Time stands still. It shimmers under the flickering blue lights, brightening and then dimming. Blue and black and gray. Splashes of red. And then Nate topples forward, bleeding, choking, scrambling. Her arms move before her mind can even comprehend— Kaelyn staggers under his weight, somehow manages to get her arms hooked under his armpits.
His eyes focus on her. "Kaelyn!" He gasps. "You're safe! Where's— where's—?"
He's bleeding, and she's wasting time.
Kaelyn lowers him to the ground as gently as she can; not very, with her knees giving out under his dead weight.
Living weight.
Nate is on his back, one hand pressed to the gunshot wound. Her hands cover his, bearing down, forcing trickles of red to push through their fingers. Their panicked breaths mingle in the air.
Kaelyn can only stare. The shock in his face is mirrored in hers.
He's alive. Shockingly, vibrantly alive. Gasping frigid air, his eyes wild and frantic. Fully thawed and flailing, he's bleeding out fast. With every breath he takes, there's a sucking noise.
"Nate?" Her voice is a small and broken thing. "You're—alive?"
"Yeah," he grits out, voice breathy from pain, and then coughs. Deep, chest wracking coughs that make Kaelyn wish she could roll him onto side, but she doesn't dare lift her hands. His head moves, eyes rolling. Trying to scope the room, get his bearings. "They took Shaun— I tried to stop them but—"
"Shh, shh. I know. I saw it." Kaelyn looks around for a first aid kit, a stimpak, anything she can use to staunch the bleeding, but her eyes only find the bullet sitting in the upholstery. The back of the pod is sheeted in dark red that glistens wetly, rimmed in dark frost. Flecked with chunks of gore.
"If I— don't make it," Nate bares his teeth and tenses under her hands, "promise me you'll find him. Promise me you'll find Shaun."
Her heart is breaking all over again. "Don't talk like that!"
Nate's hand closes over her wrist. "Promise me."
I already did. The simplest thing to do is to agree, to ease his distress. "I promise." Her voice cracks.
"Good." He lies back, closing his eyes.
"Don't take this as permission to give up." Gripping his chin, Kaelyn forces him to meet her gaze. "Nathaniel Stewart Prescott, you will not die on me now!"
He reaches up with one wavering hand. His fingers graze her jaw. "Love you."
"This isn't goodbye. Now now. Not again." Kaelyn almost grabs her belt, but realizes there's no way to tie a tourniquet around a chest wound. Her jacket is too thick to tear, but if she could get her shirt off—
Kaelyn cocks her head. Hears it more clearly. A dog's bark. Frantic footsteps echoing through the vault.
"Dogmeat!" And behind him— "Nick!"
From the other side of the room, Valentine's yellow eyes flash, two points of light in the dark, surveying the scene before him. "There you ar— what is that?"
"I need to get this wound bandaged, now." Kaelyn's eyes alight on Dogmeat, running down the stairs. "Dogmeat! Find first aid!"
With a quick bark, Dogmeat darts into an adjoining room, nose to the ground. Valentine follows, calling over his shoulder that he'll be back.
Kaelyn only has Nate's labored breaths and her own frantic heartbeat to mark the passage of time. Beneath her hands, she can feel his chest move, when she'd believed it to be still forevermore. The wound is higher than she thought it was, situated above his right pectoral, but that awful sucking sound proves it hit a lung.
"Argh—my brain feels frozen." Nate shakes his head as if to clear it.
That's because it was. But she doesn't say it. Now's not the time.
Valentine and Dogmeat burst into the chamber, the former carrying a first aid kit. He tosses a stimpak to Kaelyn, who wastes no time shoving the needle into Nate's shoulder and depressing the syringe.
Nate twitches. "Ow."
She uses another stimpak, just because. She looks to Valentine, who kneels on Nate's other side and is already handing over a piece of plastic smeared with petroleum jelly to cover the entry wound. It forms a vacuum seal that allows air to escape, but not enter his lung.
Nate makes a noise somewhere between a groan and a cry when they lift him up enough to get the bandages around his torso. Kaelyn whispers apologies and reassurances, trying to ignore the hitch in his breathing. When it's over, her husband gives a desperate, breathless chuckle, staring up at the ceiling and baring his teeth. His breaths are ragged and shallow. Kaelyn's stomach ices over when she sees concrete beneath him is slick with blood.
Valentine tilts his head down to let the brim of his fedora mask his features. "Here, let's get him bundled up before he catches a chill." Between the two of them, they manage to wrangle Nate into a sitting position again and tuck the blanket around his shoulders. It's only now, without a gaping wound to occupy Kaelyn's attention, that she notices how badly Nate is trembling.
"We need to get him to a doctor. Now!" She doesn't know if it's safe to move him—if they even can—but it's a risk they have to take. Kaelyn touches Nate's cheek. "Hon. Hon?" It takes several attempts before Nate's gaze fixes on her, but even then his eyes are glassy. "I'm sorry, but we have to get you out of the vault, and then checked by a doctor."
Nate blinks once, twice, and nods as the words sink in. The stimpak has begun to take effect: his breathing isn't quite so labored, and the pain creased into his face eases somewhat. Unfortunately that pain returns and then some when Kaelyn and Valentine hook his arms around each of their shoulders and heave.
Valentine huffs as he gets a better grip, hiding his steel hand safely behind Nate's back. "Good heavens, he's heavy. What did you feed him? Baby oxen?"
"Close," Kaelyn grits out, trying to find her balance with Nate's weight bearing down on her. "Steak sandwiches."
"That explains it." At the wrong angle, at exactly the wrong moment, Valentine's face flashes under one of the pale lights.
"Whoa!" Nate rears back, eyes white-rimmed, hands scrabbling for purchase.
