Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Ever since they'd set up a new settlement in Sanctuary, Preston Garvey had a routine of patrolling the perimeter. It didn't matter what new defenses they installed or what kind of system was in place - Preston Garvey would patrol with his four-crank laser musket and old duster.

Since Quincy, he never could settle. He was obsessively looking for the next threat. Quincy had left scars on him that would take time to heal. Time and rebuilding. He doubted if he'd ever feel truly safe again - if he could ever truly trust again. After so long of moving from place to place, losing people and homes, he never figured in his wildest dreams that he'd find somewhere permanent. Somewhere to make a stand and settle once and for all. He passed by a window and paused at the eerie green light coming from the room.

Vault 111's sole survivor Althea Shapiro - Thea to well, everyone - was the reason that Preston Garvey was still alive to even contemplate the fragility of trust and the tentative hope of rebuilding. She was the one who had taken on an army of Raiders and a Deathclaw just to give them some breathing room. She was the one who had taken it upon herself to set up a semi-decent settlement with the help of Sturges to give these people some semblance of safety. She opened up her home - not just to them, but to anyone who needed it.

It took a special kind of person to be that selfless.

Preston may not hold any belief in trust and decency anymore - but Thea held what little trust he could give. She cared; he knew that. She cared about people in a way that seemed to have been lost since the bombs fell and he couldn't help but admire it as they scoured what was left of the world looking for her son.

Now she was sat on a dining chair in the middle of what had once been her home, staring at a teddy bear with her overloaded pack at her feet. She'd probably pulled the scruffy thing from there moments before. She was staring at it with an intensity the poor cuddly thing probably didn't deserve. As though she could divine the future from it's slightly scorched fur.

The next, she stood up and placed it with some thought in an overhead cabinet that looked to be a recent installation.

Thea collected toys for her baby - She collected them in some sort of sad preparation for when Shaun finally came home - at least, that was what he guessed she was doing. Preston had never plucked up the courage to ask, really. It may bring up just too many bad memories. She'd cleaned up the crib, fixed the rocket mobile and had started collecting container after container of toys. Nuka Cola Trucks, Teddy Bears, Alien Toys - She collected them all, despite their condition. Her favourites though - were known as Jangles The Moon Monkey. She could never resist taking every one she found. It was almost as though collecting these toys was busy activity until she could hold her child again. The kind of hopeless, pitiable action that someone with nothing else to do turned to in order to push away the destructive thoughts that came out when they were idle.

Rather than sit around and re-live her husband's murder and her child's abduction again and again, hopelessly analysing it for something she could have done - she put all that restless energy and motherly care into exploring and fixing what was left of the Commonwealth and had amassed her own private army of like-minded, determined people all willing to help her search for her boy. They may not all agree sometimes and they sure as hell wouldn't normally interact - but Thea brought them all together and kept them in line in a way that awed Preston.
Since Concord, he'd been thinking of a way to repay her - to show her just how much this had all meant to him but seeing her reverently try to stuff the teddy bear into an already overstuffed locker gave him an idea.

Preston Garvey moved on just as she reached for the floor safe under the crib and pulled out an almost empty bottle of whiskey - another familiar routine.

He didn't hear the sniffles over the sounds of his own boots crunching through the leaves.

Hancock was a ghoul. He certainly wasn't a very old ghoul by some standards - some ghouls had seen the bombs fall two hundred years ago. They were very rare and most often exceedingly eccentric as it became increasingly difficult to stave off becoming Feral - but ghouls tended to talk and know of each other in a way that regular people did not. He had a wealth of stories - including one about a TV show that featured Jangles The Moon Monkey. One of the very first toys ever made.

He came around the back of the settlement and listened to the gurgling of the stream that ran behind the buildings. Everything seemed quiet - but he was far too experienced in things going wrong in an instant to believe that it would remain like that. He spent a moment scanning the endless expanse of darkness and - finding nothing amiss, continued on his patrol towards the next house in the cul-de-sac.
A light was spilling out from the holes in the metal, the radio was playing and he could just barely hear the sounds of off-key, garbled singing. It was late - but that didn't mean that Hancock would be sleeping. Ghouls had increased stamina and endurance as just two of the many benefits to their condition. It varied, but sometimes ghouls could go days on an hour's sleep.

An easy knock on the much repaired door was all that it took to draw the ghoul away from the radio. Thea wasn't the only one using a liquid crutch tonight. Preston ignored that and got right to the point. He asked Hancock for a favour. 'Do you still know where that TV Studio they were making Captain Cosmos was?'

Hancock shook his head in dismay and replied in that easy, brittle voice 'Wish I could help you, Garvey, I really do. The guy that told me about that used to be a toy collector before the war. He went feral last year. Terrible thing, that. You wouldn't think someone so cracked up already could get any worse. Had to put him down. What's with the sudden interest, anyway?'

'No reason.' Preston replied. He sighed dejectedly. Well, so much for that. 'Thanks anyway, Hancock.'
'Any time.' The ghoul replied and toasted with an entire bottle of what looked like badly refined vodka before the door was slammed in his face.

Preston was left alone in the dark to brood on his failure at the first hurdle. He wandered away from the building and sat down heavily on an overturned lamppost. He wanted to do one thing - one simple thing. A simple gesture of appreciation for everything that Thea had done for him - and he'd screwed it up before he'd even started it.

He dropped his head into a hand and muttered 'What kind of cowboy am I?' when something shifted from the garage. The other hand gripped his gun tightly and he backed away slowly into one of the streetlights. Preston was not - on the whole - a stupid man. Plenty of stupid men would not have made it this long in a Commonwealth that seemed to want to kill them.

He relaxed a fraction when the shape morphed into something at least partly recognisable - though not particularly comforting. The silhouette of a Super Mutant.

There was only one Super Mutant this far north-west and he had been given a pass - to some people's horror. Strong was a ...special case. Preston was not entirely comfortable with him - but he certainly hadn't reached the level of cold-hearted hatred as some of Thea's companions.

He still remembered the blistering argument that had erupted when their resident Brotherhood of Steel Paladin had discovered Strong's inclusion into the ranks. It had taken the limit of Thea's charisma and charm to ensure that they didn't kill each other on the first night. Preston wasn't entirely sure what was currently keeping the truce. He suspected that Thea's legendary temper for being screwed over was currently all that was holding things together - everyone who entered Sanctuary heard the fate of Sully Mathis.

Strong was now hulking his way towards Preston with the air of something - someone - with something to say. The entire Saga of Sully Mathis flitted by his thoughts in an instant, trying to soothe him into believing that Strong was not going to make a pretzel out of him. If he did, Thea would be merciless and Strong knew that very well - it was why he had agreed to follow her, he recognised a burning power that should not be played with.

'Little Cowboy man.'

Preston blinked and replied carefully 'My name is Preston Garvey.'

'Strong know who you are.' The Super Mutant sneered.

Preston tended to be absent from Sanctuary most of the time - travelling the Commonwealth with Thea Occasionally, travelling with the Minutemen under their control. He hadn't really had a lot of interaction with Strong.

Preston glanced from the garage to the door with light spilling from under it. 'Does Hancock know you were sleeping there?'

The Super Mutant shrugged in a clear indication that he slept where he liked and other people having problems with it was no problem of his.

'Can I help you?' Preston asked at last.

'You asked the man with no nose about the monkey on the moon.'

Preston stared at him for a minute, he had honestly never heard so many words out of Strong at one time - that included any time they were killing something and Strong was often very vocal about that.
'I, uh, yes?'

'Strong knows where it is.'

Preston's eyebrows floated up. 'You do?' Strong nodded and Preston gaped 'How?!'

'Super Mutant are everywhere.' He gave the most horrible grin Preston had ever seen.

'Great! Greaaat. So you just tell me where it is and I can go and get -'

Strong's booming laugh interrupted him. It was loud enough for the radio to suddenly cut out and certainly loud enough for a barrage of swear words to filter out of Hancock's house. 'Puny cowboy man stand no chance! Super Mutants aren't weak little humans.'

'You know I helped facilitate your rescue, right?' He muttered irritably. 'I can hold my own.'
'You were with the Scary Blue Lady.' Strong pointed out.

'Thea? You call Thea the Scary Blue Lady?' Preston goggled. Yeah, Super Mutants tended to call her the Blue Lady but mostly they stuck to Crazy Blue Lady and Stupid Blue Lady. He'd never heard her being given the title Scary Blue Lady. He wasn't entirely sure whether he should be concerned or not about Strong using that title on her. This was Thea, after all.

Strong gave him a look that clearly communicated You've seen her fight, right? and muttered 'Scary Blue Lady would make a good Super Mutant.'

Atom preserve him. 'I can't take Th- The Scary Blue Lady with me.' Preston grit. 'It's...it's a surprise for her.'

Strong looked confused - one step shy of concussed. At least - to Preston. He wouldn't pretend that he had any love at all for Strong's kind; They were the second biggest killer of the settlements he desperately tried to protect. He'd never hold any love at all for Super Mutants. Unfortunately for him, Strong was his only hope at this point. 'A nasty surprise?' He asked with way too much enthusiasm for possibly murdering someone he'd nicknamed the Scary Blue Lady some moments ago.

'No.' Preston's voice could have chilled the very air. 'It's a nice surprise. It's something nice. It's Jangles the Moon Monkey.' He grit and then rephrased 'The monkey from the moon.' At Strong's look of concussed confusion.

'Oh. Yeah.' Strong muttered and then rallied. 'Puny cowboy man will never get to it, anyway.'

Preston could feel the headache coming on. 'Strong. This is important. Tell me where the monkey is.'

Strong went to open his mouth again when a new voice interrupted them both.

'Are you alright, Garvey? Oh. You're with that. I don't see why she lets that thing stick around here.'
Paladin Danse was another overly large shape in the darkness. He was rarely if ever out of his power armour. Theoretically, Preston would have gotten along famously with Danse - they were both military minded men and both understood the difficulty involved in warfare. However politely he acted towards Danse - Preston secretly disliked the man. Him and his cohorts willingly hoarded and used technology that could be so beneficial to the people of the Commonwealth but hid behind their ridiculous convictions that they were saving people from themselves. Their wars on the super mutants were never waged with the common farmer in mind - never waged with really anybody else in mind. They came uninvited and left devastation. Sometimes as bad as the super mutants. And when they left - the mutants would return, angrier than ever. The Brotherhood never faced their wrath. It was always the farmers.

At least the Minutemen were always there - always on hand to help them drive back what they could - or help salvage what they could before they were overrun.

Strong looked thunderous but soon settled for mumbling under his breath 'Tin can.'

'What was that?' Danse demanded as he came into the generator light.

'Nothin'.' Strong replied.

Danse stared intimidatingly at Strong for a long while before turning back to Preston and asking in that authoritative (and annoyingly arrogant) voice he had 'Did I hear something about a monkey?!'

'Strong don't know, did you?' The Super Mutant asked patronizingly.

'Why you-'

Preston had had enough. They were acting like children. Unruly children. 'That's enough!' He snapped. 'If you must know, Danse, I'm...trying to find something for Thea.'

'And you needed the Mutant for that?' Danse frowned and gave him a look that clearly spoke of how low Preston had slipped in his viewpoint for having to rely on a super mutant for anything.

'Strong knows where it is.'

Danse turned his glare at Strong for the intrusion but eventually asked with thick scepticism 'I'll bite - where is it?'

'Science Museum.' Strong grunted.

Danse suddenly seemed to take the conversation seriously. '...That place is crawling with super mutants, we've never been able to get near it.'

'Strong knows a way in.'

'You do?' Preston asked in surprise.

'Super mutants not dumb as people think. Many places have secret entrance.'

Danse digested that for a moment before turning to Preston and - using that authoritative again - said 'I want in.'

Preston was taken aback. He'd never expected to do this on his own - but being in close proximity to Danse for what was likely to be a bit of a trip was not what he was intending. He had thought about taking a contingent of veteran Minutemen with him - people he trusted with his life - but Danse? No. Hell no.

'If that place is as infested as it's been made out to be Garvey, I'm your best bet of making it in but also making it out alive.' Danse said seriously.

Damn, he had a point, Preston could see that. There was no-one better suited than a member of the Brotherhood of Steel for dealing with super mutants. Especially if things went south. Preston could also see how badly he wanted to get into that museum. The Brotherhood of Steel were like magpies - always searching for something shiny to take away from someone who could use it. However, if Preston wanted Danse's help and expertise - not to mention that damn stuffed monkey - he was going to need to let some things slide. Better that Danse takes some shiny pre-war crap and they all get out in one piece - right?

Strong, however, made a furiously rude sound with his lips and said 'Little cowboy man and tin can won't even find the secret entrance without Strong.' Strong also had a point. A mutant's perspective on the whole thing would be just as useful - and if this secret entrance wasn't being blown out of proportion to make Danse look like an idiot (not that he needed help with that) - then Preston was just as likely to need Strong too.

'It can't be that well hidden,' Danse snorted.

'Tin can man said he couldn't get near it. How would he know?' Strong smirked victoriously as Danse coloured a fraction.

Oh no - not this again. Preston was not doing this again. He cut them off before they'd even drawn much more than an angry breath. 'Stop arguing, you can both come!' He snapped.

Strong and Danse glanced in surprise at Garvey and then turned to look incredulously at each other as though each thinking the same thing. I'm going to be stuck with HIM?!

Served them right.

Chapter Text

The morning of their departure started out poorly and only seemed to get worse as the day wore on. Preston had chosen today to leave, specifically because he knew that Thea was not going to be present in Sanctuary. Currently - she was trekking to Diamond City to see Nick Valentine about some cases he was working on. She’d left the day before - after Preston had given his excuses for sticking close to the settlement and she’d agreed to take Dogmeat instead. He’d produced an old pre-war map of Boston and had asked Strong to pinpoint whereabouts this Science Museum was. Strong had vaguely circled an area north of Goodneighbour. Danse had looked up at him critically as though he couldn’t believe they were following the whims of a hideously mutated organism with less brains than a Bloatfly. To be fair - Preston was having a hard time coming to terms with that himself.

He tried not to get caught in the piercing glare of the Paladin at all as he draw a rather large circle around the area of the map that Strong had indicated on. He was sure that Strong would get better bearings when they got closer. At least - he hoped. Deep down, deeper than he’d ever let to the surface, Preston had his doubts. Preston worried. The question of trust was once again brought up. Did he trust Strong? Was the mutant about to lead the Paladin and himself into a deadly trap? Strong was a super mutant. Super mutants were mindlessly callous when it came to humans - but equally, super mutants would not be subversive about it. They certainly didn’t have the brains or patience to plant a double agent within the ranks and then lead two members of the companions away to be murdered. Besides, what would it accomplish that a full on attack would not?

Preston hated himself sometimes for being so cold-bloodedly suspicious but those very same instincts had saved him and the people he was with on more than one occasion.

And then there was the other problem.

Strong seemed to have acquired a modified minigun. He’d tied a leather sling to it and was carrying the thing like an assault rifle. Preston felt uncomfortably in danger just being anywhere near it and since Danse had seen it, he seemed to have his laser rifle to hand a lot more than was generally necessary too.

Preston understood that Strong wouldn’t and possibly couldn’t do very much to make himself seem less of a threat but Strong was not the only one he had to contend with. Danse had made it quite clear that he was not leaving his armour at Sanctuary like Thea was prone to doing and was not a fan of putting his gun away with the ease in which Strong could access his own weapons.

Both his partners seemed to be on a mission to out-gun the other that had - for now - ended in a stalemate. Between them, they were probably heavier than any team of brahmin could carry.

Whenever Preston Garvey needed to get anywhere more than a few hours away from his current position, he hitched a ride on one of the caravans traversing the trading route. Many of the caravans in the area were happy to carry a Minuteman to settlements for free - happy to to help keep the roads clear and the threat of raiders to a minimum. However they were less likely to let a Minuteman, an edgy Brotherhood of Steel Paladin and a tooled up super mutant ride for free. They were walking.

When they left Sanctuary in the early morning, it was uncomfortably warm. The hills around the settlement seemed to create a weather sink where the worst of the weather seemed to be herded. At first he was hopeful that by sinking further down land would help relieve the oppressive heat - but an hour into the hike he had decided to take a different opinion.

The weather hated him.

There wasn’t a cloud in the sky and the sun was beating down mercilessly, which had led him to hate Danse and Strong just a little as they marched, ambled and shuffled along the old, broken highway. Those two seemed completely fine, Preston could feel the sweat dripping down his back and the thirst on his tongue.

Strong - as a super mutant - was acclimatized to the harsh and sometimes swiftly changing weather of the Commonwealth and Danse’s Power Armour had a built in temperature maintenance system to keep him cool. The goddamn Paladin had Air-conditioning in there and neither were showing any sign of being uncomfortable with the weather - just their hiking partners.

There wasn’t any real shade for miles either. The rusted wrecks of the cars hardly gave adequate cover from bullets and the trees had long ago been stripped of their green verdancy but he wasn’t about to ask for a break. Both Strong and Danse seemed to be holding back in their pace for him - asking for a rest was just too humiliating.

As he walked - staggered - further along the road, he tried to keep himself occupied. There were a lot of questions about the upcoming trek but the biggest had been niggling at him since they’d set off and he wanted an answer before they reached the point of no return.

Preston understood Danse’s reason for wanting to join his insane quest for Jangles The Moon Monkey - after all, they were entering an area of potentially rich spoils and bringing back something shiny would be worth the risk (just as long as no-one found out he was forced to team up with a super mutant to get at it or Maxson would string him up faster than you could say Ad Victorium). Preston just didn’t understand why Strong had agreed to come. It hardly benefitted super mutant kind for Strong to show him how to break into a heavily fortified stronghold.

‘Hey, Strong.’ Preston drew level with the mutant. His large head turned and glanced slightly downward just enough to indicate he was listening and Preston could almost see his brain coming to the conclusion that the human beside him was just too much hassle to kill and eat - there and then, anyway.

‘Puny cowboy man.’ The mutant growled and turned back to scanning the wasteland. Preston had never noticed before, but Strong had the kind of nose you could open Nuka Colas on. his face was far more prominent than other mutants he’d seen - or at least, briefly glimpsed before he was forced to shoot. Then again, Preston had never had much of a chance or inclination to study the difference between mutants whenever he was met with one. They were usually trying to kill him.

‘I have a question.’

The super mutant grunted.

‘Why are you helping me do this for Thea?’ He frowned.

Strong said nothing for a moment before he turned and replied ‘Strong bored.’

‘Bored?’ Preston repeated. ‘You’re doing all this because you’re bored?!’ He seemed flabbergasted that Strong was willing to go up against seemingly insurmountable odds, putting his life in jeopardy because he needed a distraction.

‘Yeah?’ Strong frowned. ‘Strong can also look for milk of human kindness and take it.’ The mutant’s face lit up in what Preston could only describe as insane delight and made his features look rubbery. He showed off an impressive set of brown and yellow teeth. A super mutant smiling was the most hideous thing Preston Garvey had ever seen.

‘Okay….thank you Strong.’ Preston replied carefully. Strong nodded solemnly and turned back to the landscape, moving effortlessly down the road in a way that made Preston envious.

Preston had never understood what Strong was talking about with the Milk of Human Kindness talk. Thea had attempted to educate him not too long after they’d rescued Strong and Rex Goodman from Trinity Tower. She’d even recited a few lines from one of those apparently famous plays.

He’d not had much in the way of schooling - probably more than the average farmboy got - but he’d never heard of Shakespeare. It made him feel like a bit of a dunce against Thea, who seemed to be knowledgeable on a wide level of subjects. The bombs had taken so much - and it was never more obvious than when Preston attempted to talk seriously to Thea on a subject beyond survival.

She’d had to explain to him what a lawyer was when she’d first told him what she had done before the war - The Commonwealth certainly didn’t have use for them. There was no need for a defense counsel, no great debate about right or wrong - right and wrong were irrelevant. Justice was meted out on a scale that was generally weighed in favour of the person with the biggest gun.

Chapter Text

The hours passed mercifully incident free and almost silently as the three most unlikely travel companions in the Commonwealth made their way west. They stopped once or twice to get bearings and Preston almost wished he had one of those Pip-Boys that Thea had permanently strapped to her arm. He hated to admit that he’d come to rely on the advent as they travelled and now, having to go back to the old standby of rough pre-war maps was proving a difficult adjustment. The Pip-Boy gave a realtime location whereas all this was just guesswork.

They were passing close to Thicket Excavations now, he had guessed they were going to have to pass the actual quarry itself and Preston wanted to get as far away from that place as fast as he could. He never particularly liked looking at it. As they reached a high point where they were able to look down on the old mine, Danse paused to take in the carnage wrought around the upper limits. Scorch marks and bodies littered the marble around the deep hole, still where they’d fallen. ‘What happened there?’ He asked - possibly more to himself, but Preston was coming up behind him and couldn’t help but answer rather angrily ‘A fury like you wouldn’t believe.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ Danse demanded but Preston had already moved ahead to catch up to Strong. The mutant had paused further ahead - seemingly sniffing the air.

‘It getting darker,’ Strong noted.

Night was approaching - He could feel it. The sun was hanging low in the sky, casting their shadows ahead of them, twisting them into almost grotesque scarecrow-thin shades. It would only be another hour or two until complete nightfall and only a fool tried to cross the Commonwealth at night. That probably wasn’t what Strong was worried about - the mutant seemed to tackle any kind of challenge for survival with absolute relish. Why the comment on the time of day?

‘Puny cowboy man want to stop and catch his breath?’ the super mutant teased.

Preston didn’t have it in him to be irritated by the remark but he couldn’t help but know that Strong was right. It was getting darker and sooner or later they were going to have to stop and rest. For the first time, Preston considered how they were going to play the sleeping arrangements of wherever they set up camp. Certainly neither man trusted the super mutant and neither man trusted each other to a certain extent either. They couldn’t all stay on watch. They’d be too tired to make much headway tomorrow but they did need to find a suitable place to sleep without the fear of being seen and/or ambushed.

Danse, it seemed, had come to the same conclusion. ‘We need to set up camp.’ He frowned. ‘Looks like that old quarry back a ways seems to be our best bet.’

Preston groaned. He’d been hoping to avoid it. ‘Is there nowhere else? A Red Rocket? Ruins even.’

‘Just the quarry. Why? Is there something wrong with it?’ The Paladin asked with a frown.

‘It’s full of bodies.’ He pointed out with a grimace. ‘And who knows what’s at the bottom.’ Which was a smart thing to consider. The last time that Thea had found a large hole and asked fatally “What’s at the bottom of this?” It had turned out to be a Queen Mirelurk. Preston was really starting to hate Mirelurks with a flaming passion he normally reserved for raiders. He’d much rather sleep on terra firma - preferably a vantage point where you could see the Commonwealth around them.

‘I am not sleeping in the open.’ Danse replied harshly. ‘Too many opportunities to be picked off from range.’

‘Strong agree with the tin can.’

Danse seemed conflicted about that. On the one hand - his decision had been favoured - on the other it was by a super mutant. Preston would have possibly found the facial expressions funny if he were in any kind of mood to enjoy it - but he did not want to spend the night in the Excavations. ‘The abomination sees sense, Garvey. Why can’t you?’

‘I just think there have to be better options around here than that.’

‘There isn’t another landmark for miles,’ The Paladin replied.

It was a lost cause. Of course it was. He’d lost the minute that Strong had waded in with his opinion. Preston threw up his hands and said ‘Fine. Let’s turn back.’

The subject of Preston’s refusal to spend the night in the quarry stayed buried until they’d managed to tip the half-rotten corpses over the edge of the stone walkways and onto the levels below. Of course, Strong and Danse entered into some kind of competition about who could dispose of the most corpses and the furthest. Thankfully, by the time they’d cleared the area, it was too dark to tell whose body had landed the furthest. No fight erupted since there was no clear winner. Preston was happy to pretend he was wholly ignorant and counted his lucky stars he wasn’t defusing a situation facing a minigun and a laser rifle.

Strong wandered off and returned with a handful of logs for a crude fire that seemed to be the only light in the pitch black when Danse pointed his beloved laser rifle at the kindling and lit it. The wind whistled overhead, drawing the flames of the fire even higher as the walls protected them from the worst of the elements.

Preston pulled a package of Yao Gui steaks from his pack and used an abandoned crate as a stool. It wasn’t the best meal, Preston would have preferred the Power Noodles from Diamond City - unfortunately, they weren’t designed to last long. Certainly not long enough to last the trek to Sanctuary.

Strong had collapsed inside a shack at the first opportunity, seemingly not that hungry. That left Danse and Preston sitting on opposite sides of the fire as Preston poked the sizzling meat and adjusted the plate of jagged metal that was serving as the skillet.

The Paladin was staring at him in silence for a good few minutes before he asked ‘So, Garvey, why didn’t you want to camp here? Truthfully?’

Preston glanced up at him, evaluating how serious Danse was about pursuing this line of enquiry. In the flickering light, the shadows on his face made him look gaunt - even with that ridiculous helmet.

‘Come on.’ Danse prodded and smirked. ‘I like a good ghost story.’

‘It’s not about ghosts.’ Preston sighed. It seemed Danse was not going to give up his questioning either. He was always a suspicious man. ‘It’s about Sully Mathis.’

‘Who or what is Sully Mathis?’ Danse frowned.

Preston was taken aback. ‘You’ve never heard the story?’

‘I...can be intimidating.’ Danse murmured and poked the fire with a discarded stick. ‘Few people choose to bother me. Knight Thea has never mentioned a Sully Mathis.’

He thought everyone knew about Sully Mathis. There were other examples like it - but Mathis was one of the first and the biggest. His was the story you were told in Sanctuary. Preston gave the meat another poke and turned them over as he mused where to begin. ‘I think it wasn’t too long after Thea came out of Vault 111. She was a lot more naive back then - still getting used to how the world worked when she said she found Mathis banging on this huge generator and cussing up such a storm that the air was practically blue.’

Danse, for his part, was not a bad audience. He had the foresight to keep his mouth shut as Preston lined up the next part of the story. His brow was knitted in concentration - despite, or perhaps more because of the steadily growing snores coming from the shack that Strong had taken for his own.

‘He asked her if she wanted to earn some caps and said that he was trying to pump out the quarry, hoping to find something good at the bottom but the pressure was too low - the pipes were damaged. She agreed to repair them.’ Preston murmured and gave the meat another turn. A delicious smell was rising now. ‘Couple of weeks later, Sanctuary was becoming a decent sized settlement and caravans were expanding to include it. Things were looking good. And then reports started coming in that raiders were operating on the road somewhere close by - Thicket Excavations it looked like.’

The fire crackled and Preston stopped poking at the sizzling meat. Sturges - as well as being a farmer, handyman and decent shot could also prepare a Yao Gui steak in a way that meant it didn’t taste so much like Yao Gui. Preston really needed to look out for him more. There were very few people who could make irradiated bear meat even moderately palatable and those people were worth the effort of the extra protection.

He plucked his hat from his head and used it to waft some of the smoke - though in reality it was a distraction technique to let him look around the area they’d cleared. It was off-putting to him that they were here, now, talking about the events that had led to this mass grave. He knew he wasn’t going to be able to sleep tonight, but he hadn’t expected the cold chill that wrapped around his spine with every guttering howl from the wind.

Okay, now he was just scaring himself. He chose instead to plough on with the story in the hopes that if they got to the end, it would be less frightening. Preston Garvey was no coward - not by a long shot - but there were some things that should be said with caution.

‘Thea and I decide to investigate.’ He flipped the meat again. ‘She was worried that something had happened to Mathis. After all, it wouldn’t be the first time that raiders had killed an innocent settler for an ideal vantage point.’

‘I think I know where you’re going with this.’ Danse muttered at last. ‘Mathis was in on it - wasn’t he?’

‘Oh yeah,’ Preston laughed humorlessly. ‘He even told her that she’d helped him to set it up. If it weren’t for her little irradiated dip, he probably would have gotten frustrated and moved on.’

Danse raised an eyebrow. ‘That is provoking.’

‘The man had let us walk through level after level of raiders to talk to him. There were about twenty to thirty guns between us and ground level. He was feeling confident.’

The paladin huffed and shifted in his armour. ‘Of course. I take it that Thea did not react well to that?’

‘Would you have?’

‘Probably not.’ Danse conceded.

‘It was…scary.’ He murmured and recalled how furious she’d been. How Mathis had hardly ordered them to shoot before she had her pistol in her hand and firing. Of course - Mathis had been the very first casualty of the gunfight. He had been mildly surprised by Strong’s use of Scary Blue Lady - but simply remembering the confrontation here, he couldn’t honestly say he wasn’t shocked. Hell hath no fury.

