Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

There had been times before, when he’d woken up near Addisson. Since her insistence that he try to sleep, instead of keeping constant vigil at night (because Dogmeat would alert them if anything were amiss, she assured him), he had occasionally agreed to rest his head while they camped, and several times managed to fall into a brief state of unconsciousness. And of those times, a few had not seen Addisson rise before him, which resulted in a handful of precious moments in which he rejoined the waking world beside her, huddled close by sheer virtue of their limited space.

But this was the first time he’d woken up with her, her tiny body (only small in relation to him, he knew, for she was considered rather tall otherwise) tucked close up against his front, nestled in the cage made of his arms and chin. She was a fair few degrees cooler than him, as non-meta humans tended to be, but still warm compared to the cool morning air, and she was sighing in her sleep as she nuzzled into his forearm, just on the verge of waking.

If you decided to call what they had a romantic relationship, then they had only been in a romantic relationship for just over eight hours, counting only the hours in which they’d both been aware of each others’ feelings. From all the books he had read, he thought they might have gone about it somewhat wrongly; and from his scant observations of the new world, he thought his presence made the whole thing somewhat wrong. But that was how things had always been between the two of them: done however best suited their needs. So despite his misgivings about the propriety of the situation (because it was not proper at all, but neither was this world), he leaned his head down past the mess of Addisson’s red hair and the shell of her ear, and kissed her softly on the sharp curve of her cheek.

She sucked in a deep, waking breath and turned in his arms toward him, smiling sleepily. “Fawkes…” she said in her sleep-roughened voice, tilting her head up as if hoping to meet his lips, but missing the mark rather badly only because he was so much taller. She nudged her nose and lips instead against the hollow of his throat, and he had to resist the pleasant urge to crush her to him, as he still wasn’t quite sure how his natural strength played against her relative fragility.

“Good morning,” he rumbled, ducking down closer to her face because she seemed to like that. “Did you sleep well?”

“Better than ever,” she told him. She strained upwards the last little bit she needed to close the distance between their lips, and kissed him in a way that was much less slow and soft than their kiss from before, but also lacking in any sort of desperation. It was a happy kiss, somewhat like the kind she might press to Dogmeat’s head when she was in a good mood. Fawkes liked that it was a familiar gesture. “You’re super warm, did you know that?”

He smiled in apology, and in joy. “I hope it wasn’t too much,” he said, though it was mostly a token response; he knew Addisson didn’t bear being uncomfortable for long; she would have moved if she’d wanted to.

“Nah. Just enough.”

They lingered there on the lumpy mattress for a while as the sleep fog cleared from Addisson’s head and she slowly stretched awake. Dogmeat had already let himself out into the dusty wasteland, and they would soon follow, but with the conclusion they’d come to the night before (the several conclusions), neither of them were too keen to hurry. Any pace they set would see them return to Megaton before the sun was down, and that was something they both wished to delay. It was a wish in vain, of course, because even if they decided never to speak to any of the citizens again, the majority of Addisson’s hard-earned gear was still stored there, and any home they might go on to build would need what she had amassed.

Addisson spent a few idle minutes playing with Fawkes’ fingers, turning them over and tracing the lines on his palms or inspecting his blunt fingernails. Something about it was even more intimate than the sleeping or the kissing, and his heart fluttered as she pressed their palms together and intertwined their hands. In his memory, nobody had ever done such a thing, and he liked it more than he could have anticipated (except, of course, that he had anticipated liking everything about Addisson).

Some part of him felt that he ought to have been shy; though perhaps less monstrous than his face or his great bulk, his hands were a part of him uniquely suited to violence. But Addisson seemed casually enamored with them, so he let her inspect them to her liking, reminding himself that of the two of them his were not the only hands capable of great horrors. He would not be here with her, if she had not murdered her way to him in the beginning. And, of course, he thought no less of her for it.

Eventually her inspecting fell to a mindless stroking, and Fawkes could tell without seeing her face that she was staring into nothingness, mind having wandered elsewhere.

“Perhaps it’s time to head on,” he told her, shifting away just enough to encourage her to consider moving. He could hear Dogmeat shuffling around in the dirt outside, looking for anything interesting. The dog would never stay idle for too long, and neither should they, at least when there was a goal ahead of them.

“Right,” Addisson said, and she sat up to roll her shoulders. “Yeah… I guess we should just go get it over with.”

For a moment, Fawkes hesitated saying what came to mind, but things were still so new between them just now, and even though he really thought he knew how she genuinely felt, he didn’t ever want to assume that those feelings couldn’t change. “You don’t have to leave the city. If you wish to stay there, I will still follow you everywhere I am able.”

She rolled her eyes at him, though it held a certain significant level of affection. “I don’t want to stick around people who can’t tell an ally from an enemy. Y’know? Doesn’t exactly show a good amount of perception.”

“Won’t you miss your friends?” Fawkes asked.

Addisson shrugged. “Well, sure. But nothing’s gonna stop me from visiting them. I mean, probably not. Some of the people might not like you, and they might not even like me all that much, but it’s a trading post. They’re not gonna refuse my caps.”

A sound enough argument, Fawkes supposed, so he didn’t protest. The wastelanders, whatever their personal grudges, rarely turned down an opportunity to trade, and adventurous scavengers like Addisson were too profitable to say no to.

They carried on towards Megaton much the same way they would have normally, with Dogmeat scouting ahead and Addisson following up behind him, backed by Fawkes. They kept casually armed so that they could dispatch the occasional radscorpion, but every so often Addisson drifted back to walk beside him, nudging her shoulder against his elbow and sometimes leaving it there much longer than was convenient for walking in a straight line-- not that he minded. He’d have carried her if she wanted, even though it would have made wielding his gatling laser a bit cumbersome.

Even with frequent stops to scavenge, hunt, or simply ‘let Dogmeat rest’ (as if the dog was ever anything but full of energy), they reached the city long before nightfall. Nobody stopped them from going in, or gave them looks any odder or more suspicious than usual. The only person who seemed to take note that they had returned from one of their frequent outings was Sheriff Simms who, according to Addisson, had instigated the quest to Vault 87.

“Welcome back,” he said as they passed, falling in step with them. Fawkes noticed that the man seemed curious, or maybe a bit surprised. Had he expected them to be gone longer? Had he expected that Addisson would arrive waving documents in the air like a flag of victory?

Addisson glanced back over her shoulder at the sheriff, looking a bit less friendly than she normally might. “Are you going to say you missed me?” she asked rather scathingly.

Simms huffed a sigh of exasperation. “Now don’t be like that.”

“Be like what?” she said with a shrug and a blank expression. She turned around to meet his gaze, now that they’d reached the walkway to their front door. “You can’t expect me to be cheerful about this.”

“So I guess that means you didn’t find what you were looking for.”

Crossing her arms defensively, Addisson told the sheriff, “No. I told you I wouldn’t. But I wouldn’t have come skipping back here even if I did.”

With a shake of his head, Simms disregarded the seriousness of Addisson’s answer. “It’s good that you checked anyway. Maybe this’ll appease people for a while.”

Fawkes could tell from the look on Addisson’s face, which was disappointed but in a tired way, that she didn’t care to argue, or to bother convincing the sheriff, who clearly had his own assumptions about the situation. He watched and followed as she turned to the door and let herself in. “I don’t really care one way or the other,” she called out behind her, letting the door swing for Fawkes to catch and close softly after them. He gave Simms a polite nod before he shut it.

Inside, Addisson dumped her backpack on the floor and sat heavily down in one of the dining chairs. She looked around the room like she’d never seen its corrugated metal walls and roof before, and Fawkes wondered if she was thinking about the shape and build, the decorations, or the people on the other sides.

Sitting on the floor of what served as the living room, just a few feet away, Fawkes began to brush Dogmeat’s fur automatically. He wanted to ask Addisson if there was anything he could help with, be that decision making, heavy lifting, or simply emotional support, but she seemed lost in her own head for the time, and he felt it polite to give her a few minutes to parse things. After a few minutes she leaned over her knees and scratched her head in a vague irritated gesture.

“I’m not sure if all the traders in the town have enough caps to buy everything outright. I might have to sell things in batches or… I dunno, take some of it to Rivet City? They have a pretty good market for guns there.” She looked over at him. “Maybe sell the heavy stuff here. The super-sledge, the 5m’s. Carry all the pistols to Rivet City, since they’re light. Could probably pawn some of the shotguns off on the caravans. What do you think?”

Mostly Fawkes thought that it was up to her; after all, they were all her belongings, and he would not ask her to part with them. “Are you sure you want to sell your entire arsenal?” he asked, just a little bit joking in calling it an arsenal. (It really could have armed the entire town, quite easily.)

“I mean…” Addisson shrugged. “I’m not gonna sell my rifle, obviously, or the other stuff I use a lot. But I don’t need most of this. I just kept a lot of it because I figured it was better than leaving it out where raiders might pick it up. I had the space. But I’m not gonna really miss it all.”

She probably would miss it a bit, Fawkes thought. Addisson was a little bit of a hoarder, but she didn’t stockpile junk. She only kept things she thought (rightly, usually) might be of some use in the future; a sort of insurance, you might say. The fact that she was willing to get rid of much of it proved either that she was confident they would no longer need it, or that putting this past behind her was really that important.

“I can carry whatever you need me to,” he told her. “Anything less than the building itself.”

Addisson laughed, maybe at the silly imagery. Better, Fawkes thought. He much preferred her to be joyful, rather than encumbered with worries.

“I don’t think it’d fit out the front gates anyway,” she said. A little dimple formed in her cheek. “I’ll probably just get Moira to sell it for me, y’know, to the next adventurous newcomer.”

Until then, Wadsworth had been upstairs, minding the house and his own business as he usually did, but he floated down the stairs to ask, “And what shall I do, madam?”

Addisson scratched a hand through her hair again. “Um, I dunno. You came with the house, but I wouldn’t want to sell you with it unless, like, you wanted to be sold?”

“Not especially,” Wadsworth said dryly.

She glanced back at Fawkes, as if to gauge his reaction more than to ask for advice. It was something she did more and more often lately, and he liked those moments where she thought of him even when she didn't strictly need to. “Well,” she said in Fawkes’ direction before turning towards Wadsworth again. “I’m not really sure where we’re gonna go yet. Maybe you should just stay here until we have a place for you.”

Wadsworth seemed to consider it for a moment, but it wasn’t long at all before he replied, “As you wish, madam,” and went back to whatever tidying kept him occupied for most of the day.

It wasn’t a strange decision, but Fawkes was curious about it. “I’ve seen Mr. Handy units hold their own in battle,” he mentioned, as Addisson got up and began to sort through the items she planned to sell to Moira. “You don’t think he would be a valuable companion on our travels?”

Addisson opened her mouth just a little bit, mirroring him probably subconsciously. “He probably could watch out for himself, but he’s not exactly a combat unit,” she said. “I don’t want to risk him getting hurt when he’s not, y’know, used to that kind of stuff.” She flipped her hair like she was considering something, and then smiled at him shyly. (Though what stood for ‘shy’ on Addisson might be more likened to ‘lightly mischievous’ in many other people.) “But honestly though. I kinda…”

Fawkes tilted his head at her as her voice trailed off and she wandered in his direction. “Yes?” he asked softly, trying to gauge what she was thinking.

Her voice was little more than an intimate murmur as she came to stand near him, ‘towering’ over him as he sat on the floor. “Well I kinda thought it would be nice to sort of… have some privacy, y’know. For a while.” She laid one callused but soft hand on the joint of his shoulder and neck, and leaned down into his space in a way that looked hopeful…

...And though he never liked to presume, Fawkes was fairly sure he understood what she wasn’t saying, well enough to know that when he leaned up to kiss her, it was exactly what she wanted.

“Yes,” he said, deep and soft, yet perhaps a little more gravelly than normal. “I think I understand.”

They were only allowed to kiss for a few seconds before Dogmeat jumped up and licked both their faces, proving that even without Wadsworth they were unlikely to get any true privacy, but they both agreed that there was a significant difference. The robot butler might be loyal, but the only time they’d have to fear the dog’s judgment would be if they neglected to pet him for too long-- a sacrifice they both thought they could make.

Having been so interrupted, Addisson went back to sorting her supplies with a sheepish grin, and Fawkes returned to combing tangles out of Dogmeat’s undercoat, until a large enough pile of sellables appeared on the floor at Addisson’s feet to warrant the both of them taking a trip across town. They left most of their own gear at home and loaded up with guns, armor, ammo, and the sort of miscellany that anyone else would find valuable, and went out into the fading daylight to visit as many merchants as possible before closing time.

“Gosh, what’s all this?” Moira asked, setting aside whatever she was tinkering with in order to clear enough counter space for their massive pile.

“Take your pick,” Addisson said, spreading her arms wide over the lot of it. “Whatever’s left goes to the Stahls, and whatever they don’t want I’ll take to Moriarty’s. Do me a favor and take all of it, because I don’t want to have to lug the leftovers to Rivet City.”

“Sure,” Moira said, already looking slightly distracted as she began to sort through all the merchandise. “But what’s with the firesale? Running out of room?”

Even though she’d been pretty adamant before, Addisson didn’t seem particularly comfortable with admitting to Moira, “Actually, we’re, um, moving.”

Moira’s eyes went wide and she gaped up at Addisson. “Moving? What? Where? Why?”

Addisson gave her a helpless shrug, devoid of all the anger she seemed to feel towards many of the other citizens of Megaton. Fawkes thought that made sense; she’d always gotten along well with Moira, who was distractible and kind and probably had never even thought a rude word about any of her companions, let alone voiced them.

“Just… looking for greener pastures, I guess?” Addisson replied. “Not sure where yet.”

A disappointed look came over Moira and she glanced at Fawkes, and then between the two of them. He wasn’t sure what she was seeing, or what connections she was making.

“Not sure where you’re going to find any green, but… Well, that’s up to you.” She went back to sorting through the guns and armor, but glanced back up at them again a moment later, clearly sorting through words in her head. “Sorry you guys have to go. I really thought you did a lot of good for this town, so it’s a shame it couldn’t give you what you need.”

A smile that was far more gentle than her usual fitted itself onto Addisson’s face. “It was really good to me when I needed it,” she told Moira, and though Fawkes hadn’t been there at the time, he imagined she was referring to those lonely first weeks outside the vault, when she was looking for her family and finding mostly enemies. She’d told him a few times that the people in Megaton, especially bubbly Moira, had really helped her find her bearings. If for no other reason than that, Fawkes had to appreciate the townsfolk for sheltering Addisson when he was not there to do it.

“And you liked the house, right?” Moira asked, fiddling with the attachments on an assault rifle.

“Loved it,” Addisson told her reassuringly. “I’ve just, um, got different needs now.”

“Yeah.” Moira nodded. “I think I understand.” She looked at Fawkes, a little sadly, but nodded at him too. He didn’t know what to say, so he could only return the gesture.

Eventually, Moira bought as many guns and as much scrap as she had caps to pay for, and half as many again with the promise to pay Addisson back next time she was in town. Before they hauled what was left to one of the other merchants, Moira yelled “hey!” from behind the counter.

“I’ll miss you guys!” she called.

“I’ll come back to visit,” Addisson promised. “Hey, the Brotherhood of Steel has a base near Rivet City. I’ll bring you something techy!”

It didn’t soothe Moira entirely, but it was as good a promise as any.

Outside on the metal walkway, Addisson leaned her hands on the rails and stared out at the town. Some wind came and tousled her bright red hair, which glowed with a golden tone in the setting sun. She looked confident, even though Fawkes knew she was deep in thought. She looked like she belonged there, watching over her town. But she glanced over her shoulder and beckoned him with just a look, and leaned close when he came to stand near her.

“I could never really fit in here,” she said, gazing out at the glinting metal wistfully. “It was already its own thing when I got here, and I wasn’t the right shape for it. I kind of thought I was, at first, but, y’know, I didn’t even really know what shape I was back then. I was still changing. I guess I still am.” She looked up at Fawkes’ face and gave him a small smile. Of course, they were both still changing. “But there’s only two ways I can fit in here. Either I can change the shape of the town-- and I did, a little bit, but there’s only so much I can do without shaking things up so much that I don’t know they’d let me stay. Or, I can change myself to fit. Kinda… grow into the shape that’s available, and I don’t wanna do that.”