"Look, I know the exposed coils and wires ain't comforting—" Valentine begins, his voice pitched low to reassure.
"Easy, Nate, easy!" She has to tighten her hold to keep him from pitching backwards. Pressing a hand to his jaw, she asks, "Nick's here to help. Trust me?"
Nate's gaze flicks between Valentine and Kaelyn once, twice. He concedes, in a breathless rush of air, "Okay."
They wrangle Nate to his feet with more success this time. Despite Nate's best efforts, his feet refuse to cooperate so they must all but carry him to the elevator. The sound of dragging feet carries on the catwalk like sand over a washer board, smooth and disturbing and strangely loud. When they reach the center of the elevator platform, unseen machinery groans and whirrs under their feet. Kaelyn braces her legs for that momentary lurch as the the platform pushes off, for that first rush of adrenaline and vertigo at odds with the lack of stimuli from her eyes. With no hand rail and unsteady balance, Nate wobbles between them and leans closer to Kaelyn, away from Valentine. If the synth notices, he doesn't comment. Dogmeat sits at Kaelyn's feet, peering around her knee to sniff at Nate.
The elevator is always too slow. Despite the rush of air whistling in time with the rhythmic vibration of gears churning under their feet, it feels as if they aren't moving at all. It's too dark to make out the texture of the walls around them, so Kaelyn looks to the entrance above their heads and wills it to grow larger with every second, every minute, every lifetime that passes.
Nate is quiet, hanging between Kaelyn and Valentine with his head lolling. For one terrible moment, she can't hear him breathe. But then his foot drags on the textured metal floor and he hisses.
"Stay with me, hon," she whispers.
He grazes her ribs with his dangling hand. "Not goin' anywhere."
It might be exhaustion taking its toll, but Nate grows heavier with every moment, sags lower against her shoulder.
"Come on," Kaelyn mutters. "Come on, come on, come on."
And then the air becomes less stale, and the gear-shaped opening looms deep and blue against the dull black walls. A measly patch of sky studded with so many stars like grains of sand on a beach. And with that patch of open air looms hope, if only they reach it. If only Nate can keep his eyes open until they reach the surface.
The elevator slows and they rise out of the ground, the platform grinding to a halt. The air is warmer but a breeze that makes Nate shiver. Tiny golden lights from Sanctuary and other nearby settlements flicker in the night, as sparse as the stars once were under the domineering night glow from Boston. But now the city is a dark and silent thing hulking in the distance, its tallest buildings barely distinguishable from the mountains that line the horizon.
Nate's shocked sigh is a puff of humid air on her neck.
"Dogmeat, find people," Kaelyn barks, and her dog rushes down to Sanctuary to raise an alert.
Navigating the embankment is hell. Long eroded gouges have split the seams of dry, packed earth to expose roots and rocks, made all the more treacherous by loose gravel. Kaelyn's foot slips and they almost go tumbling down the hill. Nate hitches a pained breath at the jolt. Valentine turns them so he can takes the lead, using his superior optics to plant his feet on the most even ground. They are forced to walk slowly, each moment counted by rustling branches in the breeze and by laboring breaths. Kaelyn kicks something that rattles, and her throat goes dry contemplating the skeleton under her boot.
"General!" a voice calls from Sanctuary's direction. "Are you out here?"
They're almost at the bottom of the slope now, and skid down the last few feet. Movement by the footbridge—a tiny bobbing light—catches Kaelyn's eye.
"Over here, Preston!" she shouts back.
Dogmeat barks when he hears her voice. They meet Preston and Jun at the outer hedges. Preston looks their burden over in the lantern light. "How badly is he wounded?"
"He's been shot. I need to find a doctor."
"I know of one near the Abernathy farm. Not exactly close, but not far, either. You stay here and I'll get her."
"I'll come with," Valentine volunteers. "Two pairs of eyes are better than one, especially at night."
But first he and Kaelyn gently deposit Nate on her bed, while Preston grabs his gear and Jun calls off the search. It's only after Kaelyn rocks back on her heels and rolls her shoulders that she realizes Nate's eyes are closed and his face is slack. He hasn't made a noise since they reached Sanctuary.
Kaelyn taps Nate's cheek, her heart jumping in her throat. "Come on, honey, wake up for me. Wake up!"
Nate is pale and wan and still, mouth slack in a white line. His skin is sallow, the hollows of his eyes sunken. His breaths even out, becoming shallower and shallower—
Kaelyn continues smacking his cheek, with her palm this time. "Come on come on come on!"
A flicker of movement behind Nate's eyelids. Then his chest rises, sharper and deeper, and he groans low in his throat.
Kaelyn grabs his hand and squeezes. "That's it. Open your eyes, honey. Open your eyes."
Nate's fingers close around hers and his throat bobs. Kaelyn taps his cheek, gentler now, until she coaxes his eyes open into narrow slits.
Her breath leaves her in a long, shuddering stream, exorcising fear from the pit of her belly. "There you are," she whispers, blinking rapidly, leaning over to press her forehead to their knotted fingers.
Nate twitches his fingers, brushing against her hairline. "Here I 'm," he slurs. "What'd I miss?"
"Giving me a heart attack, for starters. Stay awake for me, honey. Help's coming."
Kaelyn injects another stimpak, and dearly wishes she can give him some med-x to take the edge off what must be agony for him, but is stuck in the knowledge that it's safer to let a doctor handle any dosages.
It might be minutes that pass or it might be hours, marked only by Nate's weak breathing and his weaker jokes. He looks little better, still too quiet and too pale, his weight sinking into the worn mattress, wincing whenever he so much as twitches. His eyes are glassy and restless, darting around the room but too clouded by pain to take anything in.
