Hey all. I've recently reemerged after a few month's hiatus. In that time, I discovered that I am, in fact, MacCready trash. After playing through FO4 again, I felt drawn to his character and was sad at the lack of Sole x Mac fics on here. So, I decided to write my own. In an attempt to be somewhat consistent (for once), I have decided to update once a week. Between work and settling in to my new home, it's all I can manage at the moment. This fic will be long and it's going to span over many chapters, so be ready!
Cover image belongs to morteraphan on DeviantArt.
Please, read and review!
Chapter One: Cometh The Trickster
The rain pattered against the crumbling asphalt. She leaned against one of the brick walls in the alleyway, watching as the shadows of those passing by flittered in the buzzing neon lights. All of them just strolled by, closing up shops and heading home. Or to the bar. The ghoul she'd met earlier appeared between the gaps in the wall and she briefly wondered where Daisy was off to. Her home was above her shop and throughout all her visits to this garbage heap of a city, she'd never seen her roam farther than that. With a shrug, she settled on it being none of her business, and fumbled in her bag at her hip for her cigarettes. The pack was new, unopened. It was the brand she used to smoke before the war.
Out of habit, she smacked the top of the pack against her wrist a few times for good measure. When she was sure all the tobacco finely packed, she opened it and flipped one cigarette upside down, filter down. For luck. She popped a different one between her lips and lit up, letting the bitter taste of smoke slide across her tongue as she inhaled. Nate used to hate it when she smoked, even made her quit when they found out she was pregnant. She remembered watching all the other moms smoke through their morning sickness but Nate swore up and down that it just couldn't be good for the baby. No proof to back up, just went off a 'paternal hunch' as he said. Maybe he was right. She wished she could tell him that now.
She relaxed her body against the brick wall behind her, her head lolling back and forth as she resigned with a sigh. Silver tendrils swirled upward toward the yellowish light of the streetlamp, and she watched idly as it flickered every few seconds.
Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.
It'd been one month she'd been spewed out of the vault. Thirty days. Seven-hundred-twenty hours. What did she have to show for it? Jack shit. Aside from helping the Minutemen here and there (because, face it, what else could she do with no lead?) she'd been ambling about the Commonwealth looking for anyone who might have information.
She idly recalled a children's book her dad used to read to her when she was little called "Are You My Mother?" In the book, a baby bird hatches from his egg only to find that he's alone. The nest was empty. So he takes it upon himself to go searching for his mother. He asks all sort of animals. A dog, a cat, a cow—the kind with one head. It was silly back then. She remembered thinking, how could this bird be so lost? Now she had become that bird. She'd woken up in a giant metal nest, alone, and set out into a scary, unfamiliar world with finding Shaun being her only goal.
Every time a woman with a pram shuffled by, she peered her head in and wondered… are you my son?
Something hard wedged itself into her throat and she tried to swallow with a grimace. Was it a mother's rose-tinted glasses that gave her such fleeting hope? That'd she walk through the gates of a settlement and there would be her baby. Or was it just that she saw him in the face of every infant she came across? She tossed her cigarette to the ground and squelched it with the heel of her boot. Without looking, she knocked her pack open again with a jerk, catching the filter end of one of the cigarettes that emerged. Another one wouldn't hurt.
Another rush of smoke slithered its way into her lungs and she let out a heavy breath through her nose. The silvery billows traveled up her face and stung her eyes, but she didn't mind much. The rain started to thin out and she looked up at the sky, watching as small flecks of light peeked through the thunderheads. Everything else in the world had changed… but the stars? Those were steadfast. When she began to feel like she wasn't really here, like she wasn't a person who actually existed, she would try to look up at the sky and find the stars. Even if it were daytime. It was something that kept her rooted to reality.
She jostled the pocket of her duster with her eyes transfixed up above, wondering if she had enough caps for a room and maybe a meal tonight. She'd have to dip into her savings regardless come morning. One of the settlers had recommended a mercenary in Goodneighbor. Said he was one of the best guns for hire in the Commonwealth. Curiosity, and maybe a little desperation, got the best of her and she set out. So far, she'd had very little help and she wasn't the greatest shot. If anything, she was better with a knife or machete. After a near fatal run in with a group of Supermutants outside Diamond City, she had resigned to the fact that maybe she'd need someone to watch her back. What good was she to Shaun if she was dead? Who would save him then?
And it might be nice having someone at her side who wouldn't pry into her life. That reporter in Publick Occurrences came to mind and she grimaced. The girl was sweet but way too nosy for her own good. After she'd given Piper the interview she asked for (which she may have exaggerated a tad), Piper had proposed she lend her a hand, offer her services as backup. She chose to turn her down under the pretense of working alone, rather than voicing the doubt that Piper couldn't do much, if any, damage in a fight. Then it would be two mediocre people wandering the wastes. Easy pickings for any Raiders, Supermutants, or otherwise nasty individuals out there. No thanks.
