MacCready stared blankly at the dented steel wall that was six feet away from where he sat on his dusty, torn, dirty mattress. A short but long chest of drawers resided on the wall opposite the door of his cabin, the door where stood the innocent messenger. His cabin was cramped.
Though MacCready usually enjoyed the small coziness of his steel cabin, it now felt cramped. So cramped and only getting smaller the longer that the messenger stood in the doorway. Eventually the messenger, whoever he was, finally left and quietly closed the door.
The room just kept getting smaller.
MacCready's head began to spin. He stood up dizzily as if drunk, though he was sober. A drink would help, but he didn't dare face the people in this town. Besides, a drink or two wouldn't change the fact that Duncan was dead.
MacCready began crying, guilt and rage and sorrow choking him all at once. He leaned against the wall, trying to hold himself up. He covered his mouth as an attempt to silence his sobs. But these steel walls were thin, and soon enough the town would hear him, and Nora would certainly come to try and comfort him.
He didn't want her near him right now; she would only bring more guilt to the situation. MacCready stood in his cabin, his shoulders shaking with each sob. He should have gone back to the Capital Wasteland after he found the cure. He should have saved his own son. He should have stayed there after his wife died. MacCready sobbed for what felt like hours. Finally, he ran out of tears. He regained his posture, his mind racing and his eyes dizzy.
After a few moments of thought, he turned to the steel chest of drawers and opened the lowest middle drawer. A few stray bullets rolled around in the drawer, and MacCready eyed the few handguns he owned. Angrily, he reached for one at random, and grabbed one of the bullets laying innocently next to it.
Shakily, MacCready attempted to load the revolver, for some reason finding the task to be as difficult as putting thread through a needle.
Finally, he cocked the loaded gun.
He began sobbing again. Before he could point the gun anywhere, he heard his door slam opened and suddenly Nora was in his room, snatching the weapon from his hand and wrapping her arms around his pathetic figure, cradling his head to her chest. He let himself cry louder, his wails being heard across the Commonwealth. He suddenly felt selfish and scared and more guilty.
MacCready clinged to Nora for hours. She whispered and cooed to him, holding him tightly until he finally passed out, exhausted from the tears. He fell asleep, and hoped he would never wake up.