A/N: Written for the prompt 'hello again' on prompt bingo. I know there are references to things in here that the Fallout characters wouldn't know about (eg Old Spice ad) but it's all just for fun.
Hello Again (or the encounters of the Unnamed Mercenary and the Lone Wanderer)
Marcus Enriquez had been in Megaton exactly two weeks, and already he knew everything there was to know about the place. The ramshackle town's inhabitants were yawn-worthy gits who needed some excitement in their lives. A raider invasion or an outbreak of rad-roaches would probably do them a world of good.
He took the job because he needed the caps. His orders were simple: contract lasts six months, protect Moira and protect the merchandise.
After 24 hours he realised it was gonna be hella-boring. Everyone knew everyone in Megaton, no one was going to attempt to steal anything, and nothing ever happened.
Marcus first heard about the arrival from Billy Creel, who came in to buy his usual six-pack of nuka cola.
"Some kid from Vault 101," Billy announced to Moira. "Came flouncing into the saloon demanding to know where her Dad was."
Less than an hour later, said kid barged into the store smelling of beer and rotting meat. She was tall, with mannish features and skin as pasty as an uncooked pizza-pocket. Her hair was an unflattering shade of electric blue, cropped close to her head, and she was garbed in a Vault 101 jumpsuit and a leather jacket. From one hand hung a bloodstained baseball bat.
She couldn't have been more than 18 or 19 years old, and strode into Craterside Supply like she owned the place.
"This the general store then?" the newcomer called out. "Hellooo? Anyone here?"
Moira had stepped out to the bathroom. The vault rat appeared not to have noticed that Marcus was there. She began to poke around the store, inspecting the products. Marcus kept a close eye on her - he knew sticky fingers when he saw them.
She reached out and scooped up a handful of energy cells, then palmed one of them before putting the rest back.
"Drop the merchandise!" Marcus snapped, causing her to nearly jump out of her skin.
"Holy mole rats!" she shrieked, spinning around. "You nearly gave me a heart attack!"
Marcus reached for the pistol at his waist. "Put back the energy cell, kid."
"Alright, alright, geez," she sighed, dropping it back in the container. "I was just browsing. No needa get your knickers in a knot."
"I've got my eye on you." he settled back against the wall. She poked around a bit more before walking over to him.
"So are you in charge of this place?"
"No. That'd be Moira. She'll be back any minute now. Stop talking to me."
The vault rat pouted a bit. "You got a name?"
"Stop bothering me," Marcus grunted.
"Nice to meet you, 'Stop bothering me'." Oh great, her sense of humour was as immature as the rest of her. "I'm Wyth G'raytese. I just got out of Vault 101."
Deciding that if he ignored her, she would go away, Marcus deliberately yawned and glanced at his watch.
Undeterred, Wyth prattled on. "I don't suppose you've seen my father around here anywhere? Middle aged, kinda your height, African American. I know what you're thinking - how come I'm white when he's black? I have no idea myself. And before you ask about the hair, I know it looks retarded, but my arch enemy happens to be the Vault's only hairdresser. And if you think my hair's bad, you shoulda seen my best mate's. She wouldn't take her hat off for three weeks. I got my own back though, because I happen to be the Vault's only tattoo artist-"
Fortunately, Moira chose that moment to return, and Wyth ceased her inane chatter to speak to the shopkeeper. Marcus watched as the crazy kid sold Moira a heap of scrap metal, bent tin cans, and dead rad-roaches before spending most of her caps on ammo and alcohol.
"Strange girl, eh Marcus?" Moira asked as Wyth exited. "But it's nice to see some new faces around here! From the Vault, too, fancy that! She looks like a tough sort, maybe she can help me with those experiments I need for my survival guide!"
Marcus gave a bored sort of grunt and returned to polishing his gun.
The next time Marcus encountered Wyth, she was selling more products to Moira. The pots, pans and other assorted knick-knacks she sold looked to be in a good condition, and Marcus wondered where she'd gotten them. Wyth gave off a strange sort of evil vibe, and he wouldn't have been surprised if she'd looted some Wastelander's house in the dead of the night.
Moira also propositioned that Wyth help her with the Survival Guide.
The Survival Guide. The bloody Survival Guide that Moira was so obsessed with. Marcus personally thought it was a rather stupid and foolhardy idea, and had no idea who would be suicidal enough to agree to help out with it.
