Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

View from the Vault

By Piper Wright

Whenever I take a walk through Diamond City, there are so many things people tell me to be grateful for. Purified water, working lights, electricity, security. True, what we have would have been unthinkable even a few decades ago. But it's easy to forget that, even after all the progress we have made, we are still living in the shadow of the world that was. A world before the threat of radiation. Before the Super Mutant and the Feral Ghoul and the synth.

So, as fortune often has it, I crossed paths with Blue. Vault Dweller. A person who is experiencing the Commonwealth for the first time. What would his fresh set of eyes say about how far we've come? Is Diamond City the "Great, Green Jewel" we have always claimed it to be?

Before we begin to answer that question, we have to know who Blue is. Where he comes from. In speaking to him, he stressed that his time inside the Vault was normal. But what is normal for a Vault? This reporter knows that life behind the sealed gear doors of a Vault-Tec facility is supposed to be a bastion of the old world. A preservation of life before the bombs.

Delving deeper into Blue’s past, I learned that his definition of “normal” is quite surprising. Vaults, as I learned, are rarely as “safe” as their remnants would have us believe. Blue, while not telling exact details, shared that his Vault was broken into, and the original Vault itself was built for nefarious purposes.

So what does Blue have to say about seeing Diamond City for the first time?

"Honestly, I’m glad the old world is gone. Good fucking riddance, but seeing this? Seeing what’s become of this new one? It gives me hope."

Hope. When was the last time someone in our city talked about hope who wasn't some politician fishing for points in the next election, making empty promises at the Wall? But our outsider hasn't let the cynicism of our strange world get the better of him.

This is all the more remarkable because of the reason he came to the Commonwealth. Blue shared with me that his reason for journeying was to avenge his family. Killed by those that broke into his Vault, Blue’s wife is dead, and his only child is missing.

We all know the rumors and whispers that surround every missing person in Diamond City. The guilty looks we pass to mourning family members as we "thank the Wall that, this time, it wasn't us." You can end up dead in the Commonwealth for a million reasons. 

It's easy for us to be cynical about the missing. We have spent so long knowing the Institute is out there, but knowing so little about them. They are not the only ones responsible for kidnappings, but the fact that they sometimes are, and the fact that we have been so powerless to stop them when they do, causes us to treat all victims of kidnappings as if they are a lost cause.

But the people left behind, those loved ones, friends, and neighbors who may never see the faces of those taken from them again, they do not have the luxury of being able to just look away. They have to carry that loss with them, even if everyone else tells them to move on and forget.

I asked Blue to make a statement to Diamond City. To give us an outsider's perspective on what it means to lose a loved one, and how he feels. Maybe, in some way, it's how we all should feel. Maybe we've forgotten what the right, human response to these tragedies are.

"You can’t change the past." He said. "No one can. We can only ever hope to move forwards."

Chapter Text

“Hey you,” Piper starts. She blinks, watches the vault dweller freeze up, turning slowly to face her, before pointing a gloved finger to themself as if to ask, me?

“Yeah, you. Vaultie.” Piper repeats, and takes the next few strides to place herself next to the guy, who shies away from her a little. (That’s not a problem, there’s a story to be found here, and Piper has got her teeth in it.)

“I saw you rooting through the trash bins outside of the Inn, Vaultie. What are you doing here?” She’s not trying to be accusing, really just trying to ask questions, but Nat says she always comes off combative and she’s really not trying to be, it’s just. . . (Why does she listen to her little sister again? Piper can’t remember.)

Either way, this question does not yield answers, as Piper was hoping for, and rather, she watches with slightly fascinated eyes as the vaultie trips over nothing, seemingly screams out something garbled and unintelligible, before pulling out a small 10mm and shooting themself in the head. 

--

“Hey you,” Piper starts. She blinks, and watches the vault dweller bolt, quickly unfreezing herself and starting to run, following the bastard wherever they’re going. 

(Nat says she needs to be less aggressive, Piper thinks, but this guy has answers, dammit!)

The Vaultie clearly has no clue where they are, as they pass up a free alleyway to freedom and instead nail themselves into a dead end. Piper walks a little jauntily, sticking her hip out to the side as she cocks a finger, casual as ever, and opens her mouth to point out the Vaultie’s mistake. 

“Alright!” She announces, “I’ve got you-!”

(There is a snap of sound, a set of nails just too weakly set into the wood, and the vault dweller comes crashing down from the wall head first.)

--

“Hey, you. . .” Piper starts, but. . . where did that guy go? That vault dweller, the one skulking around town for the past day- Piper could’ve sworn the Vaultie was right in front of her, frozen like a radstag in the lights just a moment ago. . . 

(Nat always says she’s got to be less intimidating. It scares people off, apparently.)

Piper thinks for a bit, looking around. She definitely saw the Vaultie around here, but they must’ve sensed her coming, seen her around the corner or something. (Nat says her red coat is very distinctive, and also very bad for undercover work.)

It’s disappointing, sure, Piper figures, but it’s not like the guy has anywhere really to go. For all that Diamond City is the biggest in the Commonwealth, they’re still confined to the stadium, and it’s not as if the Vaultie can just climb the wall. (Nothing can climb the Wall. That would be. . . that would be like the Mayor being a real person. Impossible.)

