The Stranger

You’ve done it,
why can’t someone else?
You should know by now,
you’ve been there yourself.

Tonight, it’s a cocktail of Day Tripper and bourbon. This late, it’s usually a dose of Med-X and a long night of periodic nightmares, but she says she is tired of laying around, and this cheers both Hancock and Deacon enough that they don’t try to withhold anything from her. Deacon even nurses a beer of his own. He’s typically not a big drinker, and never touches the chems at his disposal – despite being encouraged by Hanock – but she’s smiling for the first time since he can remember, and that’s cause enough to celebrate for him.

She’s perched on her knees beside Hancock – who is lazily leaning back in the cradle of his couch, one arm slung over the seat-back, the other hand thumbing a second round of Mentats into his mouth.

“They smell like oranges,” she notes, and he laughs.

“Yeah. Prolly the orange flavor.”

She smiles a little wider, and it practically kills him. After she and Deacon had shown up on his doorstep with just enough parts between them to make up a full person, he didn’t know if he’d ever see that smile again. It hits him like the dawn after a storm. He’s even let her snatch his hat, which she’s deposited on her own head so as to free up his scalp, which she has become engrossed with studying.

He doesn’t mind. She’s always been the touchy-feely type, and touch is a rare enough commodity for him that he doesn’t object when it’s freely offered. Her fingertips are gently tracing the stretched and dried patches of skin, the small depressions between scar tissue, and the last, tiny remnant of blonde bristles at the nape of his neck.

“You’re kinda perfect, John.” She says it with the softness more appropriately awarded to the vaulted ceilings of a cathedral. He smirks, but lets out a little scoff.

“Now yer just makin’ fun’a me.”

“I’m not.” She doesn’t have much emphasis in her voice, but it’s flat and simple enough that he can’t read a lie in it. It almost makes him a little uncomfortable. “Like art. Like you’ll always be a surprise even if someone’s seen you a hundred times.”

“That’s cheesy, even for you, Sunshine.” But he’s grinning stupidly, reaching up to catch one of her hands and bring it down to his chest, where he cradles it gently. She allows him without complaint, and slips off her knees to rest against the ghoul’s side, watching his fingers tracing over her knuckles, her palm, her knotted, healing scars.

“I’ve got surprises now, too,” Nora says, emptily. Hancock grimaces.

“Yeah,” he agrees a little roughly, looking over the woman’s head to Deacon, who shrugs from his place on the opposite side of the couch. “Not so bad, though. Lots’a people like surprises.”

“Do you?”

“Love a good surprise. Spice of life.” His lazy smile screws up in mild shock when she leans forward at his answer, pressing a soft kiss to the mottled, sunken skin of his cheek.

“Surprise.”

“Yeah…”

Hancock pulls her in by that same hand, shifting a little so she can rest against his chest and he can use both hands behind her to fish out another, much-needed orange tablet. She quiets there for a while, listening to the shudder of his breaths and the funny, arrhythmic beat of his heart.

“Hey Hancock?”

“Mm?”

“How come we never got together?”

Deacon nearly spits out his beer, choking back a laugh and jerking forward a little with the effort. Hancock looks like an animal caught in the headlights, and glances quickly between Nora’s head and Deacon’s horribly amused smile. The men had reached a tentative kind of truce that hinged entirely on the woman between them, and John can feel it strain under the glare of that smug expression.

“Didn’t – think y’were interested, what with…everything.”

“Oh.”

Again, he looks back and forth between the woman curled up against him and the man grinning like a kid in a candy store.

“Honestly,” John begins a little hesitantly, “we all kinda thought you were already sweet on someone.”

At this, Nora sits up, using a hand braced against his chest to shift her weight so that she might peer at him in a curious, confused fashion. “Who is ‘all’?”

Deacon at last comes to the ghoul’s rescue, and he sighs a little with relief. “Me, Hancock of course, Piper, Cait – MacCready was in denial for a while, had the sweetest little crush on you – couple’a people back at HQ, a Deathclaw I once asked for a ride into town…”

She breathes something so close to a laugh that Deacon’s heart seems to seize. Hancock chuckles, patting her back amiably while she processes this jumble of information. At last, she turns around so as to comfortably rest her back against Hancock, and throw her legs over Deacon’s lap. “Mac? Really?”

Hancock rumbles another laugh that vibrates through her spine. “Never noticed? Guy followed you like a puppy. Over the damn moon when y’said ya wanted him to teach ya how to shoot.”

Nora smiles a little sadly, and Deacon reaches down to give her leg a little comforting pat. “Hey, no worries,” he consoles lightly, “Cait helped him get over it. Several times. Within earshot.” He grimaces, and she smiles.

After another moment or two of thought, she adds, “So who did everybody think I had it in for?”

Deacon and John exchange a glance in which both insist it is the other’s job to answer that question. This doesn’t go unnoticed, and she lets out another little almost-laugh, sinking a bit lower against Hancock. “That obvious, huh?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” is Deacon’s immediate, absolutely unconvincing reply. Hancock rolls his eyes.

“Nothin’ wrong with bein’ obvious, Sunshine. ‘Specially when the person in question needs a smack to the head to catch up.” His tone is gentle and, he hopes, comforting, and she gives the arm he has draped around her a little pat of appreciation.

“Never had a chance, I guess,” she laments, and neither half of her company knows how to respond. “He’s just so – good, you know? Just…good.” Nora sighs heavily, and Hancock scoops his hat off her head to replace it on his own, and delivers a little kiss to the crown of her head.

“I dunno. Don’t count yerself out so quick, maybe.”

“After this?” She holds out an arm as if to indicate the entirety of her body, her situation – her collection of terrible experience. “I don’t even like me after all this. There’s not much left to like.”

Both men frown, but both know how she shuts off at the first sign of platitudes. They look from each other to her, and eventually she rolls over to press her face against the back of the couch. “I’m going to sleep,” she says. And they don’t argue. They fall asleep there, themselves, eventually – Hancock’s head lolling back and his mouth hanging open, Deacon snoring against Nora’s hip which he has taken to using as a pillow. They are both there, awake in an instant when she’s upright and sobbing, and they both wait with her for it all to subside. They keep her shrouded in comfortable, comforting touch, and when she sleeps again, they each have a hand in hers.




“You even met the woman, Valentine?”

He shouldn’t have been shocked to hear the raspy voice behind his shoulder, but he was, and Nick turned sharply to glare down at the mayor.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“What are ya doin’?” Hancock stepped between the synth and Daisy’s counter, putting a hand on top of the mostly clean suit coat that had been in negotiation. “Sorry, Daze, it ain’t you. Yer taste is fine as ever. Our friend here just ain’t got a clue what his audience wants.” Daisy’s all-too-knowing smile at this made Nick feel like twitching.

“Lucky for you, big guy,” Daisy drawled, same mischievous expression directed straight through Nick’s soul, “your date doesn’t have the same problem.”

Hancock was grinning. Nick felt like he was short-circuiting somewhere. Did the whole damn town know? The sudden pick up in the whir of his fans caused both ghouls to laugh, and John gave him an amiable smack on the back before pulling the synth along behind him roughly.



Piper was lounging on the old bed, Cait was leaning against the closed door, and though Deacon was permitted to stay, he put two minds more at ease by facing decidedly in the opposite direction while Nora fumbled through the small box of clothes Daisy had provided for her.

“I’m surprised you guys are doing it all proper, is all,” Piper was saying, unable to keep that smug little smirk off her face.

“It’s only dinner, Pipes,” was Nora’s response, but her smile betrayed her just as much.

“I can’t believe yer seducin’ a tin can.” Cait was still a little sour about the night before, but Piper had told her just enough to calm the woman into her usual, mostly-toothless surliness.

“Different strokes,” Nora answered, and Piper chuckled.

“He even got anythin’ to stroke?”

“Cait!” Nora was looking pointedly away from anyone, fighting the red that had bloomed in her cheeks. Piper had stuffed a few fingers in her mouth to hold back the laughter, and Deacon was on the verge of collapsing in a fit.

“What? What? It’s a fair question, yeah? No use gettin’ too dressed up if y’don’t get to take it off.”