"Sure, I'll help!" Wyth said enthusiastically. "For a price, of course."
Okay. Apparently someone was suicidal enough.
Keeping his eyes on the door, the merc eavesdropped as Moira explained what she wanted Wyth to do. A frown creased his face - the Super-Duper Mart was crawling with raiders. What was Moira thinking, sending a kid alone into there?
Unsurprisingly, Wyth agreed, shouldered her baseball bat, and headed for the door to undertake her quest. She paused in front of Marcus.
"Anything I should know before I go in?" she asked.
"You probably won't come back alive," he snarked at her.
She chuckled, eyebrows rising. "Encouraging." she frowned at him a moment. "Don't suppose you'll come with me?"
"Not a chance," he snapped. "I'm working for Moira. Guarding this shop."
"Must get kinda boring," Wyth mused, looking around. "Seems to me like you just stand here all day. Pretty easy job. A man like you… you're a mercenary, ain't ya? Used to the life of action."
"Are you going or not?"
"Fine, fine, I'm leaving." Sticking her tongue out at him, she sauntered out.
Marcus wondered if he would see her alive again.
She returned the next day with a graze on her forehead and blood spattered over her clothes.
"It was empty," she announced. "No food or medicine in there."
Which was a blatant lie, of course. Marcus could see that her pack was bulging with supplies that hadn't been there before. Moira, oblivious as always, didn't seem to notice, and prattled on about how it had been a long shot and they'd just have to find somewhere else to look.
"Anyway," Moira said after finally stopping for breath. "Let's move on. The next part of the book is about-"
"Yeah, hold up a second!" Wyth interrupted. "I think I'll have a break from the research for a bit."
Moira blinked, then smiled. "Oh! Alright, sure! Just let me know when you're ready to keep going."
The door bell tinkled and old Nathaniel entered. Within moments he and Moira were having a lively discussion, exchanging the usual Megaton gossip. Marcus tuned out, and when he turned around Wyth was standing right in front of him.
"Hello again," she announced, flashing him a chip-toothed grin. "Having fun?"
"What do you want?" he growled.
"Just trying to make conversation!" Wyth sighed. "So I was talking to Confessor Cromwell - weird old chap - and he told me that you never sleep!"
Marcus glared at her. He was well aware of the rumours about him circulating around town.
"So?" Wyth prompted. "Is it true? Do you ever sleep?"
"Not on the job," he snapped. "Don't you have somewhere better to be?"
"Yes, actually." she yawned and stretched. "The ladies' bathrooms back at the 'mart."
His eyebrows rose.
She grinned again. "I cleared the place of raiders so it's my turf now. And since the common house in this place is way too expensive, I decided to make use of the convenient mattresses in the Super-Duper Mart bathrooms. Clever, right?"
"If you spent less money on beer you might be able to afford something a little more sanitary," Marcus couldn't help commenting.
Wyth just shrugged. "But when you're drunk, you don't even notice the smell!" she pointed out. "Anywho, it's getting late. I'll see you around."
Before he could respond she had swept out of the store, her backpack crashing noisily into the doorframe. Marcus sighed and let his head thud back against the hard wall.
Suddenly Megaton seemed a lot more boring.
Moira's next 'research task' had to be the most insane thing Marcus had ever heard of. Apparently, even Wyth shared his opinion.
"Advanced radiation poisoning?" she said slowly, scratching her head. "Yeah, I dunno, seems kinda… risky."
"It's all for the greater good!" Moira gushed. "And don't worry, I have plenty of rad-away and rad-X right here waiting for you!"
Wyth bit her lip, thinking for a moment. "Fine," she said eventually. "but if I crawl back in here looking like a melted potato, I will hit you."
Marcus couldn't resist going to the door to see what she was doing. Peering over the walkway railing, he saw Wyth splashing about in the radioactive water near the bomb, thoroughly disrupting all the nearby followers from the Church of the Atom.
Twenty minutes later she came back in looking pale and waxy, with bloodshot eyes and a rash forming on her neck. Her breath was coming in wheezes and harsh rattling coughs. Marcus took a step back, not particularly wanting to get radiated.
Moira had no such qualms. She rushed forward, a big grin on her face. "You're back! How do you feel?"
Wyth licked her lips and gripped the edge of the counter to steady herself. "I like to think of it as adding to my glowing personality…"
Wyth didn't look happy when Moira sheepishly announced that there had been a 'teeny tiny mutation'. She stormed back over to Marcus and waved her deformed right hand in his face.