She’ll find them again. (She will.)

--

The next time she catches a glimpse of the bastard is when Nat points them out from across the central square. 

“Isn’t that guy the one you’ve been looking for?” Nat asks, and Piper can feel her neck crackle as she turns it, nearly giving herself whiplash as she catches the tail end of that obvious build wrap around the corner of Third Street. 

“Thanks, Nat!” Piper says, standing suddenly from the old plastic chair, feeling a little more of it give way under the stress. (Dammit, she thinks. That was a good chair.) 

Piper bumps and crashes her way through the crowd, upper and lower stands both mixing as it gets closer to the holidays, crushing and mashing together in unholy matrimony. (Privately, Piper weeps in joy at this- to see the classes disregarding differences and standing together is something she can usually only dream of, and Yuletide is the only time it becomes true, if only for a moment.)

Unfortunately, that distinctive layering of clothing is gone by the time she squeezes through the market, and she’s left standing- well, jostled, really- in the middle of the market, frowning. Piper huffs, casting her eyes around for a moment before sighing, dragging herself through the crowds over to Takahashi’s noodle stand. 

"Nan-ni shimasu-ka?" Takahashi asks, and Piper gestures to the noodles, nodding her head as the robot putters about. One bowl and several caps gone later, Piper turns her attention to the only other person at the stand today, studiously covering himself and sitting far away from Piper. 

“Hello, MacCready,” Piper says, baring her teeth at the smaller man, who jolts in place as though a live current is running through him. 

“Hah- hi, Piper. Lovely seeing you here.” MacCready returns, and Piper squints. 

“I thought you said you weren’t coming back, right?” Piper questions, the start of a snarl building in the back of her throat. 

MacCready shifts. “Well,” He starts, “Things change. Anyways,” Mac says around another bite of his noodles, slurping obnoxiously, “Heard from a little birdy that you got kicked out of town.”

Piper scoffs. Mac’s shoulders go up, and there’s a dangerous curl to his mouth, making it into a snake like grin. 

“That was temporary, and already resolved. Why are you here, Mac?” Piper snarks, and the mercenary shrugs, that hard edge gleaming in his eyes. 

“What do you have to give me?” Mac asks. “I don’t tell for free.”

Piper growls, and Mac flashes his dirty teeth at her, even the dirt on his face openly mocking her. 

“Fine,” Piper snaps. “Fine. What the hell do you even want?”

Mac grins. “I want everything you have on the Lone Wanderer.”

(Fuck.)

--

“You owe me,” She says, and Mac shrugs again, something that she is getting very tired of. (Nat says she needs to learn patience.)

“Don’t care. Good talking to you, Pipes.” MacCready yawns, and makes to stand. Piper stands with him, grabbing at his only remaining coatsleeve as he prepares to leave the Dugout Inn. 

“Fuh- fricking what are you doing?” Mac yelps, and Piper manhandles him back into the seat. (Interestingly enough, he doesn’t go for any of the myriad of weapons Piper knows the mercenary carries. She’s not sure if she should be proud or incredibly insulted.)

“That’s not how this goes,” She huffs, adjusting her position before one of the Bobrov brothers catches on to their scuffle. “I tell you all of that, buy you a beer, and you just say you’re in here for sightseeing?” 

“It’s true,” Mac defends, prying his arm out of her grasp. 

“It’s boring, and it’s fake.” Piper hisses. “First the Vaultie showing up, and now you? It’s gotta be connected.”

“The hell does that mean.” Mac says, but it’s not a question the way he says it. Someone else could be fooled, sure, but Piper knows Mac, more than she wants to. (It’s confirmation, she thinks. They are involved.)

“Where are they?” Piper presses. Mac shakes his head. 

“Piper,” He warns. 

“Oh fuck off, MacCready,” Piper scoffs. “C’mon. It’s obvious you’re here with them. Who are they? Where are they?”

Mac’s eyes focus on something just behind Piper as she becomes aware of a pressure against her back. 

“You should stop talking,” Mac says, and Piper gapes, the pressure resolving and breaking through the leather of her coat, hard and pressed right up against her spine in a little circle. 

“They’re. . .” Piper starts, and tightens her hold on Mac’s shoulders when the barrel presses a bit closer, a bit more insistent. Mac’s mouth is set in a hard line, and Piper’s eyes widen. 

Mac’s eyes widen a fraction before it happens, Piper thinks. (Thinks also, to herself, that maybe there’s some stock in what Nat says.)

It’s fast, or at least she thinks it’s fast- 

A piercing pain in her abdomen, the clamor and shouting in the Inn fading out quick as she’s leveraged to the floor. Mac is yelling something above her that she can’t hear, another shot, and then another, and then more.

 The blood seeps through her fingers and onto the concrete, red like her coat, spreading out underneath the dirty tables and onto poor Scarlett’s shoes. . .

--

“Hey,” Piper starts, but doesn’t finish. It’s a little weird, she thinks. She’d just seen the edge of her mystery man’s coat, sure they’d be just around the corner. . . 

Nat’s voice is in the back of Piper’s head, telling her to be more thoughtful in her approach. (Maybe, Internal-Nat says, if you weren’t so intimidating, people would talk to you more.)