“Cait.” Nora was caught between a hopeless grin and a look that clearly indicated she’d like to disappear on the spot. She busied herself with a zipper, shuffling into the third dress she’d tried on yet. Hancock had even brought in a large mirror, with a sweet “Nothin’ but the best for you, Sunshine” and a tickling peck on her cheek before leaving them to it. Granted, the mirror was broken, and she had to stand at ridiculous angles to see the whole of herself, but it was a kind thought and it did, in fact, help.

“Wow.” Piper looked surprised, and only a touch embarrassed. “Color’s good on ya, Blue.”

“Think so?” She was arching her back to fit into the remaining reflective surface, examining the garment. It had a minor singe mark along the hem, and was clearly faded from a much darker version of the color, but in this day and age those barely even counted as damage. “D, you can look now.”

“You sure? Piper’s not gonna try to smack me again?”

“I did make her promise.”

With a little laugh at the reporter’s audible harrumph, Deacon spun around from his seat on the floor facing the far wall, and stopped. He’d never seen his partner in a dress before. Well, no, he had – but it was the dress of her cover identity, and it was much more clingy and far less…Nora.

“I’d like to second the wow and raise you a damn.”

She smirked, rolling her eyes. But he could see the appreciation in her expression, and that was more than enough for him.

“I still don’t understand, but if that Nicky doesn’t have the good sense t’make his move on ya in that, I wouldn’t mind gettin’ a chance.” Cait’s smile was more than a little lecherous, but Nora grinned at her and swept her up in an earnest hug.

“Thank you, Cait.” Her voice was soft, and Cait’s arms settled around her almost before she could check herself, squeezing the shorter woman against her with a year’s worth of silent missing-you. But, being Cait, she couldn’t let the moment last, and eventually gently wriggled free, pushing Nora less than a step back.

“All right all right, quit with the drama show. Aren’t you supposed to be on some kinda date?”

Nora laughed, and the room seemed to light up. “In a bit, I think. He said he’d—”

There came a knock on the door, and Piper chucked a soft “speak of the devil” as Nora answered, but it was not the expected synth who ducked into the room. Instead, Daisy stood there, smiling good-naturedly and clutching a small, almost flat box.

“I know you said you didn’t need anything else, sugar, but I found this and I thought – well. I haven’t had a use for ‘em in over a century, and it’s nice to feel like the knockout you are sometimes.” Her grin was full of trouble, and Nora took the box from her in order to peek inside.

Red engulfed her face. She may as well have spontaneously turned into a tato in some strange, backwards Cinderella image. The box was quickly shut again and she whispered an earnest, “thank you.”

“Oh, honey.” Daisy lifted a hand to gently cup Nora’s cheek, and Nora leaned into it gratefully. “You gotta take what happiness you can in this world, and I hope you do.” And because she was Daisy, and couldn’t resist, she added, “More than once, for preference.”

“Okay!” Nora’s voice rose, smile and blush matching in intensity. “Everybody out! I need some me-time.”



Nick stood impatiently behind Hancock as the ghoul fumbled messily through an open drawer. The dresser seemed largely in disuse, and the first layer of clothing on top had brought with it a huge cloud of dust. At last, however, something black was tossed directly into Nick’s face, and he grumbled as he pulled the fabric out of his vision to examine it.

“These…are just slacks,” he concluded flatly.

“No shit, detective. But they’re pretty clean and they match the tie.”

Sure enough, Nick was able to extract a black tie from the larger mass of the trousers, frowning slightly. “This is just…sort of what I usually wear.” He was at a loss. How long had it been since he’d taken a gal – any gal – out to dinner? Certainly not in this body. That put him at least two hundred years out of date.

“Yeah. And wear those suspenders ya got.” There was a beat in which Hancock seemed to consider something. “And yer holster. And roll yer sleeves up.”

“That sounds like an awful casual look for the occasion. I thought you said she was – getting dolled up.” His face was almost a plea, and John could help but laugh.

Hancock had to reach up a little awkwardly to pat the detective on the shoulder, but he did just the same, grinning like a shark looming under unsuspecting prey. “Trust me, Nick. Sometimes she could get awful chatty on a good Day-Trip. I know what I’m talkin’ about here.”

“The more you talk, the more I feel like I’ve made some horrible mistake.”

“The hand that feeds, brother! Don’t knock it ‘til ya try it, tin-man.”

“Feelin’ more like Dorothy, now.”

“Who?”

“Nobody.”

“Don’t you go two-timin’ already, I ain’t lookin’ forward to havin’ t’gut ya.”

“It wasn’t – nevermind. Old world thing.”

Hancock rolled his eyes again, heaving a sigh. “Least you two have that in common.”



Nora breathed in the emptiness of the room – technically Hancock’s, but he’d been more than happy to lend her the use of it. In the absence of others, and standing on the toes of her scuffed kitten heels in order to bend her body awkwardly enough to fit within the visible parts of the mirror, the strangeness of it all began to sink in.

It wasn’t that she didn’t like the idea. She’d barely been able to sleep, and not for the usual reasons. It was just…none of this felt particularly normal in this world. And, she supposed, that was part of what she loved about it – part of what gave her that little thrill. It was something entirely, uniquely them.

And that, really, was also the part that made her nervous. They’d eaten dinner together plenty of times (or, she’d eaten in front of him), but there had never been any kind of performance to it. Half the town definitely wasn’t privy to it, and none of them lent her clothes and ancient lipstick. She loved her friends dearly, appreciated all that they did and all that they gave with the whole of her being. But it would have been nice, maybe, if the entire event could belong to just her and Nick. If they could hold it, like a secret.

But, she reasoned, it wasn’t as if everyone was invited along to dinner with them. She hoped, anyway. He’d mentioned the Third Rail, and though it was the deep-underground part that caused her to flinch, she couldn’t help but think of the attention they might attract conducting such an old world custom in public. They were the both of them well-known enough to be recognized, especially here in Goodneighbor. She could let most of that sort of thing roll off her back like so much water, and when it only concerned Nick, he could, too. Had a devilishly fast tongue about it. But when he was with Nora, when he had to hear the attacks on her character… She could tell it made him uncomfortable.

She hoped he’d be able to relax, tonight. Hoped she’d be able to, too. There wasn’t exactly a strong guarantee on either front.

The quiet knock at her door caused her to jump just a tiny bit, and she sucked in a suddenly much more nervous breath.

Why? It was just Valentine. She’d been with him nearly every day for the better part of a year and a half, when she’d decided to settle into Diamond City full time as his business partner, and many, many times in the field before that. But it had always been…easy. Natural. Suddenly framing everything between them in this kind of unmistakable gesture made it – strange.

She answered the knock with a smile that only grew at the site of him. He couldn’t have dressed himself. He was never that neat – never that aware. Did she have Deacon or John to thank for that?

“Uh – hey,” Nick managed, entirely ineloquent.

“Hey yourself.”

He shifted from foot to foot on strained nerves, hands balled in his pockets. He took in the sight of her like a fever dream, and she felt strangely exposed under his eye for the first time. “You look…”

When he couldn’t find an appropriate end to the sentiment, she grinned, leaning against the door frame. “That bad, huh?”

“What? No!” All at once he looked harried, like a man on the far end a mistake he should have seen coming.

“Hey,” Nora spoke softly, taking a cautious step toward him. “Relax.” She stood on tip-toe to plant a brief kiss against his in-tact cheek, and came away smiling at his bewildered – though not displeased – expression. “I’m teasing.”

“Right.” He tried to recover, taking a step back and belatedly offering a hand out to her, which she took gingerly, following him out to the center of the strangely empty room. At least Hancock had given them that – and they were both grateful for it. ‘Awkward’ was hard to navigate just between the two of them, and it would be next to impossible in front of a crowd of their nearest and dearest.

“Are we…having dinner out here?”

At last, he smiled, and she felt a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding release. “Not quite,” was his vague reply, and he guided her to the far side of the room before reaching up and tugging on a beaten up cord that attached at the ceiling. Only, suddenly, it wasn’t the ceiling. It was an unfolding set of attic stairs, revealing a flickering light at their top.

“The tower!” She was grinning, and it was catching. “I thought it had been – blocked off or boarded up or something.”

“It was. Think it had real stairs going up, once, too. Guess it got used as some kinda safehouse just after the bombs. Building got torn up inside.”

“You know, I’d never visited in all the time I lived here.”

“Me, neither.”

