The Stranger

We all fall in love
But we disregard the danger
Though we share so many secrets
There are some we never tell

“You sure about this, Nicky?”

Piper’s voice is trying to be sincere, but she can’t hide the flutter of excitement that’s been buoying her all morning. Nick just lets slip a lighthearted chuckle.

“Why? You havin’ second thoughts?”

Ellie’s laugh announces her descent down the little set of stairs, hefting the last of the small boxes of belongings in her arms. She only has three, and none of them weigh much at all, but in a fit of chivalry Piper insists on carrying the brunt of the meager load. “I think Nat would kill us both if either of us changed our minds, now.”

When she hits the landing, she leans in to plant a chaste peck on Piper’s cheek, and the simple honesty of the gesture brings a flush to the reporter’s cheeks.

“Nah, you know me,” Piper’s tone chimes with slight embarrassment, but mostly anticipation, “I never quit when I’m ahead.” With that, she hoists her lot of the haul out the open door, making her way toward the half-press-half-house the two now call home.

Ellie pauses in front of Nick, smiling at him a little too knowingly for his taste. “You are sure about this, Nick? Piper’s said a hundred times he can stay, and I certainly don’t mind.”

A metal hand is waving away her suggestion before she can even finish. “Three’s gonna be a tight fit in there. Four’s too much. Kid probably doesn’t wanna get caught in a henhouse anyhow.”

The pursed-lip, cocked-brow expression that slides over his secretary’s face tells him she sees straight through this bit of transparency. And then it saddens at the edges, and he can’t stand that. Right now, he doesn’t want to be read so thoroughly. He turns his head away, just in time to catch the new, small figure in the light of the doorway.

Shaun has a box of his own, looking considerably more packed than any of Ellie’s. Springs, sprockets, and various bits of unidentifiable hardware threaten to spill over the sides, wires already tangling in his fingers. He wears a wide-eyed, slightly apprehensive expression. He’s seen the office before, of course, but never for any prolonged amount of time. Now, he is looking upon his new home for the first time. It’s a big change, Nick supposes, even in its small way.

“Hey, kiddo,” Ellie greets him, shifting her box against her hip to free up a hand so that she can ruffle his hair. Shaun laughs quietly and only halfheartedly ducks away from this friendly gesture. Such a good-natured little guy. For some reason, it makes Nick remember nausea. He is nervous, no matter what he tells the happy couple. “You’ve got clean blankets upstairs. Did the best I could with the mattress.”

Shaun beams a little nervously up at her, bobbing his head in appreciation. “Thanks, Miss Perkins.” She laughs a little at his formality, and gives him a brief, sideways squeeze of a hug before heading for the door at last.

“Keep him out of trouble for me, kiddo!” She calls over her shoulder, and then she is gone, and it’s just Nick and the kid. For all the time he’s spent with the boy before, suddenly the air is thick with awkwardness.

The pair watch each other in strange silence for a few moments before Nick finally speaks, habitually fingering the cigarette pack that sits discarded on his desk. “Set your things down, stay a while.” He tries for a disarming smile, but he can’t match the sunshine dawning on the boy’s face. He could have wielded good nature like a weapon, if he wanted.

Shaun sets his box out of the way on the floor, casting curious eyes over every inch of the small space. When his gaze settles on the crowded desks, he cocks his head. “Miss Perkins still works here, right, Mr. Valentine?”

He can’t help but chuckle. “Kid, we’re roommates now. Figure that qualifies us for a first name basis. Yeah,” he adds, thumbing a cigarette out of the pack and nearly lifting it to his lips before catching himself - you weren’t supposed to smoke around kids, right? “She still works here. Just won’t be spending her nights here anymore.”

“It’s okay.” Shaun’s keen observation takes him by surprise, and he inwardly chides himself. It shouldn’t. He knows how bright the boy is, knows firsthand how quickly he cottons onto any given situation. “Mom smokes all the time. I know she tries to do it outside when I’m around but I don’t mind.”

“Yeah, well,” is Nick’s response, lacking any sense of commitment. “I should cut back anyway,” he adds, as some kind of poor supplement for rationality.

“Why?”

“It’s…” It’s bad for you is what he wants to say, but he knows that’s not what Shaun is asking. And he’s not like the kid, all convincing skin and curiosity. Here he is, half-plastic and half-full-of-holes, and he knows what’s being asked of him. It doesn’t make him uncomfortable, precisely, but he finds the answer difficult. Like Nora, her boy asks questions for a reason, doesn’t really accept any excuses, surely wouldn’t bite if given a sorry surface answer.

“Gunks up the tubes,” he decides on at last, slipping that cigarette back into its place among its duplicates, and giving the box an idle shake just to hear the papery rattle it produces. “Ellie gives me hell if I have to ask for help cleaning the film off my wires.” He smiles again, this time more desperately – please, let the kid leave it at that. Leave the exploration of existential crises for a day when they weren’t trying to hash through another awkward getting-to-know-you chapter.

