Author's Note: I've never written anything for Fallout, but I often imagine conversations while travelling with companions while I play the game. This is one of those conversations.

I hope you enjoy!

"Catch."

R.J. MacCready threw up his hands on instinct, and when he caught the aged cigarette pack, he let out a low whistle. "You are some kinda' angel," he said to his newest traveling companion. The young woman grinned, turning and hopping over a pile of junk before she re-settled the rifle on her shoulder and continued walking. MacCready followed, already lighting up a cigarette.

"Want one?" he asked, a kind offer in his opinion since he was normally pretty stingy with cigarettes.

"No," said the girl with a distracted shrug, her eyes on the broken windows high on the warehouse walls. "I don't know how to use them."

MacCready huffed on the cigarette and gave her a disbelieving look. "You don't know how cigarettes work?"

She paused and looked back at him, shaking her head without shame. MacCready studied her for a moment, but she was already off again, climbing over a rusted tractor and poking around some crates. The day was bright and sunny, perfect for traveling. The girl – she called herself Red – seemed to enjoy the way the light poured in through the shattered glass, sometimes creating pockets of rainbows. There were dust particles in the air, and she studied those, too, sometimes sweeping her hand through beams of light with a whimsical delight.

It shouldn't have surprised MacCready that Red knew cigarettes were valuable but didn't understand how they worked. Everything seemed to be that way with her.

It had only been – what? Three weeks? He'd been traveling around Concord and nearly gotten his ass handed to him by a huge group of raiders, so he'd hurried north and come across the abandoned settlement of Sanctuary. Or at least, he'd thought it was abandoned. Then he'd come across Red, sitting on a roof with her rifle aimed right at him, waiting to see if he was a threat.

Once he'd established that he wasn't – thank God for good looks and a bit of charm – she had shifted attitudes entirely, welcoming him to a campfire and cooking him some of the best damn roasted radstag he'd ever had.

She lived alone in Sanctuary, she'd told him. In her bunker, a pre-war deal buried in someone's backyard. She'd been there for as long as she could remember.

"Did you ever have a family?" MacCready had asked curiously.

"Maybe," Red had told him, looking thoughtful. "There were other people here once. A lady took care of me."

"Was she your mother?"

Red had looked uncertain.

"Did she look like you?" MacCready tried instead, and Red shook her head.

"No, she was very dark. Her hair was black and curly."

MacCready had looked over Red then. She was pale and thin with sharp cheeks and bright red hair. The name, he assumed, was from that. She'd probably had a different name, once upon a time.

"What happened to them?" MacCready had asked, and Red's brows furrowed.

"Someone attacked us. I don't remember. One day I woke up, and they were all gone."

Not an uncommon story in the wasteland.

"How old were you?" MacCready had ventured one last time, because Red's mannerisms were so odd, he couldn't help but wonder.

"I don't know," she said. "I don't know how old I am now."

"How big were you? Were you grown up?" he'd asked.

Red had indicated waist-high. So she'd been a child. And now, as she and MacCready traveled the northern woodlands of the Commonwealth, he thought to himself that she could have been anywhere between seventeen and twenty-five. It was hard to tell.

And the way she talked and acted didn't help. Sometimes, she seemed like a little kid. She laughed at silly jokes and drew lots of pictures with chalky rocks. She did cartwheels and made shadow-puppets. And she seemed to know very little of the world outside of her section of the wasteland. She knew what Diamond City was only because of the radio; before MacCready, she had never seen anything past Concord.

But there were other things, too. She could only count as high as the bullets in her clip, but she could take out a raider at a hundred paces, headshot, first try. She couldn't read a lick, but she recognized signs, so she always knew what street was what and when to steer clear of dangerous areas. She knew exactly what plants she could or couldn't eat, and she knew how to build a shelter from the ground up with nothing but six inches of rope and a knife.

She could shoot any gun with any type of bullet, but she didn't know what any of them were called.

"Hand me the click-click gun," she said one day.

MacCready had damn near spit out his drink. "The what?"

Red had looked annoyed. "The click-click gun!" she said, like he was stupid.

MacCready had looked around slowly, and only after a dramatic gesture on Red's part did he finally realize what she was talking about. So he picked up the lever-action rifle and handed it to her.

"Here you go," he had said wryly. "One click-click gun, ready to click-click someone right to death."

Red hadn't gotten the joke.

But even with all the weirdness, and even though she was damn near impossible to predict, MacCready liked traveling with Red. She was funny in a strange kind of way, and she was generous to everyone they met. She never felt like anyone was too pathetic to help. Plus, she was game for anything.

Storm a library full of super mutants? Sure.

Drop a live grenade into the pocket of a Gunner? Let's do it.

