The guard offered a once over, suspicion darkening his gaze. “Also here to do a bit of trading,” she shifted her bag. The clinking of caps was always a convincing sound, and that had never been difficult for her to come by.

Suspicion faded away. “All right, you can come on through,” he allowed, and she moved through the gate as it opened, pushing back strands of red that had escaped the ponytail she’d pulled her hair back into. She didn’t bother with redoing it, just walked down the sloping road into the bustling market that greeted every newcomer.

‘I should resupply.’

Then again, all she really needed was ammunition. She had food for about a week, plenty of water, stimpacks. Well, her armor could probably do with some repair. ‘Ah, shit.’ Armor. It probably wasn’t strange for Nick to be greeted by people fresh from the wastes in armor. Only a fool traveled light, but she wanted to seem…a little less capable than she was.

Ada had gone over the story a hundred times on the way here, and sure, a Minuteman made sense to carry guns and be capable, but there was something about the sight of leather armor in the Wastes that had an implicit meaning to most. That was someone who expected to kill.

“Miss! Miss! You need to be careful in Diamond City! An Institute Sleeper was found right in our market! You can read the full story—”

Ada bypassed her for the barbershop, “Well, you look—” he came up short, tongue stumbling over teeth, eyes flicking to the scar that looked anything but good, “Ada?”

“Hey, John,” she sighed out, the ruefulness only barely overshadowed by relief, “Need a favor.”

“Woah, woah, you can’t just coming marching in here,” as he talked, she set her back on the ground, and reached in for her cap bag, “and asking for a favor, when it’s been five years, and you went storming off with—” she settled twenty caps in his hand, “—uh. I only charge fifteen for a haircut and color.” She set the cap bag back into the main pack.

“I just need a private space to change. Can’t show up like this to my mom. Figured that would cover the intrusion to your home.”

“Oh. Right. Shit, okay,” he nodded, and led her back to the home attached to the business, stepping in with her and letting her slip into what passed as his room. She slipped out of the leather armor as he asked, “Where have you been, anyways? Your mom said you joined the Minutemen, but they haven’t been around in a year or two now.”

“I did,” she said, “then I went back to scavenging.” The best lies were the truth. Not that John was really a worthy opponent in that regards. She’d never known him well. His dad used to do her hair, and she’d see John around, learning the art. John had done hers a couple of times. “I’ve got some new music.”

“Oh good,” John sighed, “If I have to hear It’s All Over But The Crying one more time.”

Ada faked a laugh at his exasperation and let him ramble about the new DJ, a job she’d once coveted. No longer.

Off went the leather armor, and she could better see the bullet holes, the places that needed repair.

On went the denim jeans and the black button up. Then the grey coat; she draped that over her shoulders. It was a bit too warm out to truly wear it, but she liked the damned thing enough to cart it around with her everywhere, despite the space it took up in her pack.

The leather armor was put into the pack and she stepped out, “Thanks, John.”

“Of course. You staying long?” She hated the hopeful look in his eyes.

“No,” she said, “gotta get back out there, but maybe I can swing back to get my hair tidied up,” hair she’d let down. Hair that was loose had a greater chance of flying in her face. It felt less capable, even if that’s how she always had it in the Minutemen.

Of course, she’d call herself less capable back then, too.

She bid her goodbyes to John, and avoided any other interaction in the market as she walked the familiar path to Nick Valentine’s. Not that she ever went to visit him before. She’d always just liked the neon sign. For a long while she hadn’t understood what the heart had to do with anything, until a ghoul told her about Valentine’s Day.

The faint memory of Marisol telling her about old world holidays drew a sad smile when she saw that glowing heart in the darkening city. ‘How do you stay here, Nick?’ This city that hated synths.

She didn’t understand how he could stay in a place so full of hatred, and still have the audacity to wear his heart out in the open like that. That’s what his work was, at the core, and she knew it. A matter of the heart. Finding people, reuniting them, or delivering closure.

And she had come to play on that heart, pull all the right strings, for something malicious.

Ada wasn’t so far gone not to feel guilt as she reached the door, but she pushed it down. ‘This is more important.’ Domitan would kill more people. Trick more people. It was personal – but she could justify it a thousand other ways, too.

Nick’s voice reached her as she stepped into the office, and she could see him digging through the cabinents in his office, not looking up to see who had entered. ‘Trusting.’ How easy it would be to aim and shoot.

Ada’s hand never even approached the gun she’d lovingly dubbed Smooth Operator though.

“Sorry Nick, just someone here to make your day worse, not Ellie.” Ada offered as she stepped further in, put herself into a better line of sight for him, “but if you want, I can still try to search for this file?” she wouldn’t immediately set herself to the task. After all, she was a stranger. The offer might not exactly stand for someone new to go digging through his things.

~***~

Deacon had plenty of time to prepare for the arrival of the Wanderer.

He’d been at this job for longer than he’d cared to admit. Longer than he’d confess to Desdemona, although he wondered how much he’d confess to her.

Evelyn.

‘Oh yeah, I went digging through sightings of our greatest enemy and the Institute, and realized you had a connection to them, long before you were unfrozen. Might have helped you out, but I couldn’t figure how to get into a Vault.’

Deacon hadn’t known if it would ever pay off. It had been a fool’s gamble to set up a small watching point on a hill that overlooked the Vault, but he’d gone to check on it, once or twice. Not that he’d been there when she stepped out, no, he hadn’t gotten to see that – but he’d been right to consider watching it, as word spilled out.

Mostly, from Piper in Diamond City, and the radio, but others were talking about what Evelyn had done, as well. He’d considered approaching her more than once, but in the end, he’d chosen to stay back, and observe. That gave him some good information about what drew the woman along the Freedom Trail now. She was looking for an ‘in’ to the Institute.

‘Aren’t we all?’

The bitter thought crossed his mind as he slipped into the Railroad HQ, and kept to the shadows as he dropped behind a shelf of supplies and slipped out of the flannel. He settled his sunglasses on the shelf as he kicked off his boots, and knocked his hat off his head.

“Deacon? Is that you?”

“Yup!” he chimed, chipper tone in place as he pulled on his faded jeans, and buttoned them in time before Desdemona turned the corner.

“Oh—!” she turned around as he laughed outright.

“That’s what you get for spying. Geeze, Des, can’t I catch a break?”

He could see her shake her head, as she kept her eyes peeled forward, “Do you need me to grab one of your wigs?” He was nowhere near his wigs.

“Not this time! Take too long—” he pulled the shirt over his head, the black top now making him decent. Desdemona likely saw it in the shadows as she turned back to him.

“Too long?”

Deacon put his fingers into his black locks and wrapped them into his fist, before pulling, “Hair plugs – not cheap,” he indicated. “Figured I needed a change before I met our guest of honor.” Desdemona was no doubt prepared to ask him ‘who’, when the entire church rumbled with the announcement of said guest figuring out the clue.

He’d seen Evelyn double back, and had followed a bit, but as she started to head back down the trail, he booked it to get ahead of her, so he could give them a warning before Glory loaded her up with bullets.

“Deacon—”

“Hey, hey, you still have to make your first impression, right? Best if I not say too much, just know, I like this girl,” he said, “I think she has potential to be a great ally to the Railroad,” with that, he covered his light eyes with the sunglasses, “but she’s not going to do anything out of the goodness of her heart. Count on that. We’ll need to convince her.”

Desdemona’s scowl was so…motherly. Deacon almost felt like a chastened child, but not chastened enough to start spilling all the secrets right off the bat. No, he’d let Desdemona and Evelyn make their first impressions of each other, and he followed along as Desdemona and Glory moved ahead.

“Hey, can you maybe not start pointing that thing in anyone’s face?” Deacon sidled alongside Glory, whispering, as he gestured to the gatling gun that was entirely unnecessary for this conversation.

Glory gave him a dull look, but once they arrived in the area, she set it against the wall.

He gave an overly cheerful, very obviously fake, smile and a thumbs up.

Glory rolled her eyes but took position ahead of the gatling gun, as he turned off the lights. The area was already set with the wonderfully blinding lights, it would just take him hitting a switch, and they waited in the silence, listening.

Despite how quiet Evelyn may have been trying to keep, they still heard her steps. The path wasn’t clear enough to allow most anyone to go completely unnoticed, especially not in the dark. Besides, her flashlight gave her away.

Deacon hit the switch, and the lights came on.

“Stop right there.” Desdemona spoke, firmly, but not with threat.

The threat was Glory. Not that she was holding it – Deacon was relieved she hadn’t gone to grab it – but it was pretty visible behind her.

“You went through a lot of effort to arrange this meeting, and I commend your intelligence that helped you open the way to us,” Desdemona said, calm as ever, “but before we go any further, I need some questions answered. Who the hell are you?”

“Oh! I can answer that one,” Deacon said, despite his consideration of letting the introductions happen a bit more, well – naturally, “Evelyn. Hi,” he greeted, “I’m Deacon. You may have seen me around Goodneighbor, Diamond City – let me take this low ball question.”

Desdemona did not look impressed, as he stepped forward and gestured a bit theatrically towards the woman, “This is Evelyn, she came from Vault 111. She’s the reason our enemy number one, Kellogg, is out of the picture. Wish I could have been there to see it,” he couldn’t help the touch of longing in his tone.

