Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Nick Valentine was no stranger to Goodneighbor. When someone in Diamond City goes missing, there’s a good chance they’re hiding out in the Hotel Rexford or The Third Rail, sleeping around and buying chems without the scrutiny of friends and family. The more permanent residents of the neighborhood often came to him with stories of missing family members or stolen goods. So it wasn’t odd when the guard at the gate greeted Nick by name and pulled him into a loose hug, thanking him again for finding their lost kid. He never found it strange when he was offered a drink at the bar or a small handful of caps, for some favor he did months ago.

But, like all good relationships, it didn’t start out that way.

Nick can’t remember how long it’s been since he first walked up to Goodneighbor, his good hand rubbing the garish hole in neck awkwardly. He made no effort to hide the fact that he was a synth. It was impossible. Ferals had left him with a bare metal arm and a heap of exposed wiring on his face. He knew there was something visibly off about his remaining skin and that there was no mistaking his eyes for human. He made people nervous, that was understandable, but he hadn’t expected the suited man at the gate to point a gun at him.

“Just what the hell are you? A robot?”

Nick lowered his hand, feeling a bit more exposed as the guard narrowed his eyes further at the bare spot on his neck. “Suppose you could say that. You, uh, gonna lower that gun?”

The ghoul did the exact opposite and jabbed Nick in the chest with the barrel, forcing him back. “I don’t like the looks of you.” The response was nearly growled at him.

He flinched at the jab and cautiously brought his hands up in a gesture of peace. Still, he mustered a smile and a nervous chuckle. “I thought Goodneighbor was supposed to be accepting?”

The guard couldn’t deny that fact. Nick may have never visited before, but he knew it’s motto. “Well, where’d ya’ come from? You sound human enough.”

Good question. He deflected it without a second thought. “Do you interrogate every drifter who comes through here like this?”

“Never seen anythin’ like you. I don’t like it, don’t want you stirrin’ up any trouble.” The guard shifted his gun and kept it firmly aimed at Nick’s chest. With the guard’s finger planted on the trigger, the stern look in his eyes, and the resentment in his voice, Nick knew things weren’t exactly looking up for him. He also knew the trail didn’t end here, the good Mr. Anderson he was trying to find had connections in Goodneighbor. But if he couldn’t get in, his investigation effectively came to a halt. He couldn't let that happen.

“I want to talk to your boss.”

The guard raised an eyebrow. “Hancock?” There was a heavy silence, as the guard thought about it. Nick kept his eyes on the gun, ready to bolt if things went south. Finally, the guard shrugged. “Yeah, I can see if he’s around, but don’t think he’ll do you any favors.”

And so Nick Valentine waited. Outside the walls of Goodneighbor, gunfire echoing it’s way across the empty city of Boston. The bullet holes in his worn jacket gave him enough reason to be apprehensive of the noise. His grip tightened around the stock of a cheap pipe pistol, held together with nothing but duct tape and good old fashioned faith. The gate opened.

A rough ghoul voice beckoned him through the gate, “Come on in, we ain’t the type to leave anyone out in the cold. Human or not.” Valentine entered, a little cautiously, but the guard was looking sheepishly at the ground. The mayor, or who he assumed was the mayor, hadn’t even glanced at Nick yet, still berating the sentinel.

The mayor was dressed in some odd outfit that Nick couldn’t place. The tricorn hat was definitely reminiscent of something out of the Revolutionary War, however, the coat and scarf tied around his waist seemed a bit more pirate-ish. Nick didn’t quite understand what look the ghoul was going for, but he appreciated the style anyway.

“Like what you see?” Nick looked up to see the ghoul smirking at him.

“What’s with the fancy get up?”

He shrugged. “I like it. And it looks like I’m not the only one playing dress up. You supposed to be a detective?”

Nick had never meant to go for the classic “noir cop” style, but he had to admit that it was definitely growing on him. Or maybe that was the Old Nick talking. “I’m looking for a George Pierce. You know where I might find him?”

“Guess that’s a yes.” He folded his arms and studied Nick. It was still uncomfortable, but at least he wasn’t at gunpoint this time. “Tell you what, since you got such a rude introduction to this fair city, I’ll personally escort you to him.” He held out a scarred hand. “Mayor Hancock at your service.”

Nick didn’t recognize the name. He thought he would have at least heard of Goodneighbor’s mayor, especially one with such a...unique style. Hell, he didn’t really think that Goodneighbor was the type of place to have a mayor. “Nick Valentine.” He shook Hancock’s hand, opting to keep the metal one hidden in a coat pocket. Hancock threw him a polite smile and began walking.

“So, I didn't want to bring up your looks, seeing as we're both a bit...aesthetically challenged, but I gotta ask: are you a synth?”

The mayor seemed more curious than anything and sounded relaxed, which was better than most people when inquiring about his origins. “Yeah, a prototype if I had to guess. I don't know much about it myself.”

Hancock nodded and he looked lost in thought. “What exactly do you need George for?”

Nick launched into a recap of his investigation. It was a real dramatic one, with lost soulmates and a Chem deal gone awry. But, most importantly, Anderson had taken a kid with him when he fled, effectively turning the case into a kidnapping. It was one of the bigger cases Nick had gotten in his short time as a detective. He was determined to the bottom of it.

“You do all this for a living?” Hancock asked. He sounded rather impressed with the whole ordeal.

Nick shrugged. “Suppose I do, but a lot of my clients don't exactly pay. Honestly? I do it because I enjoy it.”

“I can respect that.” Hancock paused for a few moments and turned to Nick. There was a glimmer of something in his eye, respect or admiration. Hard to tell, considering they were pitch black. He continued a bit more quietly, “This is Goodneighbor, ‘of the people, for the people.’ You seem alright to me, so if anyone gives you shit, tell me and I'll take care of it. Got it?”

