"How in the whole of the Wasteland did you get up here?"

Stockholm was startled from his observations as a small, dirty blonde-haired head bobbed into his field of view. It was the girl from the night before. Chatterbox he'd been hearing Moira call her. The girl didn't respond, she glanced at him briefly before looking down over the railing and into the desert below.

For his part, Stockholm didn't immediately banish her. He was never particularly fond of people bothering him at his perch, probably why he was so great at his job and the isolation it entailed. Instead he was fascinated by the girl miraculously appearing there. The climb up the scaffolding was not for the lighthearted. Most would in fact describe it as treacherous. The girl must have been one nimble little monkey to get up there.

"Seriously… how'd you get up here kid?"

Again, she didn't respond. This time because she appeared to be actively ignoring him and was dangling her feet off the edge of the platform. She'd draped her body over the cross bar of the railing and was idly watching the clouds drift across the sky.

Stockholm sighed and settled back into his chair, tugging the umbrella into position to shade both him and the child. He reached to his side and felt around in the crate next to his seat until he found a bottle of Nuka Cola. He held it out to the girl. "Want some?"

She fixed him with a pensive stare, but made no move to take the bottle. Stockholm took a steadying breath. People tried his patience. This girl was in a league of her own. He mimed taking a sip from the bottle. She mimicked his hand and cupped her own, bringing it to her lips and back down in a fluid impersonation of him.

He scoffed and shook his head. "Whatever, Chatterbox." She beamed at him as he used her new nickname. Stockholm snapped the bottle down, catching the lid on the edge of his armrest, neatly uncapping it. The cap sailed up into the air, but before Stockholm could reach out and catch it, the girl's tiny hand darted out and snagged it from the air. "What the hell, Chatterbox?" he cried, but the cap had already disappeared into the ragged dress shirt the girl had tied around herself like some sort of dress. He could see the smirk in her eyes even as she hid the lower half of her face in the dirty blue scarf she had tied around her neck.

Fixing her with a glare, Stockholm slumped in his seat and took a pull from the Nuka. "You know I could have shot you last night," he mumbled bitterly over his lost cap. He started to take another drink, but noted Chatterbox looking at him with her head cocked to the side. His throat suddenly dry, he straightened up. The girl might not say much, but she heard everything.

"I could've," he repeated, "But I didn't! I wouldn't. I've never shot someone who didn't have it comin'. Never shot an innocent." Chatterbox continued to stare at him unblinkingly with her big, brown eyes. Stockholm squirmed under her gaze. "Okay!" he burst. "One time, one time," he said leaning out of his chair and holding one finger out. "Just once."

She cocked her head to the other side.

"She was dressed exactly like a raider," Stockholm protested. He paused and considered his defense. "Which admittedly was because she'd been enslaved by a group, but…" He shook his head and waved his hands, spilling his Nuka on the deck of his platform. "She was fine, she was fine. It takes a lot more than a shot to the gut to put the Lone Wanderer down."

Chatterbox's head snapped up, no longer listening passively. She scooted away from the edge of the sniper's nest and moved over in front of Stockholm. She sat cross-legged in front of him and looked up, entirely engrossed in what he was saying. The change in the girl was not lost on Stockholm.

"So, you've heard of the Lone Wanderer, have you?" She bobbed her head eagerly. Stockholm couldn't contain a smile at his captive audience. "I've met her," he teased. Chatterbox's eyes widened. "She was a regular here in Megaton for a long time. Had a house, did some work for Moira." Chatterbox smiled bashfully at the mention of Moira. Her cheeks turned pink and she hid her face in her scarf. Stockholm chuckled. "Yeah, Moira's pretty nice. She was the first one to offer the Wanderer work after that kid defused our bomb."

Chatterbox jumped to her feet and ran over to the opposite side of the tower to look down at Megaton's main square. Sitting pretty in its crater was the bomb.