Just as she went to hassle the desk clerk at the Rexford, one of the metal doors to the alley swung open and knocked against the wall. A few metal garbage cans rattled from the movement, wobbling and barely containing the garbage that threatened to spill out of it. A man came pouring out into the street, his nose deep into a piece of paper. The brim of a hat obscured his face and, she realized, obscured her from his line of vision. He was tall. He maybe had a good foot on her, at the very least. The duster he adorned was worse for wear with various tears and holes towards the seams. One sleeve had been torn off entirely. She quirked a brow.
Around one thigh was a leg bandolier practically brimming with high caliber bullets. At his waist, a pair of binoculars were tied to a belt, and the strap to some sort of weapon cut diagonally across his chest. She let her eyes wander to his shoulder and caught a glimpse of a rifle. Interesting. Just in case, she let the tips of her fingers brush against the pommel of the bowie knife strapped at her hip. But the man hardly noticed her.
He seemed to hyper focus his letter, pouring over each page as he flipped them over and backwards again and again like he was starved. Then, with the most care she'd seen from any wastelander, he delicately folded the papers back up and tucked them into a pocket inside his duster. There was a brief pause where he just stared at the ground, swaying slightly on his feet, as if in a trance. His hands were clenched into tight fists at his side and his shoulders trembled, as if he were silently laughing. Or crying. He brought a trembling hand up to his face and wiped his eyes, muttering something under his breath. His other hand darted into his bag and reemerged with a familiar pack and a gold flip lighter. The stogie bounced between his lips as he brought the lighter up, striking it again and again with no luck.
"Son of a b— ugh!" He ground out. Again, he tried to get the lighter to ignite. No dice. "God damn it."
"Here," she spoke up.
In her hand, she extended her own lighter out to the man. He jumped at her voice and looked up, startled, as if she'd just snuck up on him. Part of her wanted to laugh at the accusing stare he threw at her and then at her hand. He reminded her of a stray dog whose trust you had to earn before they'd let you scratch behind their ear.
She proffered it to him once again, waving it around like a tantalizing piece of meat. "Please, just use my damn lighter. Watching you is almost painful."
He crossed the distance between them in a few strides, taking the lighter from her wordlessly. As he brought the lighter to his cigarette, she procured another of her own, pinching it between her lips. The wavering yellow light of a flame appeared before her face and she looked up at the man curiously. He was lighting her cigarette for her. She accepted the gesture with a cocky grin, balancing the cigarette between her forefinger and thumb. Like the French use to do. He gave the lighter back to her and she tucked it into her bag.
"Lighting my cigarette for me, huh bud?" She almost laughed, letting one hand fall to her hip. "You sure know how to make a lady feel fancy. Would've thought I was Marilyn Monroe for a second."
"I have no idea who that is." The man finally spoke.
His voice was softer and less gruff than she'd anticipated. Or maybe smooth was the right word to describe it—like a nicely aged bourbon whiskey. He looked young, but she was bad with age. His face was marred and a little dirty, much like the other people in this post-war hell hole were. But underneath it all, she found he had the most startling blue eyes. Almost like robins' eggs. They were so bright, she could even see their intensity in the dim lighting of the alleyway.
Did Robins even exist anymore? All she saw were crows.
"You know, the actress? Bleach blonde hair, breathy voice, big…" she mimed a body around hers that was much more curvaceous than her own. At his blank stare, she brushed him off. "Ah, never mind. Having to explain a joke really kills it."
"Sorry," he shrugged. "What are you doing out here?"
At this, she shot him an incredulous look, nodding to her cigarette. "I don't know. What do you think?"
"Ah, sarcasm is noted," he chuckled a bit at this. "And also appreciated. You know you can smoke inside, right?"
"Yeah, I know." She eyed smoldering end of her cigarette. "For some reason, the smoke just tastes better when you're outside. And alone."
"If that's a hint for me to leave…"
"Oh, so he can take hints? Well, I'll be a squirrel in a skirt," at his baffled look at the use of her idiom she just clicked her tongue in annoyance. "Southern thing. My dad used to say it. It's used to convey surprise."
There was a pause where he decided to blatantly ignore what she said.
"I meant what are you doing here, in Goodneighbor?" He asked as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "You don't look like the seedy type. Actually, you look… normal. That's suspicious in this place."
"That explains why you look like you haven't bathed in a week. You must fit right in," she said pointedly. The guy didn't laugh at this though, he just stared down at her from beneath the brim of his hat. "Okay. I guess you have a limit on your sense of humor. I don't live around here, I'm just looking for someone."
At that she froze in contemplation, giving the man before her a swift up and down.
"Say, you might know where to find him."
"I might. Who is it you're looking for?"