Nick was taken aback by the mayor’s offer. It took people weeks, if not months to warm up to his appearance. Hell, he'd spent years in Diamond City and people there were still skittish around him. Nick didn't completely understand why the ghoul was so quick to trust him and was slow to respond with a nod, “Of course. Thanks.”

Nick left the hotel with a short wave to the receptionist. He shouldn’t be upset, he had found George Pierce. Well, his body. And more Jet in one place than he’d ever seen in his life. At the very least, the detective had gathered enough evidence to give him a good idea where Mr. Anderson was hiding out.

The streets were empty, spare a few junkies and a guard asleep on a bench. Classy place. Nick was ready to head back out to Diamond City, when a hand clutched the sleeve of his coat and yanked him into an alleyway. A dirty face with bloodshot, yellow-tinged eyes stared back at him.

“If you wanted to talk, all you had to do was ask.” Nick forced a smile as his free hand reached for his pistol. The drifter grabbed the collar of Nick’s shirt and in a surprising display of strength, slammed him up against a wall. Nick winced at the cracking sound he heard.

“Listen here, you fuckin’ synth.” The words were practically spat at him. Nick’s eyes were on the knife being pointed at his face. “I know what you’re up to. I know all about you robots and your plan. Takin’ over the Commonwealth and killing innocent people, I know it because my friend is dead because of you bastards!”

Nick didn’t want to risk fighting back with a knife just inches from his throat. So he tried to talk his way out. “Alright, calm down. I’m not su-”

“You want me to calm down?” The knife was shoved at his eyes, just avoiding hitting them by an inch. Nick flinched. That wasn’t good. “You know what else was calm? The fuckin’ robot that gunned down my friend, that thing was calm too! I don’t know what made you or whatever, but I’m puttin’ an end to you right now.”

Nick was starting to believe the guy. It was hard reasoning with someone high on, Buffout? Psycho? It was hard to tell, but Nick was going to give it a try anyway. He didn't get a word in edgewise before the knife was plunged into Nick’s chest. It didn’t do much.

“What? What the hell?” The man looked down at the knife stuck in Nick’s chest and then back at his judgemental stare. “Fuckin’ robots.” Before Nick could respond, the drifter drew a gun.

“Seth?” The voice made the man jump and pull the trigger, lodging a bullet straight into Nick’s arm. It must have struck some sort of synthetic nerve from the pain that immediately consumed the limb. “Jesus christ, Seth!” The drifter spun around.

“Hancock, hey, just takin’ care of something for you.”

Nick looked up from grimacing at his arm and saw the mayor he had met earlier. Hancock looked at him with a sympathetic glance and then turned to his assailant. “Seth, what the hell are you doing?”

“He’s a robot, Hancock! He’s one of those things that killed Aaron! I was protecting everyone here.”

“This ain’t protection, this is murder. Now, you got any proof that this man killed your friend?”

The drifter stepped closer towards Hancock, waving the gun as he talked. “Do I need proof? How, how can you even trust a robot? That just ain’t human or anything.”

Hancock closed the space between them and placed a hand on man’s shoulder. “I can’t let you stay here if you’re just gonna murder anyone you feel like. Of the people, for the people.”

“Get your hand off of me! That thing isn’t human, so don’t pull that shit.”

Hancock reached a hand behind his back and gave the man a hard stare. “Sorry to hear ya say that, Seth.” And then he drove a knife into the man’s stomach.

With the man writhing on the ground, screaming all sorts of obscenities at the two standing, Hancock turned to Nick with an apologetic smile. “Sorry about that.”

Nick took his eyes off the bleeding man to meet Hancock's. “Guess you really were serious about that offer earlier.”

“‘Course I was. C’mon, let’s get outta here. I know someone who might be able to patch you up.”

Chapter Text

“Ten caps says you can’t swipe the handcuffs offa’ that guard.”

The comment was accompanied by a friendly jab in the ribs from Cait’s elbow. MacCready looked over to see a mischievous grin plastered on her face. He chuckled softly and eyed the guard with a cautious glance. “Sole’s gonna be back soon.”

The redhead gave him a look. “What? You ain’t up for a challenge?” She dug into a pocket and presented him a palmful of caps. “C’mon, could buy yourself a beer with this kinda money.”

It was tempting. He’d done plenty of pickpocketing whenever he was short on money. Which was far more often than he’d like. It wasn’t something he’d ever done for fun, but he knew he couldn’t turn down Cait without being mocked for a week. And caps were caps, no matter the amount. It was an easy decision.

MacCready reached for the money, but she snapped her hand back with a smirk. “Ya don’t think I’m that stupid? Get the handcuffs and then we’ll trade.”

“Fine.”

The guard was standing watch at the corner of the greenhouse, illuminated solely by Valentine’s gaudy neon advertisements. MacCready could make out the gleam of handcuffs dangling from his back pocket. That would be easy enough.

MacCready shoved his hat at Cait and rustled a hand through his hair, giving it a disheveled look. Shooting a smug smirk at her, he set off towards the cop. He tried to ignore the muffled laughter behind him.

MacCready began humming under his breath, trying his best to sound as drunk as possible, and approached the guard from behind. He took a few lumbering steps and threw his shoulder into the guard’s back.

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!” The guard stumbled forward, flailing an arm cartoonishly and nearly dropping his gun. MacCready hooked a single cuff on his thumb as he pulled away.

“Ah jeez, watch where you’re goin’!” MacCready thrust an accusing finger towards the guard and swayed uneasily. He tucked the handcuffs into his back pocket with his other hand.

The guard righted himself and shoved the barrel of his gun towards MacCready. “Watch where I'm goin’? Who do ya think you're talkin’ to’, pal?”

He mustered up the best drunken laugh he could in spite of the gun and stepped back from the guard. “I couldn't see you with alla that...black you're wearing.”

The guard lowered the gun a bit. “You, ah, have a bit too much to drink there, buddy?”

“Pfffft, ‘course not.”

