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Nick watched Sole’s eyes close. He had not seen her get hit. He thought that she had gotten out of the Deathclaw’s way in time. But when he heard her soft voice calling his name and he turned to look at her, he found her sprawled on the dirt, her back laid open, her body still. Nothing he said could keep her awake.
He was at a loss.
Panic began to well up in the back of his mind, but he pushed it away. He stripped off his coat and wrapped the wound as tight as the threadbare fabric would allow. Then he lifted her off the ground and sprinted west, toward Sanctuary.
Dead trees cast long shadows over the settlement. Nick slowed as he approached. His insides felt icy with coolant, but his front was warm. He tried not to think about the reason why. He tried to convince himself that it was just her body heat. But he knew, in spite of all his effort; he had seen how the wound gushed as he bound it. The blood was already seeping through his coat by the time he picked her up. He held her tighter.
In the distance, Preston patrolled the streets.
“Hey!” Nick called. “Hey, we need help over here!”
Preston ran to meet them, and a look of shock overcame his features.
“What happened?” he said.
“Deathclaw,” Nick said. “And a heavy dose of rads.”
“In here. Marcy has a medical kit. She’s patched me up a time or two.”
He led them into the ruins of Sole’s house, to what remained of her bedroom. Even all the improvements she made could not drive away the atmosphere of decay and loss. Preston ducked out of the room to retrieve the medical kit.
Nick laid Sole out on the bed. Her chest rose and fell, but the movement was slow and labored. He brushed a lock of hair away from her face.
Soon Preston returned with Marcy in tow. She looked Sole up and down, then said,
“Get her on her side. Prop her up with whatever you can find. Nick, you probably won’t want to see this.”
“Is there something I can do?”
“I need someone with steady hands, and that’s Preston. Now get out of here. I work best without an audience.”
“Take a minute to calm your nerves,” Preston added.
“But I—”
“I swear to God, Nick, If you don’t leave right now,” Marcy said through gritted teeth.
Preston put a hand on his shoulder.
“Don’t worry,” he said, gently pushing Nick out the door. “Nothing’s going to happen to the general on my watch.”
Then the door closed, and he was left in the hall with nothing but the muffled sounds of urgent whispers and tearing fabric.
He stared at the door’s plywood grain for a time. It had been Sole’s idea to rebuild all the doors in the house. She planned to make shutters for all the windows next. Would she get the chance? He didn’t want to think about it. He wanted to tell himself that everything would be fine, but that was one habit he had managed to break years ago. The Commonwealth taught him not to expect much.
He wandered into the living room, leaned against a wall, and stared at the floor. The bright red stain on his shirt filled his vision. The sight made his mind race. Panic, dread, hope, and anger all fought for control. It was too much to process. He fumbled with the buttons, then tossed the garment on the couch. The stain on his undershirt was not as noticeable.
He wasn't surprised that this had happened. Things always got messy eventually. This was not the first time a partner’s blood had stained his clothes—far from it. Gunshot wounds were too common, especially in his line of work. Sometimes they survived. Too many times they didn’t.
He wished their memories were more clear. Most of what he remembered was a handful of names, the fact that the owners of those names had been his partners, and that now they were all dead. He could not say whether or not being friends with him had extended their lives by even a single hour.
He shook his head and tried to focus on something else. Without thinking, he reached for his lighter, only to find that it was still in his now-absent coat pocket.
He let out a grumbling breath and walked into the kitchen. After a minute of checking the drawers, he found a pack of cigarettes and the lighter that Sole kept in the house for him. She was always doing things like that—little things to make him comfortable, whether it was trying to keep him out of the rain or finding things for him to read while she slept or just making sure he always had a light. He leaned against the counter and turned the silver device between his fingers.
I can’t lose another one, he thought.
He put a cigarette to his lips and tried to light it, but the lighter tumbled out of his grasp. With a shock, he realized his hands were shaking.
I can’t lose this one.
He could not feel sick, but he remembered how it felt, and the memory of sickness overwhelmed his mind. The shaking grew worse. He could almost feel every screw in his body coming loose, every wire fraying at the ends, every connection being severed.
He was falling apart.
He crossed his arms over his middle and held himself together. Despite his best efforts, he sank to the floor.
Why hadn’t he kissed her? She had given him two chances—now he might not get another, and she would die thinking that he didn't care. But the moment never felt quite right. He could never get Jennifer out of his mind long enough. He didn’t want to forget her—never that. Memories of her were one of the few comforts he had left. If he didn’t remember her, who would? Who would treasure her name and keep the memory of her eyes? Everyone else who knew her in life was long dead. They were all as dead as Eddie Winter.
