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It was raining.
And there weren’t any signs of that stopping any time soon.
Surely many of your friends in Sanctuary would assume you found this an inconvenience; to which you couldn’t complete tasks handed down to you by Preston or a Settler in need. You had surprised them when you explained that you didn’t mind one bit, that you loved rainy days, in fact.
You had just finished having a cutesy scientific chat with Curie, and bid her farewell when she dismissed herself. You were seated under the carport to what was part of what once was your home before the war, watching the rain fall heavily. You could hear thunder in the distance. You felt relaxed.
You heard the soft chatter of others, inside. Your house, alongside one other that neighboured it, was fixed up to where there were no holes in the roof. You had promised to get to the others, when you had the supplies to do it. Sturges had promised to help as well, saying he was getting pretty tired of his overalls getting damp every time it so much as dribbled some rain. You snickered at the conversation.
You leaned forward some, resting your elbow on the arm of the beaten chair you sat in, and your chin on your hand. Another chair sat beside you, but remained vacant. You began to think.
About what happened, all those months ago. The loss of your significant other, the kidnapping of your child, hunting down Kellogg and making him pay. It was still too much to take in, and it felt so surreal every time you gave it even a hint of consideration. It was so strange, so alien, it left you feeling more in a daze of weird befuddlement.
People would say to you, “It must be so hard, dealing with all this and being shoved into the Commonwealth at the same time.”
And people would expect you to be a mess, to be lost and afraid, to start weeping and say, “You’re right! I can’t handle any of this! I just want to go back to before the bombs!”
But you didn’t.
Despite everything, you felt at home. It was a strange sense of nostalgia, not like seeing an old Pre-War thing, but being in the place you are now, with people who look up to you and admire you, and a partner to help you when in a firefight against any odds that were against you.
It was home.
And you would to anything you could to protect that.
“Hey there,” came a familiar voice, bringing you out of your thoughts. You raised your head from resting on your hand, and looked to the old Detective.
“Valentine.” You gestured to the seat besides yours. He nodded and obliged, getting comfortable.
He pulled out a cigarette, placed it between his syntho-organic lips, and dug out his lighter to light it. You simply watched as he dipped his head to do so. The click of the lighter being closed made you look Nick in the eyes, as he did the same to you.
The only sound was the heavy rain, and the distant chatter of friends.
“You doin’ alright?” He asked, inhaling, before using his flesh-less hand to take the cigarette out of his mouth momentarily, exhaling smoke.
“Yeah,” you replied, turning your gaze away from the old synth, back to the rain. The cracks in the cement had built up large puddles, ones you were sure you would see kids go play in the following morning. “Just thinking.”
“Thinking, huh? Want to talk about it, or…?”
“It’s so weird,” you started, leaning back into the chair. You began fiddling with some lose hemwork on your jumpsuit, fiddling with the stringing carefully. You wouldn’t want to unravel it, now.
You heard a soft snort come from the synth, and looked to him with a sort of glint in your eye. He was looking to you already, a smirk ghosting his features.
“Don’t give me that,” you said. He only snorted in reply.
“I didn’t even finish, you, you… You noodle!” You laughed as he gave you a funny look, and he laughed as well.
You really liked his laugh.
“You know,” he began, taking a long drag of his cigarette, turning his yellow glowing gaze to the rain, “Jenny never liked rainy days too much. Always fussed over getting soaked. Never liked it when I did. I’m glad I remember that, but, still…”
“It’s hard to remember such domestic things about loved ones, I know. My beloved adored the snow, would always try to drag me into a snowball fight. They were ridiculous over it. Even liked snow globes, too.”
You heard him snicker, and watched him flick his cigarette into the rain. You both watched its fire get dampened in the wet, silence befalling you two.
You had heaved out a sigh, before pushing yourself up and off the chair. Nick watched you curiously, as you made your way toward the very edge of the carport awning. You simply stood there, raindrops ricocheting off the pavement and onto your shins, the droplets making little difference to the fabrics.
He stood as well, and joined you, silence remaining.
You felt a chilled, metal hand snake around your torso and pull you near. You leaned into him, a small smile gracing your face. He placed a gentle kiss against your temple.
“This is nice,” you said simply, quietly. He was radiating warmth against the coolness of the weather, and you wrapped both your arms around him tightly as he leaned back into you.
You could smell the strong scent of tobacco from Nick, mixed in with your own musty scent, and the aroma of wet pavement. You heard thunder in the distance, again.
“Yeah,” he spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. “It is.”