“Well, why don't you come with me. Sleep it off so you're not bothering anyone else. Heh, could put Steve in charge of ya, that'll teach him.”

Well, sh- crap. That wasn't part of the plan. “Nooo, I've gotta...get back...to, uh,” he was mercifully cut off by a heavy arm being swung over his shoulders.

“Tough shit, mate. He's with me.”

The guard gave them a ‘hmph’ and settled back against the wall. “Just keep him outta trouble.”

With a curt nod, Cait led him away from the guard. As soon as they were out of sight, she pulled away with a guffaw of laughter. She quieted herself down to muffled giggles when MacCready gestured back towards the guard with a frown.

“Bloody hell, that was terrible! Didja’ get the handcuffs?” He pulled them out from a back pocket. Cait snatched them from his hands with a look of disbelief. “Wow, didn't think you had it in ya. Can't believe that idiot guard actually bought that.”

MacCready was admittedly proud of the whole procedure in spite of Cait’s mockery. “Yeah, well, I'm pretty good at that stuff. Caps?”

She rolled her eyes and dumped the ten caps into his outstretched hand. “Now I gotta figure out what to do with these.”

“Hold on, it’s your turn now!” MacCready was all hyped up on adrenaline now and there was no way he was ending the night with this. He wracked his brain for something else to do and quickly came up with a solution, “C’mon, you can get us some whiskey from Nick’s personal stash.”

“And just why would I do that?”

It seemed pretty obvious to MacCready. “Uh, free alcohol?”

She shrugged. “Fair point.”

After looping around the city to bypass the guard, they came to a stop at Nick’s office. Sole had left the pair outside as they went in and talked. And then Sole emerged with the detective in tow and said they’d “be back”. Whatever that meant, because Cait and MacCready had been lounging outside for what felt like hours before she suggested some fun with the guard.

“You got any bobby pins?”

MacCready looked up from fixing his hair with a frown. “Why don’t you have any?”

“Oh I dunno, prolly cause I ran out. C’mon, cough ‘em up.” She held out an expectant hand as MacCready plucked a few from the belt on his hat with an irritated grumble.

Nick’s office was locked, that was no surprise, but the fact that his lock was so easy to pick was. It only took a few prods with the lower prong of the bobby pin, waiting to hear that telltale click, and then it was free. Cait stood up, and with a silent gesture towards MacCready, snuck inside.

The office was abandoned, and besides the quiet hiss of a running fan, silent. Cait stepped over to the desk, giving the unstable looking stacks of paper and boxes a wide berth. There was a spread of files on his desk, accompanied by an ashtray and coffee mug full of pens. She looked over at MacCready and hissed, “Where’s this secret stash?”

“Sole said it was in his office somewhere.” He honestly wasn’t sure why Sole even mentioned that to him. They had to have known that nothing good could have come from that.

After the careful perusal of Valentine’s seemingly endless collection of case files, MacCready stumbled across a drawer stocked with various bottles of whiskey and scotch. He beckoned Cait over with a wave and with a silent agreement, the two of them grabbed a few bottles. It’s not like he would notice, what does a robot do with three bottles of scotch? At least, that’s how MacCready tried to justify it.

After stocking up and reorganizing his desk to make it look like they hadn’t been rummaging through it, they began to head towards the exit. That was when MacCready heard a click from the door. With a hushed, “Crap!”, he grabbed Cait’s arm and ducked behind the desk. As Cait opened her mouth to complain, the door opened.

“Fuck."

“Nick? You here?” A voice called out from the doorway. It must be his assistant, Ellen or whatever her name was. There was silence, then footsteps. The pair held their breath. MacCready prayed she wouldn’t look behind the desk. Cait was already planning her escape. There was a creak of a floorboard and a “hm”. The footsteps moved further away. More quietly, “Guess he must have left for Sanctuary. Coulda left me a note.”

Cait was the first to stand up, after hastily sneaking a look over the desk. She inched towards the door silently and MacCready was quick to follow. They were at the door when he stepped on a loose board, the floor beneath him squeaking noisily. He froze. Cait shot him a glare, mouthing a silent, “What the fuck?”

There was a sound from the back room. “Hey, is someone out there? We’re closed right now.”

Cait reached for the door and pushed it open, waving MacCready over with a bottle of whiskey. He stepped forward, shifting his weight off the floorboard. The creak of the floor seemed even louder this time. Cait rolled her eyes and darted out the door, MacCready close behind.

Right outside, of course, was the guard MacCready had harassed earlier. Cait skidded to a stop, bottles in hand clanking loudly. The guard stared at her. MacCready stood a few feet away, tossing a hesitant glance between the two. The guard’s eyes darted down to Cait’s belt, where a pair of handcuffs dangled.

MacCready was the first to run and Cait was close behind with cackling laughter. Further behind them, a baffled voice shouted, “Wait, was that shit stolen? Hey, get back here!”

It was a short sprint to the house Sole owned, lovingly nicknamed the Home Plate by the dork. They had given MacCready a spare key once, a decision they’d probably now realize was a mistake. With an armful of alcohol, he dug into a pocket, desperately trying to find it.

“Jesus, hurry it up, Mac!” Cait hissed beside him, scanning the marketplace for the guard that was undoubtedly chasing after them.

“Sorry, didn’t think I’d be spending my night running from the cops,” he bit back, finally grasping the key and shoving it towards the lock. The door opened, the pair scrambled inside, and desperately slammed it shut. MacCready was quick to lock it again before settling on a beat up couch with Cait.

She took one look at MacCready and burst into laughter. The two sat giggling stupidly for a few minutes. Eventually, Sole’s magazines were tossed to the side and the bottles were sat carefully on the coffee table in front of them.

“So,” Cait ventured, casting MacCready a grin, “know any good drinkin’ games?”