"I was told about a gun for hire- a mercenary, here in Goodneighbor. Thing is, the person who recommended him to me didn't tell me exactly where in Goodneighbor to look," she finished her cigarette and tossed it into a puddle. "Heard he's the best shot in the Commonwealth."
"You don't say?" Oh, now he was intrigued. "There's only one man in this town that I can think of that fits that description. Heard he's really handsome, too."
"That… doesn't really matter much to me, but great! What's his name?"
"How about for a small fee, I'll tell you who you're looking for?"
"Really? Trying to bleed me for caps? You people…" She crossed her arms with a huff, determined to storm off and find this mercenary on her own time. But she was pretty desperate for some good help and had wasted enough time. "What's it gonna cost me?"
"Let's say… two-hundred-fifty caps. Non-negotiable."
At this, her jaw slid open. "You have got to be fucking with me. I was thinking sliding you something like fifty caps, but two-hundred?"
"Two-hundred-fifty, to be exact."
"Look, bud, everything is negotiable. How's a hundred caps sound?"
"Nope."
"Ugh, okay," she reached her hand into her bag. "One-fifty?"
"I told you, it's a firm price."
"One-eighty."
He just stared blankly at her. This was ridiculous.
"Look, why are we even haggling here? I'm sure I could just walk around and find out who he is from someone who isn't trying to scam me."
"Everyone in Goodneighbor will try to scam you," he said flatly.
"Two-hundred?" He seemed to quietly deliberate and she felt her patience begin to fray. "Oh, for fuck's sake. That's all I'm willing to spare and even then, that's a ridiculous price for some information. I still have a hiring fee to think about."
"Okay, deal." With a sideways grin, he stuck his hand out to her.
She placed the bag of caps into his palm and he jiggled it a bit before settling on her with a stare. After a few beats of nothing but steely silence, she began to wonder if this man had conned her out of her money. Damn. She thought she was good at reading people. What a shame. She looked up at him expectantly, opening her hands and gesturing around them.
"Okay, are you gonna tell me who he is? Or maybe, you can lead me to him. You know, actually put a little work in and earn those caps I just forked over."
"Lady, you're looking at him." He thumbed his chest and puffed it out almost proudly. "MacCready at your service."
"No," she shook her head. "Give me my caps back. You're clearly messing with me."
"I'm not joking," at this, the prideful look from his face fell and was replaced with another steely glare. "I'm the mercenary you heard about. I'm usually holed up in the VIP lounge in The Third Rail, but I came out here for a breather."
"You're the best shot in the Commonwealth?" Her eyebrows shot up into her hairline. "Oh no. No, no, no, NO. Give me my money back… I demand a refund." She took a step closer, realizing that she had to tilt her head back to look at him in the face.
"You're joking right?" A short, sarcastic laugh left his mouth. "I've been doing this since I was a kid. I know my way around."
"You look like you still are a kid," she deflated and sunk back against the wall. "To think I lent you my lighter. Such betrayal."
Well, it looked like this was another dead end. Her next mission was to find that settler who recommended him to her and give them a few reprimanding stabs with her bowie knife. Ah, maybe that was too harsh. She wouldn't stab them all the way, only give them a few warning jabs with the tip of the blade. Just to get her point across.
"Look, I've been having any potential business chased out of town by the Gunners. I used to run with them back in the day but it's been a few months since I've been out and they're still bitter. I need the caps and," he looked her up and down, "honestly, it looks like you could use the help. How's this… you point, I shoot. We split any loot we come across down the middle. Pretty simple arrangement. If you don't like how I'm performing, we can part ways."
"What about my money?"
"It's mine now. Fair and square."
She looked at him once again with almost a certain kind of… respect. The man could certainly hustle. Hate the man all she wanted but she had to respect the game he played. The way he talked her out of her caps was way too smarmy for her liking but it seemed like he was pretty desperate for the caps. And who was she to judge? After all, she'd been desperate for a solid month now. At this point she had nothing to lose and everything to gain. It was just as likely that he'd take her money and put a bullet in her back the second she let her guard down but, eh, she'd take her chances.
"Ugh, fine." With a muttered expletive, she pushed herself away from the wall. "I'm renting a room at the Rexford. We leave first thing in the morning and, so help me god, you better be here when I wake up."
"Sure thing, boss." She could feel his eyes on her retreating form as she went to exit the alleyway. But she stopped when she heard him call out to her again. "By the way, what's your name?"
With a sigh, she ran her fingers through her straw-colored hair and turned to face him with a small wave.
"Vivian. What a displeasure it's been doing business with you, MacCready."
The last thing she heard was the echo of his laugh as she headed towards the hotel.
A/N: At my smoking while pregnant remark... have any of you seen Mad Men? Back in the day, before cigarettes came out as harmful, it wasn't out of the norm to see pregnant women smoking. Or drinking. Just in case any of you decided to judge me or my Sole :P