hey! i've been working on this for about a month, with a couple chapters pre-written (but not really done in order). the master is my favorite fallout character, and it's such a shame that he has like.. no content, because he's written so well and so is harold. they both deserved better and bethesda did harold dirty in fo3. in the version of this on AO3, which you can find ON MY PROFILE (link will be there) i included drawings i made of what harold and richard look like, so you have an idea of what to imagine. in this story, richard is 46/47 when he meets harold, and harold is ehh.. 38-ish when they meet. they travel for 3 years and THEN find mariposa. so, this story spans 2102, when they met, and ends in 2105, at mariposa!

okay anyway gamers let's go lmao. this intro is kind of short but don't worry, other chapters i've made have 3k+ ALSO richard talks very formal and technical and CLINICAL so apparently google thinks i'm plagiarizing? whenever i write pieces of his dialogue but.. I'm Not.. this is all me, baby! also, i've got a blog if any of you are interested! i'm posting this right now because i'm pretty tired of looking over the same chapters over and over... :(. i don't have a beta reader so if there's any errors please let me know!

it's been three years since i've written fanfiction (writer's block), and i'm very anxious to see what everyone thinks of this!

The lead from a couple days ago doesn't seem to have gotten Harold that far. It's been hours since his caravan returned to the Hub after their previous doctor, Alex, died a week or so ago in a mutant attack. Harold's been looking for a replacement since then.

He'd overheard whispers from a pair of wastelanders about a doctor who arrived in the Hub while he was away. They were gossiping near one of the little trading intersections, talking about some sort of.. overcomplicated medical procedure that Harold honestly doesn't remember or understand.

However, Harold recalls thinking, apparently, he's already made a hell of a name for himself.

Harold glances around the small town, taking a moment to catch him breath. His eyes lock onto his next lead, the makeshift hospital in the Hub, and he speedwalks over. His finger touches the rusty, metal door, and it slowly creaks open. "Uh.. Is there a doctor here?" Harold asks, awkwardly looking around.

No response. Nobody's even in the building, he realizes with a frown.

"Shit," He sighs, running a fingerless-gloved hand through his hair.

Maybe I should go ask one of the guards? Oh, why the hell didn't I just do that right off the bat? Harold thinks, shaking his head.

Harold jogs south, looking for one of the patrols. He sees two standing side-by-side, guarding a doorway.

"Hey!" Harold shouts, waving one of the guards over. "I was wonderin' if you could help me find, uh.. the new doc in town? I checked his place, but nobody was home."

"Yeah, heh. I don't think he ever sleeps, cause I see him prowlin' around almost every night. His name's Richard Grey. One hell of a doc, y'know? Even if he is, uh.. weird.." She awkwardly trails off, yawning.

Harold raises a brow in confusion. "Weird? What d'ya mean by that?" he pauses, remembering her name, "Wight?"

She gives him a tired smile.

"He might be in the Maltese Falcon; I saw him walking that way two hours or so ago. ..You remember the way, right? A couple things changed here while you were gone." The tired guard replies, crossing her arms.

Harold gets the message, and doesn't pry any further. "Heh, I think so. If I don't find him there, you think you could look with me?"

"Sure, if I have the time."

"Thanks."

The first thing Harold notices as he opens the weathered wood door to the Falcon is the new layout of the bar.

He scans the room and spies a lone figure, dressed in a lab coat, slouching over the counter of the bar. Grey? He certainly looks like a doctor.

As Harold walks closer, he makes a few more observations: the man's wearing black, rectangle glasses. His short, black hair is graying at the sides in stripes of silver and white. He's eating a bowl of noodles, furiously scribbling on a piece of paper in-between bites.

Well, he definitely looks like a stereotypical doctor, Harold thinks with a soft chuckle, reaching the counter.

He pulls the stool next to the older man out and plops down with a silent sigh, stealing a glance at the bowl of noodles the he's eating. It smells like.. Brahim broth and chunks of coyote meat with some maize, carrots, and potatoes, huh? Good choice.

The young barkeeper approaches but Harold raises a hand before she can speak, "I'll have what he's havin'," he says, pointing to his left. She nods, and places two glasses of water in front of them before focusing her attention to the stove.

In the corner of his vision, Harold sees the mysterious man stiffen, quickly pivoting his head to the right.

"And who might you be, hm?"

Well, Harold thinks as he blinks in surprise, I wasn't expecting his voice to be that deep.

There's an uncomfortable silence as the man stares expectantly at him with piercing green eyes. Harold squeezes his own hazel eyes shut for a brief moment to recollect his thoughts.

"Oh, uh.. My name's Harold," Harold watches as the stranger's dark eyes narrow to slits, "uh.. Are you Doctor Grey..?" He mumbles apprehensively.

"Why, yes, Harold.. I am. I wonder, what brings you here? It's rather late." Grey quickly examines the rest of Harold, who scrambles to form a coherent sentence under such a cold, calculating gaze.

"Well, Doc, I wanted to talk to you—"

He's interrupted with a sigh as Grey finally blinks, breaking his gaze from Harold. He leans back, tilting his head down just a bit, and emotionlessly says, "I believe I made it clear multiple times that I do not accept nighttime appointments, unless it is an emergency."

The new angle provides Harold a clearer look at Grey's face, now illuminated by the lantern's warm light at the far end of the counter.