“Oh.” Shaun processes this answer for a few moments before seeming to accept it with a little nod. Then, so like his mother, just as easily as she ever had, he breaks Nick’s heart.

“I like the smell, anyway. It reminds me of Mom.”

And what can he say to that? She’s been gone three damn months and they haven’t seen hide nor tail of her, and here’s her son, taking it all in stride, confident that she’ll be back, just like always. As if this was just another week-long stretch across the settlements, another quick synth delivery service. “Yeah,” is all he can think to say, and it’s a blessing that Shaun seems to accept this, too.

Nick clears his throat and gestures vaguely to the box holding such an array of gizmos and widgets. “You can put your stuff upstairs. Make yourself at home. Place is yours.” As the boy reaches down for his things, another thought strikes Nick, and he maneuvers around it with a little hesitation. “I, uh, don’t have a kitchen or uh – facilities, or anything, but Piper says she’s haggling an old stove off Marcy, and Vadim said he’d help install an, um, extension in the back.”

Shaun’s grin undoes him. That grateful face, that easy air. It’s too familiar. “That’s okay!” His voice is too cheery, too content. How his mother’s absence and all this change isn’t eating at him, Nick might never know. “I’ve got a hot plate that works, and I don’t mind, uh—” He laughs, and for the first time that day, he’s really just a kid. It breaks Nick’s heart all over again. “Nat says I can come over if I ever need to.”

“You two good friends?” More than anything, it’s an excuse to change the subject. They’re both embarrassed, and the kid seems grateful for something else to talk about, too.

“Oh yeah! She’s great. She taught me how to play caravan and got Sheng to stop teasing me after—” He hesitates again, and Nick has to resist a little chuckle at the sight of a blush rising from the kid’s neck. “—uh, well, he’s stopped calling me Mr. Wright, now.”

Nick can’t hide the grin as Shaun’s eyes find anywhere to look but the synth in front of him. “Yeah?” The faded remnants of etched eyebrows rise, and he thumbs his hat back on his head just an inch or so, ridding him of the shadow of his brim and giving him a clearer look at the boy now clutching his box to his chest for dear life. “That Nat’s just as saucy as her sister.”

His cheeks grow redder as Shaun grins, mumbling an appreciative little “yeah” in reply.

Nick chuckles, and cuts the line, lets the poor kid off the hook. “You go get settled in, kid. I’m gonna head out for a smoke.”

He’s halfway out the door and the pitter-patter of worn, old sneakers is halfway up the stairs before the boy stops, calling out to him again.

“Mr. Valentine?”

“I’m havin’ déjà vu over here. Didn’t we cover this, kid?” He turns to face the boy, and Shaun is smiling shyly, hefting his box with enough effort that Nick can tell he’s going to have to get something to use as storage if he doesn’t what whozits and whatsits peppering the office as much as his loose papers do.

“Nick,” Shaun corrects himself, scuffing one foot against the stairs as some train of thought runs behind his careful expression. “I’m – glad I’m here. Mom talks about you a lot.”

Nick’s coolant runs cold. Colder than usual, maybe. He can’t think of what to say to that. Doesn’t know if he has any words in him for it.

“You’re a good man, she says. I think so, too. When she comes back –” Here Nick has to set his jaw to keep his face from giving away the pang in his chest “—I know she’ll be happy I’m here, too. With you.”

And what can he do? Nick smiles, and he’s sure for a moment the boy sees the sadness behind it. “Yeah, kid. Me, too. Get yourself settled in.” Shaun scampers upstairs obediently, and Nick takes a few minutes longer than necessary to nurse his cigarette down to the nub. He waits for the clenching in his chest to ease up before going back inside.





There weren’t any windows in the two-story shack, but the plating on all sides was haphazard enough to let a little light in through the cracks when the sun hung high above the city. Nora woke with sweat on her brow, heart racing. The weight in her arms called her back to the present, and she took in the sight of her son sleeping soundly, still clinging to her hand with both of his own. God, she’d never be able to thank Nick enough. All of them enough. Piper, Ellie…

She let out a quiet sigh. Not time for that just yet. She could feel guilty – guiltier – later. With a carefulness and nimbleness she normally reserved for close-quarters combat in the dark, Nora slid out from the bed, freeing her hand and letting Shaun roll comfortably into the depression she’d left behind. She gently removed the trench coat that had bunched between them, and replaced it with the relative softness of the blanket. Where had Nick gotten something so nice?

Ellie, probably. She’d have to thank the woman for that, too. She was piling up debt already. On top of what she already owed them all, she supposed.