"Yep, she defused that thing. That's how she got her house. A gift from the town to her," Stockholm said. He mulled over his next words carefully. Clearly the kid was fascinated by the legend of the Lone Wanderer. But that girl was… complicated at best. "She was our hero, she was," Stockholm said. "But she… she was difficult too." Chatterbox looked away from the bomb back to the sniper, waiting for him to continue. Stockholm motioned for her to come back away from the edge and she walked back over to him. "The Lone Wanderer did not have it easy. She might have been our hero, but I don't think she ever really wanted to be. She had to be, you see?"

Stockholm shook his head. No way the kid saw, he barely understood what he just said. "She saved people, right? And people just expected her to keep doing that. No one ever wondered if she needed saving herself. I mean shit, first time she came to town was with my bullet in her and all we did was say 'sorry'. Can you imagine how that felt? An apology after I nearly killed her?" Stockholm shook his head. At some point this conversation had turned from him wowing the kid to him spilling his guts. At least she was a good listener. He got to his feet and walked over to the railing, looking out into the Wasteland. "I think we drove her away, Chatterbox. We always wanted more from her and never thought to give a little back. Now she's gone."

Chatterbox looked up at him in panic and Stockholm caught himself. "No! No! She's not dead," he said hurriedly, Stockholm breathed a sigh of relief as the girl relaxed. "She's just not here. Word is she's working for Tenpenny now. Come here," he said. He reached forward to pick the girl up and lift her onto the railing, but she shied away and looked at him warily. He lowered his arms and after a moment she clambered up onto the railing under her own power and allowed Stockholm to brace behind her so she didn't slip and fall from the tower.

"Look out that way," he said, pointing to the southwest. "Look on the horizon and you'll see it. Tenpenny Tower." The building stood out as a slight silhouette along the horizon. Poking up from the desert like some pre-war monolith. "She's working for the rich people now. Living in comfort and getting paid a heaping helping of caps to do what we all just expected her to do." Stockholm grimaced. "I guess that's what we get. Take someone like that for granted. Expect her to solve all your hurts without considering her own and she'll up and leave one day."

Chatterbox tugged on his sleeve. Stockholm looked down and she was gazing up at him from below his chin, those brown eyes looking at him again. She held up the cap she'd snagged to him.

"Nah, that's okay, Chatterbox, you keep it," he pushed her hand gently back down and went back to looking out at the Wasteland. She started pulling at his arm again. "Chat, it's cool, you keep it," he said and glanced back down. But the girl wasn't offering him the cap again. Her tiny hand was pointing out into the Wasteland, north of the city. "The hell is that?" Stockholm said softly trying to squint and see what the girl had spotted. Before she could squirm away he hoisted her down from the railing and set her on the floor again. He grabbed his rifle and brought the scope to his eye, scanning around until he found what the girl had somehow seen.

"Holy shit."


They'd drifted to the town en masse, one large horde of bedraggled people. Mickey looked like the world was falling apart when they'd arrived, afraid they were here to steal whatever meager water he managed to beg for each day. Deputies Weld and Steel practically froze on the spot, their sensors so overwhelmed with what was happening.

Lucas Simms, stood on the wall looking down at what he could only describe as refugees. Clad in rags and carrying not much else, it looked like they'd simply grouped up and started walking. Megaton just happened to be the first place in their path and now they'd stopped. Men, women, children, all with the same terrified, hopeless looks on their faces.

Slaves, the lot of em.

Stockholm had seen them coming from the north, Paradise Falls probably, though how a mass migration of slaves managed to walk away from that hell-hole escaped Lucas's understanding. He'd been summoned from his home by Stockholm's frantic shouting again. He'd barely stepped out his front door in time to see the sniper practically leaping down from his post, Moira's new little charge was clinging to his back as the sniper sprinted for him.

It hadn't taken much explaining for Lucas and Stockholm to race back to the wall and watch. Watch the slaves come.

And now they were here. Outside Megaton's walls, outside his walls. The sun was starting to dip on the horizon and the slaves had started to make fires, the multitude of lights keeping the desert in front of the gates well illuminated. They worked quickly, scavenging for sheets of metal and pieces of wood. By the time the sun had set, they'd built a functional shanty town in the shadow of Megaton's walls. And Lucas stood and watched as they did it.