She laughed, and then added in a radio-drama sort of accent, “This town ain’t big enough for the two of us.” She grinned in a silly way and wedged her arm flush against his on the railing. “And if it’s not big enough for both of us, then it’s not big enough for me.”

It felt a bit bold, when there were still people walking about (mostly refraining from looking at the two of them), but Fawkes draped his hand over hers and curled his fingers around it. He didn’t like to have to hear her melancholy explanation, because he really felt that there should be no place unwilling to make whatever space for Addisson that she required, even if that meant tearing itself apart for her, but he understood that that was not always the case. And that wasn’t what she wanted anyway. She wanted a place that fit her intrinsically, without having to break and reset the bones to suit her.

“I don’t know that most places are big enough for the two of us,” he told her-- not to drive home how sad their situation was. He squeezed her fingers lightly. “After all, you have a very big personality.”

She chuckled in surprise, but she couldn’t say anything to counter him, because she knew it happened to be true. Her big awkwardly-shaped personality and his big awkwardly-shaped body were a good match for each other, and the reason they were probably going to have to carve out a space made just for them. It was bound to be hard work, but neither of them really minded the idea. To that eventual end, they lugged the rest of their merchandise to the other merchants in town, and finally went home nearly empty-handed an hour into the warm darkness of night.

Though things at this point did not differ drastically from how they’d been recently, the night simply could not be ‘a night like any other’, by sheer virtue of the fact that it would be their last night in the comfortable, well-worn house which had almost been a home. They spent the evening in a quiet sort of contemplation, each working on small projects on their own after dinner. Fawkes looked through his collection of battered books and wondered if it was logical to carry more than one or two around with him, and if he ought to sell the rest or leave them to whoever might buy the house. While he sorted those and the few other personal belongings he’d collected, Addisson went around the house taking down decorations, shoving some into her backpack, others into chests, and the rest into piles (presumably to be sold).

When it was time to sleep, or try to, if anxiety got the better of them, Addisson pulled him upstairs into her little room.

“I know it’s kind of small,” she said, meaning the bed they stood before, “which is why I never offered it to you. But it’s the last night here, and it might be a while before we get to sleep on a mattress again, so I just thought…”

A brief moment passed when Fawkes thought Addisson was planning to give him the bed for the night. Normally he slept downstairs in the main room on a stack of sleeping bags and blankets, made vaguely private by a bookshelf they’d dragged in front of it. This had never bothered him, especially because he didn’t often sleep and had never been used to privacy, but he knew that Addisson wished the spare room upstairs was big enough for him. (It acted as Wadsworth’s room anyway, and though he slept even less, Fawkes thought the robot deserved his own space.)

This assumption shifted when he saw that shy, hopeful look she had again. Trying to look casual, she took off her overshirt and her boots and sidled around him to sit on the edge of the bed, where she pulled her feet up and scooted to the furthest edge. Something like ‘oh’ pinged in the conscious part of his brain, and he stood there awkwardly, trying to figure out exactly what to do. This wasn’t like the night before, when they’d been sitting so close together and she’d just pulled him down. Now she was giving him the responsibility of coming to her himself. And he meant to, certainly…

“It’s a little bigger than the mattress from last night,” she said, unfolding a blanket from the bottom of the bed, where Wadsworth had likely placed it earlier. “If Dog stays on the floor, I’m pretty sure you’ll fit.”

She was waiting on him, but he didn’t know what first step he was supposed to take. It was a simple matter, but somehow it seemed so complex. There was an etiquette to sleeping, he knew. Addisson herself hadn’t changed into bed clothes, but she had taken her top shirt off, leaving just the soft undershirt. Fawkes considered trying to peel what remained of his vault-shirt off, but he was fairly certain he’d never get it on again if he did, so he left it and hoped she didn’t mind. The pants were a similar issue, but he wouldn’t have considered removing them even if he thought they might not rip. It definitely wouldn’t be polite to leave his shoes on though, and risk kicking her in the middle of the night, so he sat on the edge of the bed as softly as he could, and leaned down to slowly pull the tight leather boots off. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt the need to do so, and he hoped his feet weren’t… off-putting, in some way or another.

But Addisson wasn’t watching him-- perhaps deliberately so. She’d laid down and turned away like she had the night before, and she didn’t seem to pay any attention to exactly how Fawkes got ready for bed. As soon as she felt him shift his weight into a more horizontal position, she reached back and grabbed his arm to sling it over her waist, and yanked the blankets over them both, and that was how they slept. Fawkes could just see Addisson’s smile in the dim light. He didn’t think she could see his, so he hugged her close instead.

“Goodnight,” she said softly, pulling his hand up briefly so she could press a kiss to his knuckles.

He kissed the top of her head, really the only part of her he could reach, and murmured, “Sleep well.”

Chapter Text

When Fawkes was younger-- that is, in the earlier parts of his memory-- he had not looked forward to mornings. Each new day only brought more of the same: isolation, ridicule, and possibly a stomach-churning breakfast. (He was disgusted by the things his brothers ate, once he realized where they came from, but his body still needed fuel on the rare occasion, and he didn’t have the strength to let himself starve. His survival instincts were too strong.) Perhaps he would find something to read on any given day, but it was not enticing enough of a prospect to make up for his aversion to the rest of it. His small pleasures only made his days less bad; nothing could make them good.

But then there was Addisson, descending upon him like an angel. She was on a mission of great importance, a mission he could help her with, and that alone would have caused him great joy, even if it hadn’t resulted in his freedom. Even if it hadn’t resulted in… this.

Here she was right now, snoring softly in his arms. Snoring loudly on the occasion. She tossed and turned from time to time, burrowing against his chest. At the moment she had a red mark on her cheek from laying against the hard seam of his shirt, nearly as vivid as her hair-- which lay in a messy tangle all around the top of her head. She kept it fairly short, but it was still long enough to turn into a rat’s nest when she slept deeply enough.

He loved this more than he could rightly say. He loved her, so much.

If there was anything in his power to do for her, to keep her safe, to make her happy, he wanted desperately to do it. Yet today it was she who was willing to give up so much for his happiness. How had it come to this? And how was it that he didn’t have the strength to resist? Addisson had made a decision and strong-armed him into agreeing, as was her way. She wouldn’t accept him sacrificing himself for her, so he had no choice but to accept her sacrifice.

Oh, he would build her the greatest city, to make sure it wasn’t a sacrifice in vain.

“Whatcha thinking so hard about?” she whispered, her voice deep and sleep-soft.

He looked down at her where she was cuddled into his chest. Her eyes were still closed, but she was smiling like she was laughing about some private joke. That was her favorite kind of smile, and his favorite on her. It was amazing that after so much strife, she could still find humor and joy in mundane things. And, apparently, in his obvious over-thinking.

“I’m wondering how today will go,” he told her, which was true in a round-about sort of way. They had to bear today if they were to see the future.

Addisson yawned deeply, unashamed of baring her canines and subtle morning breath. “How do you want it to go?” she asked.

Fawkes laughed, just a soft noise in his throat. “Smoothly,” he said, hopeful that they could avoid complications, because he knew complications did not like to avoid them.

“I don’t think anyone’ll bother us. They want us gone almost as much as I want to get out of here.”

That’s very doubtful, Fawkes thought. The townsfolk loved Addisson, and they even tolerated him (as long as they were allowed to voice their concerns often enough, like steam vent valves). He didn’t think that Moira and Simms and Gob and Nova were the only ones who would be disappointed to see their paragon banish herself over a mutant.

Of course he would not tell her such a thing-- no more than he already had. She was stubborn, and she had made up her mind that the two of them should leave before the town had a chance to toss them out. It was her way of avoiding potential conflict, the way her natural caution and prickly confidence intersected. That was probably why she had a bayonet on the end of her sniper rifle.

But word had gotten around town over the course of the night, spread by Moira or one of the other merchants they’d offloaded perhaps a literal ton of gear onto. As soon as they opened the door to let Dogmeat out into the morning, one of their neighbors was upon them with gifts.

“Wanderer! I heard you were leaving!”

“Oh,” Addisson said, a little surprised to find someone at her doorstep. “Uh, yeah. Just movin’ on, y’know?”

“Well, here! Take this for the road,” the neighbor said, handing Addisson a collection of food items. “You be safe out there!”

Addisson’s posture softened. Fawkes could tell she’d meant to seem strong and independent, but she always got soft when people tried to be supportive of her. “Thanks…” she said, giving the neighbor an embarrassed smile. “We will.”

A few more people stopped them as they went about their morning routine of walking Dogmeat and grabbing breakfast. They didn’t always leave the house for that part, but it seemed like Addisson was allowing herself to indulge in the town’s comforts one last time, as well as taking the chance to say a few final goodbyes-- several of which were much more ‘bye’ than ‘good’. While she had certainly made friends with some of their neighbors, there were still several she’d only ever maintained a cool relationship with. Those few people she was sure to carefully glare at as they passed.

Perhaps the most interesting thing though, to Fawkes, was how she responded to the collection of citizens who obviously did not want her to go. Her enemies wanted her to leave; her friends accepted that it was her choice; but a great many people in the town didn’t seem to understand why she was choosing to go, and that it was not a decision she’d idly made or could casually change her mind about. These were the people she was coldest to, turning her nose up at them and sticking deliberately closer to Fawkes’ side as they walked by-- not because she didn’t want to be near them, but because she wanted them to know where her allegiance lied.

Most of those citizens were quiet, or asked casually, sounding a bit puzzled, “What made you decide to leave all of a sudden?” to which Addisson would respond anything along the lines of, “It was a long time coming,” or “We don’t want to wear out our welcome.” She knew she might be misinterpreting their ignorance of the situation. Maybe some of them really hadn’t heard the gossip, or never batted an eye at Fawkes.

But some of them were very forthright with their confusion, through which their opinions showed. “But nobody wants you to go,” they said, which, aside from being untrue (Jericho and Moriarty as case in point), was exactly why.

Addisson seemed to barely restrain herself from growling. (Maybe she spent too much time around him and Dogmeat, Fawkes thought.) “No, they just want to put my friends out in the cold,” she replied.

The townsperson glanced up at Fawkes for one very short, uneasy second, like prey keeping tabs on a predator. “N-not all of them,” they countered, probably remembering some of the other companions Addisson had lugged around before the two of them had met. She’d brought him to meet Star Paladin Cross once, one of the few links she had to her parents anymore, and he couldn’t imagine that anyone would have a problem with the upstanding woman, in Megaton or elsewhere.

“Well all of them are important to me,” she said, her eyes shining fiercely, her bared teeth inadvertently mirroring Fawkes’ typical soft grimace. She grabbed his hand and threaded their fingers together, and all he could do was try not to look surprised; anything less than confidence on his part would undermine her stance.

Of course the townsperson backed off then, surprised at Addisson’s threatening aura and the things she was implying, and the two of them continued on their way. The morning was spent selling a handful more items (now that the merchants had had a chance to restock on caps) and giving away others-- parting gifts to those who Addisson was trusting to keep the town in her absence.

It was a slow morning in Moriarty’s saloon, as mornings tended to be, and the man himself was still asleep, which suited those assembled perfectly well. Addisson only wanted to say farewell to Nova and Gob, which would have been hindered by Moriarty’s yelling at everyone to get back to work.

“So you’re finally leaving,” Nova said, like she’d expected it all along. “I’m glad. You’re too good for this place.”

Addisson shook her head. “If I was really that good, I wouldn’t leave without fixing things. I’m being selfish.”

Nova smiled, regarding Addisson like a proud big sister. “You should be selfish. It’s not your job to fix everybody else’s problems. Look out for yourself. Nobody else is going to.”

“Somebody else is going to,” Fawkes couldn’t help but tell her, as he stood right behind Addisson’s shoulder. Boldly, he set a hand on her other shoulder, nearly pulling her into his chest. Addisson glanced back up at him with a slightly starstruck look before she nodded to Nova.

“All the more reason,” Nova said, her smile creasing her face in a way she wouldn’t normally allow.

For his part, Gob watched them mostly silently. Fawkes could see the restrained hope in his expression, held back by years of mistreatment and only the tiniest amount of kindness. He looked between Addisson and Fawkes with a soft, slightly-confused expression that he couldn’t really call jealousy. “We’ll miss you two,” he said simply, busying himself with tidying the bar. He tried not to look at them too long, and for the sake of the man’s ravaged sense of pride, Fawkes hoped Addisson didn’t notice.

“We’ll miss you too,” she said. “You guys were always… different. I, um, I mean that in a good way.”

“We know you do,” Nova said, smirking. It should be obvious to anyone by now that Addisson preferred ‘different’, but perceptive Nova had probably always known, if only because outcasts always knew each other.

Their pile of guns and armor was significantly smaller than it had been the night before, but there was still a lot that they could have sold, and probably would sell once they got to Rivet City, or wherever else they might go. But Addisson was more than happy to leave a good bit of it with Gob and Nova, who she knew didn’t have a whole lot in the way of personal belongings, and could use the boost either in caps from selling the stuff, or as personal defense.

“Colin won’t like you giving us things,” Nova told her, but she graciously accepted a few high-priced items anyway.

The two pairs wished each other luck, and then Fawkes and Addisson went back home, to collect their travel gear. Addisson sighed heavily once they’d got it all together, and looked around the house one last time. (Or at least the last time for a while; they’d be back once they settled down elsewhere, to collect Wadsworth and what little they hadn’t sold or packed.)

“I suppose this is goodbye then,” Wadsworth said, his body twisting around in a fashion that might have been a little agitated. “For the time being, at least. Please take care of yourself, madam. And, you, sir.” He turned to Fawkes with his main eye, the aperture widening and constricting. “Please watch after her as well.”

“Rest assured,” Fawkes said with a nod.

“We’ll be back,” Addisson said lightly. She didn’t like to make things sound final, at least not for friends. Fawkes gathered that there had been just too much finality in her life already.

“Yes, and I will be here,” Wadsworth told her. “Unless Miss Moira sells the house for you. Then you may have to search for me a bit.”

Addisson laughed. “I bet she’d love to keep you around at her place. Might not be a bad idea, in the meantime.”

Wadsworth said, “Perhaps,” and they left it at that. If he left to wander around the town, they’d find him easily enough. Megaton wasn’t that big. And if he left to wander around the wasteland, then that was up to him as well.

After that, there was really no reason to linger, so Fawkes took Addisson’s hand and kissed it, and led her to the door.

Their house was near the city’s one exit, so he anticipated leaving town with only one more quick stop to let Simms know they were going. Even so, Fawkes couldn’t say he was surprised to find their neighbor Jericho leaning against the railing on the walkway outside the house, looking that unique combination of bored and hostile that he pulled off so effortlessly.

“So you’re really leavin’,” he said around the cigarette in his mouth. “Couldn’t stand to be without your pet monster?”

Addisson’s rifle was unslung from her back in half a second, its bayonet aimed at Jericho’s face. “Watch your fucking mouth!” she growled, and it very much was a growl this time, unrestrained.

Jericho didn’t seem particularly phased. From what Fawkes remembered hearing, the man had been a raider back in the day. He probably thought it was normal, to have supposed allies threaten you over insults. (Because he and Addisson were nothing like friends, but they’d worked together to protect the town, when push came to shove.)

“Little girl,” he said scathingly. “You think you’re some kind of hero, sticking up for that ugly thing?”

“No, not a hero,” Addisson said to him, her voice low as she inched forward so that the sharp end of the blade would have nicked Jericho’s face if it weren’t for her sniper’s control. “I just don’t want anyone mistaking what this is.”

“And what is it?” Jericho asked, his tone verging on carefully neutral as he tilted his head almost imperceptibly back.

Addisson took a breath, like she was trying to calm herself, and it was a real testament to her stability that she didn’t accidentally slice the ex-raider’s jugular. “It’s a partnership,” she said, “of two people who understand and support each other.”

Snorting, Jericho said, “What’s there to understand about a mutant?”

Loosening her posture slightly, Addisson said, “What’s there to understand about me slicing your nose off?” as the edge of the bayonet pressed against Jericho’s face and he had to yank his head back. “I still don’t think you get it. If there’s a monster here, it’s not Fawkes. He’s the only reason I’m not tearing you apart, so I think you should show him a little respect.”

There was a still and quiet moment where nobody moved, because Jericho seemed to be under the impression that Addisson wasn’t making a real request, that her words were rhetorical. But when she stayed with her blade pressed against Jericho’s cheek, with his head tilted back too far to escape, he eventually realized, and hesitantly, very slowly, gave Fawkes a short nod.