Whether it was for Desdemona, or for Evelyn’s sake, he couldn’t have said.

“She’s a mother, looking for her kid – Shaun. It’s all over the papers in Diamond City. The Institute has her kid.” That softened Desdemona’s look.

She always was a soft touch.

Not a bad thing in a leader. Every leader had their flaws. He knew that too well. Still, he knew how it could be used against her.

“And now she’s here for help with just that.”

He turned to face Evelyn, “Did I miss anything you want to add? Floor is yours – promise I won’t take it again for this question,” he grinned, stepping to the side, but not back, allowing her to consider whatever else she might want to add for Desdemona.

And to consider any lies she might tell, now that she was aware someone had been watching her through the cities she’d traversed, and knew about her ultimate goal of Shaun. Knew, also, that they had a common enemy in Kellogg.

She would have seen the softness flicker in Desdemona, and the impression, at hearing of her responsibility in Kellogg’s death.

Deacon had helped set the scene and make it a little bit easier for her to garner some favor, and answers, of her own. Deacon’s own look was encouraging, even though it was masked behind the sunglasses. He tried to give the air of being a fan, in the loose way he held himself. No threat in his body language, and he seemed ‘lit up’ to have her there. It wasn’t a softness, exactly, but there was a glow of excitement around him that this meeting was happening.

An eagerness to see where this went, with the hope – the belief – that it could only go well.

 

[bag-o-donuts]

Nick glanced up when a stranger, not his assistant, answered the call. His processors immediately initiated a habit of the old world detective’s and began to analyze the woman standing there.

Red hair made her distinctive, so he was fairly confident he hadn’t seen her around Diamond City in recent history. She was dressed down but lugging a pack with a good deal of bulk to it, which suggested she was either loading up on supplies before leaving town, or had brought them in with her and hadn’t yet decided if she wanted to stay. The piece on her hip was heavy for a pistol; he knew from experience it had enough kick to make it a poor choice for casual protection. Probably she was pretty comfortable with it. No armor, though, which could mean anything depending on the context of her visit.

He’d been looking for a distraction in the file drawers, and here it was instead, strolling through the door with a friendly quip like she belonged. The way she called him by name was unexpected, too. It wasn’t unusual for new visitors to know his name–half of it was flashing in bright, neon red just outside–but the way she said it implied a degree of familiarity that made him suspect she’d been a local at some time or other. Sometimes Nick felt like the city’s pet synth, a local attraction that everyone knew and had an opinion of, even if they’d never met him.

At least the notoriety kept a steady stream of clients headed his way. Nick closed the open file in his hand and wandered the few steps toward the desk. He tossed the file down amongst a haphazard pile of papers, not yet inviting Ada to sit, but not willing to make himself comfortable with her still standing. The half-smoked cigarette was still in the ashtray, but his hands wanted a more complicated distraction, fishing out the pack again and swatting it idly against the polymer flesh of his humanlike hand.

“Thanks for the offer, but that wasn’t exactly an inspiring self endorsement.” The yellow glow of his gaze flicked downwards again like he was looking for something she had yet to offer. “I suggest brushing up on your interview skills if you’re in town looking for work. Or did you come all this way with a mystery in tow?”

———

Evelyn’s pulse was hammering in her ears, which just barely caught the authoritative command before she could draw. When her vision cleared, no one was pointing a weapon at her, but the huge gatling gun propped casually against the ancient brick wall was impossible to miss Even allowing a delay between the start of a fight and someone having to pick the thing up, Evelyn didn’t think her chances of dodging a spray of bullets in a narrow corridor were terribly high.

She didn’t move her hand from where it hovered over the Magnum, but the gun stayed holstered while the brunette made her demand. Before Evelyn could open her mouth, some guy standing just behind the woman’s shoulder answered for her in a way that was more than a little unsettling.

*Deacon.* Something about him rang a bell but remained stubbornly elusive. Most details he rattled off were indeed available in the newspaper, though she had no reason to believe that anyone but Nick and Dr. Amari knew Kellogg was dead, much less who was responsible.

Evelyn bit her tongue and watched him put on a show, expression tense as her eyes tracked the woman’s reactions. Waiting patiently for people to talk themselves out had been an effective strategy when practicing law; whether it was an enhanced insight into someone’s thinking or an obscure detail that could make or break a case, there was value in giving them space to breathe–or enough rope to hang themselves with. She was hoping for one of the two but came up short when the guy suddenly tossed the conversational ball to her.

Fortunately, public speaking in high pressure environments was old hat, even if the environments these days sometimes came with gatling guns.

“You got the gist of it,” Evelyn answered slowly. Her hand lowered now that the light wasn’t quite so blinding, and her gaze shifted to Desdemona to make her case.

“Everything he said is true. I’m looking for enemies of the Institute and rumors say you work with escaped synths. It stands to reason that if people are getting out, there has to be a way back in. So I’m here to ask what it’ll take to share what you know about that.” The other hand that had been ready to draw was relaxed now, too, and she made a vague gesture with it. “If you know anything at all.”

 

[Lucyfer]

Ada found an easy smile as Nick commented on her ringing self endorsement. Easy, but it contained just that hint of morose humor. There wasn’t much she could say for herself after the mess her life had become; she couldn’t defend herself against the light jab. “Mystery,” she clarified.

As Nick didn’t sit, she didn’t, either. Her weight shifted to one leg, though. “I haven’t had much luck solving it and I’ve hit a dead end, so I thought I’d come to you. Don’t worry, I don’t plan to be dead weight in either case. I may not be a good detective, but I wouldn’t ask anyone for this kind of help without being willing to throw myself into the danger, as well.”

Not to mention it was terribly personal, and she was only asking Nick for a half-truth. He’d find that out at the end, though.

“I’m looking for my boyfriend,” saying it, she felt that damn pearl burn against her skin. It was tucked under her shirt, but her hands wanted to fiddle with it. She was never sure if she ought to just sell it, or keep it. Until Domitian was gone, she was apparently keeping it. “Domitian,” she exhaled the name on a sigh.

It was the only way to keep down the majority of her anger, and hurt, but she knew plenty of it showed. Enough to avert her formerly straight gaze down to the desk. Either emotion was easily explained without revealing her hand fully, but she still hated the way he made her feel. That he still had such power to make her feel anything. “I suppose I should introduce myself first. Ada Burr – I used to live here, before I set out to try and make a go of things in the Commonwealth.”

Try to improve a lot of lives, and fail.

She took in a deep breath, “I met Domitian out there. It was good, for a while. Then raiders attacked, and…,” she shook her head a bit, “they left me for dead, but they took Domitian with them. I know there’s no reason to believe he’s still alive.” Raiders only took prisoners if they planned to ransom them. Otherwise, they were toys that eventually expired.

Gruesomely.

“At least, there wouldn’t be, if they were ordinary raiders,” and there she was able to lift her gaze again, “I’ve…figured out they aren’t, and that’s where everything went south in my search,” in her massacre of raiders, “they’re not just a band of idiots addicted to every chem under the sun. They’re called the Operators, and I can’t figure out where they’re operating from, or why they would have taken Domitian alive.”

~***~

Deacon could tell he set Evelyn on edge. He expected as much. Not all of that information was easy to get. Nor was the rest of what he knew, and she likely wasn’t going to appreciate having been watched so closely without realizing it. She was lucky in the respect Deacon didn’t plan to do her harm, but from what he’d gathered watching her, that lucky wasn’t going to make her feel much better about it.

He didn’t blame her at all.

Deacon did allow Desdemona to hold the floor, though, as Evelyn turned it back to the Railroad, “You’re correct. We’ve been investigating how synths are getting in, and getting out, of the Institute.”

Teleportation. It was what a few of the synths had mentioned, before their memory was totally wiped. The Institute had a failsafe that any synth that left without orders had their memories wiped, but there had been a couple of coursers who had a change of heart when they encountered their quarry. It took a bit longer for the Institute to activate their failsafe and realize their courser had been compromised.

They still didn’t know how it worked, although Deacon was aware that Evelyn was in possession of key bits of information, thanks to her brain-dive in Amari’s. “However, we don’t know much beyond teleportation. The location of the Institute is obscured due to that.”

“But,” Deacon couldn’t stay silent for too long and let Desdemona’s honesty ruin everything, “you have a clue, don’t you?” He gave Evelyn a winning grin, “so why don’t we help each other? You and I, we run a job, and while we’re doing that, the Railroad will pull together a couple of hazmat suits, a bunch of rad-x and radaway, and we’ll head out to the Glowing Sea together.”

“The Glowing Sea? Deacon, are you insane?” Desdemona couldn’t help but finally let her front break a bit to show her frustration with him. Her tone clearly implied this wasn’t the first time he’d come up with such an insane idea, though.

“Not at all. There’s an Institute scientist out that way, who probably understands this teleportation thing better than we do. But, if I go along, I’ll be able to put together what we understand, with what the scientist will tell us, and maybe we can all help each other from there, yeah?” he tossed his gaze over to Evelyn, “I know, it’s a lot to ask of you, especially from strangers, but maybe you’d need an extra gun out in the Glowing Sea anyways. Can’t imagine the kind of deathclaws out there.”