He had noticed it - on his travels. Thea was always kind, always polite, always nice - provided you were honest, decent and kind in return. She had another side to her that rarely made an appearance. She could be nasty, she could make it difficult. She could make you wish you’d been straight with her from the start. She could make you wish you’d never even been born.

Man, she must’ve been one hell of a lawyer back in the day.

On the subject of plays and playwrights, she’d taught him a few lines from a play by someone a lot like Shakespeare. Someone she admired, perhaps more for the saying. His name had been William Congreve.

‘ “And all those Ills which thou so long hast mourn'd; Heav'n has no Rage, like Love to Hatred turn'd, Nor Hell a Fury, like a Woman scorn'd.” ‘ He muttered to himself.

That was why you never went against the Sole Survivor. That was why she could do things that nobody else could possibly dream of. That was why he knew she would get to her son, one way or the other. If you didn’t know that, then you were about to.

‘Never figured you for a classical type, Garvey.’

‘That is honestly about all I know.’ Preston replied with a straight face.

Danse chuckled.

The meat was done. Slightly burnt but the fire was being drawn up and over the skillet by the howling wind overhead. Preston pulled a couple of plates from his pack and slapped the meat down.

The two men devoured the food in silence. it was the only thing they’d eaten since breakfast this morning and while it wasn’t a particularly nourishing feast - it beat two hundred year old InstaMash. Preston Garvey sometimes wondered what kind of chemicals went into food to give them no expiry date and found those that advertised as such - disconcerting.

‘I can take the first watch.’ Danse offered as Preston washed down the plates with some dirty water he’d scavenged up from one of the other hut-like structures built into the rock.

‘No, no I’ll take it.’ He replied and privately agreed he wasn’t going to sleep tonight anyway, not here. He may as well take watch. The Minuteman was used to taking long vigils back when it had just been him, the Longs, Mama Murphy and Sturges. It wasn’t his first 24 hour shift. Even now - with so many people to watch over the settlement, he still found himself pacing the perimeter restlessly - never quite sure that they were really safe.

Besides, he still didn’t really trust Strong or Danse not to try and kill each other while one was on guard and the other slept. Stranger things have happened.

Preston settled down and gave the fire a poke as Danse wandered off to find his own place to sleep - or to kill Strong. Preston kept his ear cocked for that too.

Somewhere above and outside, a wild dog began to howl and the call was answered by a dozen more. The Minuteman glanced around the quarry warily and shivered.

It was going to be a long night.

Chapter Text

Despite Preston Garvey’s gut instinct - despite his knowledge of super mutant and Brotherhood relations - despite their current place of camp - despite it all, Preston was willing to give Danse the benefit of the doubt and chose to believe that the Paladin wouldn’t murder someone in their bed.

He wasn’t sure if he meant himself or Strong, in that regard but he did know that the Paladin’s rigid code of honour would - at the very least - make him pause.

At somewhere shy of 2 am, Danse approached and offered to take the rest of watch and Preston couldn’t very well refuse him. He would have liked to get at least a few hours of sleep before they set off again, especially with the way that Danse and Strong walked. He would have liked to have enough energy to keep up with their massive strides across the wasteland. He was tired.

He had chosen to settle down somewhere in the outer ring of Strong’s snoring and used his pack as a pillow. He tipped his hat down to cover his eyes and most of his face.

It was a good thing that the Commonwealth’s weather had decided to stick to hot. The night was barely any cooler than the day but hell - it wasn’t raining and it beat freezing his ass off. The coldness of the rock actually felt soothing against his back.

That brought to mind the first time that Thea had seen a radiation storm. He’d thought she was mad. She had the self preservation instincts of a Radstag too - out, dancing in it as the built in geiger counter in her Pip-Boy had pinged and sparked. Preston had thought the damn thing going haywire was going to be the last straw and it was going to explode from the strain - and take her arm with it. He’d had to drag her back inside and fuss with a pack of Rad-Away but Thea hadn’t given a damn.

He felt himself smile from under the hat and settled down, shouldering the lumps in his pack until they evened out. It was moments like that which made him laugh. There she was, covered from head to toe in irradiated rain and she simply didn’t care.

He didn’t remember at what point he dipped into sleep, but he did remember he had been thinking about that particular memory.

Somewhere past dawn, The Paladin approached. Preston snapped into awakeness almost immediately, well accustomed to becoming alert at the slightest bit of noise. Perhaps it had always been the case, perhaps it was the many, many incidents - both in Quincy and in Lexington - that had left him attuned to focusing on the slightest change (along with the paranoia, insomnia, other things ending in Ia). Those who were deep sleepers or not morning people didn’t tend to survive long. Especially since most raider activity happened at night - super mutant activity - any time at all. There was just as good a chance that you would be caught sleeping as you were any other time. Whatever it was, it meant that Preston Garvey was awake.

‘I’ll get Strong,’ Preston stood and stretched, feeling the stiff bones pop.

‘I’ll get the abomination.’ Danse argued. ‘You have the food, Garvey.’

Preston was just about to argue the point when Danse turned on his heel and marched away - Presumably to add another footnote to the annals of poor mutant-Brotherhood relations. He probably should have stopped him.

Instead, he ran a hand down his face and muttered something that sounded like ‘Urgh.’ He needed a shave, he needed breakfast - but really, he was just hoping he wouldn’t have to get between Strong and Danse today. Yesterday had been encouraging - mainly because they were ignoring each other - but that wouldn’t last.

He almost wished he’d brought Dogmeat, just so the canine could keep an eye on the two of them. But Dogmeat was off with his mistress, the only person that he seemed to fully listen to. Oh he’d cock his head when he was addressed but he would pass any order that did not come directly from Thea through a generous layer of consideration and if he so felt like it, he would do so. Otherwise you were lucky if he’d bend down to clean his...well.

What kind of name was Dogmeat anyway?

Preston was dragged out of his reverie by an inhuman roar and he cursed. Abandoning his pack, he raced further down the cliffs, towards the sounds of smashing.

He found them, Strong holding Danse by the front lip of his suit, with a fist peeled back and Danse with his favourite laser pistol in the mutant’s mouth.

His presence had caused the brakes to the situation to be slammed on - thank goodness. He was almost hesitant to ask how one could go from ignoring each other, to all out war.

Strong seemed the first to consider that, and mumbled around the laser pistol like a petulant three year old ‘He started it.’

Danse, possibly reacting to the situation replied ‘The abomination wouldn’t wake up!’

Preston could almost see what was coming, judging by the large, shiny, fresh scorch mark somewhere just above Strong’s thigh. With a tired, somewhat horrified conclusion, Preston realized that Danse had decided that if all else failed, there was one thing that human or mutant could not ignore - being shot at. A warning shot over his head would have possibly gone down better than frying Strong’s leg, since he clearly hadn’t realised the full implications of a raging, pained, angry super mutant in close quarters.

Or maybe he just wanted to fry Strong’s ass that badly. Preston wouldn’t pretend to know.

‘Strong,’ Preston sighed. ‘Put the Paladin down.’

‘He shot Strong!’ The mutant argued. ‘Strong should be allowed to take a limb.’

The rest of what he was about to say was garbled as the gun was forced further down Strong’s throat by Danse who snarled ‘Try it.’

If he so chose to, one bite from Strong would leave this entire quarry deeper than how they’d found it - and highly radioactive. The small explosion of energy from Danse’s gun would possibly be enough to set off the Fusion Core currently being used in his power armour. Forget about an arm - they would be lucky that there were bits left at all.

Preston wasn’t a trained negotiator - nor did he consider himself a particularly good amateur.

He had, however, learned a thing or two from Thea in the art of righteous indignation. He puffed up and demanded ‘What are you two doing?!’ Hands firmly on his hips, the way Thea used to do it when she caught people scrapping in sanctuary, a tone of shrill outrage to cut through the snarling.

Both people stopped struggling with each other and turned to look at him.

‘Garvey-’ Danse snarled.

‘Get that gun out of his mouth, Paladin. And you, Strong! Put him down right now! Have you forgotten that we are on a mission?’ Both parties paused, rigidly and Preston pushed that advantage. ‘We are never going to get anywhere near the Science Museum if we don’t work together. All that technology, all the killing will not happen unless you two work together! That mean’s no shooting Strong in the ass and no ripping limbs off! Because Thea will notice and Thea will ask questions. Do either of you want to tell her what you did to each other?’

There was a moment where Preston’s little speech sank in. It was cruel and unusual to bring up Thea’s wrath but when all else failed, the Sully Mathis warning won out. You do not want to be in the Sole Survivor’s bad books. Even so, Preston was seriously concerned for a second that Strong was going to rip a limb off, or Danse was going to shoot but slowly - hesitantly, the gun was withdrawn and the Paladin plus power armour was lowered to the floor.

‘Good. Now how about breakfast?’

Chapter Text

They came across it mid-afternoon, hours after their little confrontation and setting off from Thicket Excavations. It was a huge thing, hung with dirt and moss. Though there was still some shine to it that made Preston question how it had not attracted attention sooner. He’d never seen anything like it. The shape reminded him of settlement walls the way it bowed out and then came back in. It was too large and seemingly old to be something that was post-war era. It must’ve been pre-war.

Emblazoned along the side were peeling letters that spelled out SKYLANES.

‘What is it?’ Preston marvelled at the row upon row of mouldering seats - the occasional rag-wrapped skeleton lounged in one or two. Suitcases of every colour and creed were scattered around the wreckage, all seemingly spilling out from the hold below the seats. Some had cracked open, some had remained tightly shut.

It was huge - the biggest thing he’d ever seen, barring the Boston ruins themselves.

‘It’s called an aeroplane.’ Danse replied loftily. ‘It’s like a Vertibird but for civilians. It must’ve been in the air when the bombs fell.’

Those poor people. Preston Garvey never particularly liked heights to begin with, he could only imagine the horror of suddenly finding you’re not flying. More accurately - you’re falling. He shuddered as he shrugged off one strap of his pack and opened it to find the map. He was sure that this place was not a landmark on any of the newer ones in circulation.

‘Pretty.’ Strong agreed in a huff as Preston searched for some reference to where they were and Danse admired the craftsmanship of centuries ago then growled in outrage ‘Why is there nothing to kill?! Strong bored! Strong want to kill something!’

Preston noted Danse’s response was to tip his head back in suffering and mutter ‘The abomination is worse than new recruits with their first weapons. You should have let me shoot it, Garvey.’

“It” Gave a feral snarl, as though if anyone were to be doing any killing around here, it would be him.

Strong had been on the same thread all morning. There was nothing but walking, walking, walking. Strong wanted to do more fighting! But there was nothing to kill except Tin Can Man and Puny Cowboy wouldn’t let him. Puny Cowboy would tattle to the Scary Blue Lady which wasn’t fair.

Preston was impressed that Strong had held onto this subject for so long. Many others would have mumbled themselves into silence long ago - He was almost as impressed with Danse’s patience thus far as he was with Strong’s bloodlust. He’d half expected the Paladin to attempt to shoot Strong again after the third jibe. Especially considering the mutant threatened to rip one of his arms off before breakfast this morning.

‘Strong,’ Preston replied in a low, even voice. ‘You can’t always get to kill something.’

‘Why not?!’ The super mutant demanded.

‘Because, you brainless, stupid abomination - there is nothing to kill!’ Danse snapped, seemingly finally at the end of his tether.

‘Shut up tin-can or Strong kill you!’

Oh for Atom’s sake. Preston was just about to tell them to stop threatening each other - or at least do it where he couldn’t hear them - when a noise caught his attention.

It was something he wasn’t easily able to place. He was well accustomed to the sounds of the Commonwealth but this was something that he couldn’t immediately identify. It was like a ball crashing down some stairs.

Something was falling through the wreckage of the aeroplane. It hit the ground and rolled right next to the pack at Preston’s feet. He glanced down and paled as the Plasma grenade began to count down to detonation.

The things that happened after that that seemed to happen in slow motion. First, Preston felt like he’d been hit by a bulldozer or battering ram as he was forced back and then flung to the ground just before an earth shattering ripple of sound. Second, Danse shouted ‘For the- !’ and then paused to grumble before rallying with ‘To arms!’ There was an answering cry that Preston didn’t recognise. Thirdly, there was a terrible grating cackle from above him and Strong growled ‘Finally!’

The ton of weight that had left him pinned awkwardly to the dirt was lifted away. Preston staggered up and found his laser musket in his hands seconds later as Strong grinned at him and said ‘Time to fight!’ It took valuable seconds for him to work out what had happened. Strong had practically speared him to the dirt, feet away from his exploding pack, protecting him from the worst of the explosion and possibly saved his life.

‘Uh - Thanks - thanks Strong.’ He coughed - pretty sure the mutant had broken a rib or two.

‘Less talking, more fighting!’ The super mutant snarled and pulled out his impressive mini gun.

Preston wasn’t even sure who the enemy was. He just knew that they were under attack - ambushed, it looked like. Possibly why nobody else had mentioned this wreckage - because there was generally nobody left to raise the alarm. He staggered over to what used to be his pack and used a shoe to inspect the remnants as Strong gave a chilling laugh and ran off. It was now nothing more than a smoking hole in the ground. ‘Oh no.’ He muttered. ‘No, no, no.’

The sounds of firearms and bullets were ricocheting around him as he looped the strap of his musket against one shoulder and bent to see if anything had survived the explosion. Sounds filtered down, of Danse shouting in latin as flashes of ruby red and the smell of ozone flitted past; Strong’s maniacal cackling as the signature sound of his mini-gun rang out but Preston was far more concerned about his pack.

It was completely destroyed, he’d guessed. The food, the water, the extra clips of ammunition - his spare duster - shredded. The map. ‘Shit.’ He cursed and gave the remnants another poke with his toe. He had one spare fusion cell in his pocket - the rest had been in his pack. Not an ideal level of armed when it looked like you would be wandering the Commonwealth without a map.

He straightened up intending to teach whomever had fired on them a little lesson about Minutemen when he felt the cold barrel of a gun gently pushing against his hat. ‘Don’t. Move.’

It was a male voice - but sounded young. Preston Garvey sighed. He didn’t want to have to kill a kid. That was not what he’d ever signed on for. Unfortunately, the troublemakers only ever seemed to be getting younger these days. ‘Alright.’ He held up his hands. ‘You got me.’

‘Drop the gun. Now!’

What was this? The Mojave? With exaggerated care, he slipped the strap of his gun off his shoulder and let it fall to the floor. As his would be shooter glanced down to see where the gun had fallen, Preston took action.

In a move that clearly came as a surprise, he dodged to the side; grabbed the gun and the man’s fist in his right hand and pulled before he viciously drove his left elbow back.

Elbow met face with a painful crunch and for good measure, Preston flipped his would be shooter forward to land in the hole that had once contained his pack. The kid’s gun was kicked away into the dirt as the little would-be ambusher wailed and clutched his nose.

The Minuteman adjusted his coat and tipped his hat up to get a better look at the angry, pained boy in front of him. The boy glared and then scrabbled for Preston’s laser Musket. At least - until Preston’s foot came down on the stock to prevent the boy taking it. ‘That,’ He intoned. ‘Is my gun.’

He looked about seventeen. Still more a boy than a man and seemed to be wearing the badly painted green combat armour of The Gunners. How the hell had a boy of his age and skill fallen in with a bunch of ruthless, uncaring mercenaries?

Gunners were exceptional, experienced mercs for hire. No job too dirty - no stain on the soul too big. Many of the veterans had seen and done some awful things in their time simply because the money was good. What would they want with a seventeen year old kid? He must be a hanger on, a dirty job body that hoped to get good enough to be taken on and in the meantime, he got to wear the uniform and get some kind of thirdhand reputation.

Eventually though, if he didn’t show a quality the Gunners wanted, he’d end up dead. The Gunners would hardly care. Preston couldn’t imagine a seventeen year old kid knowing that though - he probably thought the dangerous reputation was cool and the promise of a uniform he didn’t have to share was tempting.

‘I hope there’s a bounty on you,’ The boy grit.

‘There probably is.’ Preston agreed. ‘But you won’t be collecting it any time soon.’

Something hard had entered his eyes as he asked ‘You going to kill me?’

‘I don’t kill kids, if I can help it.’ Preston replied. Offhandedly, he noted that the shouts and curses around them were getting quieter. Seemed Danse and Strong were an effective team - as long as they had a common enemy and neither got in each other’s way. ‘I’m going to make you an offer and a prediction, son.’ Preston added.

‘What’s that?’ The boy huffed, still trying to stem the blood pouring from his nose.

‘I’m offering you the chance to join The Minutemen. I was your age when I signed up.’

The boy barked a laugh that sent spittle and blood flying everywhere. ‘Those useless fuckers? I thought they were all gone!’

‘We’re making a comeback.’

‘No thanks.’ The boy snorted, spraying more red all over the clover green armour.

‘Then you’ll want to hear my prediction.’ Preston replied. ‘If you continue with these complete madmen and manage to survive long enough to even join up - then we will meet again. In another year or in another ten years and let me tell you - I will not be so lenient again.’ He warned.

‘Gunners don’t go after farmers though.’

‘No, they go after settlements and caravans and ordinary everyday people get caught in the crossfire - and they don’t care. Reason doesn’t matter, honour doesn’t matter, the only thing that matters is money.’ Preston growled. ‘They’re as bad as raiders and you know it. If you attack any of my settlements - then rest assured that today will look like a picnic by comparison.’

The wreckage around them had gone quiet - as still as the grave it had been when they arrived. Preston could tell the boy was smart - a thinker. He hoped that he was thinking about everything that Preston had just told him very hard, because Preston meant every word. He was a man of honour and tried to keep to his promises.

He took his leg off his musket and reached down to pick it up. No doubt that Strong and Danse were up to something - or had turned on each other by now. Best to get there before the first shot was fired.

Chapter Text

Preston Garvey dusted his beloved laser musket down and left the kid in the dirt as he went on the hunt for Danse and Strong. The last he’d seen of the kid’s gun, he’d managed to kick it down a molerat nest and no gun - not some pipe pistol thing, anyway - was worth sticking your hand in a molerat’s nest. You were unlikely to pull it back out with fingers attached. At the very least - he could be sure the kid wasn’t going to come at him in the near future looking for some sort of cheap revenge.

He found Strong and Danse in a ring of bits and blood and seemingly in a mexican standoff. Both people had their guns pointed at each other and both looked unwilling to be the first to put theirs away. Danse’s bodywork was scorched heavily by other laser weapons but there was a clear set of gouges made with oldschool bullets across his chest. A large calibre size that looked to be clustered. ‘What the hell happened?’ He demanded and - possibly for better or worse - got between the two and their guns.

‘I told you that working with a super mutant was a bad idea, Garvey.’ Danse replied, not even taking his eyes off Strong.

All the evidence pointed to Strong’s mini-gun. Preston really hoped that wasn’t the case.

‘What. Happened?’ Preston bit angrily and this time he turned to look at Strong with an accusing eye. The super mutant shifted and muttered something almost inaudible.

‘Strong?’ Preston demanded. Good lord, was this how Thea felt all the time? Treating them all like the unruly children they could be when any one of them were forced to work together? He could almost definitely believe that she saw the Commonwealth this way - the amount of times she’d been begged for help. ‘Strong,’ Preston snapped in his best tone of warning. ‘What happened?’

‘.....Premature ejection?’ The super mutant tried and lifted his mini-gun in emphasis.

‘I- I didn’t think that was a problem for super mutants.’ He said after catching himself staring.

‘It sensitive issue.’

He spent a second considering the worth of actually probing that sentiment deeply before deciding that it really wasn’t worth his sanity - or what was left of it, anyway. ‘We need to move.’

‘Were you just not listening, Garvey? That thing took shots at me and you’re willing to brush past it to protect it’s modesty?’

Preston, it had to be said, had just about had enough. His morning had been spent diffusing a situation that was eerily similar to this one and in the last few minutes of today alone he’d nearly been blown to bits, had his pack disintegrated, had a gun to his head and engaged in a scuffle with a kid half his age. He really didn’t need this right now.

‘No. I’m giving him the same pass you got, Danse. Or are you forgetting this morning?’ He hissed angrily. The Paladin’s eyebrows wormed together as he frowned, knowing that he set the precedent for Strong’s retaliation. Preston sighed and ran a hand down his face.

They needed to get along. If only to stop shooting each other when Preston’s back was turned.

‘If you two actually stopped trying to kill each other for two minutes and bothered to think, you could see that you two are more alike than you’d believe.’ He growled.

Both Brotherhood Paladin and super mutant turned to give him a glare. He could have dropped his pants for less reaction.

‘Strong not like puny Tin can man!’ The mutant growled. ‘Strong better fighter.’

Danse gave a hard laugh and replied ‘I kill a dozen of your kind before breakfast, abomination.’

Strong blinked and the mini-gun lowered somewhat as he mused ‘Tin can man right. Tin can man killed lots of Strong’s brothers. Strong can respect the culling of the weak. Strong can respect Tin can man.’

Danse looked as though he hadn’t really expected that and was waiting for the trap that had to be there to spring.

‘But Strong still going to eat him, later. Respectfully.’

Both humans rolled their eyes. At least it was a compliment - sort of. Preston had never expected them both to break down, cry and hug it out - not unless drugs were heavily involved or there was some ulterior motive like slipping a grenade through the cracks of their armour - but still, this was good. It was a breakthrough at the very least and he hated to have to cut it short so soon but he had to draw their attention to the more pressing matter.

‘We need to move before more, better armed, members show up.’ He reminded them.

‘Let them come.’ the mutant snorted.

‘We don’t have time, Strong.’ Preston replied. ‘These people are Gunners. They’re smarter, better equipped and crazier than raiders. We took out a lot of their people. They’re going to wonder where they are and I would really like to be quite far away from here when they figure out what happened.’

The Gunners had numbers and a chip on their shoulder the size of the Boston Bay. The last thing the three wanted to do - Mutant, Paladin and Minuteman they may be but they were still just three people - was aggravate such a force. They had a chance right now to put some distance between them and sincerely hope that they’d give up before they caught up to the Science Museum or Bust party.

The two lowered their guns warily, aware that Preston was right. There was a bigger threat looming. Clearly, though, they were still too confused and wary over their almost-bonding moment to really argue.

There was no time to properly loot the bodies for ammo to replace his lost stocks. He checked the charge on his laser musket, at least mollified that he still had thirty rounds. With no map and continuing west as their only option - Preston would just have to hope he ran into Trashcan Carla and her ilk at some point.

Except he had no money. It was all in his pack. Great. Just great.

Colonel Hollis had given him that bag. It had survived Quincy, Lexington and Concord. The fact that it had perished on this expedition with Strong and Danse bode poorly for him. He was sure if Mama Murphy was here, she’d shrewdly tell him she didn’t need The Sight to see where this was going.

This was an unmitigated disaster. What had he been thinking yesterday? What the hell had he been thinking the day before?! They were back to square one - except with a whole lot less ammo.

God, he half-wondered how all of the troublemakers that Thea lovingly referred to as her companions hadn’t driven her to day drinking quite yet. He’d only been travelling with Strong and Danse for a little under two days and he already needed something alcoholic to help him deal with those two.

Chapter Text

If Preston ever had a single hope of finding out where they were or running into someone who did know, he needed to find a road. Sooner or later they were bound to find a caravan to ask for directions. The caravans traversed every remaining road to different destinations. If he was lucky, he could scrounge enough to buy some ammo too.

He wondered if they’d accept the most pompous Paladin in the Commonwealth and a possibly rabid super mutant as payment. What? A Minuteman could dream.

They probably weren’t even worth a fusion cell.

The three of them - moving a whole lot lighter without Preston’s heavy pack, half-stumbled onto what looked to be an old railway line leading to some sort of station.

Knowing the last landmark had been a trap made the three unlikely travelling companions more vigilant about would be attackers and ambush - however a sweep of the area only located two bodies and a pack of ghouls that Strong joyously tore to absolute shreds with his mini-gun. No Minuteman or Paladin assistance required.

Preston thought the mutant looked much too happy to be killing those things than he ought to be.

Once they’d ascertained that the area was as clear as it was ever going to be - with all the ferals chasing and being chased by Strong - Preston knelt down by the body that had fallen between the station and the train itself and noted with a sad apathy that he’d been shot in the back. Close range, if he were any kind of betting man. The body looked somewhat fresh - bloating hadn’t yet set in. With the temperatures being what they were and the amount of bodies he’d been forced to see in his time as a Minuteman and a citizen of the capricious Commonwealth, he guessed these two to be no more than a few hours dead.

Resigned to at least find out if the man had a family he could deliver the unfortunate news to, Preston went about checking his body. His questing hands immediately found a puzzling note in one of the pockets. It marked him as someone called Dutchman and talked about some sort of dead drop in the blue train-car. There was nothing else on him.

Odd.

He turned the instructions over, puzzling over not only the death, but the codename and the seemingly hush-hush nature of the job.

He’d heard rumours of some shadowy organization loosely called The Railroad before. Was this one of theirs? If so - who had they been meeting and why had it ended with two deaths? Who had it involved? Raiders? Super mutants? Either group usually left some sort of sign that they’d been in the vicinity. They of the head-on-poles for decoration variety.

He was startled when he heard Danse come up behind him and murmur ‘The other one was called Helena. She was shot in the back. Close range.’

Preston sighed at the terrible waste of life. What had these people done to be killed? They weren’t even wearing armour - just scavenging gear. They had been running away.

‘How do you know her name was Helena? Was it on a ring or necklace?’ He frowned.

‘No, it was a set of instructions I found in her pocket.’ Danse replied.

He wasn’t surprised.

Preston Garvey sat back and glanced around the derelict rail-yard. Everything in his gut was screaming that something wasn’t right here.

Danse must have sensed it too. He murmured ‘This is all wrong.’

It was good to see that they were on the same level about something at least. ‘We’ll take a break here, scavenge some supplies but we aren’t sticking around.’ Preston agreed and stood. He began a measured walk to the weather-worn stairs but paused as a flash of white caught his eye. Against the peeling grey paint of the shack itself, someone had taken the time to paint a crude house on the bloated wood, surrounded by six lines jutting out.

These things just got wierder and wierder.

Up in the controller’s office it looked pretty spartan and simple. Preston managed to find and pocket some fusion cells. He also found a pipe pistol, holotape and a computer. As he suspected, this was some kind of hush-hush setup that had gone horrifically wrong. Just about as bad as it can go, he supposed. Two dead people, no “package” and an enemy knowing one of their drops.

A-9? a code name maybe.

Preston felt for whomever was in charge of those people. He’d lost people before. Civilian or militia, it still stung. He could sympathise with how hard it would be to admit - not only to their families, but to the organization itself - that there had been a fuck-up of such epic proportions it got two of their people killed. He’d had that conversation before and was resigned to having it again some time in the near future. Things went wrong - you couldn’t predict when and where.

Leadership was hard to bear. He’d never wanted to be a leader and took on the mantle reluctantly. Until Thea had arrived, all he could really think about was survival. There was no rebuilding under Preston Garvey. He was too busy trying with every trick in his book to keep the people he had vowed to protect alive. He had been moderately successful in that regard but not without adding a few more bodies to the pile.

Railway transport was another pre-war novelty that had failed to survive. Most people’s first thought regarding the term “Railway” was of the shadowy mythical organization and not goods hauling in massive shipments. Preston at least knew what this was and didn’t require Danse’s old-world knowledge this time - or his condescending tone.

All those buttons and levers just to make tons of steel move where you want them to go.

When he’d scavenged all he could, he looked out across the yard. Danse was inspecting one of the crates that had been scattered around the station idly - Was Strong still playing with those ferals?

Preston walked out onto the rickety platform and shouted ‘Paladin, Have you seen Strong?’

‘The abomination was wasting it’s ammunition, the last that I’d seen it.’ Danse replied.

‘Yeah. That’s about the last I’d seen of him too.’ Preston noted with concern and scanned the clearing of rocks and scabby trees for any sign of their companion. ‘Strong?’ He called out. ‘Strong!’

There was no accompanying bellow.

‘I don’t like this.’ Preston came down the stairs quietly as he pulled his musket into his hands.

‘What’s not to like? It’s quiet for a change.’ Danse replied but sighed when he caught sight of Preston’s accusatory glare. ‘Fine. We can look for it. It’ll still be torturing those ferals,’ Danse warned.

Preston would take that chance. Better to look a fool with your teammate safe and sound than missing the signs and being overrun.

Like Lexington.