Grey looks to be in his mid-to-late forties, his wrinkled face worsened no doubt by stress, heat, and god knows what else. Ashy, nearly colorless skin pulled tight over higher-than-average cheekbones gives him a sickly appearance, although Harold knows better than that. His nose is long and a tad narrow, while his thin lips are a muted gray. The wrinkles on his forehead crease.

"Harold?"

Harold's eyes focus on two distinct scars marring Grey's face. They're long and thin, obviously left behind by a deep laceration caused by a claw or some sort of sharp object. One runs diagonally up the left half of his upper lip, past the nostril, stopping a few centimeters below his left eyelid. The second is shorter, and it begins very close to the middle of his lower left eyelid, creating a diagonal path across the cheekbone and ending halfway down the side of his face.

"Excuse me, Harold? Perhaps you're in need of an emergency hearing exam. Have you been exposed to sounds louder than, hm, eighty-five decibels for an extended period of time without adequate protection?" Grey asks clinically, his voice softening.

He gently reaches out, placing a cold, slender, spidery hand on the weathered brown material that covers Harold's shoulder. The sleeve of his lab coat pulls back just enough for Harold to see a scar sneaking down Grey's forearm, interrupting the pattern of the hair growth.

The sudden change in the doctor's demeanor and the physical contact jolts Harold back to reality. "What?" he squeaks, "no! No, nah. Heh.. I'm, uh.. I'm okay. I don't need an appointment."

"Oh.. I apologize for interrupting you, Harold," Grey says, removing his hand from Harold's shoulder. The softness and slight concern in his demeanor dissolve as he reverts back to his icy, sinister self.

"What is it you wish to discuss, then?" He asks, and adjusts his black tie, tugging afterwards on the collar of his dark green, long-sleeved shirt peeking out from underneath his buttoned lab coat.

Harold blinks, shrugs, and opens his mouth to speak.

"I wanted to ask you how much experience you've got with traveling."

"Hm? What an odd question," Grey quips, taking a quick swig from his glass of water. "Why would you interrupt your body's natural sleep cycle to ask me such a peculiar—no—" he pauses, rethinking his choice of words, "such an asinine question?"

"It couldn't wait, Doc. A member of—"

The barkeeper interrupts Harold with a sheepish expression, placing a bowl of noodles just like Grey's in front of him. "I'm sorry, Harold. We don't usually get people eating actual meals at three in the morning, so I might've got the order wrong." She checks her watch just to be sure of the time, and Harold chuckles.

"It's alright, Abigail. I haven't had anythin' to eat for almost two days. I'll live, even if you forgot to add maize, or accidentally put cabbage in."

She grins and returns to washing the dishes, leaving the two men alone.

"Okay, uh.. Hopefully I won't get interrupted again." Harold sighs while Grey's lips twitch into a twisted imitation of a smirk.

"So, basically, I'm a caravan master. I've got a nice lil' business here in the Hub. Haroldavan's. Have you heard of it?" Harold pauses, waiting for a response.

Grey nods, taking advantage of the silence to have a few more bites of soup, finishing his bowl.

"Okay, good. Well, the doc that traveled with us got killed in some sorta attack, by these big, uh.. green mutants." Harold watches as Grey's eyes twinkle with interest. The doctor swivels the bar stool to the right to face Harold, pushing his empty bowl and papers aside with a sweep of his arm.

Harold licks his lips nervously as he realizes he has the doctor's full attention. "We came into town two hours ago, or somethin' like that. But we need a new doc, and well.. You've only been the Hub's doc for what, two years? Ya wouldn't really miss this dump. You must've been travelin' around, yeah?"

"That is correct, Harold. I assume you are going to ask me to be your caravan's new doctor?" Grey inquires with a slightly raised brow, his eyes boring into Harold's.

"It is, yeah. We'd have to leave in about two days, though. Are you up for that, Doc? We don't really have anyone else with your level of skill." Harold says, voice hopeful. Abigail silently walks by, picking up the doctor's empty bowl, and Harold looks at Grey with pleading eyes.

"Perhaps," Grey says absently, "it depends on what I shall gain from our partnership."

"Anything." Harold utters without thinking, and Grey practically purrs, eyes widening.

"Anything, hm? Lovely."

He continues in a darker tone, his voice slithering its way into Harold's ears. "I want all scientific and medical findings, including data, that we come across during our collaboration. I also wish to investigate these mutants, Harold. I require a live specimen."

Damn, everythin' hi-tech? Along with meds? What, does he want all the damn energy weapons we find, too? And a live specimen? Jesus, Wight was right. This guy really is weird, Harold thinks, glancing at the floor, but.. There's nobody else in the wasteland we can find in two days that's got the amount of experience he has as a doctor.

"Well? Are you willing to join forces with me, Harold? I am eager to hear your response." Grey holds a hand out—when the hell did he get out of his seat?—towering over him.

Harold meets his gaze and sighs as he limply shakes the older man's hand. "I guess so, Doc. I just hope you're worth the hassle."

Grey offers him a shark-like grin. "I look forward to working alongside you, Harold."

"Uh.. me too, Doc.." Harold nearly squeaks, staring at Grey's forehead, "me too."

Grey pays for both of their meals.

i really hope you readers enjoy what you've seen so far! if you do, please leave a review! it's highly appreciated! i've even allowed for anonymous reviews, in case you don't have an account/don't want to log in!