Get drunk and try to live out your cowboy dreams on the back of a pissed-off Brahmin? Okay, so she'd tried to talk him out of that one, but MacCready refused to live in regret.

"Agh!" she shouted from behind a bunch of crates in the back of the warehouse, and the sound of her pistol going off sounded next. MacCready craned his neck to see.

"You alright?"

"Radroach," she answered back, before she popped back into view and shouldered her bag. "Okay, let's go – " Her eyes lifted to a railing overhead, and her eyes lit up. "Oh, there's a bag up there!" Without waiting for MacCready, she hopped up and began to climb, grabbing fearlessly at whatever looked even remotely sturdy enough to haul her up. MacCready continued to puff on his cigarette as he watched from below, ready to catch her. It reminded him of all the times he'd stood nearby while Duncan climbed trees. He'd been about as reckless as Red.

They would have gotten along, MacCready thought for a moment, his heart pinching.

Thud. A bag landed right in front of MacCready with a big dusty cloud, and he huffed, taking out his cigarette and pointing it at her. "Hey! Watch it!"

"Sorry," said Red, not sounding very sorry at all. She hopped down next and began to tear into the bag, throwing shriveled garments over her shoulders and letting out a noise of delight when she found a hat. Red liked hats because her hair attracted a lot of attention. Made it hard to hunt, she said.

The last item in the bag, though, was something MacCready could tell Red hadn't seen before. In fact, he couldn't remember the last time he'd seen such a thing.

"What is this?" asked Red, bewildered as she pulled out the silky sequin dress.

MacCready let out a bark of laughter and took it from her. "It's a dress," he said. When Red stared at him, he held it up against her. "It's clothing. You know, for like partying and stuff."

"This is clothes?" asked Red in disbelief, taking it back and holding it up to MacCready like he'd done for her. He laughed and shook his head.

"I mean, yeah, but it's usually only women who wear them. Not me." He couldn't imagine what a piece of clothing like that was doing in this dusty farming shed in the middle of the woods, but with the wasteland, you could never tell.

"I don't get it," said Red, and they turned to walk together out of the warehouse. She held it out in front of her as they walked into the bright afternoon sunlight. There were no settlements around them for miles; they were alone in the quiet wilderness. "This doesn't offer any protection. Not even from the sun. Why would anyone wear this?"

MacCready finished his cigarette and ground out the ashes, exhaling his last puff of smoke. "You don't wear clothes like that for protection. You just wear them to look good."

Red squinted at the dress like she didn't believe that, and then she turned and shoved it into her bag. "Weird," she said. "Maybe it's worth caps."

"Definitely," said MacCready. "Once we finally get to Goodneighbor, you can sell it there. Plenty of ladies of the night there lookin' to score while wearing that."

"What does that mean?" asked Red as they walked. "Ladies of the night?"

MacCready smirked. "Prostitutes," he said, swinging his rifle to his shoulder. At Red's questioning look, he clarified, "That means someone who sells sex for money."

An understanding entered Red's features, but there was something else there, too. A strange uncertainty he hadn't seen there before. "I don't understand why anyone would do that," she said. MacCready raised a brow and then shrugged.

"Just people doin' what they gotta' do," he said, a little uncertain himself now. He'd never seen Red look like that before. It wasn't distaste on her face, like some uppity folks might have. She seemed genuinely confused.

"It's really not that big of a deal," MacCready said, not sure why he felt the need to keep talking but as usual, not bothering to stop himself. "Women in Goodneighbor do it to make a living. You know, have sex with men – or whoever – and get paid caps." He shrugged, looking forward again. At Red's curious look, he waved an arm and said as casually as possible, "I mean, I personally prefer to have sex with women who aren't doing it for caps, but whatever."

At this, Red stopped in her tracks. MacCready stopped, too.

"You – " she said, and MacCready scowled inwardly as he waited to be berated for sleeping with a prostitute (which who the hell hasn't?). But what Red said next, with absolute horror in her voice, was –

"You have sex?"

MacCready blinked at her. "Well… Yeah," he said, stupefied.

Red's mouth was open. Her eyes were wide. And then suddenly, fury twisted her features and just like that, her .50 caliber rifle was in her hand and four inches from MacCready's face. He jerked back in alarm.

"YOU!" Red shrieked furiously, and to MacCready's shock, there were angry tears in her eyes.

MacCready threw up his hands, fingers instinctively reaching for his own rifle, but Red was fast as lightning and the shot nearly clipped his hand.

"STAY STILL!" she roared, and MacCready froze, eyes wide. He kept both hands high where she could see them.

"What is going ON?" he shouted back, alarmed.