The train station seemed just as quiet as it had ever been. That did not fool Preston Garvey for very long. If it were all it seemed, then there would not be two dead bodies near the station’s only structure.

Perhaps the ferals were not the only threat around here. Anything that could possibly take out a super mutant quietly was dangerous.

They moved between the rusted train cars, the peeling paint was still somewhat visible - marking them out in primary colours. Red and yellow.

Every step was carefully measured - every sense straining to hear something in the total quiet besides Danse’s suit. This felt like Lexington all over again. Where around any corner could be safety or certain death. Where everything was as still as the grave until you’d turned that corner and heard the unearthly hiss of the pack of ferals on the other end of the corridor.

Survival in The Commonwealth was always balanced on a knife edge.

‘So, Garvey.’ Danse broke the silence with a casual address. ‘You know the abomination’s reasons for coming with you, I heard you talk yesterday. You know my convictions.’

‘Yes.’ Preston frowned.

‘Why do you want to get to the science museum so badly? Something about a monkey - right?’

It was hard to concentrate on those little sounds that could mean life or death with Danse clanking along beside him - though if they did encounter trouble, Preston could always take cover behind the walking tank.

‘Something like that.’ He agreed. ‘You know that one room in Thea’s house that nobody’s allowed to enter?’

Danse nodded carefully. ‘The one with the crib,’

‘When we first moved into Sanctuary, Thea asked a favour. She asked Sturges and I to help her install a locker. Insisted it had to be there. Then she started disappearing while we were scavenging. Once, I caught a glimpse of something that looked like a teddy in her pack. She could barely carry the thing but refused adamantly to leave the toy behind.’

‘She does that to me,’ Danse murmured. ‘I’ve often wondered why.’

‘They’re for Shaun, her boy.’ Preston replied. ‘She feels guilty, I think.’ Preston Garvey knew an awful lot about guilt and desperation - enough to recognise it in someone else. Thea had spoken briefly about the subject, but she hated talking about it for too long. Hated appearing weak and acknowledging all those little fears that lay just under the surface of her skin.

‘And what has this got to do with the Science Museum?’

‘Jangles the Moon Monkey.’ Preston replied simply. ‘Thea can not resist a Jangles the Moon Monkey toy. According to Strong - the very first Jangles is in the Science Museum.’

‘Odd place for a toy.’ Danse murmured.

Preston shrugged. ‘I think they used to do that. Have toys in museums. After Kellogg, she’s been down a lot more. I think she was hoping that he would still have Shaun, or know where he was. That her child was still a baby and she wasn’t too late. I just - wanted to show her that people care and that there’s still hope.’

A smirk wound it’s way onto Danse’s lips. ‘I see.’

He glanced at the Paladin’s amused expression and demanded ‘What’s so funny?’

‘How long have you had that crush on her, Garvey?’

Preston spluttered as he felt his face heat up ‘Excuse me?!’

‘Don’t play coy, now.’

‘How could you even think that?’ He snapped back, despite his face going beetroot. ‘She’s a widow and a victim.’

‘And very close with you.’ Danse replied. ‘Whenever she asks for help, she goes to you first. And you always say yes, no matter what you’re doing or what her problem is. And now, you’re out here with me and that abomination to fetch her a gift.’

‘I’m trying to make her feel better.’

‘Oh I have no doubt about that.’ Danse replied loftily. ‘But let’s be honest here, it’s not just for her benefit now, is it? The others have noticed too.’

He gave a choked cough at the thought that not only had Danse noticed - but others had as well. Preston could only imagine what was keeping Hancock’s mouth shut, since the ghoul would gleefully take any opportunity to have a little fun at someone else’s expense and finding out the straight-laced Minuteman who destroyed his drugs at every opportunity (Lest Mama Murphy discover Hancock was a walking pharmacy) had a crush on the Sole survivor - he’d make his life a misery.

‘It’s alright Garvey. She needs the support.’ Danse added softly, in a much more friendly manner than the ribbing earlier had been. He clapped him on the shoulder, almost buckling the Minuteman’s legs and skewing his hat as Preston still stood in horror. ‘Of any of us, I’m glad it’s you.’

He supposed that for Danse, that was comforting - a big thumbs up. Was Thea as aware of the rumour surrounding her love life?

This conversation was getting dangerously close to friendly. It had already passed the privacy mark when Preston had discovered that the other companions talked about the two behind their backs. ‘Can we just find Strong, please?’ He begged.

‘Fine. But we’d find that abomination faster if we split up.’ Danse noted.

He had a point. Both of them were well trained fighters, and could probably hold their own long enough for backup to arrive if they did run into anything that could have neutralized Strong.

‘Alright. I’ll take the east, you take west.’

‘Outstanding.’

With Danse clanking off into the distance, Preston could finally think properly - and could finally feel the blush on his face wearing off.

Him and Thea? It would never work. He’d put too much burden on her shoulders too fast. She was a widow looking for her missing son.

He was a broken shell of a Minuteman. What would she see in him, anyway?

Preston shook his head and then began to systematically search the station for any sign of Strong.

It didn’t take him long to find the mashed remains of more than a few feral ghouls - but there was seemingly no sign of Strong - alive or dead.

He was just about to look for Danse and search the other end of the place when the most horrendous screeching noise made him jump and whirl around. The butt of his laser musket met his shoulder in a well practiced move as the train car ground slowly from the position it had stood for two hundred years, exposing Strong.

Preston gave an irritated sigh - so close to shooting the mutant himself - and lowered his gun. ‘Where have you been?!’

‘Strong look for Milk of Human Kindness.’

Preston blinked. He’d almost forgotten that Strong was looking for something too. ‘Well...Did you find it?’

‘No,’ Strong huffed in irritation. ‘Just bones.’

Ah well. At least now they had Strong, they could move on and hopefully find somewhere to restock. ‘We’ll find it.’ Preston encouraged vaguely.

‘Why is Milk of Kindness so hard to find?!’ Strong raged.

‘Because it’s in short supply at the minute.’ Preston murmured and shouldered his musket. But with everything that they had done, it was making a comeback.

By the time they’d found Danse (and for the Brotherhood Paladin to dismay that Strong wasn’t dead yet) Preston had all but forgotten that embarrassing conversation surrounding his love life.

Chapter Text

They had come across the road - and then the gates - as the sun hung low. The three had been forced to detour slightly around an old cemetery filled with ghouls - to Strong's eternal disappointment. They just didn't have the time or ammunition. Preston was forced to promise that he'd find better sport later and Danse made a note of it for "extermination squad" - It was a small settlement completely enclosed by a thick wall. The machinery looked pretty intimidating. As if to prove that point, there was a dead raider in front of the doors, left to rot in the blazing light like some kind of warning.

Beyond that was a shack with a desk, sheltering a man from the wind and sun. He seemed completely at ease, despite the fact he seemed to be outside the defenses.

Preston didn't like it. Something was entirely wrong about this setup. It wasn't the same kind of wrong as Bedford - that had been after someone had sprang their trap. This was a trap before it had been sprung.

He handed the binoculars back to Danse and murmured 'One of us should go down and check it out.'

Danse agreed. 'I'll scout the area.'

'Wait, why you?'

'Let me think about this.' Danse replied, dripping sarcasm. 'If you were to go, then you'd worry your little Minuteman head that the abomination and I were killing each other in your absence - and can you really see them letting that thing into the compound?' He jabbed a thumb at Strong in emphasis.

Preston hated to admit it - but the man had a point. 'Fine, see if you can find out exactly where we are and get a map.'

'Not asking for much, are you Garvey?' Danse replied.

He really wanted to flip the Paladin the bird when his back was turned but considered himself better than that. He was a Minuteman after all - Preston contented himself with a world class eye-roll and turned back to scouting the area for hostile wildlife as Danse moved up and over the hill.

He sighed heavily as he glanced around. Strong wandered over to a bush and seemed to be eating something on it. For a second, Preston thought about saying something - after all, not all the plants in the Commonwealth were edible. Most - in fact - could give you a very virulent and often excruciatingly painful poison - but Strong was already chewing industriously. Besides, super mutants surely knew what was edible and what wasn't ….right?

'Strong.' He sighed. 'What are you eating?'

'Pretty purple flowers.'

Preston wandered over and was mollified to see that it was something edible, at least. Hubflowers weren't the very worst things you could eat. Prepared properly - they could be very medicinal and hide a whole host of foul flavours when applied to sauces.

'Strong hungry.' He bemoaned.

'I know.' Preston murmured and shifted. 'I'm hungry too, big guy.'

He knew that keeping all the food in his pack had been a bad idea, but Danse did not trust Strong with anything and the Paladin himself couldn't comfortably carry a pack on his power armour and not have his manoeuvrability suffer for it. So it had fallen to Preston to carry it. And it had taken exactly two seconds for it - along with his pack - to blow sky high. He was just lucky, he supposed, that he kept his water can in his duster and not on his pack.

Preston was dragged out of his head by the sounds of gunfire and immediately turned to run back to the hill, just as Danse leapt over it and skidded down the bank with a curse. Both humans ducked as a missile flew lazily overhead and took out the Hubflower bush that Strong had been eating.

The mutant gave a growl of discontent.

'What happened?!' The Minuteman demanded as he zig-zagged over to the prone tin can and helped him sit up.

'Those people, are insane.' Danse huffed, out of breath.

'I'm going to need a little more than that!'

The Paladin ripped off his skullcap, exposing a mass of sweaty black hair to the open air as the echoes of destruction faded behind their dirt barricade. 'I was made to take some kind of test to see if I was the right "material" for their settlement; they refused to accept the fact that I am a Brotherhood Paladin as evidence of my character.'

'They made you do some test, okay. Then what happened?'

'When I'd finished their inane test, he pulls a gun on me and accused me of being a synth!' Danse replied outraged. 'After that, it all went to hell in a handbasket!'

Preston tried to ignore Strong's grating snickers going on in the background. That headache from yesterday was returning - or was that latent concussion from getting speared into the dirt this morning? He resisted the urge to rub his temple and murmured 'He pulled a gun on you, just like that?'

'Yes, Garvey!'

He found that hard to believe. The world was bad - god knows - but it wasn't bad enough just yet that people would shoot someone simply for failing a test.

'Strong think we should go in and kill everyone - take what Puny Cowboy wants.' The Mutant growled and poked at what was left of the charred bush.

'We're not doing that.' Preston snapped irritably. 'They're people.'

'They weak,' Strong replied. 'Hiding behind walls,' He mumbled angrily. 'Super mutants don't need walls.'

'No, their boundless stupidity holds them back,' Danse replied acidly.

'Super mutants strong. Have nothing to fear-'

Preston opened his mouth to say something that could have been suspiciously "We are not conducting more murder than we have to." When his eye caught something in the gloom. The gates were opening and a pack Brahmin was slowly trotting it's way out onto the road.

'Danse, can I borrow those binoculars?'

With the lenses helping him pick up details, Preston watched the Caravan and it's guard moving steadily down the road.

Suddenly, he was in a froth to catch up to them.

Chapter Text

Meanwhile…

‘Why a note under a gilded grasshopper?’

‘Marty’s cases were always strange ones.’

Althea Shapiro speared her companion with a look that clearly said she’d guessed that. Detective Nick Valentine wasn’t normally one for such obvious statements, but the old synth was still staring off into the distance. It was possible he was thinking about Marty - more possible still he was thinking of something else entirely. He had the most brilliant poker-face she’d ever seen; outmatched only by Deacon. It was apparent that she wasn’t going to get any more on his former partner from him tonight and there was no question of her prying into his affairs after he’d made exception for her own.

They made their way through the dead streets of Concord and up towards their destination - Sanctuary Hills - in silence. The last time Thea had seen these streets, she was under attack by bloodthirsty raiders merely hours out of the vault. The time before that seemed almost like a completely different world as they stocked up on candy and decorations for Halloween. Navigated the fall traffic, Shaun had his first public meltdown - She smiled a bittersweet smile at that treasured memory.

Both scenes seemed alien to the dead hush that had wrapped itself around Concord now. The colour seemed to have been sucked out of the landscape along with all sounds, bar their footsteps as they walked.

‘It did lead us to a nice sword, though.’ She murmured, desperate to keep her mind away from the past - even the recent past. It was long and whippy like the old fencing swords used to be. The hilt was varnished wood and brass and somewhere deep in the guard, someone had carefully scratched out the name Shem Drowne. Shem had quite the taste in swords, Thea would give him that. It’s edge had quite worn down after so long rusting in a coffin, but she was sure that with a lick of elbow grease and an improvised whetstone, it would be quite the dangerous addition to her ever growing arsenal of weaponry.

‘Matches your outfit.’ Nick noted with a smile. ‘I’d been meaning to ask about that. It’s a rarity not to see you in blue.’

Dogmeat, trailing behind them barked his agreement and then promptly paused to pee up an old, rusted sign.

Thea winced and glanced down at the General’s outfit they’d reverently taken from the corpse below The Castle. At the time she’d sworn never to wear it, but needs must - and Preston had absolutely promised that it would be thoroughly cleaned. It was the most protective thing she had in her wardrobe, even if her elegantly curled black hair spilled out of the tricorn hat like an unruly halo and into her blue-green eyes. ‘Yeah well the old thing…met with one Deathclaw too many and I still haven’t gone down into the vault for a fresh one. At least the mutants don’t shout “Stupid blue lady!” anymore.’

Nick must have immediately picked up on the fact she still felt reluctant to go down into the vault - even with company, but he never took the opportunity to quiz her on it. She was grateful for that. Instead, they looked forward to the long winding road up to Sanctuary. Getting home, dusting off - kicking back a little.

‘“One Deathclaw too many?”’ Was what the Detective eventually turned to her and asked with wry inflection. ‘What happened?’

Thea sighed, but her lip twitched. They were on the bank leading to the suburbs of Concord now. It would only take another half an hour to reach the bridge. ‘A Deathclaw tried to eat me and got the world’s worst indigestion for it’s trouble, courtesy of an Mini Nuke taster.’

‘I can imagine.’ He replied with a droll deadpan.

She laughed. It felt good to laugh. There had been times before she’d acquired such a ragtag bunch of friends that she feared she would never laugh again but slowly, surely, she was finding things to laugh about. ‘I got sprayed in all kinds of funk that just ate my suit off of me;’ She sighed. ‘So I’m wearing this.’

‘You’re giving Hancock a run for his money, I know that.’

Thea chuckled as they crested the hill and heard the crackle of gunshots from across the bridge. Scorch marks raced up and down the statue of the soldier that marked the road to the settlement. For a second she stalled, as though she’d misheard the sounds coming from Sanctuary - her safe place. Greasy smoke came up off the settlement in plumes, indicating the outer defenses had failed. Another round of gunshots sounded and Nick said from her side ‘Damn, sounds like they could really use a hand.’

She didn’t need to be told. Pulling her trusty Incendiary Shotgun - Firecracker - from it’s shoulder holster, she ran full pelt into the carnage.

She lost sight of Nick less than two minutes into the melee but Dogmeat stuck by her.

The first raider that rose up out of the smoke and fire was held there by the snarling Alsatian and then lost his head to Firecracker. The second was in some kind of crude power armour frame and came lumbering up behind the first. He took a swing at her with a machete; She rolled with the hit and felt the scream of her General’s breastplate as it came into contact with the edge of the machete before she was back up onto her knees as she pumped one into his leg, one into his shoulder and then one into his face. He went down over the first and Thea advanced with a sense of guarded urgency with Dogmeat in tow.

The smoke was so thick - something serious had to be on fire. One of the old neighbours houses possibly. She’d converted one or two into bunks for settlers but the majority remained unoccupied. Another figure reared up and she almost - almost - pulled the trigger again, but she recognised Sturges and gasped ‘What’s going on?!’

He coughed and moved the rag that covered his face. ‘Raider attack. They broke through and went on a rampage, looting and burning. Y’know, the usual.’

‘Where’s Preston?!’ She shouted hoarsely - the ash was starting to clog up her throat and the heat was smouldering. He would never have let this get so out of control - he’d been bugging her for weeks that the defenses weren’t good enough to withstand a serious assault and the people needed serious training to provide any sort of fight - the only reason they’d lasted this long was because super mutants never came this far north and the Gunners mainly kept to the city. Their only threat was raiders.

‘Isn’t he with you?’ Sturges coughed. ‘He left a couple of days ago with our two heaviest hitters - I thought you’d asked to meet up!’

‘What? No!’

The two paused at the sounds of an angry, feral snarl from somewhere around knee height. In the smoke, it was almost impossible to see where the enemy dog actually was - at least until there was a pained yelp and nothing more. Hancock emerged from the smoke carrying a sawn-off shotgun with well practiced ease. ‘Hey! You’re back!’ He greeted. ‘I thought you were working on that whatsit for Valentine?’

‘We just got back.’ Thea nodded with a cough.

‘Sister, you got impeccable timing.’

Thea grumbled something that sounded like “Tell me about it” and repositioned her tricorn hat. ‘This wouldn’t have happened if Preston, Danse, and Strong had been here.’

‘Nah, they had something to do down the old Science Museum.’ Hancock replied. ‘ I overheard the argument since Garvey interrupted my regularly scheduled chem-break. Coulda used the backup. MacCready can’t see shit with all this smoke - it’s all close quarters. Cait’s in her element though.’

Of course she was. She hated raiders. ‘The…Science museum?’ Thea frowned. What could any of those three want there that would require them to work together? Strong and Danse loathed each other and Preston - despite being the most amiable man she’d ever met - was not fond of either of them.

What would they possibly want from a museum?

Nick appeared like a wraith out of the smoke. ‘Looks like we routed them. Seems like they didn’t get what they came for, but they made a hell of a mess looking for it.’ He nodded to Hancock. ‘Curie’s dealing with the wounded.’

‘Lets get this under control and then we’re going to have a chat.’ Thea agreed.

‘Sounds like a plan, Sister.’

Chapter Text

The air still smelled like burning plastic and ash. Their defenses had taken a pounding. Their settlement had nearly been overrun - Their general was not a happy bunny.

Thea removed her hat and wiped a smear of grime across her forehead, mixing sweat and dirt before grabbing hold of the whimpering Dogmeat before he had time to escape. Everyone was filthy thanks to the badly executed firefighting methods. Even poor Dogmeat. It had taken some time for them to put out the fires and ascertain that this raid - thank god - had no deaths. Just a whole lot of hurting settlers.

'What do you think they were after?' Sturges asked - seemingly along the same train of thought as he washed his filthy hands at the pump besides a house - her house. 'Revenge for Corvega?'

Hancock was leaned against the wall of the building, smoking a cigarette as they cleaned up and wheezed a grating laugh. 'Raiders don't go in for revenge very much.' He pointed out. 'And when they do, you can bet your ass it's best served hot and fast.'

Dogmeat whined as she dragged him closer to the tap. Hancock was right, of course. Raiders didn't let things stew if they could help it. If they were an offshoot of the people in Corvega - then they'd have attacked long before now. While the settlement was still vulnerable.

'They could have been hoping to get to the stores.' Nick noted. 'It's pretty well documented around here that this is the best settlement in the north-east and very liberal with supplies. It'd be a smorgasbord if they could get to it.'

Thea nodded numbly, aware that maybe stockpiling weapons, ammo, food and medicine - not just for her but for all the settlements if they needed it - had just painted a big target on her settlement. If one group of raiders was willing to assault them like this on a rumour alone - then others would try too.

'Sturges, could you maybe-'

'Draw up some defensive improvement plans?' He smiled at her. 'Sure thing.' He stepped aside and said 'It's all yours ma'am.'

'Thanks.' She sighed gratefully as Dogmeat barked a yelp and tried to pull away. 'You are getting a bath!' She scolded him as the three others watched in mirth.

Finally, Dogmeat broke free and ran for it, leaving an annoyed Thea standing at the pump grumbling about dogs and water. Wasn't just dogs, either. She knew a certain Minuteman who hated swimming as much as Dogmeat did. No wonder they always got along so well.

'I'll go get him.' Sturges chuckled. 'I don't think you're in our resident canine's good books, right now.'

'You know, somehow I think you're right.' She dusted off her generals jacket and tried to ignore the way patches of grime just fell off in the wake of her filthy hands - what she wouldn't give for a washer in the apocalypse! Their resident handyman walked away shouting "Dogmeat! Dogmeat! C'mon she didn't mean it, boy!" with an almost broken, mirthful sound before she turned caught Hancock's eye. 'Tell me why Preston, Strong and Danse are visiting a museum, Hancock.'

The ghoul cackled and ashed his cigarette on the ground. 'Oh you're going to love this.'

'Tell me,' Thea demanded.

'They're looking for a pristine Jangles The Moon Monkey - for you.'

'Me?' She asked in surprise. 'Why- Shaun.'

Hancock broke into a grin. 'I didn't ask. Big guy said he knew where it was, Garvey wanted to go - Brotherhood kinda demanded to get in on the action. Didn't take him for the type to want a three-way, being a tight-arsed prick - but there you go.'

Normally, that would have at least gotten a snort out of Thea. Today however she groaned and ran a hand through down her face. 'I'm gonna kill him. Them. All three of them.'

'Why?' Nick asked. 'They're big boys, Thea.'

'That's super mutant territory - and they're doing this for me.' Thea groaned. 'If they die doing some stupid suicidal quest for me, i'll never forgive myself.' And she wouldn't either. She had a hard enough time reconciling herself to the fact that people - no matter how diplomatic or careful she was - would die for her and the cause that Preston had laid at her feet. That they'd be okay with that.

'She just said she was going to kill them anyw- Fuck, Valentine!' Hancock bemoaned as Nick applied an elbow to Hancock's ribs in a bid to stop him saying something stupid.

'What do you want to do?' The synth asked.

'I'm going to find them and wring their necks.' She replied. 'You up for another trek, Nick?'

'Sure, this old bucket of bolts could do with another workout.' He nodded.

'Hancock? You know where they were headed and I could really use the fire support.'

'Anytime, anywhere.' The ghoul replied and hefted his gun in agreement. 'Besides, you're going to need someone to hold that outrageous hat for you while you put the boot in.' That finally got a brief smile out of her.

'Should we take the dog too? He's already proven to be a useful tracker.' The old synth noted. 'Found Kellogg for us.'

Thea looked blank for a moment and murmured 'That's a good idea. Maybe I shouldn't have threatened him with a bath,'

Chapter Text

Back with our favourite boys -

‘No credit!’

‘Cricket-’

‘No caps, no booms!’

‘Cricket!’

The Tucker memorial bridge loomed in front of them, the sunset glinting off those parts of the rusted frame that still could take a shine - buffed by the wind and rain for over 200 years. It was filled with rusting cars and trucks that nobody had bothered to clear from the man-made structure. They had simply been pushed to the edges to allow people - and Brahmin at a squeeze - to cross.

Nobody remembered who Tucker was - or why he needed a memorial bridge. Preston Garvey doubted that anyone cared. It was just one of the many routes over the treacherous river that - up until recently - been nameless.

All they had to trade was the pipe pistol, some useless ammo, and some scrap that they’d managed to collect. It would hardly cover dinner - let alone a decent supply of ammo and asking a caravaneer for credit - even knowing someone so well known as The Sole Survivor (thank you Travis, for the unwanted fame) - was like asking a Brotherhood member if your nuclear pencil sharpener fell under the title of “dangerous technology”.

In fact, the look was roughly the same. It could simply be conveyed as “I won’t even dignify that with an answer but maybe with a bullet.”

‘No. Credit.’ Cricket repeated in dark tones.

Preston held his hands up. He really wasn’t someone who wanted to get on the wrong side of a caravaneer like Cricket. She had a very to the point approach to people she didn’t like. You heard stories about that potted meat they sold.

‘Strong think Puny Cowboy should take what we want.’ The super mutant growled and leered at her guards.

Danse pulled a face akin to having stepped in some of the Brahmin’s finest manure and murmured ‘I have to agree with the abomination on this, Garvey. We should be able to commandeer what we want.’

He turned and gave them both a warning look before he turned back to negotiating. Cricket was one person, it was true. But she was one insane person. Applying pressure to an unstable mind generally led to some unexpected consequence. Then, there was the Minuteman himself. Preston was wholly uncomfortable about intimidating people into giving him what he needed when he could negotiate. It led to generally happier outcomes with less deadly force.

Danse had the armour and Strong had some very tough skin and Preston - had a hat.

‘Cricket -’ He sighed.

The negotiations were stalled by the crack of a gun; his hat flew off his head and rolled around in the dirt as Preston and many others ducked instinctively. The shot sounded like it had gone a long way and had barely missed - that screamed sniper. Their position - exposed and in the open - made the entire party nothing but sitting ducks as more and more bullets ricocheted around them.

Coming from just behind them, using the intense sunset as a visual blind, was a large mob of people in green. In front, as if leading the charge, was the kid that Preston had given life advice to back at Skylanes. The wannabe cowboy killer.

He cursed and turned to look at Cricket. She had very quickly evaluated the likelihood of making a sale as opposed to marking the ground with blood and was very quickly making her escape. The Brahmin, loaded with goods was heavier and slower than it’s mistress.

Preston Garvey glanced from the mob, to their rag-tag team and then to the Brahmin.

There was nothing else for it.

As Cricket’s Brahmin, reacting to the situation, turned and began to chase after the provisioner, Preston dug a hand into one of the bags and rummaged around for what he needed, stuffing a handful into his pocket.

The brahmin fled after it’s owner, down along the muddy, boggy bank as Preston backed away.

Danse and Strong had been forced by the heavy gunfire up and onto the bridge. Being the bigger and more dangerous targets, it was no wonder that most aimed for them - but not all. Preston grabbed his hat and rolled, barely avoiding a bullet himself. When he rolled back onto his feet and up onto the bridge, he tossed Danse a fusion cell and checked he still had the one he’d been left with after Skylanes.

‘Where did you get this?’ Danse demanded as he slotted the ammo into his laser pistol. ‘Did you steal this from the caravan?’ He almost sounded impressed but there was a hint of accusation there too.

‘I’m a good guy Danse,’ Preston yelled above the whirr of Strong’s mini-gun as he took up his own stance. ‘But I’m not a saint.’

The Paladin barked a laugh and fired at the advancing line of Gunners. Preston too, took aim. There were too many of them to really make a dent in the numbers with two laser pistols and a mini-gun. The only thing that held the mob back from an all-out attack was the bullets chewing up the ground in front of them, he suspected.

Gunners weren’t as stupid as raiders, but they were plenty crazy themselves. In fact, he would bet a good portion of Gunners had once been very good raiders who made the leg up to serious mercenery work.

Danse paused in his perfectly executed pattern of shots as something else caught his attention. He let loose a curse. ‘Garvey!’ He shouted. ‘We’re being flanked!’

Preston turned. Another group of Gunners were cutting off their escape from across the bridge - the green on their fatigues instantly recogniseable in what was left of the late afternoon sunlight. They looked as heavily armed as their cohorts.

He swore just as Strong’s gun fell silent and the super mutant rumbled ‘Ran out of bullets.’

‘I told you that wasting ammunition on ferals was a stupid thing to do!’ Danse snarled, but there was an undercurrent of concern in his voice. Preston could hear it. Without the mini-gun chewing up the ground in front of the bridge, the mob was going to approach closer - and they did not have the ammo or firepower between them to keep that at bay.

The three moved back, further toward the centre of the bridge and the largest cluster of cars.

They were caught in a pinsir. The cars held protection, but they wouldn’t after a few good hits. 200 years of non-maintenance and exposed to the elements meant that they were flaked and rusty at best. This wouldn’t hold.

This was some sort of revenge for their dead compatriots at Skylanes - Preston was sure. The Gunners weren’t likely to let them get away with murdering people in their organization or everyone would be doing it. Clearly, driving them onto the bridge and taking pot-shots at them was a lesson to anyone else thinking about defying them.

Preston Garvey had come this far in the quest for Jangles The Moon Monkey and he wasn’t going to let Gunners get in his way. They were in a jam, though. Strong was down to a board wrapped in razor wire - he and Danse had the ammo but there were still too many to take at once.

He dropped to the dirt as another bullet punched a ragged hole through the old car. Bright red paint chips and rust fell into his hair like a shower of snow as his hand tightened on the hat in his fist. It was as he crouched there that he noticed the red light blinking on and off under the chassis of the car.

Was that…Oh shit.

‘The bridge is wired to blow!’ He yelled hoarsely.

‘What?!’ Danse demanded, panic evident in his voice.