Waiting is its own brand of hell, with Kaelyn afraid to move. Afraid to even blink lest Nate die when she isn't looking. Hunched over, her curved spine protests leaning over for so long while a fierce ache has settled deep in her bowed shoulders. Her right thigh has long since gone numb from holding most of her weight on the edge of the bed. Her chest is crushed under the weight of all the things she should say, needs to say if Nate slips from her grasp forever, again, but she is utterly voiceless.
Red is seeping through the bandages when there's a commotion outside. Dogmeat barks and people are calling out and then footsteps echo down the hall. Someone knocks on the door.
Kaelyn looks up as Preston, dirty and weary and determined, leads a strange woman into the room. "Here's your patient, doc."
The first thing Dr Danielle Carlson does is ask for Nate's blood type.
"AB positive," Kaelyn answers, rising to her feet as the doctor sails into the bedroom.
"Lucky bastard." She sets her kit on the nightstand starts rifling through her equipment. Sharp implements gleam in the lamplight.
The second thing Dr Carlson does is banish Kaelyn from the bedroom. The door groans shut in her face, with Nate groaning behind it. What used to be white paint flecks the door, dappling the wood's grain. Something has bored tiny gouges in a clump near the handle.
The finality of the snick chills her blood.
Kaelyn takes a breath, chokes on fear. She raises her palm to her brow.
A steel hand stops her from smearing blood on her forehead. "Easy there. How about we get you cleaned up?"
Kaelyn looks down at herself. Her hands twist, hovering over her stomach. Stained with hot bright red. Red on her sleeves and spatter over her torso. And then it is all she can smell; pungent copper clogging her nose. Rust in her throat. "Okay. Okay."
"That's it. Deep breaths." Valentine takes her by the elbow and guides her down the hall.
Kaelyn can feel herself fraying at the edges, sliding away into the comfortable numbness.
Codsworth hovers in the living room. "Was that truly sir? Oh, I am so relieved that you found him after all! Didn't I tell you he was around here somewhere?" He looks her up and down, the shutters on his eye stalks pinching. "Are you all right? Is there anything I can do to help, mum?"
"Codsworth, could you warm some water?" Kaelyn asks. "Get the doctor anything she asks for. And if you could find some place for her to sleep when she's finished?"
"Right way, mum!" Codsworth is eager to have tasks assigned to him.
Kaelyn makes it to the bathroom, lowers the toilet lid, and sits heavily. Stares into nothing until Codsworth's reappearance startles her. Valentine crouches in front of her and sets the bowl of steaming water beside him. He's scrounged an old dishrag from somewhere. First he finds the pip-boy's latch at her wrist and puts it down to wash blood splatter from the screen later. Gently straightening one of her arms, his thumb settled in the center of her palm, he washes off the blood, stroke by stroke. At first the water moistens the red, mingles with it, until it drips hot and pink onto the chipped tiles. Kaelyn gasps at the hot slick feel, at the smell of copper caught in her throat, feeling Nate bleeding out beneath her again.
Valentine is thorough, wiping down the dark patches on her leather jacket and soaking the red caught in her shirt until it has diffused into the fabric. By the time he finishes, dropping the cloth into the bowl with a splash, the water is lukewarm. Kaelyn stares down at her hands. Red still gathers under her fingernails in thin lines. Valentine then guides her to the couch and settles her down. Sheds his coat and drapes it over her like a blanket.
Crouching down so they are at eye level, his yellow eyes are bright in the dark. "I'll hold the fort for now. Get some rest, all right?"
Kaelyn catches the brim of his fedora between her thumb and forefinger. "You'll get me if anything happens? Anything at all?"
"That's a promise. Now get some shut-eye."
Valentine tucks the collar of his coat around her shoulders. Kaelyn squirms underneath it, tucking her knees up to her abdomen, settling more comfortably onto her side. Dogmeat lies down in front of the couch under her dangling hand. The fur on his shoulders is thick and coarse and warm. Dogmeat twists so he can nose her hand and licks her fingers once.
Her eyes fall shut as she scratches light circles into Dogmeat's fur.
Someone shakes Kaelyn's shoulder. She peels her eyelids apart through sheer force of will. Blinks once, twice, to clear her vision. The shadows in the living room have shifted somehow, but are no lighter.
Her head is lined with lead, and her tongue feels thick. Something presses down on her, something she should remember, something important, but somehow she knows that whatever hovers is bad.
Like a needle to an overfilled balloon, it all comes tumbling back. The Institute. Shaun. Nate.
"Doc's cleaning up now," Valentine says. "If you've got questions, now's the time."
Kaelyn sits up, wincing at the protests of her stiff neck. Her heels graze Dogmeat's back and she carefully arranges her feet around him. Codsworth hovers in the kitchen while Valentine leans against the kitchen island. Dr Carlson steps around the couch and perches on the armchair, hands folded in her lap. Despite being composed, there is a brittle quality to the way she holds her shoulders, brought on by too little sleep. Kaelyn can only wonder how Preston managed to rouse her from her bed and cart her back to Sanctuary as quickly as he did.
There hadn't been enough time before, but now Kaelyn can study the good doctor. Carlson's dark hair is trimmed short and secured with bobby pins. How odd to see them being used for their intended function. Her hands are dripping water on her lap, but there is not a spot of blood on her. Despite the dark circles under her eyes, her gaze is alert.
"Is he—?"
The doctor cuts her off. "Breathing? Yes. Going to survive? If he's still breathing come morning, his chances are better than they were. It was a clean exit wound, and the stippling will heal up. He lost a fair amount of blood, but your Minuteman friend donated some of his."
Kaelyn makes a mental note to thank Preston. Again.
"You can see him now if you want," Dr Carlson says. "He's stable and sedated. Won't wake for several hours. I'll walk you through the meds he needs and when he needs them. We'll need to watch for signs of infection. I'll also show you what you can do to minimize the risk."