"Look at this!" she exclaimed. "Well, I guess it could have been worse. I mean, this is an excuse to wear gloves. I've always wanted to wear epic leather gloves."
"Whatever," Marcus muttered. "Keep me out of that crazy girl's experiments. I don't get paid enough for that."
"How much do you get paid to stand around all day?" Wyth mocked. "How many thieves have you apprehended? How many times have you defended Moira's life?"
He pointedly clicked his rifle, and she snorted at him before marching out.
"Greetings, 'stop bothering me'," Wyth announced as she entered Craterside Supply the next morning. "We just keeping running into one another."
No, you just keep insisting on coming up and bothering me. "Get lost," he said.
"I found my Dad," she announced, looking uncharacteristically serious. "Colin Moriarty told me where he went. He's in D.C. Went looking for that Galaxy News Radio guy, apparently."
"Fascinating."
"D.C. Long way from here." she bit her lip. "It's been two hundred years since the fallout, you'd think someone would have built a vehicle of some sort in that time."
"You going to find him then?" Marcus asked, figuring that maybe if he humoured her she'd finish up the conversation and leave him alone.
"Yeah," Wyth nodded. "Yeah, of course I'm gonna go find him. But y'know… it's a big wasteland out there, and D.C.'s a long way away….?" she fixed him with a pointed stare.
"What?" he asked.
Wyth let out a sigh. "Will you come with me?"
"No," Marcus responded. "You asked me that already. No, I have a job here, and I am going to do my job here, thank you very much."
"But come on!" Wyth threw her hands up. "Surely you get bored standing around here all day! Wait… you're a mercenary. Can I buy your contract off Moira?"
That got a laugh out of him. "Seriously? Trust me kid, you can not afford my contract."
Wyth scowled. "Come on man! I'll throw in a free tattoo?"
He shook his head. She sighed and marched out.
She was back two hours later. After selling Moira more bent tin cans (and unsuccessfully trying to convince the shopkeeper to buy them for more than half a cap each), Wyth planted herself directly in front of Marcus and gave him a conniving smile.
"Hello, mercenaries! Look at your job, now back to me, now back at your job, now back to me. Sadly, it isn't me, but if you stopped wasting your time guarding pointless shops, you could come with me! Look down, back up, where are you? You're in the wasteland with the girl your job could be like. What's in your hand, back at me, I have it, it's your ticket out of this ramshackle dump! Look again, the ticket is now caps. Anything is possible when you agree to come with me to D.C.! I'm on a brahmin."
He stared at her for a moment. "For the last time, I'm not coming with you."
"Fine. Fine! Suit yourself! Go die of boredom for all I care."
"I wonder how Wyth is doing," Moira mused one morning. "She was going to collect a mine from that old mine field for me. I hope she hasn't run into any trouble."
Marcus frowned. Minefield? What happened to Washington...?
Three days later Wyth returned. Her jumpsuit and jacket had been replaced with a rather revealing Raider's outfit, and the baseball bat had been discarded in favour of a sledgehammer.
"I got through Minefield alive, and I even brought you a present!" she announced cheerfully, throwing a frag mine at Moira, who scrambled to catch it.
"Whoah! Look at this hot little potato! There, that wasn't so hard, was it?" Moira gushed. "The first chapter of the book is now researched!"
While Moira scurried off to go tinker with her new toy, Wyth leaned against the wall next to Marcus.
"Hello," she said. "Just between you and me, I didn't get that frag from the minefield. I bought it off some trader guy. I mean, come on, does she seriously think I'm gonna go into a minefield just so she can research her stupid book? Fff!"
"Thought you were going to find your Dad."
She blinked. "Yeah, well… I'm delaying that for a bit. It's too dangerous out there; there's no way I'm going alone. I need more supplies, better weapons, and a companion."
He snorted. "Good luck finding that."
She smirked at him. "Actually, Jericho agreed to come with me. I just need to save up 1000 caps for his supplies."
That took Marcus by surprise. He'd seen Jericho about town - ex-raider of some sort, acted like he owned the place, spent most of his time in the saloon getting drunk.
"Jericho eh?" he said finally. "Guy's a crackpot. Have fun with that."
"I intend to."
Chapter two of the survival guide was even more absurd than chapter one. Marcus was starting to doubt the sanity of his employer.