“You should think a little harder next time,” Addisson said as she drew back a few inches, “about what ‘monster’ means. Take a look in the mirror while you’re at it.”

As a last parting gesture, she used the blade to knock the cigarette out of Jericho’s mouth, then stalked off, keeping her rifle at the ready. She didn’t look back to see that Fawkes was following her, but he wouldn’t have dared linger long.

It didn’t take but a moment to tell Simms they were leaving; he’d seen the exchange with Jericho, and apparently decided it was prudent to offer little more than a terse nod on their way out (though the look he gave Fawkes was a little more sympathetic. Was it because of how he knew he’d been treated by the citizens, or because he was volunteering to put up with the prickly wanderer?).

Finally, after what felt like a very long held breath, they were out of the town, and back into the dusty wastelands they knew so well. They walked down the road a ways before Addisson slowed and turned to him with a sigh. 

"Sorry that wasn't as uneventful as we were hoping. I shouldn't have taken Jericho's bait." She shook her head at herself. 

"Would you really have killed him if I wasn't there?" Fawkes asked, a little concerned that she might really be so bothered by the man's words. They were just words, after all. 

"Probably not," she admitted sheepishly, which relieved Fawkes somewhat. "Jericho’s an asshole, but he’s not worth it.” Fawkes gathered that ‘it’ meant both the trouble she would be in with the town, if she seriously attacked one of their people, and the moral distress of killing a relatively-innocent person. “I sure as hell would have given him something to remember me by, though,” she added.

Fawkes tilted his head at her. “Why did you say that I was your reason for not hurting him?”

“Well you are,” she said, and then ducked her head, embarrassed. “I mean… You always act like I’m so good, but not like… the way other people do. It’s just like you know I’m good, and you expect me to always be that way, and I just… I just, I don’t want to do anything that would make you change your mind about me.”

He wasn’t sure he’d ever thought of it that way, but Addisson was right: he knew she was good, and he loved that about her. And he knew she was not always nice, which he respected about her. Sometimes the right way to deal with unpleasant people was to be unpleasant right back at them (and sometimes it wasn’t; knowing the difference was a struggle). But the fact that she thought about wanting to be good (even if it was ‘just for his sake’, which he knew was a vast oversimplification) proved that she was. Bad people didn’t think about being good or bad. They didn’t worry about doing the wrong thing.

“That is not something you need to worry about,” he told her. “If you follow your heart, I believe you will always do right.”

“I am following my heart,” she said earnestly, with a hint of sweet playfulness (and relief that Fawkes was not upset with her). “That’s why I’m going wherever you go.”

There was no one around to be shy about, but even if they’d had a captive audience, Fawkes didn’t think he'd be able to resist scooping Addisson up into his arms and kissing her soundly. She yelped as she was lifted off the ground but found her balance quickly, wrapping her arms around him and returning a kiss of intense joy.

“Y’know I’d wander forever if leaving places made you this happy every time,” she said as she nuzzled her face into his.

“And I would follow you everywhere to see this smile,” he replied. “I will follow you everywhere, as long as you can stand my presence.”

She giggled, or what passed for a giggle in her sarcastic throat. “Well what kind of presents are we talking?” she asked with a grin. “If they’re anything like what you’ve given me so far, I think I’ll want them for a long, long time.”

He adjusted her in his arms, enjoying the weight of her, the heft of something lively and beloved. “What have I given you?” he asked. He knew it was a joke, but he was curious what she would say. Kisses? Backup? The occasional scavenged snack cake?

“Only good things,” she told him.

He resolved immediately to give her his very best from then on.

Chapter Text

They headed for Rivet City, figuring that they would benefit from living near some sort of civilization anyway, at least until they had some idea where they were going otherwise. Travel these days was a little easier, since Addisson had been back and forth through the subway tunnels and overland roads multiple times, but it was still nearly impossible to go more than half an hour without finding something you needed to kill, so it took them a day or two to get to their destination. They camped along the way, and Fawkes was sure to keep careful watch as Addisson slept. By the time they arrived at the city, he was rather more tired than he would have normally been; it seemed that weeks of consistent sleep had trained his body to expect rest on a regular schedule.

“We could’ve taken turns,” Addisson said, fondly exasperated, but Fawkes would barely hear her argument, let alone engage with it. He’d decided to watch out for her, and it was worth being a little sleepy.

(“I’m telling you, Dogmeat would tell us if something was sneaking around,” she tried to say. “How do you think I ever got any sleep before I met you?”)

The first thing they would normally do when coming to a city would be to pawn off the gear they’d collected on the way, but this time Addisson went for the hotel. She approached Vera Weatherly and asked, “Do you have any double rooms? Or even a triple room?”

The woman laughed, like Addisson was some unexpected comedian practicing her routine on strangers. “Looking to get a bed for your dog too? I do have a double, but I think your dog will have to sleep on the floor, sorry.” She went to the desk to rummage around for the key, and Fawkes watched her idly.

His mind was a bit stuck on Addisson insisting on multiple beds. He started wondering if, perhaps, maybe, he had misread the situation? He didn’t doubt his standing with his companion, and had to take her affections and declarations at better than face value. It would be very strange if she suddenly decided that she didn’t care for him quite that much after all, and Fawkes knew she was not one to change her mind so completely or suddenly. But what if he’d assumed too much about just how close she wanted to be on a regular basis? Two nights did not a habit make, and it certainly didn’t make a promise either. She’d allowed him to sleep close twice, but it was not unreasonable for her to want a certain amount of space normally. If she was getting him his own bed, that did not necessarily mean he was being banished from hers permanently.

“Thanks,” Addisson said to Vera, unaware of Fawkes’ brief internal struggle to accept her actions. “If you do happen to find a spare bed we could borrow, I’d appreciate it.”

She led the way into the room Vera indicated and took stock of the furniture. As requested, it held two full-sized beds, and a variety of tables and chests. It didn’t have any windows, which was fairly typical of Rivet City, Fawkes recalled from the few other times they’d visited, but there was a plush carpet in the middle, which lent it a sense of warmth not shared by most of the other places they’d stayed.

Dumping her backpack in the corner and laying her rifle across it with a little more care, Addisson stalked up to one of the beds, rolled up her sleeves, and looked at him from over her shoulder. “Help me move this thing?” she asked.

“Of course,” he replied, though he had no idea what her goal was. She did not typically care about the feng shui of a room, as long as it was functional. He stood next to her and placed his hands on the edge of the bed, waiting for her cue. Together they pushed it until it was flush with the other one, and Addisson stood up and crossed her arms with a look of tentative satisfaction.

“What do you think?” she asked, glancing at him curiously. “Should we put it on the other wall? I figure we’re probably going to be here for a least a few days, so we might as well set it up how we like.” She cocked her head at the new double-wide bed again. “It’s kinda square. I really was hoping we could get a third one; that way we could lay long-ways across them, but hopefully you don’t mind it not being really long enough. Guess we could… put the end table at the foot of the bed and pile blankets on it. I dunno.”

Fawkes’ mind felt like his old console when it hit a snag, like it was struggling to make connections between several documents that had been corrupted, the components whirring and ticking noisily, the green text cursor blinking endlessly. But then it all caught up, and he blinked at her, his mouth hanging open a little wider than the recent new-normal. “Yes, that’s fine,” he said softly, not because he was trying to maintain the silent sanctity of the room but because he lacked the presence of mind to force it out at normal volume. Quite without his meaning to, he closed the short distance between them and stooped down to kiss Addisson gently. She grinned into it, probably still unaware of the wild chase his brain had just been through. He decided that was fine; she didn’t have to know every one of his embarrassing secrets.

It was much too early for bed just yet, so aside from the few moments they took to ‘test’ that it was acceptable (as if either of them had much leave to complain if it wasn’t perfect, especially compared to the dirty mattresses they were likely to sleep on in the wasteland), and the few moments they took to cuddle Dogmeat as he rolled around between them on the unusually wide bed, they didn’t make much use of the new makeshift furniture or the room at large. They’d come to the city for a variety of reasons, the first of which was to sell their extra gear, so they set out to visit the marketplace.

The people of Rivet City were a little less used to him than the people of Megaton had been, but they didn’t seem to treat Fawkes with quite the same level of suspicion. Rather, they did treat him with a level of suspicion, but he gathered that it was not strictly because he was a mutant, but simply due to his being an outsider. As trader-folk, they managed a unique level of reserved friendliness, which extended to him far more equitably than he would have expected.

He thought this mostly had to do with the fact that he was with Addisson; there was probably no human settlement in the world where he could walk around entirely on his own without instilling fear in others, and that was something so obvious to him that he hardly had to come to terms with it. But the Rivet City citizens’ relative acceptance of him probably also relied on their trust in their guard captain, Harkness, who passed judgement on everyone before they stepped a single foot into the city. Harkness had allowed Fawkes in, for whatever lucky reason, so it stood to reason that Fawkes was not a threat.

Honestly, Fawkes liked Harkness quite a lot. He was an exceedingly fair man who kept a tight ship but was kind and well-liked by the people. He was as polite to Fawkes as he could possibly expect, and often even more so. Fawkes wondered if part of the reason Harkness was so accepting of him was because he knew what it was like to be ‘other’, and yet still, in your heart, feel that you were supposed to have a place among people. 

Then again, he'd been polite enough to Fawkes even the first time they'd met, which was before Addisson had had time to ask around and learn Harkness' hidden identity as an android. The man hadn't been aware of his otherness at the time, so either it was that deeply ingrained in him or some other sense of fairness made him treat Fawkes kindly. Now, though, he thought it probably had to do with the android thing at least a little bit. There was a new sort of commiserating look in the man's eyes when he and Fawkes met each other in the market nowadays. 

"Glad you two have stayed safe out there," he said in greeting as Addisson haggled with Flak about gun prices. 

"Yes, thank you," Fawkes returned. "How are things here?" 

"About the same as usual. There's always work to be done to keep everyone safe, and nobody can agree where to devote resources. Li has been too distracted lately to focus on town safety meetings." 

It was unlike Doctor Li to be distracted, so Fawkes asked, "Is she alright?" 

Harkness's face remained mostly impassive as he said, "It isn't my place to speak about it, but she'll probably tell the wanderer if you ask." Fawkes nodded and they left it at that. The science lab was usually one of their earlier stops anyway, and indeed they went there next, Fawkes relaying the news on the way. 

"Harkness implied to me that something is amiss with Doctor Li." 

"Amiss?" Addisson frowned, seeming a bit nervous. Li was one of the few people left with any ties to her family, and as such she was somewhat protective of the woman. She clearly tried not to be clingy though; where Fawkes was fairly sure she would have liked to ask straight away, Addisson had enough tact to allow the flow of conversation to take them there instead. And Li was fond enough of her not to withhold important information anyway. 

"I'm not widely advertising this," Li began after a few minutes of catching up, "but I want to let you know that I won't be staying here for long. I've… decided to pursue other opportunities, up in the Commonwealth." 

"Oh," Addisson said, taken aback. “Well, um, can I ask why?”

“Frankly, I don’t trust the Brotherhood,” Li said, looking uncomfortable. “They’re better than the Enclave, but the sort of power they have, and with everything I know… I don’t feel safe around them anymore. They were always a means to an end anyway.”

Addisson nodded. She’d expressed to Fawkes her reservations about the Brotherhood before. They’d been a huge help with the purifier; it was clear they’d have never succeeded without their military power, but their beliefs weren’t in line with hers-- especially their belief that the ‘non-humans’ of the wasteland were invariably evil. Of course they’d all had their fair share of bad experiences with ghouls and super mutants (even Fawkes, who had very little love for his violent brothers, and rather agreed that their actions were morally repugnant), but Addisson had friends of both varieties-- clearly. She didn’t like the Brotherhood’s single-mindedness about them, or about their own supposed worthiness to keep the wasteland safe.

The mood was a bit dampered after that, but Addisson took the news in stride and discussed with Li things like who would be taking over the hydroponics garden and her space on the town commission, both of which were still up in the air. Li suggested that maybe Addisson could fill at least one of the spaces, since she was reasonably well-liked and had to have a decent head for science, as James’ daughter.

Addisson grinned at the compliment (or the assumption, anyway), but she gave a sort of shrug that was just short of shaking her head. “I dunno,” she said. “I don’t think we were planning to stay here long-term.”

Li blinked, her eyes flicking towards Fawkes for a moment (she’d never seemed scared of him, but he got the feeling she didn’t particularly like him either), before she looked back at Addisson. “Well it was an idea,” she said.

In the end, though Addisson was fairly adamant that they weren’t going to settle down in Rivet City, she did allow Doctor Li to teach her some of her botanical skills. It was something the woman seemed to want to do, perhaps as a parting gift, or perhaps in hopes that someone would be able to look after the townsfolk after she’d gone. She took Addisson on as somewhat of an apprentice for the time they spent there, utilizing her assistance as Li made arrangements to leave.

It was a bit odd to Fawkes, for Addisson to have a job that neither required nor benefitted from his presence. He probably could have learned what she was learning, and might have taken to it just as well, but Li didn’t especially like his hanging about in the lab, so he sheepishly excused himself. He wondered if Li maybe wanted some time alone with Addisson, as they were nearly the closest thing to family that either still had, or if perhaps he really was just distracting them. Regardless, he promised to meet Addisson back at their room for dinner in the evening, and took Dogmeat out into the halls to find a useful or interesting way to occupy himself.

There really was no shortage of things to do in Rivet City. The place itself was something of a maze until you got used to it, and it was full of people, most of whom were quite talkative, even to him (and especially if he had Dogmeat by his side). He visited each of the stalls in the marketplace, and was sure to buy something small at each one, in a fairly successful attempt at ingratiating himself with the merchants. They rewarded him with gossip, a currency he could exchange nearly anywhere in the city, and rather friendly smiles, which buoyed him in Addisson’s absence. In this way he learned what most troubled people, and if there was anything he could do to help. Without very much searching, he found what was apparently the most pressing matter, presented to him by Harkness on their second day.

“So you’re staying for a while,” he said, noticing that Fawkes was not trailing the girl-on-a-mission like usual.

“An unspecified time,” Fawkes told him, “but yes, it seems that way. Doctor Li has enlisted Addisson’s help in the science lab for the time being.”

Harkness nodded and gave Fawkes a look that seemed to be sizing him up. “If that’s the case, I think we could use your help as well. Our repairman, Henry Young, could always use a hand. There’s really just too much to be done around here for one person to handle.”

Fawkes didn’t think anyone had ever actually requested his assistance before; people had taken him up on his offers a few times, but to have someone go out of their way to ask him to do something-- well, it wasn’t the asking that was important; it was the implication that went along with it, that they trusted him to handle a certain task, more than anyone else they could ask. It wasn’t exactly a surprise that Harkness trusted him that much, especially since it was well known that most everyone else in Rivet City was uninterested in helping with basic repairs, but it still brought Fawkes a certain level of joy that only somewhat had to do with his eagerness to be useful.

“Of course. I’ll help in any way I can,” he said, smiling, but not too wide. He kept his unrestrained grins for Addisson, since they seemed to put everyone else on edge.

Harkness directed him to a spot on the outer deck, where he’d last seen Henry. The man was kneeling at the side of the tower, welding metal sheets over rusted-out spots, and he was concentrating so hard that he startled and fumbled his torch when Fawkes approached. The sheet he’d been attaching tilted forward off the wall, threatening to snap the fresh welds, but Fawkes quickly caught it and held it up as Henry collected himself and his tools.

“Thanks, man,” Henry said, giving Fawkes an embarrassed grin and continuing the weld right away. They didn’t speak as Henry focused on the work, until the metal sheet was securely fastened and he could sit back without risking being crushed.

Fawkes thought about apologizing for startling him, but he decided against it. Sometimes it was better not to acknowledge the awkwardness that accidentally existed between two people, especially when one was nearly awkward by nature. Instead he got to the point, which he thought Henry might appreciate. “I was told by Harkness that you could use my assistance.”

“Oh,” Henry said, pleasantly surprised. He stood up and dusted himself off. “Yes, I definitely can. Um, what kind of things are you good at?”

“I profess only to be adept at reading, shooting, and carrying heavy objects,” Fawkes admitted. He’d read every technical book he could get his hands on, back in the vault and since escaping it, but reading didn’t amount to any sort of proficiency, he was sure.