Nick had been so sure that putting a bullet in his skull would have been the thing that let him finally move on. But decades of holding on to that hurt only made it harder to let go.
Someone walked through the door. By instinct he reached for his gun, but he had taken off his holster along with his shirt, and he grasped nothing but air. Then he remembered that there was no need, that he was safe in Sanctuary. He glanced past the kitchen island as the figure headed for the bedroom; he recognized the yellow coat and hat of the Vault-Tec rep.
There was a knock at the bedroom door, followed by the sound of Marcy shouting for whoever it was to get lost. The rep shuffled back into the living room. He paused, then peered around the island.
“Nick, is that you? I figured you’d be in there,” he said, pointing a thumb at Sole’s room.
“They kicked me out,” Nick said.
“Ah. That sounds about right,” he said with a raspy chuckle.
“Something you need?”
“Oh, I–I just came to check on things. Heard that Sole was hurt.”
“Yeah. Deathclaw.”
“Ouch. How bad is it?”
“It was a Deathclaw, how bad do you think?” Nick snapped, then caught himself.
“Sorry,” he added.
The rep shrugged his shoulders.
“If I ain’t used to it by now, I won’t ever be,” he said. “You mind if I join you?”
“Go ahead.”
The rep settled onto the floor next to him. He drew a flask from his pocket and took a swig.
“Want some?” he said.
“No, I never touch the stuff.”
“That’s what I figured. Felt rude not to ask, though.”
“Hmm. Nice of you to come by. I know she’d appreciate it.”
“She’s a sweet gal. I hate to see her get hurt,” he said. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that you gotta look after your friends. Not that I’ve had very many since the war. Come to think of it, she’s the only one left who I knew from the old days. I suppose she wasn’t really my friend back then, but she treated me decent when I knocked on her door.”
“There never are enough decent folks, huh?”
“You’re telling me. Most people would send me packing as soon as they figured out I was selling something. One gal—she was a tall drink of water, let me tell you—she looked like she wanted to beat the tobacco juice outta me. ‘Course, if I knew what I was really selling, I’d have done the same. But enough about me. How are you holding up?”
“Well enough.”
“Is that why you’re on the floor?”
Nick rubbed his brow.
“It’s hitting me pretty hard, if I’m honest. Harder than usual.”
“It’s different when it’s someone you care about.”
Nick let his head drop to his hands.
“Yep,” He said.
“Hope I didn’t embarrass you. I just assumed since you two were always together that you were, well, together.”
Nick wasn’t sure whether he wanted to discuss it. After a moment of consideration, he figured there was no harm in it.
“I’m not sure what we are,” he said. “I know she wants to get together—hell, she tried to kiss me a couple weeks ago—”
“And how was it?”
“I told her no.”
The rep raised his eyebrows.
“Are you crazy?” he said.
“Probably. It’s just that—” he paused to let out a breath, “—I had a fiancée before the war, and thinking of going with someone else doesn’t feel right.”
“I didn’t know you were around before the war.”
“I wasn’t. The guy who’s memories got put into my head—he’s the one who had a fiancée.”
“I see,” he said. After a moment, he added, “What was her name?”
“Jennifer Lands. Soon to be Jennifer Valentine. She used to tell me how that name had such a ring to it, and she couldn’t wait for it to be hers.”
He nodded solemnly.
“That’s rough. I’m sorry.”
“Did you have a family?” Nick said, turning to him, “Wait—what’s your name? Everyone just calls you ’the rep,’ and it never occurred to me to ask before.”
He laughed.
“It’s Jim,” he said. “And yeah, I had a family. By some miracle, I married the best woman in the world. We had a little girl and another on the way. I still have their pictures.”
“I’d like to see them.”
He pulled a brittle leather wallet out of his pocket and unfolded the plastic photo sleeves. They were yellowed with time, but the images inside were still clear. They showed a woman with bright red hair holding a freckle-faced girl.
“That’s Megan. She was ten,” he said, pointing to the girl, then pointed to the woman and said, “That’s Marie. And that bump on her belly was either going to be Jim Jr. or Emily; we never found out which. They were… they were a lot closer to the blast.”
He closed his eyes in a look of suppressed anguish. Nick placed a hand on his shoulder.
“I wish I knew what to say that would actually help,” Nick said.
“You and me both, pal,” he said, running his thumb over the pictures.
“You get numb to it,” he continued, “but the pain never really goes away. It’s not fair, is it?”
“No, it really isn’t,” Nick said. “Half of the stuff causing me so much grief isn’t even mine. I’m suffering because I got stuck with the memories of a guy who’s been dead for two hundred years.”
He glanced down the hall toward the bedroom. For the most part, everything was quiet. Either they still had a reason to keep working, or they had lost her and didn’t feel like telling anyone. He knew the first option was more likely, but that didn’t stop his thoughts from straying toward the darker one. Jim broke the silence.