Piper frowns, setting her hands on her hips. Maybe she’ll see them at the Inn, or something, but even she can admit that she’s just stalling. It’s too much trouble to go chasing around Diamond City to find the Vaultie, which means that she should do something else to get a moment with them. 

(Maybe, she thinks, she can set a trap.)

--

Dugout Inn is a little rowdy during the holidays. It’s like every person in Diamond City and the surrounding Fens decides all at once that getting drunk and throwing tables is their only option when the snow is piling up outside. (Piper would be lying if she said she didn’t appreciate the community of it all, though. Something something, fuck you Mayor McDonough.)

Everyone from everywhere comes into this inn, whether they want to or not. She can see several people in here that are new, but none of them are her elusive target. Maybe on any other day she’d chat them up, see what hot gossip was around, learn the news, shoot the shit, but today? She’s got a plan.

(It’s not even a bad plan, when she’s thinking about it. After getting the necessary items and taking a much needed nap, she’s refreshed and ready.)

Sitting in the corner, she sends a subtle nod to Vadim, who breaks out into a very obvious grin, turning around to grab whatever he needs. After a second, a loud bang echoes out into the bar, causing all occupants to turn their heads in varying degrees of drunkenness over to where Vadim holds the slightly smoking revolver in his hand. A bit of plaster falls, a new (but not lonely) hole settled into the ceiling.

“Hey!” Vadim shouts, “I’ve got a challenge for you! First person to find man in cowboy hat drinks free tonight!”

Piper stretches herself out as the room rapidly vacates, people taking off like fireworks, stumbling over another and yelling haphazardly as they take to the streets. 

Piper sees as Yefim peeks out from around the corner, gazing out at the now empty bar. 

“Where are my customers?” Yefim asks, and Piper stands up slowly. 

“They’ll come back,” Piper reasons. “They’re out looking for my guy.” 

“Your ‘guy’ will make us lot of caps,” Vadim laughs, putting the revolver back into the drawer. “Yefim,” he continues, “My brother. Do not worry! Piper has a plan.”

“Ah, yes,” Yefim says. “Because we have so much luck with plans.”

Piper is about to respond- really, she is, but there’s a sharp noise from outside, and both she and Yefim move towards the still open doors of the Dugout. 

Outside, there on the ground splayed out, is Piper’s Vaultie. Only, Piper realizes, they are not supposed to be laying like that. 

No, she thinks, there is all too much stillness. Another man, drunk blind, Piper sees- teetering on his own feet, drawn gun smoking much like Vadim’s revolver. 

(Fuck, Piper thinks.)

--

Dugout Inn is a little rowdy during the holidays. It’s like every person in Diamond City and the surrounding Fens decides all at once that getting drunk and throwing tables is their only option when the snow is piling up outside. (Piper would be lying if she said she didn’t appreciate the community of it all, though. Something something, fuck you Mayor McDonough.)

Everyone from everywhere comes into this inn, whether they want to or not. She can see several people in here that are new, but none of them are her elusive target. Maybe on any other day she’d chat them up, see what hot gossip was around, learn the news, shoot the shit, but today? She’s got a plan.

(It’s not even a bad plan, when she’s thinking about it. After getting the necessary items and taking a much needed nap, she’s refreshed and ready.)

Vadim grins as she nods at him, and after a moment pulls out one of the guns behind the register, shooting it up into the ceiling. 

“Hey!” Vadim shouts, “I’ve got a challenge for you! First person to find man in cowboy hat drinks free tonight!”

Piper watches with interest as the crowd inside starts moving, a throng of drunken bodies rushing out into the Market. (She feels a little guilty, getting the vault dweller like this, but in her defense, if she can’t track them down by herself, is she supposed to just give up?)

(Impatience, Nat says, is something that Piper has in droves.)

Piper waits for maybe a minute before something happens- the noise from outside draws in close, coming to a point as someone gets shoved in through the still open doors to the Dugout, Yefim poking his head around the corner. 

Two people enter- first the one shoved, and the second trailing barely a foot behind. Piper first notices that the first is indeed her Vaultie, hat askew on their head, a bit of blood spotting their collar. 

The second thing Piper sees is the sharp glint of metal, the knife pressing concerningly close to her Vaultie’s neck, held there by the second person, who grins something foul at Vadim. 

“Found ‘im,” The drunk slurs in a sing-songing way, dragging her Vaultie further up and pushing them up against the counter. Piper stands, making to separate the two, but the drunkard swats her away, tutting at her before refocusing on Vadim. 

“Free drinks, right?” He drawls, and Vadim’s grin is a little less blinding. 

“Eh, friend,” Vadim starts, “Put knife down first, yes?”

(Piper is not normally someone who regrets her actions a lot. Sure, she’s fucked up before, made mistakes, everyone does. But, that sort of true dread, real regret curdling in her stomach right now? That’s new.)

The Vaultie, (her Vaultie), moves suddenly, jerking to the side and away from the blade, twisting the drunk’s arm around in a painful circle- 

(More people are streaming back into the Dugout. They flood the sides and surround the two like a ring, Piper caught up between them in the rush.)