 

[bag-o-donuts]

A fresh cigarette emerged from the pack (as fresh as two hundred year old tobacco could be, anyway), but the detective didn’t light up just yet, busy assessing the situation. Despite her self-deprecating remarks, this woman didn't strike him as lacking in resourcefulness, unlike some clients who lacked the means or smarts to see the writing on the wall and needed someone to point out the obvious. So if she’d already applied her best efforts to the mystery at hand, Nick had a good feeling it was a challenging one. Just the kind he was looking for.

The synth was a thoughtful listener, and he was thankful for the programming that integrated old Nick’s mannerisms into the act. People usually found his appearance to be off-putting at the best of times, all desaturated organic polymer and exposed wiring; if the pre-war detective had been some inscrutable tough guy, Nick imagined how uncomfortable it would be to pour one’s problems out to an unblinking, unmoving machine. He might not be human, but he still had the human desire to be understood, as well as understand.

And he well understood the pain this woman appeared to be carrying around. Missing sweethearts were a dime a dozen in a place as violent and chaotic as the Commonwealth. His lips pressed thin to indicate his sympathy. A subtle head tilt replaced it with recollection soon after.

Ada Burr. That explained her familiarity with Diamond City’s favorite and only detective. The Burr family had been around for a while, the sort of people who were unremarkable in the best of ways–they didn’t cause trouble, minded their own business, and were liked enough to keep their name out of the rumor mill.

That is, until the anti-ghoul decree handed down by newly minted Mayor McDonough five years back. Nick heard something about the Burr kid leaving with the ghouls, one of several idealistic young people to do so, and he hadn’t heard anything since. These days, no news wasn’t necessarily good news. That seemed to be the case for Ada, at least recently.

“Operators,” he echoed heavily, gaze sinking towards the desk at nothing in particular. “I’ve heard the name. Word is they’re one of three raider gangs who decided to form an alliance of sorts. Present a united front to the Commonwealth. Your read on them is pretty accurate, too. They’re better organized and better equipped than most gangs, and could probably give the Gunners a run for their money in that department. Where they’re holed up, though, that I don’t know.”

Nick stashed the cigarette between his lips as he cleared a few unearthed files off his chair, pausing to gesture at the one on the other side of his desk. “Why don’t you sit yourself down and we can put our heads together.”

By the time he got settled in, the cigarette was lit and a trail of smoke curled towards the ceiling. He set the open pack down near her side of the desk. An offer.

“Alright. I agree they probably took him for a reason. Still might be a reason that ends badly, of course. Operators don’t seem like the type to bother taking prisoners unless there’s something in it for them. If you’re very lucky, he’s worth more to them alive than as monster bait or cannon fodder.”

It seemed kinder to mention the worst case scenarios first rather than to get her hopes up. Maybe the guy wound up press-ganged or as a slave somewhere, which was one of the better ones if they could get him out.

“But let’s review the facts. Can you tell me what happened the last time you saw him? Where you were?”

———

While Deacon had welcomed her presence with odd enthusiasm, the woman in charge was reserved enough to temper Evelyn’s hopes. She held her breath as Desdemona deigned to confirm, and continued to hold it until it became clear that they didn’t have anything new to share. Her shoulders visibly sank. It had probably been too much to hope that someone out there had stumbled across a secret backdoor that would make the teleportation line of inquiry a distant Plan B.

At least following up on this rumor had only set her progress back a few hours. Then again, the prospect of forging a new alliance with these people might not be nothing.

While she had already begun to entertain ideas of general cooperation, Evelyn couldn’t help but mirror Desdemona’s baffled stare as her subordinate began to pitch them on heading into the Glowing Sea together. It was insane, and for obvious reasons, but there was something besides the danger that had her questioning Deacon’s offer.

Usually she had a pretty good poker face, but later she’d chalk it up to exhaustion.

“A lot to ask of me?” Her brows lofted with the question. “It sounds like you picked up on all the relevant details during whatever surveillance op you’re running, so–good job, I guess. Why loop me in at all when you could just go to the Glowing Sea yourself?” The skeptical stare she leveled his way seemed designed to head off any claims of altruism. “Unless this job you mentioned is somehow just as bad, or worse.”

 

[Lucyfer]

Despite being inhuman, Nick Valentine had human-enough responses. Of course, a synth was meant to – though Nick didn’t look human enough to pass. Ada had often wondered in her youth about it all, but right then, she could only spare it a passing thought, as something akin to relief moved through her with his show of sympathy, and inquiring questions.

He wasn’t going to just wave this off.

Ada took the seat once it was offered, and glanced down at the pack offered. She’d never been a smoker. It was tempting to start. Of course, it had been tempting to start drinking, too. She tapped the pack and pushed it back, “Check with me when we find Domitian…or what happened to him. I haven’t taken to any this vice just yet.”

Of course, it impacted humans a bit differently than a synth, she imagined.

She still liked the smell of it. She’d liked the scent on Domitian, after all.

Now came the story. Ada knew she had to weave in as much truth as possible, and that meant admitting, “It was two years ago,” which made this even more of a longshot, “the raiders in general were becoming bolder. The Minutemen were on their last legs – I was one of them. Domitian never joined, but he still helped. It was at the Starlight Drive-In. It was newly established, plenty of steel scrapped, we were talking about opening up a general store and diner in the building that was still standing. I actually wanted to get movies started again – it’d make caps, but it’d also just be nice, you know?” That was the old dreamer who collected music, of course. “The projector seemed like it could be fixed….”

What she really remembered about that day, was how bad her hands had hurt, removing the steel from cars, and either taking it to a welder, or setting it aside to be melted down.

She remembered how Domitian had held her hands a few times to soothe them. If only she’d known….

She shook the dreaming away.

“They surprised us. They weren’t there to negotiate, they just…they wanted everything. It was like they already knew. The defenses had been deactivated. We were never alerted,” she swallowed, hard, against the emotions. She hadn’t ever told the story to anyone. Not in truth, not in lie. Her own parents didn’t know.

“There weren’t enough of us to defend it. They killed…as far as I know, they killed everyone, except for myself and Domitian,” maybe others survived. If so, she didn’t know of it. “We tried. They shot me through the head, but I remember before they shot me that they used one of those stun batons on Domitian. I saw him hit his knees before I was…well,” she gestured at her head with her fingers shaped as a gun, and mimed blowing her own head off.

Any bitter anger could be attributed to that, before she let her gaze trail down to the desk. That wasn’t the truth, of course. Domitian had shot her through the head. That’s how she knew he lived.

“I came to in Goodneighbor. I was told a trader found me. Must have done some quick work before lugging me to Goodneighbor of all places.” A deep breath, “the Minutemen were all but gone, and I…well. That isn’t important. The important part is that it’s been two years, so the trail is cold, but,” she lifted her eyes back, “I found Operators just about two weeks back, west of here. That’s how I learned their name, and that they’re still functioning, which means there’s a chance someone at least remembers Domitian, and maybe…maybe knows if he is still alive, or what was done with him,” closure. That’s what she was asking for, in the end, as her hand finally crept up and tugged the chain out so he could wrap her fingers around the pearl.

Not even a conscious thought. The need to finally fiddle with it just won out.

~***~

Deacon had many reasons for looping Evelyn in, but he let his expression lose some of its enthusiasm. He tried for genuine, softening his features, relaxing his stance, letting go of the overzealousness. ‘Because I know the Institute has a vested interest in you, Evelyn.’ Deacon couldn’t say that, though.

Not yet. Explaining that would take…a bit more trust, between them. Evelyn already knew he was a stalker. Best not to elaborate on how far that went until she really understood how serious this was, and why he’d be so invested.

“I admit, I prefer to work alone. I could grab a hazmat suit and head there myself to try and find this scientist. I’ve no shame admitting that. I’d even leave him for you to find, and we’d both go off and work on this plan to get into the Institute separately – assuming this scientist knows enough to help us.”

And he’d probably have a better go of it, with the Railroad’s resources.

“But here’s the thing: I’m a people person. Despite working alone, I get a good read on people who could be good agents for the Railroad, and I know you could be a good agent if you wanted to be,” that was the part though – she had to want it. “Which means, helping you, helps the Railroad, and I’m not coldhearted. Your sob story touched me,” he touched his fingers to his chest, over his heart, “There’s no strong benefit to going this alone, when there’s opportunity to teach you about the Railroad, pitch it to you, see if you like us well enough to help after you’ve found your son.”

He let his hand fall, “This is a whole new world for you. You’re going to want to think of what world you want to create for Shaun and yourself, and I’d like to hope you’ll want to create a world that falls in line with the Railroad’s hopes and dreams, but there’s only one way for both of us to figure that out, and that’s to learn about each other a bit more.”

Desdemona sighed at all of this, “I don’t…disagree with this. We have plenty of jobs to do, but I suppose you have one in particular in mind, Deacon?”

“Yup,” he agreed, “if you’ll let me take point on this, Des?”

“Do I really have a choice?” the sarcasm was apparent, but good-natured. A rare, almost playful, smile came to her lips, “Yes. If you’re willing,” she looked back to Evelyn, “I can get started on gathering the resources, if you’ll assist Deacon with his job. I’m sure he’ll explain it before you agree.”