That seemed to be more than enough for the repairman. “We can work with that! I have to say, it’s more than most of the people around here can do. Or at least more than they’d offer. Guess you could start by carrying these sheets around for me?”

Fawkes was happy to do whatever Henry needed of him, so he took the heavy, cumbersome sheets of metal and assisted the man in bringing them to whichever new spot needed patching. Together they made good work of it-- much faster than he’d have done on his own, Henry told him. Since there was still sunlight left, he showed Fawkes how to use the welding torch, to do repairs on his own. Fawkes found he liked the repetitive task, which was much better suited to his large hands than fixing Addisson’s delicate rifles. He’d tried to help her with that a few times, but he lacked the gentle dexterity for such small parts (and she was much faster at it anyhow). It felt good to be able to repair something, rather than to tear it apart. He’d expertly wielded a sledgehammer against his foes before stumbling across his beloved gatling laser, but he thought now he might really enjoy using a hammer for its original intended purpose instead. (A hammer and a sledgehammer were entirely different tools, despite the similar names, and one’s purpose really was unrepentant destruction, but his point still remained.)

The days carried on like that, with Addisson in the aftship learning whatever Doctor Li was willing and able to teach, and Fawkes assisting Henry Young where needed. They patched all sorts of rusted holes in the walls and floors of the vessel, fixed broken water and heating pipes, re-affixed railings to stairs and walkways. Nearly the entire city was made of steel, so the welding torch was put to good use every day, along with the occasional hammer and nail or clever chain-link. By the end of the week, Fawkes felt he might really be able to build that city he’d promised Addisson-- so long as she didn’t mind it being mostly scrap metal. Little else was as abundant in the wasteland. He mentioned this idly one day, the plan to build a house, as he and Henry broke for lunch out on the breezy deck by the disused fighter jets.

“Really?” he asked, in that way that was only half-question. “That’s quite some declaration of loyalty, to say you’ll build a girl a house.”

Fawkes felt his face go red-- in a metaphorical sense; he doubted the color changed noticeably. “I knew from nearly the moment we met that I would gladly dedicate my life to her,” he said. “She saved mine, after all.”

It was nowhere near as honest of a statement as he would have liked to give-- especially to Henry, who had been kind and friendly to him-- but he and Addisson had not really discussed how they would speak to others regarding their relationship. With Addisson so eager to exile herself from Megaton, Fawkes had not really expected there to be anyone for him to discuss it with. He’d thought it might just be the three of them, wandering for the rest of time, and he’d been okay with that. But now that he had people he might think of as friends, he wasn’t sure if or how he should tell them about their… their romance. He had no doubt that Addisson cared for him, possibly even loved him, was certainly willing to hold him close and kiss him softly every morning and night, but she had said nothing one way or the other about letting others know these things. Theirs was an… odd relationship, he knew, and she might rather keep it a secret. And so he didn’t tell Henry that they were together, or even that he loved her. But he could and would always tell anyone who cared to know that he would follow her to the ends of the earth; not to say so would be too weighty of a lie.

Henry surprised him with a comment that hit much closer to the truth than Fawkes would have expected. “That’s how I felt about my wife,” he said, the emphasis softly on ‘wife’, not ‘my’. He didn’t indicate that he realized what Fawkes was saying about his companion, but he also didn’t put a strict distinction between the two of them. “I don’t think she’d be happy living away from the city, and neither would CJ. But I’d give them anything I could, you know? They’re my family.”

‘Just as she is mine,’ Fawkes thought, a feeling of warmth spreading through him. He didn’t say so to Henry, but the thought remained between them, something else that they could quietly and comfortably agree on. It was an unnecessary boost to their already pleasant working relationship.

Henry’s comment did raise a question in Fawkes though, about Addisson’s real preferences in regards to their living situation. He asked her about it, sort of, one night as they ate dinner at a corner table in Gary’s Galley.

“You seem to be learning a lot with Doctor Li. Do you think you may want to take her place after she leaves?”

“Nah,” Addisson said, waving the hand that wasn’t holding a fork full of mashed potatoes. “It’s not really my style. Too much responsibility, taking care of a whole city’s food supply.”

“Some would say you’ve handled much steeper responsibilities before,” Fawkes mentioned.

Addisson gave him a look that said roughly ‘eh’. “Mostly that was because I didn’t have a choice. Nobody else was gonna step up and do it. There’s plenty of people who can do this.” She looked around the open space of the market, the tall ceilings and people milling about. “Anyway, I like this place, but I don’t think I wanna stay forever. It’s too… vault-like, you know? And it’s not… ours.”

Fawkes did know, and he agreed almost entirely (aside from the fact that he was happy to stay wherever Addisson liked best, even if that was some terrible hole in the ground), but he got a pleasant buzz from the way she said ‘ours’, so meaningfully. She’d said so before, but he always loved a reminder that she wanted it as much as he did, that place intrinsically suited to them, carefully crafted to fit their needs.

“I understand,” Fawkes told her happily. “Say the word, and I shall follow you there.”

“Hah, wherever there is,” Addisson said, her eyes smiling. “I know we’ll find it. Hope you don’t mind staying for a while longer though. Li’s caravan is coming in a couple weeks, I think, but there’s still a lot more she can teach me.”

He didn’t mind, and he told her as much. Though he looked forward to finding that place, it was good to take advantage of a learning opportunity while it was present. He could most certainly be as patient as needed, as long as he could stay by her side in the meantime.

And he did. Though they both worked fairly long hours at their respective apprenticeships, they spent all the rest of their time together, nearly every waking and sleeping moment. They both got a surprisingly regular amount of sleep, which was only surprising in that Fawkes was unused to it. It was nice though, to be able to hold her for nearly a third of each day-- even if he was genuinely asleep at least half of that time. It was a number of quiet hours where he could listen to her heartbeat undisturbed, admire the softness of her hair, the body he still barely dared to touch except in the dark of night as they lay pressed close together in sleep.

And when they were awake, they often went exploring, as was their wont. They became intimately familiar with the streets around Rivet City, the twists and turns of the nearby subway tunnels, and all the strange little corners between buildings. Addisson fell back on her favored pastime of scavenging, and Fawkes joined her with a new eye for useful scrap, now that he knew what the city really needed to maintain repairs. Dogmeat seemed to relish these outings; despite abundant attention from the locals, he was apparently bored without anything much to chase.

Although he was aware that this was only a step towards their future, Fawkes was content almost beyond measure. Aside from that place, he truly had almost everything he could want. To be with Addisson, to be doing something helpful with his time, to have the freedom to come and go as he liked, and new things to learn every day. Even the locals neglected to speak badly about him in hushed whispers; if they had rude things to say, they kept completely out of earshot when they said them, which was all Fawkes could hope for, and much more than he’d been given previously. There was little he could think of that might make his life any better. The one thing was a selfish wish, and knowing it was selfish he managed to avoid bringing it up… until biting curiosity did finally get the best of him.

They were going to bed one night on perhaps their fourth week in the city, Addisson sprawled out comfortably on the very large bed (Vera had found them a third bed the second week, and they’d shoved it up against the other two for a makeshift mattress that finally fit Fawkes’ body), when he found himself asking the question before he could stop the words.

“Have you spoken to anyone else about… us?” he asked, sitting carefully on the edge of the bed, as if jostling Addisson might somehow sour whatever answer she had to give.

“I told Li,” she replied casually. “What about you?”

“I… haven’t,” he said, again carefully.

Addisson cocked her head at him, as much as she was able to when lying horizontally among a mismatched collection of pillows. “You didn’t want to?”

“I considered telling Henry,” Fawkes admitted. “And I thought of telling Harkness. ...And it crossed my mind to mention it to a few other people, but I thought it impolite to divulge a secret you might prefer… kept.”

Turning on her side, she gazed up at him fondly, and with some exasperation. “I wouldn’t exactly call it a secret. And anyway, if it was, it’d be yours just as much as mine. Tell whoever you want.”

“You aren’t concerned--?” he began to ask, but she rolled her eyes and gave him a wry smile.

“What? That they’ll kick us out for being freaks? Let them. Their loss. We’ll take our skills and massive pile of caps elsewhere. That’s the plan eventually anyway, isn’t it?”

Some kind of half-frustrated sigh got caught in his throat, never willing to make such a disparaging noise at her. “And you don’t care that there are people who will judge you?”

Addisson shook her head, her smile turned just a little sad. “Li doesn’t care, and that’s about all that matters to me. Well, I mean she sort of cares. She thinks it’s weird, but deep down I think she gets it. She accepts it anyway, and that’s the point. And yeah, I think it’d be great if the whole town were okay with it, and no, I don’t think they will be, but I don’t expect it anyway. That’s why… you know? Why I want us to make a place.”

Fawkes nodded, somewhat solemnly. It seemed she had really thought this through, and yet still come to the same tried-and-true conclusion. “So then, do you think I should tell people? Despite the potential fallout?”

With a comfortable soft sigh, she reached for his hand and dragged him down onto the bed properly. “Do whatever you want,” she said, her eyes shining in the dim light. “I’m ready for it, I promise. I always will be.”

‘Whatever’ was such a frighteningly endless word, and if she wasn’t careful he thought she might find out just how enormous his desires were. He kissed her then, fumbling for the light, and gave her just a taste of it. If she was serious, then he would truly release those desires. But Fawkes was nothing if not patient (more patient and careful than Addisson, who seemed to try to crush herself with his body), and he decided to take the next steps all in due time. 

Chapter Text

Ever since leaving the vault, one of Fawkes’ main concerns had always been to appear as invisible as possible. (This was perhaps his third directive, after assisting Addisson and defeating any evil he came across.) He could not be literally invisible; even with a Stealth Boy, his footsteps would give him away. But it was really about being unseen, appearing unobtrusive. People were frightened of him, by virtue of his size and species (or sub-species, anyway; a meta-human was still a human, even if most people didn’t like to think so). He knew he looked and sounded scary to most people who were not his bold and foolhardy companion, and so when he came in contact with people, he willed himself to seem small.

This was all the more true when he was around Addisson in a public space, because he knew there was a significant contrast between them already, one he could not erase, and he wanted to downplay it as much as possible, for her sake. He’d heard the unkind gossip, back in Megaton. His existence frightened people, but worse was Addisson’s genuine kindness towards him. It was weird that they were friends. It made people wonder if the girl was maybe a bit wrong in the head. And yet, were they only friends? The gossips seemed to know there was something more going on behind the scenes, even before there was, and it wasn’t an idea they presented kindly. They found it creepy, the same way they’d describe a feral ghoul. Unsettling. Recognizable, but perverted from its proper form.

That was the last thing he wanted, for people to think of her that way. But her love was among the first things he wanted, and she… Well, she was bold and foolhardy and she didn’t give a damn what people thought. Not enough to change her ways for them, anyway. She told him he ought to tell everyone, if he wanted to. Their acceptance didn’t matter. Of course he could never be bold enough to shout it from rooftops, but Addisson really seemed to want him to be honest about it, and he knew she deserved no less.

So the day after their talk, and his subsequent decision to carry on with purpose towards his real desires, Fawkes bravely reached out across the dining table in the galley and held her hand.

Her face brightened immediately, and she looked up at him with a glowing, starry expression. “Hey,” she said, adjusting her hand so she could hold his back.

It wasn’t much, but at the same time it was a lot. She knew it, and he felt it keenly. It wasn’t enough, but it was a good first step to being open about their relationship, without probably scaring people. Hand-holding was innocent, but it communicated intent; specifically, the intent to stay close together, which was at the very core of his feelings for her, and something he was always willing to profess. 

He kept at them, the small but visible gestures of affection in places where they would be noticed. A hand held in the hallways; a lack of polite distance as they conducted business in the marketplace; smiles just a bit less restrained than before. Closeness and openness that showed that Fawkes considered himself her partner in all ways. And they might have been just little things, but he could tell that people saw them by the way their eyes would sometimes skip from Addisson's face when they were talking to her and land very momentarily on the place where their hands joined or their arms grazed each other's. To the townsfolk's credit, it didn't seem to phase any of them for long.

None of them brought it up to him either, which could have been for a good many reasons. At least in the cases of Henry and Harkness, Fawkes assumed it was because the people were not prone to gossip. Henry did chat at him while they worked sometimes, but rarely did he say anything that might be considered sensitive or too speculative. Such was not the case for everyone in Rivet City; for example, Potomac Attire’s shopkeep, Bannon, had his nose in everyone’s business and liked for it to be known. The fact that he didn’t say anything to Fawkes about ‘the word around town’ regarding his relationship was down either to the fact that nobody cared very much, or to polite discretion, which was nearly as good.

Of course there was always the chance that Bannon didn’t mention it because he found it too distasteful to talk about, but that was not usually how gossip worked, and his demeanor didn’t indicate any sort of hidden disdain, anyway.

Even if everyone in the town was tolerant of the idea that he and Addisson might be romantically involved with one another, Fawkes still wasn’t bold enough to bring it up of his own accord, and certainly lacked the courage to outright ask what he wanted to know. He didn’t consider himself a cowardly person; where it counted, he could be relied upon to put himself in peril for the sake of another, especially if that person was Addisson. And this… thing he wanted to know… He would figure it out, in time, but when faced with the opportunity to confront the wastelanders about it he couldn’t help thinking that maybe there was another way. At this point he could no longer feign simple curiosity, and his instinct to protect Addisson from ridicule was still hard to escape. 

But trusting in her words was an important part of their relationship, and she’d said (several times) that she was not afraid of what people thought, and that she wanted to stay with him, despite whatever hardships they might face. She’d said ‘always’, which… was a very long time, Fawkes knew. Addisson was still so young, but even so, he didn’t think she was unaware of what always meant. And even if she changed her mind (which, again, he tried not to assume she would), he would not, and that was what this was about.

So in the end, Fawkes convinced himself to gather his courage and ask the person whose knowledge of such matters he currently trusted most, as one of the few people around who had any positive experiences with it.

“May I ask you a question, my friend?” he said to Henry one day as they were working.

“Sure,” Henry said, pausing just long enough to give Fawkes a smile before getting back to his weld. They talked over the noise most of the time, so Henry didn’t bother stopping work. Both he and Fawkes knew how to speak between the torch’s sizzle and the gusting of the winds out on the deck.

Fawkes paused longer than the flow of workplace noise dictated, trying to gather his words even though he knew exactly what he wanted to ask. Sometimes speech became difficult again, when his brain was so full of thoughts. He took a deep breath to calm himself. ‘In all things, a calm heart must prevail.’ Even he didn’t always find it easy to follow his own advice.

Eventually he said, “I’m interested in learning about marriage customs in the wasteland,” and then held his breath, waiting for Henry’s response to what was certainly a very telling request.

Henry sat down his torch for a moment, as if he realized this was more serious than the sort of things they might otherwise casually discuss during work, but he seemed to have a deliberate second thought, and picked it back up again. “Oh, I don’t know if we have any special customs,” he said between two welds. The words were very casual, but Fawkes could see that the look in his eyes had changed. But he seemed pleased, rather than judgemental, and Fawkes was relieved.

“I’m familiar with pre-war customs,” he told Henry, “but I imagine things have changed since then.”

His familiarity with anything pre-war was spotty at best, having been gleaned from a combination of corrupt data files and mostly forgotten memories, but it still comprised most of his knowledge. A lot of it was nearly instinctual; he remembered things, like how to count and read and what the names of things were, but for the most part he had to be reminded of anything before he realized he already knew it, before the knowledge was brought forward in his brain. This very much applied to things that were not part of his daily life especially, like how one might go about, say, becoming married.

Luckily, Henry did not ask him to explain those pre-war customs, many of which Fawkes was afraid were still buried. He didn’t know what he didn’t know. “Hmm, where to start…” Henry said, drumming his fingers. “Well I guess the first step is two people knowing each other. Liking each other helps,” he added with a grin, “although some people don’t bother with that part, for reasons I couldn’t understand. After that, well, one of them asks the other if they’d like to get married, and if the other person says yes then they go and find an official of some sort. After that, I guess it depends. Maybe they have kids, or maybe he builds her a house.”

At that, Henry looked fully at Fawkes, and Fawkes found himself a little embarrassed that his coworker had remembered his impassioned declaration.