“You know, no one’s ever invited me anywhere before,” he said. “The folks at Goodneighbor said they wouldn’t kick me out because I’m a ghoul, and that’s about the closest I’ve ever gotten to a genuine welcome. But now look at me—thanks to Sole, I’ve got a place that wants me. Feels pretty swell.”
“I’m glad to hear it.”
“I’m glad you’re glad. But what I’m trying to say is you’ve got a fine woman in there. It’s not everyday you find one who thinks you’re good enough for her. I might ask her out if you don’t, since she doesn’t seem to mind guys who only have half a face.”
“Is that so,” Nick said, casting him a sidelong glance. “What about Marie?”
Jim shook his head and smiled to himself.
“I’m never gonna find another Marie. I’m not that lucky. But I figure if our situations were switched, I wouldn’t want her to be lonesome just because she missed me. I’d want her to find someone who could make her happy. I know she could do it, too; I’m nothing special.”
“So you’re saying I should go for it, because Jennifer would want me to be happy?”
“That’s right.”
“That kind of reasoning always seemed like a cop-out to me. No offense.”
“You feel guilty all you want. I’m going to try my damnedest to be happy. Can’t let this hell-hole win, you know?”
Nick thought it over. If it had been Jennifer thrown into a new body and a new world, he would want her to be happy—but he had already come to that conclusion a hundred times. And he had already tried as many times to convince himself that she would want the same for him, but it never quite worked.
“I don’t want to forget her,” he murmured.
“You won’t,” Jim said. “You may lose the little things, like… like the exact sound of her voice or how she would smile at your jokes, but when it comes to the things she said to you or how you first met or how it made you feel when she’d hold your hand—that stuff sticks with you. You never lose the important things. Not in my experience.”
Just then, the bedroom door creaked open. Nick jumped to his feet and met Preston in the hall.
“She lost a lot of blood, but she’s stable,” Preston said. “We have her on a dose of Radaway, so that should help.”
“Is she awake?”
“No. My guess is she won’t want to wake up until she heals a bit more, but we’ll see how she’s doing in the morning. We gave her something to keep her out until then.”
Nick didn’t want to know what they gave her, so he didn’t ask.
“I’ll keep an eye on her tonight,” he said. “I can’t thank you enough.”
“No need. We’ll see her back on her feet in no time,” Preston said with a smile, then left with Marcy.
Nick entered her room, only half-closing the door behind him. Sole lay on her side. Her lips were still discolored, and her hair was slick with sweat. A red scrape stretched across one side of her face. The dark circles around her eyes stood out against her pale skin.
The sight all but killed his last shred of hope. Sorrow never felt the way he thought it would. He expected to feel something physical—a pain in his heart, a twisting in his gut. To some degree he did, but the sensations were only memories lingering about the places where his heart and gut should have been. He wished he could shed a tear for her at the very least, the way she had done for him.
He settled down beside her and tugged the covers closer around her bare shoulders. The tattered remains of her Vault suit lay at the foot of the bed. Her arms were folded before her. He took her by the wrist, pressing his thumb to her pulse. Just feeling the steady rhythm calmed him a little.
A soft knock sounded on the doorpost. Jim peeked into the room.
“Come on in,” Nick said.
Jim circled to the end of the bed, his brow furrowed with concern. He stuffed his hands into his coat pockets.
“Poor thing,” he said.
“Her pulse is strong,” Nick murmured, “So at least we have that.”
“She’ll be alright,” he said, as though trying to convince himself.
They had no guarantee that she would pull through. Even if infection didn’t set it, the odds were slim. But Nick decided to believe it anyway. He always told her to look on the bright side; maybe it was time to follow his own advice. When she woke up, he would be sure to tell her much more than that.
Jim interrupted his thoughts.
“Well, I don’t want to be a bother. You’ll let her know I came by, won’t you?” he said.
“I wouldn’t mind if you wanted to stick around for a bit. It’d be nice to have some company.”
“No kidding?” Jim said, already settling himself on the windowsill.
They fell back into their conversation. Nick found him just as easy to talk to for an hour as he was for a minute, and having someone else in the room who was awake kept his mind from wandering.
With every passing moment, he became more convinced of his growing resolve. The Old Nick Valentine was gone. The man Jennifer loved and wanted to be happy—he was gone. He would keep her memory alive for her sake, and for Old Nick’s sake, but for New Nick, it was time to move on.
Jim left after a few hours. Night passed in relative quiet. Morning came without his notice. That was when he felt Sole begin to move in his grasp. He turned to her, holding his breath, and watched her eyes open.