The drunkard stumbles, some wild passer through that Piper doesn’t know, won’t ever know- drops the knife into the vault dweller’s waiting hand, spinning it perfectly before slashing in a wide arc that paints the front of Vadim’s bar in dark, dark red.

(It’s very quiet, for a few seconds- the only noise being the gurgling of the man, now dying, on the floor. Thin and scarred fingers curl around a slit throat, continuing to pump out an arterial spray that covers the front of Piper’s pants and pools in the cracks on the ground.)

(The vault dweller stands still with the crowd, knife still pointed down, staring down at the drunkard wriggling, writhing, seizing on the floor of the Inn.)

Someone screams. (It might be Piper.) There’s noise, and clamor, and Piper is pulled in three directions as the crowd scatters- her vault dweller standing still, knife held in their hands, blood across their layered clothing as one of the guards bursts through the door, pushing through and knocking aside the people trying to flee-

(Piper is swallowed into the throng, blinking on that still image- the way her Vaultie’s hands didn’t even shake.)

--

Dugout Inn is a little rowdy during the holidays. It’s like every person in Diamond City and the surrounding Fens decides all at once that getting drunk and throwing tables is their only option when the snow is piling up outside. (Piper would be lying if she said she didn’t appreciate the community of it all, though. Something something, fuck you Mayor McDonough.)

Everyone from everywhere comes into this inn, whether they want to or not. She can see several people in here that are new, but none of them are her elusive target. Maybe on any other day she’d chat them up, see what hot gossip was around, learn the news, shoot the shit, but today? She’s got a plan.

(It’s not even a bad plan, when she’s thinking about it. After getting the necessary items and taking a much needed nap, she’s refreshed and ready.)

Piper turns to look at Vadim through the crowd, words dancing on the tip of her tongue-

A loud bang startles her, and she turns to face the front of the inn- the doors flown open and smacking the sides dramatically. 

A figure stands, harsh movement sending the blue coat fluttering, flannels and extraneous layers underneath twisting in the wind and snow outside, boots tall and thick and clumped with ice and scratches. 

(Their hat sits low, pulled down over their face- Piper can only see the end of the bandana over their mouth, bright red and distracting- a matador waiting for a bull.)

Piper stands, abruptly. The normal noise of the inn is muted, drunks and roamers and wasters all silent for a second as the newcomer stands. 

(Holy shit, Piper thinks.)

The vault dweller steps inside, the doors swinging shut behind them as conversation continues. Piper looks back to Vadim, hastily waving him away from where he stands, one of the drawers half open. 

Piper clears her throat- unneeded, it seems, as the vault dweller comes towards her before she even thinks to make a noise, standing a few feet away from her after only a moment. 

The first thing she notices is that they’re about the same height. What had seemed, in those random glimpses throughout the last day, as some larger than life figure, is just. . . well, a guy.

“Hi,” Piper starts, a little uncertain. The Vaultie inclines their head, hat tilted low and at the table she had stood from. 

“Oh!” Piper says, and sits down, whacking the edge of her hip on the chair. The vault dweller takes the seat opposite of her, settling down into the chair as naturally as anything. 

“Uh,” Piper hums. “Well, it’s. . .” She thinks. (Is it appropriate to be civil right now? Piper is incredibly aware of the fact that she was about to send some thirty something vagabonds into the city like blood hounds after this person. . . and judging by the way the vault dweller is sitting, they somehow knew about the plan.)

“I’m Piper,” She starts, but a slow tilt of the cowboy hat shuts her up, and her eyes bug out just a little bit as a gloved hand pulls the bandana down around to her Vaultie’s neck. 

“I heard you were looking for me.” Her vault dweller speaks, and. . . wow. (The second thing Piper notices, is that her Vaultie is a little. . . squeaky. There’s no thick timbre to her vault dweller’s voice, just a harsh edge and a nearly pubescent drawl. It’s more like listening to a teenager, Piper notes.)

(The third thing Piper notices is that her Vaultie is very quiet. There’s a scar running through their lips, and shallow stubble sticks around their chin. They speak quickly and softly, but Piper can feel the threat behind it, and even if her vault dweller is not an intimidating figure, Piper is still a bit unnerved.)

“I- uh, yeah,” Piper stutters. “Yeah, I have been looking for- wait, hold on, how do you know that?!”

Her Vaultie doesn’t deign her with an answer, just the dark edge of their goggles shining out from under the lip of the cowboy hat. Their mouth curls, something between a smirk and a snarl, and Piper can feel curiosity burning through her stomach, curdling into an awful stew that threatens the back of her throat. 

(Fuck, Piper thinks. Nat is so right.)

Chapter Text

Piper is not avoiding the meeting, thank you very much. She’s just making sure she’s completely prepared- the vial in her coat pocket is well wrapped and very expensive, and she’s not much interested in it breaking before she can actually use it. 

(It’s not like she’ll ever have a better chance at talking to this guy, anyways.)

Blue, that is, the vault dweller, told her to meet them in the Dugout Inn- said that they’d be willing to talk to her (Piper is ecstatic) if she gave them a day and copious space. (Something something, Nat was right, something something.)

Either way, Piper is prepared. She’s going to be getting answers, and this time she doesn’t have to hunt the guy down, they’re going to be meeting up with her willingly- something not all of her sources can easily claim. 