Chapter Text

Danse missed the Brotherhood. He missed his old comrades, Scribe Haylen, Knight Rhys, Proctor Ingram. The other paladins. He missed the order, the structure. The food, no matter how much he mocked it. Vertibird missions. Helping new knights with their power armour. The idea of belonging to a team. He hadn’t, however, expected to miss coffee so much.

Danse hadn’t had coffee since his exile from the Brotherhood. It must be a drug, because he even went through withdrawal symptoms, pathetic as that sounded. After he was relocated to Sanctuary, one of the first things he did was try and make some coffee. He quickly discovered that that was impossible. He tried buying it in Diamond City and Goodneighbor when he visited with Sole, but the vendors just laughed in his face.

He didn’t quite understand why he liked it so much. It honestly didn’t make sense for a machine to crave something. Were synths supposed to be affected by caffeine? Was this some sort of flaw in his programming? But he didn’t dwell on that for too long. Instead, when he got the sudden itch for it again, he went to the only one he thought might know where to find some.

No, not Sole, he didn’t want to bother them with such an inane request. He went to his second best option.

“Excuse me, Codsworth?”

The robot spun around, eyes widening in surprise. “Oh, Paladin Danse! How good to see you, sir!” He paused as if suddenly realizing something and waved one of his arms. “Oh, but I suppose that title no longer applies. My most sincere apologies to you. Ah, what can I do for you?”

Danse heaved a sigh. It was nice hearing his old title, but knowing it held no weight always brought back that heavy feeling in the pit of his stomach. He tried to ignore it. “I have a...peculiar request. Do you know how to make coffee?”

“Of course I do!” The robot almost sounded offended that Danse would think otherwise. “By Jove, I’ve been waiting for someone to ask me that for...well, 200 years! Sole, they never liked coffee. It would seem that no one else in this wasteland has such a refined taste either.”

Danse wondered why he hadn’t asked the robot butler earlier. That probably would have been more logical. “Is there any chance you could prepare some?”

Codsworth faltered a bit. “Well, there is a slight problem there, sir. The Commonwealth seems to be sorely lacking in coffee beans. Which, as you understand, is a vital component.”

“Oh. I see.” Obviously he would need coffee beans. But, when Danse tried to remember where they acquired coffee on the Prydwen, he came up with nothing. Maybe they grew it? He certainly never noticed anything that looked like coffee beans. Quinlan would have no interest in looking for them, perhaps it was Teagan?

Then he remembered something. A quaint, little shop packed with feral ghouls he and his squadron had come across. It felt like ages ago now, but he knew exactly where it was located. Hard to forget when he almost lost his life there. When scavenging the location, they had stumbled across a good supply of coffee beans. Sealed in some sort of container. It was nothing remarkable, or necessary, so his team left them.

“If I can acquire some, could you brew it then?”

Codsworth considered this, humming. “Most likely. But, if I may ask, where are you going to find coffee beans? This is a post-apocalyptic wasteland.”

“A coffee shop.”

They embarked on the quest for coffee an hour later, Codsworth insisted on accompanying him. When the duo informed Sole, they doubled over laughing. “I’m sure Preston knows a recipe for some.”

“Actual coffee?” Danse had seem him drinking something. It certainly wasn’t coffee, or any coffee he was familiar with.

Sole made a vague hand gesture. “Not really.”

That was unacceptable. Danse had his synthetic heart set on actual, homebrewed coffee. After confirming his mission, Sole wished them luck. “If you find any, be sure to bring me back a caffè latte with extra sugar.”

It was an hour hike to find the building, but they arrived without much trouble. Codsworth bobbed ahead and peered in through the intact windows. Danse scanned the perimeter. “Looks all clear to me, sir!”

“Affirmative. Last time I was at here, we came across a pack of ferals. Stay on guard.” Laser rifle in hand, Danse pushed the door open. He heard the low, raspy snarls of ghouls. Of course. He held the door for Codsworth and when the two were fully inside, a small band of ferals had their eyes on them.

“Firing!”

“Right behind you, sir!”

The ferals lunged forward, tripping over themselves to reach the pair. Danse fired off a barrage of shots, knocking two of the abominations to the ground. He dashed behind a counter for cover and took out another with a careful shot to its head. Codsworth, in an impressive display of sawblades and fire, charged the remaining ghouls. They went down quickly and Danse lowered his weapon with a look of surprise.

“Not bad, considering you’re a robot.”

Codsworth shook the blood off of his appendages, responding with a cheerful tone, “And a Mr. Handy model to boot!”

Danse sidestepped the corpse at his feet with a grimace and entered the kitchen. He began digging around, opening cupboards and rifling through drawers. Codsworth hovered over his shoulder. “Are you quite sure there’s coffee here? I understand that this is a coffee shop, however…” The robot trailed off as Danse shot him a look.

“I remember seeing it. The coffee beans were in a sealed container. It must have been pre-war technology and they looked quite fresh.” He dropped to his knees, pulling open the cupboards closest to the floor. “Fresh as any organic material two hundred years old can be.” Danse wrenched open a cupboard and let out a soft gasp. Stacks of tin cans, each with identical labels identifying them as coffee, stood untouched, if not a little dusty. He picked one up.

“I suppose I shouldn’t have doubted you, sir!” Codsworth bobbed a little closer, peering at the little window on top of the can. The container was packed with chocolate colored beans. Danse could almost smell them. He tried to twist the top off, pulling at it futily. “Perhaps we should return to Sanctuary? I can prepare the coffee there.”

And so they set off towards home, Danse with an armful of canisters and Codsworth with a bag, sufficiently packed with the tins, hanging off an arm.

Danse and Codsworth huddled around the centuries old coffee machine. There was no telling if it would successfully work, they had patched the machine up to their best ability, or if the coffee would actually be edible. Seconds passed. The air was tense as the machine droned on. The kitchen, devoid of any other life, was silent bar the hum of the struggling coffee maker.

“Hey, is that coffee I smell?”