"Thank you, doctor. We've got a bed here for you, if you'd like to get some rest?"
Dr Carlson puffs out a breath, just shy of a sigh. "That would be wonderful, thanks. Wake me if his condition changes. Otherwise I'll be back in the morning to check how he's doing."
Kaelyn tilts her head. "Codsworth, if you could show her to her bed?"
"Of course, Miss Kaelyn. If you'll follow me, Dr Carlson!"
With the doctor taken care of, that leaves only one thing.
Kaelyn finds she can't move. Her hands twist like slimy eels in her lap, knotting up Valentine's coat. The man himself crosses the room to sit beside her. Kaelyn shakes out his coat as best she can and hands it back. "Thanks." Her voice is very soft. "Nick?"
"What's on your mind?"
"Why did you follow me? How did you know where I was?"
"You close up shop all of a sudden and vanish into the night? Of course I was going to make sure you weren't about to do anything regrettable. Our good friend Dogmeat was happy to lend me a hand. Or rather, a nose."
"I owe you, Nick. If you hadn't arrived when you did, Nate— " Kaelyn lets out her breath in a noisy burst. "I— I should go. Someone has to watch over him."
"Whenever you're ready."
"This must have been a long night for you too." Kaelyn touches his arm. "You get some rest, Nick. Or at least take a break."
He surveys her from the top of her head down to her sock-clad feet—when had she taken off her boots?—and whatever he sees satisfies him. It isn't enough, however, to completely ease the furrow in his brow. "Will do. Yell if you need me, partner."
Before Valentine leaves, he hauls her to her feet. Kaelyn sees him out, then pads down the hallway. The bedroom door is shut; again she notes the few remaining flecks of paint like lonely islands adrift on the swirling currents of the wood grain. Drawing in a breath, she grips the handle and slides the door open.
A dimmed lantern on the nightstand casts a muted glow around the bed, barely able to reach the walls. It's enough to distinguish silhouettes and little else. Her husband is a silent human-shaped lump draped in blankets. Behind her eyes, she can see the bullet embedded in the back of the cryo pod. The smell of blood fills her nose, hot and coppery and rotten.
Kaelyn can only clutch the doorway, straining her eyes for any sign of his chest moving. Then his soft exhale breaks the night.
Crawling onto the bed, she hunkers down to watch her husband. Even in the dim lighting, it's clear he's in dire condition. The bulk of the bandages warps the shape of his torso. His breathing is even but shallow. Stray drops of blood freckle the sheets around him. His face is pale and drawn and blank, and it's nothing short of eerie to see him, the man infamous for being unable to stay still even in sleep, lying motionless. He once kicked her out of the bed in his sleep during their honeymoon.
Kaelyn marvels. There's no other word for it. She should lie down, get some sleep before reality comes crashing down around her, but she can only comb her eyes over Nate, comparing him to the memories she carries. Oh, she remembers the broad sweeps of his body, the color of his hair, the shape of his nose set in his face, but it is terrifying to discover just how much she has forgotten. The exact angle of his chin, the contours of his collarbones, how shadows pool in the dips of his shoulder muscles. The rash on his throat, flaring pink; he had shaved that morning for the speech, but refused to let anyone touch his hair.
It hasn't even been five months since she was thawed.
His hair has mostly fallen out of that casual bun he was— is fond of, and Kaelyn leans over to gently turn his head so she can ease the tie out of his hair. Underneath the sharp antiseptics and tang of blood is the gentler waft of his pine aftershave.
That, of all things, is what breaks her.
Kaelyn hunches hunches over, forearms on the mattress, gasping, shaking. Every stroke of terror she has been pushing aside to keep it together rears to the forefront of her mind. Now the remains of her control unravels like a coil of wire, starting in her chest where her heart races and radiating outward until her elbows can barely take her weight.
Eventually, like the coastal tides receding after a storm, it passes. Not quite brave enough to touch him, she watches him breathe until her eyelids are lead and a gray fog of fatigue chokes the thoughts from her mind.
When morning arrives so to does Dr Carlson, who wastes no time evicting Kaelyn so she can examine Nate. Codsworth corners Kaelyn and tempts her into breakfast with coffee. She drinks it because a tin of instant decaf is worth its weight in gold these days, even though the scalding liquid is tasteless in her mouth. The oats are sawdust on her tongue. She stares out the hole in the dining room wall that they still haven't fixed, at the aqua deck chairs in the morning glow. There's no use glancing behind her to the wall clock to check the time.
"Miss Kaelyn, can you hear me?"
Kaelyn glances up to Codsworth, whose voice holds the tone of someone who has been unsuccessfully trying to capture someone's attention. The shutters in his optics are blown wide as he peers at her. "Sorry, Codsworth. What did you need?"
"I asked whether I might be able to see Mister Nate."
"Codsworth, sweetie, of course you can. When the doctor's finished we can visit him."
Dr Carlson emerges with neither good news nor bad to deliver. Kaelyn is not heartened but Codsworth takes off down the hall, and she follows at a more moderate pace. The curtains don't have the thick backing to completely block out light, which creeps into the room, golden-edged and curious. Nate's skin looks pale and sallow, throwing the freckles dusting his nose in sharp relief.
"Ah." Codsworth hovers beside her. "Don't worry, mum. Mister Nate is certain to recover!" But his eye stalks are quivering on his chassis, his artificial pupils drawn to pinpricks.
Kaelyn tries but can't summon words of reassurance, to agree with his optimistic assessment. How long before the sedative is supposed to wear off?
"Mum?"
"Yes?"
"I am sorry for the loss of young Shaun, while Mister Nate has returned to us. But I... I hope I won't lose you now. It seems like it's you turn now, yes?"