“Really?” He’d lent her a hand up the stairs, and her head was finally clearing the floor line. “I kinda had you pegged for a history buff.”

“At a distance, sure. In books. Don’t think I spent a lot of time out of the office, before…” He didn’t have to finish, because she was gasping and trotting up the last of the steps at a neat clip. Nick let a slightly proud smile slide into place. He had called in favors, after all.

“Nick!” There was a delight in her voice that sent him back a year, to the office they’d shared and the nights they’d passed with case files open between them, a mountain of cigarettes in the ashtray, an easy laugh in their mouths. It warmed him.

The space of the tower was dimly but comfortably lit with a few well-placed oil lanterns, speckled with faded neon and moonlight that peeked through the broken and fallen bricks in the walls erected where windows had once been. Slightly to one side of the steps sat a small, rickety table, tucking two chairs beneath it. There was something like a tablecloth draped over it, with minimal staining and tears. There was only one plate arranged, and it was decorated with a Brahmin steak from which she could feel the heat still emanating. It really was something close to normal – their normal. The old normal.

Nick busied himself with lifting the stairs back into place behind them, mostly using this as a means to hide his little flood of pride. At least he’d gotten something right, even if it had mostly been at Hancock’s orders. And, strangely, at Mac’s. Stubborn, churlish kid had put in quite a few valuable suggestions. It made Nick wonder briefly about his late wife, about how Mac may have learned to make her happy. About the man he’d become afterward.

When he was standing straight again, he caught Nora stilled, hands cupped under each elbow, smiling a little strangely at him – though it wasn’t unpleasant. It especially wasn’t unpleasant given how she’d cleaned up. Oh, he always knew he found her – well. He always knew she was attractive. A bit short and a bit round, and a look in her eye like she was always ready to jump onto the next adventure. She did everything like she was running out of time to do it. She lived with a kind of controlled abandon that was mesmerizing in the same way a meteor shower was: Unearthly and rare, and for just a second, it took up the whole world. And here she was, all that stuffed into a rather compact package, wrapped in a green dress that reminded him of grass he was sure he’d never seen with these eyes. She looked like spring – though he couldn’t really remember what spring looked like.

“What’s that look for?”

“This is just nice,” she shrugged, still pinning him in place with those take-no-substitutes, nearly black eyes. “I kind of always thought – you wouldn’t really be interested in any of…this.” She let go of one elbow to gesture expansively to the room at large. He chuckled a little nervously.

“It’s…been a long time.”

She took a slow, careful step toward him, and it was like watching a storm inching over the horizon. “Well, we’ve got that in common. I’m two hundred years out of practice.”

He, too, took a step towards her, without really realizing he was doing it. “I’m – not good at this,” Nick confessed with an uncertain kind of laugh, “I’ve never really – it’s just never really been in my cards. Pretty much settled into the grumpy ol’ bachelor routine for life.”

Nora drew another step closer, leaving just over a foot between them. “Well. Treat it like a case. Start from the ground up. Do you want to be here?”

“Yes.” His voice came a little more emphatically than he had intended, but it made her smile so he shrugged it off. “I guess I just don’t really get why a gal like you would want to be here, too.”

“I like you.” And she’d said it so – easily. So simply. As naturally as waking up. Innate. It filled his spine with cement. He wasn’t sure he could move. “Next question, detective?”

“I, uh…” He plucked his hat nervously off his head for a moment, running a palm over his forehead like a man who very intimately remembered nervous sweating. But she just stood, shifting her arms to clasp them behind her back, smiling patiently at him. Like she had all the time in the world. For him. “I just – don’t understand, Nora. You could have—”

“Nick?”

He paused. “Yeah?”

“Do you trust me?”

“’Course.”

“Then could you do me a favor and remember that I’m right here? That this is my choice. I’m right here.” Still, she smiled. “So where are you?”

His eyelids snapped together in the approximation of a blink. He closed the distance between them, let his hands hover almost touching her arms. Tried to think of some worthy response. And instead, he kissed her.

They came away a little dizzy and a little shy, and decided without saying anything to settle at the table. He’d pulled her chair out for her and she’d laughed in good humor, and they lapsed into comfy silence while she made a fair attempt at slicing off bite-sized-enough pieces of her dinner. After a little while, when most of her plate had been cleaned (she’d never been shy about eating; you couldn’t really afford to be in this day and age), she smirked up at him, brows raised.

“It’s – a little weird to eat in front of you like this.”

“You – want me to stop looking?” Again, the honest worry in his tone. She chuckled.

“I just mean – dinner. You don’t eat, so it seems kind of a strange idea for a date.”

“Not liking it?”

“You always assume the worst, Valentine?” She’d set her utensils down and sat back, grinning hopelessly across at him.

“Assume the worst, hope for the best. Kept me alive so far.”

“Seems a stiff way to live.”

“Maybe.”

“You ever get surprised that way?”

He considered telling her no – which was mostly true. Not a lot about the Commonwealth or the people in it surprised him anymore. But then, there’d been her. “More often, lately.”

“That almost sounded like a compliment.”

“Ah, don’t read into it.” But his smile was teasing, and it got a little laugh out of her. All at once, however, his face pulled into a frown. “What time is it?”

“I – don’t know.” She hadn’t thought to bring her pipboy. She rarely wore it these days. “A little after nine, maybe?”

“Damn!” And he was on his feet all at once, scrambling to one corner of the room where a little radio had been propped up on a stool – and on top of it, a lantern. He fiddled with the dials briefly before Kent’s voice crackled into life, summarizing and exalting the just-finished Silver Shroud episode.

Nora beamed, confused but not displeased. “Story time?”

“I – asked for another favor,” was Nick’s only answer, and he was still crouched by the radio, glaring at it until Kent finally announced a small change in the schedule.

“I’m taking a break here, folks, for my personal hero. She’s out there keeping Goodneighbor safe. This is so she knows we’re all grateful. We’ll be b-back with episode eighty-nine right after this.”

Nick breathed a relieved sort of sigh as he stood, the sound of shuffling holotapes click-clacking through the speaker until – those so-familiar, aching notes. And then Ella’s voice was filling the room, not for the first time in present company.

Just like a chain…

Nora couldn’t help the almost goofy grin that curled on her lips, and she sat back with pleasurable surprise. “You did this?”

Nick merely nodded, stepping closer – still a little hesitantly – and offering a hand, palm-up, toward her.

“I thought I told you I didn’t dance.” But her hand was already in his, and he was already gingerly pulling her to her feet. He shrugged with a nervous smile of his own, and set them swaying to the tune. It didn’t take long, this time, for Nora to slip closer, winding her arms around his neck and pushing herself onto her toes to rest flush against his chest. In turn, he looped his hold around her waist, indulging himself in pressing his cheek to her temple, listening to her breathe, taking in the slightly sweaty scent of her hair.

They had, he realized, been close before. Close like this, even. Close enough to feel a heartbeat. It was sort of a natural progression – she’d always been physically affectionate, and he never had it in him to turn her away. It was…nice. She never flinched, never pulled away. Sought him out, even. But even – even then, even huddled together on cold nights when the sea air blew in already frozen, there hadn’t been so much on the line. So much declared. It was easier, probably – you couldn’t risk a hand if you didn’t lay down your cards. And he’d always, always played close to the vest.

He felt her shift against him, tilting her head up just enough for her words to brush his ear. “Cap for your thoughts?” He couldn’t really shiver, but damn if he didn’t feel the need.

“Pay up,” Nick teased, almost by instinct, and she laughed – soft and honest, right in his ear. And his world started to fall away, like that night on the roof, like that night in his office, the night on the beach. She pressed the lightest of kisses just under his lobe, and he was undone. The song slowed and brought time with it, and for the second time – more gracefully, more like he had put some thought into it – he dipped her. She watched him with eyes that took no shit, accepted no substitutes; stared at him like a star watches its planets. Like gravity.

He couldn’t have said, later, how precisely it had happened, or how quickly. But her mouth was on his and she had pulled herself so hard against him they toppled backward onto the floor, laughing into one another’s lips. But then it wasn’t laughter – there was no room for it. He could taste her tongue in his mouth and god, it was like kissing an ashtray and they were his brand of cigarettes. His brain fogged. Fans whirred. She giggled. His world came apart at the seams.