Codsworth jumped at the sound, arms flailing and bumping against the counter noisily. Danse whirled around and silenced the confused Preston with a sharp, “Shhh!”

“Oh. Uh, sorry then.” Preston turned and left after casting the pair a bemused look. Danse rolled his eyes. Of course the wastelander would have no respect for real coffee.

“Danse, sir! Look!” Codsworth shouted, tapping him with an arm. Danse spun around and looked at the steady trickle of coffee emptying into Sanctuary’s cleanest coffee mug. Before too long, the cup was filled to the brim with a dark, scalding-hot liquid. Danse and Codsworth exchanged a glance. Danse picked it up, keeping his hand steady.

It smelled incredible. He instantly remembered every lethargic morning in the mess hall, every late night stuck fixing his gear, every loathed dawn patrol. Sharing a coffee with the new recruits when they asked him for his war stories. Haylen bringing him a fresh cup before he headed out on an evening patrol. It was nice.

“Sir?” Codsworth prompted, waiting patiently as Danse stood there silently. Though Codsworth had never had coffee, or the ability to, he was eager to see the results of their endeavor.

“Right.” Danse took a tentative sip of the coffee. It stung and burnt his tongue, making him recoil with a wince. But it was great. It was bitterly strong and he made a mental note to find some sugar, but it was leagues better than anything on the Prydwen. Maybe there were good things in the Commonwealth after all.

Codsworth took the pleased expression on the soldier's face as a good sign. He felt just as ecstatic that he was able to help him. This is what he was made to do. Not just make coffee, but it was something he had sorely missed in his 200 years of waiting. “How is it, sir?”

Danse smiled, taking another sip. “Outstanding.”

Chapter Text

“Hancoooock!” Deacon waltzed into the room, greeting the ghoul with a lazy smile. With Sole off on some mission with MacCready, Danse and X6 gone on patrols, and everyone else working, he had no one to bother. It took Deacon upwards of an hour to actually find Hancock. The room was located in the ass-end of Sanctuary in a very abandoned looking house. “How’s it hanging, my blazin’ raisin?”

Hancock acknowledged him with a nod, hardly looking up from the book in his hands. He was wrapped up in a fuzzy looking blanket and appeared to be entirely engrossed in the novel. Deacon, his interest piqued, plopped down next to him with a curious look. “Whatcha reading?”

Hancock’s eyes lit up. He never had the chance to talk about this shit. “It’s a great read, takes place in the Commonwealth. There’s this weird kid who pretty much everyone hates, he’s a bit of a creep, and he starts getting into witchcraft. He reads this Latin book and then some shit goes down. Then there’s this giant monster that destroys a town. And the monster is invisible.” Hancock glanced at Deacon and was happy to see that he actually looked interested. “It’s pretty great.”

“Hold up, is that Lovecraft?” Deacon tilted his head to an obscene angle to read the name listed on the spine. Sure enough, he could just make out the faded name, ‘H.P Lovecraft.’ “Aw man, I love me some Lovecraftian horror!”

Hancock laughed and a surprised grin stretched across his face. “You’re not bullshitting me, are ya? Didn’t take you as much of a reader.”

“Hancock, my dude, you have no idea.” Deacon placed a hand over his heart and nodded solemnly. “I love all that old world stuff. Lovecraft, he’s kind of a prick, but he has some good books. Now, those old spy novels, like Fleming and Carré, that’s where it’s at.”

“No shit.” He set the Lovecraft aside and bent forward, throwing an arm under the couch. He returned with a dusty looking book. “You ever read this one?”

Deacon took the book from his hands, turning it over with an interested look. The cover was worn beyond all recognition, but there were still words printed on the back. “Steinbeck?”

Hancock nodded and tapped the book with a finger. “A family hikes it across the Mojave or California or whatever is over there and some bad shit happens. One of my favorites.”

“Never even heard of it.” Deacon flipped through the pages and, incredibly, it was completely intact. Some of the pages were torn at the corners or wrinkled, but it was still readable. “But with a such a glowing review, I gotta check it out.”

“You can go ahead and borrow it, just make sure it gets back to me in one piece, alright?” Anything from the old world in such good condition was hard to come by and something as fragile as a book? Nearly impossible. He trusted Deacon wouldn’t do anything too stupid with it.

“Does the National Library of Hancock allow overdue books?”

Hancock’s subsequent glare told Deacon he was serious about the book thing. “Just read the damn book.”

And Deacon read it. And then he hiked to one of the Railroad’s nearby outposts and stole a few books from the stash to bring back to Hancock. Besides Sole, no one else ever had any interest in old world novels like he did. Everyone else was either into boring old textbooks or comicbooks. Deacon could appreciate the occasional Grognak, but he would take a Tolkien or Vonnegut any day of the week.

Turns out that the two of them made up quite the post-apocalyptic book club. They swapped novels and read them with an efficiency that would surprise most coursers. Their discussions were, admittedly, a little lacking, but the pair enjoyed them. Their specialty was their book recommendations. Deacon always knew just the right book Hancock would love and in turn, Hancock broadened Deacon’s horizons with more obscure books.

“I got a new one for ya, brought it back from my place. This old guy and his kid are in this wasteland. Like, imagine the Commonwealth but a hundred times worse. And let me tell you, it is fucked up. And this one I’m nearly finished with. A bunch of kids are on this island and they kill each other. Sounds kinda messed up, right?”

“Sick. I’m down for it, though.” Deacon pulled a handful from a bag slumped beside his feet. “You’ve read Orwell, right?” Hancock shook his head and Deacon was honestly astounded. “He is straight up your alley. I know you’re into that political stuff. Down with the man? Big Brother is watching?” He tossed the paperback at the ghoul. “And this one, the main dude kinda reminds me of you. Loves partying and staring at green lights for hours on end. How do you feel about fantasy?”

Hancock shrugged. “I’m always down for some dragons.”

“Well, there’s no dragons, but there is a talking lion. Thought you might appreciate that.”