“Yes,” Fawkes said awkwardly, shying from Henry’s knowing smile. “That does sound familiar. But, isn’t there more? Some kind of ritual?”

“There’s the ceremony,” Henry told him. He put the torch down on the floor and settled into a cross-legged pose, leaning on his thighs as Fawkes settled across from him. “People usually try to dress nice for that, if they can. Ah, I think just cleaning up is fine though,” he added, at Fawkes’ look of mild despair. “Dressing fancy isn’t something most people can afford anyway, right? Something like that isn’t going to break a marriage.”

Of course Fawkes had his doubts. Oh, not that he suspected in the slightest that Addisson would agree to marry him and then call it off when she found he couldn’t dress up for her. She wasn’t very keen on clothing anyway, typically wearing one of several soft undershirts with a button-up flannel or something thrown over-top of it, the sleeves rolled halfway up her arms but never very precisely. He imagined her standing across from him at a ceremony of some sort, and he knew she’d be beautiful even in her most thread-bare tank top. She could show up entirely naked for all he would care, as long as she showed up-- though, that would be a very different issue, and not one he ought to consider while on the job (even if they’d taken an impromptu break).

Henry broke him out of his imaginative reverie by saying, “There’s the rings, too. Some people give each other rings when they propose, or at the ceremony. That’s not as common around here, since, well, where would you find something like that?”

“I remember that,” Fawkes said, his voice soft as the concept misted over his mind. He gazed down at his hands. That felt very familiar… He could almost feel a band around one of his fingers, though like any phantom sensation he couldn’t exactly place it. There certainly was nothing like that now; he doubted that anything so delicate would fit him anyway. But Addisson had very pretty, slender fingers, which a ring would fit perfectly on, should he be lucky enough to find one.

The idea stuck in his mind as the most relevant piece of information, even though Henry assured him that rings were not necessary and had even fallen out of fashion in the wasteland, since it made the wearer sort of a target for theft.

“That won’t be a problem for Addisson,” Fawkes said, matter-of-fact, but a little proud as well. He liked that she was so adept at taking care of herself. “And the trend may have fallen out of favor here, but she is from a vault. It is likely that she was raised with… more traditional expectations.”

“Maybe so,” Henry conceded, though he still clearly had his doubts, primarily about the ease of acquiring such an item, and about Fawkes’ need for such a thing in the first place. “The wanderer’s a nice girl. She wouldn’t turn you down just because you didn’t give her jewelry.”

Even so, it was something that had embedded itself in Fawkes’ mind, not an obsession but a goal he wanted to work towards. Addisson deserved the finest of gifts, even if she did not strictly need them. And that house he planned to build her was still some ways away in the future. He wanted to give her something to remind her of his promise, while it sat unfulfilled.

That night, as she slept deeply between her two guardians (Dogmeat taking up much more than his fair share of the bed), Fawkes gently held up her hand and traced his thumb along her fingers, imagining a ring nestled there. It would be very pretty, but he worried it might get in the way or bother her when she was shooting. He pictured her gripping her favorite rifle, aiming down the scope at something half a mile away. She probably wouldn’t like to have something interfering with her grip. But maybe she could wear it on a chain? Or perhaps she would wear it when they were around town and unlikely to need to murder anything.

Or, maybe she wouldn’t like it at all. But that could only be her decision if he gave her the choice.

His work with Henry still had to take precedence, as he’d promised to help while they were in the city still. While Addisson was assisting Li, Fawkes continued to learn and practice with Henry, and sometimes take the brunt of the work when he was able. Henry wasn’t the sort to try to foist hard work off on someone else (too used to others doing it to him, perhaps), but there were things that never got done around town because he wasn’t able to handle them himself.

“You mu--,” he started one day, quickly catching himself before he said something he thought might be insensitive (as if Fawkes was sensitive about being reminded that he was, in fact, a mutant. He was not, but Henry didn’t know this, and Fawkes thought it was nice that he tried to be considerate). “You. You’re immune to radiation, right? Can you swim?”

“I haven’t tried,” Fawkes admitted. “But, in theory I can. Is there a need for swimming?”

A little uneasy, like he thought this might be asking too much, Henry mentioned a few points on the hull that had serious damage but were almost impossible to access without getting in the water, which was still dangerously radioactive, despite the Brotherhood’s purifier. Also there were mirelurks, which was possibly the bigger problem. Henry wasn’t combat trained. He could handle a gun alright, like most wastelanders, but combined with the other risks it simply wasn’t something he’d ever felt comfortable attempting.

Fawkes agreed to try. He’d heard people complaining about the mirelurks in the lower decks before. If that was how they were getting in, then it was indeed a problem that needed to be solved. Inconvenient, perhaps, but not something he could ignore, when his physiology made him capable of handling the risk. So he took the welding torch and other equipment he might need, and made his way down to the outer hull where Henry indicated.

He’d gotten so used to fighting with Addisson and Dogmeat at his side that during his initial scuffle with the mirelurks, he found himself glancing around worriedly, trying to find his companions, before he remembered that he was alone for once. That was just as well, he thought; no need to put them in danger. If he could handle all their battles for them, he’d be happy to-- although he knew Addisson wouldn’t like to be treated as if she was incapable. She liked to fight, as much as any sane person could.

She probably wouldn’t like fighting mirelurks underwater though, Fawkes assumed, as he fended the beasts off with a sledgehammer. (He’d thought about bringing his gatling laser, but he wasn’t sure if it was water-proof. Lasers worked underwater, including his welding torch, but if the battery pack wasn’t sealed well, the whole thing could get corroded, and then he’d be back in the dark-ages of warfare.) It was a little difficult to swing the hammer with the water resistance, but he managed to keep them off his back as he climbed along the submerged edge of the hull toward the problem spot.

The holes in question really weren’t that large, which Henry had told him before he headed off. They certainly weren’t large enough for adult mirelurks to get through. The problem was mirelurk spawn, which were about the size of dinner plates. According to Henry, the spawn got in through a number of rusted patches and then lived off of who-knows-what until they were big enough to cause trouble. Patching the holes would trap them in there, but that wouldn’t make much difference, since they rarely left anyway. Luckily, the spots, though underwater, were just a foot or two below the surface, which meant that Fawkes didn’t have to hold his breath through long lines of laser welds.

The work went very well, and before sundown Fawkes had patched every hole in the vicinity, as well as scavenged a bit of mirelurk meat for dinner or trade. The day’s only problem came as he was making his way back to shore. As he swam under the submerged section of hull that blocked sight of the city, a mirelurk hunter came at him from the depths, likely angry that he’d killed quite a few of its family. Though he wasn’t encumbered with metal sheets like he’d been on his way in, Fawkes had little chance of dodging a hunter in its hunting grounds. Too slow underwater, he was rearing back with his hammer when the thing’s massive claw caught him in the chest. Even worse, when Fawkes flinched away from it, his back was caught on a razor-sharp edge of metal peeling back from the treacherous hull. That he managed to bring the hammer down on the mirelurk’s face was pure fighting instinct. On land he might be one of the wasteland’s fiercest creatures, but down there he was prey, and his brain recognized that.

Even with the resistance of the water, the hammer was heavy enough to drive the hunter away and let Fawkes escape back to shore. He tore himself away from the hull’s edge where he’d been caught, and didn’t think about the pain until he was climbing the scaffolding up to the bridge. He wasn’t flexible enough to reach the center of his back even on the best of days, so he didn’t bother. Looking down at where the hunter had gotten him in the front though, he saw it wasn’t as bad as it could be. A clean slash less than a foot long ran across his chest, barely bleeding. It seemed the salt water had already done half a job of healing it.

He didn’t bother checking in with Henry. The job was done; that was the important part. Instead he went straight back to the room he shared with Addisson and set his sledgehammer and torch down in the corner before carefully flexing the muscles of his back in an attempt to assess the damage. (He later realized that he could have gone to the clinic to ask for help, or even to Henry or Harkness, or anyone who might lend him their sight, but it didn’t occur to him at the time. He was still mostly used to handling things on his own, during the rare moments when Addisson was not around to assist.)

The wound stung; without eyes on the back of his head he could only guess that it was more of a jagged gash than the slice of the mirelurk’s claw. But possibly the worst thing about it was that as he flexed, despite the care he took not to rip his flesh any further, what remained of the fabric of his shirt tore with an unfortunate and very finite sound, and the two halves of it came apart, leaving the shreds to dangle from his shoulders.

He held his breath, shocked. That shirt had lasted him two-hundred years! It had stayed on his body (more or less) even through his grisly transformation, a real testament to Vault-Tec’s textiles. The vault suit seemed to be the world’s most durable fabric, but it had met its match in a joint assault between a metaphorical rock and hard place. The sharkskin of Rivet City’s hull had dealt Fawkes both injury and insult.

Walking around with his chest bared had hardly been decent to begin with, but Fawkes knew he would lose the respect of most normal people if he kept the tatters of the suit hanging from his arms, so regretfully he peeled them from his biceps. How strange he felt, so suddenly, to be completely bare from the waist up. His back felt vulnerable and cold. He felt naked, for all that he was still covered enough to be seen without greatly offending people.

He sat there on the edge of the bed for several long minutes, which might have been hours, and worried the leftover fabric strips between his fingers. In spots it was still thick, but in too many other places it was threadbare. There probably wasn’t enough left of it to make a shirt for even a very small child. He doubted there was any use to it anymore. Anyway, they’d scavenged whole, clean vault suits from the ruins of several other vaults, and Addisson still had her old one. If they wanted the fabric, there was plenty of it around. This one was just… sentimental, Fawkes supposed. Familiar, like the veins on the backs of his hands. It wasn’t special, and he wasn’t upset at its loss, not really. If he was upset it was only because, well, it was a lot harder to be inconspicuous with that much green skin on display. And nobody else walked around Rivet City bare-chested anyway.

Addisson found him like that a little while later. When she opened the door to their room, she paused in the doorway, first a little surprised to find him there, and next quite surprised to see him shirtless. In the dim light, Fawkes couldn’t claim to see that she was blushing, but she was standing there with her mouth hanging slightly open, and anyways, he knew her. He could tell she was a bit excited by this sudden change.

“Hi,” she said, her voice an octave higher than normal. “You, um. What’s with the...?”

Her expression changed into a more appropriate concern when he angled towards her, and she approached him with less flirtatious hesitation. “I encountered some trouble on the job today,” he told her.

“Oh, gosh, are you alright? Here, let me…”

She hurried over to her bag and rummaged around for first-aid equipment, which she brought to his side with all haste. She started opening various jars and vials, but he shook his head at her.

“I’m not concerned with this particular injury,” he said, rising. “But if you could look at this one for me.”

He heard her gasp very softly as he turned around. The word gasp hardly even fit the action. Gasping wasn’t something Addisson often did, because it implied that there was anything that could really surprise or bother her anymore. It was more of a sharp inhale, likely as an instinctive expression of empathy. Fawkes could only guess that meant the cut looked pretty bad.

“Eugh,” was Addisson’s diagnosis when she looked a little closer. “How exactly did this happen?”

“I was caught on a sharp piece of metal,” Fawkes explained, and then told her the rest of the story, because the explanation simply wasn’t complete without the mirelurks. The presence of the hunter also somewhat mitigated his shame, as he wouldn’t likely have ended up skewered on a rusted ship hull if not for the mirelurk’s valiant attempt to filet him from the front.

“Ah, yeah,” Addisson said, grimacing and feeling around carefully near the wound. “That’s pretty much exactly what it looks like. Well, at least you’re probably immune to tetanus. Er, does it hurt real bad?”

Fawkes very briefly considered acting tough, but there was no reason to lie to her. “Moderately,” he said, which was an oversimplification, but true enough. “It feels very… raw.”

Addisson hummed. “I can imagine. It’s probably gonna heal a little jagged. Or, I dunno, maybe it won’t. I’ve never seen a super mutant with scars before, but I can’t say I’ve looked real close.”

“Nor have I,” Fawkes admitted. His kind were clearly very hardy, though not magically so. His body might heal him of anything non-fatal, though whether it left evidence, they would just have to wait and see.

Patiently and diligently, Addisson applied ointment and bandages to both injuries, then lightly ‘kissed them better’. “You up for dinner?” she asked, nodding towards the door. “Or…?”

He shook his head. “I think I will rest.”

“Okay,” Addisson said with a shrug, heading to her pack instead, to grab a snack in lieu of a warm meal.

Fawkes would have protested that she should go and take care of herself, but he thought that maybe just this once it would be okay to indulge her bad habit of staying by his side. He laid down in their large make-shift bed, and Addisson puttered around the room for a while before turning out the light and joining him.

“I bet you’ll heal quick,” she said reassuringly, carefully cuddling up to his chest (which didn’t ache half as bad as his back).

“It’s likely,” he conceded. He was silent for a moment, and the warm darkness pooled between them. Then he said, “The same cannot be said for my shirt.”

He didn’t really intend for the statement to have any emotion attached, but from the way Addisson shifted back to gaze at him, he could tell some emotion had gotten attached anyway.

“Are you cold?” she asked. He could tell she was a little dubious about it, since he always ran so hot (compared to her), and because the wasteland tended towards a neutral temperature no matter the time of year. But of course she asked anyway, instead of assuming the correct but potentially embarrassing answer.

Because this was Addisson, he admitted, “I feel exposed,” to which she just replied, “Ah.” She didn’t say anymore, but she seemed to understand, at least somewhat. She pulled a blanket up from the bottom of the bed and softly settled it over his shoulder. He wasn’t cold, so it didn’t help in that way, and the drape of the fabric didn’t protect his back at all, but all the same it was a comforting buffer against the world, and offered them a cocoon in which to huddle close.

In the morning, Fawkes debated going anywhere, but eventually his determination to be responsible won out, and he sidled through the halls in search of Henry, to start his work day. He found the man in a stairwell, fixing some loose steps. He looked up when Fawkes approached (as, even at his stealthiest, there was little way to quiet his echo in the metal city), and frowned at the bandage on his chest.

“You alright?” he asked, setting his hammer down. “Ah, don’t tell me. I knew that was a dangerous job.” He grimaced in apology.

“The job is finished,” Fawkes replied, as if that made up for the danger or Henry’s guilt. It wasn’t as if Henry hadn’t warned him, or like he’d twisted Fawkes’ arm about taking the job. “My wounds will heal in time.”

Henry didn’t seem like he entirely believed him, but the man was too pragmatic to let his concerns drag them down. “Alright, if you say so. But I don’t think the town will fall apart, if you want to take a sick day.”

Fawkes considered it. He certainly didn’t feel his usual self, and the bandages and healing skin pulled awkwardly on both sides of his chest when he moved. But sitting around by himself felt even less appealing than working through the discomfort, and he told Henry as much.

“Maybe take a walk around the market,” Henry suggested. Obviously he thought it was the ideal plan, to both keep Fawkes from straining himself and from being bored to death (he didn’t know Fawkes’ history; therefore he didn’t know Fawkes’ inability to be affected by boredom), but it didn’t take into consideration his lingering unease with exposing himself to the townsfolk.

Henry wasn’t Addisson; Fawkes liked the man quite a lot, but there were some things that were hard to explain to anyone, and nearly impossible to explain to anyone other than the woman he thought of marrying. Instead he just shook his head and carefully knelt down to begin assisting Henry with the stairs. “I’d rather not be stared at,” he said simply, and allowed Henry to take that as he would. Would the man understand his underlying insecurities? Perhaps not. But it was not his burden to bear anyway.

It went on like this for several days. After the first, Henry was tactful enough to find them work on the outside of the ship, where they might suffer fewer curious eyes while Fawkes healed. And heal he did; the slash on his front, from the angry mirelurk, was little more than a yellow-pink scratch after the third day, even though it had been fairly deep. The sharpness of the hunter’s claw made it a clean wound, which sewed itself back up in a timely fashion, with a little help from Addisson’s care, and a lot of help from the mixed blessing of the FEV. The wound on the back, as Addisson had predicted, closed up less quickly, and less cleanly. Fawkes could feel it every time he moved, becoming stiffer as it healed. It, too, would be just fine eventually, and would be little more than an inconvenience in the meantime.

But Fawkes’ mood suffered the most, in part because he was bothered that it affected him so greatly. His identity should not be so tied up in clothing, or in how others viewed him. But he was self-aware almost to a fault (his brothers had thought it a fault indeed), and that awareness unfortunately made it quite impossible to forget that without distinctive personal effects, such as clothing, he was at first glance no different from the monsters that frequently tormented the folks of the wasteland.