She paused at the top of the stairs, listening for any activity below. Not a rustle of a paper, nor the sound of Ellie’s shuffling as she cleaned. It must have gone noon already – probably Nick closed the office, she decided. A little flash of fresh guilt struck her. Always putting himself out for her benefit. How many “thank-yous” could she fit into a lifetime? Not nearly enough.

A glance backwards brought a new door to her attention. Ajar as it was, she could see the rusty fixtures of a shower peeking out of the relative shadows. That definitely wasn’t there the last time she’d been here. So much had changed. At least some of it seemed to be for the better.

Deciding to take advantage of the apparent emptiness of the office, Nora nipped in for a quick shower. The water was lukewarm at best, and left the taste of tin in her mouth, but it wasn’t irradiating her and that in itself was a far cry from anything outside of the city. How much had this cost? Who on earth helped Nick install it? Surely he couldn’t have done it himself. She was running quite a tab already, but this – this was a work of miracles. She’d have to find some way to pay him back. After all, he certainly didn’t shower. Or at least, he didn’t need to. Technically. This must have been for Shaun.

And towels. There were towels! She marveled in this luxury, too, standing in the damp of the little room for a few minutes just to bask in the comfort of something so soft and relatively clean. God, and she needed it. How much gratefulness could fit into a person before they burst?

When she made her way downstairs at last, she’d shuffled back into her jeans and a slightly worse-for-wear button-down she’d found beside the sink. No need to stick all of the grime of the last few weeks right back on a freshly clean body. Not while she could enjoy it, anyway.

In the light of the office, Nick stood with his back to her, fussing with a button-down of his own, muttering to himself – something about stitching, she could make out – under the direct illumination of a desk lamp. He looked so casual, so at home in just his threadbare undershirt and suspenders hanging lazily at his hips. It took her by quiet surprise. He always seemed so...well, “put together” wasn’t quite the phrase, but at least somewhat neat. Hardboiled and ready for anything. Here, it was like catching the star of the show between acts, out of costume and out of character.

It was selfish, she knew, but Nora remained silent, drinking in the moment. Everything was going to get very complicated very soon. She wanted to linger here, in this little stolen minute, where things were no worse than a torn seam and a late start to the day. She smiled despite herself, until her eyes landed on the jagged edges of a hole in the synthetic skin of his shoulder, boasting a neat little view of a steel joint beneath.

“That’s new.” It wasn’t the best way to announce herself, probably, but she hadn’t been able to keep the thought quiet.

Nick turned, some smart reply practically visible on his lips before her stopped, giving her a silent once-over as she approached him – cautious and slow, like she might have crept up on a mine that may or may not have been active. When he didn’t withdraw immediately, she lifted a hand to graze the fraying, plastic weave with her fingertips, concern suddenly knitting her brow. He didn’t shiver, but the implanted memory gave him the urge.

“Yeah,” he answered gruffly, letting her examine while he cut a small piece of thread between his teeth. There’d be no stopping her, anyway. And if he was honest with himself, well – it was almost nice. Familiar. She used to fret about him all the time while they were out combing the Commonwealth together.

Over a year ago, he had to remind himself, and the thought made him stiffen enough that she withdrew her hand.

“Couple’a raiders were giving Cricket some trouble just outside of town. One of ‘em winged me.”

Nora frowned, letting her attention fall to the shirt in his hands, and the sloppy stitch-work she could now see forming a callus of over-threading along the seam of one shoulder. She almost chuckled.

“Poor him.” She reached wordlessly for the shirt with open hands, not taking it from him, but putting the offer out there in plain sight. He shrugged and handed his ham-fisted work over, letting her quietly use the half-bent needle to undo his efforts and reapply them more elegantly.

“Never was much for needlework,” Nick offered dryly, leaning back against his desk while she took up residence in his chair, applying herself to the task at hand with a kind of gratefulness he recognized. Not just for having something to do, but having something that was…simple. Tame.

“I know.” She stole a quick glance up at him before chuckling, nimble fingers making easy work of something that had taken him three tries and the better part of an hour to get as far as he had. “I wasn’t either, really, but then Shaun’s first Halloween came around and we couldn’t find the perfect costume, so I learned.”

“Made a pumpkin of him?” He ventured, vaguely recalling this was the sort of thing mothers did to their infants.

“Oh no. Nate wanted him to be a cop, but I won out in the end. Got him a little pitchfork and everything. I almost had the tail done when…” She trailed off for just a moment, rolling her shoulders back and pulling herself out of a reverie he could recognize instantly. She never did like to think about anything too close to the bombs. She’d go back in history with him as far as the Greek philosophers, but things got hazy the closer they got to the day she entered the vault. He never pushed it.