The pair sat side by side on the couch, tucked away in the same room in the back corner of Sanctuary. By now they gathered together with such regularity that it was pretty much their official hideout. Deacon liked to call it the Throwback Shack. Because it was full of old world books, get it?

They made it nice. Warm and hospitable. Deacon hauled in the various books he had scattered throughout the Commonwealth and Hancock dragged in spare blankets and pillows, making the place as cozy as he could. Deacon got Sole to wire the place with some lights. Hancock had a stash of snacks. Even if the other person wasn’t around, it was a nice place to hide out in. Both of them needed the time alone, though they never talked about that.

“Deacon, you like that flowery writing, right? The kinda artsy style?”

Deacon shrugged and cast the ghoul a glance from over his sunglasses. “Sure, but that doesn’t mean I wanna read any of your poetry.”

“You might like this one. It’s kinda weird and it’s got death in it. Like, as a character.” Hancock squinted at the page. “You have any idea what Nazis are?”

Deacon nodded. “They’re a bunch of mad scientists who took over the world once.”

Hancock looked back at the book in his hands, wide-eyed. “Huh.”

There was one issue though. Hancock did not know when to shut up about spoilers.

The mayor lounged in one of their beanbag chairs, staring at the ceiling. They were in the middle of a very serious discussion concerning a favorite series of his. “I’m just saying. Snape’s not all that bad.”

Deacon scoffed. “Snape? The guy with the greasy hair? Have we even been reading the same book?”

“Yeah, I know what you’re thinking. He bullied that short kid, he has a stick up his ass, and he even killed Dumbledore, but in the end the thing is-”

“Wait, what?” Hancock stopped and watched Deacon’s eyebrows shoot up.

He sat up on his elbows, trying not to sink even deeper into the beanbag chair. “What?”

Deacon looked speechless. “Snape kills Dumbledore?”

“Yeah, remember the Half-Blood Prince?”

Deacon slumped forward, elbows on his knees and head in his hands. “Dude, I’m still on the fourth book. A spoiler warning would have been nice.” He actually sounded like he was about to cry.

“Oh.” Hancock had never seen Deacon so despondent. He looked like someone just killed a puppy in front of him. “Oh shit.” He held back a laugh, hand covering his mouth. “Are you serious?”

Deacon turned to the ghoul with an exasperated look. With a dramatic flip of his head, he whipped off his sunglasses. “I have never been more serious about anything in my life.”

Hancock stared into Deacon’s eyes. Deacon stared into Hancock’s eyes. The moment lasted for a few seconds before Deacon broke and burst into laughter. “Holy crap, I can’t believe you actually fell for that!” He doubled over, face in his hands. Now it sounded like he was actually crying, just for a different reason. Hancock really, really, should have seen that coming.

Hancock, with a heavy roll of his eyes, got to his feet. “Alright, I’m outta here.”

Deacon reigned in his giggling, the little shit was way too proud of himself over such a dumb joke, and called after him, “Same time tomorrow?”

“Same time tomorrow.”

Chapter Text

MacCready steadied his hands with a breath, nestled the crosshairs just above the feral’s mouth, and pulled the trigger. He looked away from the scope and grinned as it toppled over. “One point for me.”

Danse, a few feet ahead of him, tossed a look behind his shoulder. His usual “no fun allowed” look. “We’re not doing this.”

MacCready laughed softly to himself and asked, “Not doing what? You afraid to lose to a ‘civilian’?”

“It’s not that. We simply do not have time for such...games.”

“Are you kidding me? Sanctuary is miles away. We have all the time in the world.”

Danse was starting to regret agreeing to Sole’s request. Delivering orders to Preston Garvey was one thing, but spending the hike there with such an...insolent mercenary was another task entirely. He honestly would have preferred the risk of travelling alone.

“We have an important objective, we should focus on that instead.”

MacCready scoffed. “Alright, whatever.” It was a few seconds later that he quietly added, “Chicken.”

Danse rolled his eyes.

It wasn’t too long after their conversation, the rest of the walk silent besides MacCready’s terrible whistling, that they came across a bridge. A small horde of ferals crowded around it, draped over abandoned cars and stumbling along the railing.

MacCready, gave a noise of disgust knelt down and immediately brought the scope of his rifle to his eye. With the first one killed, the rest rose with irritable snarls. Danse charged forward and yelled, “Opening fire!” MacCready, with a smirk, picked off each ghoul that Danse leveled his rifle at. The ex-paladin would go to shoot at one only to have it tumble backwards with half a head. It was really kinda funny.

“Stop that at once, citizen!” Danse shouted over the snarling ghouls as the nearest one collapsed yards away from him.

The only response he got was a, “Six!”

Danse frowned. As MacCready began reloading, Danse took the opportunity to finish off the remaining three ghouls with a flurry of shots and a bash from his laser rifle. When MacCready walked over, looking satisfied with their work, Danse reported, “I believe that’s three points for me.”

“Yeah, well I’m still twice as good as you. Doesn’t the Brotherhood teach their soldiers anything?”

They carried on, MacCready taking every chance he could to stop and shoot at something off in the distance. Danse was more reckless than he wanted to be in firefights, charging towards enemies just to get a shot in before MacCready. Their conversations were short, jabs from MacCready and smug boasts from Danse while announcing their current score.

By midday they were tied. Twenty six each, though they both thought the other was cheating.

“That’s absurd, a radroach can’t have the same value as a Super Mutant,” Danse argued.

“Sure it can, they both go down in one shot. Y’know, if you’re a sniper. Guess it might be harder for a trained soldier, those radroaches can sure be tricky.”

“The points should be awarded based on the potential threat of the enemy. The whole system becomes inequitable when every kill is assigned the same value.”

MacCready laughed. “Are you still upset about that nest of radroaches I found? Because that was fair game, no need to be jealous.”