Furthermore, his reluctance to socialize with the townsfolk in this state crippled his efforts to find a ring or other proposal gift for Addisson. She could tell that he felt down, but he couldn’t tell her exactly why without ruining the surprise, which was even worse. From the start, there had been very little that he didn’t tell her. Even keeping secret his desires for her was difficult, and that was a secret he accepted as a temporary necessity, as opposed to one born from shame.

Regretfully, he decided that proposing to her would have to wait until things were more settled, or he’d come to terms with looking like a half-naked brute. And then, of course, there was still the matter of finding a ring, or perhaps making one? That seemed a bit above his skill level, and he didn’t want to give her a sub-par gift. Yet, was there anything out there in the wide wasteland which was beautiful enough to express his feelings for her? He almost thought it more logical to give up and accept their relationship as it was. Marriage was but a bonus anyway, wasn’t it? There was nothing lacking in their relationship, he told himself.

Unfortunately for his peace of mind, he wasn’t convinced. And unfortunately for his goals, a beautiful engagement ring did not simply fall into his lap.

What fell into his lap instead was a bundle of fabric, the week after the mirelurk attack. He was sitting in their room, reading a book Henry had lent him (which was actually his daughter CJ’s, and had belonged to any number of other people before), when Addisson dropped it in his lap. ‘Dropped’ might have even been too strong a word, but she left it there with a sort of casual motion that implied she didn’t really care (though she ruined the act by opening her mouth).

“I, um, got you something,” she said, sounding almost shy. “Or, well, actually, I… kind of made it.”

Curious, Fawkes put down the book and picked up the bundle carefully, even though Addisson had not seemed to think it was fragile at all. She had made him something? He had no idea what to expect, except that he should be very gentle with it. What kind of thing could she have possibly made him? She typically spent her time taking things apart, looking for the valuable bits and pieces in old electronics, or mods that were worth more than the guns they were added to. But aside from putting those things back together (sometimes in working order, sometimes not), Fawkes didn’t think he’d seen her ever make something, or even express an interest in doing so.

He held his breath as he unwrapped the thing from the fabric it was wrapped in, and then frowned at it in confusion when he realized the wrapping didn’t hold anything. The wrapping was the gift. It was not expertly folded, which should have been his first clue; Addisson neither liked nor excelled at folding clothes. But it was clothing. As he spread it out and smoothed out the folds, the shape of the article pieced itself together in his brain, until finally he could identify it as a shirt. A plain, white t-shirt, with thick, deliberate stitches in the seams. It was his size.

Fawkes did not know if he was physically able to cry, and he wasn’t going to find out today, but it was a near miss. He trembled, holding it there in his hands. “You… made this?” he asked. “For me?”

“Uh. Yeah,” Addisson said, looking nervous but pleased with herself. “It’s, it’s not perfect, I know, but I just couldn’t find anything your size, so, you know, I figured maybe I could stitch together a couple different shirts and it’d work. And I think it mostly did. I mean, the colors are a little bit off, but they’re all basically white, and you probably won’t be able to tell after a week in the wasteland anyway. And I’ve… never sewn anything before, so it’s, it’s probably kind of messy, but Li said she thought it would hold. I hope it fits, but if it doesn’t, I can try again! I mean, if you want. Or I could try to make something else, if you want? It’s probably not that good, but I thought, y’know, at this point anything’s better than nothing… ...Right?”

Fawkes stared at her through her rambling monologue, only digesting half of her words. His heart and brain were both caught on the fact that she had made this for him. This wasn’t a random gift, and he knew it wasn’t only a gift of utility. This was a present with a lot of thought and understanding behind it. She went out of her way to learn a strange new skill, just because she wanted to solve what had been bothering him, to make his life better in a small but very meaningful way. And it wasn’t just happenstance that she thought of such a thing. The way she chewed on her lip said she was hopeful that she’d understood him right. And she had.

It was funny. She’d saved his life, and uprooted herself for his sake, and yet this small gesture was what did him in. Oh, it wasn’t a tipping point; if such a thing existed, he’d crossed it at their very first meeting. He’d loved her almost immediately. But this was the push he’d needed to tell her in no uncertain terms that he intended to do so forever.

He was excited to try on the shirt, truly. But for the time being, he set it aside, and rose to approach her, where she stood several feet away, awkwardly fidgeting as she waited to hear that he’d liked her gift. Perhaps it would have been polite to tell her that he thought it was perfect, but his brain was hyper-focused on one string of words, one phrase. He got down on his knees before her, something he remembered now, with impeccable timing, and took her hand in a gentle but firm grip.

How very backwards they were doing things, but could they really have done it any other way, being who they were? Was it not somehow very apt that Addisson should give him a gift, when she had driven most of the other points of their relationship? Some part of him still wanted to do things as traditionally as possible, but they were already a strange mixture of normal and unexpected, both on their own and together. Perhaps this was the only way it could be.

“Addisson,” he said, his voice an even lower rumble than usual, ”would you allow me the honor of marrying you?”

Her green eyes went wide, reflecting the few lights in the room, and for a very long moment she seemed not to breathe. Fawkes’ heart beat nervously in his chest, and he wondered desperately what she would say after this endlessly long moment passed, because she had to say something, didn’t she? But even if she said no, even if she shot him down like a bird in flight, he would not regret asking, because now at least she knew how he felt, in a way that no one could deny.

“Are you serious?” she asked quietly, after the stunned silent moment had passed. This question did not especially inspire confidence in Fawkes, but luckily she seemed to realize that and she shook her head at her own inquiry. The surprise fading, a smile climbed up her face, infecting her cheeks and eyes, her eyebrows, hairline, and ears. Everything lifted up along with the points of her mouth, and she said, “Fawkes. Yes.”

Chapter Text

And then, of course, she kissed him. Or perhaps he kissed her. Who exactly kissed who was lost to the moment, just as the kiss was lost to their untameable smiles. There was still something romantic about pressing teeth and grinning lips against each other’s, a passionate joy that eclipsed most else.

“Do you think Father Clifford is still awake?” Addisson murmured after a few minutes. “It’s only about dinner, so he probably should be, right?”

Fawkes was thrown for a loop for a moment, completely at a loss for why she would be thinking of anyone else at a time like this, when his eyes and heart and mind saw nothing but her. It took him a minute to get his wits back about himself and realize that she had her eyes on the future, as ever. She was the sort who was content enough to live in the moment, but happier still to be working towards the next. She wouldn’t obsess about distant goals, but there was always something to do tomorrow, or later that day.

Something like speaking with the local priest, apparently-- a thing Fawkes had not put much thought to.

“You don’t mean to get married tonight?” he asked, still holding her close.

She smirked at him. “Well, yeah! Why not?”

Fawkes laughed at her enthusiasm. “I believed that couples often waited for some time after a proposal, before initiating the ceremony.”

“But what’s the point of waiting?” Addisson asked, one eyebrow raised up high (a winning stance in any argument, when she knew she was right). “To get to know each other better? You already know me better than anyone. Unless you want time to change your mind.”

“No, I won’t change my mind,” Fawkes said, quite adamant. He’d have never asked her if he’d had any doubts at all. No, everything could fall apart around them, and he’d remain dedicated. That was the point of marrying her.

“Then why wait?” she asked with a grin, getting to her feet and pulling him up as well. She obviously knew her argument was bulletproof-- that, or her willpower. “Come on! There’s no way I’ll be able to sleep tonight, like this, let alone focus on work tomorrow!”

There really was no good excuse, and quite frankly Fawkes didn’t want to find one. That lingering element that told him to be small, to remain unseen and unthreatening, wanted to downplay his desire, but that was counter to what Addisson had been telling him for weeks.

“Alright,” he said, nodding. “Let’s go to Father Clifford.”

The man wasn’t hard to find. He was down in the chapel, as usual. He seemed surprised when they walked in, but less startled than Fawkes might have expected, given that he’d only spoken to the man once before. Perhaps men of God were not easily startled; or maybe that was a virtue of the elderly.

“How may I help you?” Clifford asked, curious about their arrival.

“Well, we…” Addisson glanced at Fawkes and then scooted close enough to hold his hand, which she had only let go of earlier because the halls were too narrow to walk side-by-side. “We wanna get married.”

Clifford’s eyes went wide and slid slowly from Addisson over to Fawkes and then back. “Really!” he said, nodding to himself. “That’s certainly very unusual. I think it might even be a first.”

“So, you’ll do it?” Addisson asked, not very patiently. “The ceremony or whatever?”

For a moment, Clifford seemed to consider it, and Fawkes wondered what they would do if he said no. He didn’t have long to imagine before the priest replied, “Yes, I don’t see why not. It’s a joyous day when two people wish to be joined in the eyes of God.”

Fawkes could feel the tension ease out of Addisson through their joined hands, and imagined that she had probably been thinking the exact same thing he had, but likely several steps ahead. “Okay, what do we need to do?” she asked the priest.

“All we need are two witnesses,” Clifford told them. “I can have Diego be one if you like, but we’ll need at least one more. Then it’s just a matter of repeating after me.”

“Witnesses,” Addisson repeated, turning to look up at Fawkes. “I can ask Li. Maybe… Harkness?”

Fawkes nodded. “Yes, I imagine he’ll oblige. I can find him while you speak to Li.”

“Right.” Addisson nodded in return and they both made to leave on their respective missions before she hesitated, and bounced up on her toes to give him a quick peck on the cheek. “Good luck,” she said, blushing, and darted off down the hallway.

Pleasantly stunned, Fawkes stood there for a few long seconds, reveling in the soft warmth she’d imparted upon him. He snapped out of it when Clifford cleared his throat.

“I’ll ready the ceremony,” he said, already shuffling through papers at the podium. “You had best hurry, if you don’t want to keep the lady waiting.”

If it was up to Fawkes, he would never keep her waiting for anything ever again. With a deep breath, he took the priest’s advice and headed to the marketplace, where Harkness might be found. 

As expected, he was standing guard over by the galley, chatting with some of the patrons. It seemed to be a compromise between taking a break and maintaining vigilance. Fawkes approached him with faltering steps, both excited and nervous. Harkness looked up when he came close, less surprised at his sudden appearance than anyone else ever was.

“Fawkes,” he said in greeting. “What’s going on?”

Fawkes’ tongue felt heavy in his mouth all of a sudden, and he struggled to get the words out, though they came clear when they did finally emerge. “Addisson and I are being married this evening,” he said, proud and scared and too many other emotions all at once. “We apparently require witnesses to the act. Would you help us?”

Harkness nodded, unphased by something that Fawkes imagined would have shook most people. “Alright, I’d be honored to attend,” he said, his face still largely impassive, but holding a hint of a smile. 

Before Fawkes could try to lead him back to the church, a ripple spread through the market, washing the fresh gossip over most in attendance, which included the Young family, dining at the galley. He spotted Henry, and could see when CJ passed on the news from the next table over. Henry’s eyes widened and he looked over in the direction from which the ripple had came, and when he caught Fawkes’ eye he smiled.

Clifford had only said they needed two witnesses, but Fawkes remembered wedding ceremonies from before the war (or depictions of such, at least), and it seemed many important friends were invited. Henry had been very kind to him in the past weeks, and the idea to propose to Addisson in the first place had stemmed largely from the man’s advice, and so it seemed only right that he should be at least invited to the ceremony, if he wanted to attend. To that end, Fawkes made his way through the crowd and over to the Young family, who watched his approach (along with everyone else in the room; though for once, he didn’t terribly mind being the center of attention. There were more important things happening tonight).

“I heard you and Wanderer are getting married!” CJ said as Fawkes came to stand by their table. She looked up at him with a grin, and Fawkes appreciated that she was not remotely afraid of him.

“Yes,” he said to her, with a smile that didn’t bare too many teeth. Then he turned to his friend and bowed his head in respect. “If you would like to join us for the ceremony tonight, I would be happy to have you there.” He made sure to nod around to Henry’s wife and child as well, to make it clear that they were invited too. He knew they were dear to Henry, much like Addisson was to him, and they should be extended every courtesy that was given to the man.

With a quick look to his wife (and probably a short wordless conversation), Henry said, “We’d love to,” and CJ added, “This is exciting! Nothing fun ever happens around here.” Christie, Henry’s wife, laughed sweetly at CJ’s comment, and Fawkes had a moment of increased contentment, watching the three of them interact.

Before he could try to hurry the family out of the dining hall and back to the chapel, where Addisson might already be waiting, Henry caught his attention with an important question.

“Do you have something nice to wear? I know your shirt was ruined the other day. Maybe we can find you something.”

Fawkes gaped at him, and then down at himself. It had completely escaped him that he was bare-chested, and that he’d rushed into the marketplace with absolutely no regard for his state of undress. “I do have something,” he said, and hurried back towards their room to change, at Henry’s friendly insistence. The family promised they would meet him at the church in a few minutes.

Up in their room, Fawkes stretched the new shirt over his shoulders as gently as possible, and was pleased to find that it fit quite well, and that the scrape on his back was little more than an easily-ignored irritation by then. It was a little weird to have something covering his chest, after decades of it being mostly bare, but the snug fit of the new shirt was a pleasant reminder of the care Addisson had put into making it, and he bore the strangeness happily. Now all he hoped was that he looked alright in it, since it was Addisson (and their guests) who would have to bear witness to the sight.

Back down in the chapel, there were several people gathered, none of whom were Addisson. Fawkes glanced around to all the dark corners of the room, nervous about her absence, though he couldn’t say why.

“I think she’s just getting dressed,” Henry said, coming to stand near Fawkes. He patted his arm consolingly, as it was apparently obvious that the groom-to-be was feeling anxious. “One of Li’s assistants came to talk to Christie a few minutes ago, and then they both hurried off somewhere. Don’t worry. This is pretty normal behavior for women, when there’s a chance to give someone a makeover.”

Little CJ gave a comical grimace. “I hope mom doesn’t try to curl her hair! We’ll be here forever.”

Fawkes couldn’t claim to know what was normal for women, so he had to take Henry’s word for it. He had more experience, after all. He hoped it wouldn’t be as bad as CJ implied. Once Addisson convinced him that they needed to be married immediately, Fawkes’ patience dropped to historically low levels, and now he felt just like Addisson had said: like there was simply no way he would be able to concentrate on anything else until this was done.

“Do you think we could help at all?” he asked Henry, eager to do whatever it took to see this ceremony to its start and subsequent end.

Henry just laughed. “I’m sure the ladies have got this handled. Anyway, Addisson might want it to be a surprise.”

He had no idea what ‘it’ could possibly mean; the only surprise Fawkes could currently imagine was an unpleasant one, and he was fairly sure that Addisson wasn’t about to spring that on him. She’d seemed as enthusiastic about getting married as he was. He doubted there was much else she could possibly do to surprise him. Even so, he could only wait for her to show up, and in the meantime make sure that all was well on this end.

Aside from the Young family and Harkness, his only invited guests, a few other people had turned up too, perhaps invited by one of the others, or by Addisson, or by their own sense of curiosity. The church was a public space, so Fawkes certainly couldn’t tell them to leave, even if he were inclined to do so. But as long as they weren’t there to heckle him or Addisson, he was happy to have whoever wanted to attend. On his way to speak with Father Clifford, he stopped to say hello to the others who were standing about or had already taken seats. When he came near, they looked up at him in anticipation, and for the most part they seemed quite cordial.

Vera Weatherly was sitting towards the back of the room, waiting patiently, and she smiled at Fawkes when he said hello. “Hello! Oh, congratulations! You know, I feel like a dunce for not realizing that you two were engaged! It seems obvious now!”

“We were being discreet about it,” Fawkes told her, even though that hadn’t been especially true the last few weeks. (He didn’t bother mentioning that, strictly speaking, they had not been engaged last time Vera spoke to them.)

“Of course,” she said graciously. “Well, I’m happy for you.”

Fawkes got the feeling that was more true than it might have been for most people. Vera was a romantic type of person, and if anyone could eventually come around to the idea of loving a mutant, on theory and principle alone, it might be her. He thanked her and moved on, with a silent wish for her own future luck in finding love.

The Staleys were chatting with Father Clifford’s acolyte, Diego. In a rare show of pleasantry, Gary Staley was not glaring down the poor young man, who was closer with his daughter than he preferred. The three of them appeared to be having a decent conversation, and Angela looked rather dreamy. They all turned their attention on Fawkes when he came near.