Dugout Inn is as crowded as always, but she can see two figures lazing about in the back- one of which she immediately recognizes. 

“Robert Joseph MacCready,” She snarls, “I thought you’d cleaned your hands of this town.”

“Piper,” The merc drawls, leaning lax against the wall. “My favorite journalist. Thought you got trespassed by the Mayor. Didn’t stick, huh?”

“You wish,” Piper bites back, and as the merc rears up to say something else, the other figure reaches up from their seat, grabbing MacCready by the sleeve. They look at each other for a second, Piper casting her glance between the two before it finally clicks. 

This is her Vaultie. They’re dressed completely different, blue coat and hat traded for a thick cable-knit sweater and beanie, ragged holes worn into the fabric and patched over sloppily. The only reason Piper recognises them is due to the unmistakable high collar of their vault suit, peeking out in the barest hint right below their chin. (That, and the small scar that splits across the right side of their mouth, stubble now shaved.)

Piper cannot help but stare a little openmouthed as MacCready scowls- in one second and the next, the mercenary goes from tensed and coiled to almost relaxed, sliding into one of the other seats at the table with minimal resistance. (Not even a word spoken, Piper thinks, and one of the most prolific hired guns in the Commonwealth is backing down, brought to heel by someone like this.)

(It almost brings a tear to Piper’s eye, thinking about what a fucking catch she’s found.)

“Alright,” Piper says, and sits down opposite to the vault dweller at the table, one hand coming to pat at her coat pocket, pulling out a mostly filled notepad and a chewed-to-nothing pencil. 

She shifts in her seat, blinking a little rapidly at the vault dweller in front of her. 

“Well,” She starts, “I’m Piper Wright, head and only journalist at Publick Occurences, Diamond City’s newspaper.”

“I know.” Is the reply she gets, and when Piper looks, she sees the vault dweller has taken off the thick beanie, revealing a dirty blond, almost brown head of hair, the ends fraying and frizzing out around the Vaultie’s face. (It’s not a bad face, Piper thinks. Some mix of delicate and haggard features, that sort of starving artist sort of look, pocked cheeks and thick eyebrows that frame cracked but pink lips and deep eyes.)

(Not for the first time, Piper laments the fact that she is only into women.)

“Can I get your name?” Piper asks, a little pointed. Her Vaultie shrugs. 

“I don’t feel like giving that to you right now,” They say, and Piper’s eye twitches the smallest bit. 

“What can I call you then?” She tries, and attempts to not feel defeated when all she gets is another shrug. (Dismissal, her mind hisses- this guy has no clue who she is, and they will regret it.)

“I don’t care,” Is their response, but Piper can see the humor now, can feel the waves of amusement coming off of their scruffy form. (She’s very adamantly not caring about how it rankles her, how her hackles are up.)

“Fine,” She says, short and clipped. “Blue, then.” 

“Blue?”

“You’re from a vault, right?” Piper explains. “You wear that blue suit underneath all those layers.” 

(Score, her mind bites- Blue fidgets for a second, tucking an end of their scarf into their hood, hiding the sliver of gold-pleather-vinyl underneath the ratty fabric.)

“Maybe,” Blue edges, and Piper’s grin is shark-like.

--

Blue gets up to go relieve himself- (him! Piper was right! This is a guy! No woman is this obstinate!) and Piper takes the chance, bending quickly to add barely a drop of the tincture into his drink, rocking it gently while she peers over her shoulder for him to return. 

“Hey,” Piper says, and is fairly certain that she doesn’t sound too out of breath as she says it. (Confidence, she thinks, is key.)

“Hey.” Blue says. “What did you ask last?”

“Ah,” Piper fumbles, “Right. Yes. I asked when you left your vault?”

Blue blinks, and lifts his drink to his mouth. (Yes, she thinks-) 

“Pass.” Blue says, and puts the glass back down without taking a sip. (No!)

“Wh-” Piper scoffs, “You can’t just pass this one!”

“I can, and I will.” Blue nods, and his conviction is so strong that for a moment Piper is inclined to just agree with him, and let it blow over. (Hold on, wait-)

“Wait, wait,” Piper tries, “That’s the third pass you’ve given me. You have to answer this next one.”

Blue scowls. Blinks at her disconcertingly. Piper frowns right back, narrowing her eyes. 

“Fuck’s sake,” Blue hisses, and knocks back the rest of his drink. “Fine.”

“Yes!” Piper crows, and it’s not just glee that suffuses her tone but a heightened air of almost-superiority - she grabs her own glass, cheers, and swallows. 

(Ah, she thinks, as her vision almost immediately starts to swim. The bastard must’ve switched the glasses when she wasn’t looking.)

--

“Wh-” Piper scoffs, “You can’t just pass this one!”

“I can, and I will.” Blue nods, and his conviction is so strong that for a moment Piper is inclined to just agree with him, and let it blow over. (Hold on, wait-)

“Wait, wait,” Piper tries, “That’s the third pass you’ve given me. You have to answer this next one.”

Blue scowls harder, if that’s even possible. He pushes the drink to the side, (dammit), and leans further onto the table. 

“Fine,” He hisses. “The hell do you want to know?”