This was something outside of his wheelhouse. An escaped slave? You help the poor bastard. But a mass emigration of them? That was trouble. Trouble that was camping on his doorstep. Trouble that would inevitably bring more trouble. Paradise Falls wouldn't lay down and let a jailbreak stand. They'd come for them. All of them. And that meant they'd be coming to Megaton.

The sound of the gates clattering open beneath him distracted Lucas from his dismal ruminations. Who the hell was going out there? Who'd do some fool thing like that?

Ah.

Moira Brown stood waiting for the gates to finish opening. A crate of Aqua Pura was held under one arm. Her other hand was held tightly by the girl, Chatterbox, who was standing next to her, a single bottle of water held in her free hand. Behind them was Moira's shop guard. The usually stoic man was standing uncomfortably, his arms full of blankets. Somehow Moira had convinced him to leave the shop and do something outside the bounds of his contract. The girl noticed Lucas looking down at them and after a few moments, Moira saw her looking up at him. She craned her head up, her eyes squinted to see who was on the wall. Realizing it was Lucas, Moira smiled and waved at him, dropping her crate of Aqua Pura to the ground and sending the bottles spilling into the dirt.

Lucas sighed and closed his eyes. Guess he was going to have to deal with his runaway slave problem sooner rather than later if Moira was going out there. He opened his eyes once more and hurried over to the stairs in order to catch up to Moira's party before they exited the town. He got to the ground just as Moira finished scrabbling around in the dust for her lost water. Lucas nodded at Moira's guard who gave no indication he'd even seen the sheriff, the man just studiously stared at the wall. Chatterbox was waiting patiently as Moira tried to get all the bottles back into the crate. She fixed Lucas with her trademarked wide-eyed stare.

Moira hopped to her feet and cheerfully greeted him. "Lucas! Come to join our little aid party? We've got blankets and water! As much as I can spare! More actually! I've given up my blankets. And Eastwood's!" She jerked her thumb over her shoulder to her guard. He jumped to attention at hearing his name and looked down at the stack of blankets he was holding and to his dismay saw his among them.

"That's very nice and all, Moira," Lucas said, picking her crate up off the ground for her, "But are you sure going out there is the wisest idea? We don't know who those people are."

Moira laughed dismissively and wrestled her crate away from Lucas, nearly toppling over and dropping the bottles again in the process. "Oh, I'm sure it'll be fine! Just look at them! They're just a bunch of harmless, beaten, skeletal, puppy dogs! Harmless!" Her eyes widened and her mouth opened in a wide 'oh'. Next to her Chatterbox mimicked the facial expression. "Ohhhhh!" Moira gasped. "I suppose if they all charged en masse they could muscle their way through the gates like- like- like a flood!" She grinned and turned on her heel, Chatterbox and Eastwood following. "That'd be fascinating, wouldn't it?"

Lucas made a pained expression as Moira succinctly put his fears into words. Just without the fear. He rubbed his brow, trying to ward off the oncoming headache before tagging along after her group.

The residents of Megaton's new suburb crawled out of their meager tents to watch the interlopers walk through their camp. The difference between them was shockingly stark. Where the escaped slaves were haggard and thin, the Megaton residents were well-fed. Even Chatterbox was rosier cheeked than these poor souls.

Lucas kept his hand on the butt of his pistol and Eastwood looked like he wished he had his rifle in his arms instead of blankets, but both men remained cool. None of the slaves so much as stepped towards them, only watching. Moira led the way, oblivious to the tensions behind her. She seemed to be following no path in particular, but instead let the structure of the camp guide her. Walking past fires and tents, Moira kept walking until her path dead-ended at one tent in particular.

This tent seemed to be in the best condition and was the largest of all that had been erected. A lone lantern hung from its front and the sounds of someone moving about could be heard from inside. Lucas squared up next to Moira as the sounds of movement grew closer. The flap to the tent was thrown open and a scruffy looking man with graying hair and a scraggly beard stood before them. His eyes widened at the sight of the grizzled sheriff, hand on his gun, and the smiling woman with her arms full of water. "Uh… hi…" he said slowly, looking at them in wonder and surprise. "How can I help-" The man's eyes fell on Chatterbox next to Moira. She was holding out her lone bottle of water to the man. "-you."