“Well,” she began again, sliding the needle deftly through a little fold of fabric, “he would have made a cute little devil. That was the idea, anyway.” She froze for just a fraction of a second, and he caught her eyes flitting to the ceiling, to the corner she knew her son occupied. He was and wasn’t Shaun, and that was a brand of complicated neither of them liked to linger in for very long. It was undoubtedly a lot easier for Nick; he’d never known anything but Shaun the little synth. But Nora – his chest tightened again. He couldn’t imagine, didn’t want to imagine.

As he always did when his mind ran away from him, Nick reached down for his pack of cigarettes, giving it a shake and frowning on the lack of noise this created. He was already shifting up to open a desk drawer in search of a new pack when Nora slipped her hand into the breast pocket of her shirt and produced a single, ever so slightly bent cylinder. “Here,” she offered, and as he took it from her, its presence registered more firmly.

“That my shirt?”

For a moment she glanced down to the patchwork in her hands as if to say of course before she, too, realized what she was wearing – really realized, for the first time. “Oh. Sorry, mine was just—”

He waved her apology away like so much smoke, tucking the cigarette into the corner of his mouth and patting down his trouser pockets with his free hand. “Suits you,” he supplied gruffly, frowning at the lack of fruit in his brief search. On cue, a metallic click preceded the brief burst of a tiny flame, and Nora was holding up his flip lighter at the ready, one hand cupped around its side to shield it from any wayward wind sneaking through the cracks in the shack’s walls.

“Light?”

His smile was brief, but it brought a light of relief into her face. He sucked down the flame with studied practice, and she flipped the little zippo closed before handing it back to him. With that, she made fast work of the last of the stitching, tied the thread off with an elegant maneuver of the needle – and not resorting to her teeth at all, he noted; was he that much of a bachelor? – and offered the newly mended shirt up to him for review.

He took it with an appreciative nod, thumbing the new and neat seam once or twice before unceremoniously dropping the relatively-white thing onto his desk. They sat there for a few moments, neither one quite willing to break the domestic spell that had come over them. He looked at the hinges on his skeletal hand. She picked at a rip in the knee of her jeans.

They ached in the quiet.

All good things, as they say.

“Some interesting reading,” Nick spoke again at last, reaching over to pluck up the bundle of papers she’d given him – now dog-eared in several places and marked up with his hurried penmanship. “You wanna tell me about it?”

She frowned. That was his Detective Voice. It was like a shove backwards.

“Tried to be as thorough as I could.”

He let out a smoke-filled chuckle at this, nodding and flipping through the first few pages for the umpteenth time. “I can see that. Makin’ fun of an old synth?”

“Not that I’m above it, but not this time.”

That wit. His smile returned before he could put up any kind of barrier against it. “Yeah,” he agreed, “wise to the end. So what’s this all about?”

“The Institute,” she supplied, in a very clear I-thought-that-was-obvious tone.

“I gathered. Thought that place went up in flames?”

“Nuclear blast,” Nora corrected, “but – we’d be stupid to think nothing survived. Hell, it was careless of me to think they wouldn’t have any numbers outside Boston.”

She looked so harried at this, so disappointed in herself; he couldn’t help but offer instinctive sympathy. Wordlessly, he plucked his cigarette free and offered it to her. So naturally – too naturally – she took it from him gingerly, and nursed a few small drags before handing it back.

“We’re thinking Midwest, right now. That’d be my choice,” she added a little bitterly, “someplace with equal reach and relative solitude. Seeing but unseen.”

He nodded. It was smart. He never really understood why she seemed so raw about her ability to understand the enemy when it came to the Commonwealth’s boogeyman. Well, he understood a little. But it had only gotten worse over time, even and perhaps especially after they’d snuffed out the facilities under the CIT ruins.

“But they left their mark in the capital.” Her voice was suddenly heavier than he was used to, lined with sharp steel. “They built up numbers there. Had a kind of…facility.”

“So you mention,” Nick observed, tonguing his cigarette to one side and using both hands to find the precise page he was looking for. “Some – Zimmer fella?” She visibly winced at the name, and his face pinched with uncertain concern.

“He was supposed to be gone. Ayo –” she spat the name like a broken tooth “—was technically a stand-in. But it had been ten years; no one thought he was even alive anymore. He was older, I guess. I never heard more than that, Ayo never trusted me much and I think he kept his staff tight-lipped because of it, but they’d been running the program without him at full throttle.”

Her phrasing gave him pause, and he shuffled briefly through the report again. “You never saw him?”

“Once,” and her voice was blank all at once, and it bothered him far more than the tension it had held just moments ago, “but not – it was dark. I didn’t catch his face. He told me who he was, I guess I have to take him on his word for that, but he knew Institute procedure, and everyone seemed to work under him.”