Danse gave him a frustrated huff. “All I’m saying is that this is a very poorly thought out system. Whoever designed it should be ashamed.”

MacCready rolled his eyes.

As the sky darkened with them still a few miles from Sanctuary, the pair holed up inside an abandoned diner. It looked secure enough to MacCready, half the windows were boarded and there was even a working door. Danse was more wary of their encampment, but begrudgingly agreed to it.

“So, Danse, how long were you with the Brotherhood?” They sat opposite each other at a dusty table, an oil lamp between them. MacCready dug into a box of Sugar Bombs and Danse was looking at a tin of Cram, prodding it lightly with a fork.

“I'm not actually sure how many years exactly. Ten, twenty years?”

MacCready nodded, dropping a handful of the stale cereal into his mouth. “You ever visit the Capitol Wasteland? I know you Brotherhood guys were there for a while.”

Danse looked unsure and was silent for a few moments. “I certainly remember being there. I supposedly grew up there. I joined up with the Brotherhood of Steel soon as I could. But, I don't know how much of that is actually mine.”

“What do you...oh.” MacCready remembered his situation. He felt awkward for bringing it up now. “Well, I was just wonderin’, ‘cause I grew up in the D.C area.”

Danse looked at him with a quizzical, almost hopeful, expression. “Rivet City?”

“Nah, I actually lived in, heh, a place called Little Lamplight. Basically a cave full of a bunch of annoying kids eating nothing but fungus. Yeah, I was even mayor for a while when I was like twelve. Crazy, right?”

MacCready chuckled at the memory and Danse looked over and stared. “Hold on, you were a mayor at the age of twelve?”

“Long story.”

MacCready was jolted awake by a rustling noise from outside. He propped himself up with an elbow and listened, holding his breath. After a few moments it drew closer and he heard something hit the side of the building. Looking over at one of the windows, he could see a trio of shadowy figures stood outside.

He blinked a few times, wondering if he was still sleeping or something, but then one of them moved to climb through the window. That wasn’t good.

On the other side of the diner was Danse, looking like he was still asleep. MacCready’s rifle was nearby, but he hadn’t reloaded it after cleaning it earlier in the night. Quietly as he could, he sat upright and patted the ground around him. He had a pipe pistol around here somewhere, and a crappy weapon was better than none.

He could hear the sound of light footsteps and a hushed conversation. How the heck was Danse not awake yet? MacCready finally grasped the barrel of the cheap pistol and pulled it closer to him, keeping a careful eye on the intruders. He could hear one of them shushing another.

MacCready rose to his feet as silently as he could. It didn't work.

“Hey!” A voice hissed from the figures. “Someone's over there.”

MacCready saw the motion of a gun being leveled at him and shot first. Immediately, he spun around and ducked behind the counter. A pained curse was shouted at him followed by a flurry of gunfire. It died down and MacCready jumped to finish them off. He caught one raider in the shoulder and fired a few shots into one that was going after a very tired and confused looking Danse with what looked like a pool cue.

“Aw, FUCK.”

“Shit, c’mon, this ain't worth it.”

Crouched behind the counter again, MacCready heard the raider’s hasty retreat, Danse mumbling something about “goddamn cowards”.

MacCready peeked over the counter and saw him still fumbling for a pistol while the last raider stumbled out a window. He gave up as they vanished from his sight and spun around to search the diner. “MacCready?”

He stood up, waving the pipe pistol at Danse. He looked and saw a limp body on the floor. MacCready grinned. “So, do I get extra points for saving your life?”

Chapter Text

“Aw, c’mon, Nick! You gotta have something for me.”

Nick Valentine looked up from a messy spread of files with a frown. “Piper. If I had anything interesting happen, I guarantee you'd have heard about it by now.”

It had been a slow week. A slow couple of weeks, actually, where nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. No synth scandals or vault dwellers. No political dramas or extra interesting gossip. Not even any new raider threats or super mutant clans. Piper ran a newspaper, she had to write something. “Well, what are ya working on now? Someone break into Myrna's house again? Another sex scandal in the security division?”

His eyes glanced back down at the files. Ashing one of his trademark cigarettes, he gave her a careful, “Now that you mention it, this one is kind of peculiar. I've had three separate people come to me with very similar accounts involving...possible extraterrestrial home invasions.”

Piper paused, considered what Nick said, and burst out laughing. “Aliens?”

Nick rolled his eyes and once her giggling died down a bit, he responded, “I didn’t want to say it outright, but, yeah, you got it. I have three reports of supposed alien invasions, all of them right here in Diamond City. I’m honestly at a loss.”

“Oh my god, I totally thought you were kidding. That would be a great story though! I mean, obviously, aliens aren't really the cause, but it'd be fun to play it up a bit. And then drop the real cause in there at the end after all the speculation.” Piper paused and pursed her lips. “You said you're stuck?”

“Not exactly a dead end, but they're all one off occurrences. Hard to say where exactly to begin.” The synth held up one if the files and scanned it again, looking for something new. None of the victims could give much information besides “ominous green glowing” and “flashing lights”. All were pretty visibly shaken; with wide, darting eyes and trembling hands. It always happened when they were alone at night and sleeping. One reported seeing a shadowy figure, but was unable to identify any features.

“Why don't we check it out together then? Y’know what they say, Valentine, two heads are better than one.” Nick looked up and raised an eyebrow, or what was left of them. “Come on, we could do like a good cop, bad cop thing!”

Things had been slow for him at the agency too. Besides these reports, he only had two other cases open. He didn't exactly feel like making the trek all the way to Jamaica Plains anytime soon, or and it was too late in the day to get the information he needed from the mayor.

“Alright, Piper. Where do you wanna start?”

Nick and Piper set out to interview the three victims of the alien invasions for more information and within half an hour were sat at Takahashi’s noodle bar.