"YOU DO THAT?" screamed Red, looking stricken. "YOU DO THAT TO GIRLS?"

"DO WHAT?"

"SEX! YOU DO SEX TO GIRLS AND WOMEN!"

"Wha – Yes?" rasped out MacCready.

Red shrieked wordlessly and levelled her gun at his face. "YOU DESERVE TO DIE!"

"I AM SO CONFUSED RIGHT NOW!" MacCready shouted back, waving his hands furiously.

"YOU HURT THEM!" yelled out Red, and now MacCready could see she was distraught. "You do that! You hurt them, you hold them down, you make them bleed, you make them cry – "

"What the hell are you talking about?" MacCready yelled frantically.

"YOU'RE A RAIDER!" she shrieked. "YOU'RE NO BETTER THAN A RAIDER!" She prepared to shoot.

And that was when it clicked. MacCready's entire countenance shifted.

"Wha – No, no! Red! That's not sex – that's rape!"

Red's jaw tightened furiously. Hot tears poured down her face. She was still prepared to kill him.

"No, Red – Red, listen to me," said MacCready, forcing himself to speak quietly, softly. "Red, look at me. We've been traveling together for weeks now. Do I look like a raider? Do I act like a freakin' raider?"

Red shifted her grip on the gun but held it level with his face, blinking against her tears. Her entire body trembled. MacCready met her gaze.

"Do I?" he asked again, gently.

Red swallowed and whimpered, but she shook her head, hold on the gun shaking terribly.

"Red, what you are talking about…" MacCready said, slowly lowering his hands. "What you see raiders do to people in Concord… That is rape. That isn't sex. At least… not the right kind."

Red wiped furiously at her face with a dirty shoulder.

"I don't understand," she whispered, in the same confused way she'd said it to him a hundred times before. She didn't seem to believe him, but she wasn't willing to shoot him so long as he didn't draw his gun on her.

"You know I'm not a raider," MacCready said firmly. "But I know why this doesn't make sense to you. I get why it's confusing." He drew in a deep breath. "Will you let me try to explain it to you? Please?"

Red hesitated a long time. At last, she lowered the gun, but her eyes on him were shining and mistrustful. It surprised him how uncomfortable that made him feel. To be likened to a rapist raider, and by Red of all people, who had liked him so instantly and willingly, who had trusted him from the moment he'd sat down and eaten his first meal with her.

She had kicked a feral off him with three at her back. She had smashed a super mutant's head in for him when her gun had run dry. And she had once insisted on going half a day out of their way so MacCready could visit a real bar, because he'd told her how much he wanted to.

Filled with determination, MacCready gestured her over to grassy hillside with him and sat down. He was still nervous she'd shoot him, but he had to try. Red sat down next to him with her gun in her lap and her trembling expression full of fear. MacCready pushed back the sour feeling that gave him in his stomach.

"Okay, so…" MacCready shifted towards her, and Red flinched. He ignored it. "So, sex and rape are… really two different things. See, sex is supposed to be consensual. That means both people want to be a part of it. They both like it."

Red shook her head slowly. "I don't see why anyone would like that," she whispered, and MacCready frowned at the fear in her voice. God damn, what had she seen?

That was a stupid question, even to ask himself. He knew exactly what she had seen.

"Rape – what you've seen the raiders do – that's forced, Red. It's mean and it's violent and yeah, it's painful and bloody and terrible. You're right, if that was what I did, you'd want to kill me. But it isn't. Most people don't do things like raiders do." He tilted his head. "That makes sense, right? You understand that, don't you? That raiders do everything the bad way?"

Red looked at her lap as she thought about this. "Yes," she murmured.

"So doesn't it make sense that they would make sex – which is supposed to be a good thing – into a bad and painful thing?"

Red paused and then nodded slowly.

"And I'm not a raider. You know that. I don't – " he paused, because it pained him to even have to state it explicitly, so disgusting was the thought of someone thinking he was capable of something like that. "I do not rape people. I would never force myself on someone. Every time I've had sex with anyone, it's because we both wanted to." Maybe not for the same reason, but that was irrelevant.

Red seemed to take her time thinking on all of this, and her grip on the rifle loosened just a little. But it still didn't seem like enough. She still didn't trust him. She didn't get it.

MacCready felt his chest clench.

At last she said, "I just don't…" but she didn't finish. Her brows were furrowed, and her eyes were on her lap. MacCready paused before shifting towards her again and holding up a hand. He had to make her understand.

"Can I maybe show you something to compare it to?"

Red's eyes flickered up at him. After a long moment, she nodded. MacCready pulled off his bag and gun, setting them aside. He also pulled off his right glove, leaving his hand bare.