“Nora.” The shock of her name startled her enough to look up, and his face was a picture – a plea. “What happened?” There was a desperation in his voice that hit her like a bullet. She held his gaze for a silent moment, and he set the sheaf of papers aside to reach out for her with his good hand. She took it like a lifeline off the bough of a ship, and her expression was just as strained. His thumb swept over the back of her palm and noted a new scar there, too. Small and knotted, and she flinched just perceptibly when he touched it. That only served to heighten his concern. He sat atop his desk and she stood, evening their heights enough that neither was looking down or up at the other. Everything in his eyes begged her: Tell me.

“I want to—” Like she was reading his thoughts. But there came a creak on the stairs and her head shot around, the way it might have if they were out in the dark on some case, and he wondered not for the first time why she seemed so ill at ease here, of all places.

“Hey, champ,” Nora called to her son, giving Nick’s hand a little squeeze before dropping away. He felt a little knob of scar tissue in the heart of her palm as she did so, and the hum of his general processing stilled for a moment. Something had gone through her hand.

The boy’s brief look of worry broke into his dawn of a smile and he scurried toward the pair of them, tucking himself up against his mother’s side so that she had to lift her arm to rest it around him. She ruffled his hair affectionately, and now that he was standing, she could see it – feel it.

“You’re growing like a weed,” she observed, and Shaun straightened his spine in a moment of pride.

“A whole inch,” he declared, looking as haughty as any ten-year-old could.

Nick and Nora exchanged a quiet, but not displeased glance. Well, that was that question answered. They’d spent a while speculating whether or not the kid would mature – what would synth puberty even look like?

“Mr. Zwicky and Miss Edna are taking us to the science center today to do our bloatfly dissections.”

“On a Saturday?” Nora’s grimace at the thought of willingly slicing open one of those things mixed with the confusion of such a strange date.

“Yeah, Miss Edna says it’s because not everyone wants to do it. I don’t have to go,” Shaun added, looking back and forth between his mother and Nick, somewhere between asking permission and offering to help. Again, his hair was ruffled, and Nora shook her head.

“Nah, you go, I’ll be here when you get back.”

“Promise?” And suddenly the worry in his tone made sense, and Nick witnessed guilt cut through Nora like a hot knife through butter.

“Promise.” It was emphatic, and it ached. She bent down to kiss the crown of his head before scooting him off toward the stairs. “Go get washed up before you go.”

By the time the pair of them had said their goodbyes to Shaun, ushering him out the door with a grin on his face and a small bag slung over his shoulder, Nora was smiling in that wistful way again. Nick rested what he hoped was a comforting hand on her shoulder, and she reached up and across her body to give his fingers a thankful little squeeze. She watched the boy disappear at the end of the alley, lingering there for a few seconds after before retreating into the office again. She leaned her back against the door after closing it, heaving out a sigh that carried with it some relief.

“You’ve got him in school?”

Nick, for his part, looked a little abashed, busying himself with stubbing out the dog-end of his cigarette in an already overflowing ashtray. “He wanted to go. I figured—”

“No – I mean, I’m glad. He gets to be…normal.” The sad shadow at the edges of her expression was unmistakable, and he knew with certainty then that she really hadn’t meant to be away for so long. Or at the very least, she hadn’t wanted to. He wondered how much that counted, in the grand scheme of things. Intentions usually amounted to a hill of beans when weighed against unfavorable results. “His grades all right?”

“You know him. Straight A’s, and he drives Zwicky up a wall with all his questions.” Nora laughed, that clear-as-a-bell thing that sent some gear within him spinning. “Edna says he’s one of the brightest she’s ever seen.”

“Do they know?” Worry pinched her brows again, and Nick’s frown settled back onto his face. It was a question he asked himself often.

“Maybe. Edna maybe, at least. Nobody says anything. Bein’ around me, helps sell the human story by comparison.” Nora looked disapproving at this common self-deprecation, but he just shrugged in response. A truth was a truth, no matter how unsightly. And boy, didn’t he know it.

“Does he know?”

Ah. The big question. He couldn’t say he hadn’t thought about it, and often. But if he stuck to the evidence – and a little bit of his gut – the answers were never clear-cut.

“I think he…suspects something.” The weight of the conversation had Nick flopping into his chair, and Nora followed suit, taking up a perch on the edge of his desk. “The questions he asks, the way he doesn’t ask questions. He hasn’t asked me directly, so I haven’t said anything. Didn’t think it…was my place.”

She fixed him with a sad look he couldn’t quite get a read on, and that sent an electrical itch alight along his wires. He prided himself in having a good read on people; it made him a good detective. It drove him wild that she could elude him like that. He used to revel in that feeling, but it would be a lie to say he couldn’t see it coming back to bite him in the ass at some point. She’d never bothered to keep secrets before. He didn’t know any of her tells. And she was always running around with that Deacon – god only knew what he’d been teaching her.