Nick hadn’t realized he’d been looking for the zipper of her dress until he’d found it, gave it a tug and then halted. The reality of himself – the reality of her, and everything that made them different, sliced through the haze in his mind and he scrambled back, looking almost…ashamed of himself.

She was left abandoned on her back for a moment, blinking in surprise at the space above her that had so very recently contained another body. With a little puff of air, she propped herself up on her elbows, brows knit questioningly. “I’m – sorry. If I’m going too fast…”

She was biting her lip, she was biting her lip and he hadn’t felt so damn human, so damn alive since…since before he could make his own memories. “No,” he panted, “I just…” But what could he say, really? Thanks, this was fun, but I see a whole lot of regret in your future. Let’s go back to the purely platonic relationship we never really had. Like she’d buy it for even a second. Like she’d let him leave it that way. She was as tenacious as he could be, only she directed it at him. What a terrible thing to be loved so furiously.

The weight of that thought hit him like a train. Maybe he’d always known, in a kind of distant way. They’d spent enough time together to share the sentiment. But, at least on his part, it had always been reserved. He’d always known his place in her life – in the world at large. And suddenly there came a rush of every distinct, vivid memory of her hand in his, of her body sneaking into the warmth of his trench coat, of her head against his shoulder and her eyes heavy with sleep, of her lips on his cheek, forehead, mouth – god, her lips on his mouth. Something in him was trying to shut down. This wasn’t – this wasn’t how things were supposed to play out. It didn’t end this way. He didn’t get the girl. That’s not how it worked.

“Hey.” Her voice was distant, as though at the other end of a long tunnel, but the weight of her after she’d crawled toward him, practically in his lap, tethered him back to the present, and he came crashing down into himself again. “Hey,” she repeated, and he could feel her palms on his cheeks, see the somehow stern concern in her eyes. And – god – he loved her.

“Hey, Valentine,” Nora called again, soft but firm. He blinked in response, but it was enough to let her know he was back; he was there – with her. “I’m right where I wanna be, okay?”

Nick looked up at her, fingers unconsciously finding their way to hook over her wrists, keeping her hands close, keeping her close. “I’m – broken,” was all he could think to say.

“And I’m not?” Her smile was a little sad, but she curled up against his chest, and his arms fell naturally around her. She sighed, and he could feel the air move inside her – so damn alive, so damn human. “Nobody makes it in this world without getting a little busted up,” she continued eventually, twisting around to rest her back against his chest, taking his hands in her own and examining his fingers idly. This – this was familiar. How often had she tucked herself up against his side, and how often had he let her? He felt himself begin to ease, felt his chin rest against the top of her shoulder. He sighed.

“You remember that day on the beach? Summer was almost over, and there hadn’t been a radstorm in a week.” He could hear the smile in her voice, and somehow it soothed him.

“How could I forget?” He held his hands palm-up for her as she traced the lines in one in-tact palm, the scratches in the metal of the other.

“That’s when I knew, you know. Not even because…” She laughed, but he understood. Their first kiss had been there – the first of only a handful, and he could recall each with perfect clarity. He’d held that night, in particular, like a treasure. “It was that you’d gotten the beach cleaned up. That you’d even thought of something so – well, kind of silly, I guess. All the dangers in this world and you were worried about my view. And I thought – there he is. That’s why I’m still here. Because he’s that kind of man. And I knew I was gonna stay, even if you didn’t feel the same. Even if you didn’t want me.” She let out a brief, self-deprecating kind of scoff. “I didn’t even really know if you could want me.”

“Well I can put those fears to bed,” he offered lightly, and the smile on her face warmed her so thoroughly he swore he could feel her body temperature rise. A little thrill ran like a bolt of lightning up his spine.

“It wasn’t ever the metal plates or the wires or—”

“The gaping holes?”

“No.” They shared a chuckle, and its warmth reminded him vaguely of whiskey on cold nights, head just slightly swimming and smile easy. “It was – the way you wore Diamond City like a coat. Like a shield. You were always married to the job, and I understand that I just – it seemed like maybe you didn’t want anything else in your life. And that’s fine, I was prepared to accept that. I had accepted it, I think. But that night on the beach – I knew I was staying anyway. I was free, I could go anywhere finally, but I didn’t want to.”

The pair again fell into silence, and his arms slipped into two loops around her waist, her own resting on top of his with easy, natural comfort. This was how it had been. Maybe not ever so pointedly, unabashedly intimate, but this closeness – the simplicity and comfort of it all. This was what ached in him when she’d disappeared.

“Jenny used to say that, I think.”

“Mm?” Her voice was mild but she stiffened slightly, and Nick’s hold on her tightened instinctively, trying to press reassurance into her.

“That I – that the old Nick was married to the job. Said something like, she may have worn the ring but she’d always be his mistress.” Nora laughed out loud, and his expression darkened a little in embarrassment. “What?”

“Nothing, it’s just – Nate used to say something similar to me. There was always a case, always something that needed my attention. I loved my job. I miss it, sometimes. He was so happy when we took the year off for Shaun. And I was…bored, really. I felt so bad – I loved them both, so much. But I need to be up and doing, you know me. He said that’s what he liked about me, that I was ‘a force of my own’, he called it. But I think it always made him a little sad.” She paused with another little sigh, and he let the thumb of his good hand trail a small path back and forth on her side. He hadn’t exactly pictured ending up here, on the dusty floor, but he couldn’t say it bothered him. They’d been huddled together in far worse, far more uncomfortable places.

“Do you remember loving Jenny?” Her questions were always soft like that, and yet they never failed to wake him up like cold water to the face.

“I guess I never really felt like she was mine to love. Not really mine, anyway.”

“You really see the two of you as separate, huh?”

“I try to,” he answered, a little more bitterly than he meant to, though he only realized this when she’d given his arm an apologetic squeeze.

“I feel that way too, I think. Sometimes.” She shifted a little more comfortably in his arms, and he leaned back against the wall behind him to allow her the room. “Like there’s this – disconnect, between before the war and after. It was – the whole of a second, maybe. There was everything before, and then there was the empty vault. But it started to feel more and more like…it wasn’t really my life. I wasn’t really the same person.”

“Yeah,” was all Nick could think to say, and he tucked his chin a little closer to her neck. She breathed a little easier, and they enjoyed another few minutes of silence.

“Do you remember – the old Nick…wanting Jenny?”

He paused, growing a little stiff. “I…feel like that’s a trick question.” She laughed, but that did little to ease his tension.

“I’m sorry. Kinda put you on the spot, I guess.”

“Why would it matter, anyhow?”

“I guess – because there’s really only one way I know how to do things – this. And it didn’t actually occur to me until tonight that – that might not work for you, and suddenly I don’t know where I’m going.”

“What might not work?” But there was something in his tone she recognized, and she elbowed him lightly in the ribs.

“Don’t tease. I’m being serious! I wasn’t really listening to Cait earlier, because – you know, it’s Cait, but I guess she might have had a point. I don’t really know if you even have…” She trailed off, apparently aware of what she’d been progressing to say out loud. Their silence was all at once a little tense.

“Please tell me you and Cait did not have a conversation about my – business.”

Nora guffawed, doubling over forward, and he smiled, but that didn’t stop the sudden, loud rush of fans fighting furiously to cool down his systems.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. In my defense, I didn’t start it.”

“Of course you didn’t,” he grimaced.

“I think it was only so she could segue into hitting on me, anyway.”

“What?”

“Oh, you know Cait,” Nora had turned around to face him, resting back on her haunches, “just wanted me to know she’d take care of me if you couldn’t.”

“Really.” Something in his voice gave her pause, but he’d already hooked two hands around her waist and was pulling her forward again. She didn’t resist, sliding her knees easily to either side of his hips so she could hover just slightly above him, hands falling to rest on his shoulders. “Who says I can’t?”

“Now, I wasn’t—” But a set of metal fingers was already curling around the back of her neck to pull her down through the inch that separated them, and she laughed gratefully into the kiss. There was something electric about it now. They’d kissed before, of course, but always almost as if by accident. Two ships in the night, Nick might have said. Pulled in by the forces around and between them. But now it was a choice, and they were both making it, and that realization caused her to swallow a groan and pull back just slightly.