“I don’t have too much, actually,” he gave a bit of an awkward shrug, hands going into his pockets, “one of our tourists got some intel for me on our old HQ. I’m hoping it’s good enough to get in and get some of our old resources, but it could be all for nothing.”

It could be easy.

It could be extremely difficult.

That depended on the intel.

 

[bag-o-donuts]

With a scant nod, Nick settled back into his chair and tucked the carton back into his coat, prepared to give Ada his undivided attention. It remained clear he was listening, but the detective’s expression revealed very little of his thoughts or opinions while she talked. And he already had a few, about the facts of the case and the client presenting it.

The description of service with the Minutemen only reinforced his impression of her as a capable person. That she’d fallen in with that particular group was no big surprise, maybe, given the reason she’d walked out of Diamond City in the first place. The Minutemen collected the young and idealistic like no one else. The sweetheart refusing to sign up along with her was a little odd, but nothing to put him on alert just yet.

The story of what happened next did, though. This time, Nick visibly winced, no more than a subtle squinting of his eyes, but he stayed quiet until the tale was told. He glanced briefly at the necklace she was worrying between her fingertips, and it didn’t take a trained investigator with a high speed processor under his hat to know where it had come from.

“That’s a hell of a story,” he began, voice a little rough with sympathy, but soon his expression turned thoughtful. His humanlike hand stroked idly at his chin. “No alarms, no defenses makes it pretty clear it was an inside job. Someone had to roll out the carpet for them. You say everyone else was killed ‘as far as you know,’ but I’d suggest thinking that over til you’re sure.”

He didn’t want to come out and say it: Domitian being the only one taken alive made him the number one suspect. But one detail in Ada’s story cast a shadow of doubt on his guilt. Why go through the pantomime of knocking him out if they were going to kill the only remaining survivor anyway?

It didn’t add up. His head tilted a fraction as said his next words, considering her reactions. “One thing you gotta wonder is why they didn’t take you prisoner, too. Seems like an awful waste from the perspective of a no-good slaver. Unless you were visibly sick?” Or pregnant, but that would be equally indelicate to suggest. He didn’t wait for confirmation, though, finishing his line of thought.

“But the trail can’t be all that cold, since you found a promising lead all by yourself.” Nick eased forward in his seat to flick a bit of ash into the ceramic tray on his desk. “So what exactly do you need a detective for? Sounds like you could use a hired gun instead.”

———


This Deacon guy knew just what to say and how to say it, and Evelyn couldn’t decide if he would have been more at home in a courtroom or in a North End alleyway taking bets over a cup game. The frustrating part was that she believed him. She couldn’t be sure if it was because of his skill with words or her own inexperience in the world he was talking to her about. Maybe she just wanted to believe him, which was worse.

Talking about Shaun was the wrong move, though. Her expression shuttered as he dangled the quality of her child’s future in front of her and pinned it on her decision to help his gang of spies. He was pitching her hard, and she did her best to swallow the flare of anger and refocus it into scrutiny. If they were that desperate for her help, it had to be for a good reason. At least they’d framed it as a decision to be agreed upon after she found Shaun.

Evelyn tried to shake off the defensive edge that had crept up on her, a hand lifting to tug slowly through her hair, which only wove more dust into it. These people were willing to help, she reminded herself. Deacon’s description of the job left everything to be desired, but how much worse could it be than the hell she’d gone through over the last few days?

“Okay,” she eventually relented, looking between him and Desdemona and wondering–not for the first time–who was actually in charge. “I’ll do it, assuming your old HQ isn’t somewhere out on Cape Cod. If you can get me out to the Glowing Sea and back after that, I’m sure we’ll have plenty more to talk about. So. Do we leave now, or…?”

The question came out with resigned exhaustion, like she was ready to push through to the next objective, the next request, the next call for aid, all without stopping for breath. The vault suit told the tale almost as well as the dark circles under her eyes. The rugged fabric had taken a beating over the last several weeks, scuffed with dirt and showing signs of repair. At least she’d found leather armor to absorb some of the damage.

 

[Lucyfer]

Ada told the story well enough to illicit a reaction from the detective. For a man as old as he was—and a man made of metal – he was never known to be cold. It certainly made her wonder how much was programming, and how much was…well, the ‘ghost in the machine’, so to speak. The something more plenty wondered about not just with synths, but old computers that acted up like they had a mind of their own, robots, and all manner of electronics.

A question she had to ask herself even then, as she knew she treaded a thin line between the truth and the lie. Nick wasn’t unfamiliar to his job. He wouldn’t be unfamiliar to being lied to, and she had the grace not to look offended at his prying question and unstated assumptions. “I’ve had two years to roll this over in my head, Nick. You’re not going to upset me with directness. You don’t think I haven’t asked myself why Dom was taken and I wasn’t? You don’t think I haven’t wondered if he was a part of it?”

The pearl continued to roll between her fingers as she sighed and looked down into her lap, “It’s a possibility. I hate to consider it, I…,”

‘Loved him.’

She swallowed the confession. The obvious confession, but one she didn’t want to vocalize. She’d told him. Of course she’d told him! Domitian had said it back. Admitting such naivete was too painful.

The Ada Nick had to see, however, was the pained one.

Not the angry one. And saying it? She’d be too angry to be convincing as someone ignorant.

Her hand dropped to her lap. “It’s been two years and I only found the Operators once. I don’t understand how they move, and I’m…not good at questioning or gathering information. It was luck. If I was better at it, I could have found them sooner, I’m sure of it,” and she was certain of that.

She let out a sigh and lifted her gaze back to that strangely sympathetic face, fingers curling in her lap, and flexing again, “Most of the Wastes just know raiders. They’re not calling the Operators just that. I’m sure plenty of other raider gangs have names for themselves – I know it, actually. No one pays attention to what any particular group decides to call themselves, unless they become something. Asking people hasn’t really worked for me, and I can’t…exactly go into a group of raiders and ask questions. At best, they’ll kill me in a drug-induced fury, and at worst….”

Well.

Enslavement.

“Most of the work I’m asking you for would probably be traversing the Commonwealth and helping piece together who the Operators are based on the experiences people are having with raiders. We’ll find common threads, triangulate their location, and figure a plan of action to isolate some of them to ask about Domitian. At least, ideally.”

Nick was probably familiar with things not going according to plan.

“But you’re the brains here. If you have other thoughts, I’m willing to listen and try them.”

~***~

Deacon saw the slip in Evelyn’s expression with the way he spoke about Shaun. He made a note of it, but he couldn’t take it back or shift his words. Besides, he meant them. It’d do no good to hide the fact that Evelyn’s decisions would impact the future Shaun could have, even if Deacon wondered if there was a Shaun to create a future for.

Or, a Shaun she expected, at any rate.

The math didn’t math from when Kellogg entered Vault 111.

But Evelyn was visibly exhausted and worn out. From the dirt in her hair, to the bags under her eyes, Deacon felt a pang of sympathy at her acceptance of her fate. “Hey, hey, we don’t have to do this immediately. It can wait a night or two,” he said, and gestured back behind Desdemona, “we have beds, and food, and I know how tiring that Freedom Trail can be. Why don’t you take a load off? We don’t have the full story of what we’re approaching, so might be good if you rested up. I can brief you on the little I know already, but spoilers – it’s not Cape Cod.”

Desdemona sighed at his grin, while Glory huffed, but stepped back, and picked up her gun. She didn’t point it, just hoisted it up. She was clearly not needed, so she was heading back down the tunnel to the base of operations.

“Our old HQ was in a Slocum Joe’s,” Desdemona said.

“Pretty wild, right?” Deacon laughed, “but get this? The old government built an entire military base down there, and tried to operate it poorly so people would stop coming, but they kept going! The government even thought about just filling the store up with foul odors to make people stop, but I guess they never got to enact that plan. Kinda funny, right?”

He didn’t live in the Old World, but that history fascinated him, and he was curious how strange it was, or how funny it would be, to Evelyn, “Maybe you even went to this one and can tell me how bad it was back in the day. It’s the one in Lexington, near the Drumlin Diner.” Although his eyes couldn't be seen, his expression was practically glowing with genuine curiosity and interest. For all he knew about the secrets of the place, he hardly knew the lived experience of those who visited the Slocum Joe's.

There was an invitation, as Desdemona shifted her posture just a bit to the side, to head back with them. To walk and accept a bit of rest and conversation, before they set out to find out about the situation in the old HQ. Desdemona didn’t have as much curiosity as Deacon, but she would linger to hear the decision Evelyn made, so she knew if they were going immediately, or if they were getting some rest first.

She knew Deacon would play ball if Evelyn didn’t want to waste time. And that meant she’d have to get right on finding equipment for their journey.

 

[bag-o-donuts]

Alright, so she wanted to be dealt with straight. Nick was still glad she spared him the burden of voicing his suspicion, calling it out herself with no small amount of discomfort. It was better that Ada had acquainted herself with the idea now rather than having to confront reality if it was later proven correct. That kind of betrayal could break a person caught totally unawares, not that it was much easier for being anticipated instead. It would just hurt in different ways.

