Chapter Text
Georgia prided herself on being adaptive; after all, being able to roll with the punches was what made her good at her job. But the end of the world... it just happened so fast.
One minute, they were making afternoon plans. Halloween loomed, but setting up the decorations could wait until after the park. But then the world was ending.
Sirens. Shaun crying. People pleading, praying, and then -
She closes her eyes. Draws in a deep breath. Releases it, and slowly opens her eyes.
There's a gun clutched in shaking hands, hands that haven't stopped shaking since they pounded on the glass, since they slipped the ring off her dead husband's finger. The sun is bright, glaring after the vault's darkness, and it takes her eyes a moment to adjust.
She almost wishes they hadn't.
She was just here, standing on this platform. It was just a few minutes ago (though it felt like hours, days), and yet the view is almost unrecognizable. The air smells stale and rusted, lingering thick in the air. The gun clatters to the platform with a loud, metallic noise and nails dig into her palm as she balls her fists, presses them against her eyes when the tears start.
She didn't just lose her baby, her husband. She lost the whole damn world
She sits on that platform and cries, mourns for everything (everyone) shes lost; it takes a long time. The wind howls, a gentle breeze to ruffle at her hair. In the distance, she thinks she hears birds chirping, strange little squawks that she doesn't bother to pay attention to. But when she's done, when Georgia can finally breathe again, she picks up the pistol and follows the dirt path back home.
(She doesn't know to check her surroundings, doesn't know what to look for. Not yet, at least. So she misses the glint of sunlight reflecting off of glasses, misses the small almost-shack in the distance.
She doesn't notice him, but he notices her.)
----
Fingers knead at the dirt, carefully tucking the newest seed into place. The sun is hot, the air sticky - it's nearly unbearable, but she has to get this done. It should have been done days ago, but the soil had been too damp. Georgia never claimed to be a gardener (or anything close to it), but it had to be done. The Abernathy family, down the road, had been willing to give some tips - which the brunette had been quick to take to heart.
If the Minutemen survivors were going to stay here in Sanctuary, they needed a permanent food source. And Georgia, well...
She wanted them to stay.
It was stupid, she knew, but she liked them. Sanctuary didn't feel like a home (it barely lived up to its namesake), but having people walking around helped, a little. Voices and quiet laughter filled the air, and she felt a little less lonely. They seemed like good people, too - knowledgeable in all things and friendly, for the most part. But most importantly: they were welcoming, and slowly Georgia finds herself opening up.
Just a little, sure. But it's a start.
The world is... indescribable. It's worse than any of the pre-war propaganda had warned, and she's pretty sure none of those scientists could have predicted the horrors that are deathclaws. But despite this wasteland and every horrible thing in it, there were still bright spots. It took awhile for her to find them, but they're there. The dog at her side is a big one, even with the fleas.
It'll take some time, but she'll find her way.
That's what she does.
Within a few weeks, there are small sprouts of green popping up from the soil. Despite her - their - hard work, Georgia almost expected nothing to come from it; she expected the soil to be too dead, too ruined to cultivate life. And yet, soon her neighbor's backyards are filled with melons and tomatoes, greenery stark against the landscape.
Even now, even after everything, hope grows.
--
The first time they meet, there are people pointing guns at her. Which isn't exactly a new thing, but it's hardly favorable. Next to her, the dog growls, lowers himself as his hackles raise. Carefully she places a hand between his shoulder-blades and quiets him, lifting the other into the air.
She isn't here to hurt. She's here to help.
(She wants to spread those seeds of hope, fill the Commonwealth with purpose. She knows that it can change, one person at a time.
And the synths? If anyone deserves a second chance, a new life, it's them.)
The first time they meet, he vouches for her. Sticks his neck out, risks his good word - all on a gamble, a whim. Blind faith is in short supply in the 'wealth (and for good reason), but that's exactly what he offers; he trusts that she's not lying, that she truly does mean well.
It's a big risk, and he takes it without even knowing her. Without even knowing her name.
(Turns out, he won't know her name until much, much later. And by then, she'll know that Deacon's word is never as it seems.
And she'll know that it was hardly the first time they met.)