“Funny,” Nora managed at last, “I always thought, when it came time to tell him, you might…” She stood at some kind of precipice, and that itch flared all the more. He wished he could help her, damn it. Why would she keep him at arm’s length now?

“I would,” he finished for her, a little anticlimactic in his delivery. “I can,” he corrected, “if he asks.”

She nodded, rolling her shoulders back with the effort of another sigh. There grew between them an expanding gulf of silence, and for probably the first time, he wasn’t comfortable with it.

“Look,” she spoke at last, fixing him with another, pleading smile, “I know there are a lot of things I need to answer for.”

“I didn’t—” But she held up her hands, almost as if in surrender.

“I don’t think I can answer any important questions without Deacon, and who knows when he’ll show back up.” Nick’s jaw set. He had his suspicions that the old team would be paired up again. He wondered how long their reunion had been, or if they’d ever parted. “I know it’s asking for more than I deserve, but – I really, really need a normal day.”

Despite himself, the detective smirked. “Never knew you to take a vacation.”

“I’m trying new things these days,” she laughed, still a tone of pleading in her voice. And with that look in her eyes, all dark and desperate, he was had. Bang to rights. He’d never been very good at telling her no, and now, giddy like a kid in the back of his mind, glad as he was to have her here and alive, well – how could he deny her something that easy to give?

“What’s your take on ‘normal’ these days, then?”

On cue, a gurgling rumble caused her to drop a hand over her stomach, chuckling a bit. “I’d kill for something that actually resembles food.”

“You have, if my memory blocks aren’t going.” He stood, and she laughed, preparing to get up to follow him. But he waved her down, gesturing toward the recently vacated seat. “Siddown. I think we’ve got enough here to cobble together a passable breakfast.”

“You cook?” She asked, pleased but bewildered, as she slid into the torn fabric of his favored chair, still warm from his constant, low heat.

“I’m trying new things these days,” Nick shot back, and the snarky smile she could hear in his voice set her more at ease than even a big glass of whiskey and a cigarette could. He disappeared into the cramped space behind the stairs, and she rested a cheek in her palm with elbow propped on the desktop. The sounds of metal on metal and rusty hinges told her two things: He had a fridge and a stove, and they were both in bad shape. Nora smiled. It was endearing, really.

“You gonna put on a cute little apron for me?” She called above the soft din of food preparation, slyly toeing open the bottom drawer of his desk to check on his not-so-secret stash of cigarettes and old booze. She was unsurprised but pleased by the contents, and fished out a relatively fresh pack, revealing a small stash of papers underneath. It wasn’t like him to stuff his notes away, and it couldn’t have been Ellie – she would have organized them, at least.

“If you’re looking for a Miss Nanny impression, my French accent leaves a lot to be desired.”

Too long with Deacon and snooping rubs off on you. She carefully flitted the remaining cigarette packs out of the way to browse over the visible document, crumpled as it was. What was this, locations? Dates? Why all the strikes through the names?

A cold shock ran through her when she realized. In the corner, a missing person’s short description was cited, circled, and marked with Nick’s frazzled hand: Nora sighting? The whole thing had a heavy-handed X marked through it. Oh, Nick.

But then, how could she be surprised? Of course he would have looked for her. Of course the dates ran as recent as last week. Of course. Guilt sprang anew in her chest like an icy fountain, and she shoved the drawer closed before footfalls and creaking floorboards let her know the synth sleuth was on his short way back to her.

“What’s the special today, chef?” She practically strained to keep that pang out of her voice.

“Omelet, “Nick answered flatly, setting the plate down in front of her, fork that was missing a prong already stabbed into the heart of it.

“What kind?” Not that she was complaining, given that she was wrenching the fork free and cutting a bite free within seconds.

“The kind with vegetables,” he practically harrumphed, settling into the chair usually reserved for clients.

“And?” She already had a warm chunk stuffed to one side of her mouth, grinning like a kid at the sheer novelty of hot food after all this time.

“More vegetables.”

“S’posed to be eggs in omelets, yeah?” Her voice was thick with food, and she was too hungry to be embarrassed by the childishness of it all.

“That so? I use diesel, myself.”

She laughed, choking for a moment on her too-big mouthful, and he couldn’t help but smile. She could light up a room, so like her son.

“Anyway, we had to use all those ‘Lurk eggs from the Castle somehow.”

Nora laughed again, shoving a hand over her mouth this time so she could get through a guffaw with at least some dignity.

“You’re so good to me.”

“Someone’s gotta keep your smart ass fed.”

“It does have an old world education,” she conceded, as smartly as she’d been accused.

“Too bad your head didn’t come along for the ride.”

Stealing a page from Deacon’s poorly written book, Nora clutched a hand over her chest, dropping her fork dramatically to the plate. “You cut me to the quick, Valentine.”