“Nick.” She was, to her embarrassment, a little out of breath already. It had been a long time in general, and for a good portion of that time she’d been thinking about – hoping for – this, exactly. “You don’t – you don’t have to do anything just because you think I want—”

He almost laughed. Now, of all times, she was questioning herself? Nora, who had always been so forward and open with her affections? The hand just above her hip pulled her in again, flush against him, and she fixed him with wide eyes set in a rather surprised expression.

“That’s – new.”

“Not really,” he answered, a new, slightly shy tone belying his hesitation.

“New for me.”

“I did tell you.”

“Nicholas Valentine,” she chided, and he ran cold and then hot in the same second, “I would definitely remember if we had ever had a conversation about your – business.” She used his own word in a teasing kind of way, but he could tell that, for the first time, she was filling silence so she wouldn’t fall headlong into bashful territory. He found it strangely charming.

“When we first met,” he reminded her.

“You’ve never been that forward in all your days.”

“All the parts?”

“…minus a few red blood cells,” she recalled, settling her weight down in shock – in a way that inadvertently caused him to tense beneath her. “Oh my god. Have you been so dirty this whole time?”

“Not the whole time. Just once in a while.”

“And here I thought you were so innocent.” She pronounced the word in a sing-song voice, and they shared a grin as she braced her palms against the wall to either side of his head, leaning down again to brush the tip of his nose with her own. “Thought I’d be taking advantage of you, somehow.”

He laughed, shifting his hand to thumb idly at that zipper that ran down her side. Something in him had awakened, was fueling him like too much of too high an octane. He was on fire again, and she was the match – the oil, the gasoline, and the flame itself, all in one. “Well,” he offered simply, “consider this an invitation.”



They took their time, for a while. The novelty of this particular brand of intimacy was not lost on either of them, and neither seemed keen to let any facet of it go unexplored. The zipper of her dress had opened down to her hip, and his good hand had already dipped inside, taking in the warmth of her waist, the side of her chest, the small of her back. His tie had been loosened considerably, suspenders pushed off his shoulders and buttons down to his waist popped free of their confines. He had been visibly nervous at first – Nick wore enough layers to bear the brunt of a new nuclear winter most days; he was never exactly body-confident. But she’d met him with the same hands that delicately marveled over metal and synthetic fingers alike, and she pressed her palms into the buzz of his moving parts and wildly spinning fans.

It wasn’t until those clever fingers had found the open side of his neck, had dared to brush ever so carefully against the interior of skin, the curve of a bundle of wires, that a new urgency began to get the better of him. His hands were fumbling under the hem of her dress almost unconsciously, sliding over her thighs until hitting strangely familiar little buckles. His sensory recognition skipped like a scratched disk and he issued such a raw, involuntary groan into her mouth that she laughed.

“Find something you like?” She was grinning, and he couldn’t have formed anything like a smart reply if he’d tried. So he didn’t. Nora pulled back, however, and rose to her feet, which left him in a brief moment of disappointment until she’d shimmied her shoulders and arms free and let that dress pool around her ankles, stepping neatly out of her low heels. Something popped and sparked within him, and something – something else growled.

Nick had seen her in various states of undress – it was hard to help treat a wound to the shoulder or stomach or thigh without getting comfortable with the sight of your partner’s bare skin. But never… Not like this. Not so – intentionally. So privately. Like a secret. He drank in the sight of her – the scars knotted around her shoulders and biceps, the silvery cross under her collar bone where he’d watched Doc Carrington pull out the bullet, the ribbons of stretch marks under her arms, her breasts, the little pudge-overhang her belly, the sprinkling of moles that counted to at least fourteen between head and toe. He tried to record it, to keep it. To keep this. And that garter belt, threadbare and darkened with age as it was, still holding up to mostly in-tact stockings. How in the world had she gotten her hands on a set of those – in such good condition, too? There were a couple of patches of missing fabric, a few vertical runs that exposed the real, nut color of her skin in little successive strips. But – god. He didn’t care. He didn’t care at all.

“It’s rude to stare,” Nora mock-scolded, hands on hips and a single brow arched. He swallowed air.

“I don’t give a damn.” He didn’t have anything else to say – nothing came sensibly or coherently to mind. But she laughed, and performed a small twirl to offer a more complete view, and – and Jesus, those stockings, with those dark seams running all the way up the back of her legs. He let out a pained kind of breath that he didn’t need, and when her eyes were on his she could see the new kind of desperation in his face.

She laughed again, beginning to fiddle with one clip at her thigh as she inched closer again, but before he could stop himself, his metal hand was on top of hers, halting it mid-action. “Don’t?” He suggested, voice noticeably hoarse. Her smile was wicked, but ultimately pleased, and she was kneeling over him again in an instant, hands inside his shirt and tongue inside his mouth. He struggled his arms inelegantly out of his shirt as she rather urgently pulled his tie free. There was a hunger in both of them now, feeding and starving off of its presence in the other.

He struggled with the strap of her bra like an overzealous teenager for nearly a minute before she laughed and reached back to assist him, leaving him no time at all to feel too embarrassed about it. Try as he might to calm himself, his hands were at her chest before he knew how to stop them, and she was letting out something between a gasp and a laugh when a metal finger ran softly over a nipple. Just as he was about to bite down on his eagerness and apologize, she had her hands at the button of his trousers and fumbled in a desperate kind of way he couldn’t help but find endearing.

With a little grunt, Nick shifted his weight forward, rolling Nora with him until she was on her back among the folds of her discarded dress and his hips were more or less free. He had reached a hand down to assist her, but found she’d already thrown open his zipper and was in the process of yanking his trousers lower by slipping her toes into the loosened waist band and pushing. “Talented,” he muttered against her neck, and she laughed again, arms looping under his a little desperately, fingertips pressing into the plates that formed his shoulder blades.

His intention was to be gentle – gentlemanly, even. He had intended to pump the brakes a little, to loop back around to their previous, more careful pace. But her ankles had locked behind his hips and had pulled him forward and the heat—

He had been on the painful end of actual fire before. He’d had a few bad dealings with molten steel. In learning to feed the living boy who had been staying with him, he had more than once gotten into a tussle with the stove burner. But this, this was close to nuclear. She was like touching naked flame without any of the pain. It was nearly too much. It was going to be too much if he didn’t get ahold of himself.

It was ridiculous how ill-prepared Nick found himself. He had…memories. Private memories that didn’t exactly belong to him. But the sensations were real. He could remember how Jenny felt, sprawled on their bed and writhing. He even remembered orgasms, both shared and private. He had, a few times, experimented with his own, and concluded that while not quite the same, the sensations were not too dissimilar, either. Less intense, perhaps, but also less messy. Ultimately, of little interest. But this – he could feel gears grinding against themselves, could hear the little hiss of a heat sink reaching its limit. He took in a breath if only in the hopes that the air he didn’t need would help to cool his system.

But she was breathing soft whining sounds into his ear, and his body, for the first time almost entirely out of his usually micromanaged control, wouldn’t allow him not to move. Nails were curling into the synthetic skin of his back and he could hear his name, half a whisper, in her mouth, and he was pushing into her like he wanted to close every millimeter of distance between them.

And then – it wasn’t whining. It wasn’t the little moans that had started to escape. Her whole body had all at once tightened and the whimpering in his ear was strained and almost painful. He drew back, weight supported on his elbows to either side of her head, and met Nora’s face – streaked with new tears running sidelong over temples, lips screwed tight together and face red with the effort to keep her sobs contained. Panic rose in him like the flutter of weightlessness during a free-fall.

“I’msorryI’msorry,” she was already pleading, turning her face away and squeezing her eyes tight in an effort to stave off the crying. But he cupped a hand under her cheek, thumbing away one hot tear as it traced its way to her hair.

“Hey.” His voice was soft and full of fear, and he urged her, very gently, to look at him. She had so rarely cried. It wasn’t that she was shy about it, or even ashamed. She’d cried once while reading the last chapter of a book, and hadn’t apologized once when he’d come to see what was the matter and she’d sobbed sloppily into his coat. She’d cried, too, when they couldn’t save that cat from the mongrels on the street. Nora had never been one to balk at her own emotions or sensitivity. But she always seemed so…steadfast. She took the whole world in stride. Crying was still rare enough to launch a full system crash within him.