Nick listened and pulled more air through the filter of the cigarette, more curious about her proposed plan of attack. She seemed to possess the unfortunate blessing of one who knew what they didn’t know, which provided her the general shape of how things worked but not the experience to apply the necessary skills, at least in an efficient way. Two years was a long time to stick with the effort despite that.

“Don’t sell yourself too short, there. You’ve put together a decent strategy already, but I realize there’s a difference between outlining a plan and the execution. Luckily enough, I just wrapped up a case.” That was one way of putting it. His part may have been over with, but the outcome was still up in the air and might be for a long while yet. Ada’s mystery at least had the potential of closure, one way or the other. “I think I can help you out.”

He leaned forward again to stub out the cigarette, nodding towards her bag. “You planning to visit with the family before heading out to wherever it is you spotted these Operators?”

———
Even before the apocalypse had rained down on their heads, Evelyn had been bad at resting. A voracious mind had been a benefit in school and later as a prosecutor, both of which required a great deal of research, preparation, and administrative drudgery. Even after she’d hired an assistant partway through her career, there was always something that needed doing or a question that needed answering–the kind of question that might make or break a case. She’d never been the sort of person who could go to bed with a task half-finished.

Nate had usually been the one to lure her out of a cram session or put her to bed after falling asleep on the couch, Shaun snoozing in one arm and a stack of depositions in the other. Not only was Nate no longer here, but the responsibility facing her now was far more crucially important than an exam or trial. As long as her legs still worked, she wouldn’t be stopping.

That was Evelyn’s intent, anyway. But Deacon was spinning another yarn that was actually entertaining enough to distract her with the irony of it all. Some of the tension eased from her face, lips almost threatening to smile as she recalled the exact Slocum Joe’s he was referring to. Lexington had been a well-to-do community before the war, and the inferior quality of their local SloJoe’s had always been an affront to the locals’ sensibilities.

“Well, the joke was on them,” she mused idly, tired enough that the thought voiced itself without asking. “Drinking Slocum Joe’s coffee was part of every Bostonian’s identity. Nothing short of a nuclear blast could stop them from drinking it, even when it was bad. Which turned out to be the case, I guess.”

The moment of nostalgia had soothed the impulse to hurry up and face the next round of hardship. It wasn’t exactly rest if they were bringing her up to speed on the mission ahead, and besides, getting a look inside their operation was an important step in the vetting process that shouldn’t be skipped.

“Anyway, uh. Yeah. We can head out tomorrow,” she said, clearing her throat delicately. “Lead the way.”

 

[Lucyfer]

‘Are you always encouraging?’ Ada thought the answer was ‘yes’, given Nick’s reputation as helpful. Always was probably a stretch, but she was very willing to sell herself short. Very willing to doubt.

Honestly, and dishonestly.

Even so, it drew a rueful smile to her lips as he commented on wrapping up a case. He had time. And he was willing. A relieved sigh came, “Thank you,” if he’d refused, she wouldn’t have given up. She might have indeed found a hired gun. There was talk of a good one in Goodneighbor. Macdonald, Mackay, something like that.

No talk of any detectives.

Her gaze drifted down to her bag at the question, mimicking his own look, before shaking her head, “It’s better if I don’t. I don’t think they’d let me leave anytime soon, and then you’d be off on another job,” she wasn’t ready to see them. Ada wasn’t sure she’d ever, really, be ready. At least, when this was over, she wouldn’t feel guilt if she wanted to go home and crawl under her covers forever.

“How does paying you work?” it was a job, after all, “Is there a day fee, a job fee, a by the mile fee…?” the last was said with a bit of a teasing tone as she reached for her bag, willing to dig into it for caps, but that was another part of this she didn’t know. Nick obviously made money, and she doubted it was all after the job. Otherwise, he wouldn’t get paid on jobs that didn’t turn out the way a person wanted.

And Ada could imagine, more than a few went south.

~***~

Deacon might not have a perfect read on Evelyn yet, but she didn’t have a poker face. At least, she wasn’t trying to have a poker face. It wouldn’t surprise him if she knew when to play it, and right now, he didn’t believe her relief and relaxation were entirely for their benefit. “Oh yeah?” he really couldn’t say he understood how Slocum Joe’s used to work, or that it was such a critical thing to the life of others.

The idea of something so…mundane being so normal was almost foreign. Not entirely. The world had moved on, but there were still people out there who had their routines, and kept to them rigorously. People who made sure to get noodles for lunch, every day, in Diamond City. Perhaps that was what Slocum Joe’s had been.

Those kinds of things didn’t get recorded in the stories of the old world he’d read.

Why would they?

“Shame I’ll never get to try that coffee and know what it is to be a true Bostonian,” he said, as Desdemona turned to head down the hall Glory had already traversed. Deacon motioned Evelyn up, “Come on, I’ll show you around, introduce you to people, let you get the lay of the land. You’ve met Desdemona. Our gun-toting friend is Glory. We don’t always see eye to eye, but I’d trust her in a fight.”

Not necessarily with his life.

“She’s a synth,” he added, “quite a few of us are,” he was careful not to necessarily include, or exclude, himself with that. Evelyn didn’t need to know just what he was. Not yet, anyways. “We also have a rad assaultron that helps us out – we call her Pam – it stands for Predictive Analytic Machine. Not quite what you’d expect an assaultron to get up to, but that’s kind of our bag, ya dig? We can’t be predictable.”

They’d all be goners by now if they were.

It’d been a lesson they’d learned too often in the past.

The path through the hall was short, and opened up into the rocky room. It was disorganized, but it wasn’t dirty. The old world debris had been cleaned up, but metal shelves were in scattered haphazardly about, and sleeping bags and mattresses were placed in any off-the-path corner or along the walls where a shelf wasn’t. There was a central table, though it had clearly once been a well, covered over now with a map, and a couple water bottles.

Tinker Tom could be heard clicking away on one of his computers – the orange-and-white cones gave away his area.

Deacon still spread his arms out with a beaming smile, “Welcome to the group of misfits!”

 

[bag-o-donuts]

Nick’s good humor was more evident in his voice than on his face, though not for lack of dynamic expressive modeling in his code or hardware. The original detective just had a reserved, wry way about him. “By the mile’s an option. But since it sounds like we’ll be crisscrossing the Commonwealth in search of this gang, you’ll need deep pockets if I keep my meter running the whole time. That’s not even accounting for any oil changes.

“In all seriousness, I typically charge a flat fee for missing persons cases–caps for a location or a body–but seeing as this investigation will require travel and is likely to get violent at some point, a base rate plus expenses sounds fair. Lucky for you, I don’t eat much.”

He leaned forward to nab a scrap of paper and a pen, jotting down some figures and estimates for Ada to consider. While she read it over, Nick was chewing over something she’d said, debating whether or not to stick his nose in it. She did say she wanted him to be direct.

“And look, not that it’s any of my business,” he began gently, gesturing towards the wall to indicate the city on the other side, “but I’d encourage you to reconsider checking in with the people here you care about. Showing your face might feel rotten now, but take it from me: it’ll feel a whole lot worse if you don’t get the chance later, knowing you had it before but chose not to. That’s just my two caps.”

The sound of the office door opening and closing immediately after spared both of them from the charged topic, at least for the moment. Ellie bustled in with a takeout bowl of noodles for herself and a worn, plastic shopping bag full of random supplies that she set on Nick’s desk, including a few boxes of ammunition and another pack of cigarettes.

“That’s all she had,” Ellie was telling him, right before she paused to offer Ada a polite smile. “Oh, didn’t see you there!”

———

Without putting up any more resistance, Evelyn waded across the fragments of old brick and hard packed earth to follow her new hosts down the opposite corridor, happy to be out from under the glare of spotlights. She listened quietly as Deacon went on with haphazard introductions and didn’t hide the curious glance at Glory’s back.

The idea of robots so perfectly indistinguishable from humans was still a concept she was getting used to, not having spent much time around any that weren’t Gen 1s or machinelike in appearance like Nick–at least, not that she was aware of. Her experience with the detective had been illuminating enough to inform her opinion: these entities were people, and even if someone wanted to debate the semantics of the term “human”, they were still capable of self-determination and deserved the freedom to pursue it.

Glory, at least, looked like she did a fair bit of self-determining with the business end of that minigun. Evelyn spared a quick glance at Deacon, too, not missing the vague use of “we” when describing their synth membership. Maybe the reason he could comfortably wear sunglasses in a dank crypt was due to infrared vision, or something.

Fortunately, the headquarters was more spacious than the antechamber they’d come from, though the low ceiling kept it decidedly cozy. It reminded her of the bullpen of a police station in certain ways, with a few boards set up to track operations and what appeared to be workstations arranged here and there. She felt her brows loft upwards slowly, Deacon’s exuberant welcome coercing a wary smile in response.

“They left this place out of the tour the last time I came here. It’s pretty impressive,” she admitted, readjusting the strap of a hunting rifle slung over one shoulder. “I’m surprised this place hasn’t flooded or collapsed, to be honest, considering most things here were built on top of marshes and piles of garbage.”

Trying not to think too hard about the stability of the foundation over their heads, Evelyn turned her attention back to Deacon for a more direct assessment now that they weren’t standing at opposite sides of a burial chamber. The casual outfit and sunglasses didn’t give much away about the person she was about to wade into danger with.