"So basically you need me to get myself critically injured?" Wyth asked with a frown. "Uhhh…"
"I need to examine how people deal with various injuries!" Moira explained with a disarming smile. "I'd like you to have at least one crippled limb as well! Don't worry though, I've got plenty of stimpaks here. I'll fix you right up when you're done."
"This is madness," Wyth muttered, but agreed anyway.
"You'll get yourself killed one day," Marcus told her as she walked past.
She turned to him, beaming. "I do believe that's the first time you've initiated conversation with me!"
"Yeah, well don't get used to it," he grunted.
She shrugged. "Don't suppose you want to shoot me?"
"What?"
"Well, I needa critically injure myself somehow," she pointed out. "Oh, forget it, I'll just blow myself up on a grenade or something."
She didn't return for a while, and Marcus wondered if her self-inflicted injury had become fatal. But just before it was time to close up shop, she limped back in, clothes scorched and body streaked with burn marks.
"Hurry up, Moira," Wyth croaked with a cough. "I'm dripping blood all over your nice clean floor."
"Ooh!" Moira exclaimed, dropping her crate of supplies and dashing over. "I see you've acquired some third-degree burns! How do you feel?"
"It burns like diarrhea after spicy curry," Wyth croaked. "On a scale of one to ten, I'd say it's a 'shut the hell up and fix me!'"
"Alright, alright, I got it," Moira sighed. "I'll just take a few notes..."
After almost a dozen stimpaks, a dose of apparently 'medicinal' alcohol, and the shop's entire supply of Med-X, Wyth was finally back to something resembling walking condition.
"Back to home sweet lavatory," she murmured as she made her way towards the door, dragging her pack along the ground behind her.
Against his better judgement, Marcus held out a hand to stop her. "Are you seriously going to walk back to the Super-Duper Mart in this state?"
"Gotta get there somehow," she replied with a wry grin. "After a good night's sleep I'll be just fine. I'm like a Timex - I take a lickin' and keep on tickin'!"
"It's dark out. You could get attacked by anything on your way there."
"Aww, are you worried about me?" she mocked, and Marcus felt his face flush slightly.
"Not in the slightest," he said stiffly. "Alright, go ahead and get yourself killed."
"Well I hardly have anywhere else to go!" Wyth declared. "I can't spare the caps for a bed in Megaton."
"I have no idea why the hell I'm doing this, but here," he grunted, shoving 120 caps at her. "That's enough for a bed at the Saloon."
Wyth snatched the money and shoved it into her pocket. "Who am I to deny free caps?"
"You'd better pay me back as soon as you have the money," he warned.
She blew him a kiss and sauntered out, looking much livelier.
Marcus already regretted it when she came in the next morning and seemed to think that they were all buddy-buddy now.
"Before you ask," he announced as she opened her mouth, "just because I lent you that money doesn't mean we're friends. And no, I will not come to D.C. with you."
She pouted. "That's what I love about you, you're such a reliable disappointment."
There followed two of the dullest two weeks that Marcus had ever experienced. Moira had sent Wyth off with a 'mole rat repellant stick' and instructions to test it on as many mole rats as possible.
After a fortnight of standing around watching people not rob the store, Marcus was nearly ready to shoot himself in the head for accepting this contract. There were still five months to go and he was worried he'd start losing his touch if he stood idle for much longer.
Early one morning, just after the store opened, there was the familiar clanging of bent tin cans rattling around in a pack, and Wyth marched in. Her hair had grown out a bit, still vibrant blue and stringy with dirt and dried blood. She was wearing another raider outfit, had several assault rifles slung about her person, and was accompanied by Jericho.
The old coot looked more alive than he had in years, and Marcus tried not to envy him.
"We can't carry it all around," Wyth was arguing as she clattered her way in, ignoring Marcus in favour of emptying her pack's contents out onto the front counter. "Something has to go."
"Not the cigarettes," Jericho retorted, giving his smoke an emphatic puff.
"It's either the fags or the booze, we ain't keeping both," Wyth said. She turned to Moira and began bartering her various scraps and supplies for food and ammunition.
"Well? Are we selling the ciggies, Mr Teddy Bear?" Wyth asked.
Jericho scowled. "Fakking call me that one more time and I'll punch you in the face," he threatened. "We're keeping them."
"Fine, fine, whatever." Wyth reluctantly sold Moira several bottles of vodka before distributing the supplies between her pack and Jericho's. "We're staying here for a bit," she informed him. "Walter wanted me to check out the leaking pipes or something. I'll find you in the Saloon or at your place when I'm ready to leave."
