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Nick took a long drag of his cigarette, but did not bother to watch the smoke as it twisted upward. He couldn’t take his eyes off the transport pad Sole had built in one of the ruined yards of Sanctuary. It had been hours since she left. Now it was evening.
If she had gone anywhere but The Institute, he might not have been so uneasy.
The whole settlement seemed to be holding its breath. The residents were quieter than usual that night; they had paused all of their building projects in an unspoken agreement to await her return in anxious silence. As a result, there was nothing to distract Nick from his own nerves.
He grumbled a sigh and put out his cigarette, only half-smoked.
Just as he was about to begin another round of pacing, the transport hummed to life. A blinding light flashed on the platform. He shielded his eyes, but the flash disappeared in an instant. In its place stood Sole. Strangely, she was alone. He expected her to have a kid with her.
Something must have gone wrong, he thought.
“Welcome back,” he called. “How did it go?”
She didn’t react.
“Did you… did you find what you were looking for?” he said.
She glanced up at him. The action seemed to upset her balance, and she swayed on her feet. Nick took an involuntary step closer.
“Yeah,” she murmured. “I got what I needed.”
She stepped off the platform and started walking. To his surprise, she went right past him, making a slow beeline for her old house.
Something had definitely gone wrong.
Nick watched her leave, wondering what he should do. She probably needed a moment to herself. After all, if she wanted to talk about something, it would be simple enough to ask. Then again, he knew from experience that when a body needed help the most, that was often the hardest time to ask for it. He started after her.
The house was quiet, lit by only a few candles and lanterns. Outside, he could hear the settlers gathering around the transport, confused by the fact that he and Sole had disappeared. He found her in the old nursery. She sat on the floor by the decaying remains of a crib.
He rapped softly at the door.
“Mind if I come in?” he said.
She glanced his way, a startled look in her eyes. She started to her feet.
“Sure,” she said. “Sorry, let me just—”
“That’s okay. Don’t get up on my part.”
She slumped back to the floor. He sat down beside her. Her hair was tangled in a few places; the sudden urge to smooth it back down nearly got the best of him.
“Sorry I ran off. That was pretty rude,” she said.
“Don’t worry about it,” he waved the thought away. “I can tell you have a lot on your mind. Do you want to talk?”
She took a deep breath, then rested her chin on her knees.
“I don’t know,” she said.
“Alright. Do you want me to go...?”
“No, stay, please,” she seemed to catch herself. “If you don’t mind, that is.”
“No, I don’t mind.”
Part of him was glad that she wanted his company. The other part tried to brush off the feeling; there were more important things to focus on. Like the fact that she stared at nothing, her eyes half-closed, her brow knitted with thought. This trip was bothering her much more than she was letting on.
“I found Shaun,” she said at length.
“You did?”
She nodded. He could tell from the firm set of her lips that she was holding something back.
“I take it he’s still down there,” he said.
She nodded again. A long moment passed in silence. Something was up; there was no way a woman who had gone to that much effort to get her son back would just leave him with his kidnappers.
“I feel bad for the little kid, being cooped up in The Institute like that,” Nick said. “Is there something we can do to get him out of there?”
“He’s not a little kid anymore,” she mumbled. “He’s the one running the place.”
It took Nick a moment to comprehend the statement.
“What?” he said. “I thought you said they took him just a few years ago.”
“That’s what I thought,” she said, her voice on the verge of breaking. “All the evidence pointed to it. But it’s been closer to sixty years.”
“Good grief,” Nick said. He couldn’t think of anything better to say.
Some time passed before he could come up with something. He drummed his fingers on his wrist.
“So,” he said. “Are you holding up alright?”
She sighed.
“Yeah. I'll be okay.”
Her brow smoothed in a look of resignation. Something tapped in Nick’s chest. He couldn’t stand to see her looking so down; he missed her usual inquisitive, cheerful manner. Before he could stop himself, he reached out and put a hand on her back.
“I’m sorry all this happened to you,” he said.
She opened her mouth to speak, then hesitated. She pressed her eyes shut for a moment.
“It’s just that I used to know who and what I was,” she said. “I was a lawyer. I was a wife. I was a mother. Now I’m none of those things, and…” she buried her face in her arms. “Now I just don’t know. I don’t know a damn thing.”
He scratched his fingers over her shoulder blade, hoping that wasn’t an odd thing to do. It had been some time since anyone came to him for consolation; he was out of practice, and he knew it. His mind raced again for something to say. ‘I know how you feel’ seemed too simplistic, however true it was. He settled for squeezing her shoulder.
“…None of this seems real,” she continued. “Like it hasn’t hit me yet, and when it does, it’ll be brutal. But for now, everything just makes so little sense that all I can do is shrug my shoulders and go along with it. For crying out loud, my own son looks old enough to be my father and I’m discussing my feelings on the matter with a robot. Sorry—a synth.”