Through the fatigue layered like thin gray sweatshirts around her head, Kaelyn is touched. "Codsworth, you aren't going to lose me." Not to death, at least. In some ways, she's already lost.
"I assume you would like to spend some time alone with your better half? I'll take care of the dishes."
Kaelyn's head still feels like it's wrapped in cotton wool, only now her eyes are dry and glassy like marbles. She feels oddly weightless beneath her closed eyes, carried by flickers of golden light dancing behind her eyelids.
Something brushes over her hair. She stiffens. Making a small noise of complaint, she cracks open one eye.
It's Nate's hand, slow and uncoordinated.
She sits up so quickly his hand falls away to his side. "Nate?" Her voice is a pathetic thing, cracked by hope.
Nate twitches, his head turning in her direction. He groans low in his throat. One unfocused eye opens, then the other, but his fingers graze her knees. He shifts, assessing the damage, and a grimace peels back his dry lips.
She sobs once, a dry, gasping thing that empties her lungs. Then she takes a deep breath and gets to work. Dr Carlson has left a canister of purified water on the nightstand. Kaelyn lifts his head to press the can to his lips and he sucks greedily at the water, gasping between mouthfuls in a way that makes Kaelyn worry he's going to choke. He coughs on his second-to-last mouthful, spitting half it back into the can.
"Easy, easy," she soothes, pulling the canister away, but he whimpers and scrabbles to grab her wrist, so she lets him drain the last of the water.
"Hon?"
Kaelyn leans on one elbow and runs her thumb along his hairline. "I'm here, Nate. I'm here."
He groans again, eyes slipping closed. His breaths are short and shallow. "Hurts... like hell."
"Shh. I know. You're so brave, big guy."
Nate's face screws up. "Oh. Right. Was shot." It is a miracle of medication that his voice holds nothing more than vague surprise.
"You were, but you're going to recover." He'd better not leave her alone again, the bastard. When he settles somewhat under her soothing, she says, "Hold on a moment. I'm going to get the doctor so she can check on you." Kaelyn crawls off the bed, sticks her head out the door and calls for Codsworth to get Dr Carlson.
When she turns back to the bed, Nate is watching her, a little more alert. "C'mere," he breathes.
As she crawls across the mattress, his arm twitches in her direction again. When she's in reach, Nate touches her hand. Kaelyn doesn't quite remember how it's supposed to go, even when his fingers curl around her palm. Here he is, seeking the comfort of her touch, and she can hardly believe he's real.
"Oh, Nate," she whimpers, and now heat prickles behind her eyes. "So much has happened." Her breath hitches, and she pinches the bridge of her nose. Get it together. He needs you right now, not the other way around.
"Hey, hey. Get down here."
Kaelyn eases down, searching for a safe place to curl up beside him, wiggling down to rest her forehead against his hip. Despite the dosage of med-x required to dull the pain of being shot in the torso, Nate is lucid enough to run his fingers through her hair, tugging at the too-short ends.
Five months and the world has warped almost beyond recognition, and warped her along with it.
"It's okay. We'll find Shaun. Promise."
That breaks the last of her resolve and she can only weep louder when Nate tries to soothe her. Dr Carlson throws her out of the room again and bars her from returning until she's had proper rest.
Kaelyn sleeps until long lines of gold light band across the living room floor and dusky shadows creep out of their hiding places. By the time she reaches the front door, the muscles in her body have made all their complaints known.
When her eyes adjust to the comparative brightness outside, she searches for Preston. He and Sturges are sitting in the car port, the latter fiddling with a radio to get better reception. The back panel is gone, exposing the thin metal guts of the radio, which he prods and tweaks like a surgeon. With an adjustment to the extra-long antenna and a final whack to the casing, he manages to clear up the white noise.
"Death has come for you, evil doer, and I am its Shroud!"
Kaelyn stops beside Preston's perch on the workbench, and he gives her a smile in greeting. "Hey, Gen— hmm. Guess I can't call you that anymore, huh?"
"Guess I have to call you that now, huh?" Yesterday feels like so long ago, and it takes her a moment to recall their discussion by the creek. "Preston, I wanted to thank you for going out in the middle of the night to find a doctor and even giving blood."
He shrugs off her appreciation. "I'm here to help, and it's nice to be the one doing the favors instead of receiving them."
Dogmeat bounds up to Kaelyn, dodges her attempt to pat him by circling around her, and then springs away. He stops at the edge of the car port and looks over his shoulder at her, whistling through his nostrils.
With a chuckle, Preston says, "Looks like he wants to show you something."
Dogmeat leads her down the street to the dead oak that somehow stands proud despite being stripped naked of its leaves, its branches reaching to the sky as if there's hope to be found in that wan blue expanse. Leaning against the girthy trunk is one Nick Valentine, a cigarette propped between his lips.
He raises an eyebrow at Dogmeat, who is studiously digging a hole in the dirt, then plucks the cigarette from his mouth with two steel fingers. "Hope he didn't get you out of bed."
"It's all right. I was already up. Why? Were you gossiping with Dogmeat about me?"
"Just a quick chat, nothing more." The teasing smirk on his lips fades as he looks her over. "You look a bit more human."
Kaelyn leans beside him against the trunk. There's plenty of space to go around. "Thanks. I needed a break, and the doctor's watching over Nate. I've been meaning to ask. How are you doing with all this? The Institute, babysitting me, Nate, everything. It's all happened so fast."
"Well, there were a lot of questions I was hoping the Institute could answer, but I've already made it this far without 'em. I think I'll manage. As for the rest? I figured it's high time something good went your way. It can't be easy, what with the timing and all, but if your man makes you smile again, then I'm glad."
"I think that's still a while off," she admits, looking down, scuffing her boots on the ground.
Valentine hums thoughtfully, his vocalizer imbuing it with a tinny burr. "What about you? Can't seem to catch a break."