"Whatever. Don't take too long, I want to get back out there." Jericho threw his cigarette onto the floor, snuffed it out with the heel of his boot, and strode out.
"Have you tested the repellant yet?" Moira asked excitedly. "I can't wait to hear how it works!"
"Oh yeah, about that," Wyth said. She held out the repellant stick, now sticky and smeared with blood. "It's like explosive whack-a-mole-rat. Can I get it in bullet form? For people?"
Moira gasped. "That… that's horrible! You're horrible! This whole thing's… horrible!" She pressed her hands to her face, seeming quite distraught, but recovered quickly. "Well… I guess it didn't work quite how I intended. You can keep it, maybe you can find a better use for it."
"Yeah, like scratching my butt or something. These chemicals on the end make my skin tingle." Wyth gave the stick a suspicious sniff before stuffing it in her pack. "Do I get my reward now?"
"Have the leftover chemicals. I doubt I'll be using them anymore…"
Wyth grinned as she accepted the proffered vials. "Wa-hey! Drugs! Alright, I'll have a break from the research now. I'll do the mirelurk task once I've rested up a bit."
"Okay! Come again soon!" Muttering under her breath about the mole rats, Moira picked up a nearby broom and moved to the back of the store to begin sweeping.
"I got something for you," Wyth said, turning to Marcus.
So she finally acknowledges my presence. Marcus straightened up a bit. "What?"
"120 caps, up front." she handed him the money and he pocketed it. "And I brought you a souvenir from Arefu." She handed him a book - Pugilism Illustrated. He didn't take it, instead staring at it suspiciously.
"Why are you giving me this?"
"Well, I've already read it, Jericho doesn't want it, and no one around here wants to buy it." she shrugged. "Consider it a thank-you gift for lending me those caps."
"I don't need your gratitude," Marcus said, but took it anyway. It had been a long time since he'd read something - most books had been destroyed in the fallout, and few people had bothered writing new ones.
"Oh, got something else for you as well!" Wyth exclaimed. She rummaged in her pack and handed him a bottle. "Nuka-Cola Quantum! Some guy gave it to me."
"How is it different to normal Nuka-Cola?"
"No idea." She grinned. "I guess you'll find out when you drink it."
Making a mental note to pour it down the nearest sink, he placed it on the workbench next to him. "Don't expect any presents in return," he warned her.
"You're welcome," Wyth replied. "So how's the job going? Arrested any shop lifters yet?"
"Ha ha."
"I know, I'm simply hilarious." She chortled away to herself for a few moments. "Well. I've got some leaking pipes to mend! Because apparently I'm a plumber now."
"Wyth G'raytese, all-purpose proletariat," Marcus couldn't help teasing her. "She slices, she dices-"
She gave him the one-fingered salute. "Glad to see you finally grew a sense of humour. I'll have you know I'm the Pirate of the Wastes, mate!"
"Queen of the Bent Tin Cans, Overlord of the Scrap Metal Mountain-"
"That's it, I don't hafta take this abuse, I'm outta here." she flipped him the bird again as she left.
Marcus chuckled for a moment then abruptly stopped. This is going too far, he chided himself. You are here to guard Craterside Supply, nothing else. No distractions, nothing.
The news was buzzing around Megaton the next morning.
"Lucas Simms was killed last night!"
"Did you hear? The mayor is dead!"
"That shady looking fellow in the Saloon? I heard he was responsible. Never liked the look of him."
Wyth entered Craterside Supply with Simm's sheriff's duster perched on her head and his coat draped around her shoulders. "Like my new look?"
"Mmm hm, very nice!" Moira replied without looking up from her terminal.
Wyth turned to Marcus and flung her arms out. "I'm on the cutting edge of Wasterlander style, eh?"
"Did you kill him?" Marcus asked flatly. Not that he cared - Simms was an arrogant prat who thought he could control everyone in the town.
"No!" Wyth perched on the end of the counter and crossed her legs. "Y'know that Mister Burke guy?"
Marcus nodded. Burke had arrived in Megaton some time ago, and spent all day sitting in the Saloon drinking. According to Moriarty, Burke said he'd been waiting for some sort of 'opportunist' to come through. The guy was a class A weirdo.