And then he heard it. The tell-tale whistle of a Mini Nuke. Someone out there had and had used a Fat Man rather than risk going onto the bridge to get them. Did they know that it was wired to blow? Did they suspect? Or was that all a part of the plan? They weren’t going to waste bullets waiting for the three to die, trapped on the bridge - they were going to blow them sky high.

They couldn’t stay here.

‘Move!’ Danse roared as he too placed the sound easily.

There was only one way to go - and it was not an option that Preston Garvey would have taken under any other circumstance.

‘To the left!’ He yelled and then took a running leap for the barrier. The jump seemed to take an eternity as he hung in the air. He could see Strong and Danse on either side of him, The Paladin looked paler than usual and Strong had - thankfully - abandoned his mini-gun on the bridge. There was some sort of noise, louder than the mini-nuke and the baying of the Gunners on either side of the bank. It sounded like it was one long, loud scream.

It sounded like it was coming from him.

He hoped to god that if they could survive the explosion, they could survive the radiation too as the water rose up to meet them - They couldn’t afford any RadAway and he had an awful suspicion that when Cricket found relative safety and checked her stocks - she was going to refuse to trade with them again.

He really had to repay her for those fusion cells.

And with that thought - the Mini Nuke made contact with the bridge.

They hit the water just as the earth shattering explosion and the rain of fire and rubble began.

Chapter Text

Quincy. He could tell within seconds where he was. It wasn't the buildings - for all he knew, they could be any number of semi-habitable ruins in the area. It could have been The Longs standing there, pale-faced and clutching their boy possessively as the militia marched through their once quiet settlement.

Maybe it was Clint, standing next to him and tutting as Hollis talked to the frantically grateful settlers. The man was dressed just like he'd seen him last. In that old duster uniform the minutemen loved parading around in. The same easy smile on his face.

Preston caught sight of Sturges standing against a building, listening to the conversation with the air of someone in need of help, but unwilling to completely trust. He hadn't known it quite at that time - but Sturges had been the only one to listen to Mama Murphy that fateful day and Sturges was the one who had sent requests for aid that had turned up in the very nick of time.

Preston was aware - quite vividly - that this was wrong. The entire thing was wrong. Things had never happened quite like this. There was an air of detachment involved. Of being a watcher - not a participant. Even more sure of himself when Clint had smarmed 'Colonel Hollis?' And then pulled a 10 mm on him. The Colonel merely glared at him, as though the stunt was pure theatrics and drawled in his familiar tang 'You won't shoot me, boy.'

Clint laughed and fired off three shots faster than Preston could blink. He watched in sbocked rigidity as Hollis went down with a shocked yell and Clint then turned his pistol on the terrified, screaming settlers. Preston stood there numb with shock as bullets flew around him, never quite touching him. Watching as body after body fell before Clint, faces he recognised vaguely as people he had failed to help in time. Clint eventually turned his gun on Preston himself and murmured 'Nice hat, Garvey. Do me a favour and take it off. Don't want to put a bullet through such a nice hat.'

He found his fingers gripping the rough brim of it - but he still managed to pause and murmur 'Bullet through my hat?'

Something about that was familiar to him.

Clint's smile was all he could see now. The screaming of the people and burning ash was all that he could smell and taste. The scene blurred and changed, going from Quincy to Sanctuary. To the buildings burning and Thea bleeding out at Clint's feet.

That too had changed. It wasn't Clint threatening him with the gun - it was the kid from Skylanes. He was dressed in Gunner greens. 'Hand it over, cowboy.'

'No!'

At the same time as he yelled, he twisted and felt himself falling. Preston Garvey landed heavily on the floor with a muffled grunt of pain, followed swiftly by some blankets and a muted squeaking thump on his head. He let loose a curse as he struggled up. Judging from the whole body ache he was experiencing, he wasn't dreaming anymore.

Thank god for small mercies.

He managed to pull himself up and survey where he was - The dream still fresh and buzzing in his mind.

This looked like some sort of…bunker. He looked up into the semi-gloom and noted Danse and Strong were both in attendance. Danse had managed to get out of his dented armour. A metal toolkit was lying at his feet.

Strong was some distance away, fondling his bloated and watermarked board.

'You're awake,' The Paladin nodded. 'Welcome back Garvey.'

'Where are we?' He gulped damply and tried to ignore the way that talking hurt. He stood up and noticed that his uniform was gone too - replaced by an old musty pair of slacks.

Somewhere close by, the radio was crooning Connie Allen's Rocket 69. It was a familiar, if rather annoying tune. It was still better than sixty minute man - god Thea had seized upon that as a form of entertainment more than once, knowing that it drove him up the goddamn wall sometimes.

Danse looked up toward the ceiling and then back down as Preston was trying to shake the memory of that dream from his mind. 'We're in West Everett Estates, Garvey.' He said with some foreboding.

West Everett…? Something about that sent alarm bells ringing through his battered brain, but after being forced to jump from a bridge, almost drowning and some sort of pseudo-nightmare about Quincy (he was gonna go ahead and blame that on stress) - it was taking him a while to catch up.

He stood and rolled his shoulders, noting the dust laden sheets and the old and much loved Jangles the Moon Monkey toy that had bounced on his head. The toy was staring at him with glassy accusation - he could see it.

'What happened?' Preston was trying his best to ignore the way his throat really felt raw and his whole mouth tasted like seaweed but it was an uphill battle with the throbbing of his skull.

'Puny cowboy and tin-can man saved by Strong.' The Super mutant replied with what - Preston was sure - was a smug grin.

Danse threw down the tool he'd been using on his power armour and snarled 'And look where we are!'

'Not Strong's problem!'

Preston sighed and began a hunt for his uniform, content to let them fight it out verbally. If it got bloody he'd have to interfere but for now, it was nothing to be concerned about. What he wanted was his uniform.

He found it in one of the lockers, smelling like rotten fish and polluted seawater. His hat was on a shelf on top and he pulled it down first.

It had a hole in it. Two holes - a through and through. Preston grumbled angrily and poked a finger through one, as if making sure that it was really there.

Those damn Gunners had put holes in his hat.

It was as he was putting the now well-ventilated hat onto his head that Preston finally connected the very vague unease in his stomach with their location.

'Wait - Everett Estates?! The Raider hotspot turned super mutant time-share?!' That kind of pitch really was a bad idea, his throat protested vehemently.

All three were suddenly aware that somewhere above them, there was an insubstantial growl and the sound of scratching. The two humans froze at the sound, their resident super mutant curled his lip.

The scratching was starting to get louder and more insistent.

'Turn off the damn radio!' Danse hissed.

Strong raised the large plank of wood to destroy it when Preston harshly whispered 'Don't!' And leaned over to turn it off with a deft click. The sounds of smashing radio could have possibly drawn even further inquiry from the mutants around them. The bunker fell into a baited silence.

Eventually, after some snuffling, the sound faded away, seemingly bored by the lack of noise.

'Yes, that one.' Danse replied as he threw an irritated look at Preston and whirled around to work on his suit. 'Apparently it was the closest thing. I need my suit fully operational if - no - when those things realize that we're here.'

'Strong smash puny super mutants. They weak.'

'They have something we don't, abomination - numbers!'

Strong was wearing a face that clearly said he regretted not facilitating the Paladin's drowning himself. Preston groaned. He knew as soon as they'd been forced up and onto that bridge that if they got away by the skin of their teeth it would be the best outcome. To wind up here? In the middle of a super mutant nest? No wonder Danse was looking nervous.

'It can't be that bad.' Preston reassured them as he put his hat back on his head.

'If we're stuffed into one of those disgusting meat-bags and left to rot - that would be the best outcome.' Danse replied.

'What other outcome could there be?' He frowned.

'You don't know how those things make a super-mutant. Do you?'

Well, no. He'd never asked himself just how you went about making a super mutant. Beyond the fact that they were pretty gender neutral and liked screaming "Die!" He really didn't know much.

'Treasure your ignorance.' Danse murmured at his confused face and went back to trying to repair his waterlogged and dented suit of armour.

He guessed there was nothing for it but to sit and come up with some sort of plan. Man his throat and his head were in agreement for once, he still stank slightly of seaweed and the old pre-war clothes were uncomfortably tight and abrasive. He hated water.

'Any ideas on getting out of here?' Preston sat on the bottom bunk of the bed and asked.

'If I have one, Garvey you'll be the first to know.' Danse went back to his power armour with all the cheer of someone with a long list of repairs and the worst company possible.

'Strong?' Preston asked.

'Uhhhh…'

'Good luck with that. We'll be here til the next century.' Danse grunted from the other end of the small room.

This was just going to be fun, wasn't it? Small confinement, horde of super mutants above them, certain death if escape failed - although Danse seemed to be indicating there was something worse than dying - and nobody had a plan.

The Science Museum was looking further and further out of their reach.

Chapter Text

Nick Valentine had been staring off into the distance for some time when he finally felt the nudge from Hancock and the urgent whispering. 'Hey, hey Valentine.'

'Yeah?' He asked casually and turned to look into the unappetizing face of the ghoul mayor of Goodneighbour. Hancock seemed to have something weighing on his mind.

'Far be it for me to point out someone's cranky mood, but have you noticed the doom-n-gloom?' He jabbed a thumb towards their unusually silent travelling companion.

Nick looked across the cart and towards the Sole Survivor herself. She'd folded with the odd shapes under the weather-worn tarpaulin , the crook of her elbow resting on one knee with her hat pulled low against the sun. She hadn't moved - or spoke - for the last hour, which wasn't Althea Shapiro in the slightest.

Ever since she'd wrestled the ride down the Commonwealth from one of the travelling caravans, she'd been unusually curt and quiet.

If he were to guess anything, Nick would guess that their ever optimistic and ever helpful leader was simmering. Maybe not in anger, but something was boiling just below the surface. Gnawing away at her ever cheery smile.

Nick Valentine had been there that day she confronted the man who took her son. It hadn't been too pretty and the outcome was the exact opposite of what she had wanted. Walking away from that fight - This was the same kind of simmering silence she'd had coming away with. Of someone ticking over things again and again. Of course, it had never really left - everyone knew that most nights nowadays, she spent in the one room of her house that nobody was allowed to enter and she was generally rough the next morning. He thought she'd been making improvement - but then this.

Nick Valentine was worried, to say the very least.

He reached out to pet Dogmeat laying at their feet. The Alsatian leaned into the touch and slobbered gratefully at the attention. 'She feels responsible.' He murmured. 'Always does.'

'About those three? Psh.' Hancock laughed and leaned back to enjoy the ride. 'They can take care of themselves.'

Valentine had to agree, but he also knew that telling her that would be entirely futile. Thea was known for her stubbornness and her commitment to a mission - even if that mission was finding and dragging back three of her idiot friends. She'd seen too much violence in the wasteland from the moment she opened her eyes to believe that they would and could be fine out there.

Nick's musings on the leader of their rag-tag little group was interrupted when Dogmeat's head came up suddenly, ears and nose twitching. You smell something, boy?' Nick asked and hurriedly called to Thea 'He's got a scent!' When Dogmeat launched himself off the tarpaulin of the rickety cart, scaring the Brahmin in the process, and darted across the rocks.

His mistress wasn't too far behind, lithe but stiff frame climbing somewhat clumsily over the rocks to catch him. Nick and Hancock were left to struggle in her wake.

When they finally caught up, Hancock bemoaning that he wasn't used to all this climbing, they both took in the half-rusted plane in front of them with peeling sunbleached letters. SKYLANES. Around the old bodies were signs of fresh fighting. Blood splatters, abandoned helmets and spent casings - but no bodies.

'Is that an aeroplane?' Hancock marvelled. 'How in the world did they get that to stay airborne?'

'No blast burns on the plane, plenty of foreign rubble nearby. The nukes didn't take this down, the highway did.' Nick noted with some sympathy. It was a pretty obvious deduction, and one he could have made in his sleep as he scanned the landscape. The plane would have made a wonderful prize for whomever had found it and the outcrop it was lying on wasn't too far from a known caravan route - close enough for Dogmeat to pick up scent, certainly.

'You're officially not helping.' Hancock retorted and turned to Thea. She was completely ignoring the plane - and all the signs of the fighting - but instead was clutching something burned and ragged and now covered in dog drool as Dogmeat yipped and barked and nudged her hand in triumph.

It looked like a strap of some kind, with crude stitching attaching a patch of what looked like a half burnt gun and a lightning bolt. Neither companion felt it redundant enough to point out that it was the logo of the minutemen - and it was last seen on Preston's pack. The implications were frightening at best.

'Doesn't mean they're dead, kiddo.' Hancock reassured.

'No, it doesn't. It just means they were in a fight.' Nick agreed.

'Preston loved this pack. He wouldn't just let something happen to it.' Thea murmured, her face pinched in indecision.

Clearly, something had happened here. As always, Nick got to the centre of the mystery. 'What I don't understand is, where are the bodies?' He looked around, confirming the lack of dead people.

'The Gunners probably took them.' Hancock murmured.

'Why in the world would they want to do that?' Nick asked in outrage as Hancock reached out to idly kick a helmet.

'Would you want to leave evidence that three people single-handedly beat an entire squadron of well equipped fighters?' Hancock asked as he patted himself down for a Jet inhaler he knew was in his pockets somewhere. 'People would get ideas and putting those down would be messy and costly.'

'You have a point.' Nick conceded. 'Reputation is everything to these lowlifes.'

'Yeah.' Hancock agreed and shook the inhaler hard before taking a puff. 'But if those three got on the wrong side of the Gunners, Gunners ain't gonna stop looking til they put them down.'

Thea rose, the strip of cloth still in her hand. 'They should know mine by now.' She stormed off, whistling for Dogmeat to follow and try to pick up which way they went.

Hancock leaned over and muttered to Nick 'She's got that look in her eye again.'

'What look?'

'The fun one.' Hancock chuckled and cocked his sawn-off shotgun. 'Lets see if we can't find something those green idiots left behind, hm?'

It was better than standing around, waiting for an ambush.

Chapter Text

Danse was working on his power armour, crushed by the impact of the explosion and leaking River water from the buckled, torn metal. Strong seemed content to fondle the water-logged board he generally liked to use as a weapon now that he’d lost his mini-gun - Preston was left to wander the small space between them, not quite sure what he should do. They needed a plan if they were going to get out alive but between the three of them, nothing really covered this kind of situation.

His jacket still smelt heavily of saltwater, his gun still slightly waterlogged. He couldn’t even begin to repair it until he’d managed to drain the water from the charge chamber - the large glass mounted on the old wood that held the laser charge squirreling through the gun. It would be useless until it was fixed.

The gun made a slight glug as he opened up the chamber and gently eased out the foetid water trapped in the glass. It was still dripping and would take an hour - at least - to be dry enough for him to even think about tinkering further with it.

Jangles the Moon Monkey was still staring at him accusingly from the floor - or smugly, that glassy-eyed grin could mean just about anything. When he first came up with this harebrained scheme it was always a happy, hopeful smile. Now it was mocking him.

He was going to get that Jangles for Thea. They’d come so far and to admit defeat now would be the worst thing, no matter Danse’s veiled warnings - by now, she’d probably realized they were gone and if she were to confront him without him having it - Well, it was as much for his protection as it was a gift for her.

All three occupants of the confined space paused again as, above them, they could hear the sounds of warfare. Explosions and screams wormed their way through the tough old seams of the bunker. ‘What is going on up there?’ He wondered. ‘Sounds like a warzone.’

Sounded like Quincy. Perhaps that was the reason he’d had that terrifying nightmare but he was not going to dwell on that if he could. Preston hadn’t survived this long by dwelling.

Danse said nothing, probably aware that their hiding place wouldn’t be concealed for very long if something was happening above them but redoubled his efforts of repairing his power armour. He wanted as much of a chance as possible - slim as it may be. Strong merely muttered ‘Murder.’ and went back to fondling his board.

Had the Gunners chased them into West Everett Estates? It certainly sounded like it. If they had, they surely came under heavy resistance from the mutants. The ceiling above them shook and dust rained down from the rafters.

Preston, with nothing else to do, leant his drying gun against the bunk beds and began a systematic search of the bunker. There were beds, a desk a computer - he wasn’t even going to attempt to hack that, it wasn’t something he could easily do - but he was interested in the safe beside it.

It looked untouched - a lot like the rest of this place. Thea - for a lawyer - had grown remarkably competent at picking locks. Asserting with absolute certainty that only the very best goodies were kept under lock and key.

He remembered that particular conversation because she’d made it while picking the lock on a wall-safe and was almost disappointed to find it held a pile of dusty mush, a coffee mug and, bizarrely, a toy car. He remembered her muttering ‘Must be an important car.’ as she gently moved it. One of the wheels then fell off and he’d laughed at her glowering face.

Preston really didn’t have that much of a knack for opening locked containers - but with little else to do right now, he could try. The drawers of the desk contained an old aluminium TV tray, some bottlecaps and a handful of seemingly forgotten bobby pins.

The first attempt failed - unsurprisingly - but he kept at it, teasing and testing the lock as it inched further and further around.

‘You’re wasting your time, Garvey.’ Danse replied. ‘You should be fixing your gun.’ He gave a joyous cry as the armour came to life and peeled open with a screech like a clam. Waiting for someone to enter it. ’Progress!’ Danse murmured happily and set to checking the wiring for water damage.

Preston ignored him, focusing instead on the safe.

His second attempt failed too - the snapped pin sticking painfully into his thumb as he cursed - but this safe was not going to best him that easily.

Preston was finally rewarded with a quiet click that almost went unheard in the ruckus above their heads. ‘Yes!’ He whispered in triumph and pulled open the heavy steel door.

He’d gone quiet - and cotton-mouthed - when Danse finally turned to ask ‘Well? What’s in there?’

‘I know how we’re getting out of here.’ He replied.

It was enough for Danse to put down his tools and approach - Strong, likewise, was curious as to what the Minuteman had found. They both leaned down to look into the dusty gloom of the safe.

‘Are those Stealth Boys?!’ Danse asked in surprise.

--

In the last few hours of what Preston was choosing to believe was dawn, things had quietened down. The sounds of warfare had faded. If the Gunners had attacked the mutants, he would have guessed that they’d retreated now that they didn’t have the cover and chaos of darkness. The occupants of the bunker used the time - and their new discovery - to plan. Daylight was not an ideal time to test the capabilities of a Stealth Boy - but trying to escape in the dark, in the middle of a battle was frankly, even worse.

‘This is an awful idea.’

‘It’s our only idea.’

‘I don’t even know how long this thing can cover a suit of Power Armour.’

‘Strong tickle all over.’ The mutant waded in.

‘Did we have to waste the remaining one on the abomination?’

Preston gave the empty air where Danse’s voice was a glare, even though the man could not see it. ‘That mutant pulled you out of the river. He could have left you to die. Besides, they’ll know something’s wrong if they don’t recognise Strong as one of them.’

‘You give them too much intelligence.’ Danse replied as they inched their way past a burned out car littered with bloodstains and the occasional green-clad corpse. Patently, the Gunners were insane enough to try and take Everett Estates from the mutants - but had pulled back. Would they have to worry about the Gunners set up on the hills around the town too?

Preston clutched his recently dried and repaired musket in both hands, wary of coming across a flaw in their plan - inevitably, there would be one. There were too many unknowns.

They paused as a super mutant patrolled nearby - picking his nose as he did - but did not notice the trio. The road was now clear for the moment and Preston flitted across to another abandoned house, hoping that his slightly muffled footsteps were being followed by Danse and Strong. This building stank of rotting meat - probably being used as a larder, prompting Strong to growl lowly ‘Hungry.’

‘Don’t even.’ Preston warned him and peered around the weather-marked siding. He could see the road - and the lookouts on top of the houses. He wasn’t sure how long these Stealth Boys would last - or what eating messily while wearing one would do. He had visions of an incorporeal blood-smear jogging through the camp. It would have been funny were he not seriously likely to get stuffed inside a meat-bag not too long after.

‘Ready?’

‘As we’ll ever be.’ Danse sighed.

They began to move. There were patrols of mutants and their dogs at the left and right intersections, far enough for the trio to go unnoticed, but now that they were heading into the middle of the camp in earnest - Preston was noticing a worrying trend of mangled Gunner bodies and more mutants but so far, their cover was holding. He began to feel hopeful that they could actually get out of this unscathed when he spotted the dirt road rising out of the buildings ahead. There were only a few buildings between them and freedom.

They could make this.

‘Straight ahead.’ He hissed , hoping they were close enough to pick up on his voice.

‘Affirmative.’ Danse agreed from his left shoulder. ‘This is actually working.’

He sounded surprised.

Strong breathed a low, angry gust of rotting breath across the other shoulder. Probably still unhappy that Preston had denied him a chance to snack - or that they’d made it this far without bloodshed.

The trio made a beeline for the road out of town when three things happened almost simultaneously. First, they skirted too close to a Death Hound that had suddenly appeared from behind the dilapidated building beside them - it could smell the sea-water still on their clothes, even if it couldn’t see them and began to growl. It’s handler took note and demanded ‘Who there?!’

Second, Preston spotted a nightmare of a super mutant, carrying a rocket launcher coming their way from one of the broken roads. He held himself menacingly and seemed ready to put up a fight judging by the size and firepower. Probably the leader of the pack - not someone they wanted to tangle with. He was wearing a Gunner helmet like a macabre trophy.

Third - Danse gave a horrified curse and Preston whipped around to see him - in broad daylight. The Stealth Boy had finally fizzled out - overloaded trying to hide his huge frame and exposed him smack in the middle of a mutant camp.

‘Oh shit.’ Preston agreed as Strong too de-cloaked.

There was uproar from all sides.

This was a nightmare. This was worse than facing ferals at Lexington, this was worse than the raiders at Concord.

‘What’s the plan now, Garvey?!’ Danse demanded.

There was only one way out now. ‘Run!’ He yelled.

‘Strong no like that idea!’ The mutant argued as bullets sprayed up the dirt track towards them.

Somewhere behind them, a missile hit and blew up a car as the hounds descended, let loose from their masters.

‘Strong, we need to get to the Science Museum!’ Preston argued as another car, closer this time, exploded. Preston could taste the tang of the rocket’s fuel and the car’s radiation. ‘We can’t do that if we’re dead!’

The mutant turned to glare at him and then back to the horde descending. He gave a curl of his lip and turned towards the road ahead. He was fast but Danse was swiftly on his heels, the power armour easily enhancing his movements even after it’s proximity to bombs and unscheduled dip into a river.

Preston gave chase, arms and legs pumping as a nasty death gave chase behind him. Up in front, Danse caught just enough breath to yell ‘I told you this was a terrible idea, Garvey!’

If he had the breath, or the time, he’d tell Danse to shut up.

Chapter Text

[Something considered a universal wrong or evil, regardless of the system of laws in effect.]

It was strange, Althea Shapiro decided, to see a man with salt and pepper hair in a greaser jacket. But Swanson was an unusual man to say the least.

He wouldn't answer her direct questions, referring her constantly to a S.A.F. E test before he assured her she would get the answers she sought, and Althea noticed that his eye wandered to Nick and Hancock quite a lot. He seemed almost worried that they were with her. The little shack just outside of the doors sweltered in the heat.

'Do you have a problem, Mr Swanson?' She asked off-handedly as he took the seat on the other side of the desk. Dogmeat gently sidled up to his mistress' chair and sat, looking to be pet. She gently ran a hand down his fur, prompting a lolling acknowledgement from the german shepherd.

'Me? No. Well, maybe. Is that a Synth with you?'

She turned and glanced at Nick before looking back at the wilting man before her. 'Everyone knows Nick Valentine, right Nick?'

'Most people in Diamond City do.' The detective agreed. 'It's a nice place, you ever visited?'

'Can't say I have.' Swanson choked.

'Well they don't mind me being there and Diamond City is the biggest settlement in the Commonwealth.'

She waved an arm, universally signalling "There you have it." It did not seem to meet with Swanson's approval but he caught the look in her eye and hastily dropped that line of enquiry.

'Yes, well. And the uh the - the -'

'Ghoul?' Hancock drawled. 'Don't mind me and I won't mind you.'

'How about we move on?' He smiled and began to sweat in the heat.

'Lets.' Thea agreed with a less than friendly smile and patted Dogmeat on the head. 'I want my information fast, Mr Swanson.'

'The test won't take long. So lets begin, there ain't no wrong answers. You are approached by a frenzied scientist who yells "I'm going to stick my quantum harmonizer in your photonic resonation Chamber" -'

Thea's face froze as Hancock burst into wheezing hysterics behind her, cackling 'Is that some kind of euphemism?!'

'Sounded like it.' Nick agreed.

Oh this was going to be so much fun. She didn't have time for this.

----

She hoped Preston, Danse and Strong weren't in any serious trouble.

'No-one's ever answered quite like you.' Swanson mused as he stared at the paper in front of him. 'But you passed. I'll open up the gate.'

'Finally.' She griped and indicated for Hancock, Dogmeat and Nick to follow.

'Uh, they can't come in.'

'What?' She demanded. 'What was the test for then?!'

'You passed. The dog can come but the ghoul and synth aren't allowed inside. Sorry.' Swanson explained. 'You're human, they're not.'

If he was sorry, she was eating her general's hat. Maybe the boots too. 'They're as human as me!' She burst out in outrage. 'The dog can come in, but they can't?!'

'It's okay, Thea.' Nick replied.

'No, it's not!' She snapped. 'Just because -'

'Hey.' Hancock butted in. 'The longer we fight about this, the more time those three idiots have to getting themselves killed.'

Thea paused, aware that Hancock was right. Her hands clenched into fists more than once while trying to absorb the unfairness of it all. This wasn't right. This was everything she - as a lawyer and as a decent human being - fought against in the courts. It was discrimination.

Swanson smiled as she turned to approach the gates. 'Jacob Orden will help you with all your questions. He's our mayor.'

She was going to have a few pointed words with Mr Orden.

Jacob Orden was a portly man in a somewhat strained - and well patched - three piece suit. A fedora was perched jauntily on his head. He seemed to know of her arrival as she entered the compound and boasted loudly 'Ah! The eponymous leader of the Minutemen! Why, I should have guessed that such an esteemed guest would arrive at our doorstep sooner or later.'

People were turning to stare. Jacob Orden seemed to want to make a spectacle of this. He reached out to pet Dogmeat and the dog gave a warning growl. He pulled his hand back sharpish and turned instead to Thea.

'Welcome! Welcome. I hope Swanson didn't give you too hard of a time with the S.A.F.E test. A tradition, you know!'

'Mayor Orden?' She demanded. 'I need some information on-'

'Come! Come. We have important matters to discuss.' He beckoned her to follow to a nearby house and winked at the crowd. 'Covenant is an important place and we get important visitors.'

Visitors who are already starting to dislike him, Thea noted. It wasn't just Dogmeat, either. The pomposity was not a good trait on a man of his...standing. Surely he must have heard her argument with Swanson at the gate and was primed to intercept her as soon as she came through the gate to make himself important.

She was shuffled into the shelter of a house whose owners had clearly done all they could for it but 200 years of post-apocalyptic nightmare still shone through.

'Drink?' Orden asked but did not wait for her answer as he dropped a tumbler of what smelled like paint thinner into her hand.

'No. Thank you.' She griped and put it down on a rickety side table. Drinking had started this whole problem in the first place. She just wanted to find Preston, Danse and Strong. 'I'm actually here about a group of people who may have came this way - possibly injured.'

'Ah, no rest for those doing good!' Orden agreed and drank an inordinate amount of the rot-gut in his glass. 'The Minutemen have been most helpful on occasion. Helping see to it that caravans and pilgrims are safe from harm on our dangerous - nay, treacherous roads.'

It didn't stop while they were alone, either, she noticed. Did he had a narcissism complex to go along with the pomposity? 'I'm actually looking for some friends.' She replied. 'You'd notice them immediately I think. Preston Garvey - medium build black man travelling with Strong - a super mutant and Danse - he was in Brotherhood of Steel power armour.'

'Escorting prisoners, eh? Super mutants are a disgusting race. Should be wiped away with the Synths and those sad ghouls. The Brotherhood have the right idea, I'm glad the Minutemen are joining forces with those brave lads.'

How did she know he was going to see it like that? It was like a madness coursing through this place. Everything was simply black and white, everything had to be storybook. She wasn't going to correct him - not yet, anyway, but that drink was looking more and more inviting the longer she talked to him. Nate would have said he made his "fists itch".

She hated people like him and if this had been back before the bombs fell, she would have delightfully taken any case of defamation that cited him. Unfortunately, that was not such an option this time.

'Yes, well, unfortunately it seems they ran into trouble along the way and with Covenant being as close as it is, I was wondering if Swanson or anyone else had seen them? Possibly looking for aid?'