Another time, she might have laughed that short, hard-edged chuckle she learned from Glory. "Five months is long enough to get used to being a widow. Now Nate's back, and that time doesn't exist for him."
"He'll get used to it. And he's got you to help him adjust to this grand Commonwealth of ours."
A pit opens in the depth of her stomach, and Kaelyn wraps her arms around herself. "He was alive. This whole time, he was— and I didn't—"
Valentine nods as if she's spoken a coherent sentence, which is rather generous of him. "Being re-frozen is probably what saved his life, you know. Small blessings and all that."
Kaelyn scoffs, more at herself than at him. "Torso shots aren't immediately fatal. That's the first thing I learned shooting people. Why didn't I think?"
"Hey, hey. No use beating yourself up over this. Everyone believed your man was dead, even Kellogg. Given his astronomical body count, it's fair to assume he knew what he was doing when it came to killing. Take heart. It's not over yet."
The words jog Kaelyn's memory. Something about Mama Murphy. She takes a deep breath and tries to let Valentine's comfort take root. Somewhere, deep down, she knows he's right. If she had opened Nate's pod immediately after she'd been released, he probably would have died then. But the bruised part of her that remembers every night she cried herself to sleep, every day she felt that hot ache behind her breastbone, every step she took alone.
"You are endlessly optimistic, Valentine." She squeezes his shoulder through his coat. "Thanks."
"Any time, partner."
Instead of returning home, Kaelyn takes a detour. Mama Murphy sits in her chair, staring out the window, as indolent as a cat in a puddle of sunlight. Kaelyn raps a knuckle on the door and those rheumy eyes tilt in her direction. "Mornin', kid."
Kaelyn crosses the rug someone has dusted recently, as it doesn't release small clouds at every step. "Did you know about this? About Nate?" It's hard to keep the accusatory note out of her voice. If Mama Murphy had taken chems to fuel the Sight, she could have at least given a clearer description of the future.
Mama Murphy's smile starts at the corners of her mouth and works inward, lifting her chapped lips to flash her yellowed teeth. But it's all colored by the pity in her clouded blue eyes. "Oh, kid, I sensed something lurking in your future, just outta reach. But I was worn out from what the Sight had already shown me. If I coulda given you more, I would've."
She scrubs her hands over her face. "No, no. It's okay. I'm just… overreacting. It's been a shock."
"I'll bet, kid." Mama Murphy settles herself lower in her chair. "I'm tired now. You'd better get back to your man, I think."
Kaelyn drifts into her bedroom and stops dead. Nate is sitting up.
He tries to untangle his legs from the sheets and get them over the side of the bed. He looks torn between passing out or retching, holding it together only from fear.
"Where do you think you're going?" Kaelyn's voice is sharper than she intends, and Nate startles. He relaxes somewhat when he recognizes her, and by that point she's halfway around the bed. "Easy, big guy. You need to lie down."
Nate refuses to budge under her hands, despite pain and lethargy carving into his face in equal measure. His eyes flick, restless, between her and their surroundings. One hand balls into a fist, then flexes. Sweat gleams on his forehead. "Hon? What's— what's going on? Where are we?"
"Nate, honey, you're injured." Kaelyn softens her voice as she rests one knee on the bed near his hip. His shoulder is hot, so very hot, under her hands. "Just lie down and take a deep breath."
His eyes dart about again, and whatever impact she's had is undone by the state of the room. His tongue darts out, wets his lips. "Not until you tell me what's going on." His shoulders tremble, and he hunches further down. There's the soldier's training, refusing to relax until he confirms the area is clear.
The mere thought of trying to explain makes her palms sweat and her heart pound. In her quest for her family, she's left a trail of bodies across the Commonwealth, culminating in two bombs detonated within mere days of each other.
Kaelyn pushes again, and Nate's strength leaves him. Guiding him onto his back, she finds the washer and dabs at his forehead. Takes a moment to brush his hair out of his face. "I know this is confusing, hon, but you're safe enough here."
It almost feels like a lie, here in the Commonwealth, but she will do whatever she must to make make it true.
"I need to know where we are." His eyes fix on her, dark and intent. When had she stopped noticing the green of his irises, soft and deep like moss?
"This our house, Nate," she answers quietly. "Don't you recognize it?"
She will understand if the answer is no. An atomic bomb and two hundred years have stripped their bedroom of all but its walls, and even those have begun to crumble. His eyes bore a hole in her cheek, but her gaze remains studiously locked on the cloth in her hands.
"Why do you look different?"
This is it. The beginning of the end. Kaelyn searches for an answer that won't be a loose thread tugged out of a ball of yarn, unraveling the whole damn thing too fast. "I've been out of the vault for almost five months." She sits back on her feels, puffing out a sigh. "I'll tell you everything. No matter how hard it is. I promise. But you need to take it slow. How about we get you out of that suit and cleaned up a bit?"
Nate looks down and squirms, taking in his appearance for the first time. Dr Carlson cut through the torso and sleeve of the vault suit to gain access to the wound, but didn't have the time or inclination to get him out of the suit entirely. "Okay."
Kaelyn finds the zipper at his throat and eases it down, smoothing her other hand down behind it. Thanks to the doctor's modifications, she only has to worry about one sleeve before tugging the suit down over his hips. Underneath he is wearing nothing more than his briefs and bandages. She sticks her head out the door to ask Codsworth for warm water.
He's as prompt as ever. "Oh, sir! It's good to see you awake! Here you are, mum. Is there anything else you require?"
Nate pulls the sheets up to his waist while gaping at Codsworth. "Codsworth? You're still here?"
"Of course I'm still here! Surely you don't think a little radiation could deter the pride of General Atomics International?"
"That's everything for now. Thank you, Codsworth." Kaelyn shuts the door behind him.