“Hey.” She was an ugly crier, she had always said. He didn’t know how to disagree with that – she got puffy and red the way most humans did when the tears were plentiful and earnest. But all he could see was the pain underneath, and that pierced him to the bone. Her looks never entered into the equation. “Hey, stay with me, okay?” She lowered a hand to grip the wrist below her cheek, whole body shaking with the effort to swallow whatever episode had been triggered. “We can stop, it’s all right.”

And suddenly Nora’s hands were bracing the sides of his neck, fingers slipping over his nape and tipping his hat forward accidentally to the point that it rolled off to one side, wavering like a large, soft quarter before stilling against the floor. “No,” she was telling him, shaking her head and sniffling, “no I just – it’s just –”

“It’s all right,” he tried to soothe, running that hand that had been at her cheek over the crown of her head, brushing fingers gently through her hair. “It’s fine. We can stop.” Why hadn’t he considered her trauma before they’d done – well, anything? Why had he even thought the tail-end of a mental breakdown was the appropriate place and time to make a move? If we wasn’t the biggest damn pillock--

“No,” and she was more emphatic now, blinking away enough of her tears to match him eye for eye. “I mean – unless you – I just…” She breathed in deep and let it out in a shuddering kind of sigh. “I’m safe,” she whispered, and whether it was to him or to herself, understanding dawned.

“You’re safe,” he confirmed, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “You’re safe.” A kiss against her temple, against each apple of her cheeks, against the tip of her nose which garnered a giggle (to his not so insignificant satisfaction). “You’re safe.” He kissed the corner of her mouth, the edge of her jaw, the slope of her neck which she opened for him with a sigh. “You’re safe.” She pushed herself against him and he brought back the arm not supporting his weight to brace that hand against her thigh.

“You’re safe.”

Eventually, the lanterns emptied themselves of their fuel. In the dark, Nora gasped, and Nick saw stars.




“So…that was less of a mess than I’m used to.”

They had settled in the dark with his back, now bare, against the wall, and her back against the slightly crooked plates of his chest. He’d found a cigarette because of course he had, they would always have at least one between the both of them, and they passed it back and forth with a familiar easiness. His legs sprawled to either side of her, and she’d curled her own into her chest, letting him run a palm gingerly over her knee while the metal hand waited patiently for his turn with the cigarette.

“I aim to please,” was his answer, and she chuckled.

“Mm.”

The glow of his eyes and of the rosy end of the cigarette lit her outline in soft yellows and oranges. He wondered, vaguely, if this was what people felt when they looked at art. He could appreciate a good piece when he saw it, could appreciate the effort and skill put into it, but he’d never felt particularly moved. Apart, of course, from now. He wondered if that counted.

“So…” She began again, finally slipping the filter back between his fingers. He was careful to nurse his smoke with his head pointed away from her, keeping the little trapped flame away from her now considerably mussed hair. “What’s it like for you?”

Nick choked out a hot laugh as she guided his hand, cigarette and all, to her lips to facilitate another drag. “It’s – being stuck in a positive feedback loop, really.”

“Wouldn’t that make your system more unstable?”

“Smart girl,” he teased, and she leaned more heavily against him. He wasn’t going to complain. “It does. That’s – sort of it. Everything loops around until the sensory system needs a reboot.”

“You reboot?”

“Essentially.”

“How do you stay conscious?”

“Power system’s fine. Everything’s wired in separately. One system surges, shuts down, others let up a little power to fuel the reboot. Go numb for a second, though.”

“You lose feeling?”

“Briefly.”

She issued a thoughtful “hmm” at this, at last releasing his hand so he could nurse the cigarette for himself. “So,” Nora continued after a brief, pondering silence, “is that…good? It sounds kind of like it’s bad for you. Does it feel bad?”

Nick laughed, nosing gently into the side of her neck and stealing a kiss there. The contented little sound she made could keep him warm on a cold night – if he needed that sort of thing. “It’s not bad,” he assured, with a nervous kind of chuckle. He’d never exactly been very open about discussing these kinds of things. He was the sort to clear his throat and use tame language to dance around the subject entirely. “I don’t think it could be bad for me, either. Institute never gave me much, but they did build me with hardiness in mind. I’m still kickin’ after all this time.”

“So…” It was as though it had become her favorite word. “Do you like it?”

He laughed again, slipping the filter between her lips and leaning forward a little to nip at a patch of skin just behind her ear. “Do you?” His voice was low, and she shivered. He allowed himself a moment to revel in it.

“Point taken, I guess.” There was a sense of pleasure in her voice he could feel himself wanting to cultivate, and his good hand lead his arm to loop around her middle, pulling her a little closer.

“Hey Valentine.”

“Mm?”

“How long have you wanted to do this?”

He sucked in an unnecessary breath and paid the price by coughing the last ash of the cigarette out of its mouth. Flicking the dead filter into the now less-lighted dim, Nick tucked his chin over her shoulder again with a thoughtful pause. “This feels like another trick.”

“Really? Right now, right here, after – well. You think I’m going to judge you for how long you’ve lit a candle for me?”

“I’m – bad at this,” he repeated the sentiment with such self-disappointment that she lifted his idle metal hand and pressed a warm, soft kiss to its palm.

“You’re doing fine.”

“Are you asking me how long I’ve – thought about things, or how long I’ve thought about you?”

“Both,” was her immediate answer, and he should have guessed.

“You…” He paused, ordering his thoughts more sensibly than they came to him. “It was after…after the fort,” he decided to leave out their quarry’s name, not wanting to sully the moment, “you were so…you were usually so hopeful, so determined. After that it was – hard, seeing you that way. Like you were close to giving up. Like the Commonwealth had finally got you.”

“I thought so too.” Her voice was soft and a little sad, and he held her tighter for it.

“But then later, when we made camp…”

“You stayed next to me,” she recalled, fondness forming in her tone.

“And you took my hand –” he flexed metal fingers in the distinct recollection of how she very much hadn’t pulled away “—like it was – so – normal. And fell asleep.”

“And you kept watch.” She was grinning.

“I always kept watch,” he replied gruffly, but the lack of change in her demeanor indicated she wasn’t buying his grumpy routine. She rarely did.

“So that’s me,” Nora continued relentlessly. “What about things?” She used emphasis in that teasing way she had, and he groaned with a roll of his eyes.

“Does that really matter?”

“You’ve got me sitting here naked as a jaybird and you can’t tell me how long you’ve wanted to fuck me, Nick Valentine?”

He went still. She felt a small twitch of pressure at her back and couldn’t help a smirk. Good to know that kind of reaction was still at her disposal. This was turning out to be quite the education on synths. Or, at least Nick’s particular model.

“Since…” There was an adorable kind of discomfort in her voice, but she stifled a giggle lest he give up completely in that huffy way of his. “The beach,” he murmured finally, sounding distinctly embarrassed by it all. Such a gentleman. It only fueled her grin.

“That’s not so long ago,” Nora noted. “Long time after the fort, too.”

“I just – hadn’t really even…it just seemed so far out of the realm of possibility before then.”

“And after? Think about it much?”

“More…than is probably appropriate.”

She let out an extended little whistle, which was mostly just a pitched breath of air that made him chuckle. She had always been such a bad whistler. “Gosh, Nick, never took you for such a scoundrel.”

“Here I was thinking you were starting to like that about me.”

“But still! How distinctly un-gentlemanly of you.”

“Hey now, you’re the one who kissed me, remember?”

“Yeah,” she laughed, shrugging. “I just figured if I kept waiting for you, I’d be waiting forever.”

The silence they lapsed into was tinted ever so slightly with sadness. He leaned down to press a couple of long kisses over her shoulder. “Sorry,” he whispered against her skin, “I’ve got a bit of jackass in my code.”

She laughed in such a welcome way, and craned her head to steal a proper kiss from him. “I wouldn’t say that.”

Nick opened his mouth to reply, but there came a deafening kind of CRACK that split the air outside. Then another, and a few more in quick succession.

“Gunfire,” Nora asserted, and she was already on her feet.

“Shit – damn.” He fumbled a little helplessly for his pants. “Where’s my damn—” But she was already handing him his long-shucked bandolier, pistol faithfully tucked in its holster. “You got a gun?”

“No,” she answered, and he could hear the rustle of fabric as she shoved herself into her clothes. “I’ve got my knife.”