The first person they spoke to took one look at Piper’s notebook and refused to say anything other than, “No comment.” The second, who happened to be the one and only Travis Miles, gave a very nervous statement. That statement completely contradicted what he first reported to Nick. The third victim was outraged that Nick would have the audacity to speak with her in public and stormed away after a few choice words.

“What now, detective?”

“Guess the whole, ‘good cop, bad cop’ routine didn’t work out, huh?” He smirked, lighting up a cigarette.

“Hey, it was worth a shot.” They sat at the bar in silence for a moment; Piper tapping a half-drunk bottle of Nuka Cola on the surface and Nick taking a thoughtful drag on the cigarette. The dull lights above the bar gave the area a relaxing atmosphere as the sky darkened above the city. The approaching night gave Piper an idea. “What about a stakeout?”

Nick gave a snort of laughter, a puff of smoke drifting out his nose, and the hole in his neck. “Stakeouts typically don’t involve three different locations. Plus, we don’t even know what to look for.”

“Aliens, duh.”

“You wanna walk around Diamond City looking for aliens?”

Piper shrugged. “I got nothing better to do. And it’s not like you’re very busy, you don’t sleep...right?”

“You don’t see me eating or drinking, do you?”

No, be he had been hungrily eyeing a bowl of Takahashi’s noodles just a few minutes earlier. “Soooo, is that a yes?” She asked tentatively, waggling her eyebrows at the synth. He gave her a hard stare in response. “Come on, it could be fun!”

Nick really didn’t have anything else to do, she had him there. He could probably find better things to do than wander around the city for hours and get harassed by weary security guards, but part of him wanted to see what kind of article Piper could get out of this. Another part of him wanted to know what was really going on, aliens or not.

“Okay, you got me, kid.” He may have sounded bored with the prospect, but he was glad he finally had someone to accompany him on a stakeout. Though Piper did seem a little too excited about the prospect.

The guards did get suspicious, but they knew the detective well enough to not ask too many questions. Piper’s idle chatter didn’t exactly make them a stealthy pair and they spent most of their time on what felt like a relaxing nighttime stroll. Until Piper caught a glance of a flashing, green light. “Nick.” She whispered, grabbing his arm. “Nick!”

“What, what is it?” He came to a halt beside her, immediately matching her hushed tone.

Piper pointed at the Home Plate, the previously abandoned building Sole had bought up recently. The problem was, Sole wasn’t anywhere near Diamond City. “Do you have the key?”

Nick shook his head, keeping his eyes on the periodic light emanating from underneath the door. “I’ll see if I can pick the lock though.”

They approached the door carefully, Piper drew a gun and kept watch as Nick knelt down to deal with the lock. Piper could hear someone inside, heavy footsteps stomping around and things being knocked over. If Sole really was home, the intruder would be dead by now. Nick stood up, waved Piper over, and opened the door.

The detective stepped inside first with Piper close on his heels. It sounded like the intruder, or alien, was on the other side of the building. The two paused to listen, but heard nothing else. Side by side, they inched closer to the living room. Piper looked at Nick. The synth gave her a nod and they burst into the main room, guns drawn on the suspect. “Freeze!”

The figure did not freeze and instead shone a bright, green flashlight, or something, in their eyes. “Oh, seriously?” Piper cringed against the light and squinted to try and make out who was standing in front of her.

Nick took a step towards the figure and ordered, “Turn off that light and put your hands up. You’re coming with us.”

Instead, there was a startling flash of light and a sharp, crackling noise. Piper peeked over her arm that was shielding her eyes and caught a glimpse of what looked like...lightning?

Nick was just as surprised and shut his eyes against the flash of light with a grimace. “What the hell?”

“Nick?” Piper lowered her arm and squinted at the now-empty living room. “Where’d they go?”

“Wait,” Nick spun around and studied the empty room. “What?”

The crisp, static sound filled the air again and the person was back after a burst of light. Nick and Piper exchanged a glance. They turned to the intruder.

The three stared at each other in bewilderment.

The figure muttered a very calm, “Shit,” and bolted, this time using the door to escape.

Nick was the first to act, “After him!”

Piper darted to the door and flung it open. The man was sprinting through the market, a long, dark coat billowing behind him. They followed him, ignoring the baffled complaints of security guards. “Shit, this way, this way!” Piper shouted, as the man disappeared down a side street.

Nick was close behind her. “Don’t let him get away!”

The man pushed aside a very offended guard and turned another corner. “Sorry, sorry!” Piper muttered, sidestepping the fallen guard. Nick jumped over him with a hasty apology, “Important business!”

They were led back into the marketplace. Piper skidded to a stop, surveying the empty space. Nick shot past her and yelled, “Over there!”

She chased after Nick, letting out an exasperated sigh when she saw where he was heading. Their suspect was effortlessly bounding up the stairs out of Diamond City. “Oh, you have gotta be kidding me.” The duo followed him, breathlessly, as he disappeared.

“Is the gate open?” Nick paused beside her, keeping his eyes on the vanished suspect.

“Geez, I don’t know? I hope not!”

By the time they got to the gate, the man was nowhere to be seen. Piper slumped against a wall, gasping for breath. Nick wheeled around, scanning the area for the man in the coat. But the gate was closed and the guards shook their heads when he asked them. Defeated, he rested next to Piper. “We lost him.” It didn’t make any sense, but the man in the coat was gone.

Piper turned her head to Nick, her lips turning upwards in a slight grin. “So...was that an alien? Because, I honestly can’t tell.” Nick remained silent, looking slightly troubled. “I mean, you saw that, right? When he disappeared? And then there was all that lightning? Sorry, but that seemed kinda alien to me.”

Nick’s face pulled into a frown. “Piper, I think we might have seen an alien.”

They stood there in silence. “Eleven Things You Don't Want to Hear About Aliens. Good title?”

Nick gave her an exasperated look.

“Alright, uh, Eight Reasons You Should Be Talking About Aliens. Or, How Aliens Are Part of The Synth Conspiracy?”

Nick just shook his head.