Piper grins something vaguely lecherous. “That’s right,” She purrs, “I want to know what vault you came from.”

“You wouldn’t know it,” Blue says, a bit too fast to be honest. (Oh? Oh?)

“Really?” Piper asks, “Try me.” 

Blue’s eyes are a deep brown, reflecting bits of red and gold from the candlelight around them. Dugout Inn is a very. . . busy establishment at this time of year, and the conversations around them provide a bubble of anonymity even Piper has to be jealous of. 

Blue’s face hardens for a second, and Piper watches him pull out a napkin from somewhere, slight hands tracing lines across the square at a pace almost too fast for her to follow. 

“Boston is here, yeah?” Blue states, tapping a finger against the lower right hand corner of the napkin. He draws a roughly diagonal line up it to the top left, tapping the corner again. “Here’s Concord. I’m from a Vault up here.” 

“Huh,” Piper says. “I didn’t know there was a vault up there.” 

(If she’s thinking about it, there’s not much at all up near Concord. The place is a ghost town, last she heard. There’s rumors of Minutemen occupation though, which she’s working on following up on. It’s odd, all things considered- if the Minutemen were coming back, why from Concord? Why not closer to Quincy?)

“Do you know the Minutemen?” Piper asks next. Blue’s eyes flicker with something akin to surprise. (Weird. . .)

“Uh,” Blue says. “Yeah, actually. They’re rebuilding, right?”

(There’s a soft familiarity in his tone that Piper picks up on. It’s personal, she thinks- he’s got ties.)

“Yes,” She says, and decides not to prod too hard here. “So your vault is in Concord?” 

“Not really.” Blue shrugs. “It’s a mile and a half north.” 

“What number?”

“Pass,” Blue says, and Piper lets him.

--

“What do you think about Diamond City?” Piper asks, and watches as Blue takes a moment to think. (They’re three drinks in, she thinks. Her notepad is brimming with barely useful notes.)

“I think it’s exactly the same as the old world.” Blue says, and Piper blinks. 

“Why?”

Blue shrugs. “There’s still people hurting everywhere. You have big-wigs on top, like the Mayor, and then all the little people are still down here milling about. It’s just as fucked up as it used to be.” 

Piper frowns. “You talk like you have personal experience with that.” 

That gets Blue to laugh- something awful and dying in between one breath and the next. “Yeah,” He laughs, “I have more experience with that than you ever will.”

“Really?” Piper asks. 

Blue sobers for a second, hands still. He blinks, draws in a slow and metered breath. 

“I can’t tell you anything about it,” Blue starts, and Piper shakes her head, intrigued. 

“Try me,” She says, again- Blue’s eyes connect with hers for a moment, and there is regret, perhaps, in his gaze, something soft and open and wounded that flashes between the two- a press of cold metal against her abdomen and a fleeting look, apologetic-

--

“What do you think about Diamond City?” Piper asks, and watches as Blue takes a moment to think. (They’re three drinks in, she thinks. Her notepad is brimming with barely useful notes.)

“It’s nice,” Blue says, short and clipped. 

“Is that all?” Piper prods. Blue nods, head wobbling uncertainly. 

“Yeah. It’s nice, I guess.” He says, “It’s a lot different than what I’m used to.” 

“What are you used to?” Piper presses. Blue shrugs, noncommittal. 

“Bigger stuff, I guess. The world used to be huge, you know? Thriving.” 

Blue stops for a second, fingers drumming a beat on the cheap linoleum of the table. “I used to look up at night, and I wouldn’t be able to see the stars. That’s different.”

“The stars?” 

Blue nods again. “Yeah, everything was so. . . grey, I suppose. It didn’t look grey, of course, but there was this film of fake over everything, it was like you were drowning in it. You’d look up and it would be this fake sky, this fake world, this fake everything, and you were supposed to just go on with your day. Act like nothing was wrong.” 

(His tone is biting, harsh- Piper can see how his lips shape over his teeth, tasting the blood in the air like the tongue of a deathclaw.) 

“And it’s not like that here?” 

Blue laughs, short and stagnant. He ruffles a hand through his hair, dirty blond shedding bits of ash and dust onto the table. “No, I guess not.”

“It’s less. . . fake, I guess. No one is smiling to be polite anymore. You can look up and see the real sky, feel the real ground. It’s not. . .”

“Grey.” Piper finishes. Blue nods. 

“Diamond City is far realer than anything Vault-Tec could have come up with,” Blue states. “Even if I hate it.” 

--

They’re six cups in when Piper remembers the vial in her lapel. It’s nearly empty when she takes it out, rolls it between her fingers. Blue’s eyes shutter out of tune, focusing lazily on her hands. 

“What’ve you got?” He slurs, and Piper giggles, high pitched and a little drunk. 

“I was,” Piper starts, and hiccoughs, “I was gonna put some in your drink,” 

“My drink?” Blue asks, “Why. . .?”

“I wanted to talk to you,” Piper whines, “You keep running away.”

“I like running away,” Blue states, eyes flashing something bright for a moment before dimming again. He traces patterns into the linoleum, broken fingernail edges scratching off bits and pieces of paint. 