'There was a man who fits your description of a - Danse? Was it? He was unfortunately turned away.' Orden sighed. 'He wasn't a suitable candidate for our little settlement.'

'Did he get the wrong answers on a test with no wrong answers, Mr Orden?' Thea griped. This place - and this man - were definitely getting to her. Dogmeat whined at the sudden tone of his mistress and she reached out to reassure him that he wasn't needed - yet.

'We say that to put prospective applicants at ease.' The mayor smiled wanly. 'Not everyone gets into Covenant.'

'I'm honoured.' She replied, deadpan. Was the drink still there? It was.

'Covenant is a place of - it's a place of healing and tranquility. Look around you. Why, we're almost pre-war.'

No, they weren't. Thea knew pre-war and post-war - these people were living in neither. Nothing but fantasy. These people would never know what it was like to live there - they would have only read about it.

'Everyone you see around you has been effected in some ways by synths.' Jacob Orden couldn't have put more venom into the phrase if he'd said commies but at the same time, his voice lowered, as though even mentioning the word would spread mass panic. 'So they come here, to a place free from synthetics and ghouls and monsters. Its a sanctuary for the poor souls of this world, blighted by the wasteland.'

This wasn't the time to get into an ethics debate, Thea knew this. But her churning stomach bubbled in anger and outrage at the audacity of these people to command who was worthy of admittance. That a man would come looking for aid and be turned away for ticking the wrong box.

This was not the world she - or Nate - fought for.

'Mr Orden -'

'Jacob, please. I do like to personally know my constituents.'

Thea paused, trying to swallow the word constituents and failing. 'Jacob.' She grit as the anger slowly burned it's way to the surface. 'I would really like to know where Danse went after being turned away. And let me make myself understood personally here. If you turned away my friends while they were looking for aid because of a stupid test - please rest assured that I will personally and happily ram my shotgun down your throat and pull the trigger.'

Jacob Orden looked like he'd just been savaged by a kitten as he choked on his drink and spluttered 'I'm sorry?!'

'You hide behind these walls like the world out there doesn't exist.' She hissed quietly and advanced on the portly man. 'You pretend the world isn't broken or burning because it's not happening to you, but I have been out there and I have fought for every scrap of land. For every farmer whose crops were taken, for every person fighting for a life that this world wants to take and I did not do it for you to sit behind your safe little walls and deny my friends your aid because of a stupid fucking test. Now you tell me what I want to know and so help me god Jacob Orden if they are dead because of you, I will see you burn in hell.'

The whine Dogmeat had affected had slowly morphed into a growl to match his mistress' harsh tones. And there was nothing for getting your point across than a growling dog.

'The only thing around is the bridge, south of here.' The mayor croaked, now white as a sheet. 'But there was an explosion...'

'Thank you, Jacob.' She picked up the drink, downed it in one go and slammed the empty glass back down onto the wood. It burned on the way down but only added fuel to the flames of rage seeping through her veins.

Perhaps, she mused as she walked onto the decking of Jacob Orden's house with Dogmeat in tow, Orden hadn't deserved that lashing. He may have not even deserved the death threat, but something about this place made her both long and loathe home. She wanted to be back in Sanctuary Hills with Nate and Shaun before the bombs fell so badly that sometimes it hurt to breathe. Being here, in this time-warp settlement made her want it even more, despite the fact that it was so plainly wrong. Everything about it - from the carefully repainted houses and the well repaired pre-war clothes to the half-rusted Mr Handy - was wrong and it made her homesick and furious in one deft stroke.

She wanted to be out of here as fast as possible.

'What happened?' Nick asked gently, seeing her furious face as she exited the settlement.

'I don't think I'm welcome there anymore.' She replied off-handedly. 'But I know something happened on Tucker Bridge.'

'You think they were involved in it?' Nick asked dubiously as the three turned to look south - and at the big, greasy clouds of smoke still pluming from that direction.

'I think it's a good bet.' She mused. 'The bridge is the only crossing point around here. If they were going south - they would have headed for the bridge.'

'You're right.' Nick agreed. 'I hope they weren't on it when that happened, though.'

'Me too.' She turned to Dogmeat. From out of one pocket she pulled out the strap that they'd used to track Preston, Danse and Strong to Covenant and said 'Hey boy. You think you can track them some more?'

Dogmeat barked and sniffed at the strap extensively before making a beeline straight towards the smoke.

'You ever hate being right?' Hancock wondered aloud as they chased after the dog.

'More than ever.' Thea replied.

Chapter Text

[ Shorthand for Lex locus delecti commissi or "The scene of the crime"]

The bridge was now a pile of radioactive rubble. Two hundred years standing, and it was destroyed. The built in geiger counter of her Pip-Boy occasionally ticked and spluttered as Thea toed a shard of soot-blackened concrete then looked up and down the riverbed.

'There aren't any bodies.' Nick replied hopefully.

'There isn't a bridge.' Thea shot back, worrying a nail. She hadn't had this habit since she'd taken The Bar. Maybe it was her attack on Orden, maybe it was Covenant or the fact that Preston, Danse and Strong seemed to be getting into deeper and deeper trouble, but Thea was jittery and on edge. The anger was still bubbling away inside her - fuelled by the glass of badly refined alcohol. Anger at Kellogg, anger at Preston, anger at Jacob Orden but mostly - anger at herself.

She didn't know why Preston would be so foolhardy as to do all this. Maybe it was because he'd noticed how sad she'd been of late. Maybe it was just to prove to her that there were still some good people left in the world - there was still hope.

'You need a little something? Mentats? Day-tripper?' Hancock asked gently.

She shook herself. 'You know my policy on drugs, Hancock.' she said with a rueful smile.

'Suit yourself.' He replied easily. 'I got whiskey somewhere-'

After the rot-gut Orden had fed her? Maybe not a good idea. Thea was never very good with mixing her drinks. This wasn't the first conversation the two had had. When she first started spending some time in Shaun's old room, Hancock had said quite seriously and quite sweetly that he was there if she needed anything - drugs, booze, the muscle to rip someone's head off… In his own way he was trying to help and she appreciated him all the more for agreeing to come on this little trip to beat some sense into the seemingly bloody senseless. After they pulled them out of whatever insane trouble those three had gotten themselves into.

Hancock looked out across the rotten river and asked 'You don't think they were on there when -?'

Dogmeat was whining. Pacing back and forth in the mud.

'He can't get a scent.' Nick replied. 'Too much water, too many smells.'

This was a bloody nightmare. But Thea wasn't about to give up until she knew one way or the other what had happened to the three of them.

'Cricket.' Hancock murmured.

'What?' She demanded.

'Cricket!' Hancock was making his slippery way up the hill and towards a distant figure towing a brahmin.

It was Cricket, the sometimes lucid, generally insane arms dealer of the wastes.

'If something happened, Cricket woulda seen it!' Hancock explained as he huffed his way up the bank. 'Man I gotta cut down on the chems.'

Hancock had a point. This was a merchant superhighway. If something had happened - a merchant would have seen it and they did like to talk, especially about anything to do with routes. If Cricket hadn't seen it - she would have heard something. 'Nick!' Thea warned and scrabbled up after Hancock as the synth detective turned to look.

Cricket didn't seem surprised to see Thea. She was wearing the gaunt look of guile that merchants wore when they spotted their favourite customer on the horizon. 'Well, well. Need guns? Booms? Bullets?' She seemed to be getting steadily more excited.

'What I want is information.' Thea replied.

Cricket's face fell into sullen boredom at the prospect of not distributing carnage across the wastes. 'It'll cost you.' She warned.

Thea sighed and pulled out a little leather bag from her pocket. It jingled healthily as the contents shifted in her palm. It was probably more currency than most people generally saw in a year. 'What happened to the bridge?' She thumbed the smoking rubble behind them.

'Gunners blew it up.' Cricket replied swiftly. 'Big booms. I saw it.'

'I need more than that. You know the Minuteman I usually have with me? Was he there?'

'Yeah, he was there. He owes me. Super mutant and a guy in power armour were there too. ' Cricket replied.

So they had been here. Honestly, she wasn't surprised by that. 'Seems the Gunners wanted to exact some revenge on our friends.' Nick theorized.

Thea scowled. 'Wonderful.'

'That Minuteman owes me big!' Cricket repeated.

'Owes you?' Thea asked absent-mindedly. Clearly her thoughts were elsewhere.

'He took bullets.' The merchant replied. 'And never paid.' She made it sound like a sin worse than murder - punishable by a slow death on a spit-roast and to the merchants it probably was.

'Doesn't sound like Garvey.' Hancock murmured as Thea's face registered surprise.

'Preston has a very rigid moral code.' Nick agreed.

'He owes me!' Cricket jittered.

'How much?' Thea sighed again. While this wasn't the sum of her life savings - it was a hefty part of it. She jingled the leather bag again and asked 'Will this cover it?'

'Yep!'

It was too quick and too ready but Thea tossed the bag in the air and caught it again. It gave another healthy little jingle as she asked 'The bridge?'

'We were making a deal and the Gunners started flying everywhere! They went one way and I went the other. Came up on both sides and dropped a mini-nuke on it.' The way she breathed the words mini-nuke was alarmingly terrifying but not as terrifying as the thought that Preston, Danse and Strong had been the targets of a mini-nuke.

'Did you see them, after?' Thea asked, feeling a cold chill.

'They jumped off the bridge.' Cricket replied. 'Money now?'

'Which direction?' Thea asked harshly. A mini-nuke - god preserve her. Those things were lethal- and she should know, she'd used one to blow up a deathclaw - but one lone mini nuke shouldn't have been able to take out an entire - no it wasn't just a bridge, was it? It was a bridge full of nuclear cars.

It would be like armageddon all over again.

Cricket pointed up towards the hill at the east. 'That way. The explosion was magnificent'

Yeah, she'd wager it was.

'Closest place is Everett Estates.' Nick murmured. 'It's full of super mutants.'

'Man, I hope they didn't go there.' Hancock agreed.

Thea tossed Cricket the caps and whistled for Dogmeat to follow. Hopefully, somewhere along the line, he'd pick up their scent again. 'Thanks, Cricket.'

'Money, money, money.' The merchant muttered greedily. Thea shook her head in disbelief and began the slow walk along the riverbank and towards Everett Estates.

Later, on the road, Hancock felt the need to pipe up 'You know, whatever you paid her was probably more than what Garvey stole - if he did steal anything. Guy doesn't seem the type. Got a stick shoved right up his-'

'I know.' Thea mused. 'But it covers the inconvenience. Cricket wouldn't lie to me.'

'Really?' Hancock asked in amusement. 'Why do you think that?'

'Because if I put out the word, she wouldn't get a single sale in any one of my settlements again.' Thea replied coldly.

'Sister, you are something else.' Hancock cackled.

Chapter Text

How far were these things going to chase them? Preston Garvey had never had the inclination to find out before he'd met up with Thea, and he really didn't want to find out now but they were - for lack of a better word - dogged about them.

His muscles were aching and his vision was whirling but with a savage sort of triumph - he realized that they'd made it out of Everett Estates on his plan. The tricky part was staying alive long enough to enjoy it.

'Come back here and die!' A super mutant shouted in anger.

He jumped sideways in alarm as a shot cracked right next to his leg. Where his leg would have been if he hadn't dodged the bite being sent his way by the mutant hound. The unlucky hound crumpled but not before it's partner managed to sink it's teeth into the frayed back of his duster and yanked him off his feet.

Preston gave what was surely the most undignified yell in history as he went over backwards and expected any minute to get mauled.

Danse used his rifle to throw the hound off. It rolled and shook it's scabbed, mottled body before growling at the newcomer. 'Come on, Garvey! Keep up!' Danse warned as he grabbed his arm and yanked him to his feet.

They ran.

Strong was in the lead, clearing the way as hounds and mutants chased Preston and Danse. He could hear the bullets ricocheting off Danse's armour and hear the dogs panting right behind them.

Man, these puppies just weren't going to quit. They'd been running at high speed for five minutes now and Preston was starting to flag. Danse's hand wrapped uncomfortably tight around his arm and the hot breeze in an unfamiliar place reminded him that he couldn't stop running - or he'd stop living.

A half-rusted sign came into view of a four leaf clover and faded green words. "Irish Pride Shipyard 1 m-"

He put the brakes on and yelled to Strong 'Not the shipyard!'

'What the hell, Garvey?!' Danse demanded at his sudden reluctance to follow. 'This is not a time to debate our safety!'

'Trust me!' Preston veered off to the right, away from possible safety, dragging Danse with him. 'Not the shipyard!' He repeated, the breath in his lungs almost spent. 'Anywhere but the shipyard!'

'Why not shipyard?' Strong growled incredulously.

'It's full of Mirelurks!' Preston gasped and ploughed on, pulling Danse along with him.

'This is no time to argue about which is worse!' Danse admonished. 'The hounds would win!'

But it was too late for them to turn around now. Strong had caught up easily and they were almost being herded towards the waterfront. Again.

'Garvey-' Danse warned, considering their trouble. 'There's no bridge -'

Taking another dip into irradiated water was still better than facing down Mirelurks. They had recently became his new most loathed creatures after he had convinced Thea that they needed to take The Castle. He knew something had forced them to abandon it - but not the scale of the problem.

He hated them more than he hated swimming and definitely more than he hated mutant hounds, that was for damn sure. After they cleaned out the nests and dealt with the sudden appearance of the Queen Mirelurk which Thea would never let him forget, ever - you never forget the first time a radioactive monster pukes on you - they ate Mirelurk for days. It was salty and slightly radioactive no matter what you did to it. Even Molerat could be improved with the right sauce and holding your nose.

'Garvey!' Danse panicked as Preston raced ever closer to the edge. 'Don't tell me you're thinking of-'

He ignored it. There was a half-submerged, half-rusted boat settled into the water. Preston aimed for that.

'Not again.' Danse bemoaned. 'I just got this suit dry!'

Strong was next to realise what they were about to do and howled 'Strong hate baths!'

Him and Preston both. But there was nowhere else to go at this point.

'I hate you Garvey!' Danse snarled as they came up to the edge of the quay and jumped.

They hit the bottom half of the ship and Preston rolled. He was on his feet instantly as Danse struggled behind him. The entire boat shook as Strong landed. All three turned to look up at the baying hounds on dry land.

'Hah!' The super mutant yelled in triumph and waved his board. The dogs growled in response. Dinner denied - for the moment at least. The boat rocked slightly and then settled in the silt that had held it for the last 200 years.

'Now what?' Danse puffed. 'We're in the middle of the water.'

Honestly, he hadn't thought that far ahead. The boat wouldn't hold them indefinitely - not with Danse's heavy armour and Strong's bulk. They'd also be targets for the super mutants above.

At this point - they were probably going to have to swim it.

'This was your plan, Garvey!' The Paladin remonstrated.

'I got us out of there, didn't I?' Preston replied as the tide hit the side of the ship and sent freezing spray under his hat.

'You almost got us killed with that half-baked plan!'

'You weren't complaining at the time!' Preston argued back, feeling the anger rise. Yeah - he'd gotten them out. It had gone pear shaped at the very end and he'd be having nightmares involving super mutants hounds and rocket launchers for weeks after this - but he'd done it, hadn't he? It was the best of a bad situation caused by Gunners.

'If the abomination hadn't dragged us there in the first place -' Danse paused and then sighed tiredly. 'Garvey - we're all tired, hungry and battered. I won't speak for the abomin - for Strong but - Perhaps we should scrap this mission.'

'No!' Preston snapped instantly. They'd come this far - it had been an insane few days, true, and there had been complications in the plan - no thanks to Danse and Strong, he'd admit - but to give up now - it was unacceptable. He hadn't given up when they'd been ran out of Quincy - he hadn't given up when they'd lost people in Lexington.

'Strong agree with Puny Cowboy. Turning back weakness.'

'Of course you would say that.' Danse snarked at the mutant. 'Garvey,' Danse sighed as he ran a hand down his few days scrub. 'What other choice do we have?'

Preston looked around wildly for something - some reason to continue and spotted it looming in the daylight - the bulk of the Pickman Gallery. He knew that nobody occupied it - nobody would go near it even after he and Thea had investigated it for Hancock. Maybe because of their investigation.

The psychotic artist known as Pickman had been taking people - raiders specifically - and making them into art - twisted variations on his own mind. It was a disturbing and decidedly creepy place that raiders and settlers alike avoided. It would be safe - it would be dry. It would have plenty of things to burn and make a fire.

In other words - it was perfect.

But first - they had to get to dry land. 'Alright Danse, I see your point.' Preston agreed. The Paladin looked surprised and suspicious by his admission after Preston had vehemently shot him down just seconds earlier. 'Lets get out of here, first. I know a place we can dry off and rest up for a bit without worrying about ambush.'

'Really?' Danse couldn't have been more sceptical if he tried.

Preston pointed out towards the squat building near the waterfront. 'It's not too far.'

'Alright, Garvey.' The Paladin sighed. 'But I am resolute.'

So was he.

Chapter Text

It wasn’t the first time Hancock had been to Diamond City - he grew up here. But it was the first time being here and wearing this face. The city hadn’t changed much on the surface, but down below he knew it had - and not for the better. Still, he had his own little slice of limbo to run when he wasn’t busy helping out Thea and her motley crew of companions. Maybe one day he’d put things right and square away his past in this city - maybe.

He wasn’t even sure how she’d swung it with Sullivan to let him through but she must have managed to do a whole lot more than just get him in - Strong had also been let in. He wasn’t sure if she had a silver tongue or incredibly deep pockets - probably both. However she’d managed it - for some bizarre reason, she’d decided to start a night of poker at Home Plate.

Hancock had always had shit for luck - so after the third time of losing his caps to Piper - who, it had to be said, was dynamite at this game who knew? - he’d taken his beer and made some bullshit excuse about needing some air.

The stars twinkled above him as he took in the ghost-empty stands and the abandoned stalls - everywhere but Takahashi’s. The robot never needed sleep and never understood anything more than “yes”.

He was brought out of his reverie by MacCready coming through the door, arguing with Deacon. ‘I mean, if you’re not going to expect an ace up somebody’s sleeve - what’s the point in playing?’

‘You had a whole deck of cards stuffed up there - I think that’s called cheating man.’

‘I’m saying - Hey Hancock.’ Mac interrupted when he finally saw the ghoul standing on the crude decking that Thea had constructed.

The ghoul cackled. ‘You two got kicked out of the game?’

‘He did, I wouldn’t take off my shades to play.’ Deacon replied easily. ‘Piper thought it’d be easier to tell if I were bluffing without these badboys.’

Hancock smirked and took another swig of beer as a roar shook the building. ‘I see Strong’s getting the hang of it.’

‘He’d be a decent player if someone could tell him that threatening to crush people after he loses the hand isn’t part of the process.’ Mac replied and patted himself down for some cigarettes.

‘You mean it isn’t?’ Deacon asked in mock-surprise. ‘I’ve been playing wrong my whole life.’

The three of them chuckled and it descended into silence as Mac finally found his cigarettes and - feeling generous - offered them to the other two. Hancock passed but Deacon took one and lit it up easily.

‘You know,’ Hancock murmured after a while of thought on his own neighbourhood. Maybe it was nostalgia, maybe it was the booze, but he felt the need to talk. ‘I grew up here.’

‘Really?’ Deacon asked. ‘Hard to see somewhere like this turning out someone like you.’

‘You sayin’ I’m trouble, Deacon?’ Hancock quizzed with a tilt of his head.

‘Nah, i’m saying I can’t see a little Johnny Hancock running around here. All strictness and family orientated. There’s nothing family orientated about you, Hancock.’

He gave a wheezing chuckle. ‘Every place has it’s bad eggs, but I’ll take that as a compliment.’

‘What exactly did you used to do around here?’ Mac asked as the cigarette parted from his lips. ‘Seems like nothing much happens.’

Hancock thought about a lot of what he did in his youth - which was prank the Diamond City Security at every turn. An idea hit him.

‘I know something we can do. Since you’re barred for cheating and Deacon won’t take off his glasses.’

The two other men perked up at the thought of mischief. ‘What exactly do you have in mind?’ Deacon asked.

Hancock took a swig of his beer and grinned horribly. ‘See...here’s where it’s going to get fun.’

The three began a huddle as Hancock talked them through what they’d need to do.

--

Danny Sullivan was manning the Security office at this ungodly hour, not because he was keen - far from it, he’d been in this job just long enough to appreciate how much trouble a place like Diamond City could be - but because for his seemingly many sins in a past life. He was management. Which meant that if anything fucked up - the mayor would be breathing down his neck and feeling his collar with a heated demand to know what he intended to do about it.

He didn’t get paid nearly enough to deal with McDonough’s tantrums.

Added to that - Althea Shapiro had cornered him and told him she intended to hold a poker night for her friends in Home Base - which he was all for, really. He liked Althea a lot. She didn’t tend to raise her voice and used actual manners - but then she’d had to go on to tell him that the guests included a super mutant, a ghoul, and several other rather colourful characters. He really wished she hadn’t told him that - and if the knowledge were made public, he was sure that the settlers in the stands would be in uproar.

The Wakemaster alarm clock he kept on the desk trilled midnight and he knew he would have to go on patrol. He was almost worried about what he would find as he passed by Home Base - if half the settlement was burning to the ground or not. He knew he had no reason to worry, of course. Thea always made sure her friends were on their best behaviour in the city but still, the worry niggled as he picked up his regulation helmet and slipped it on.

Well, best go see if he’d have a job tomorrow.

The shutters sounded louder than they usually did as he pulled them down and locked up the office. He turned in the slightly crisp air to take a lungful of semi clear air when something hit him square in the chest. It splattered across his uniform and began it’s inevitable slide downward when another struck his helmet.

Danny Sullivan flailed as he attempted to pull the dripping guard off and more and more of whatever he was being hit with made impact.

He finally succeeded in pulling the guard off and managed to get a ‘What the-’ Before something splattered across his face, blinding him. He cursed and began to dig out the offending liquid from his eyes when his tongue accidentally tasted the contents running down his chin.

It was a rotten tato.

‘This is not funny! I am head of security and-’

He was hit again at least twice, seemingly from all sides and slipped on the rotten juice as he tried to save himself from the impact. As he lay sprawled in the dirt and rotten juice of several fruit, he could hear mad cackling as his assailants made their way into the night.

He hated his job.

Chapter Text

It had taken them half an hour of struggling with the tide - and the mad, radioactive fish, the super mutants who had seized upon the form of entertainment and then each other - to reach the shore. For the second time in as many days, Preston was soaked to the bone and stank of seaweed.

He really hated water.

The good news was that they weren't too far from Pickman Gallery, the better news was that as they crossed the weathered street and leaked water all over the cobblestones- a Radstag had gracefully trotted into view. The bad news was that this thing looked half-crazy from it's exposure to radiation in the reclaimed streets. It was battle-scarred - Preston could tell by the various healed and half-healed sores on it's body and it's complete lack of fear about them.

That was very bad - because it meant that it had usually won it's share of fights against Raiders, super mutants and Yao Gui. It's stunted antlers may not have been very long - but they were sharper than any of the blades these days.

There were things stuck in them - Preston noticed. Old fishing nets, scraps of cloth and leather too. But that didn't deter it's razor sharp antlers from puncturing something vital.

It bent it's head and pawed the ground with one scuffed hoof, deciding who to charge first. Strong reacted and brought his bloated, smelly board down on one of it's two heads as it attempted to go for what it saw as the biggest and shiniest threat - Danse.

'Do something, Garvey!' Danse roared as it and the weight of Strong's swing bore him to the ground. The stag shook it's head - replete with razor sharp antlers at him, gouging long lines of damage into Danse's battered armour.

The Paladin cursed as he fought with the mad Radstag. Even with Preston using his musket as leverage to try and pry the thing away from Danse, it was no mean feat.

The stag's reaction was to turn and gouge at him next, probably for interfering with it's can-opener job. He swore as it's sharp antlers tore through the fine stitching of his waistcoat and left deep scratches into his torso. 'This is a tough one!'

Danse struggled up and yanked the stag away from Preston as Strong reared back for another hit. 'You think?!' He roared. Even with both heavy hitters attacking it, the Stag did not go down without a fight. When it finally went down, it hit the wet pavement hard and quivered before it stopped moving.

It was dead. He should feel bad about that really. Preston had always kind of liked the Radstags - as long as they stayed a good distance away from him, anyway - but he was too tired, wet and hungry to really care. 'Well.' He huffed as the three surrounded it. 'That's our next meal sorted. Who's carrying it?'

'The better question is, Garvey, who's carving it up?' Danse asked, his nose wrinkled slightly.

Both of them turned to look at Strong as the mutant ripped something from the horns and glared at it critically. 'Puny Cowboy man!' He shouted and threw the thing at him. Preston caught it gingerly.

'What is this?' He frowned.

'New hat!'

Preston stared at the worn but clearly much loved bowler hat and then up at Strong. 'I have a hat.'

'Yours has holes in it Garvey.' Danse murmured as he scanned the surroundings.

'It has character!' Preston defended hotly. 'If you think it looks so better - you take it!'

Danse suddenly looked like he was holding a hot Tato as Preston held the thing out to him. He struggled for a moment and then rallied flawlessly as he drew himself up to his full height, encased in his battered power armour. 'I uh - It's not regulation.'

'Hah! You don't want it either.' Preston huffed and stared at the scuffed, slightly discoloured leather.

'Who knows where it's been?' Danse replied.

'Strong like it! Puny cowboy no want it?'

As one, the two humans turned to look at the super mutant and then each other. The unspoken image of a super mutant in a bowler hat flitted between them.

'Uh - no it's okay Strong, you can have it.'

The super mutant took it with glee and perched it jauntily on his head. 'I like new hat.'

'Uhhuh.' Danse muttered, clearly staring at Strong's new acquisition in some sort of fascinated horror. He leaned over and said 'It's worse than I could have imagined.'

Preston sighed tiredly. 'Let him keep it. We've still got to drag the stag to the gallery.'

---
Pickman Gallery was just as Preston remembered it was. No more different than the other buildings in the row.

Strong forced the doors open, his new hat perched jauntily on his head, mindful of the stag around his shoulders and the three entered the spacious "gallery" in front. Dark, dusty, and with an odor you could not easily forget.

'What is that smell?' Danse demanded, wrinkling his nose as Strong unloaded his cargo onto the floor.

'The artwork.' Preston replied easily.

The Paladin seemed to notice the "paintings" dotted around the room for the first time. He peeled off to inspect one as Preston scoured the area for an ideal place to set up a fire - if only to dry out their clothes and enjoy the first real meal they'd had in two days. Then he'd take another crack at convincing Danse that they could continue.

'The artist of these portraits was apparently suffering some serious mental anguish.' Danse commented as he looked upon the frames.

Preston gave a strangled, shrill laugh. 'You think?'

'What would cause a mind to do this?' Danse frowned. 'Is this in blood?'

'Any other easily available alternative to red paint?' Preston murmured. Honestly, he hadn't wanted to think too much on what Pickman was up to. Dwelling on it might just send a man - or woman - as mad as Pickman had been.

He finally scouted the complete ground floor of the gallery and concluded that there was absolutely nowhere solid to consider. 'Our best bet is the basement.'

'Starting a fire in the basement, smart plan Garvey.' Danse snarked. 'We'll suffocate in such a confined space.'

'You'd be surprised at how big and drafty this basement really is. Grab a few paintings, we'll need things to burn. Strong? Strong what-'

Both men realized they hadn't heard a peep from their super mutant and turned to look for him.

They found him staring transfixed at the "installation piece". Preston remembered what Thea had said when she'd seen it in the middle of the room. 'Denn die Todten reiten Schnell.' It was only a mutter, but Preston had heard it. Eventually, after they had been forced to kill Pickman and were leaving as fast as possible, he'd asked what that had meant and she had told him it was a quote from a book called Dracula which was supposed to be partly based on Vlad the Impaler - someone that Pickman had obviously tried to imitate. It meant "For the dead travel fast". He'd always thought it was a morbid thing to say - but Thea was a bookworm before the war.

Strong's mouth was agape, he didn't seem to have heard a word either of the two had spoken.

'Strong? Strong!'

Preston walked around to look at him, to gauge his reaction and found the mutant staring avidly at the scene. 'Strong?' He asked gently.

The mutant sniffed, long and loud and terribly. Preston looked from the dead raider on a pole to Strong. 'Are you okay?'

'It make Strong feel….'

'Yes?' Preston asked, wondering if Strong were about to have an epiphany.

'It make Strong feel…..'