The man knelt down in front of her, recognition flooding his face. "You… how on earth did you get out?" Chatterbox said nothing, just resolutely held out the water until the man accepted it. "Thank you." He stood up, suddenly aware of the adults' intense scrutiny from behind the child.

"Hi," he repeated, reaching behind his head to awkwardly scratch his neck. He held out his other hand to shake. "Rory MacLaren. I guess I'm the leader of these people."


After hasty introductions, Rory promised to answer any questions Lucas might have if they could get the blankets and water distributed to his people. Moira, Lucas, Rory, and Chatterbox walked around the shanty, stopping every once in a while to pass out the supplies. Lucas had been right. They were escaped slaves from Paradise Falls. However, beyond that, details were scarce. Rory wasn't entirely sure what had happened. The power at the fortress went out, there was screaming, gunfire, explosions, but all he knew was that the pens were left unguarded. He'd rallied as many of the other slaves as he could and they'd run. They finished their circuit and returned to Rory's tent to finish talking. They stepped inside. Rory offered what passed as a seat to Moira who graciously took it. Chatterbox quickly climbed into her lap.

"So you know Chatterbox?" she asked, shifting the girl into a more comfortable position.

Rory chuckled and nodded. "Not as Chatterbox, but yeah. She was at Paradise Falls too. One of my friends, Penny, knew her before I did."

Moira nodded, absentmindedly running her fingers through Chatterbox's dirt covered hair. "Does she have any family? Friends? Anybody?"

"I don't know," Rory replied with a sigh, crossing his arms and watching Chatterbox close her eyes under Moira's petting. "I don't know much about her to be honest. I'd ask Penny, but she returned to Little Lamplight. I never saw much of, uh, Chatterbox, around Paradise Falls. I mean I didn't see much of anything honestly. Spent most of my time locked up in the Box. I think that might be why I got elected unofficial leader of these people. I'm the only one who never stopped fighting." Rory blushed and shrugged. "Or something like that I guess. But as for her," he said, shifting the topic away from himself. "Chatterbox wasn't in the pens with the rest of the slaves for long. She was part of Eulogy's household in the inner camp, one of his possessions. So the majority of us wouldn't know much about where she came from. I'm just glad she managed to escape too. We haven't seen anyone from the inner camp. Just us from the pens."

In the corner where he'd been standing silently, Lucas loudly cleared his throat. Rory turned to look at him. He'd almost forgotten the large man was there with how quiet he'd been. Lucas shifted his weight and fixed Rory with a look. "That's all good and fascinating, but if your people are going to be camping out here, there's things I need to know."

"Of course, sheriff, but I already told you-" Rory started to say, but he was cut off by Lucas.

"I know. You told me what you knew." He frowned. "Which isn't very much. There's got to be more."

Rory sighed and massaged his brow. "I'm sorry, but there's really not."

"Run through it again," Lucas ordered.

It looked like Rory was going to argue, but he seemed to understand that the slaves current location was only allowed through the sheriff of Megaton's good graces.

"It was chaos," he explained. "No one knew what was going on. Not us and not the slavers. Something happened, I know that, but what-"

Lucas held up a hand, stopping Rory's rambling. "Slowly," he said. "From the beginning. Just what you know."

"Well, I was in the Box," Rory said and received a blank look from Lucas. "Solitary confinement. The Box is punishment for troublemakers and rabble-rousers. It was basically my permanent home." Rory scratched the back of his neck again. Lucas noted the motion this time and saw the tan lines. A bomb collar used to be there. "Early in the day, someone came to Paradise Falls. The slavers were talking about it. It was someone important. Someone they were all a little afraid of." He eyed Lucas and said, "I don't know who," before the sheriff could ask. "The slavers were antsy about it. We slaves could feel it. It was like a current had run through the camp. But I never saw who it was. They never came by the pens. Probably went straight to Eulogy. After a little while the shooting started." Rory paused and swallowed, his eyes had lost their spark and gone dark. "Then the explosions, then the screaming." He shivered. "I could hear it all from the Box. We all could, but Paradise Falls is segmented. The pens are separate from the inner camp where the important slaves are kept. Whatever happened was happening there."