“Your knife—where the hell—”

“Who knew garter belts could be so useful, right?”

He had to force himself away from an entirely inappropriate train of thought as he wrenched his pistol free, discarding his holster for lack of time. “What – where are you going?” He demanded, even as a hand scrabbled for the latch to the folding stairs.

“Window’s faster,” was her only explanation as she lifted the chair she’d been seated in earlier that evening and rammed its legs forcefully into the remaining bricks that blocked out the night. There hadn’t been many still intact, and the mortar had long since been dried and weathered into uselessness. A handful of bricks went tumbling free, and she was out of the space provided before he could stop her.

She’d be the death of him, one way or another.

Under the sound of more gunplay, Nora nimbly made her way down to the arch of the state house’s main roof, and slid slightly on her bare heels to reach the edge. She ran along the white trim and vaulted over the lowest edge of the side, brick wall, moving from the arch of the door below to the balcony proper to the ground in a handful of seconds. She’d always been agile like that. He had admired it many times before, just as he was now – begrudgingly, while he tried to keep after her without popping a servo or damaging his hydraulics.

Nick was rounding the corner of Goodneighbor’s main square almost a minute behind her when he felt a hand reach out and seize him by the wrist, pulling him in. He knew better than to resist at a time like this, and allowed Nora to pull him into the shadow of the wall. He peered over her head to follow her attention, and could make out a slightly scattered crowd of citizens, and one familiar red frock coat that had been soundly laid out, a darker, more insistent red pooling around its shoulder. He tensed, as if to move forward, but Nora’s grip on him tightened. She jerked her head to the center of the crowd, where above Hancock’s prone form stood a figure entirely at ease, swathed in black leather and hoisting a laser rifle more clean and put together than anything scrounged from the Commonwealth ruins.

“Courser,” she hissed between her teeth, and now Nick was the one who had to hold her back. She glared at him like she meant to resist for a moment, but then turned her attention back to the debacle at the sound of a cool, calm voice.

“I’m here for the Railroad agent,” the man announced. There was no mistaking that cold, unaffected tone. She’d heard it too often within the confines of the institute, and it always lit her skin with disgusted goosepimples. “Give me her location, and no further harm needs to come to your…” His lip curled in distaste. “City.”

Hancock was sitting up, more or less facing Nora given his angle, holding his shoulder while his injured arm hung horribly limp. He was cracking a horrible smile, but she could feel it – he’d seen her. Maybe he'd seen Nick, his yellow eyes in the dark, and just assumed she’d be along. The losing end of the rifle was trained on the mayor in an instant, causing the courser to turn entirely away from the pair in the shadows.

“Ya know,” Hancock was rasping, out of breath in a way that made Nora’s blood run cold, “you Institute types never were good at offering the carrot before the stick.”

Behind that familiar tricorner hat, she could see another pair of recognizable figures at the far end of the crowd. Taking advantage of their place in relative shadow, MacCready was already easing his rifle around to his front. Nora lifted her hand, and breathed a sigh of relief when he spotted her – she shouldn’t have been surprised. His entire livelihood relied on his sharp eye and perfect aim.

The mercenary lifted his head in question at her, and Cait soon followed his gaze to the pair pressed against the wall. Her fists balled tight.

In direction, Nora folded her fingers so that index finger and thumb formed a kind of gun shape, aimed this upward and pumped her arm once – miming a single shot in the air. Understanding dawned visibly on the faces of Mac and Cait, and backing a little ways away to keep himself out of immediate sight, Mac very quietly cocked his rifle.

It all seemed to happen at once, in a single explosion of movement and sound. The gunshot sent a wave of screaming through the crowd, and every present body began to flee this way and that in fear and confusion. Hancock had his combat knife in his hand with otherworldly speed, and had brought it down hard into the knee of the synth above him. Nora shot diagonal into the crowd, ducking low to avoid immediately being spotted, and as the rifle lifted in the courser’s hand toward Hancock’s face, Nick took a shot at the arm that bore the gun’s weight.

The force of the shot caused him to jerk, but the man didn’t drop his weapon. He simply turned to face the source of the bullet, and raised his rifle with a kind of sadistic smile on his otherwise impassive face. “You were recalled years ago,” he noted blandly. His finger squeezed the trigger, and Nick braced himself – there, at the very least, would go another skin plate. He was running out of those.

But that searing burst of energy went mostly skyward as the courser was jerked back, letting out a surprised sort of noise at the small arm that had hooked suddenly around his neck from behind. “You want me?” Nora was alive with a fury that promised immediate, irrefutable fatalities. “You got me.” Her free hand came around in a fast arc, planting the length of her switchblade in its entirety into the soft flesh just above the courser’s collarbone. Without mercy, without relish, with the solemnity of duty realized, she yanked the blade to one side, and with a small shower of arterial spray and a gurgling noise, let the man fall forward at her feet.

Nora panted. The scrambling crowd came to a halt. Mac and Cait broke through the stunned citizens, Piper appeared from the opposite side of the square, and Nick was on the blood-spattered woman in a second. A hand in a leather glove, slick with its own blood, had reached up weakly to snatch at the detective’s passing leg, but Hancock drove a heel down into those knuckles, and unlike his dear friend, he did relish the sound of bones cracking.

“Jesus, Blue, are you okay?” Her hands were on Nora’s shoulders.

“What the hell was that?” Mac was demanding.

“I thought we blew those fuckers up!” Cait exclaimed.

Nora tried to gently free herself of the small gathering, bending down to her knees in front of John and gingerly examining his shoulder. Her brows knit. “How did he hit you? His rifle – you shouldn’t be bleeding.” She knew the signs of laser wounds all too well. The wound would be burnt and acrid, but it would at least be cauterized.

“Not very polite of the bastard, right?” Hancock’s laugh was too breathy for Nora’s comfort, and she looked up to Nick who, before she could even speak, nodded and made a dash for the doors of the Memory Den. “Got Fahr’s hand canon off her, tried to turn it on her. Got in the way.”

“How clumsy of you,” she teased with a slightly shaking voice, brushing fingertips down the side of his arm gingerly. “Can you feel anything? Can you move your fingers?”

“I’m gonna be just fine, Sunshine,” he soothed, patting her shoulder with his uninjured but still bloody hand. “Amari’ll patch me right up. She does good work.” He jerked his head to urge her attention to the woman who was, even now, rushing across the street, Nick fast on her heels.

“You, though,” his smile was strange, now. Like real amusement, not just bravado. “You should go get cleaned up.”

“Me?” She almost laughed. “You’re a mess.”

“I’m also dressed.”

Nora blinked. She looked down.

It had been dark and neither of them had been focused on looking nice. Nick stood shirtless, his suspenders hanging at his hips, and suddenly uncomfortably aware of the fact. Nora had his button down barely fastened over her front, and the length of it only just reached the tops of her still-clipped stockings. Neither of them had managed to put their shoes on.

“Oh.”

Mac had his duster off almost at once, and she took it from him gratefully, fighting the flush that was creeping along to cover the space between her neck and the tips of her ears. Nick had a sympathetic, protective arm around her shoulders, though she wondered if this also served to hide himself from view, at least a little.

Cait and her beau-apparent were looking back and forth between their friends as Amari and an impromptu enlisted citizen were lifting Hancock to his feet.

“Shite,” Cait said.

“You owe me ten caps,” Mac replied.

“Ten caps he had equipment to work with. I don’t see any proof of that.”

“Oh my god.” Nora had her face in her hands. Nick was the embodiment of surly disapproval.

“Messy hair,” Piper was beginning to count a list on her fingers, grinning horribly, “each other’s clothes, no shoes, Nick doesn’t even have his hat…” The synth patted his bare head with this realization before glaring around again, huffing in displeasure, though this particular observation had them all nodding in agreement – even Cait, though reluctantly. Man never went anywhere without his hat. “IIIII’d say that’s pretty much proof they figured out something.”

“Okay!” Nora’s tone was bright with brittle humiliation. “I’m going to put on some pants, and then we are all going to check on John and none of us are going to talk about this ever again!”

“Not on your life,” was Mac’s answer, while Cait and Piper laughed.