'Yes?!' He pushed. Was a more dynamic art all that separated super mutants from humanity? Had Pickman hit upon a new way to humanize super mutants?

'Hungry.' Strong growled.

It was if someone had popped a balloon in Preston. He sagged, deflated and asked 'Are you pulling my leg right now, Strong?'

'If Strong had, it wouldn't be attached anymore.'

He gave up. He honestly gave up. 'Help Danse pull down some of this "art" for the wooden frames, would you?' He sighed. I'm going to scout out the basement.

Strong grunted but took one last almost longing look at the largest piece of the so called gallery before he turned and walked away.

Chapter Text

Non faciat malum - Not to do Evil

'I hate super mutants.' Thea sighed as they trudged out of Everett Estates a few hours later.

'I, personally, hate super mutants with rocket launchers.' Hancock replied, cradling his scorched arm to his chest.

'Are you going to be okay?' She asked, concern riding her voice as she stared at the clutched appendage. The explosion had cut deep - but Hancock refused to let her properly look at it. She wasn't much of a medic, although she'd picked up things here and there from Curie.

'Nothing a little radiation and some chems won't fix.' He replied easily.

'Ghoul physiology is amazing.' Nick chipped in. 'Wish that worked on this old shell.'

'You ever try?' Hancock asked with a teasing smile. 'It's one hell of a trip.'

At least Thea could check one thing off her to-do list she mused as her companions bantered. The mutants in Everett Estates - and the raiders before them - had proven to be a prolific problem. That problem had been put down, but not without a heavy fight. She didn't think she'd ever stop wincing whenever she saw a rocket launcher.

Dogmeat was up ahead, sniffing the ground extensively and occasionally whining. He seemed to be confused about which way they'd gone.

'What's up, boy?' Thea asked in concern. 'You tired?'

The dog whined - possibly a yes, possibly a no. He paced back and forth restlessly.

'Poor mutt seems lost.' Hancock noted.

'We're still very close to the water. He might be having trouble picking up the scent.' Nick offered.

Thea stood and looked around the area a mile or two out of Everett Estates. Which way would they have likely have gone? Dogmeat seemed conflicted about which trail to follow. It was entirely possible - and more than a little likely - that they would have gone to the water and then doubled back to find another route - or shelter. But what would they have aimed for around here?

She spotted a half-rusted sign almost falling off the poles further up the left path, splashed with chipped green paint. Irish Pride Industries Shipyard 1 Mile.

Irish Pride - would Preston have gone there? It would be the nearest shelter after Everett Estates. They hadn't cleared out all the Mirelurks the last time they'd been in there - there had been a lot of them - and The Castle Incident was still firmly rooted in both their minds but it seemed the most likely outcome.

'Lets check out the shipyard.' She said absently.

Irish Pride Industries fences had long ago rusted away. You couldn't tell where the compound started or where it finished. The building itself had survived relatively well, all things considered - She remembered. The first time they'd come to Irish Pride after hearing about the mirelurk problems.

Surprisingly, it hadn't taken much persuasion for Preston to agree - reluctantly, mind you - to accompany her on this excursion. After she'd explained about their missing person and the rise of the aggressive mirelurk nest. He wasn't happy about it - her either, come to think of it. She hated mirelurks more than Deathclaws any day. You could detour around Deathclaws after all - but the missing person outweighed the reluctance.

Upon investigation, however, Rory Rigwell was not missing - and was definitely not sane. He was dead through his own misguided efforts with the local wildlife.

'So this guy was trying to make pets out of mirelurks?' Hancock asked in the act of glancing around the empty, dilapidated office space they'd come through as Thea worked on the lock to the inner shipyard.

'Was.' She agreed absently as she worked. She remembered the slightly Gaelic sounding lilt that had come from the speakers hooked up around the offices with positive messages for his affectionately called Murkies. It was all so sad, really. Sad and highly delusional.

'Rather a poor choice of career.' Nick agreed. 'I bet he's wishing he raised birds right about now.'

Thea paused and turned to look at Nick, both eyebrows raised in surprise. 'That was a rather dark comment.'

'I am capable of them, you know.'

She considered that and shrugged before turning back to the lock. 'Why won't this turn?' She murmured to herself. 'I know I've got the angle right-'

Hancock moved towards the office filing cabinets and began rooting around the contents before he pulled out a rusted but still deadly looking kitchen knife and murmured 'Why in the world would you have this in here?'

Thea and Nick turned to look at him as he dangled the blade with a quirked eyebrow. 'Coworker disputes?'

'Would be one hell of a dispute.' Nick noted.

'Wouldn't surprise me. Most of my clients could have been the definition of coworker dispute.' Thea murmured and turned back towards the obstinate lock. She cursed as her pin snapped and reached up to her hat for another when Nick reached out and turned the handle easily, pushing the door open as Thea teetered to balance her weight. 'You really need to check the door's open first, kiddo.' Hancock snickered as he dropped the knife back down into the cabinet.

Thea gave an embarrassed laugh. 'Ah, good point.' She stood up and rubbed the back of her neck absentmindedly before she reached down and grabbed Firecracker. 'I suppose Preston must've come in from this side. Let's find those three.'

Dogmeat barked eagerly and raced on in ahead.

The place was eerily silent and pretty dark. She knew that most of the nests had been confined to the space under the boat currently in dry-dock. The three people, plus dog moved slowly through the kitchenette and into the locker room on the other side without incident.

'You think they're in here?' Hancock asked as they moved cautiously into the larger workshop. They stalled, Dogmeat growling as one by one, the large spotlights dotted around the room turned on and swung to the top of the boat.

An unfamiliar voice answered his query. 'They aren't, I'm afraid. A shame. I would have loved to have seen Garvey again. We set up this lovely reunion just for him, after all, but since you're here...'

Thea turned to look up at the top deck of the tug-boat currently in the dock that the speaker was standing on. The spotlights lit up the prow of the ship - and him - in an eerie silhouette.

'Welcome to the Shipyard, Ms Shapiro. I'm Clint.' The figure on top of the boat indicated the space around her. Green-clad Gunners were emerging from the offices and stairs around them - surrounding them from every angle.

Thea ignored that for now. If they had wanted the group dead straight away, they could have picked them off from the shadows - or tried to, anyway. The one on top of the boat seemed to be the one leading them, so she focused most of her attention on him.'You know who I am?' She asked, squinting past the lights. The name sent warning bells clanging through her head, but she couldn't think why.

'You're the leader of the Minutemen. The bringer of hope to the wasteland. Poor Preston never really understood that the world wasn't going to get better and that helping people - giving them hope - well it was really only putting off the inevitable and getting people killed in the process. I must admit, you look better in that armour than the former occupant was said to.'

Clint. She recognised the name. She knew she'd heard it somewhere - from someone. It was on the tip of her tongue - who was he?

'The world belongs to the strong - those who take control. Preston never really felt comfortable with that - he always liked to insist that the good of people would win. That they were grateful for the help. I've seen people, Ms Shapiro. They're never good and they're never grateful.'

Wait - Preston had mentioned him, hadn't he? He'd been with the contingent sent to Quincy. He'd been the one that had aided the Gunners in taking the settlement from the minutemen.

She felt her hands tighten on her gun.

People were always grateful, but what she'd come to understand was that it was always underlined with the fear. Fear of what next the wasteland would throw at them, fear that because they had nothing - The Minutemen wouldn't come. They had fear that the next attack would not be something so easily repelled. Fear that next time - their crops wouldn't recover.

Patently, Clint was looking for the wrong kind of gratitude. Preston had never sought any of that. He would have been happy just to see a smile on a weary farmer's face. There were many times that Preston had asked her to postpone their next engagement so he could help with the repair of machinery/defences/crop damage and every time she'd been struck by how earnest he was to help them. If Clint couldn't be happy with that kind of gratitude - he didn't deserve to have been one of them.

Clint indicated a boy knelt in front of him that she'd entirely failed to see until that point - hands tied behind his back and on his knees. The boy looked about seventeen and scared. She could hear him murmuring, pleading with the man behind him as Clint spoke to her. 'Junior here's been telling me a lot of tales about your little friend, Preston. Seems he's been causing problems for my lads and that won't do.'

The laser pistol that he pulled from a hip holster glinted evilly in the bright light. Thea's heart clenched as she realised what he intended and that she couldn't stop the inevitable.

'Here's what happens to the weak, Ms Shapiro.'

The shot echoed in the large room so loudly it made her jolt. The back of the kid's head exploded into blood and viscera and the body toppled forwards, through the gap in the railing. His body barely avoided falling into the mirelurk nest, which she considered a mercy. Instead it hit the ground in front of her with a muffled thump and twitched.

His face - she doubted she would ever forget the look on that boy's blood-splattered face. How fearful he looked, even in death - and how those unseeing eyes seemed to still retain the look of mute pleading in them that whispered please, don't let this happen.

'Sonofabitch.' Hancock hissed angrily. She could see he'd become just as worked up by the needless waste of life as she had been.

Nick too, seemed to be appalled by his actions, judging by the set of the Synth's jaw. 'This guy needs taking down.'

If she had to go through every single one of these Gunners, she would. She didn't want a fight - she had Preston, Danse and Strong to find - but it looked as though there was no avoiding this. Savagely, she didn't want to avoid this. She wanted to put an end to this madness right here and now. If they wanted a fight - they would get one. She had plenty of anger, frustration and worry to work out of her system and a kid who had pleaded so desperately not to die to avenge.

Chapter Text

Hancock was still injured, Nick had his pistol. Thea had Firecracker and Dogmeat - they were surrounded by heavily armed and armoured enemies.

They needed an edge.

Nick very carefully tipped his head down and muttered 'You got a plan for this sort of scenario?'

Yeah, usually the plan was don't walk into the trap. It had to be said that it had failed her this time.

She looked from the kid's ashen face to Clint standing triumphantly on top of the tugboat and then down to the underside of it. Her mind worked fast, pulling up the details of when she was last in Irish Pride Shipyard.

There was a terminal on the boat - if she recalled correctly - that played several of Rigwells reminders to his affectionately called Murkies.

A somewhat suicidal plan began to develop.

Clint, having dramatically paused to enjoy the hatred seething out of the General of the Minutemen leaned forward on the railing and tipped his hat up to better look at them. 'Sorry it had to end this way - It's not personal. Business is business. Alright boys, take careful aim, now.'

Would it work? It would have to - she was fast running out of time and low on options. If anything it would do more than even the playing field - it would create a free-for-all.

'She's got that look on her face again,' Hancock wheezed with a laugh.

'What do we need to do?' Nick murmured.

'Keep them busy.' Thea replied.

The first shot came from Firecracker. The incendiary round hit the chest of a gunner that had been edging closer. After that, it devolved into chaos. Nick and Hancock danced around the empty space, keeping the death-squad busy as Thea and Dogmeat broke off and made for the gangplank to the boat.

The Gunners seemed reluctant to let them through, but they pushed on.

'Woah, woah! Where do you think you're going, missy?' Clint yelled.

She ignored him as she kneecapped a Gunner and leapt over his crumpled body as Dogmeat descended to finish him off. His mistress leapt onto the gangplank and made her way onto the boat. The skirmish happening around them had woken some of the mirelurks, they were beginning to shift and move in agitation and curiosity as the battle raged on.

She raced into the wheelhouse, ignored the mouldering bedroll, the table with dusty glass and vodka and instead headed straight for the computer hooked up to the boat's nuclear battery.

She could see, out of the window, Hancock and Nick doing all they could to keep the Gunners at bay and yet still hold their attention. They weren't holding up too well.

She needed to help them.

If help was the right word. What she was about to do was insane.

She slammed her shotgun down on the table, causing the glass to jump and set to work. The computer struggled to power up - but the monitor eventually hummed to life and settled as Thea hastily tapped commands into it.

The speakers around the shipyard suddenly squeaked into life as the voice of the late Rory Rigwell blasted out of them. 'When Rory yells at you - it's because he loves you! Claws are for hugging! Not pinching.'

She cranked the volume up higher til the dust was raining down from the old steel beams and within seconds, she knew that it had the desired effect. The mirelurks were shaking off the dark, claggy mud below the boat - irritated by the squawking messages and were beginning to come out and attack the Gunners.

She smiled grimly to herself as Dogmeat, Nick, and Hancock backed away from the tide of mirelurks assaulting the Gunners.

When Althea reached out for Firecracker, her hand came up empty. She turned sharply to look for where it had gone and heard the safety ease off from behind her.

'Pretty and smart.' Clint drawled. 'You really should have come to work for the Gunners.'

'I'd rather be dead.' She spat, frozen in the act of reaching for the gun that was not there.

'That can be arranged.'

This was also a situation that she had mentally categorized as: Don't be dumb enough to be caught in. Now she was caught in it, she had to seriously question what she could do. Clint hadn't shot her - yet. There was no question that he would. The man had the moral fibre of a woodlouse and a history of shooting people in the back.

'This is a nice gun.' He marvelled and cocked it to get a better look. 'I may just keep it after we're done.'

Sackless piece of shit. That was her gun.

As he admired the gun she reached out slowly and picked up the vodka bottle, neck first. This was going to be such a waste of perfectly drinkable booze, but needs must.

The bottle flew drunkenly, the contents flipping end over end as it aimed straight for Clint's face. He dodged at the last second and the bottle smashed harmlessly on the deck as she turned and charged him, forcing the gun up as it fired and peppered the ceiling with fiery shot.

Althea's momentum sent them both crashing to the ground as Rigwell's voice continued to warble on above them, almost drowning out the shots and the screams coming from outside the boat.

Clint still had an iron grip on Firecracker as they fought - even an elbow to the face couldn't get him to let go of it.

The shotgun fired again, shot skittered off her breastplate and she could feel the heat as the round penetrated the thin shell of the boat. Light flooded into the cabin, illuminating them as they struggled.

Althea, it had to be said, had a lot of morals and a lot of feeling on the subject of playing fair - but not when she was fighting for her life. If the new Commonwealth had taught her anything - it was that survival always depended on how far you were willing to go to live.

To that effect - she drove her knee into Clint's crotch - not once, but twice. She felt his grip on her beloved gun slacken and ripped it out of his hands. The man barely had time to shield his face before she drove the butt of Firecracker into his face again and again. She grunted with each hit. 'You. Will. Not. Hurt. Any. One. Any. More!'

Blood splattered across her face as she reduced his nose and lips to a scarlet pulp.

She raised the gun again, ready to strike that bloodied, smug face and wipe off that smirk when he laughed, spraying blood. 'You've got the guts that Garvey doesn't have. He was always too scared.'

Althea paused as the words sunk in. Her blood splattered snarl froze.

This...wasn't justice. Just as she had condemned Orden for closing his mind and his settlement, condemned him for the injustice - she couldn't take the life of a beaten, defenseless man. That would be murder.

Even if it was the man that destroyed the Minutemen. Even if he was laughing at her. Even after the cold-blooded murder she'd just witnessed - She would be a hypocrite.

Damn, she hated it when her morality got involved. It usually caught her coming and going. She gave him a look of deep hatred as she lowered the gun and sat back.

'Oh don't stop now!' He complained weakly. 'You were doing so well.'

She scoffed and stood up. 'You're not worth the bullets.'

'Weak!' He spat as she walked away but the taunt had no effect on her. Althea Shapiro was many things - mother, survivor, General, saviour - but she wasn't weak. She knew this, and Clint's angry words weren't about to hurt her in the slightest.

This fight was over. As she moved out onto the deck, she could see that the mirelurks had turned the tide against the Gunners. Those that hadn't escaped were now outnumbered and being feasted upon by the creatures. She was pleased to see that neither Hancock, nor Nick numbered among them - they had gotten out.

When she finally made her way out and into the open air, Hancock and Nick were waiting by the back door. She locked both the inner and outer doors this time - wary of the aggressive things escaping into the Commonwealth.

'Did you finish him?' Nick asked gently.

'That would be murder.' She replied.

'Are you sure you wanna-' Hancock asked doubtfully.

'Let the Mirelurks have him.' Thea replied darkly. 'I won't avenge murder with murder.'

'You might not, but I'm perfectly happy to.' Hancock fondled his sawn-off, as though just waiting for the word.

Thea shook her head. 'We've wasted enough time. Preston's not here, neither are Danse and Strong. They've never been here. This was a trap that they weren't stupid enough to walk into.'

'I'm proud of you.' Nick replied gently, laying his skeletal hand on her shoulder in comfort.

She took a deep, steadying breath and ran an arm across her forehead, smearing the blood across her skin and into her hair as she replied 'Yeah, thanks Nick.'

'I still think nobody'd judge if you did decide to put a bullet in his brain.' Hancock murmured as Dogmeat sniffed the ground in front of them, looking for another scent to follow.

'Probably not, but I would.' She replied as she wiped down Firecracker with a sleeve. 'I just want to find Preston, Danse and Strong right now. There'll be plenty of time for dealing with the Gunners later. I think it's fair to say, we've routed them.'

'Alright.' Hancock agreed and cocked his shotgun. 'Lets find another crossing point and pick up the trail from there.'

Chapter Text

The fire threw weird shadows out into the cavern around them. They'd contained it inside an old wire drum that had patently seen some use as a fire-pit before. Danse had crawled out of his armour for it to dry, stood upright near the fire. That too seemed eerie in the flickering firelight as orange and gold danced off the dented, scarred metal and left a long shadow in it's wake.

Preston always had to marvel how much smaller the Paladin looked without his protective shell. How much more vulnerable he was without it. If Strong had noticed the vulnerability, he had chosen to ignore it for food.

The Radstag, their prize feast, had been mounted above the drum in an improvised spitroast and the smell was wafting enticingly around them as it cooked.

Unlike Danse and Preston - Strong did not require nor want his food cooked. In fact, he seemed pretty miserable about the fact that it was fresh and had not begun rotting. Preston would never, ever understand the super mutant's assurances that the decayed meat tasted better and didn't really want to put too much thought into it while the stag roasted.

Instead, Preston stared down at the thing he'd found right next to the drum. It was a tiny, lightly burned figure of a Vault-Boy holding what looked like a lockpick. The thing looked so out of place here, just tossed to one side. He was sure that it had only barely survived a previous burning.

It looked nothing like Thea - except for the blue suit she habitually wore. After all, it was the best preserved pre-war outfit in the wastes. The dresses and casual clothes a wastelander usually found in the Commonwealth were best described as "In need of care" and at worst described as rags. It was no wonder she had chosen to hold onto the suit, really. Even if it did remind her of a traumatic event.

He found himself wanting to keep the little thing - these bobbleheads were a rare find. According to Thea - a lot of companies involved with Vault-Tec had these sort of things once upon a time. She'd said that they were highly collectible back in her time. Why - Preston wasn't too sure about. Apparently it was something people did before the war.

It was odd to find something as innocuous as this, here. That it could have survived two hundred years and almost end up in a fire-pit.

He also picked at the slash to his waistcoat, it didn't look so bad - the embroidery had been pulled out and most certainly ruined, but if it hadn't been the stag, he wouldn't have been surprised if the riverwater eroded it. At some point after this, he would have to do damage control.

'You want to continue, don't you, Garvey?'

Preston was pulled out of his thoughts by Danse's sudden question. The Paladin wasn't looking at him as he spoke, but deep into the fire of burning canvas and crackling frames.

'Yes.' He admitted. 'With or without you, Danse.'

The other man sighed and reached out to turn the charred hide of the stag that little bit more. 'You realize that we are critically low on ammo, we have no back-up and we are walking into enemy territory? How do you expect to counter that?'

'We're going in the backdoor, remember? The secret way in?' Preston replied. 'If we're careful, we can get in and out without being seen.'

Danse snorted morosely and glanced between the super mutant currently stuffing his face with uncooked meat and his steaming armour. 'Garvey, unless you've got more of those Stealth Boys, sneaking our way through seems unlikely.'

'Unlikely but not impossible.' Preston replied.

He huffed irritably and glanced darkly at Strong. 'Are you sure you trust the judgement of a super mutant?'

'We have trusted it this far. If you didn't, Danse, why did you insist on coming out here with us?'

Danse didn't bother to reply but Preston knew the answer - he wanted to come on the very long chance they did make it inside the Science Museum. Preston knew that Danse - like all Brotherhood members had one main goal: Hoard technology. Having the chance to get inside a museum dedicated to such a thing was too much to pass on. Even if your travelling companion was a super mutant.

Now Danse seemed to think they didn't stand a chance of even getting into it - granted they were low on ammo, they'd been battered, chased and harried across the wasteland for the last few days - but the Science Museum was just a little bit further - only a little.

'We're almost there.' Preston sighed.

Danse ignored him, preferred instead to pull a small combat knife and begin to carve a portion of the stag from the whole.

'Where did you get that?' Preston frowned at the knife in Danse's hands.

'It was in a wall-safe in the gallery. I found it when I pulled one of the paintings from the wall.' Danse replied.

Preston knew what it was - of course. Pickman had made reference to it before they'd killed him. It was the blade he used to murder the raiders. It was his blade. Thea had not wanted to investigate Pickman's claims about the knife at the time - and looking at it now, Preston could see that it was entirely justified. The little thing looked evil, glinting in the firelight.

It looked well maintained - and it cut through the stag hide easily.

Preston thanked Danse as he passed over a chunk of meat and regretted that the plates had also been in his pack along with the map, extra ammo, and food that had all perished under one extremely effective grenade. He handled the hot meat delicately but nevertheless took a large chunk out of the sizzling meat.

It wasn't quite the seasoned Yao Gui steak that Sturges could whip up, but it was something.

'I think you're insane, Garvey.' Danse murmured as he cut his own thick portion. 'I'm suggesting we abort the mission and return with better numbers.' He was back on trying to talk Preston out of going to the Science Museum again. Preston understood his reluctance - maybe he was even a little touched that Danse was trying to talk him out of it. The tin can did care.

Preston stopped chewing industriously long enough to mutter 'Fine.' and went back to his meat.

Danse paused, as though he'd expected more from Preston than simply that. ' "Fine"? Is that an agreeance?'

'Oh no, that's me saying you're welcome to turn back but Strong and I have already decided to press on, right big guy?'

Strong growled lowly as he chewed on one of the stag's legs, sucking the meat from the bone.

'You're going to get yourself killed, you realize that?' Danse asked. 'And you Strong, you're going to get killed too!'

'Strong is strong.' The mutant sneered. 'Strong will be victorious over the weak.'

Both men stared at the super mutant and then at each other - both wondering how a supposedly dumb super mutant had used a word with four syllables. 'It's the hat.' Preston shook his head. 'Has to be.'

'How can a hat be the cause of his sudden cognisance?'

'I have no idea.'

'Has Knight Shapiro been giving him lessons?' Danse frowned.

'The only person stupid enough to try and educate mutants was Rex Goodman - and we had to rescue him from Trinity Tower before they decided to eat him.' Preston replied. 'He's the one who taught Strong the Milk of Kindness talk.'

Strong grunted at Preston's last line and threw the now thoroughly gnawed bone behind him.

Danse wrinkled his nose and glanced sharply at Strong. Clearly, he did not relish the thought of intelligent super mutants. The Brotherhood's intelligence and strategy when dealing with super mutants was about the only thing they could rely on. Mutants were a lot harder to kill than regular humans - even humans in power armour.

'You know,' Preston mused as he weighed the chunk of meat in his hand. 'If you did turn back Danse, how are you planning to deal with the Gunners and the mutants?'

The Paladin sat a little straighter and murmured 'Surely they're not still after us.'

'Gunners hold a grudge,' Preston knew that from experience, very personal experience. 'And the mutants saw you in your power armour - they know Brotherhood when they see it.'

Danse considered that.

'On your own - you'd be dead in the water.'

He winced at the euphemism - clearly not over their recent dips into the irradiated water.

'Besides, who knows what the mutants have in the science museum. They could have deactivated nuclear missiles there for all we know.' They probably didn't, otherwise The Church of Atom would be engaged in a turf war with them - radiation and religion made those people stir crazy, as Preston knew.

'Do you really want to leave a building full of dangerous technology with super mutants?'

Danse's jaw tightened. 'You can't seriously believe -'

'You did, when we started this.' Preston pushed. 'Otherwise, why would you have come this far?'

Danse sighed. 'I was hoping to simply reconnoitre and report my findings to my superiors. We couldn't get near the place, not even with Vertibirds.'

'Strong says he can get us in. I trust that. We're close, Danse. So very close.'

'We're also going to be very, very dead if this goes wrong.' The Paladin reminded him.

'Won't.' Strong grunted.

A greasy hand went into Danse's hair. 'I suppose testing their perimeter won't hurt - it will give me something to report back at least and this whole trek won't be for naught.'

Preston smirked victoriously and took another bite out of the radstag meat.

With Danse now back on board, he knew they could do this. They would do this.

'We'll leave at dawn, once everybody has had some sleep.'

Danse nodded and took another bite of his meat.

Dawn was just starting to cast shadows through the boarded windows when Preston, Danse and Strong emerged from the basement of the gallery. In the daylight of a full belly and restful sleep, it didn't look any better and Preston didn't feel any better either. The last day and a half had been spent recovering or running and his muscles ached as a result.

'The museum is right down there.' Preston pointed past a pair of stained gates, flanked on either side by spikes and bags of meat. The classic sign of super mutant occupancy.

'That looks promising.' Danse replied. 'Where is Strong's back door?'

'At the back.' Strong grunted.

Preston had to pull his still slightly fish-smelling scarf over his mouth to cover up his laughter at the look on Danse's face. It was best described as - long-suffering.

'Lead the way, abomination.'

Well, that moment of solidarity lasted long.

'Tin can.' Strong grunted as he passed.

And here he thought they were just starting to get along. Preston shook his head and followed the super mutant across the street wordlessly.

Chapter Text

Yorick.

They'd skirted the rough barricade searching for Strong's backdoor.

Preston could hear the beeping of suicide mutants and the sounds of patrols on the other side of the flimsy, bloated wood. It made him nervous to be so unknowingly close to being ripped limb from limb. They were following Strong, barely visible in the muggy morning. As they moved around the outskirts of the perimeter wall, the weather came back to hate on Preston some more.

It seemed whenever he managed to get dry lately, events would conspire to make sure he was soaked. This time, it wasn't a forced dip into dangerous waters, it was rain. The heat that had followed them all the way from Sanctuary finally broke and huge droplets of water descended, bouncing off his (well-ventilated) hat as they moved. It steamed on the dry, barren landscape, creating a mist to lurk in.

Danse and Preston paused as they passed a super mutant. It growled 'It raining!'

'Stupid rain!' answered a mutant a little further away and several shots were unleashed at the sky - causing both men to flinch and hurry on before they were struck by falling bullets - or worse, discovered.

Strong was hunched beside a rusted and holey chain link fence, trying hard to be obscured from the passing patrols.

All three peered into the compound. It was your typical mutant camp. There were bags of rotting meat and puddles of blood lying around. What must've been an old car park was now being used as a courtyard come public space. Jagged spikes littered the walls and ground in front of the building. It still bore a tattered, faded banner and posters much like Concord had which proclaimed "See The Science Behind Jangles The Moon Monkey!"

'Where are we going, Strong?'

The mutant pointed one thick green finger at the roof that loomed above them. In the weak light, Preston could see the outline of a concrete protuberance with a rusted metal door.

'That is your back door?!' Danse hissed. 'That is not a back door!'

'Not guarded.' Strong defended.

'Because nobody will be able to get across the compound to get to it!' Danse replied angrily and pinched his nose, as though Strong's sheer stupidity was causing him a headache. 'I knew this was a terrible idea. We need to turn back.'

'No.' Preston replied. 'We've discussed this, Danse. The only way is forward.'

'It's suicide.'

'We die strong!'

'I'd rather not die at all!' Danse whispered hysterically.

The patrols around the compound were a problem, but Preston had a solution for that. He remembered a very old Minuteman legend, back before his time, when they were stronger. Colonel Hollis had told it to him when they were sat in front of the campfire before the Quincy massacre.

'Garvey, whatever insane plan you're working on - forget it.' Danse warned.

'What insane plan?' He asked innocently.

'You've been travelling with Knight Shapiro for too long - I know that look.' Danse replied. 'The last time she had that look in her eye, she fired the burners of a rocket that I was fighting under.'

Althea was always very direct. Preston wasn't saying it was a shortcoming, but it did lead them to do some insane things. Maybe he had spent too much time with her - he was beginning to think like her and judging by Danse's reaction, he was beginning to use the same look.

Could you really catch insanity? "There's a fine line between genius and Insanity, Preston." Althea had once told him with her trademark barely suppressed smile.

