He seemed all right at first. Well-spoken. That's the biggest thing for you, being well-spoken. If you're going to travel with someone, whoever it is had better be more than just a blathering idiot. They'd better be able to string a couple of words together, form a coherent sentence. He could do that. Sometimes you thought he could do it better than you could. It was surprising too; every other Super Mutant you'd met before him could only scream. Or blurt out random announcements about how they were going to kill you.
He knew when to stay quiet too. That's another big thing for you. You prefer your silence. You must, obviously, if you generally choose to travel alone. And he knew when to stay quiet. It was like he understood. Ages alone in that cell must have wrecked his conversation skills. That's understandable.
When you finally got outside and he was standing there with that minigun, blowing out the brains of various motherfuckers, you were pretty grateful. Grateful, and surprised too; no one had ever tried to protect you before. No one aside from your father, and that had all gone to shit when he left 101. "Your mother and I only ever wanted you to be safe." This is your idea of safe? Nice job, asshole. And the last time he'd tried protecting you, he ended up dead. Way to go, Dad. Way to…
Well, anyway. It was nice, being protected. No one else seems to give a damn that you're not even old enough to drink legally yet. No one else seems to care that you're a woman (not that it's any excuse; after everything you've been through, you can prove any dipshit wrong when he says girls can't take care of themselves). But it was nice. So when he offered to tag along with you, repay his debt, you didn't see a problem. You were a little reluctant, sure. But only a little.
Then came the problems. Of course. You should have known there would be problems. Aren't there always fucking problems in this stupid sprawling shithole of a wasteland? They were little at first. You tried not to let them get to you. He always followed too close behind. He was a little dimwitted. You would try to exit a room and he'd be standing in the doorway. You'd look up at him, waiting for him to move. He'd be staring off in the distance with a blank look on his shriveled, green mug. You'd nudge him with the butt of your rifle. He wouldn't move. Wouldn't even look at you. It was like his surroundings were more important. At first you understood. He hadn't been outside in a while. But as time passed, there weren't excuses. You got used to having to squeeze between a doorframe and his rank armpit. Who knew Mutants have sweat glands? You wished you didn't have to get intimate with his.
Then there was the fire ant thing. You'd gotten so caught up in finding 97, you forgot all about poor little Bryan Wilks holed up in that cramped shelter. Shit. It had been nearly a month since you left him there. You hoped the kid knew how to ration food. You and Fawkes hauled ass back to Greyditch to check on him. You had expected a rotting little corpse, but when you opened the door, there he was. A little thinner maybe, but alive and looking at you with those little kid eyes of his. You gave him a Brahmin steak and a couple mirelurk cakes. He made a face but devoured half the food anyway. You promised you'd be back shortly.
You thought Lesko was a real bastard, not even feeling bad about Bryan's father. As a fatherless kid, you felt he ought to at least show some remorse. So when he told you not to hurt the fire ant queen, you wanted to take out the Ripper and test it out on his neck. But you didn't. He said he'd pay handsomely in return and you needed whatever it was he could offer. You shouldered your rifle and beckoned Fawkes along.
He came in handy, of course. Those fire ants were nasty shits. You remembered facing them alone, the day you met Bryan. They sure were a pain. The scuttling of their six scrawny hellish legs sent shivers up your spine, especially when you couldn't see them. It reminded you of the radroaches back in 101. But at least those things didn't spit fire. Fawkes though, he wasn't scared. He didn't seem scared of anything. He'd laugh (you always had to remind yourself that he wasn't an enemy whenever you heard that laugh) and just go to it. So you blew through the ones blocking the way to the hatchery, and then you blew through the guards.
Then it fucking happened.
There was one more guard. It was right by the queen, the big bitch herself. You'd let the queen alone, but she'd noticed you anyway when you tried shooting the robot that was protecting her (or just standing there, you really didn't know). You reduced the robot to a pile of nuts and bolts, then noticed the queen had started spitting at you. Not fire, just...spitting. Spitting something that burned your armor a little bit, but didn't bother you otherwise. Fawkes, on the other hand, couldn't handle anything hostile. So he reacted.