"He offered me a pretty penny to detonate the bomb," Wyth explained. "I won't deny it, I was tempted… but this place is kinda convenient. I mean, I need somewhere to buy and sell stuff, y'know?"
"Right."
"Anyhow, I went and told Simms about Burke's offer, and Simms came running to the Saloon to arrest him. The whole thing went down about as well as a fart in a confined area, and Burke ended up shooting Simms. Then I killed Burke. His head pretty much exploded when I shot it with my laser pistol." she giggled to herself for a moment. "I feel sorry for Gob though, he'll be cleaning that mess off the wall for days."
"I see…" Marcus frowned. "And then you stole Simms' clothes, did you?"
"Well, yeah." Wyth tipped her hat to the side. "I mean, no one seemed to notice that there was a dead body just sitting in the middle of the floor. Therefore it fell upon me to dispose of said body."
A moment of silence.
"Well, anyway." Wyth slid off the counter. "I'm leaving Megaton tomorrow."
"I see." Marcus tried to ignore the strange, almost disappointed feeling brewing in his stomach. "Are you going to look for your father?"
"No, not yet. I have some stuff to take care of first. There's this fort full of mercs. I know there's some good loot in there but one of them has a missile launcher. I want to see if I can find a way in," she said.
He scoffed. "Fort Bannister? Talon Company controls the whole place. You'll never get in."
"A girl can dream." Wyth glanced at Moira, still typing away at the terminal. "But anyway… don't suppose you'll join me for a drink in the Saloon tonight? Gob likes me so I get everything at a 10% discount."
"I'm working," he replied flatly.
She looked a bit hurt, but quickly replaced it with a smile. "You work 24/7, do you? If you pop out for one moment, someone will burgle the store, is that it?"
"I'm not going to dignify that with a response."
"You just did." she shrugged. "Guess I'll ask Andy Stahl instead."
"Andy Stahl?" Mister don't-talk-to-me Moriarty-bashing stick-up-the-backside tavern owner?
"Yep." Wyth grinned again. "I think he likes me."
Marcus snorted. Stahl didn't like anyone, that much was obvious. "Fun company."
"Funner when he's had a few." Wyth pulled open the door. "Ta, then."
Three months into his contract and Marcus was ready to lie down and die of boredom. He felt like he was stuck in Groundhog Day - wake up, stand next to the workbench, watch people come in and out of the store, rinse and repeat.
Moira was a slight solace. When Wyth didn't return to undertake the rest of her 'research tasks', the shopkeeper returned to her chemistry experiments, which were at least interesting even if they often resulted in foul smells and poisonous gases.
It was an overcast afternoon, clouds brewing overhead with the promise of rain - a rare event in the Capital Wasteland, which was usually dry as a desert. Marcus made sure he had a good stock of Rad-X on hand - the rain was likely to be radioactive and things would probably get pretty messy.
Moira had just returned from The Brass Lantern with two plates of squirrel stew when the sound of loud, rather off-key singing filtered through the air, getting louder as the singer approached the store.
"I don't want to set the world on fire! I just want to start a flame in your heart…"
"Sounds like Wyth is back!" Moira announced, setting the plates down on the counter. The acrid smell of something burning filled the air, and Moira whipped around.
"Oh… oh dear… I forgot about my experiment. Mind my lunch!" she called to Marcus, before dashing upstairs.
He turned to the door in time to see Wyth clatter in, whistling that Galaxy News Radio song (he already knew it would be stuck in his head for the rest of the day). A big grey dog was bounding about her heels, and Jericho was trudging along behind her.
"Hello, 'stop bothering me'!" Wyth declared cheerfully. "We meet again!"
"Back again, I see," he grunted. He pulled a chair up to the counter and got stuck into his lunch.
"Why so hostile?" Wyth inquired. "Man, just being near your moody presence is dissipating my happiness. And I was having such a good day! Jericho," she added, turning to her companion, "Can you go sell that junk we collected to Crow? I saw him outside the gates."
"I ain't your damn slave, kid," Jericho grumbled, but he slung her pack over his shoulder and marched out, slamming the door behind him.
Wyth picked up Moira's stew, sniffed at it, then began to eat it. Marcus didn't bother telling her not to.
"So!" Wyth said. "Nice to see you again!"
"Don't call me 'stop bothering me'," Marcus muttered.
"Well, you never told me your name."
Upon consideration, he realised that that was true.
"Marcus," he said. "Marcus Enriquez."