He still wasn't sure which one she was. Maybe both.

'Alright, here's my idea.' He murmured.

Danse nodded in a go on gesture. Strong was still keeping watch, making sure the three weren't seen lurking.

'A decoy near the gates.'

Danse's eyebrows floated somewhere near his hairline before descending to almost meet between his eyes. 'Go on.'

'There's an old Minuteman legend that a small contingent of men were tasked with protecting a town from raiders. They didn't have the manpower to match this mob of psychos.' He was mangling it, he was sure, but time was critical. 'So they improvised and made an army of scarecrows using everything they had to hand. Hats, helmets, coats, clothes - they moved them around to make it look like patrols were going on. It looked like the town was bustling with Minutemen and armed farmers instead of just this small group. After a stand-off - the raiders left. They didn't want to fight an army for one town. Why not make some scarecrows of our own? Place them near the entrance, let the mutants shoot them and sneak in the back way.'

'You have a serious deathwish, Garvey. Just how do you intend to be both there and on the other side of the compound?' Danse asked, prodding Preston's plan carefully.

'I'm not.' Preston replied and tugged at the strap wrapped around one shoulder. It came away with his slightly waterlogged radio. 'But Radio Freedom will be.'

'This is insane.'

'Strong like it!' The mutant growled in approval.

Danse didn't even bother dignifying that with a response. He just covered his eyes and groaned.

---

Preston put the finishing touches to the scarecrow figure he had worked steadily on. A quick trip back to Pickman's Gallery resulted in a bloodstained jacket and tattered Brahmin-hide pants. Without a hat - and Strong was definitely not parting from his newly acquired bowler, nor was preston willing to sacrifice his own hat - the thing looked more scarecrow than person.

At least until Strong pulled a raider head off of one of Pickman's spikes and studied it critically. 'Yorick,' He growled lowly before he stuffed it unceremoniously onto the branch that was serving as a neck. It squelched and Preston tried hard not to shudder.

'This is never going to work.' Danse fretted as Preston unclipped the radio from his jacket and pinned it to the shirt of their decoy. He didn't want to play with the volume until they'd set it up.

'You said yourself, Danse, that they weren't that intelligent.' He replied amicably as he stood back to admire their work.

Danse grunted and glanced at Strong. With little else to do, their resident mutant had taken to staring at the installation piece again with something approaching rapture.

'Give me a hand, Danse.'

The Paladin leaned down and wrinkled his nose as it got too close to the severed head but nevertheless picked it up. 'Tell me the plan again, Garvey.'

Preston spent a minute navigating the doors before he answered the question. 'We put the scarecrow somewhere they'll see it and wait for them to react - when they all go charging for the "intruder", we'll be across the compound and inside the building before they even know we're there.'

'I am going to be the laughing stock of the Prydwen if I report this in. Before the court-marshalling.' He added with preoccupied worry.

'I thought you were going to end up dead first?' Preston smirked.

Danse threw him a scathing look. 'Thank you for reminding me, Garvey.'

Chapter Text

Don't look down.

The rain seemed heavier when they emerged out from the protection of the building, carrying their scarecrow. At one point, Preston had to go back in and drag Strong away from his art appreciation - much to the annoyance of Danse - but they still needed him.

It dripped off the brim of his hat as he stared at the compound, wondering how best to position it.

Althea would have said that the rain made things cleaner - it washed away the bloodshed of the last few days and left the streets if not sparkling, then absolved. Preston was of the opinion that it just gave raiders and mutants more reason than anything to make it even dirtier and it certainly didn't wash away all sins.

It had been raining on the way to Quincy, after all. There wasn't enough water in the world to absolve that sin.

They positioned the scarecrow just behind a car on the road. Strong drove the stake hard into the ground, making it impossible for a grazing shot or a grenade to simply knock it over. The somewhat morbidly named Yorick scarecrow looked even from this close like a real live person. Preston fiddled with the radio carefully as Danse loitered.

'Hurry up, Garvey. I'm not depending on the weather to keep us hidden for long.'

Well, the weather was fickle. Given the luck the trio have had recently, Preston wholeheartedly believed that it wouldn't shield them for long - and they did not go through picking at what was left of the unfortunate raiders in Pickman's Gallery just to be spotted placing the thing.

Their luck, surprisingly, allowed them to get around the fence and out of view just as the sun broke through the rainclouds and illuminated Yorick. The rain eased off, leaving faint sounds of Radio Freedom drifting on the silence - until a mutant spotted the scarecrow and roared out a challenge.

More and more were being added to the mix, as well as the sounds of gunfire. 'It seems to be working.' Danse murmured, almost sounding impressed.

'Did you doubt me?' Preston replied and peered around the edge of the fencing. It looked….deserted. Most of the mutants had charged towards the front gate after their "intruder", which was exactly what Preston had been hoping for. Not even a mutant hound in sight. 'Strong?' Preston murmured. 'Take down the fence - quietly.'

Strong grumbled something about "puny cowboy man" but tried his best. The chain link still tinkled as it was ripped apart but after Preston held his breath and waited for a reaction - none came.

'They aren't going to be distracted by that thing for long.' He murmured and moved swiftly through the gap that Strong had made.

The ladder that was bolted to the side of the building was rusted but seemed to be serviceable. It probably wasn't going to break when Strong or Danse climbed. Maybe. Behind him, he could hear over the incoming rain again, the sounds of Danse and Strong following.

The rungs were indeed heavily rusted and as he moved, he noticed that his hands came away coated in the orange-red of rust, but the treads still felt firm beneath his feet.

Preston made it up safely and began signalling for Danse and Strong to do the same when, over the roar of the wind tearing up his eyes and the rain lashing his face - he watched a suicider run out of the building. Miraculously, in it's enraged haze, it completely failed to spot Danse behind Strong - it was so enraged it never had time to note that it didn't recognise Strong - and instead charged for the front gates and Yorick.

'Come on!' He hissed and urged them up onto the roof.

Danse was halfway up the ladder, grumbling about how hard it was to maneuver such a small ladder in such a large power armour frame when they heard the explosion.

Preston was forced to close his eyes against the burning brightness of the mini-nuke's signature mushroom cloud. It shook even the building as the car that the scarecrow was behind also imploded, it's rusted shell given up and it's battery allowed to go thermonuclear.

'Well that was impressive.' Danse murmured as he reached the top and looked over the lip of the roof. 'Less of them to deal with.' Strong was right behind him, despite his massive bulk he was more than limber enough to race the Paladin up there with one hand holding onto his latest fashion accessory.

'Yorick,' He growled lowly.

'Alas, poor Yorick. I knew him Horatio.' Danse quoted. Strong and Preston turned to stare at him in surprise. He shifted uncomfortably. 'The scribes sometimes required help cataloguing some of our recovered books. We have a vast collection of Shakespeare.' He explained.

'Do scribes have milk of human kindness?' Strong asked lowly.

The thought of a super mutant in a bowler hat walking into a brotherhood citadel and asking for something for the milk of human kindness was almost comical but mostly horrifying.

'No.' Danse said flatly. 'Let's get out of the rain and see what we're dealing with.'

The door did not stand up to much of Strong's heavy fisted attack and was swiftly peeled away. All three stumbled into the musty but thankfully dry darkness.

Down a stark set of utility stairs bearing faded and ripped posters about safety and secrets, the next door opened up onto what must've been the third floor of the museum. It looked like it hadn't fared well. The gloom of the grey morning light coming through the smashed and/or badly boarded windows illuminated specks of dust dancing in the air and falling slowly through the holes in the wooden floor.

Old, unloved buildings had a peculiar smell - the almost sweet musk of mould and damp mixed with dust and old paper. Faded fabrics hung everywhere - it reminded him of the museum of Freedom in Concord - but thankfully without the sound-effects.

Preston smiled at seeing the poster hanging from it's frame on the wall. 'See Jangles the Moon Monkey exhibit! First Floor, Only at the Science Museum!'

They were almost there - they'd almost done it.

It had seemed a lifetime ago that they'd set out to get here and now, they were so close he could actually start to believe they were going to succeed.

He took a step forward and noticed for the first time, the ornate marble railing that gave what must've surely been a spectacular view onto the floors below. In the middle of the space was a huge structure of wire and faded bulbs, twisted around each other.

Strangely, it wasn't being used to hang those meat bags that the super mutants were so fond of - considering the state of what they could see of the ground floor and what they'd observed of the car-park outside, the structure had been left alone.

'What is that?' He wondered.

Danse peered out over the railing and frowned. 'I have no idea.'

The floor creaked ominously as Strong stepped out to join them. The structure of the upper floor seemed perilous at best, with the weight of Strong and Danse, there was a distinct worry that it would and could cave in at any minute.

He spotted a rusted, patchy map next to a set of stairs. The stairs themselves looked solid enough, but the flooring in front of it was damaged and yawned open onto the floor below. If they were going to use those stairs to get down, it was going to take some careful maneuvering.

GROUND FLOOR: Nuclear power of the past, present and future;

FIRST FLOOR: Space age! The beginning and the future;

THIRD FLOOR: Weapons - the science behind war.

Preston glanced around and noted the distinct lack of weaponry - this must have been the most heavily looted area of the museum - which would explain the complete disarray and, possibly, the missing floor.

Danse had turned away from the structure and began to take in what was left of the exhibits, still in their broken display cases or littering the heavily soiled cloths that ran the length of them. He was eyeing up a power armour spaced hole in an exhibit, lamenting, maybe, that it was missing. His armour was battered and slightly rusted from constant irradiated water exposure. 'Where is this toy that you want so badly?'

'One floor down.' Preston replied.

The Paladin glanced critically at the stairs and the hole that was sat squarely in front of them. He, too, seemed to be calculating the likelihood of being able to avoid falling through - which was dubious at best. 'Are there no other means of accessing the floor below us?'

Preston shrugged and turned to Strong, who had until this moment, been lurking in front of an exhibit of cavemen. If not for the green tint of his skin and the super mutant sized armour, Strong could have passed as one of those mannequins. 'Strong? Is there another way down to the second floor?'

Strong looked evasive for a second before he murmured 'Don't know.'

'You said you knew this place!' Danse hissed angrily, aware that raising his voice in a place like this would carry.

'Strong knew where it was.' The mutant defended.

Danse threw up his arms and murmured 'This is ridiculous.'

'The floor can hold our weight if we go one at a time. I'm sure of it.' Preston waded in, trying to diffuse the situation.

'If you believe so then send the heaviest one first - send the abomination.' Danse retorted.

'Tin can's ego is heavier than Strong.' The mutant snarked.

'I'll go first.' He replied. 'If it can hold my weight - and it will - then you can come Danse - then Strong.'

While this did not meet with the Paladin's approval, he waved a hand at the hole and turned to watch their six as Preston approached.

Large dusty beams poked out from the walls around it. Preston tested it gently and found it quite firm to toe. He winced as he eased weight onto it and the boards gave a long, low creak. But they held. Emboldened - he took a few more steps, gently testing the surface before applying any pressure. With his back to the wall and using his musket as a crutch, Preston managed to slide his way without incident onto the staircase. It was a lot less secure than he was expecting. The roof above them had cracked at some point in the last two centuries and water dripped steadily from the rainstorm outside - but he was sure if some dusty old beams could hold their weight, then the staircase would too.

'Alright, Danse.' He called.

The Paladin holstered his rifle and began the same dance that Preston had done not two minutes earlier. One of the boards snapped and tumbled into the darkness as he neared the end, but the Paladin swiftly slipped his foot to the next board before he had time to lose his balance and made it to the other side without serious incident.

If the boards could hold Danse's weight, then they should hold Strong's. 'Come on, Strong!' Preston urged as the Paladin began his swift walk down towards the middle of the staircase to join Preston.

'I would pay caps to see the abomination manage that better than -' He began as a low, painful creaking came from beneath them, followed by a louder cracking noise. 'What is that?' He frowned.

Preston paled as he placed the sound with ease. The rotten, waterlogged boards that supported the stairs beneath their feet could no longer - after being periodically soaked every few weeks for 200 years - support their weight. Preston had miscalculated and now, the stairs were breaking.

'Move!' Preston roared but even as he jumped, the stairs shattered beneath them, stealing much of the energy behind his instinctive leap. Danse struggled but fell into the darkness, the weight of his power armour worked against him. Preston managed to grab onto the staircase as he fell through but couldn't maintain his grip as handfuls of damp, rotten wood came away with his fists.

He couldn't maintain his grip. Strong was still inching across the hole above them but still way out of reach. With a curse, Preston's hand hold came away and he tumbled into the dark. The last thing he saw, rushing up to meet him, was Danse, laying in a pile of rubble in his power armour.

Preston's last thought was - this was going to hurt.

Chapter Text

Dictum - A statement given some weight or consideration due to the respect given the person making it.

Pickman Gallery was just as Althea remembered - although, maybe the smell had gotten worse. The heatwave that the Commonwealth had experienced lately did not help the longevity of the "exhibits" and walking into that smell was like a full force slap to the face. Even Dogmeat seemed loathe to want to enter.

Hancock swore and used a sleeve to cover what was left of his nose, Nick by comparison was much more composed as he said 'It smells awful in here.'

'You think?!' Hancock retorted. 'This is what that asshole was doing in here? I thought you were joking when you described it!' His eyes surveyed the wreckage of the room and fell on the installation piece where they narrowed. 'The fuck is that?!'

Thea turned and stared at the raider, impaled on the spikes. 'His last artwork, I think.' She was studying the area around her critically. It looked like the paintings had been stripped. On one half of the room, the bloody homages to sadism had been stacked neatly against the wall - on the other, they'd been thrown everywhere.

Danse and Strong had been here - she was sure of it, knowing the Paladin's obsessive qualities and Strong's complete lack of reverence for anything old world - but getting Dogmeat to sniff out anything in this place would be too much to ask. The dog wouldn't be able to smell a thing through all the rotting bodies and gore.

'Inspirational,' Nick replied dryly. 'Is that where the smell is coming from?' He wondered as he jerked a thumb at the raider rotting in the view of a window.

'Probably.' Thea agreed.

'What kind of asswipe does this sort of shit?!' Hancock demanded, still with one faded and torn sleeve pressed to his face.

Thea, despite wandering the room for clues on Preston, Danse and Strong's visit here of all places paused to consider that. 'A psychopath.'

Hancock snorted. 'I buy that.'

'I always wondered what the difference was between a psychopath and a sociopath,' Nick mused. 'What makes a person one but not the other?'

It was patently clear that Preston, Danse and Strong had moved on, but they would search the building none-the-less. Thea dug deep and turned her mind back a long way to her classes at Cali U - Concord Campus. It seemed a lifetime ago now that she'd taken that stupid class to improve her academic grade.

'A sociopath tends to be nervous and anxious - they commit crimes sloppily and theirs tend to be more crimes of passion or spontaneity. They rarely form meaningful relationships with other people - Psychopaths tend to plan out their crimes meticulously and absolutely cannot form social relationships at all. They don't feel remorse for what they've done and they can be quite manipulative and charming - despite their lack of emotion.' She summarised. 'When I met Pickman, he struck me more as a psychopath than a sociopath.'

'Ahhh. I see.' Nick noted.

'Really?' Hancock enquired. 'Because all I got out of that was that he's a nutjob which, lets be honest here, I could tell from his decoration.'

Thea had to agree with Hancock on that one - you can quibble over terminology or mental health diagnoses until the end of time but crazy was crazy. The three, followed hesitantly by Dogmeat, began to fan out and search for further clues that Preston, Danse and Strong had been here. Hancock had volunteered to search the upstairs, Nick had taken the ground floor and Thea cautiously made her way down the basement stairs, Firecracker in hand and Dogmeat at her side.

It smelled different down here, somehow. There was the smell of stagnant water and rust, of dirt and coarse wet sand, of mildew and old rooms like upstairs - but there was something else down here that didn't fit right. She could smell burning paint fumes and barbecue.

Dogmeat seemed to like it here, compared to upstairs. All those conflicting smells must've put him on edge. He seemed happy enough to trot at his mistress' side again. Along the winding corridors of damp, forgotten brick and out into the open space of what Pickman had boasted to be his "workshop", Thea could see that someone - most likely the trio they were looking for - had set up a kind of roasting pit with a carved stag mounted on it.

She approached and noticed that the embers in the bottom of the old wire drum were still slightly warm but mostly ash. It had been an age since she had ever been camping - and she would never claim to be an expert - but she'd hazard a guess that they were at the very least a few hours old.

They were still behind them, but not by much.

Dogmeat whined somewhere nearby and her head snapped up. He seemed to be pawing relentlessly at the ground - at something glinting in the darkness. She closed in and squatted next to him as he alerted on some torn fragments lying on the dirt.

It was gold thread and some darker fibres mixed in like some kind of pattern. She recognised them - they were the same kind of thread that Preston's old, well loved waistcoat had.

She wouldn't claim to be a detective - the detective was currently upstairs, sorting through the gallery - but she noticed with some relief that the fibres did not seem to contain a speck of blood.

She stood up, twisting them between her fingers in thought. Something had obviously happened to Preston for his waistcoat to have ended up damaged, but there wasn't signs of blood on the fibers, or any signs of urgency in this small camp that had been set up - no open first aid kits lying on the floor, no bloody bandages or signs that anyone had been hurt - yet.

Logic trumped the sudden hysteria at seeing the frayed threads. They weren't in trouble - not yet anyway. They would be when Thea finally caught up - and she was getting closer.

'Good boy,' She murmured and reached out to give Dogmeat his well-deserved ruffle for finding another trace of Preston. He barked happily and slobbered on her fingers.

Nothing else was here. She whistled for Dogmeat to follow and began the winding route back up to the ground floor gallery.

Nick and Hancock were standing in front of the installation, seemingly comparing notes. The synth detective was the first one to see her and nodded. Hancock abruptly stopped talking and adopted what Thea was sure he called his most charming smirk. 'Find anything good? A Minuteman that needs throttling, maybe?'

'Part of one.' She agreed and held up the fibers for the other two to inspect.

Nick studied the clutched threads and Thea's recount of finding them for some time before he formed his opinion. 'Seems conclusive they moved the party to the basement, then.' He mused. 'Too much dry wood up here to run the risk of having a bonfire and burning the place to the ground.'

'It needs it.' Hancock retorted darkly as he glanced around. 'Even raiders don't deserve this shit.'

'I'm with you.' Nick agreed. 'From what I could tell and what Hancock told me, they looted the gallery and the floor above for wood to burn downstairs. They also broke into a safe hidden behind a portrait.'

He gestured to the open wall safe and the portrait laid carefully below it. Thea shivered, seeing all those black and red eyes. 'I need a drink.' She bemoaned. The way her companions froze up was a clear indication that she'd said something wrong. 'What?' She asked, sensing that something unsaid was straining to get out.

Nick conceded the floor to Hancock with a look. This, after all, was his area of expertise. Tactful as always, Hancock rubbed his scarred chin before he said 'Hey, I know I'm not one to judge on this - hell, I've been on more benders than you've had hot dinners -maybe - but... you think this whole suicidal plan to get you this Jangles that Garvey's got his knickers in a bunch over is to do with you drinking?'

'What.' Thea deadpanned, she could feel the embarrassment rising up from the pit of her stomach in a twisted, sickly way. She knew he was doing this for her - but the thought that he was doing it because she occasionally sometimes liked a drink - it was making her sick to her stomach in a way that had nothing to do with their current surroundings.

'What Hancock means is - we all know, Althea. All the companions know that you….have had a bit of a problem lately.' Nick murmured.

'With booze.' Hancock nodded.

She couldn't believe this - Preston, Danse and Strong were out there - doing god knows what, maybe already dead - and Nick and Hancock decided to stage some kind of intervention now?! She must have looked particularly incredulous because Hancock chipped back in.

'Look, we're not saying it's wrong - and I know that when you've got a ton of shit on your plate, a pick-me up or a good drinking session is all well and good but…' Hancock sighed. 'We're just worried this hellhole's getting to you, sister.'

'I don't have a problem.' She lied. She knew she was lying - she knew when she saw Jacob Orden pour that rot-gut and how badly she wanted to drink it - she had a problem.

'Thea, it's us you're talking to.' Nick murmured gently. 'We just think that the reason Preston convinced Danse and Strong to do this is because he's worried about your drinking and he wants to give you something that will remind you that you need to keep going. If you crumble - everything you've done for the Commonwealth does too.'

She opened her mouth to refute him - to deny it all - but the truth was….Nick and Hancock were right. She did have a problem. Ever since Kellogg had told her that she'd missed the first nine years and eleven months of her child's life - ever since she'd found out Shaun had grown up in this horrible world without her - without his mother, or father - she had a problem. Maybe she should have been grateful that he was alive at all, really. That he hadn't just been killed like so many people in random, violent acts of carnage that seemed fairly mundane in the Commonwealth.

She was depressed, she was smart enough to realize that - and smart enough to know that if anyone would have picked up on it then Preston would have - considering his own past - and he had chosen to go out on some foolhardy, dangerous quest to find something that even Thea wasn't sure even existed anymore - to try and help her pull herself out of it. Now, here was Nick and Hancock saying that everyone knew - or suspected. That they all just wanted to help her.

Shame burned for a minute, brighter than the embarrassment.

'You're right.' She whispered at last, the sound carried in the dead, dusty air. 'You're right, I have a problem. But right now, I just want to find Preston, Danse and Strong alive - after that…'

The other two nodded understandingly. After the current crisis was overwith, they would talk about her recent behaviour - maybe even rehab with Cait.

But first - they had three wayward companions to hunt down - and they were getting closer.

Chapter Text

Kitchen Nightmares

Preston had been knocked out only for a minute or two, but the disorientation he felt after lasted a lot longer. There was a ringing in his ears, a dizziness and a sense of disparity between his eyes and his body. Danse, too, seemed to be struggling with similar symptoms.

He was pretty sure he had a concussion at the very least - their crash landing in the nuclear age hadn't exactly been silent or painless. If he had more wits about him, Preston would have been thankful they hadn't landed on and set off any one of the displays. He knew enough about the old world and museums to know that they weren't always so thorough about deactivating some of their most dangerous technology before putting it on display.

He pulled himself up heavily, trying to test for broken limbs. Assessing it as just an awful lot of bruising - he turned to Danse. 'You alright?'

'No,' Danse grunted, turning white. 'I can't move my legs, Garvey.' He seemed to be struggling to get up off the floor after cushioning Preston's fall - if cushioning was the right word.

'What?!' Preston gasped and scrabbled to get over to him through the staggering of the concussion. 'Danse, that's serious! Strong! Dammit, Strong!' The mutant gave no answer.

'You don't think I know that? The servos are completely shot - I've lost all power below the torso.' Danse growled. 'It's going to take a lot of manpower to fix.'

There was a moment of ledan silence as Preston finally realised what Danse was talking about. '...You meant your damn suit?!' He demanded.

'What did you think I meant?' Danse replied angrily before his tone softened. 'Oh - you meant my actual legs. They're fine.'

Preston breathed a little easier and then refrained from using some choice language - barely. The Paladin was still struggling to get himself propped up and looked up at Preston, framing something - probably scathing - instead his eyes widened and he shouted 'Garvey!'

The butt of a hunting rifle connected with the back of Preston's skull. Lights exploded behind his eyes at the force and he felt himself slump to a knee, completely stunned by the attack. He could just barely see Danse desperately reaching across for his laser rifle as a sea of green seemed to be entering the rubble.

He felt physically sick, his stomach was lurching from what felt like left to right as his head pounded with such force he could barely breathe.

Something cold and hard was wrapped around his unresisting torso as he struggled not to pass out for the second time or hurl his cookies. In a brief moment of clarity he noticed they were chains - thick, heavy chains.

Danse was trying to fight back against the mutants and making a better job of it than Preston in the current situation - but with the bottom half of his Power Armour seized up and Righteous Authority out of his reach, he stood very little chance. Still, he fought like a tiger and did not seem to want to be taken alive - but it was inevitable that he would be overpowered. As Preston's vision cleared and he swallowed back the bile that rose up his throat, he watched them wrap more chains around Danse.

They hadn't killed them yet - that was a good sign, right?

The mutants had dragged them roughly through the ground floor of the museum, past the bare exhibits and dusty, destroyed rooms. The ground floor looked similar to the third - it had been raided for the last morsels of the pre-war era. He could see various pieces had been tampered with - things ripped out of them. Had it been the mutants that had done that? What were they after?

They weren't even giving him a chance to walk, not that Preston probably could - he was still suffering dizziness from his concussion and Danse - well with the servos in his legs completely screwed, he was going to get dragged regardless. Preston just wished that he would stop yelling insults at the top of his head, because all it really did was piss off their new captors more and worsen Preston's pretty epic headache.

When they finally arrived at their destination, Preston could smell it before he could see it. It smelled like that Everett Estates slaughterhouse. It looked like a former restaurant, filled with mouldering menus, broken tables and smashed chairs but they didn't stop there. The mutants continued on, through a door and into what looked like the kitchen area.

Bags of meat seemed to have been piled in one corner, nets hung empty from the rafters and on one island counter, there was the body of their latest victim. A raider still fresh enough to be dripping blood.

In one corner, glowing eerily and casting a semi-gloom throughout the decrepit room were barrels upon barrels of toxic waste. Preston could practically feel the radiation coming from them.

The mutants deposited them on opposite ends of the raider corpse. He could just barely see Danse's silhouette in the darkness. Preston had managed, despite the tight chains, to prop himself up on the slimy wall and tried to breathe through the massive headache he was experiencing. That backfired when the smell hit the back of his throat and he gagged, increasing the pressure on his skull.

'I told you we should have turned back, Garvey.' Danse murmured at the sound of his retching.

Preston hung his head hiding his face from Danse in the semi-gloom. This whole thing had been his idea - now he and Danse were probably going to die and god knows what they were doing to Strong when they found him.

This was all his fault. He'd wanted to do one nice thing for Thea and instead had gotten them all captured. For the sake of Jangles the Moon Monkey. Danse had been right, he really shouldn't have relied solely on Strong.

Strong was nowhere to be seen. Knowing him, he had probably realised when the mutants had burst onto the scene that there was little hope of rescuing them from the ambush and had chosen instead to hide. Preston didn't blame him, really. It was overwhelming odds to rescue two people that Preston was sure he didn't particularly like. He wasn't going to come back for Puny Cowboy Man and Tin Can.

Would Thea be looking for them by now? Would she eventually track them all the way here just to find remnants of her friends? It would break her already broken heart further, he surmised. That would be his fault too. All he'd wanted was to bring a genuine smile to her face for once - do something for her after all the help she'd given not just him but the entire Commonwealth. Especially after it kept throwing curveballs her way. And he'd fucked it up.

'We're going to die here, if we're lucky.' Danse continued on his macabre streak. He sounded like a man so close to giving up - he sounded like so many Minutemen that Preston had talked to about re-enlisting. He'd already concluded that there was no way out.

'What could they do to us that's worse than killing us?' Preston croaked.

'How do you think they make super mutants, Garvey?' Danse tilted his head and indicated the barrels of toxic waste in one corner of the room Preston had began to call The Larder.

'What?' Preston struggled against the chains that they'd used to tie him down. 'You can't be serious!'

Danse gave him a look that clearly said that he was better - and more dreadfully - informed than Preston could ever hope to be on the subject of super mutants. 'We are going to die here - one way or the other. Just like Cutler.'

'Cutler?' Preston frowned.

'I don't want to talk about it.' Danse growled.

Preston sat back and tried not to breathe - failing that, he tried not to breathe too deeply. The silence in here was deafening and made his dizziness worse as he strained to listen for a sound - any sound at all.

'We're not going anywhere, you know.' He murmured eventually. 'Who's Cutler?'

Danse made an irritated noise in the gloom and shifted. For a moment, Preston thought he was going to say no again - and that would be the end of that, but to his surprise, Danse replied 'He was my friend, back in the Capital Wasteland. We joined the brotherhood together. He - he went missing. When we found him, those bastards had thrown him into a vat and turned him into one of them.'

'Jesus, what happened?' Preston asked.

'What do you think, Garvey?' Danse sighed heavily. 'I put him down. I had to.'

'Danse, I am so sorry.' Preston replied. 'I'm sorry I got you into this.'

'I wanted to come.' Danse replied.

They sat in silence for what felt like an eternity with the threat of death ever looming. Danse was right, being stuffed into those meat bags was more preferable than becoming one of those things.

Preston wasn't sure how long they'd been left to rot down there, or when exactly he'd started hearing it - but he could hear gunfire. Had they found Strong? Was he making a valiant last stand in the best traditions of super mutants and Brotherhood alike?