“Ah, I never cut you more than a dirty look.”

“Even when I say please!”

There came a sudden, crashing silence.

Fuck.

She’d been with Deacon too long. They were always lewd and stupid together. He brought out all her latent little sister tendencies, and he enjoyed nothing better than riling her up. But this wasn’t the field, this wasn’t a night of facing death head-on with Deacon.

Nora stared at her nearly-finished breakfast. Nick stared at a point just above her left shoulder. This was not, on the whole, how either of them had imagined their reunion would go.

“Well,” Nick broke the stillness, whipping a cigarette out of the box she’d previously retrieved and lighting it with a little more flare than necessary, “I’m not easy. Take a fella out to dinner first, at least.”

She breathed tangible relief, body unclenching and forehead falling into the cradle of her hands, elbows on either side of her plate. “It’s a date.” It was really just words for the sake of saying something, but it hung in the air between them for a few moments longer than strictly necessary.

Nora finished cleaning her plate with renewed concentration, and took the offered cigarette when she found it held out to her after swallowing the last bite.

“You know me too well.”

“Well enough,” Nick answered a little roughly, snapping his lighter closed after she’d gotten a proper light. “What else you qualifyin’ as ‘normal’ today?”

She took the bait, and gratefully. “Tempt you to a hand of caravan?”

“Now don’t you go starting something you can’t finish,” he warned, gesturing at her with a metal hand that clenched his dying cigarette between two fingers, “Nat’s been showing me some of her tricks.”

“Nat would never give away her secrets.”

“I asked nice,” Nick retorted with a smirk, “said ‘please’ and everything.”

This brought a darkly rewarding flush to the tips of Nora’s ears, but she matched him eye-for-eye, and there it was – that something. He hadn’t seen it in her since she’d gotten back. Maybe just a shadow, when Shaun had woken up and her world had come apart at the seams. But now, it was here, looking him right in the face. Maybe with a little less fire than he could remember, but it thrilled him nonetheless. He supposed, for this, he could pretend to be normal. At least for a day.

“Money where your mouth is, Valentine.”

“Don’t get smart with me,” he admonished, throwing open a drawer lazily and retrieving a stack of cards.

“Wouldn’t want to waste the material,” she shot back.

And she burned. And he basked.



They wiled the time away into the evening with a few hands (which she lost), a few light and easy stories (to which she didn’t contribute much), and a little more than half a bottle of whiskey (which they shared). Shaun had dropped in to excitedly report his entire dissection experience, seeming unaware that his audience may not have been as captivated by all the gory details as he had. He played a hand against Nick with his mother, and she was not ungrateful to see the old bucket of bolts soundly beaten, even if it wasn’t technically by her. With that, however, he announced – a little shyly – that Nat had made plans for them involving a few newly scavenged comic books and a date with a Silver Shroud rerun. She kissed him goodbye and he held her a little longer than he needed to, she had to fight back a shimmer of tears when he finally pulled away and skipped back out the door.

“Nat?” She cast this question with motherly suspicion at the man across from her, even as she held out her glass and he dutifully refilled it.

Nick grinned but shrugged, returning to his own drink. Not that alcohol really did anything for him, but he took pleasure in small human habits, and she’d never thought to question it before. “I haven’t asked.”

“You? Not asking questions?” Both brows hung high on her forehead in disbelief, wry little smile curling easily onto her lips. She was a little loose now, he knew, and much as he hated to admit it, she was better for it. She settled more soundly into the chair across from him, glanced at the corners of the room less often and with less fervor. Happy, she would have called herself if he’d accused her of having even the corner of a sheet to the wind. I don’t get drunk, I get happy.

“A good detective knows when it’s best just to observe,” Nick retorted in a tone that very clearly said he was going to keep his secrets whether she liked it or not.

“I’ve never been very good at that part,” Nora lamented, throwing her legs over one arm of the comfy chair and leaning her back against the other so she was effectively cradled.

“You ain’t kiddin’.”

“Aw, come on,” she practically pouted, “we solved more than a case or two, the both of us.”

Now it was his turn to wear that wistful sort of smile. “You always were the first to get your hands dirty.”

“I’m not built for medium-range.” It was practically a whine. He chuckled. “Longshot or up close and personal. No in-betweens.”

“Don’t I know it.” But his tone was light, his teasing easy. She made it so goddamn easy. He felt that bubbling sensation deep in the pit of him; he wanted to be angry. He was usually pretty good at it. Nick could wield guilt and disappointment like a veteran. But here, now, it was too damn difficult – when easy and smooth were so close you could touch them, so simple to get at.