“So what exactly do you do when you’re not spying on potential recruits?”

 

[Lucyfer]

Ada couldn’t help but to allow a smile to twitch to her lips at Nick’s obvious joke about ‘by the mile’; not that she’d blame him if he wanted to do that, but he obviously wasn’t the sort. He was too good hearted. It was honestly a damn miracle the world hadn’t destroyed him yet. Or perhaps it was just harder to do so with synth programming.

Perhaps it was in his code. Something not even the world could alter.

A pang of jealousy at the hypothetical struck her as she looked down at the paper offered, turning away the smile. With her brows knit, it might be easy to toss off as thought about the numbers, trepidation at even the flat rate.

What Nick added on about visiting her family didn’t help to return any humor to her features, “Nick, I—” Ada started, but cut herself off with the sound of the door. The move of her hand to her gun, and quick reflexes, likely spoke to how long she’d been looking over shoulder – but she never let it clear leather.

She didn’t draw on Ellie, and relaxed visibly when she recognized the woman, even if it took her a moment to realize someone was there to see Nick, “Hi, Ellie – Ada Burr,” she introduced, “just here to steal Nick away for a bit, but I’ll bring him back in one piece,” she looked to Nick, “I’m actually not bad at putting antiques together. Restored more than one jukebox trying to get music out of it, though I promise not to make you sing if you don’t want to,” she joked.

She set the piece of paper back on the desk, “I can pay about 70% of this now, but I’d like to keep the remaining 30% — not because I don’t have it, but because of the road expenses. I figure it might be necessary, and when it’s all said and done, I’ll sell whatever I need to pay you the rest, assuming we can’t make some caps on the way. I’ll also let you keep all the cigarettes we find, instead of upcycling them.” She’d let Dom have all the cigarettes, as well.

She never should have.

But Ada wasn’t really worried about being unable to pay Nick. She’d scavenged enough to know how to make caps on the road. Sadly, she did have to eat, and Nick might be expensive if he got damaged. Stimpaks were expensive enough for her, after all. “If you need all of it now, I understand. I’ll be back when I have it.”

~***~

There was the glance to Glory.

And there was the curious glance at himself. Deacon clocked it, as well as the way Evelyn silently assessed the area. Even through her wariness, though, there was a smile and a joke about the tour back in her time. It was interesting, he’d admit that, to know what people hid back in the day.

Not that it was set up like this back then. Deacon couldn’t really say it was set up too well for much of anything. The well, of course, remained a curiosity to him so far as design plans, but he hadn’t found a good book explaining the thought process. He was sure there was a reason, perhaps when it was originally built, but what he understood of pre-war times? He couldn’t figure it.

“Well, I’m glad I could complete your tour of this place,” he moved his hand over his chest and offered a mock bow, thinking it could have been something tour guides did at the conclusion of a tour.

He didn’t know.

“Can’t say I understand how we haven’t sunk myself, but I’m grateful for it,” he walked her towards one of the mattresses, the unsubtle suggestion that she could use that one in the way he paused there, and let her ask the question about what he got up to. “Do you mean like, hobbies? Or other jobs for the Railroad?” he grinned, “Either way, I’ll let you know. I’m a huge reader. Anything not burnt to a crisp? I’ll read it. Helps that I can usually read on the job. A book, a newspaper, or a magazine are all great facial covers, and it’s very easy to spy on someone from over the top of one.”

That, and the sunglasses, so they never knew what he was actually looking at. He touched the nose of it, "Still working to complete my Grognak collection, I'm not sure I'll ever complete my Shakespeare one. Of course, I'm not entirely sure if I need every variant, or if all his books were made into variants. Did you ever read the Hamlet 'Internet Age' translation?" Deacon shook his head, "I still have no idea what To Yolo or Not to Yolo, even means."

It was evident by his smile he understood it was meant to be funny. He knew the original line, and he'd seen 'yolo' scattered throughout other texts. Carpe Diem seemed the closest translation for it.

“As for other jobs? Well, you’ll see some of that tomorrow, but mostly it’s a lot of reconnaissance and information gathering, to some degree. Could be spying, could just be checking in on our agents,” he gave an assessing nod of his own words, “it’s a lot of movement, either way. And always, following down leads to the Institute. That’s how I found you, after all. But, I’m sure you have a lot of questions about how and why I found you, and we can save that for another time, I think. Your things will be safe here,” he promised, voice shifting to one that suggested sincerity, as he placed his arm on the wall and leaned a bit against it, still facing Evelyn, “You can go ahead and rest, and we’ll set out when you wake up. I promise not to creepily watch you sleep or anything. That's not part of my job description. Surprisingly enough, there is no good information you can ever gather from someone who talks in their sleep.”

 

[bag-o-donuts]

Nick observed the twitch of Ada’s hand towards her weapon but didn’t stare. That she demonstrated that level of paranoia within the safety of Diamond City was telling, but he couldn’t have guessed exactly what it meant. Either there was someone in town to be afraid of, or one too many bad turns had left a permanent effect. Getting shot in the head and left for dead would probably do the job.

He mumbled some thanks for the stash, setting out the boxes in a line on the desk as the two women made quick introductions. Ada’s quip about antiques earned her a faint grin, but Ellie gave a scoffing laugh that was dry but appreciative, taking up a seat on a nearby stack of file boxes. Apparently she wasn’t shy about butting in on a business discussion since it had progressed to the negotiation stage.

“Seventy’s just fine by me,” Nick was saying. “Should be enough to keep Ellie here off my back about the electric bill.”

“I think you mean my bonus for keeping all your plates spinning during these extended outings of yours. How long do you expect to be gone this time?” Ellie groused gently, popping the lid off her bowl of noodles.

“If I could predict that, I’d have a lot more closed cases. But I’ll do my best not to leave you high and dry.” His yellow gaze drifted back towards Ada. Part of him wanted to repeat the advice he’d tried to offer about her family, but he kept it under his hat. She’d heard him the first time. “We’ll figure it out before too long. What do you think? Are you ready to head out, or did you have any other business to wrap up? I can meet you at the gate if you want.”

———

Evelyn sketched a faint smirk at his theatricality. Maybe it was the exhaustion, or maybe it was the marathon of hardship she’d been running over the last few months, but a little silliness was actually a relief–as much as she wanted to read into the clowning as a diversion tactic. The suspicion turned out to be correct, which she’d realize once she actually clocked the mattress he’d herded her towards.

She was a little too busy reading into Deacon’s answers instead. That he claimed to be a bookworm was believable enough; not much else to do for entertainment in the apocalypse. Besides, he seemed smart and used his fair share of five dollar words. The description of Railroad activities didn’t yield anything unexpected, and before she could articulate more probing questions, he was diverting her attention to the mattress at last. Laying eyes on it seemed to summon back the full weight of fatigue back into her limbs and made them heavy again.

There were answers and plans and puzzles still to figure out, but he’d successfully run out the clock. Evelyn was used to being the one talking circles around people, in the courtroom and the more persuadable types the wasteland sometimes offered. Being on the other side of that particular dynamic was a new experience she didn’t particularly love.

“Alright,” she relented, admitting defeat to them both. Her shoulder twisted and the pack dropped heavily to the ground as she began to remove her equipment. Though the vault suit had seen better days, the bulkiest pieces of armor revealed patches of slightly brighter blue underneath. Obviously, it had been a long day. She shot him a furtive glance as she leaned her rifle up against the bricks, tucking a dirty strand of hair behind her ear.

“For the record, I don’t talk in my sleep.” Before she turned fully towards the mattress, a pause held her off. The sunglasses made him hard to read, but whether he’d appreciate hearing it or not, Evelyn figured she ought to set the rest of the record straight, too. “And thank you, by the way, for offering to help. I get there’s a few things in it for you, but I’m glad anyway.”

 

[Lucyfer]

The easy dynamic between Nick and Ellie was no surprise, as Nick accepted 70% down. Ada pulled her bag into her lap and found the bag of caps she kept within. It was far easier than having them all loose. Some were stacked together and bound up in groups of a hundred – another trick. Any loose were less than that.

She set the caps on the desk in their stacks. She was going to miss not worrying about caps, but they never were hard to find for her. Not that she stacked up tens of thousands, she always spent them before that, but she’d always had a way of finding more than enough.

Ada did remember what Nick told her, of course. It nagged at her as business she could attend to, but she didn’t want to. ‘You could use your old home to change back into your armor.’ Near Diamond City, she didn’t really need the armor, but they wouldn’t be near it long. ‘If I’m keeping someone waiting….’

“I’ll just need an hour to get things tidied up, and I figured I’d grab a bowl of noodles for old time’s sake,” in Ada’s opinion, the noodle stand was more famous than the green wall. Everyone went through the market, and having a bowl of Diamond City noodles was a requirement.

The scent from Ellie’s bowl was only helping her appetite. It’d been a long time since she had the noodles. “You can come find me there in an hour, and we can set off,” she stood, and pulled her pack back over her shoulders. It would also give him time to sort things out; apparently, he hadn’t seen Ellie in a bit, and it felt rude to drag him away so quickly. Maybe if she hadn’t come back and caught him, but now that she had, Ada would give them a bit of time to catch up, too.