They left the trio to their amusement, and headed back into the state house. They eased into one another’s company naturally, laughing occasionally in their own right, and generally expending what adrenaline remained. He slipped into his old shirt, and she kept the one she wore, tucking it into her jeans and balling the sleeves up at her elbows so she could maintain use of her hands. Shoes were located, belts were fastened. Assisting one another dress had very nearly caused a delay, but Nora batted Nick’s hands away with a smirk before sliding her fingers through his and marching them down to the Memory Den.

The main floor was empty but for Irma, who directed them downstairs with a strange smile, telling them everyone had already gathered there. When Nora passed the woman, Nick’s grip tightened just a fraction, and Irma met her with a wink that would have been illegal in any other town. Hot in the cheeks once again, Nora scurried down the stairs after only a half-second of hesitation.

Nick had not appeared to have forgotten her last trip here, however, and he pulled her close as they descended, whispered a reminder in her ear that brought a soothed kind of smile to her face, and kept her hand firmly in his own when they arrived.

Safe. You’re safe.

Hancock’s skinny torso was bare, his shirt and jacket pooled around his waist in Amari’s chair while she stood at his back, working delicately at the wound.

“Clean shot,” the mayor announced, grinning. Nora couldn’t help but smile in return, as much as she felt like giving the man a good smack. “Right through.”

“You gonna be okay?”

“He will if he does not exert himself.” Amari’s tone was one of teachery disapproval, and carried harmonics that reached into the genetic memory of all present and gave them the distinct feeling they should be standing in a corner. “I am afraid miss Fahrenheit rarely accepts my advice, but I suspect if you urge her–” she glanced briefly but pointedly at Nora “—she might be more inclined to keep our mayor out of trouble.”

“Hancock out of trouble? When Brahmin fly.” Cait was shaking her head with a crooked smirk.

“I saw that once,” Mac reflected.

“Gettin’ thrown by a supermutant doesn’t count,” she shot back.

“I don’t know – it went pretty far.”

Hancock was apparently finding this all greatly amusing, and Nora noted the double doses of Med-X on a tray by his side. It didn’t surprise her in the least that he needed an extra shot. His system was flooded with so much already; she was more surprised he was still capable of feeling pain. But John’s eyes fell to the tangled fingers between Nick and Nora, and his grin exceeded a decent level of smugness.

“So,” he began, a little louder than he probably meant to, but Nora could easily imagine his ear was still ringing from such a close-range shot. “You two finally—”

“I am not above kicking an injured ghoul while he’s down,” Nora warned, but her smile gave this threat very little weight.

“You looked pretty good out there, treasure,” Cait chimed in, grinning in that typically lewd way of hers. “This rustbucket ever stops doin’ it for ya, I’m sure I know a couple of people more than willin’ to lend a hand.” Her arm hooked roughly around Mac’s neck to pull him into her side, and his cheeks went wildly red underneath the brim of his cap. Nick looked pointedly away.

Nora rolled her eyes, still smirking. “Your mind ever leave the gutter, Cait?”

“S’more fun down here,” she answered, with a lick of her lips.

“Ain’t that the truth,” was Hancock’s addition, voice a little melodic with his heavy dose of painkillers. He was always some kind of high, but she’d never seen him venture far from his Mentats and Jet. It was almost cute, seeing him like this.

“We gonna talk about the seriously scary Institute fu--guy or what?” Mac spoke up again, struggling to fight off his flush with a serious tone.

The air in the room grew a little heavier. Nora chewed her lip. “I knew there had to be some left – they couldn’t have all been inside when the place went up. I just didn’t think they’d find Zimmer so fast.”

“Y’think it was this Zimmer guy?” Cait’s tone was riddled with loyal hate, and the knuckles on her free hand squeezed until they delivered a satisfying crack.

“Who else? They were after me. I mean, I’m the only known agent, right? What reason would they have to seek me out specifically?”

“Revenge?” Mac suggested.

“They’re not like that. It’s more like – the way Ayo picked them, the way he trained them. He made sure they were more machine than people. They wouldn’t look for vengeance, they’d look for an organized group to tell them what to do.”

“You said you thought Zimmer was farther west,” Hancock noted, strangely astute for his condition. But then, he battled through daily gunfights under highs stronger and longer than this. He could usually wrangle his thoughts in from any distance. “So how’d this guy get here so fast? He just – appeared.”

“I think I might know someone who can answer that.” Deacon was resting his shoulder against the doorway, as though he had always been there, and all heads turned to face him. He held out his arms when Nora ran to him, and pulled her in immediately for a tight embrace. “Howdy, partner,” he breathed into her hair.

“Howdy,” she answered, and there passed between them a wordless conversation. Nick did his best not to be bothered by it. And…he wasn’t, for the most part. Recent events had done well for his confidence.

“Where were you?” Nora finally asked, pulling back enough to look up at him.

“HQ. Thought maybe I could cool some heads while you were…busy.” His eyebrows waggled outlandishly above his sunglasses, and this earned him a rather firm punch in the front of his shoulder. “Ow! Hey. That’s assault, little lady.”

“This is Goodneighbor. It’s probably encouraged.”

“Damn near the law,” Hancock agreed behind her, and this allowed Nora to meet the agent in front of her with a satisfied so-there expression.

Deacon lifted his hands in defeat and delivered a dramatic sigh. “Such a barbaric person you’ve become.” But his arm was around her shoulders again, and she leaned against him comfortably. Nick watched his shoes carefully.

“So what’s this answer?” Mac asked rather tersely, and for once Nick felt a little gratitude for the kid.

“I don’t know,” Deacon explained, like that should be obvious. “Tinker Tom said a lot of gibberish about fluctuations in the thingy-whatever, and told me to come take a gander. And look what I find! You’re all partying without me.”

“You got any idea what he’s thinking?” Nora prompted.

“Maybe? He said something about teleportation, but I don’t know if I buy it. I was pretty sure that tech went out of business with the rest of the Institute.”

“Was there ever any evidence they were established in force anywhere else?”

Deacon shook his head, giving his partner’s shoulder a comforting little squeeze. “All signs pointed to the Commonwealth, as far as we knew. Dez is pulling her hair out over it.”

“I can imagine.” Nora heaved a little sigh and broke away from Deacon, crossing her arms thoughtfully. “There’s not a lot of use in hashing it out right now. We all need rest, especially John. It’s been…an exciting day.”

Hancock snickered and Cait joined in, though they were both met with a warning glare and eventually slipped back into silence.

“Dr. Amari, do you think he’ll be okay to head out tomorrow?”

The doctor met her stare with a look that clearly said she expected no better of any of them, and was somehow still disappointed. “If he must. He is healing well already with the stimpack, but there has been muscle damage.”

“I’ll live,” Hancock waved her away, and Amari frowned.

“How long before he’s back at one hundred percent?”

“A few days at least. If he’s planning on using that shotgun of his, anyway.”

“He is,” the room answered in unison, and Hancock guffawed happily.

“Three days minimum, then.”

Nora sighed, but when she met John’s eye she thought better than to suggest leaving him behind. He’d follow them anyway, and he’d be angry with her besides. He’d promised her before – to the ends of the earth and back. And he wasn’t going to let her force him to break his word.

“Okay, then. We’ve got three days of vacation. Piper,” Nora added, turning toward her friend, “I know Ellie is probably—”

“Like I’m gonna miss this story,” Piper interrupted firmly. “Anyway, El’d give me hell if I came back without you two.” Nora’s smile was a little sad, but grateful, too.

“Okay. John, you think you can send someone back to Diamond City with a message? Let Shaun and Ellie know we’ll be a little bit longer?”

“You got it, Sunshine. I got just the guy.”

“Good.” She heaved another little sigh, and found Nick’s hand lightly at the small of her back. Comfort warmed her, and she smiled up at him. “Looks like we’re paying the Railroad a visit.”

“The whole gang back together?” Cait’s voice was pitched in the same way she greeted a fistfight: Eager and confident. “I like the sound of that.”

“Hear, hear,” Deacon added, shooting Nora a surprisingly sincere smile.

“Well you’re not all gonna head off and leave me behind,” Mac added grumpily, and Nora laughed.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Mac.”

“Look out world,” Hancock added a little dreamily, “yer about to get a hard kick in the ass.”

They laughed. Nick pulled Nora gently against his side, and she sighed in a kind of relief. If she really was going to have to face down the remains of the Institute, she couldn’t imagine a better team to have at her back.