No. It seemed to be getting closer, mingled with the pained cries of mutants.

Whoever they were - they were winning.

Chapter Text

Vis Major

This term is used in the civil law in nearly the same way that the words act of God are used in the common law.

Someone out there was fighting. Preston and Danse could hear the sounds of warfare from their dank kitchen prison. Both men had gone quiet as they listened to the angry roar of the super mutants and the sounds of gunfire.

Was this Strong? Was it rescue? Or was their luck still so piteously low that it was something worse than super mutants?

The Institute? Atom forbid it was the sodding Institute and their synths.

A grenade went off nearby, blowing the doors open briefly and a new smell leeched in along with the rot and decay - the smell of burning flesh.

They weren't expecting both the doors to the kitchen to fly open again so soon - or a brown and blue blur to fly the length of the kitchen and hit the island counter that held the definitely dead raider. Both bodies tumbled over the top and hit the floor rolling, shielding them from the doors.

From Preston's angle, he got a good look at their saviour apparent as she landed on the floor, a tangle of limbs, both living and dead. The hat had flown off and landed somewhere near Danse as the panting, bloodstained figure twisted, getting her bearings and wincing at the force with which she'd been flown across the room.

'Thea?!' Preston gaped.

Her eyes snapped to him and in an instant, they seemed to relax. Relieved that he seemed to be alive and mostly uninjured. Beneath that was a hardness that worried Preston but he had no time to dwell on it.

'Knight!' Danse yelled as her attacker charged into the kitchen and over the island to get to her. One half of his chest was clearly blackened and burned, the little holes that peppered his skin marked him as a moving target of Firecracker. The mutant roared in agonized rage, raising his board to bring down on her as she raised the shotgun seemingly too late to stop him breaking an arm, a rib, even her head.

Her attacker didn't get that far as an enormous green fist wrapped itself around his head from behind and wrenched him further back to deliver a floor rattling punch. 'Not Scary Blue Lady!'

The late cocked gun descended for a minute as Thea recognised her saviour. 'Thank you, Strong.' She breathed and winced as she rolled the clingy body off her torso.

She picked up her hat and dusted it off as Strong threw another floor-rattling punch that downed his opponent. Thea took no notice as the mutant in the bowler hat began to really put the boot into his unfortunate enemy, laughing gleefully as he did.

'Everything alright?' A voice drifted in from beyond the doors as the sounds of fighting suddenly ceased. 'You found them?'

'We're fine - thank god. Everyone's fine.' Thea called as Hancock and Nick pushed through the swinging, creaking doors with Dogmeat hot on their heels. He was holding what looked like a stimpak in his jaws. The faithful dog handed it off to his mistress with the lightest of nudges. She took it and gave him a rough, pleased shake of his fur. 'You found him, boy! Well done.'

Dogmeat barked enthusiastically in response, as though the idea of not finding them was ludicrous.

She bent down beside Preston's awestruck face and pulled a bobby pin from her hair to attack the padlock that secured the chains around him. He noticed she was avoiding his eye. 'You came looking for us?'

For the first time, she glanced up at him and he saw the restrained anger in features. 'I thought I wouldn't get here in time, Preston. I thought you'd all be dead.'

The scathingly cold tone of her voice lashed against his inner guilt. For a moment there, he too had thought she wouldn't get there in time. That the mutants would eat them alive or even turn them into mutants themselves. 'I'm sorry,' He murmured. 'I know it doesn't make it right but God, am I sorry.'

She huffed. 'There are easier ways of getting a Jangles, you know.'

From the other side of the room, where Danse was being unchained by Nick, the Paladin replied scathingly 'It had to be one of the earliest toys though, didn't it Garvey?' Preston had the decency to look shamed. Thea looked thoughtful for a moment, as though she'd suddenly connected two seemingly innocuous details.

'Why'd they stuff you in here anyway?' Hancock murmured. 'Not like mutants to leave people alive.' He spotted the barrels of toxic waste and nuclear material. 'Ah, now I get it. Spa day!'

Thea threw him a somewhat annoyed but also amused look as he rolled up his burnt sleeve and dipped his arm into the glowing ooze with a satisfied groan. 'Oh yeah, that feels better.'

Preston stood up, shaking the sleep from his legs as another wave of nausea hit him. Thea was immediately in his vision with the stimpak that Dogmeat had found. 'Here, stay still.' She murmured and pressed the stim to his neck.

In seconds, his vision cleared and he blinked away the last scraps of the headache.

Thea had already moved over to give Nick a hand in pulling Danse out of his battered armour, leaving Hancock, Preston, Dogmeat and Strong - who was still very entertained in turning a fellow super mutant into gooey pink paste.

'Strong, I think he's dead.' Preston murmured.

'Yeah man,' Hancock agreed.

Strong finally stopped battering what was left of the mutant to ask 'How did Han-cock and Val-en-tine find Strong, Puny cowboy and Tin Can?'

'Dog has a hell of a nose.' Hancock replied. 'And an uncanny ability to go above and beyond. He sniffed you out immediately and then made a beeline for here.'

Strong glanced down at the Alsatian and growled lowly 'You would make an excellent mutant hound.' Dogmeat, to his credit, merely tilted his head and whined.

Hancock raised an almost non-existent eyebrow and chuckled 'Okay, but I don't think "Scary Blue Lady" would like that.'

'Maybe not.' Strong agreed.

Preston turned to watch Thea and Nick fighting to get Danse's power armour open. The Paladin was finally released with a grinding pop and slithered out of the damaged circuitry gratefully.

'A timely rescue, Knight!' He commended.

'Your suit is trashed, Danse.' She noted with a frown. 'And we can't leave it here for the mutants to find.'

'No, we can't.' He agreed as he unfolded fully. Even without the armour, Danse was taller and more muscular than Preston. 'That would give them a trophy to gloat over and I won't let that happen.'

'Perhaps Strong might be able to carry it out?' Nick asked evenly.

'He managed to drag Danse and I out of a river.' Preston added. 'Even waterlogged - he could manage it.'

'No.' Danse replied. All eyes turned to him, almost in disbelief. 'What kind of message would that send the commonwealth? If someone should see him carrying my armour?' Danse explained.

'You wanna carry it yourself?' Hancock noted. 'Lemme find a working camera first though - I wanna treasure the picture of you struggling under the weight of your own arrogance for years to come.'

Danse glared, but Hancock merely grinned in the knowledge that he had been given the stinkeye by people scarier and crazier than Danse.

'You have a….point.' Danse grit. 'But can we trust the abomination not to run away with it? He left us there to die!'

'Wouldn't you if it were Strong and I?' Preston demanded. 'There were a lot of super mutants, Danse, and he was on his own - we were too banged up to help him defend us.'

Danse mumbled something but Thea threw him a look and he was quiet. 'We need to get what you came for and get out before more mutants show up.' She replied. 'Their raiding parties are never out for long. I've seen their agendas. Whether you like it or not, Danse, Strong's going to have to carry your armour. Is that okay, Strong?'

The mutant grunted and moved to pick up the armour as Thea glanced around to make sure all was in order. 'Well,' She smiled - that smile vaguely troubled Preston, it was a smile he had seen on her face once or twice before and meant that she knew something that they did not. Something possibly unpleasant for someone. 'Let's get Jangles.'

Outside of the restaurant turned larder there were bodies littering most every surface. Their captors were all dead. Preston was, it had to be said, in awe of the tenacity that Thea must have employed to get to them - alive or dead.

Their guns had been found beside a large steamer trunk of obviously looted items. How many victims did these super mutants have? Almost assuredly, their victims were raiders, but people - ordinary people like scavengers - often tried to find shortcuts to and from large hubs and farms - to save time and earn more. There undoubtedly would have been a trader or settler among those that the mutants had killed.

It felt good to have his musket back in his hands - though even now, it still smelled faintly of sea water and some sort of algae was trying to grow inside the glass charge chamber. It would need a thorough clean when he had the time.

Everywhere Preston looked, there were signs of a fight. Everywhere, he noted, but the ornate rusted steel sculpture that took up the lobby. That too was still clear of bags, blood or bodies. 'What is that?' He repeated.

Thea stared up at it for a moment. 'It's a sculpture of DNA. Every living thing is made of it. I think the museum referred to it as Danny DNA.' She mused.

He hated it. It reminded him of Pickman's own installation a few streets away. He guessed the super mutants knew that it was somehow important too - or falling to bits and useless. Either way, they'd left it alone for a reason. He wasn't going to pretend he knew which one it was.

'You've been here before?' Nick deduced conversationally.

'In another life.' She murmured again, slightly thoughtful. 'Let's go get Jangles.'

The group, after staring solemnly at the sculpture for a second longer trudged onward, towards the intact stairs to the upper floor and the Space Age exhibit.

Chapter Text

A Posteriori

An argument deriving from a subsequent event.

The stairs from ground floor to first were chipped marble and unlikely to break under the weight of the group. Preston couldn't help but be on high alert as they moved up. The whole place was now eerily silent. No mutants, hounds or sounds to be heard. It seemed that the three of their saviours - plus dog had cleaned house. The power of Firecracker and it's owner at work.

He glanced at Thea, noticing perhaps, her sudden enthusiasm to get what they originally came for. Normally, she would have insisted on the long trek back with Preston having been injured, Danse's armour trashed and the lack of food, water or ammo that could stretch to six of them but it seemed that she had a change of heart and was at least willing to take a detour. It made him suspicious, but he trusted her - he'd always trust her. For better or worse. So he followed as she climbed to the second floor.

The Space Age exhibit turned out to be a lot of dusty old machines, plaques and faded flags. A large, bent sign pointed "This way to Jangles the Moon Monkey!". Some pictures hanging on the walls had survived, but not particularly well. Preston was inspecting one called "The Moon Landing" and deciding whether or not the dark blot that looked like it had barely survived the torn photograph was an arm or mould when Thea turned to look at the group.

'It's not the Smithsonian.' She commented. 'But I always liked Boston's Public Science Museum. It's more…. personal.'

'What's a Smithsonian?' Danse frowned.

The Sole Survivor opened her mouth and then clearly thought better of it. 'I think it's better The Brotherhood doesn't know that one.' She replied.

'I'm with you on that.' Nick agreed, to the puzzlement of the rest of the group.

'N'aw, come on. Don't leave us hanging like that!' Hancock bemoaned.

'It's a...Well, I'm not even sure it survived - but it used to be 19 interconnected museums.' Thea sighed. 'And nine research labs. Detailing American and Human history right up to modern day. It was huge, housed the most important artifacts and it was thought to be the biggest collection of artefacts in the world.' She paused, noticing The Paladin was staring at her with his mouth open in shock.

Hancock cackled. 'I think Danse just creamed his shorts.'

He snapped out of it and threw the mayoral ghoul a disgusted look. 'Are we getting the ape or not?'

'It's a monkey, actually. Prehensile tail.' Nick commented.

Preston wasn't going to ask what particular case that fact had come to light in. It just didn't seem worth it, given the topic of discussion.

Dogmeat had scouted ahead and was obviously enjoying himself immensely. He cocked a leg to mark a scale model of the Lunar Lander when Thea snapped 'Don't you dare, boy!' The leg dropped and he whined in apology as she moved over and brushed some of the dust off the large flag sat proudly over one section. '1969. Hard to believe that Automatons and Sentinels werein their infancy.'

'How do you know any of this stuff?' Hancock asked.

'Nate was a history buff.' She murmured. 'Loved museums and military history.' At that, she glanced at Preston and then away as though some things were just too personal and painful to communicate to another human being. He understood. 'This way.' She strode further down the corridor towards the largest cabinet of them all - lit up by spluttering spotlights and a jittery power-source.

This too, was hung with flags - but in the centre was their prize. It was...it was…

'What is that?!' Preston gaped.

'Jangles the Moon Monkey, Preston.' Thea leaned on the buckled metal of the case and smiled knowingly.

It was ugly. It was dusty. It was not the toy that Preston had come for. It was small - half the size of the toys which were almost the size of a two year old - perched on a preserved tree branch with one paw curled inward to it's chest. The other seemed to be used for balance. The whole thing was wrapped in some kind of dirty brown and grey spacesuit, topped by a large glass helmet. 'No it's not! Strong!'

'It Monkey from Moon.' The mutant defended sullenly. 'Puny cowboy man asked - Strong found.'

'It's the ugliest thing I've seen since I looked in the mirror this morning!' Hancock cackled in delight. Danse was also chuckling and there was a certain hint of a smile playing about Thea's face too - she knew. She must've known all along.

'It's called taxidermy.' She informed him. 'Funny thing, but there was a real Jangles the Moon Monkey - first one trained to help astronauts in space - and when he died at the ripe old age of forty - they had him stuffed as a museum curio. Of course - nobody was really interested until Captain Cosmos aired.' She reached out to rub some more dust from the helmet and exposed some more of a sombre little face with patches of rotted fur. Had he looked like that when he died or had some bizarre artizan made him look like that? 'We took Shaun to the unveiling. It was before the bombs fell. He was wrapped in his favourite Jangles the Moon Monkey blanket.' Thea smiled sadly. 'He loved that blanket - "it's all the colours," Nate said.'

Preston groaned inwardly at the look on her face. 'This is not how I wanted this to go.'

She looked up at him and pierced him to the spot with the emotion in her eyes. 'Nothing ever goes how you want it to, Preston. Why did you do this? All of this?'

'Because you needed it. Because without hope and determination - you're not Althea Shapiro.' He replied. 'I know how it feels to be so bogged down in the situation that you see no way out and I couldn't let you stay like that. I need you - the Commonwealth needs you to have that fiery temper and that sense of right and wrong. I just - I wanted to remind you that this isn't the end. And I thought that getting you a Jangles would help you see that.'

'It's sweet.' She said. 'That you care - that you all care. It hasn't been the easiest time for me, getting used to all… All this.' She gestured around the dilapidated room. 'But it could have gone better.'

'Better than a Minuteman, a Brotherhood asshole and a super mutant on a road trip?' Hancock wondered.

'Better than being the target of Gunner retaliation and having a bridge blown up on you?' Nick chipped in.

'Or ending up trapped under a settlement of super mutants?' Danse wondered.

'Puny Cowboy and Tin Can got captured.' Strong grunted.

Dogmeat barked his agreement.

'Okay, so it could have gone a lot better!' Preston half-chuckled in exasperation. 'But we're going to have one hell of a story to tell.'

'If this ever gets out, I'll be court martialed!' Danse replied in outrage. 'We are never discussing this incident ever again.'

Hancock shifted. 'So are we taking Danse's grandpa or what?'

The Paladin gave him a sharp look.

Thea reached out to rub some more dust off the glass helmet. 'It would be wrong to deprive people of the chance to know their history. Would the Brotherhood be open to taking over the building but allowing access to the public?' She asked directly to Danse.

He wrinkled his nose. 'No.' He said. 'The Brotherhood is dedicated to removing pre-war artefacts like these because they're a danger. They wouldn't let farmers wander and look at wherever they wanted.'

'Does that look like a danger?' Nick pointed a skeletal metal thumb at the preserved Jangles. 'If super mutants can survive here without setting off any of the exhibits, I'm sure regular people can.'

'Super mutants smarter than dumb humans.' Strong butted in. 'Super mutants no tinker what they don't understand.'

There was a second's worth of introspective thought there that both marvelled at how seemingly smug and clever that statement was, gently nudged by the thought that most super mutants didn't really understand a lot of what it was they were around as long as it wasn't attacking.

'Can't we do it?' Preston asked. 'The Minutemen-'

'Have enough problems for the foreseeable future.' Thea reminded him. 'We can't play curator while we're hunting The Institute. We're stretched too thin as it is.'

'I can get some locals in on it if we charge maybe a cap or two a tour.' Hancock pitched in. 'Goodneighour's not far from here and there's plenty of settlers looking for steady work.' And nobody wanted to see this place fall back into the hands of the super mutants like the public library had. Preston knew that Daisy had hated to see the public library so misused and Daisy had Hancock's ear.

That seemed to mollify their General somewhat. 'Sounds reasonable.'

'Elder Maxson would not agree.' Danse warned her.

'Elder Maxson can come and air his grievances in person.' She replied in a sickly-sweet tone. 'I'd love to have a chat with him about Brotherhood policy some day.' That would be a firework show that would put their destruction of Tucker Bridge to shame, Preston had no doubt.

'After all this, we're leaving it?' Nick commented.

'It's a part of American history, Nick. Nobody should own history.'

'Sweetheart, if anyone can own history, it's you.' The synth commented quietly.

Thea chuckled - and it was a proper chuckle this time. Not some half-hearted thing she had been showing recently. No matter how the mission - quest - whatever you wanted to call it had gone - it had succeeded in bringing back her spirit which was just fine for Preston. 'It would be contra bonos mores* to deprive people of their heritage. I look forward to a posteriori.'

'After all we've been through, you're just going to leave it in the hands of farmers? This needs protecting-' Danse pushed.

'I'm sure that's what Maxson will say too.' Thea replied jauntily. 'It is being protected. But it is also firmly on display for anyone to see.'

'The Elder won't like that.' He repeated warningly.

'I can live with that.' She said jauntily.

That seemed to be it.

Dogmeat jumped up on Preston to give him a slobbery kiss and the Minuteman felt something move in his torn tunic. Something was prodding him in the ribs. 'Down boy, down.' He muttered quietly and dug a hand into his stiff, water damaged threads.

What came out was slightly cleaner thanks to being rubbed on his clothes. He could see the bright shining face and blonde hair. It was the little vault-boy collectible he'd found in Pickman's. One thumb rubbed gently against the base exposing the ashed letters to the air. Vault-Tec.

Maybe she didn't have to leave without something, after all. The group were now moving back along the corridor and down the stairs. 'Thea! Wait up!' He called and chased after her, Dogmeat nipping at his heels as he caught up. The squabbling group moved out into the rain as Thea lingered back, caught in the glare of the light bouncing from the clouds.

'Something wrong, Preston?' She frowned.

He hesitated, readjusting his hat as nervousness bubbled up to the surface. His hand uncurled from the little thing slowly, showing her the tiny figure holding a padlock and screwdriver. 'We came all this way to get you something and… since Jangles didn't exactly pan out…'

'You found a Vault-Tec bobblehead?' She whispered and gently took it from his fingers, her own digits wiped off years worth of soot and dust. 'This is a rare one!'

'Is it?' He asked in puzzlement.

'Where did you find this?' She asked.

'It was in Pickman's.' He replied. 'We must've missed it on the first go round. I know you collect them as a hobby and it's not Jangles but -' He paused, watching a smile spread across her face. She smiled down at the trinket and then furtively up at where the loud hubbub of the group had gone. It looked like she was weighing up something.

'Thank you, Preston. For everything.' She leaned up and gave him the lightest of kisses on his cheek but he felt the blush rising even as she pulled away. He pulled his hat down low but there was no hiding the small smile he held, just for her.

'Any time, General. Any time.'

'Best go catch up. We've got a long way to go with four people who don't like each other's company very much.' She said slyly.

Preston groaned. 'I've been dealing with that since we left!'

THE END?

Chapter Text

Epilogue 1: Plausible Deniability.

She wore the General's outfit because she knew it pissed Arthur Maxson off to the extreme. The Elder of the Brotherhood would never be crass enough to show it, of course. At least - to start. She'd been reined in early this morning - He'd sent a Vertibird to pick her up on the pretense of an inspection of the ranks but she knew why he'd really hauled her back.

It was to do with the holotape in his hands, she was sure. Danse had reported in yesterday and now she'd been pulled up to see him - it was hardly the kind of detective work that required Nick.

'Can I help you Maxson?' She asked with a wry smile, knowing that the complete lack of formal title would be like a red rag to a bull.

The Holotape hit the table beside her with a loud plastic clatter. 'It is Elder, Knight.' He replied.

'I'm sorry, I'm currently in my hat of office Elder, it's General Shapiro.'

Rather than argue the point, he completely glossed over it and instead chose to focus on why he'd asked - although asked was a bit of a stretch - her to be there. 'Paladin Danse arrived in to report a week late with irreparably damaged power armour and gave me one of the strangest reports I have ever heard, Knight. He cited you as both witness and accessory to one of the most bizarre series of events I have personally read.'

She raised an eyebrow and wondered exactly what he'd said in his report. The truth was far too dumbfounding to be believed. Possibly some sort of heavily edited version of events that featured no super mutant travelling partners or hunts for Jangles the Moon Monkey whatsoever. Not that she could blame him - having Maxson's approval clearly meant something to poor Danse but Thea had actively avoided falling into the approval trap. 'Is this about the Science Museum, Arthur?'

'Yes.' He grit, also choosing to carefully ignore her use of his first name. 'Tell me your version of events.'

She shifted into a much more comfortable pose and said 'Paladin Danse and one of my agents -'

'Your agents?' He interrupted scathingly.

'I am the General of the Minutemen, Arthur.' She replied. 'The agent in question was my second in command - Preston Garvey.'

He gave a bad natured huff and waved for her to continue. She shouldn't really enjoy the look on his face, but she'd always considered Maxson a tantruming little boy in a man's body at best and a self-righteous little prick at worst. 'I was informed that Danse and Garvey had taken it upon themselves to venture out towards the science museum believing that small numbers may succeed where larger numbers failed. I believe that the Brotherhood attempted to enter the same premises not too long ago and failed?' Was that a wince from the great and terrible Maxson? She was honoured. 'This was against my permission and my knowledge.' She added but he merely scoffed.

'Knight, the Paladin not only outranks you, but he is your sponsor.' Maxson replied.

There was that. 'Either way I was concerned enough to take some trusted friends and go after them.'

'Yes.' He intoned in what he probably thought was a judging, worrisome tone. It had little impact on her. When she failed to look suitably unnerved, he instead turned to what looked like a written copy of Danse's report. God she hated the Brotherhood. Anal-retentives, all of them. 'Who accompanied you?'

What would Danse have put into his report? What had he said on the subject of her choice of aid? She decided that honesty - at least a grain of it - would be her best policy. 'The mayor of Goodneighbour and Detective Valentine were gracious enough to offer me some assistance.' She admitted as though the fact that one was a ghoul and the other a Synth were of little importance.

Maxson's lip thinned and the muscles of his face tightened. 'Knight Shapiro, your lack of judgement and foresight will have grave conseq -'

Her temper flared just a little at the clearly scornful tone that the man in front of her had taken. She wasn't about to sit there and let him rail against Hancock and Nick. They were two of the most selfless, honest people in this hellhole of a wasteland and she failed to see why it should matter at all what they were, but inevitably it always did.

This was no longer the time to find amusement in pissing off one of the biggest dangers to the commonwealth. It was time to impose her considerable will onto someone who was used to being intimidating but very inexperienced at having it aimed at himself. 'Arthur Maxson, you listen to me.' She stood and hissed, approaching the Elder of the Brotherhood with all the authority and indignation she could muster. She had been a lawyer, had stood in a court of law - she knew how to make her presence felt to those she wanted it to be. 'That ghoul and that Synth have saved my life more times than I can count - and they saved Danse's life too. You want to talk about consequences? Let's talk. Just how would the Brotherhood of Steel look to the Commonwealth if it ever got out that one of their most superior officers was rescued from super mutants by two of the very same groups that they persecute?'

'Are you threatening me, Knight?' Maxson demanded in horrified rage.

'Absolutely not!' She proclaimed and then leaned in to hiss 'It's a promise. Don't you ever threaten Hancock and Nick and don't you even dare think that you can punish Danse for something he had no control over. He had no idea I was bringing them with me. You want to punish someone then go ahead and punish me, Elder, but just you remember that your Paladin is alive because of those two and if you even think about making their lives hell for helping out - well, with just a few words, I can spread that little bit of information far and wide and there will be nowhere that won't know the Brotherhood for what they are.'

'Get out of my sight, Knight. We will discuss your shortcomings when I have gathered all the relevant facts and considered the seriousness of the infringements.' He growled angrily. His face - around that hideous beard - had gone pink and was fast sliding into magenta. He was barely restrained. She'd clearly hit a nerve and there was a savage sort of triumph in the fact that she could and had done that to the great and terrible Elder of the Brotherhood.

Althea Shapiro ripped off an almost parabolic salute and turned on her heel to leave. She was hardly out of the door before she heard the tide of vicious cussing - and any good soldier knows more than his fair share of swear words.

It wasn't until she was on the vertibird back to Sanctuary that she sat back with a well deserved sigh. Maxson's little witch-hunt would now probably only have one casualty. Danse had been absolved of pretty much all the blame and Maxson would ignore - or at the very least side-step - Nick and Hancock's involvement and go straight for her. He couldn't touch her, really. Oh he could demote her - or maybe even kick her out of the Brotherhood altogether but she'd known that getting the Brotherhood to help her in her quest to save Shaun was a complete long shot. They had been - and probably would always be - focused on dismantling The Institute. One lone little boy and his mother's search to find him were at the bottom of Maxson's concerns about The Commonwealth. At least with Preston and the Minutemen, she could make Shaun the top of their priority list because she made the list.

Althea Shapiro was not going anywhere and she would find her son. She had wobbled slightly, but Preston had helped her gain her determination back. One way or the other, she would find him. Maxson and his Brotherhood be damned.

But she would always have the Science Museum incident like an ace in the hole. Things were going to get slightly easier for the Commonwealth and a lot harder for her. Preston was right, though. She wasn't herself if she wasn't a feisty lawyer who did what needed to be done.

Chapter Text

Epilogue 2: Of moons and Monkeys?

Morning in Sanctuary was a subdued affair. Marcy and Jun Long were always the first up - the first to be hard at work and normally it would just be them and Preston on patrol until the sun had cleared a good distance from the horizon but this time - this time Preston found another early riser lounging in an old, rusted lawn-chair on the concrete garage. Hat pulled low against the weak but bright sunlight and huddled into the coat pretty good, but Preston knew who it was.

He noticed the makeshift table beside the chair with an open bottle of something dark as he approached. Beside that was a radio crooning Connie Allen's Rocket 69 and the one thing they'd managed to salvage from the entire Jangles screw-up. A little vault-boy holding a plastic lock.

The large boots that were resting on the crumbling wooden table were rocking back and forward to the sound of the song. The hat came up and he caught a glimpse of the freckled, smiling face of Althea Shapiro. 'Morning Preston.'

'Morning, General.' He smiled.

'Pull up a lawn chair and grab a cold one - Nuka Cola, of course.' She added seeing the look on his face. 'Thought it was about time I cut back.' Thea said with a nostalgic smile down at the faded sticker.

He leaned against one of the peeling posts holding the garage's roof up and nodded in understanding. Patently, Nick and Hancock had finally had that little talk with her about her love of the bottle. Preston had never felt comfortable calling her out on her crutch. 'I'm sorry you didn't get a pristine Jangles.'

The smile morphed into a grin. 'What would I have done with it anyway?'

She had a point. What would she have done with the toy? It would have sat in her son's old crib and mouldered further. 'I heard The Brotherhood sent a Vertibird yesterday.' He murmured, changing the subject.

'Yep.' She agreed and leaned over for the bottle.

'How did that...go?' Preston asked warily, aware of her thoughts on Arthur Maxson and The Brotherhood as a whole.

Thea took a good swig of it. 'Went as well as I could have expected.' She shrugged. 'Danse is still a borderline case but most of them are a lost cause. We're not missing much by cutting them off.'

'Glad to hear it.' he agreed and stood a little straighter. 'Did you have that talk with Strong?'

Althea's hat dipped as she took another swig of Nuka Cola.

'Thea?' He pressed.

'I don't want to break his heart.' She replied. 'Telling him what the Milk of Human Kindness is after all this would hurt him. Or maybe he wouldn't believe me.' She replied.

'He's going to find out some way.' Preston sighed. 'But maybe you're right. Things've just got quiet around here. What are our plans now...General?'

The hat finally came up and she gave him a curious look before it morphed into a chuckle. Her fingers tapped the bottle before she turned to Preston, her hat of office giving her shade against the sunrise. 'I heard rumours about a ship lodged in a bank east of Bunker Hill. They're all wigging out about it. Wanna check it out?'

'A ship?' Preston asked dubiously. 'As in -'

'Sail the high seas, buccaneer, ahoy maties ship.' Thea nodded. 'Apparently it's filled with robots.' He was wary about getting into anything so soon after the Jangles incident but when he looked up at her and smiled, she knew she'd won him over.

'Sounds like a mystery to me.' He conceded.

'Arrr!' She agreed with a laugh and raised her soft drink in triumph.

Around here, things were never quiet for too long.

THE END.