"How'd you get out?" Lucas asked, spurring the recollection onwards.

"Penny got me out," Rory answered. "She got me out and we ran. Away from the sound of death and carnage thank you very much." He shook his head and massaged his neck once more. "We stopped by the pens and through the gates open. There were no guards. Whatever was happening apparently had everyone running for the center. No eyes on us, so we all ran."

The tent fell into silence as Rory finished his retelling. Lucas scuffed his boot on the ground and growled, "Fantastic, there could be an army of slavers a day behind you, coming to recollect ya'll and I don't know a damned thing about it."

Rory's patience over Lucas's grilling seemed to wear thin. "I'm sorry I'm just some third rate worker bee and didn't rate my own private cell for Eulogy to keep me in. If I did, I'd be sure to give you all the juicy details of what went down in the inner camp."

Lucas planted a finger firmly in Rory's chest, nearly knocking the smaller man over. "Watch it," he threatened. "I don't like your tone. But I do have to agree with those scum bags assessment of you. You do rate the cheap seats. No… inner… camp…" Lucas trailed off as he said the words and looked down at Chatterbox who was still sitting sleepily in Moira's lap.

Lucas looked to Rory. "You said she was in the inner camp?"

"Yes, but-"

Lucas ignored him and turned back to Moira and Chatterbox. The girl was looking up at him suspiciously. Lucas knelt down in front of her so they were at eyelevel. "I know you don't feel much like talking," he said, "But I need to know. We could all be in danger right now and you're the only one who would've seen what's coming after us."

"She won't-" Rory tried to say again.

"Quiet you," Lucas barked. Chatterbox flinched at the rise in volume and started to pull her scarf up over her face. Lucas caught her tiny wrists in his hands and kept her from hiding. "Enough of this bullshit, girl. You need to start talking. Whatever you know, I need to know."

"Lucas!" Moira said, her voice lacking its usual cheerful beat as Lucas pulled Chatterbox from her lap.

"She's fine Moira, I'm not hurting her," Lucas said, dismissing her concern. "As long as the girl talks, everything will be fine." Chatterbox tried to pull her hands away, but Lucas held tight. "Talk," he urged her. "Talk, damn it!" Chatterbox shook her head from side to side and screwed her eyes shut. She kept trying to pull her hands away. "TALK!"

As soon as Lucas shouted, Chatterbox bent forward and sank her teeth into his arm. Lucas cried out in pain as she clamped down with her jaw. He released her arms and fell backwards. Chatterbox quickly darted behind Moira as the woman rose protectively in front of her.

"Fucking brat," Lucas growled as he got to his feet and took a menacing step towards her. The girl buried her face in her scarf and then pressed herself against Moira's leg.

"Back off, Lucas," Moira warned, her smiles and good cheer completely gone.

"That girl knows something," Lucas insisted. "And my town, our town, could be in very grave dangers. I need to know."

Rory stepped up next to Moira, putting another body between Lucas and Chatterbox. "It doesn't matter if she knows something. She's not going to tell you."

"Oh, yes she will," Lucas muttered darkly, holding a hand up like he was going to smack someone.

Rory took a step towards Lucas, completely blocking him. "She can't, sheriff. Can't. As in cannot."

Lucas eyed him for a moment and slowly lowered his hand. "What are you on about?"

"Whatever she knows, if she knows anything at all, she can't tell you. She can't talk."

Lucas was taken aback, but the words hadn't quite sunk in. "The hell are you talking about?" he growled. "She knows every damn word someone says. I've seen her listening."

Rory shook his head, explaining to the riled sheriff, "Oh she understands you alright. But- but they- she-…" Rory made a frustrated noise, trying to figure out how to say what was on his mind. He groaned and turned away from Lucas, kneeling down next to Chatterbox who was still firmly hugging Moira's leg. "Chatterbox," he said softly. The girl shuddered, but didn't peel herself away from Moira. "Chatterbox," he repeated, "Penny told me. She told me what happened. Now you need to show them. You need to help them understand."