“There is a difference—but, you know what, we can let that slide. I suppose it doesn’t really matter in the long run.”
She sighed and settled back onto her knees.
“Maybe I should have just stayed in the Vault. I don’t belong here.”
“Hey,” he said quietly. “None of us do. The world was never supposed to be like this. And this must seem like small potatoes compared to what you’re going through, but I’m glad you’re here. I’d probably be scrap metal if you hadn’t busted me out of that Vault.”
She laughed a little, but the sound was still tempered with sadness.
“I’m sorry I wasted your time with this wild goose chase,” she said.
“It wasn’t a waste. We got your answers. Even if it wasn’t the answer you were looking for, at least it’s something. At least you know.”
She began to shift, reaching a hand up toward his; to give him the brush-off, he assumed. He drew away.
“Now—now this doesn’t bother you, does it?” he said, holding up his skeletal right hand.
“No, not at all.”
He nodded, relieved by her answer.
“Some folk are a little wary about it, you see,” he explained. “They don’t have anything against me, per se, but I can tell the metal parts make them uncomfortable.”
“Could I—” she seemed to consider her words for a moment. “Could I take take a closer look?”
He blinked in surprise.
“You want to do what, now?”
She blushed.
“Sorry, I’ve just been dying to get a better idea of how you’re put together," she said. "I guess I wanted to get my mind off, well, everything, and that was the first idea that came to mind.”
“Heh. If a distraction is all you need, I’m happy to help.”
He rolled up his sleeve, revealing where synthetic flesh gave way to metal. She examined him with a look of subtle enthusiasm. She ran her fingers over the bone-like struts, lingering on the taught wires that stretched from his wrist to his elbow.
“Are these like… synthetic tendons?” she said.
“Sure are,” he said. “Snapped one a few decades back. I won’t tell you which, but I will tell you that I was unintentionally making some pretty rude gestures before I got it fixed.”
She laughed—and laughed in earnest. That was exactly what he wanted to hear; she was starting to act like her old self. A large part of him, larger than he cared to admit, wished she was holding his good hand so that he could feel her touch. He pushed away the thought. There was only one gal he had any business thinking about, and she’s been gone for two centuries.
“Is this supposed to be sticking out that far?” she said.
She pointed to a screw on his wrist.
“Oh—no, no it isn’t supposed to do that. Just a second—”
He searched through his coat pockets for his screwdriver, then tightened down the loose piece.
“Does that happen a lot?”
“More than I’d like. Damn thing’s just about stripped.”
“Can you find another one that fits?”
“I could, but that would require taking it out to compare, and I don’t feel like running around the Commonwealth one-handed.”
She tapped a finger to her chin, lost in thought. Then she seemed to brighten somewhat; she pulled a stick of gum from her bag and popped it into her mouth.
“Can I see it?” she said. “Just for a second.”
He wasn’t sure what she had planned, but complied anyway. He sat cross-legged, supported his arm on his knee, and removed the screw. His hand wouldn't fall off completely without it, of course, but it wouldn't work anywhere close to right, either. Sole took the screw and pressed it into the soft wad of gum.
“There,” she said. “Now after this dries, you can use it to find the right size without dismantling yourself.”
He couldn’t help but smile. It was pretty clever, he had to admit.
“Thanks,” he said, fitting the screw back into his wrist.
“Sorry if there’s a little spit on it.”
“Eh, a little spit-shine never hurt anything.”
She laughed again. The sound made him forget himself; he smiled wider than he had in a long time.
She leaned back against the wall and stretched out her legs, settling into a more comfortable position. Her hand rested on her thigh; he almost reached out and took it.
The hell is wrong with me? he thought.
Instead, he dug out his lighter and cigarettes.
“Spot me one?” she said.
“Sure, sure.”
He put two between his lips, lit them both, then handed one to Sole.
She regarded him with a strange look; he hadn’t seen that one before.
“Thanks for sitting with me,” she said. “It helped.”
“What are friends for,” he said.
“Hey, if… if you ever need anything like this, let me know.”
He nodded. An old feeling was beginning to creep up on him. He couldn’t let it sink in.
“Say, you need another distraction?” he said.
“Always.”
He pulled a book from his pocket.
“Ever read ‘Loss of Breath?’”
“No, I haven’t,” she said, the curiosity evident in her voice.
“It’s a Poe story, but it’s funnier than you’d think. Kind of like me,” he said with a grin.
“Are all synths as funny as you are?”
“Ain’t no other synth like me,” he said, then began to read aloud.
From the corner of his eye, he saw her lean in close to listen, peeking over his shoulder at the page. He could almost feel her breath on his neck. He would have to watch himself, before he got pulled in too deep.
He took a slow breath to settle his thoughts, then let out a puff of smoke. He watched it float up to the ceiling, curling this way and that as it mingled with hers.
Who am I kidding? he thought.
He was already in too deep.