Melancholia
Waking up is the hardest part.
It had been that way since she was young, back before the bombs, back before the war. Back when her only concerns involved how to go about paying for law school and whether or not the pregnancy test was lying to her. It would take her ages to wake up in the morning back then, sleep being a welcomed reprieve from the first-world challenges she used to face.
Now sleep came in bursts, a few quiet moments here and there. Against the walls of crumbling buildings, in small shanty homes, occasionally when she was lucky a familiar couch or bed that didn't smell like several different things died on it. Or around it. Yeah, those were the lucky days. The luckiest though had come whenever she was in her arms, all warm, tanned skin and sweet smelling, jet black hair that she frequently buried her face in. Sleep would happen almost instantly, whether it was because she felt like home, (because she really felt like home if Nora was being honest, but she never was, so she never told her.) or if it was because she had made sure that the Vault Dweller was sore and exhausted in the best ways, she'll never know.
Waking up was easier with her, her voice croaking beside her, (wakey wakey Blue,) would make her eyes open slowly, feeling the pressure of her weight, light and reassuring on her, chin resting on her collarbone as she would yawn, stretching each creaky joint and popping every bone she could. There would have been a been a couple of smart ass comments about aging well and false concern about her needing a walker, followed by a light swat to a tanned and freckled shoulder. Weight getting heavier as the woman leaned into her more, lips peppered her nose, her cheeks, her lips in soft, light, kisses. (it's time to move.)
Waking up with her was easier.
That's what she remembers as her familiar voice floats into her ears, soft and husky. That hint of a rasp she'd acquired from one too many packs of cigarettes. (Wakey wakey Blue.) She opens her eyes slowly, sitting up and rubbing her eyes as the sunlight sneaks through the slated boards of the shack she decided to stay in. She pops her knuckles and lets out a grunt (now that your done popping, I figure it's time for me to....ah....me to tell you something.) She walks over to the wall, listening to each and every word as her fingers reach out for the rifle, slinging it over her shoulder. She checks her pack, making sure she has all the necessary materials, before that too gets thrown over her shoulder. She opens the door and winces a little as the sun greets in full force. It hits her the same way falling in love had hit her, fast, warm, and blinding enough to make her tear up a little. (Now bear with me Blue, I promise there's a point to all this.)
She's running through the streets now, ducking away from Ferals and Super Mutants as she weaves through the shambles of her former neighborhood. Nora pops a few rounds when they get too close and doesn't let her eyes linger long enough to watch warm bodies hit the cold ground, only staying on them long enough to make sure they won't get back up. Even Super Mutants were human once and while Nora had gotten used to a large number of things.Facing roaches the size of her torso and scorpions the size of cars was nothing compared to killing people and watching them die. After a while though she had gotten used to it. For a time at least.
(I guess I should start by saying I love you.)
It had taken one lapse of judgement to lead to her reverting back to her old ways. One. Although, to Nora's credit it wasn't her lapse of judgment. She supposes that that should mean something. Whatever it means though, she isn't too sure. She's given up trying to make sense of the whole thing ages ago. The Vault Dweller round the corner, glancing in at a long abandoned diner. Before all of this had happened she would've been terrified of the skeletons that were there, now she's just happy nothing has disturbed the remains. (I mean you already know I love you, I've told you that before, I know I have. Once or twice.)
Actually she had mentioned it fifty-seven times. But it hadn't been like Nora was counting them at all.
(And you make it so easy you know? Loving you is like loving the paper....It's like loving Nat. Okay. Wait. It's not like loving Nat at all.)
She gives a little chuckle at that. It's bittersweet and hollow, just like all the laughs had been after it happened. Nora looks up, seeing the top half of the emerald green wall over the decaying remains of clothing stores and book shops. Just behind those walls had been her home once. Just behind those walls had been her life.
(Loving you is like...it's like loving the sunset. Is that corny? God, that's probably corny. But you know how the sunset has all those different colors? How they all meld and mesh together into something beautiful? How the sky just mixes with the sun? Loving you is like that.)
Nora lets out a sigh as she passes a few turrets, nodding to a couple of guards that look her way as the sun starts to sink. Hadn't it had just been morning? She swear it was just this morning when she turned the corner.
(I guess I just want to do with you what the sky does with the sun when it sets. If that makes sense. I mean I'm not talking about....about that. Not that I don't like it when we do that. I love that. Actually we should do more of that. Whenever you get home anyways. We should do that often. Fuck, I had a point.)
She walks up the stairs to the city with the grace of a fallen hero. Only sparing a glance to wave at Sullivan as she goes into the place she had been avoiding for weeks, ever since she dropped Nat and Shaun off at Sanctuary to stay with Codsworth, Curie and Cait. Watching them had gotten too hard. Looking at Nat had gotten too hard. (Right, sunsets....I love you the way the sky loves the sun when it sets. I love you the way the tide loves the shore. I love you in a hundred different ways and I didn't even know I could count that high. I don't think I'll ever stop either.)
There's still a faded stain where it had happened, it's the first thing she sees when she walks in and she clenches her jaw so tight it hurts. She wishes she left McDonough alive just so she could beat him to death again. But he's dead. Nora had made damn sure of that.
(And I was just wondering, since there's no way this love is stopping. If you'd want to grow old together....or older. Seeing as you're already a relic and all.)
She still remembers it like it was yesterday, the shouting, the yelling. The blood. God, there had been so much blood. Soaking through leather and dying the red even redder. She remembers how cold she had felt in her arms, the sounds of Danny yelling at the other guards, the smell of gunpowder and metal and power noodles, the quiet desperation in her voice as she had asked her not to leave, not yet. The fear in her voice as she whispered that she didn't want to die. Not like this. Not at all.
(I guess what I'm saying is will you want to be relics together? Will you give me the chance to keep loving you like the sun loves the sky?)
She can remember it all like it happened yesterday, and she has to shut her eyes for a moment as tears blur the edges of her vision as she takes a seat in front of the small white cross behind Publick Occurrences. The yelling, the screaming, Nora's screaming as she busted open the door to the Mayor's office. Nora seeing red. Nora beating McDonough until her knuckles were busted and the Mayor laid in a pool of his own gore. She remembers not stopping until she was pried away from the scene by Nick. She remembers him pressing the holotape into her battered and bloody hand and muttering about how he was sorry, how he was so sorry, that Piper had wanted her to have the tape. How it had been found in her jacket after Nora had left.
(Will you marry me?)
The tears are falling freely now and Nora keeps her chin up, eyes focused on the press cap dangling off the cross, the sun mixing with the sky just above her, as she whispers one word.
"Yes."
If waking up is the hardest part. Then moving on is even harder.