You told him to wait. He must have thought you meant "Stay in this one spot right here," because he kept right on shooting. And before you could say anything else, he was triumphantly declaring that there was no challenge at all. You looked, and the queen was dead.
Dammit.
You made quick work of the guard and didn't say two words to Fawkes. You were like that when you got mad. You didn't say a word. But you sure as hell wanted to fire him. You were thinking about lying to Lesko when you got back, but he didn't give you the option. You figured he'd understand, at least. Moira understood when you had to kill the mole rats, didn't she? But he didn't. He said whatever deal you had was null, and demanded you leave. You were so pissed-pissed at Fawkes, pissed at Lesko, pissed at the fire ants, pissed at your father, pissed at the whole entire fucking Wasteland-that you didn't even hesitate. Two bullets straight into his head. You robbed him blind, even took his stupid lab coat, but later that night you couldn't get the smell of his blood out of your nose. You threw up twice once you got outside, then woke up in the middle of the night to puke a third time. You had wanted to shoot Fawkes, of course, for being such a moron. But you didn't. That minigun looked mean.
Anyway, he had probably only misunderstood you. He was an all right guy...or Mutant, whatever. The mutation had to have had some effect on his brain. Even if he wasn't a violent, mindless killing machine like his brethren, obviously it wrecked his listening comprehension. How much could you hold it against him? Still, every time you went to sleep after that, you had very satisfying dreams of painting your Megaton home with his blood.
You were grateful when you finally got home. You wanted to stop off to get some money and sleep in your own bed for a change. You figured he'd get a room somewhere else. Maybe from the whore at Moriarty's. But he followed you right inside, standing stupidly in the doorway like always. You had been looking forward to sleeping naked-the heat was getting to you, and Wadsworth always politely went downstairs when you were going to bed-but with Fawkes there, it was awkward. So you went to Craterside Supply instead to sell Moira some useless shit you'd picked up along the way. You were planning on making it over to the Museum of Technology to finally help Three Dog.
It's funny. After everything you'd seen Fawkes accomplish, you didn't think walking down a ramp would be that difficult. But when you heard him scream a scream that wasn't his battle cry, you realized before even turning around that you must have been mistaken.
There he was. The stupid moron. Yeah, the mutation must have really fucked up his brain. He didn't even have anything on him that you could take. You already had a minigun, in better condition no less. And he had neglected to tell you his was out of ammo.
Moira and a few of the settlers helped you drag him out of town. Moira put a hand on your shoulder after you laid him on the dirt, but you shook her off and told them to go. You remembered to thank them. They probably wouldn't have held it against you if you hadn't; you're a fucking saint there. You started digging after the gates closed behind them.
You didn't cry while you were digging. You didn't cry when you dropped him in the hole. You didn't cry when you covered him with the dirt. Your nails cracked and started bleed, but you didn't cry. Not 'til it was over and you were sitting there, realizing you had nothing to mark the grave with. It surprised you, the crying. You didn't even cry when your father died. There was no time.
Weeks passed. You missed him more than you thought you would. You tried not to think about it, the absence of his one-liners following a successful kill, or that bloodcurdling shout proceeding one. But it weighed on your mind a lot.
You went back to find Bryan in Greyditch. When he said he needed a place to live, you briefly considered giving him a gun and bringing him along with you. But you knew better. The kid was eight, and the company just wouldn't be the same. You brought him to Rivet City instead, where Vera was. The reunion became bittersweet for you when you turned to leave, and didn't see a green wall blocking your way out.
The Wasteland is still the Wasteland. The people, the raiders, the slavers, the creatures, they're all still the same. But you're a little different today. For the first time in your life, silence bothers you. And you're lonely now. You're so fucking lonely.