"Okay, so I want you to pay attention. I'm going to touch your hand, alright?"

Red swallowed tightly. "Just my hand?" she asked softly.

MacCready nodded in what he hoped was a reassuring manner. "Just your hand," he promised.

Slowly, Red moved her vice-like grip off her gun and extended her small hand, fingers still shaking. MacCready paused, and then he reached over and slipped his larger hand into hers. Red jerked just a little, but MacCready kept his touch incredibly gentle. Then he slipped his fingers between hers and cradled her palm, thumb moving out and tenderly stroking the skin there.

Red stared at their joined hands, a fresh tear gathering at the corner of her blue eyes. MacCready said nothing at first; he simply let the touch speak for itself. Gradually, Red relaxed, and her hand in his became looser. Her own fingers twitched in a mimic of his own.

"So how does this make you feel?" asked MacCready, lowering his face closer to hers. "How do you feel when I hold your hand like this?"

Red looked up at him, her eyes wide and round. "Okay," she said in a whisper, before going on after a moment. "Good. I - … It's nice." She bit her lip hard, tilting her head as she looked at their hands again. MacCready waited.

"Safe," she murmured at last.

MacCready's chest fluttered oddly at her tone.

"Good," he managed after a moment. "That's the way it's supposed to make you feel." He kept their hands together. "If I hold your hand like this, you know it's supposed to be a connection. It's warmth, and it's friendship, and it's safety. It's comfort, right? It makes you feel better."

"Yes," agreed Red very softly.

Reluctantly, MacCready pulled his hand from hers. "Now," he said. "I'm going to take your hand again – and for the love of God, don't shoot me. Got it?"

Red nodded, and MacCready – with a fair amount of dread – steeled his resolve and reached for her again. This time, he snatched her hand hard, curling her fingers tensely in his and forcing his fingers between hers. Red jerked in alarm, her expression shifting to horror, but MacCready forced himself not to let go.

"Red, look," he said as firmly as he could, and Red froze, her eyes wide with terror. "Now tell me. How does this make you feel?"

"Afraid," she said instantly, her shoulders high and tight. "In pain."

"Right," said MacCready, loosening his fingers only a little. "That's because this isn't nice. It isn't comforting. It isn't intimate. It's forced, and it's painful." He drew her eyes to their joined hands and held them up, flipping the grip so she could see their laced fingers. "But look," he said emphatically.

Red's terrified eyes shot to their hands.

"The motion looks the same," MacCready murmured adamantly, showing her their joined hands. "It's the intent that's different."

He shook their joined hands, still tight and locked together. "This is rape," he told her firmly. Then he instantly loosened his grip, and he smoothed both hands over her knuckles, rubbing soothing circles over Red's hand as she exhaled in relief. "This is not."

He waited for Red to relax, and finally she looked up at him. To MacCready's enormous relief, comprehension swept over her face.

"That's the difference," MacCready told her quietly, curling her small hand in his. "Sex is supposed to make you feel connected and safe. It's about – if not love, then at least pleasure. For everyone involved." They both paused to look at their joined hands, and MacCready finally took his away once the redness was gone from her skin. "Make sense?"

Red looked up at him, and at last, she relaxed fully. "Yes," she said with more confidence than before. "I understand."

MacCready watched her face for a long moment. Then at last he shifted away and pulled his glove back on. After that, they gathered their things and stood, continuing on into the sunset together.

That night, when they camped under a bridge next to a softly stirring river, MacCready drew first watch. Red laid down on a sleeping bag under the misty green moonlight, and MacCready sat at the fire, drinking a warm beer and looking out into the night. When he looked back at Red, he saw she was on her side, looking at her hand. She curled it in front of her face, fingers flexing, and then she loosened it again.

She did this four or five times before MacCready got up from his chair and walked over, settling on the ground right next to her sleeping bag. "You know," he said with a quirk of his lips, "if you're going to stay awake, you might as well keep watch."

"Sorry," Red murmured.

MacCready felt that strange flutter in his chest again. "It's okay," he said gently. "Just go to sleep."

"Okay," said Red, but her expression pinched as if she wanted her eyes to close, but couldn't force them to obey. MacCready looked down at her, and without thinking about it, he pulled off his glove and extended his hand.

Red looked up from where she lay on her side, cheek pressed into the dirty sleeping bag, eyes wide. Then she reached out and touched his hand. Their fingers linked in a gentle embrace, and MacCready swept a thumb over her knuckles.

Red instantly relaxed; when MacCready looked away and glanced back, she was already asleep.

So he left their hands joined, and continued drinking his beer, gaze staring into the night and thumb moving gently back and forth.

He was supposed to wake her after a few hours, but he didn't. He let her sleep.