“Well, congratulations,” Gary said, and it was a rote sort of comment, but Fawkes appreciated it anyway.

“Thank you,” he replied.

Gary shrugged and gave his daughter a sideways glance, as if to say that it was her doing. Angela smiled shyly.

“When I heard about the wanderer getting married, I had to come,” she said. “I hope you don’t mind. I’ve never actually been to a wedding before.” She looked over at Diego then, hearts shining so bright in her eyes that it would take a very obtuse man not to see them. Diego was not obtuse; he cleared his throat and ignored Angela’s gaze, though it would take a very obtuse man not to see that he was turning rather pink. (Fawkes was not obtuse.)

“Marriage is an honorable institution,” Diego told Fawkes with an approving nod. It sounded like something he’d heard Father Clifford say, and Fawkes wondered if he believed it strongly enough to ever consider it himself, or if he thought of it more like a consolation prize for those who could not be priests. Honestly, Fawkes didn’t envy the young man’s position, though he doubted he could ever be so torn. If asked to choose between Addisson and literally anything else, it would not be a difficult choice.

Instead of commenting on the young man’s relationship issues, Fawkes said simply, “I hope to do it justice.”

Before he could move on, Angela piped up with a quick question. “I’m just curious. Do you know how old the wanderer is?”

“Twenty, I believe,” Fawkes told her, after a bit of mental math. He knew he might be wrong, but it was somewhere around that number, he was sure.

Angela just hummed, thinking about the number much harder than one typically would consider a mere curiosity.

Sitting on the outer edge of the front row was Bannon, which Fawkes found somewhat surprising. He wasn't exactly what anyone would call good friends with either of them; then again, his demeanor was such that he didn't seem to be good friends with most of the city's people, preferring to keep a professional attitude. Perhaps then it wasn't that surprising to hear that he'd chosen to attend for the sake of chronicling "a historic city event". 

"It's not every day that this city sees a wedding," he said. "And one like this might even set precedents for the future." He paused for a moment to consider something, and then gave Fawkes a sharp once-over. "Perhaps I should start carrying larger sizes in my shop. It's a shame I don't have anything to offer you in the realm of formalwear." 

"Thank you," Fawkes replied, holding back a laugh at the man's attempt to make a sale at any occasion. "But I'm happy with what I have. It is special to me," he said, holding a hand to his chest. 

Bannon looked more than mildly disbelieving, but he didn't argue, and Fawkes moved on to see if Father Clifford required any help.

“Oh no, thank you,” the priest said, looking up at Fawkes almost like he’d forgotten he was supposed to be there. “I’m just going over my notes right now, for the speech. When the time comes, I’ll need you to stand over there--” He gestured sort of vaguely to a spot diagonal to the podium. “--and I’ll walk you through the rest.”

Fawkes wished the man had something else for him to do, because without a specific goal he was left to wait awkwardly. Patience might have been one of his strong suits, but in this particular case he could feel the anxiety building up in every one of his muscles the longer he waited. He was not prone to fidgeting, but as he stood in roughly the spot Clifford had indicated and stared at the door in hopes of seeing some new advancement in the situation, he could hardly stop his body trying to push him out into the hall to track Addisson down. Suppose she was having difficulties and needed his help? Could she be having second thoughts? He could do nothing for her, standing here, waiting.

But it wasn’t a very long wait, even though it felt like it could rival his imprisonment. Before anyone else had time to get antsy (even CJ still seemed composed), one of Li’s assistants hurried in on quiet feet, looked around, and made a beeline for Father Clifford, who she whispered to before sitting at one of the benches. Clifford cleared his throat and said to the room, “Can everyone please find their seats? Not you, though,” he hastily added to Fawkes.

A few moments later, someone appeared in the doorway, and Fawkes’ breath caught in anticipation. It wasn’t Addisson though; it was Christie, slipping into the room with a sheepish smile at those gathered as she went to sit with her family. Who appeared then was not remotely visually similar to Addisson. Dogmeat trotted down the aisle towards Fawkes, pausing briefly to sniff the people sitting closest before he came to sit at his feet. Fawkes wasn’t sure what was allowed (as Clifford had simply told him to stand there), but he reached down and rubbed the dog’s head affectionately, as the pet owner’s code dictated. He seemed to have been brushed, and there was a flowery vine woven around his collar.

And then finally came Addisson-- though she walked beside Doctor Li, their arms linked. Fawkes was quite sure that his hardy anatomy could never suffer such a shock as to be fatal, but in that moment his heart did seem to forget to beat, and his lungs to breathe, as his eyes took Addisson in. He always thought she was beautiful; it was something that came from inside and persisted even when she was covered in dirt and grime, gun grease, or molerat guts. She was beautiful when she scowled at hard-bargaining traders, and when she gritted her teeth through a brutal kill, and when she coughed and sneezed at a sudden dust-storm. She was beautiful in wrinkled, rolled-up sleeves, barefoot in a ratty tank-top, with combat boots and careworn armor, hair just long enough to miss a hairbrush.

But he could not think of a single word to describe her now, other than that which he had already ascribed to her. Chief among them was perfect.

“Please rise,” said Father Clifford as they began their walk down the aisle toward the podium. (“We just sat down!” CJ stage-whispered, annoyed.)

She seemed to come to him in slow motion, and what parts of his mind remained calm took the opportunity to admire her. Most impossible to ignore, she wore a green dress which didn’t quite come to her knees, but hugged her waist tighter than any of her shirts. With its lack of sleeves and low neckline, it showed off quite a lot of pale skin which was normally left covered until night. She still wore her brown boots though, the laces tucked in under the tongue. Her hair, it seemed, had been brushed and somewhat tamed. It lay slightly neater than usual, swept over to frame the right side of her forehead, shining a brighter red, like it might have also been washed. And in her hands she held a bouquet of real flowers: tiny white and yellow speckles arranged artfully around several yellow star-shaped blooms and green leaves. (x)

But the most striking detail was the smile on her face, like she was seeing stars for the first time, here in this dim metal room.

Eventually her steps brought her before him, and she gazed up at him like she was pleasantly surprised by his presence, as if she had thought perhaps he would have missed this for any reason. Or maybe she just liked the way he looked in the shirt she’d made for him. He hoped to figure out what made her look at him that way, so he could do it every day for the rest of his life.

When they reached the podium, Dogmeat wagged his tail and licked Addisson’s hand, accidentally pulling away a leaf, which he chewed on in annoyance as people pretended not to coo over him. Father Clifford addressed Doctor Li, although he made to look as if he were speaking to the world at large. “Who gives this woman to be married?” he asked.

Li was clearly restraining herself from making a face, but she didn’t hold back her words. “I do, on behalf of her father, even though I think it’s nonsensical. As if anyone could give this girl away.” She turned to Addisson, and her expression softened. “I’m sure your father would have liked to be a part of this though. And I know he’d be proud of you, for following your own path.” With a bittersweet smile, she hugged Addisson and then took an empty seat in the front row, near Harkness.

“Well then,” Clifford said. “You may all be seated.” (A noise of exasperation could be heard from CJ, even over the shuffling of people sitting.)

The three feet of distance that separated them felt too wide, so Fawkes inched closer. Father Clifford had said nothing regarding such a thing, but Fawkes took it upon himself to reach down and offer his hand to Addisson. Hers found his almost as if by instinct, and a real sense of relief swept through them both.

Clifford didn’t tell them to part, which was lucky, as Fawkes rather thought they might both tell him where he could stuff his suggestions. Instead he looked down at his notes on the podium and began to speak, a sort of monologue that Fawkes thought sounded partly familiar, in a pre-war sort of way, and partly distinctly ...Wastelandic.

“We gather here today to celebrate the union of two lost children, who have found each other despite hardship and adversity. They have been united in love, against the evils of prejudice and apathy, and from this day forth they shall never part. As Saint Monica endured the pain of mistreatment, so do we pray these two will endure the rigors of our unrelenting world, together with patience and trust. And as Saint Monica’s love changed the hearts of wicked men, so do we pray their love shed light and peace on those around them. May their joining pave the way for all who wish to follow their path, in overcoming the odds and finding love where so many have found only darkness.”

"Wow," Addisson said under her breath, staring at Father Clifford with mild shock over the rather intense speech. Fawkes felt about the same, and he wondered if someone had told the man about their history, or if he’d just made a lot of poetic and rather correct assumptions. Of course it was also possible that he had simply written the speech to work in his Saint Monica sermon. It was nice either way, though it did lay quite a lot of responsibility on them. ‘Pave the way’? Fawkes could only hope not to trip on his own feet at the moment. 

“Today will mark the start of a new beginning for Fawkes and Addisson,” Clifford continued. “If any person knows why these two should not be wed, speak now or forever hold your silence.”

The tension in the room became palpable, as everyone glanced about stiffly, half expecting that someone would come out of the woodworks to protest on account of what many would think an obvious reason. Even though everyone gathered was a friend or ally (or affable townsfolk, as several more had snuck in during Fawkes’ agonizing wait), that expectation still lingered. Several heavy seconds passed, until someone spoke up from the back, and everyone held their breath.

“I think it’s good he’s marrying the wanderer,” one of the townspeople said. “Nobody else can keep up with her!”

There was a smattering of relieved laughter as the tension broke. Father Clifford sighed. “I called for protests. They don’t need your approval.” He waited for another few moments as the murmuring died down, and then said, “Well, since nobody has a problem with it--” He turned to Addisson and asked, “Do you take this man as your husband, to keep in good times and bad, until the end of your days?”

“Yes,” Addisson said, almost in a rush, her voice cracking a bit. “I mean, I do.”

Turning to Fawkes, Father Clifford repeated his question, and Fawkes had no choice in his heart but to answer vehemently, “As long as I shall live, and longer still. I do.”

Fondly exasperated, Addisson smiled and shook her head at his need to out-do her answer with such a potent declaration.

“Well then,” Father Clifford said, clearing his throat and waiting a short moment for dramatic effect. “I now pronounce you man and wife.”

‘Man and wife’. It was the most wonderful thing Fawkes had heard in the last hour, second only as day’s best to Addisson’s breathy ‘yes’ when he’d given into temptation and asked her to be his forever. They gazed into each others’ eyes for one long joyful moment, and then came together in a kiss. Perhaps Father Clifford had not told them to, but Fawkes distinctly remembered this part from stories of other weddings. Even had it not been tradition, nothing could have kept them apart, not even Fawkes’ fear of disturbing others or blemishing Addisson’s reputation. There was no room in his mind for that, when she looked at him with such overflowing happiness. He had to kiss her, no matter what anyone else in the world thought. They kept it chaste (for the time being), but they didn’t shy from the eyes of those who watched, and Fawkes didn’t worry that he might crush her when he pulled her into a tight embrace; she melted into him, and he couldn’t help but feel that if they ceased to be separate beings at that moment, his whole body would welcome her in.

There was a smattering of applause and light cheers. Everyone seemed happy for them, or happy to have something to celebrate, at least. As Fawkes peeled himself away from Addisson (with the help of Dogmeat, who decided that was enough not-paying-attention-to-him and leapt up between them for his well-deserved pets), several of the attendees approached to say their congratulations. Much of it passed in a dazed blur. 

Addisson kept her hand wrapped in his, and when she thought he might be a little overwhelmed by the attention (because it seemed now that everyone wanted to say all the things they had not said to Fawkes in the past month, all at once), she would squeeze his hand and tug him closer, glance up at him with a smile, and silently remind him what this was all for.

The ceremony seemed to have caused a lightheartedness in most everyone, even those who were usually rather taciturn. Tammy Hargrave stood at the back of the crowd, having poked her head in out of curiosity, and despite her normally cantankerous nature, had vague encouragement for them-- or for Addisson, anyway. “Good luck keeping this lunk in shape,” she said, naturally distrustful not of mutants, but husbands. “If he gets out of line, don’t be afraid to put ‘im back in his place.”

“I, uh, appreciate the advice,” Addisson said diplomatically, grinning apologetically up at Fawkes as they passed.

Harkness patted them both on the back in an unusually friendly display. “I’m glad for both of you. You watch each others’ backs out there.” They promised him they would, and he nodded them on to the next well-wishers.

Li stood to the side, conversing with her assistant, a woman called Cadence who had joined the science lab after the chaos at Project Purity left Li mostly without help. According to Addisson, Cadence was likely to take over once both she and Li had moved on. She seemed a go-getter, in Fawkes’ opinion. Today she had been responsible for much of the ceremony’s ornamentation, including both Addisson’s dress and her bouquet, pieced together from the flowers of the carrots and melons and pumpkins they were growing in the lab.

“Take your time getting the dress back to me,” she said cheerfully. “I have a few spares I can wear.”

“Thanks,” Addisson said, rather sheepish. “I probably would have just worn whatever if you hadn’t let me borrow it.”

Cadence laughed. “I’m just glad it fit, since you’re so tall. It is a little short, but I think it’s a good look on you.”

Fawkes certainly agreed, though he doubted Addisson would take to it as a normal thing. It didn’t seem very logical for wasteland travel.

Li gave Addisson a tight hug before they headed on, and patted Fawkes on the arm. “It’s been a good year, even with everything that’s happened. James, Janice, Anna… I’ll always feel their losses. But it’s been… valuable, spending this last month with you, before we both… broaden our horizons. I can’t claim to know what will happen after this, but I’m glad you’ll have someone watching your back. I know your father would be proud of what you’ve accomplished. Both of you,” she added, with a glance at Fawkes that indicated that he had her grudging respect. “I am too.”

Addisson had never had a mother, and unlike Fawkes’ lack of family, it was an emptiness that she felt deeply. She nodded into Li’s shoulder, sniffling a little, and didn’t open her mouth to say anything. Chances were that they’d still say their private goodbyes later; for now, this was more than enough.

They thanked Father Clifford for the service, before they started trying to head back to their room. “It was my pleasure,” he said. “I think it might have given me an idea, too! You see, it got me thinking: what if all the mutant population needs in order to acclimate to society is love? I’m not sure how I’d spread the idea, but if there were other mutants who wanted to marry, I would be happy to do the job for them. It seems just like the sort of thing Saint Monica would do, doesn’t it?”

Neither Fawkes nor Addisson had the heart to tell Clifford that he was probably being a little too hopeful about the general mutant population’s ability for rehabilitation, so they just nodded. “You know Saint Monica better than anyone else,” Addisson said graciously. “I, um, I’d be careful approaching them about it though. Try to keep out of shooting distance. Maybe… maybe take a megaphone.”

The Stahls (and Diego) didn’t approach them; instead Addisson sought them out before they returned to their evening routines. “Oh, Angela, before you go, do you want this?” She tossed the bouquet at the girl before she had her full attention, and to her credit Angela caught it with little fumbling, a testament to her waitressing talents. “Apparently I’m supposed to give them to someone, for good luck or something.”

Fawkes couldn’t tell if Addisson was faking innocence, or if she really didn’t know about the tradition of tossing the bouquet for an unmarried young woman to catch. If it was a coincidence, it was a rather lucky one. Angela seemed to find it lucky too, considering how blessed she looked to hold the flowers in her hand, like she knew the significance, and the superstition that she would be next to marry. “Thank you, wanderer,” she said in awe, turning around to show Diego ‘how pretty they were’ and distinctly not mention what it was supposed to mean.

As they walked away, Fawkes mentioned his vague memory of the bouquet’s significance, to which Addisson responded with a laugh, “Oh, really? I had no idea. Cadence told me I should.”

The last group to say goodnight to them before they sequestered themselves away in their room was the Young family, which turned out to be a lifesaver-- or at least greatly convenient. “Congratulations,” Christie said to them as they approached, her voice warm and open. “Addisson, you looked lovely up there.”

“Thanks to you,” Addisson told her, ducking her head slightly. “My hair was a disaster before.”

Christie laughed, and the sound was like a bell. “It was nothing, compared to how CJ’s hair gets sometimes. When you--” She paused so briefly that Fawkes’ overwhelmed brain almost didn’t catch it, and then she moved on to a different thought. “Oh, that’s right. CJ has a question for you that I think you might appreciate.”

The woman set her hand on her daughter’s shoulder and guided her forward. The little girl looked up at them sheepishly, but with excitement. “Um, can Dogmeat sleep over at my house tonight? I’ll take really good care of him!”