They sat in comfy, nostalgic quiet for a little while, Travis chittering away on the radio stuffed haphazardly atop a filing cabinet. Eventually, he teetered off into the shuffling sound of various holotapes, finally fitting one into the appropriate slot and letting the music crackle to life

Nora had barely heard the introductory notes before she was on her feet – a little clumsily – and at the radio, twisting the knob to fill the room with Ella Fitzgerald’s voice.

“I haven’t heard this in ages,” she explained, folding her arms atop the cabinet and resting her cheek there, and suddenly the whole atmosphere was more than a little wistful.

Nick had shot straight up when she’d scrambled out of the chair, instinct driving up upright and guiding his hand to the spot his holster usually occupied. But he felt empty air – of course he did, bandolier and holster were resting higgledy-piggeldy atop his notes at the back of the room, pipe pistol tucked safely in place. He breathed in a way he didn’t need but that calmed him nonetheless, and smiled a little lopsidedly at the relatively small woman standing on tip-toe to press her ear to that speaker.

He recognized the tune. Knew it instantly, if only because she’d sing along during early mornings out in the Commonwealth, scrubbing herself clean of what dirt she could remove and packing up camp from the night before. Ella and Louis, she’d told him. ‘I’ll Never Be Free.’

He’d approached her before he’d really known he was going to, and only Nora’s surprised little jerk under the weight of his hand on her shoulder shocked him into the moment. But she met him with an easy, honest smile, and the moment seemed to melt around them. “Hey,” she greeted, coming out of some kind of daydream or memory.

“Hey yourself.” He reached out with his other hand – a little hesitant, given its sharp metal nature, but she never seemed to mind. A soft grip on her side aimed to spin her gently toward him so that they faced each other. She relented without complaint until he’d fixed one of her hands on his shoulder, and one of his own just above her hip. He was…swaying.

“Nick Valentine,” she chided, and he laughed with a what-can-you-do sort of shrug. “I don’t dance,” she added, trying halfheartedly to back away.

“I’ve seen you with Deacon at the Third Rail,” he countered, all gentleness. He wasn’t going to pin her anywhere she didn’t want to be, but she didn’t seem too keen to pry herself away completely.

“For a cover,” Nora practically scolded him, “that doesn’t count. I don’t – I’ve got two left feet, you know that.”

“No time like the present to learn, then.”

It wasn’t like he was asking anything very complicated, even in her…happy state. He kept his feet on either side of hers, and did most of the minute swaying for them. She was free to let out a soft breath and creep forward until she was leaning against his chest.

Just like a chain, bound to my heart…

“I didn’t take you for the dancing type,” she murmured against him, like the moment was made of glass and even a loud voice could send it shattering.

“Stuck on that ‘trying new things’ bit, I guess.”

“Mm.” But the sound was a content one, and he was grateful for the silence that fell around them for a few moments. That comfortable silence he relished, how easily it came. How easily it still came, after so long.

Her hands shifted from the traditional places on his shoulder and clasped in one of his so that she could snake her arms around his neck, propelling herself on tip-toe to do so. He took it in stride, despite the sudden whirring of his system, and let his own arms fall around her waist, as gentlemanly as he could manage. It was difficult to be a gentleman in such close quarters – there weren’t a lot of extremely appropriate places for his hands – but she merely pressed her cheek into his shoulder and let him continue rocking her gingerly.

Though I may try and try,
no one can satisfy…

It wasn’t as though they hadn’t had small, intimate moments before. But they always hung thick with things unsaid, curiosities unsatisfied. He’d thought about how he might handle her return, far more than once, and he wondered for the first time if she’d ever deliberated similarly. He liked to think the fact that she was leaning so heavily into him, giving him permission to bear the majority of her weight – not that it was much to bear, given his capabilities – was a good sign. Or, well, a sign, anyway.

“Things aren’t gonna stay this way.” She hooked it like a question, but it was more of a reluctant surrender.

“Knowing you? Probably not.”

He felt her helpless little chuckle against his neck and did his best not to think about whether or not synths of his grade could get goosebumps.

“But for right now?”

His arms tightened a little around her, and he felt hers coil just slightly in response. “For right now,” he agreed.

And perhaps because he’d watched too many old holotapes (which he’d never admit) or read too many slightly sappy spy novels (which he would admit grudgingly), he shifted his grip, letting her weight fall mostly into his arms as he leaned towards her. He didn’t know if he’d ever actually done it – from the impressions he got, Nick-the-human hadn’t gone in much for dancing – he’d seen it enough times that he figured he could at least replicate it. It helped that she was…happy.

He dipped her gently, and let her half-lay there in his arms for a moment or two. Or maybe for years. She stared up at him, and the look on her face was trying to tell him something, he knew. He could feel it in his metal bones. He wished he could hear it.

But then, slow and spectacular as a comet scorching the night sky, she craned upward to plant a little kiss on his lips.

And she burned. And so did he.

I’ll never be free.