“I’ll see you soon, Nick.” She stepped back with a tilt of her head, and left the detective agency.

She went to check out what the vendors had, first.

Arturo had some .44 ammunition, which Ada took off his hands to add to her supply, and Becky had some leather strips she was willing to part with, so Ada could reinforce and repair her armor. Arturo didn’t recall her well, but Becky – well, Becky did, apparently, as Rosanna continued to come to see her.

“You must go see your mom! She’s worried sick about you, dear.”

People were going to know that Ada was home, however briefly.

Ada considered heading that way, tried to convince herself with all the logic she had left – she couldn’t stay long for Nick’s sake, Rosanna was going to know and it was going to hurt – but in the end, Ada was too cowardly.

She spent her time repairing her leather armor, and decided she’d change somewhere on the road when she noticed the time and went to get her bowl of noodles.

“Thank you,” she commented to Takahashi, even though she knew he never acknowledged it, as she took her seat and tuned in to the radio again, as the new DJ talked about some place called Sanctuary, a new settlement. She might have tuned in more, but someone took a seat next to her and her attention flickered.

“So, we’re not good enough for a free meal?”

The tone wasn’t accusing. It wasn’t even angry, but it was enough to shoot hot shame through Ada as she let her gaze settle on Rosanna Burr. The silver mingled with her strawberry hair well, now, but her face had far more lines to it than Ada recalled. It wasn’t an ancient face, but time away let it be a shock all the same.

Ada hadn’t watched the gradual formation of all those lines.

She hadn’t watched the change, and it nearly took the breath from her to see her mom.

“Mom—I—sorry, I wasn’t going to be long—”

“You weren’t going to spend your caps in Diamond City ever again, either,” Rosanna pointed out bluntly, waving away Takahashi when he came to offer noodles. Rosanna let a few caps fall on the counter and pushed them towards her, “There. My caps paid for this.”

‘And the bullets and armor I spent caps on?’ Ada didn’t bring that up.

“So, what’s so important you can’t come and see me?”

Ada bit the inside of her cheek, rolled the flesh between her teeth, before answering, “Dom’s alive.”

It took Rosanna a moment to recall the name, and then she gasped, “Really?” of course, she didn’t know Dom as anything other than Ada’s besotted. Ada never told her the truth, either. “Where?”

“That’s…why I’m here. I hired Nick to help me find him. I think he’s still with raiders.”

Rosanna’s brows knit together, suspicion not quite malign, but present. Even she knew the unlikeliness of that. “You’re sure?”

“No,” she said, “but I have to try to figure it out.”

Rosanna sighed, “Of course you do. You never could let anything go,” a compliment and a complaint in one. It sounded more like a complaint right then, the frustration obvious. Ada’s heart sunk at the disappointed acceptance Rosanna so easily found, “except, apparently, giving Diamond City caps after—”

“—mom!” she interrupted with a complaining tone of her own, and Rosanna huffed.

“You don’t have time to stay the night?”

Ada shook her head. “When it’s over….”

“You promise?”

“I’m already in Diamond City, aren’t I? I can’t say never anymore. I…I’ll come see you when it’s over. But I’m not promising to stay.”

Rosanna reached over and brushed her hand by her daughter’s head, pushing hair back so it moved over her ear, “I’m going to get your father. Don’t leave until then.”

Ada sighed, but nodded, letting Rosanna leave. She watched her mother go, noticing the new weakness in her right leg, and she felt water well in her eyes at all she’d missed, and the little time she knew she had left with her family. ‘And Domitian is taking the lives away from hundreds. Focus.’ She turned her gaze away and went back to slurping down her noodles, trying not to taste them too much.

The radio DJ had already shut up and put on more music.

~***~

Deacon felt a stab of true sorrow at the way fatigue came back so rapidly to Evelyn’s features and postures when she looked at the bed. He couldn’t really know how different things were, but his books gave him an idea that people in the old day, didn’t really live looking over their shoulder every second for a threat to their existence. That, in and of itself, was exhausting, but it was something plenty learned how to live with. They learned how to reserve their energy for it.

Evelyn was still adapting to everything. Every routine she had, broken. Her partner-in-crime, gone from her side.

And her baby….

Deacon really did empathize with her, and was glad when she accepted defeat to rest. It let his expression melt into a softer one, and his brows lowered, easing his expression into silent gratitude that she wouldn’t push herself further right then. As she started parting out armor, Deacon whistled and turned around.

He didn’t know how far she intended to go, but he knew most people liked a modicum of privacy in undressing. He’d long ago learned to forsake such things, and given he wasn’t even sure he remembered what he looked like, any glances never felt real, anyways.

“Hey, no sweat. Obviously I can’t say I’m helping you out of only the goodness of my heart – but there’s goodness in there,” he reassured, lifting one shoulder in a shrug as he gestured out to the side with his hand, “I really do want to see you succeed, and I’d love it if we could succeed together, but hey – that’s third date talk, I think, and we haven’t even gone on our first one. So, get some rest, Evelyn. I’ll see you in the morning.”

He didn’t glance back, but moved away to let her set up her little corner of the world, as he went to see Desdemona, who was back at her terminal. “Yo,” he said as he intruded.

She turned from her monitor and adjusted it so she was sitting to the side of her chair. “Are you going to explain things now, Deacon?”

“C’mon…when do I ever do that?” he joked, approaching the desk and putting his hand on it. He leaned into it as he faced her, “I’m here to reassure you, I think this lead is promising. Even if it doesn’t pan out with Evelyn, what we’re going to find? I think it’s exactly what we need.”

Desdemona sighed, “I know to trust your hunches,” she said, “but I’m worried. We have so many more problems now beyond the Institute alone. The Brotherhood has more squadrons out looking for us.”

“You’d think they’d prefer to look for the Institute, not us.”

“Well, they’ve never been known for their brains.”

Deacon snorted, “Really? Isn’t their whole thing being smart enough to use the old world technology and decide who gets to use it?” Desdemona didn’t rise to the bait, “I know, I know. We’re going to have to move bases soon. I’ve got a few eyes out there. Soon as a good lead comes up, we’ll book it out of here. But what else can we do?”

“PAM thinks we should consider going on the offensive with guerrilla tactics.”

“Woah, woah – that’s not us,” he said, a bit surprised. “I’ll have to have a talk with PAM, see why she thinks that, but that’ll have to wait. Just – try not to let her or Glory do anything stupid. We’re so close.”

Her lip curled in a half-smile, disbelief evident, but hope was still shining through. “I know you have our best interests at heart, Deacon.” He touched a hand over his heart, “so I will. But I think the situation is as serious as PAM predicts.”

“Hey, I never dismiss her outright. She sees patterns I don’t always catch.” He pushed up from the desk, “I’m gonna get some shut-eye. Tell Tinker Tom he can make up some breakfast in the morning. I think our guest will appreciate it.”

Desdemona snorted, “She might be the only one.”

Even so, when Deacon woke the next day, it was to the scent of something…burning. Tinker Tom had apparently decided to try his hands at a new recipe to welcome the new not-quite recruit. Deacon wasn’t sure if it was a bad burn, or a good burn, yet. He just knew it was burning as he pulled himself together with all the grace of someone fully awake.

He was too used to waking on a moment’s notice to ever let sleepiness dictate his reaction time.

 

[bag-o-donuts]

Nick bade Ada farwell with a touch to his hat brim and an idle “10-4, sister.” Getting things squared away with Ellie took up most of the next hour thanks to some accounting matters that had been neglected in his absence. More specifically, in the absence of the caps he usually brought in. Fortunately, Ada’s down payment seemed like it would catch them up and provide a bit of cushion for a while.

It was still little early for their rendezvous, but the detective bid Ellie farewell and headed out to make his way towards the market. The bustle of late afternoon was in full force, folks wrapping up their work days and finishing errands before the dinner bell. Plenty of people were already claiming a stool at the noodle stand, and it was there Nick spotted Ada through the crowd, deep in conversation with an older woman he recognized as Rosanna Burr.

He cracked a half-smile. Whether she’d taken his advice or fate had forced the play, the old synth was glad mother and daughter had a chance to connect. Even if his client didn’t look like she was enjoying it, exactly, her posture stiff though not combative.

Something like a sense memory passed through his awareness as he observed them from a safe distance. An echo of a hand on his shoulder, the warmth of human tenderness flowing through his circuitry like a phantom ache. Old Nick’s recollection of comforting and being comforted. The kind of softness that can make you hesitate when you should be pulling the trigger.

Nick blinked hard.

The cold, detached conclusion wasn’t his, and it wasn’t Old Nick’s either. He reached for a cigarette to shake off the brief disorientation. Trying not to pay the thought any attention but unable to avoid following its trail, the detective let his feet wander towards Arturo’s stall while Ada finished her conversation.

Ellie had topped up his usual ammo reserves, but given this latest case would be the unusual type, it seemed prudent to stock up now. Nick made some idle chitchat with the merchant, who was one of the more reasonable sorts in Diamond City, which he thought was pretty ironic given his trade.

“Hitting the road, huh? You’ll want a few rounds of the fancy stuff, then,” Arturo was saying, ever the salesman.