Piper’s center of gravity tilts a few degrees and she leans heavily on the table, enough not to fall over as she watches the cement twist under her feet. Blue’s face warps a bit in the light, bending in around the notch on his nose, the scar that pulls jagged through the bridge and tugs at both of his cheeks. 

“Have you ever stopped?” Piper asks. Blue blinks again, looking up at the ceiling in what is either desperate pondering or an attempt to get the world into focus again. Either way, Piper relates. 

“I don’t think so,” Blue muses. “I think I’d die if I ever stopped.” 

He’s a twisted amalgamation out of the corner of her eyes, and Piper buries her head into her arms, twisting so that her scarf is out of her mouth. The darkness underneath helps, and Piper breathes out a few times, trying to regain her footing. 

“Have you ever just wanted to. . .” Blue trails off, and Piper picks her head up for a moment. He’s staring, not at her, but through her almost, his gaze lingering somewhere behind her shoulder-blades. 

“To. . .?” Piper prompts, and blows a chunk of hair away from her face. Dugout Inn is much quieter now, most of the holiday rush bumbling off merry and drunk into their homes or the streets. 

(The part of her brain that isn’t completely plastered keeps an eye on the figure in the corner, slight but deceptively familiar. If she was any less sure of her ability to stand, she might try to figure out who it is.)

“Do you ever just want it all to stop?” Blue asks, and Piper drags her attention back over, herding the cats that are her thoughts into something of a semblance of a mind. 

“Like what?” Piper responds, and knows dimly somewhere that she’s probably supposed to say something else. 

“I dunno,” Blue says. “Every time I get to this point I always forget what I’m going to ask you.” 

“Yeah?” Piper hums. 

“I spend all day thinking of this one burning question, right?” Blue huffs. Piper’s eyes are half closed. “And then we get here, and you put something in my drink, and I put something in your drink, and we both forget what we wanted to ask.”

“That’s stupid,” Piper snorts. “Why would you drug me?”

“I didn’t want to talk to you, I don’t think,” Blue reasons. It’s a normal reaction to have, Piper thinks, and tells Blue as much. 

“Maybe.” He says, and stares again at something small and inside of Piper, caged and beating behind her sternum. It makes her feel small and large at the same time, his eyes trained on something she cannot see. It’s like a bird was behind her, feathers caressing her back- bits of down and fluff at the edges of her vision. 

“I wanted to ask you something, too,” Piper murmurs, too close to the table and too far away at the same time. Blue’s face swims in and out in front of her, his face doing something similar as they both struggle to blink and speak. 

“Shoot,” Blue says. 

“Bang.” Piper finishes, and closes her eyes. 

Chapter Text

The Ghost of General Becker

By Piper Wright

We all know who the Minutemen are, or, were. We all know what they used to represent, who they protected, and how it felt when they were disbanded. Maybe disbanded is a bad word to use. They were killed, massacred in the same event that wiped out Quincy, took it off the map and secured the name as synonymous with disaster. 

Quincy, we whisper to ourselves in the shadows. It’s just like Quincy, we say, and that means something has gone horribly wrong. This is not the end, though. I find myself wandering the Commonwealth often these days, finding stories straight from the source, and what I am seeing is beautiful. 

The Minutemen are coming back. I know this to be true because just yesterday outside the gates of Diamond City herself I stumbled upon a caravan led by that same recognizable Minutemen Blue. I had the joy of interviewing multiple Minutemen from the assumed dead organization, some new joiners, some old veterans making their way back into the fold, and I found something incredible. 

To the average citizen, ghosts are about as real as aliens- stuff the good folk of the Commonwealth need not put stock in, but to the Minutemen? There is a ghost out there, and I want to meet him. 

An informant of mine was able to give me some information on this. Apparently, amongst the Minutemen, there is a tale sweeping the Commonwealth. Someone, or something has been popping up and around, taking care of issues before they even arise. Ferals shot and dead before patrols pass by, settlements cleared of creatures and dangers, ghosts in the corners of your eye. 

“The ghost? I mean, yeah, I saw a ghost. It looked like Becker, taking out some bloatflies when we were marching up past the fallen highway on the south side of the city. Becker’s dead, though, so I figure it must’ve been a ghost. Yeah, I saw Becker die. I left after that but came back a month or so ago when I realized the Minutemen were something worth being a part of again. Uh-huh. Sure.”  - Lieutenant Greene, supply convoy near D.C.

“Oh, sure, I’ve heard about the General’s ghost. Even saw ‘im once, over near Trudy’s lil’ outpost at that ol’ Drumlin? ‘E was camped out in one o’ them houses in that lil’ suburb near the diner, yeah, ‘cept I wouldn’t really say ‘e was camped cus o’ ‘is general lack o’ physicality. ‘E was more like, floatin’ around in there, just kinda hoverin’, but it was them Minutemen blues ‘n’ that hat. What else could it’a been?” - Lieutenant Jefferson, Oberland Station

“One time, I was like, out for a leak behind the outpost at Ten Pines, and I shit you not I saw the Ghost. Yeah, like, the Ghost. What? Haven’t you heard of the Ghost? Of the old General? I mean, I never met him while he was alive, but I heard from my buddy who left when he died that he was about yea tall [gestures with hand], always had on this weird blue bandana across his nose, was silent as hell when he moved--and I’m telling you, I saw his ghost shoot down a couple--no, a whole horde of ferals from a dozen yards off! And then he disappeared into the treeline! Just up’n vanished, all while I was out takin’ a piss! ...No, why would I make that up, Piper? I’m dead serious here--shit, I’ve gotta go, I hear the sarge yellin’ for me--” - Private Moores, supply convoy near D.C.