She checks the water on the inside of her wrist and, thanks to Codsworth's robotic precision, the temperature is just right. she starts with his hands, wiping sweat from his palms and cleaning the blood smears off his wedding ring. She moves up his arms in long, sure strokes, and then sweeps the cloth with care around the edge of the bandages on his torso. Nate's muscles unwind under her touch. When she's scrubbed as best she can, she follows the cloth's trail with a towel, and by this point he has a rather difficult time keeping his eyes open. His eyelashes flutter like butterflies trapped in a heavy breeze.
But then he manages to hold his eyes open.
The chain around her neck falls out of her shirt, and the dog tags dangle in the space between them. They are dulled from the wear of time, but the stamped details are as readable as ever, their embossed topography intimately familiar under her thumb.
"Are these…?" Nate loops a finger through the chain and rests the tags in his palm.
Wordlessly, Kaelyn sits back on her knees and reaches for the clasp at her nape. She holds the chain out to him.
He accepts, then hits the limitations of his current mobility when he tries to put them on. "Where did you find these?"
Kaelyn has him lean forward enough so she can get the chain around his neck without strangling him. "Codsworth was able to keep a few things safe."
"How did he manage that? That's very… sentimental of him."
"I know." After seeing how the Institute treated their synths, the idea of owning something as complex as Codsworth puts a bad taste in Kaelyn's mouth. But he won't hear of any payment for his services like a human butler would receive. "Robots evolving on their own, developing a personality and a sense of family? The thought should scare me. But he's still Codsworth. Just… more human, in a way."
Nate runs a hand over his dog tags once their settled around his neck, greeting old friends. Kaelyn's collar feels naked by comparison, so accustomed has she become to their presence, but it's only right to return them.
"Why did you have them?"
Kaelyn blinks and looks down to her hands folded over her stomach. A trained habit to keep nervous hands still, one that had been occasionally necessary in the court room. "I wanted something to... to remember you by."
Nate blinks. It's clear he doesn't understand. "What happened in the vault?"
"Vault-Tec lied to us, Nate." Her voice tightens into a hiss, and she's surprised by the strength of the old indignation and betrayal burning in her gut. "They were never going to give us a new home. They were testing the long-term effects of cryogenic stasis. On unaware human subjects."
Nate's brow furrows as he processes that information. "Unaware… oh." There's a moment of blank horror before his mind kicks into overdrive. "What about our neighbors? Are they safe? Did they get out too?"
Now she just feels sick. "The Institute shut down life support to all other pods except mine. And yours, clearly."
He can only blink, his thoughts a million miles away. Then: "The Institute? They're the ones who kidnapped Shaun?"
"That's right." She runs her hand over edge of his bandages. Recalls the sounds of Kellogg's revolver. Nate catches her hand, and their eyes meet. She swallows around a sudden lump in her throat. "I was certain you were dead. For five months, I thought you were—"
"He aimed high. To reduce the risk of hitting Shaun." Tension knots his neck and shoulders, pulling tendons taut like piano strings. His exhale rattles, too loud in the quiet bedroom. "If I ever get my hands on that bastard he'd better watch out—"
"You'd be too late," Kaelyn says flatly. Fixes her eyes on a point on the wall. "I already killed him."
Silence.
She doesn't dare look sideways. Doesn't dare decipher his expression. "What was I supposed to do? What would you have done? Weren't you the one just making vengeful threats against Kellogg?"
Still Nate says nothing. His good hand creeps up to graze her jaw, then he hooks two fingers around her chin to force her to look down at him. Incredulity scrawls across his face. "You killed him? You killed him?"
Kaelyn drops her eyes and nods once. What does he think of her now? Knowing she's sunk so far below what had once been unquestioned morality? Even now, under the shame conjured by confessing to her husband, the old hatred and lust for vengeance worm through her stomach like ice-cold snakes seeking heat to constrict. Worse is the satisfaction that Kellogg had paid in blood for destroying her family, and that she'd been the one to collect the debt.
"How did you— I never thought you would be able to— that is, I'm, uh, little surprised, is all." But no matter the forced levity, he looks shaken.
I never thought you would be able to kill someone, is how that sentence is supposed to finish.
Kaelyn jerks her head free and retreats, bringing her knees up to her chest and hugging them tight. "Don't look at me like that."
"Did I say I was angry?"
That cuts her short. "No."
Nate quirks an eyebrow up at her, too somber for his usual teasing expression. They sit in silence, him watching her and she watching anything but him. The space between them on the mattress is a chasm filled with blood, ice and the cool hiss of a cryogenic array.
All of a sudden, Nate grabs her wrist. "How long was I frozen for? How long?"
"Nate, honey. Do you really want to go into it now?" She brushes her fingers over his hairline, hoping fatigue will win out over fear.
No such luck. He's far too determined for his own good. "Give me the sitrep. All of it."
Kaelyn bows her head, her fingers creeping over his own. "It's 2288. I was released last year. Two hundred and ten years exactly, down to the day." Perhaps Shaun wanted to control the variables on his little experiment, because she still can't see any reason for the timing besides a twisted sense of poetics.
"No. No, that's not possible. I wasn't out for that long... not two hundred years..." Nate shakes his head, baffled, his face scrunched up in a way that might be comical in any other situation.
"I'm sorry, honey." She traces circles on the back of his hand. "It's a lot to take in, I know."
"We need to find Shaun." He draws in a deep breath, and doesn't notice Kaelyn's hands tighten convulsively. "Why did they take him? It doesn't make sense. There's just no reason why anyone would take Shaun. He's— he's only a baby."
Oh, Nate.
Kaelyn gets off the bed to rummage through the dresser for clothes that might fit him. She can't let him see her face now.
"Honey?"
She makes a noncommittal noise that might count as agreement.