"Nice to meet you, Marcus," Wyth said gravely. She beamed. "This is a big step in our relationship. We should celebrate. With beer!" she looked around for her pack only to realise that Jericho had taken it. "Dammit! Well, maybe later."
"What are you doing back here?" he asked.
"Well… I've been wandering around, doing stuff, meeting people, killing things…" she waved a hand lazily. "And then I was passing back this way and saw Megaton and decided to come in and catch up, y'know, sell some of my loot."
"I see."
"And how have things been on your end, eh?" Wyth shoveled some more stew into her mouth. "Anyone try to rob the store yet?"
Marcus scowled at her.
She guffawed. "You're kidding, right? So what, you spent the last two months standing here doing nothing? Oh that is rich."
"That's Moira's stew," he snapped, snatching the bowl from her.
She choked on her own spittle and spent a few moments coughing. Finally she recovered.
"Geez, touched a nerve there, did I?" she asked. "Whatever."
The dog, pacing around near their feet, let out a growl and began to bark at Marcus. He shifted his feet out of the way and resisted the urge to kick the creature.
"Easy, Dogmeat!" Wyth said, reaching down to pat the dog's fur. "He's a friend."
I'm a friend, am I? Marcus thought, but the thought didn't seem quite as repulsive to him as it might once have.
Wyth scratched the dog's ears. "Marcus, meet Dogmeat. I found him in Scrapyard. He's my loyal companion, eh, aren't you boy? Yes, yes, good boy!"
He rolled his eyes. "Yeah, all you women are the same. Soon as an animal comes into the mix, you're all cooing and baby talk."
"I take exception to that!" Wyth protested. "I'm the manliest woman I know!"
Dogmeat let out another constipated whine, and Wyth got up to shove him out the door.
"If you needa take a dump, do it outside!" she hollered, slamming the door shut behind him. Dusting her hands off, she glanced at Marcus and said, "he isn't very well trained. Sometimes he sits right in the middle of doorways and prevents me from getting through."
"Hn."
"So." she leaned on the counter next to him. "I'm only gonna be here for one day, then we're heading to D.C."
"Finally decided to look for Dad, eh?"
"Yes, actually," she retorted. "The road there is dangerous - you wouldn't believe how many super mutants are out there. I wouldn't have survived two months ago, but I will now."
"Well, good luck with that," he said, and was surprised to find he meant it.
Wyth looked a bit startled, but grinned. "Thanks," she said. "Now how about that pint?"
"What pint?"
"That pint I offered you two months ago, that you declined," she said. "Remember? I took Andy Stahl instead."
"What, did you get bored of his company?" Marcus jibed.
Wyth snorted. "Hardly. He got mad at me 'cause I blackmailed his brother about his chem addiction."
"Understandable."
"So? Whaddaya say? I'll buy the first round," she offered, waggling her eyebrows.
Marcus glanced up at the upper levels, where Moira was still struggling to fix the pungent chemical odour. He looked around the store where he'd spent nearly every waking hour for the last two months. Finally he nodded.
"Sure. Why not."
Wyth hadn't been lying when she said that Gob liked her. The ghoul was so happy to see her back that they ended up with a big discount on their drinks.
"What'd you do to get that guy to love you so much?" Marcus asked, taking a swig from his beer. They were seated at a table in one of the side alcoves. The main bar was crowded with Megaton settlers, coming in for drinks after work.
Wyth shrugged. "I was nice to him. I can be nice to people you know. Plus… I'm his supplier."
Marcus raised his eyebrows.
"I'm deadly serious," Wyth chuckled. "All the Jet and Psycho I come across goes to him. I keep the Buffout for myself, because I have a mild addiction to it, but Doc Church is helping me kick the habit."
"You're on steroids?"
"Not right now."
They drank in silence for a while.
"So…" Wyth said eventually. "My offer still stands, y'know."
He shot her a purposely blank look. "Elaborate."
She sighed, putting her pint down. "Come with me to D.C. I could use another companion. And before you say anything, yes, I know you're on a contract, but I talked to Crow's caravan guard and you can just cut it off early. You're just wasting your time guarding that stupid store. By the time your contract ends you'll have gone soft. It's not like you're getting any practice in. Leave while you still know how to fire a gun."
"I'm not going soft," he protested, but he was tempted. He really was.
"Come oooon," she coaxed, poking his arm. He snatched his hand back and took another swig of beer.