“Ghost? Sure, I’ve seen your ‘ghost.’ He ain’t Becker, though. Becker’s dead. Your ghost? He’s alive.” - Anonymous 

Of course, this is all incredibly intriguing. As the common citizen may know, the Minutemen used to be led by General Becker, who unfortunately died several years ago. However, should these witnesses be believed, either his ghost is back and helping the Minutemen get back on their feet, or some other do-gooder is masquerading as a hero to drum up news. 

Personally, I want to hope for the best. Already the new trade routes and safety amongst the settlements in the Commonwealth are having a positive effect. We are in a time of unprecedented prosperity, especially considering the famine and drought from only half a year ago. I, for one, want this specter to be of pure heart, and not another dour twist of fate like so much else. 

Chapter Text

quotes about the Ghost, from Minutemen and other folks around the Commonwealth:

“One time, I was like, out for a leak behind the outpost at Ten Pines, and I shit you not I saw the Ghost. Yeah, like, the Ghost. What? Haven’t you heard of the Ghost? Of the old General? I mean, I never met him while he was alive, but I heard from my buddy who left when he died that he was about yea tall [gestures with hand], always had on this weird blue bandana across his nose, was silent as hell when he moved--and I’m telling you, I saw his ghost shoot down a couple--no, a whole horde of ferals from a dozen yards off! And then he disappeared into the treeline! Just up’n vanished, all while I was out takin’ a piss! ...No, why would I make that up, Piper? I’m dead serious here--shit, I’ve gotta go, I hear the sarge yellin’ for me--” - Private Moores, supply convoy near D.C.

“I’ve seen a ghost, yeah. I mean, it’s either a ghost or a really smart feral with clothes on. It keeps sneakin’ into the trash bins and goin’ dumpster divin’. Haven’t caught it yet, but when I do, I’m shootin’ it on sight.” - Old Lady Jane, Hangman’s Alley

“Oh, sure, I’ve heard about the General’s ghost. Even saw ‘im once, over near Trudy’s lil’ outpost at that ol’ Drumlin? ‘E was camped out in one o’ them houses in that lil’ suburb near the diner, yeah, ‘cept I wouldn’t really say ‘e was camped cus o’ ‘is general lack o’ physicality. ‘E was more like, floatin’ around in there, just kinda hoverin’, but it was them Minutemen blues ‘n’ that hat. What else could it’a been?” - Lieutenant Jefferson, Oberland Station

“Ghost? Sure, I’ve seen your ‘ghost.’ He ain’t Becker, though. Becker’s dead. Your ghost? He’s alive.” - Anonymous

“Well I just came up from Jamaica Plain and I did see somethin’ weird, although I weren’t sure it was a ghost. Was some kinda blue blur takin’ out a bloatfly swarm over yonder, didn’t see it real well cus we was headed the other direction from it, but I heard one’a the men callin’ it a ghost later when we stopped at Slim’s for the night. Moores? Not in my unit, no ma’m. Here, it was Lieutenant Greene, over yonder. Yes’m. Good day now.” - Sergeant Davis-Udley, supply convoy near D.C.

“The ghost? I mean, yeah, I saw a ghost. It looked like Becker, taking out some bloatflies when we were marching up past the fallen highway on the south side of the city. Becker’s dead, though, so I figure it must’ve been a ghost. Yeah, I saw Becker die. I left after that but came back a month or so ago when I realized the Minutemen were something worth being a part of again. Uh-huh. Sure.”  - Lieutenant Greene, supply convoy near D.C.

“Old Lady Jane’s always goin’ on about some ghost ‘r whatnot. Yeah, right. Piper, there ain’t no ghost, I’m tellin’ ya now. It’s just them kids what live in the upstairs apartment diggin’ thru her trash late at night, ‘n’ I sure as hell tell ‘em to quit it ‘fore they get shot e’rry time I see ‘em. Don’t do no good, though, cus their skulls ‘r thicker’an a deathclaw’s ‘n’ nothin’ reasonable gets through ‘em.” - McCarthy, Hangman’s Alley

“Moores’ a drunk and a liar. Don’t listen to him.”  - Sergeant Trevaille, supply convoy near D.C.

“Erm, a ghost? Well, I did see something really weird the other night, erm, around maybe one in the morning? I don’t think it was a ghost, though. General Becker? Who’s General Becker? No, this thing was really short, kind of hunched over I think? I think it was an alien. No, I’m serious, why wouldn’t I be? It was kind of green and limping, and it was making this weird noise like it was covered in crumpled aluminum paper. Hm? No, I’m not making this up. I’m telling you, it was green. Sickly looking too. I shined a light on it and everything! It hissed at me and ran away, still limping, kind of trailing a weird oily liquid. I didn’t wanna go near it, though. ...What do you mean ‘why were you up at one in the morning, you’re twelve?’ I was bug-catching!” - Yuna, Hangman’s Alley