Chapter Text
We met up with the other Minutemen in a shack short of the Castle. The General took over entirely, giving out orders like a General should. Just a bunch of mirelurks, no trouble at all. Until the queen turned up. I've heard of them, of course, but never seen one before. Hope I never see one again, specially not one as spitting mad as this one.
But when I looked down into the courtyard, the General had a missile launcher on her shoulder. Which... on the scale of unexpected things the General has done, kinda... reset that scale, and not for the first time. But we came out of the fight with all hands alive, albeit with a couple of acid burns to deal with that took up most of our stimpaks.
So, we did it. The Castle is ours. I don't really know what to say. The guys are clearing things up. Depositing piles of mirelurk shells and... other things, downwind of the walls. The General practically passed out from the smell a little while ago, so I sent her outside while we started to clean up. I'd better go check on her.
She's sitting by the shore, throwing stones into the water. I settle down next to her.
"Have you seen Dogmeat?" she asks.
"No," I say, but at that exact moment, pebbles start to skitter down the bank.
"Ugh," she says, "I hope he hasn't been rolling in anything gross."
He runs down the beach toward us, and bounds around to stand two paws on her lap. He licks her face, then runs away again.
She laughs, and wipes her cheek on her sleeve. "I hope he hasn't been eating anything gross, either."
"It's ok," I say, inspecting her face. "No green stains."
She rolls her eyes. But she's still looking out across the water. And I know what she's looking at, without turning my head.
"What an eyesore," she says.
She's looking at the metal zeppelin up to the north of us. It flew over a few days back, settled into a berth above the airport. The Minutemen waiting for us had been closer to it, and said it came in flanked by vertibirds, broadcasting a message of peace.
It looks like danger, to me.
She throws a stone towards it. "What do you think they want?"
"No idea," I say. "But I don't like it. I never heard of Brotherhood coming out this far."
"Perhaps they're just taking a little vacation. Change of scenery, good for the soul."
When the wind blows in this direction, it's full of the humming of vertibird engines, minigun fire, explosions. Big explosions.
"Some vacation," I say.
"Maybe we should go and ask them," she says. "A diplomatic visit. Representing the Minutemen. The Commonwealth, even, we could pull that off."
"Oh," I say. "I suppose. You think we should?"
"I don't know," she says. "Probably something a General should know. Maybe there'll be a book around here, 'How to be a General', by General A. Fancypants."
"You're doing fine so far," I say.
"'How to be a Diplomat', by T. B. Ambassador."
"Seriously," I say.
She laughs. "'How not to Start a War Accidentally', and I can't even be bothered to think up an author for that, I just really want them to drop by and tell me what to do."
Her expression isn't pained, exactly, but maybe mine is. I mean, we just retook the Castle. That's a whole step up from where we were before. From survival, to consolidation. Neither of us have got the skills, really. It's nothing like the politics of the old days, of course, but we could get ourselves in a world of trouble before we even realise it.
"I'll need a hat," she says. "They look like the kind that would respect a hat more than a person."
I take off my hat. Drop it onto her head. It doesn't really fit over her hair.
"I'm going to assume you're not laughing at me," she says, trying to pat it down. She gives up, and wrinkles her nose. "Forget about how it looks, I don't feel inspired to diplomacy anyway. It is warm, though, no wonder you wear it all the time."
I run a hand over my head. Hadn't really thought about it, it's just part of the uniform.
"Anyway," she says, "you can't not have a hat. Imagine the scandal of my second-in-command not having a hat? Shockwaves, felt right across the Commonwealth."
Who'd have thought it. I'm just a kid who joined up, wanting to make a difference. Didn't think I ever actually would.
"This is just for practice," I say. "I will be taking it back."
She lies back on the stones. Balances the hat over her forehead, shading her eyes from an imaginary sun. Dogmeat skitters back down the stones to sit by her side, panting. I reach out to scratch his ears.
"Yeah," she says, "I really do need a hat. This is great. Even insomnia would be cool in a hat like this."
"I wouldn't go that far," I say.
She holds out her arm, and beckons me in. I rest my head on her shoulder, my arm over her waist. She smells of cigarette smoke and gunpowder. Might be residue from the missile launcher. I wonder where she found it, because her pack isn't big enough for a launcher even before you factor in the ammo.
Maybe this place has hidden depths.
I don't know what time it is. I feel like I should be helping the guys in the Castle, that's a horrible job they've got to do. And I know there's more. We need to get the radio transmitter online, never mind what comes after. But lying here, her fingers gently stroking my shoulder, watching the tide gently lap against the stones. Dogmeat just over there chewing on a bit of driftwood. It's nice. I don't want to move.