"I'll think about it," he said finally.
Wyth grinned, clearly believing that that was as good as a 'yes'. "Think fast then," she said, "I'm leaving tomorrow morning."
He left the Saloon at half past midnight. Wyth stayed behind, on her fourth drink and shamelessly flirting with some Church of the Atom guy. Marcus arrived outside Craterside Supply to find the door kicked in, the store plunged into darkness.
He snatched up his rifle and edged in.
"Moira?" he called out. He reached for the light and flicked it, but nothing happened. Great. No power.
"Moira!" he hollered. Something moved in the darkness. Squinting, he caught sight of a shadowy figure making a dash for the door, and fired.
There was a scream and a thud as he hit his target. Grabbing a flare from a box on the countertop, he lit it, the store filling with an eerie red light.
The place had been trashed, merchandise scattered all over the store, packets of food ripped open and crates smashed, leaving the floor rife with splinters. Lying on the floor, dead, was the intruder - a wastelander scum from the common house. Marcus kicked the body before heading for the stairs.
"Moira? Are you in here?" he called.
There was a soft groan from the top floor. Marcus raced up to find Moira lying on the floor, rubbing her head. A huge bruise was forming on the side of her face.
"Moira! Are you alright?"
She looked up at him with a dazed smile before collapsing backwards.
"Good gracious," Wyth said the next morning as she stood in the doorway to Craterside Supply, watching Marcus sweep up the destruction with the broom. "What happened here?"
He whirled around to face her, glaring. "Someone broke in, that's what happened! The one time I leave the store, and someone breaks in!"
"Wow. What are the odds."
"Moira's lying upstairs with a concussion! She won't be out of bed for three days!" Marcus hissed. He jabbed the broom at her. "I told you I was needed here!"
"Whoah, whoah, slow down! This is my fault all of a sudden?" Wyth protested.
"You wouldn't stop bugging me and pestering me and telling me there was no point guarding this place," Marcus ranted. "And now look what's happened!"
"Right. I'm totally to blame," Wyth sneered, rolling her eyes. "I wasn't the one who broke in and trashed the place."
Marcus paused, leaning on the broom and breathing heavily. "Get out," he said.
She looked hurt. "Come on, I didn't-"
"Get. Out."
Wyth stared at him for a moment, with an expression like hell frozen over. "Fine," she said coldly, then turned on her heel and left.
Moira got better. Marcus got bored.
Two months later Jericho marched into Craterside Supply.
"Two packs of cigarettes," he growled, slamming the required caps down on the counter. He broke into a coughing fit, and when he wiped his mouth his hand came away bloodstained.
"Coming right up!" Moira handed them to him. "You don't sound too hot, Jericho! Maybe you should cut down on the cancer sticks, hm?"
Jericho proceeded to tell her where she could stick her unwanted advice.
Moira ignored him. "Is my research assistant with you?" she asked. "I can't continue chapter two of the book until she-"
"She ain't coming back here," Jericho snarled, lighting a cigarette and puffing smoke into Moira's face.
"Oh? Why not? I thought the two of you were traveling together?" the storekeeper asked.
Jericho sucked on his ciggie. "She fired me," he snapped, and walked out.
In the corner, Marcus frowned.
So she's alone now, except for that dog, he thought. And somewhere in the back of his mind: I hope she's doing okay.
A month. Four weeks. 31 days.
Marcus counted the seconds until his contract ended. When the clock finally ran down, he expected to feel different. Lighter, freer, maybe.
He felt the same.
"I'm done here," he told Moira as she locked up the shop behind her. "My contract's over."
"Oh!" she looked briefly startled. "My, my! How time flies! Well, I can pay you to do another six months-"
"Not a chance!" he cut in. He stretched, joints popping. "Pay me and I'll be on my way."
He stepped outside the gates of Megaton for the first time in half a year. The Capital Wasteland stretched out ahead of him, the sun sinking below the horizon. The sky was fringed with ash, a nuclear winter probably bound to set in in the near future.
He breathed in the scent of sunbaked dust and rusted metal and looked down at his map.
Washington, D.C. A lone girl and a dog.
An eyebot zoomed up to him and began to play. "I am President John Henry Eden, and this is my pledge: No one, NO ONE will take this great nation away from me! God bless the Enclave. God bless America."
Marcus swatted it away and headed East.
Thanks for reading. Reviews and constructive criticism are greatly appreciated.