Slowly, ever so slowly, one of Chatterbox's brown eyes could be seen as she lifted her face away from Moira's thigh. The girl fixed Rory with a look before glaring at Lucas.

"I know, I know. He's just scared," Rory said. Behind him Lucas bristled at the accusation. "You have to help him."

Chatterbox pulled herself further away from Moira's leg. Her hands now playing nervously with the ends of her scarf instead of holding on for dear life. She looked at Moira, who looked back at her with a watery smile. While Chatterbox had refused to cry during the exchange Moira looked to be on the break of bawling on her behalf.

"It's okay, Sweetie. Whatever it is. It's okay," she whispered as she bent down next to Rory and Chatterbox. She cupped her cheeks as Chatterbox lifted her chin from the folds of her scarf. "It'll all be okay."

Chatterbox looked at each one of them in turn. Whatever internal struggle she was facing raced through her eyes. Anger, sadness, pain, fear. One after the next wrestling with each other. She took a step back from Moira, freeing her face. Slowly with shaking hands, she reached up to grasp her scarf in both hands and began to unwind it.

Moira gasped in horror as the stained blue scarf fell away and covered her mouth. Rory closed his eyes and looked away, even though he already knew what he'd see. Even Lucas looked like he'd been physically stricken.

Hidden under her scarf was a long, knotted scar, running cleanly across her throat. The raised line was red and angry and ran from one side of her neck to the other. Chatterbox held her chin high for a few seconds before looping her scarf back around her neck and tightening it once more, hiding the mark away. She fell into Moira's arms and plunged her face into the woman's neck. Her tiny little shoulders began to shake as soundless sobs wracked her body.


Rory explained it all as he walked them back into Megaton. Chatterbox had fallen asleep in Moira's arms, too emotionally drained to keep her eyes open. Moira and an ashen-faced Lucas Simms listened to the tale as they crossed the shanty.

Eulogy Jones ruled Paradise Falls through terror. He was the brains behind every awful method of torture they inflicted on the slaves there. The pinnacle of his twisted creations were his slaves turned bodyguards, Clover and Crimson. They were utterly devoted to him and brainwashed to adore him. Living possessions, he'd crafted the ultimate slaves out of them. Whatever he desired they'd do anything to get him.

Well, Eulogy made an offhand comment about the future of Paradise Falls, the future of his rule. Who'd take over when he was gone, who he'd name his heir. His twisted personal slaves heard this offhanded comment and had practically raced for the slave pens. Clover had gotten there first. She'd dragged Chatterbox away back to Eulogy's pad and when she'd gotten there, Eulogy had at first seemed overjoyed at her thoughtfulness, but soon grew tired with the child's crying.

He'd ordered Clover to do something about it.

Lucas had shushed Rory at that point. It was pretty obvious what the psychopath's solution had been. She'd maimed the girl to quiet her and then they'd kept her as some sort of pet up until whatever had happened at Paradise Falls.

Lucas and Rory watched as Moira carried Chatterbox back to Craterside Supply. Both men watching and wondering what the girl had seen there, both knew that they weren't gonna get an answer.

"Your people are free to stay as long as they need," Lucas said softly, catching Rory off guard. "We'll see about getting some more supplies out there, seeds, tools, the likes."

"Thank you, sheriff," Rory said as the sheriff of Megaton started back to his own home, his shoulders sagged and tired.

"Of course, Rory, of course." Lucas sighed as he reached his door. Sleep would elude him for a long while tonight. He'd gone and lost his temper again over a poor, poor little girl. Hopefully, a camp full of slaves outside the gate would be the end of it.

Hopefully.


A/N: And thus is the tragic history of Chatterbox. But don't worry, her life is pretty uphill from here. It's all good. Unlike my LW's whose life always seems to tank at some point. Speaking of her, new chapter in DMH as well. Have a read. Hope you're enjoying "the Unspoken", I certainly am.