“Yeah. Never know where a new case will lead, and this one sounds more likely to be trouble than not.”

“Always does. Speaking of which, I got this guy today asking if I could sell him something for ‘synth detection.’ Can you believe that?”

Nick snorted softly, blowing smoke away from the counter. “What’d you sell him? A mirror?”

“I told him to get lost,” Arturo chuckled, exchanging the detective’s caps for a few more boxes of ammo. “You sure you wanna come back to this place?”

The synth just smiled knowingly and gave the man a brief nod, heading off into the crowd. Even if he explained, Nick doubted Arturo would understand. Few people really did.

He found Ada at the noodle bar, her mother nowhere in sight. His throat cleared a bit.

“You need a few more minutes to finish up, or you ready to go?”

———

“Goodnight.” Assuming it was still night, anyway, having lost track of time somewhere halfway through the Freedom Trail, and being underground now didn’t help. Evelyn resisted the urge to check the clock on her Pip-Boy, certain she’d find a way to cut her sleep short if the sun was already up or soon would be.

Not much more of her gear came off, which made Deacon’s gesture more thoughtful than necessary. This was one of the safer locations she’d gotten to rest recently, however, so she did end up unzipping the vault suit and shrugging off the sleeves, tying them in a knot around her waist. Practical as it was for rough travel, the suit wasn’t especially comfortable to sleep in. It felt more like a straight jacket to someone who’d preferred to wear satin slips or one of Nate’s undershirts to bed, before the bombs dropped.

Strange as it was, the background noise of the bunker’s inhabitants was mellow enough that sleep came quickly, and she did not remember dreaming. When Evelyn awoke several hours later, she felt rejuvenated in a way she hadn’t enjoyed in weeks. This came with a mild optimism that had her wandering away from the small pile of her gear to investigate whatever passed as a washroom in a five hundred year old basement.

By the time Deacon found her, Evelyn was already perched on a stool near Tinker Tom’s improvised cookstation. Her skin had benefited from some time spent with a damp rag, and while it wasn’t as refreshing as a shower, she’d lost most of the haggard edge she’d arrived with. The vault suit sleeves were still tied around her waist. The tanktop she wore under it had been stained several times over with blood and dirt here and there, but showed evidence of being cleaned in recent history.

She was watching Tom with a wry smile while he espoused the benefits of his latest achievement. A haphazard collection of ingredients were scattered around his station and included everything from Cram to fresh mutfruit to sealed jars of preserved mirelurk meat. There was a pot of oil boiling away on the surface of a heavily-modified hotplate, from which he was fishing out deep-fried lumps of–

“Blamco Breakfast Bombs! What you gotta understand is, those artificial preservatives? It’s pre-war neurotech preservation,” Tom was explaining, transferring a couple of half-burned croquette-looking things into a bowl before passing it off to Evelyn. She accepted it, along with a pair of chopsticks, peering at them curiously. “Why put something in the food that endangers the consumers’ lifespan when your bottom line would benefit way more by keeping them alive for as long as possible so they can continue to buy the product? The same mechanism by which these chemicals slow the degradation in organic compounds also reinforces neural circuits.”

“So you’re arguing that preservatives are good for the brain,” she replied slowly, the corner of her mouth still quirked upwards.

“Not just good, essential. Anchors memory. Might even reverse frontal cortex entropy. Long as you don’t burn it–too much, I mean. This is just the right amount.”

“You know,” Evelyn mused aloud with a grin, cutting one of the golden-brown lumps in half with the chopsticks. The inside was a pale yellow mixture of dehydrated potato flakes and Blamco Mac n Cheese, with bits of Cram. “With a tie and a half-decent haircut, you’d be a great expert witness for Blamco. Would have driven me nuts trying to follow, much less refute, anything you just said. Still think you’d have a copyright battle with Sugarbombs, though.”

She brought the bowl up to her chin to blow across the steaming surface of her Breakfast Bombs, glancing up and aside towards Deacon. A polite smile followed, pressing her lips together.

“Morning. You should have led with the gastronomic amenities in your sales pitch.”

 

[Lucyfer]

Nick was away long enough for Ada to deal with her watery eyes in peace, though she still startled at the sound of him clearing his throat. The alertness she’d had in his office had faded under some of the familiarity of the market, and she internally cursed it as she affixed her gaze on him.

The noodles were just about done, but that wasn’t the reason she said, “Just a couple more minutes.”

Her mother and father would both be furious at her if she didn’t wait for Thomas to show up. She didn’t warn Nick, although she considered it briefly, as she dug into her noodles to finish up. The question came to mind, ‘Do you eat? Do you like the noodles?’ but just before she could get it out, the interruption came.

“Ada—can’t believe it.”

Ada turned in her stool, only to have arms wrap around her in a sudden embrace. She stiffened again at the contact, so unused to it now that for a moment, she wasn’t sure how to react. However, her father was more than patient, and held, until Ada finally responded, wrapping her arms back around him, and awkwardly patting his back.

He wasn’t this large when she left. He wasn’t small but it seemed a lot of his muscle had melted down into fat. Or fat was covering the muscle. Hard to say; he definitely still felt strong. When she relaxed her grip, he released her, “You’re eating noodles?”

“Mom bought them,” Ada hastened to clarify, sensing what was to come. Of all the things for her parents to focus on! And Rosanna was there, a few steps behind Thomas. She didn’t add that Ada had, in fact, bought them first, “It’s…good to see you.”

“Yeah, it’s only been five years,” Thomas scowled, “here and you weren’t even going to tell us.”

“Sorry—I—”

“I already know,” he sighed, and touched her arm, “I’ve wanted to meet Dom anyways,” he smiled, “so bring him back. He can pay for the noodles next time.” Thomas looked over at Nick then, “And uh—thanks. For, uh, helping make the family whole with this. Or at least getting some answers.”

Thomas was awkward enough in addressing Nick, an unspoken tension from the way Ada and he had parted with the ghoul situation. Now, whenever he looked at Nick, he always felt his own pang of guilt, and it was visible in the not-quite stuttered words. He understood what he’d done with the ghouls, head down, disregarding it.

He understood if the Mayor decided Nick had to go for being a synth, well…he probably wouldn’t do anything for him, either. And here Nick was, helping out. It wasn’t a cozy feeling.

Rosanna stepped up with a far more natural smile, “You’ll have to come over after it’s all done. I’m not sure if you eat but…I’m sure we’ll find some way to thank you with the warmth of a home,” she offered.

“Okay, mom,” Ada decided to put a quick end to that, noodles finished, she pushed it towards the recycling bin nearby as she got to her feet, “I’ve paid him enough, you don’t have to offer more,” she said it playfully, so Nick knew she wasn’t really taking it away, if for some reason he wanted to spend time with people that way.

He didn’t need to feel obligated, either.

~***~

Deacon found Evelyn near Tinker Tom, dressed down a bit, and apparently an early riser. He snorted at the comment of food amenities, “Yeah, I’ll try that out with the next recruit, because everyone loves 200 year old food,” he could see the opened boxes of Blamco Mac N Cheese, as well as the Cram, and god knew what else, scattered around the tinkerer’s area.

He still took a seat near Evelyn, and despite his statement, he was still served up a bowl, “So, what creation is this?” he couldn’t help but ask, taking his own set of chopsticks as they were presented to him.

“Blamco Breakfast Bombs! I was just telling her how essential Blamco Mac N Cheese was to the old world diet – and modern diets! They’re preserved well enough—”

“—Yeah, yeah, I remember, reinforces the brain,” Deacon said, waving his chopsticks, before stabbing them into the rotund lump, spilling the content that was debatably breakfast. It was missing eggs, but it had the cheese, meat, and Blamco. Not that Deacon could really say he’d had a traditional breakfast all that often, given the eggs found were usually from heavily irradiated creatures, and not exactly easy to come by.

Although, he’d heard a deathclaw omelet was almost worth the certain death involved in stealing an egg!

Even so, he opted to try it, wondering why Tinker Tom thought chopsticks the best idea, but using them anyways, and quickly regretting it. The inside of the bomb was far hotter than he expected, and he spilled the contents back into the bowl rather than swallow it, breathing out of his mouth in a sad effort to cool his tongue down with his own breath.

Tinker Tom laughed at him, “What, too hot for you?”

“Yeah—just a bit,” he managed, pressing his tongue to the roof of his mouth then and shutting his lips, pursing them together a moment as he tried not to curse at the pain. He gave a wince when he retracted his tongue from its place, “Mmm—well the next bite shouldn’t be as bad if I can’t feel it,” he joked, but didn’t try again so quickly, “you rest well here, Evelyn?” he opted to distract himself instead, while he waited for the food to cool a bit more.

He'd wait before he tried blowing on it.

“Probably at least a bit darker than the areas you’ve slept in before, and possibly a bit damper, but hopefully not too terrible.” Although, that made him realize another thing, as he took in how different she looked without the blue decorating her arms and chest, “You know, if you want something else to wear before we head out, there’s plenty of clothes here,” he offered.

He’d obviously changed, though the sunglasses remained. For the moment, he had chosen more ‘common’ attire, dressing himself in a predominantly green plaid top, and clearly rough-worn black jeans.