But, it is starting to get dark. And cold. "Come on," I say, "We should get inside."
She groans. "Don't make me go back in there, it smells so bad."
"You'll be alright. Here. Hold this over your nose." I pull off my scarf, wrap it around her neck.
She tucks the ends in her jacket, pulls the fabric over her nose. "I feel like I'm about to rob a bank or something." She makes guns with her fingers, pokes them into my chest. "Hand over the cash! I mean, caps."
"Uh," I say, "ma'am, I feel obliged to tell you that I am armed."
"Oh," she says, "well, sorry, my mistake. Did I say hand over the cash? I meant, uh, have a nice day. You must have misheard, the scarf, you know." She pulls back her hand, flexes it gently. Waggles the fingers as though it's a greeting. Her eyes sparkle, like they did back at the underpass.
I love when she does her play-acting. "Come on," I say, and hold out my hand.
Soft palm against mine, cold fingertips pressing my skin. She stands still. Stays there, when I start to move. I have to pull pretty hard to make her move, but she does, with a grin.
Pebbles crunching underfoot, then broken masonry as we cross into the courtyard.
The mirelurk queen lies sprawling, taking up most of that courtyard, towering over our heads, almost above the walls. It, or she, I guess, is steaming in the cold air, leaking... fluids all over the dirt. A couple of Minutemen are approaching with ropes, trying to work out how to get her out of here. The place really does smell awful. I'm trying not to breathe through my nose but I'm wondering how much damage it's doing going straight into my lungs, this can't be healthy. I don't know how many stimpaks we have left, but I bet we'll need more before long.
Checking on the General, I see she has her hand pressing over the scarf, her eyes watering despite that. And Dogmeat's edging right around the opposite wall, so I suppose he's not having it much easier. Sensitive dog noses and all.
But a little while ago, while we were sweeping the place, we found a room that the mirelurks hadn't gotten into, with all their trailing seaweed and stinking eggs. It's actually fairly clean, hardly even dusty. There's a few filing cabinets, a huge desk, and a shabby old bed at the back. Not quite clear what this room was used for, whether it was like this in the old days, or if it was the last inhabitant prior to the mirelurks, but I'm thinking it'll serve as a base of operations.
I keep the door open for a bare minimum of time. Wedge it shut behind us. Hope the smell doesn't follow us in.
"Oh," she says. "This is... okay."
She finds her pack, pulls out Dogmeat's blanket, drops it on the floor under the desk. He jumps right on it, barks at her before burying his face in it.
She's looking around, taking stock of what's in the room. She taps a map on the wall, approving, the Commonwealth in the old days. Then she goes through the cabinets and drawers, exclaims when she finds something. A box, that she shakes in the air. She stands in front of the map, checking the Pip-Boy, taking pins from the box and pushing them into it.
I sit on the edge of the desk, while she works. When she turned up, back in Concord, I had no idea we'd make it this far. Every moment we lived was another moment of danger. I saw death around every corner. Now, it's still there, but I feel I can face up to it. I'm watching her map out our territory, even. And...
And.
She loves me.
I can't believe it, really. It's always been... it's always been that I'm the one that's felt more. And that's fine, you know. I'd rather feel something than nothing. But now I'm the asshole that hasn't told her.
"Check it out," she says. "This is what we've done."
We've changed the world. Or a little bit of it, at least.
"Oh," she's saying, "if we can get some caravans to come down here, then we just need a couple of places to the west, and we can get a whole trade route going on. Oberland, Sunshine Tidings, Sanctuary."
I feel it rolling through my chest before I say it, spilling down my arms into the hands that are suddenly holding her face. I don't remember putting them there, but if I could never let go, I wouldn't mind that, either.
"I love you," I say, and kiss her like I've never kissed anyone before.
"Uh," she says, when I let her go. "Talking about trade routes is what does it for you?"
"Nah," I say, when I can breathe again. "It's the whole package."
"Cute," she says, with a smile.
"So," I say, "it occurs to me that the walls are ten feet thick, if you ignore the sections that have fallen down."
"Oh," she says.
"Not quite a dozen men on patrol, but we'll get there."
"Okay," she says. "Where's my pistol?"
"On the desk," I say, taking my hat off her head.
"The grenades?"
"There's a few in my pack," I say, unwinding my scarf from her neck.
So many buttons to undo, jackets, waistcoats, shirts. Boots to slip off tired feet, torn socks to peel off with a wry smile. All that to go through before I can hold her close, real close. Press kisses in her hair, on her face, on her neck.
Then we're the kind of idiots who just fall asleep. But hell, if it isn't the best sleep I've had in months. Years. Maybe ever. Safe. Warm. Loved.
Kinda sickening, right?
Yeah.
I love it.