Fawkes glanced down at Addisson, a bit surprised as he pieced together Mrs. Young’s implication and found that she had given their situation a little more forethought than he had. Addisson met his gaze with a wide-eyed look of her own, and an embarrassed blush. She cleared her throat and looked back down at CJ with an eagerness that the girl’s mother likely anticipated. “I think he would love that, as long as you remember to give him his brushies before bed.”

“I will!” CJ promised, gleeful. “He can sleep in my bed, and I’ll share my breakfast with him in the morning!”

With a sigh of relief over a problem well solved (even if it was not a problem they had expected), Addisson gave Christie a very grateful smile. “Thank you,” she said, the words escaping like a heavy fog and leaving her visibly lighter. “I hadn’t even thought about that.”

“It’s not a problem,” Christie replied with a secret smile. “Newlyweds deserve a little time alone on their first night.”

Henry gave a short huff of laughter, clearly agreeing with his wife even though his next words sounded like an argument. “It might be a little bit of a problem,” he said, nodding down to where CJ was already wrist-deep in Dogmeat’s fur, giving him the scritchies of a lifetime. “She’ll probably never stop asking us for a dog after this.”

Well-wishes collected and Dogmeat deposited with his babysitters, the two of them made the fairly short journey back to their room, reveling in the sudden peace and quiet of being alone after a hectic hour or two. For all that they’d been glued together for the later half of the event, Fawkes almost felt as if he hadn’t seen Addisson all day, and it was a relief to be with her now.

“I hope it was everything you wanted,” he murmured down to her as they tiredly made their way back.

“Everything and more,” she told him, butting her head against his arm affectionately. “You look great in that shirt, by the way. I’m super relieved that it actually fits.”

“And you are a lovely sight as well,” Fawkes said, running a hand over her bare shoulder, which was soft and pale from lack of exposure.

Addisson laughed, a self-depreciating sort of noise, but happy enough. “Really? I think I look silly, and I feel totally exposed. I think this is literally the first time I’ve ever worn a dress. We wore our vault suits pretty much all the time when I was a kid.”

“I do not think anyone else believes you look ‘silly’,” he told her. “You look to me as if you could take on the world.”

Smirking, Addisson said, “Well, I do kinda feel that way, right now.” She slipped her hand into his, even though it made navigating the halls a bit of a chore. Fawkes supposed if she felt like she could take on the world, perhaps something like safeguarding one’s elbows from metal walls was trivial.

Once inside the comfortable darkness of their room, a great deal of what energy remained to them seemed to vanish, though it left them both feeling pleasantly tired, like they might after a long and productive scavenging trip. They had returned home much richer than they had left, and had very few complaints about the accompanying exhaustion.

“Do you feel different?” Fawkes asked, as Addisson collapsed dramatically on the bed, and he sat to remove his boots.

“Not at all,” she said pleasantly, stretching her arms over her head and closing her eyes.

“Then I suppose that means we did the right thing.”

The bed seemed extra large without Dogmeat taking up a good portion of it, but Fawkes still wedged himself right against Addisson’s side when he laid back. She turned on her side and looked at him much like she did when waking from a good dream.

“How about you? How do you feel?”

Fawkes considered it for a moment. Like her, he couldn’t say he felt different, as it didn’t feel as if anything had really changed in any way that mattered. In fact it was strange, how such a significant event could make such little difference, but to set in stone what had already been quite a sturdy placement. “I feel complete,” he told her, reaching for her hand and bringing it to his lips to lay a gentle kiss upon it.

A shiver seemed to run through her, which he could feel like a jolt of electricity across her soft skin. She clenched her fist and looked at him with her lip caught between her teeth. He expected that she might say something, but instead she grabbed him by the face and tugged him on top of her. While she wasn’t actually strong enough to maneuver him around quite like that, not a force in the world could have stopped him from going to her however she wanted, and she didn’t have to say a word for him to know exactly how that was. She’d not been shy about it before, and finally Fawkes knew that he could devote himself wholly to fulfilling those wishes.

Neither of them was expected back at work the next morning, if at all. The understanding had always been that they would help with their respective trades just until it was time to move on, which could have come at any moment. Both Henry and Li recognized that that moment was that night, a fork in the road that would take them to places unknown. There may be days yet before they reached that branching path, but they were now close enough to see that, if nothing else, it led away from where they were now.

And all that was to say simply that they did not concern themselves with sleeping that night.

Morning did eventually find them waking, from some sleep they’d dropped into after all was very said and done, the two of them tangled together in a mess of limbs distinguishable from one another by size and color, but not placement. With no barrier between them, Fawkes was careful to peel them apart gently, to avoid the burn of bare skin ripped from leather on a warm day.

The creak of the mattress as he leaned toward the side of the bed (to search for clothes he hoped he could reapply) roused Addisson, who moaned and blinked at him blearily. “Hmm? Where are you going?”

“I’m not going anywhere without you,” he said, nearly automatically, still very lost in a haze of sentimentality.

Sleepily, she grinned, and then yawned. “Good. That means you’re coming back to bed, right? It’s so cold without you.”

The pragmatic side of Fawkes thought to offer Addisson her shirt from the pile on the floor, but he already knew what she would say: that it couldn’t compare, when he could keep her warm instead. Incidentally, he agreed, and so he obligingly went back to bed, where they stayed for much of the rest of the day.

They made a public appearance that evening, finally too hungry to stay cooped up any longer. Addisson took an extra minute or two arranging her hair, just to lessen the impression that she’d been rolling around in bed all day-- though not a single adult in the city would either believe it, or blame her. With no hair to speak of, Fawkes was careful to make sure his clothing was not too wrinkled. (They weren’t. The real miracle, though, was that he managed to get the pants back on at all. He’d worried they might share the fate of the vault-suit’s top, and be dangerously threadbare in places. That would have been a real issue, had they torn. He supposed it might be prudent to find a spare pair, just in case.)

Dogmeat rushed up to them as soon as he saw them in the galley, where the Youngs were having dinner. He licked whatever he could reach of both of them, and pranced around in excitement-- then led them back over to his temporary foster family, who he’d apparently grown quite fond of, due to CJ’s kept promise of sharing her meals with him.

Henry and Christie were happy to have them join the table; they had been friendly enough before but Fawkes attributed this sudden increase in camaraderie to his and Addisson's newfound status as a happily married couple. Already Fawkes understood; there was a unique joy in associating with others who understood the things that were important to you, rather than accepting you as a curious outlier.

Conversation was not focused on anything in particular, and the Youngs tactfully did not ask how their night had been, and dinner was very pleasant. Towards the end of it, Henry did ask what their plans were now, but in a casual sort of way which implied he already knew. They said they weren’t exactly sure, but maybe something in the tone of their voices made it clear that they were ready to find out.

“I appreciate all your help this month,” he said to Fawkes, which was final enough not to need an explicit goodbye. “Do me a favor, though? Let me know before you leave.”

Walking through the halls after dinner, Fawkes gazed down at Addisson and asked, “How long do you wish to stay?”

It felt for a moment like when they’d first arrived, over a month before, with no real plans except to make plans. They’d put off really doing so, just because there had been so much to do and learn that their time felt wisely spent, but he could now see the cogs turning in Addisson’s head at a different rate, gearing up for new terrain.

“I’m not sure,” she said, staring at some point in the middle distance. “I need to talk to Li again.” She glanced up at him, and motioned very slightly with her head towards the end of the hall, where the science lab sat.

“You want me to go with you?” Fawkes asked. “Doctor Li seems to find my presence distracting.”

“Well so do I,” Addisson replied with a flirtatious smile, “but we’re not going to be working. Anyway, I want you to go everywhere with me.”

Fawkes nodded and accepted the arm Addisson wound through his. “Then I shall.”

As she’d said, there was not much work happening in the lab, even though they sometimes continued projects long into the night. Cadence had retired for the evening, and Li was sorting through various items on her desk which didn’t appear to relate to botany at all (though, admittedly, Fawkes knew very little on the subject). She looked up when they entered, but reimmersed herself until they were within conversing distance.

“What do you need?” she asked when they approached, not testy, just pragmatic. “I’ll have the samples ready for you before you leave.”

“Ah, yeah,” Addisson said, leaning against an adjacent desk. “That’s what I wanted to ask about. Not the samples, I mean. Leaving. Your caravan should be here, what? In four days?”

“Three,” Li replied. She shuffled a few papers and slid them into a folder before setting them aside. For a moment she looked down at the desk like she was seeing something invisible there, and then she turned to Addisson. “I don’t know what kind of situation I’ll be in, once I arrive in the Commonwealth. I’d like to promise that I’ll write, but I can’t.”

Addisson gave a sad little shrug, the simple gesture making her appear more her age than she normally did. “Yeah, I know.”

Li seemed disappointed as well, though of course there was little she could do about it, when she’d already made the decision to commit herself to this change. “If I can, I’ll send your letters here. If I can’t, then I wish you well.”

“I hope you wish me well anyway,” Addisson said with a soft laugh. Li rolled her eyes, but didn’t bother assuring Addisson of what she already knew. If Li had not wished her well from the start, very many of the past year’s significant events would never have happened.

“Are you ready to head out yourselves?” Li asked.

With some reluctance, Addisson said, “Mostly, I guess.” Fawkes knew she felt the same way he did about leaving the city. It was what they wanted, but it was still an interruption to what had become a pretty comfortable life. There were things there which they both would miss, and many which would miss them (some of which were people).

“Good,” Li said. “I think you should be on your way before I leave. If you stick around here and the Brotherhood gets word that I’ve gone, they’ll probably come to you for answers. It would be better if you didn’t have to lie to them.”

It was a sound argument, so they all agreed that Addisson and Fawkes would head out in two days’ time. That gave them enough time to sum up what they might still be working on in the city, and then dismantle the hotel room they’d turned into a tiny home. Fawkes didn’t think whoever rented it next would need a bed three times the normal size, although Addisson was adamant that it was an unbeatable sleeping situation, and people didn’t know what they were missing. He remembered their first few nights together, and the cramped tiny beds they’d shared. He did like the room provided by three mattresses, but he didn’t hate the idea of having to go back to small spaces for a while, when there was nothing keeping them from sleeping practically or literally on top of each other. (Though Dogmeat might have to sleep on the floor.)

The next day they elected to spend partly as they would have before, going their own ways for a few short hours that still felt inordinately long. Addisson went to retrieve the care package of seeds and saplings Li had put together for her, and then collect all the notes she’d taken during her apprenticeship, which she hoped to use to propagate a garden wherever they settled. Fawkes went the other direction to let Harkness know of their plan to leave, knowing the man liked and deserved to know when people of any importance came and went, and knowing that Addisson was widely considered a guest of great import, due in no small part to her help with the purifier.

“The town will miss you,” Harkness said with a sedate but understanding nod. “It was good to have someone around who was willing to pull more than just their own weight.”

“I am sure Addisson will be willing to help again whenever she visits,” Fawkes replied, to which Harkness gave an amused, wry smile. It wasn’t until Fawkes was halfway down the hall in search of Henry that he realized the guard had meant him. It didn’t make him regret their plan to leave, but the pleased and melancholy twinge was similar.

It took a bit of asking around that day, but eventually Henry was to be found down in the Muddy Rudder, tinkering with some rusty vent fans. “Hey! Glad you’re still around,” he said, climbing down off the pool table he was using as a step ladder. “Before I forget, I’ve got something for you. Why don’t you wait here and I’ll go grab it?”

Fawkes had been in the Muddy Rudder all of twice (both times while tailing Addisson, earlier in their journeys) and he didn’t have a particularly strong preference towards the place, but he nodded anyway and stood around awkwardly to wait. Henry hadn’t been out the door for ten seconds when a voice filtered up from the lower floor, calling to him.

“Hey, mutant! Why don’t you come down here instead of being a wallflower?”

Belle Bonny’s voice grated on his nerves (or perhaps it was the nonchalant way she didn’t even try to be polite), but Fawkes was not one to treat others as they treated him. He went down the stairs, walking softly although no amount of gentleness could erase the echo of his heavy footsteps in the mostly-empty bar. He didn’t give the bartender a fake smile or anything of the sort, but he didn’t scowl at her.

Bonny didn’t say what she wanted him to come down for, but when she saw he’d obliged she turned back to her wall of bottles, plucked one out, and presented it to him. “Here. On the house. I heard about you and that red-headed busybody getting hitched. Congratulations or condolences. I figure you could use a drink either way.”

“‘Congratulations’,” Fawkes answered. “I am honored to spend my life with Addisson.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Bonny said, rolling her eyes. “Takes all sorts, I guess. Even sentimental mutants. Just take the drink.”

He knew that this conversation was likely the closest he (or anyone else) would probably get to a compliment from Bonny, so Fawkes thanked her and took the drink. The Blackwater Brew stood as little chance of getting him drunk as a purified water did, so he drank it with no hesitation, as Bonny got back to idly cleaning the bar.

Henry did no more than raise an eyebrow very slightly when he reappeared and then join him at the bar as if this was any old social outing, which Fawkes supposed it was, for once. As soon as he was seated, he handed over a large, thick hardcover book and looked at Fawkes expectantly.

“I didn’t have time to give you anything on your wedding night, but here.”

Fawkes turned it over to its front cover, not sure what to expect for the second-and-a-half before his eyes landed on the title. ‘The Builder’s Book; a deconstruction of construction for commercial and residential buildings.’ Mystified, he opened it so very gently and leafed through the pages. Columns of text flanked color photos and diagrams of buildings of all types, from the foundation to the decorative fascia. Fawkes tore his eyes from it and fixed them on Henry.

“My friend…” he began, but it felt like the words kept trying to get stuck in his throat. “I can’t begin to explain what this means to me…”

“I think you could,” Henry said with a laugh. “But you know actions speak louder than words. You don’t have to thank me. Just… make use of it.”

Any other day, Fawkes would surely have resisted. But he was still riding the emotional high of the week, the turbulent waves that were rushing him forward, and so his body didn’t give him any time to protest or think better of it: he leaned from his barstool and pulled Henry into a hug. “Yes, I will,” he rumbled.

Henry chuckled, with just the slightest edge of nervousness, and patted Fawkes on the back. His body didn’t soften like Addisson’s did when he embraced her, but he didn’t try to escape immediately, which was much more than Fawkes would have expected, had he premeditated his own actions.

(A few feet away, Belle Bonny scoffed.)

When Fawkes leaned back into his own space, Henry smoothly carried on. “If you have time in the morning, I’ve got some other things for you too. Just some spare tools, odds and ends.”

Fawkes promised that he would come around to collect them the next day, and then helped Henry with the bar’s ventilation, since he supposed Addisson was also having her own emotional goodbyes.

The night was strange, much in the way that their last night in Megaton had been, knowing that they could and very likely would return at some point, but that it would never be the same as it was at that moment.

“I’ll miss the bed,” Addisson said as they curled up together for possibly their last good night of sleep in a while.

“We will get you a better one,” Fawkes replied, though he knew she only complained about such menial material things because it was easier than talking about what else they might miss. “Perhaps a custom one, to suit your needs.”

“Custom?” She gave a gasp of faux shock. “Oh, come on, Fawkes! I’m way too tired for you to get me so excited,” she joked, latching on to him with a strength that showed little sign of the exhaustion she claimed.

Oh yes, he thought, he would build whatever suited her needs.

They did not sleep perhaps quite as well as they may have originally intended, but they made good use of their last hours there.

Though their last-minute packing was bittersweet, and handing their key back to Vera brought mixed emotions, breakfast was brighter than they might have expected. Only a few knew that today was their last day, but those people each caught them to say their friendly, casual goodbyes. It was not the end, they knew. Addisson and Fawkes would come back on some mission or another, as they always had, and hopefully with good news of their burgeoning homestead.

The day was clear and bright. Dogmeat dashed ahead of them as soon as they stepped onto the bridge that extended across the water and out towards the wide wasteland. He jumped about and wagged his tail, prancing in anticipation of leading them towards their adventure.

“Any idea where you’re headed?” asked Harkness, who had followed them out of the city to see them off safely.

Fawkes looked down at Addisson, who looked up at him with a face as bright as the morning sun, ready for the day. Then they both looked out at the horizon.

Addisson grabbed Fawkes’ hand and held it tight. “Anywhere at all,” she said, and they stepped out towards the future together.