There's a moment of incredulous silence behind her, then Nate lets out a noisy breath. "Why aren't you more concerned about this, Kaelyn? Our son is out there. Who knows what those people are doing to him!"
She has to clutch the edge of the dresser, the wood biting into her palms while her fingertips ache from the pressure. She has to check that there isn't any grave dirt under her nails. "He's not, Nate, he's really not."
"What do you mean he's not out there?" he snaps. When her shoulders slump, he says, "Honey. Come here."
His voice is now soft and commanding and she is so afraid of the pain she's about to inflict, but finds she cannot disobey.
Kaelyn slips onto the edge of the bed, and he tugs her closer. Heat stings her eyes, and she pinches the bridge of her nose. She meets his eyes, finally. "Nate, he's gone."
Maybe it's her bereft tone, or her bleak expression, but something about her response arrests him. His eyes dart over her face, quick, frantic, searching for even the slightest hint of uncertainty. "No. No, no, no. You're wrong. Shaun's still out there. You're wrong."
"The Institute took Shaun sixty years ago." She pushes past the blank shock, the way his throat bobs as he swallows, the awful realization taking root in his eyes, and says, "Shaun lived, and he died. Cancer. All their marvels in technology, all the sacrifices they made in the name of scientific progress, and they couldn't cure him. I found Shaun, and it wasn't enough."
There is so much more, all the regret and love and disappointment rising behind her breastbone like an inky black tidal wave, but she chokes it down.
Nate's eyes are overbright and anguished, blinking rapidly. His breath hitches once, twice. "No..."
"I'm sorry, hon. I'm so sorry."
Between the space of a heartbeat, he seems to have aged ten years.
Nate's arms wrap around her waist and he buries his head in her hip like a drowning man clutching a floating plank, gasping to keep his head above the sea. One of her hands cards through his hair. They tremble against each other like two leaves clinging to a lonely branch in a thunderstorm.
Her own tears drip down her chin while a hot wetness seeps into her shirt at her hip under Nate's head. She curls over him and they cry together for every hope and dream, every wish for the future, every plan that they once took for granted. The trike Shaun will never ride, the books they will never teach him to read, the afternoons after school that will never happen.
When they finally quieten, the night feels dead.
Over the next few days, Kaelyn fears telling Nate so soon was a mistake as he withdraws, lethargic from more than the med-x. When Dr Carlson tells him it's time to leave the bed, his first reaction is to roll over and close his eyes.
But when Kaelyn wakes the next morning, it's to Nate wobbling as he tries to stand on his own. Their eyes meet, and the grim resolve in his eyes is a welcome sight.
Satisfied he's out of the woods, Dr Carlson takes her hefty payment and makes her preparations to return home.
Codsworth practically hums as he works the stove, making breakfast. Kaelyn is too immersed in her morning coffee-–black, double shot instant—to rouse irritation. From the shadows under Nate's eyes and the ginger way he holds himself, he is even less rested than her. They sit on stools at the island, each staring into different spaces of empty air.
For something disturbingly mundane, Nate looks so very vulnerable. As if he expects this last thread of normalcy to be torn at any moment. With his hands warming around his mug, leaning over on his elbows to inhale the aroma of stale coffee, she can almost pretend it is just another morning before the war.
Almost.
"I want to see him."
A cruel demand. But one she doesn't have the heart to refuse.
Despite Dr Carlson's disapproving frown, she doses Nate on med-x. Kaelyn suspects it will onnly be enough for a short trip, forcing them to return quickly when the pain becomes too much.
They dress in silence. Nate must sit on the bed and inch a second-hand pair of trousers up his legs while trying to breathe through the pain in his chest. Kaelyn is not only dressed but armed with a concealed gun by the time he's ready to venture into the territory of shirts. Still, she can't disapprove of him wanting to do this when she would probably be insisting on it too, so she holds her tongue when Nate, jaw clenched, wipes the sweat off his forehead.
She kneels down to lace his boots and he rests a hand on her shoulder, only to pull away at her surpised flinch. "Sorry."
"Sorry."
He offers his hand to pull her up, tentative this time, and she accepts.
Down the valley, over the footbridge, like they had before the end of the world. They diverge from the past on the other side of the creek, snaking through the marked trail that winds up the ridge. Despite the risk, Kaelyn holds Nate's hand, lacing their fingers together. His hand is like her own: cool and clammy.
Today a mass of light clouds scatter over the dull blue sky. Spindly maple branches waver overhead, casting a narrow network of shadowed lines over the ground like the veins of some monstrous creature whose gray hide they walk upon. No matter the shade, sweat soon rolls down Kaelyn's neck and beads above Nate's lip. Grass crunches under their boots, a choppy sound punctuated by loose stones tumbling down the hill.
Nate swivels his head back and forth, comparing the forest of slender gray trunks, dead and leafless as if it were a proper winter and not a radioactive pseudo-summer, to the crisp colorful images in his memory. He says nothing, too exhausted to be truly aghast. His short breaths punch through the air, and every once in a while he winces, then waves off her concern. But he refuses when she suggests a break, his eyes sweeping the top of the ridge.
It's the same boneheaded determination that's dragged her all around the Commonwealth these past months, so she doesn't protest. She does, however, check that the stimpak she brought is safely in reach on her belt. Just in case.
Finally—too quickly—they reach the top. Kaelyn reclaims the lead, wishing with all her might to be anywhere but here. Nate's breath catches when he sees the displacement of dirt, large enough for an adult, far too large for a baby. The marker Codsworth cut from a log. Nate's hand is so tight around her wrist her fingertips pound in time with her heartbeat, but all she can do is keep walking until they reach the foot of the grave.
Nate drops to his knees like a stone.
Kaelyn can only rest her hands on his shoulders and listen to him cry.