A/N: Hello again, everyone! Thank you all for coming back for the third installment of When Ashes Fall! I'd like to take just a second to thank everyone for reading/reviewing/favoriting/following this little plot bunny of mine, particularly Paladin Bailey. Your ideas are wonderful! At the moment, I'm not certain where I see James and Mags reuniting, but I definitely see both of them jaunting around the Commonwealth, kicking ass and taking names. Honestly, if you've got any more ideas, please feel free to PM me. I love reader input. Now, without further ado…chapter three!
Warnings: Ya'll, we're on chapter three. If you don't know by now…
~~~xxx~~~
Three-Dog's voice was fading, Mags realized sadly, as she drew further and further away from GNR's DC headquarters. Her radio was filled with static now, having just passed by Girdershade on her way out of the Capital Wasteland. His voice was faint, but she could still make out his signature howl as he announced himself. She stopped to listen for a moment as he reported on the success of Project Purity, now in its fourth week of production.
She honestly wasn't sure how she'd managed to survive activating the purifier. If she was honest with herself, she was hoping to die a hero's death then and there. Only then would her family be reunited.
~~~xxx~~~
Instead, she woke a week later to Elder Lyons seated at her bedside, holding a beaten pre-war book between wrinkled and worn hands. He'd turned toward her as she looked up at him questioningly, and had smiled.
"I'm glad to see you awake," he'd begun. She watched him silently, mouth far too dry to reply.
"You've been unconscious for a week, young lady. You gave us all quite the fright, particularly the young squire. It seems you've found quite the fan." The older man smiled.
"Did it work?" she managed to croak out, voice cracking halfway through. Please, God, let it have worked.
"Yes, my dear friend, it worked. The purifier has been pumping out clean, fresh water since you activated it. The Brotherhood, while also focused on dealing with the remnant of the Enclave, as well as the Super Mutant threat, has been hard at work bottling and distributing." The Elder explained.
Mags relaxed against the pillow she was resting on, and blew out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding. She thought of the beggars outside Megaton, Rivet City, Tenpenny Tower, who would now be able to access pure water without difficulty. Tears welled up in her eyes as she spoke.
"The Capital Wasteland…it can survive now." She murmured toward the ceiling. The man beside her hummed in agreement.
"I know what you're thinking, my friend, and I understand why. You wish to leave. The pain of losing the one closest to you has warped your very being. Believe you me, I understand. There is little pain more trying than that of losing a parent. Perhaps a change of scenery would do you well…" he trailed off, a twinkle in his eye as he looked at her. "The Western chapter of the Brotherhood of Steel may require some assistance. Perhaps you may be able to help them?"
Mags blinked. The Elder was a mind-reader, she was certain of it. Or she'd actually died, and this was her heaven. It was too nice to be hell.
At least, she thought so, until Squire Maxson skidded into the room.
"I thought I heard voices!" he shouted, pointing at the Elder who simply looked on with a smirk. "Mags! You're awake!"
The child launched himself at the bed and into her arms, and frankly, at that moment, she couldn't find it in herself to care whether she was dead or alive, in heaven or hell. The young squire had quickly become like a little brother to her, as his shy but polite demeanor wrapped him around her heartstrings.
"Hello to you too, brat." She teased, ruffling his short brown locks. He squawked at her ministrations before spying the bottle on the bedside table. He reached for it, landing on her in the process.
"Here! You have to try this! We're calling it Aqua Pura. Get it? Pure water?" He wagged the bottle in front of her face, and she realized how thirsty she was. She eagerly snagged the bottle from the boy and unscrewed the lid, greedily drinking down the contents. She was stunned at how wonderful it tasted.
Dirty water had a vaguely gunmetal-like taste to it, and after drinking a few bottles, made one desperately ill. Purified water thankfully had no taste, and contained no sickening radiation. But this? Mags thought it to be the greatest thing she'd ever tasted, maybe due to the fact that it saved the Capital Wasteland. Maybe because of the part she played in creating it. Maybe because it meant her dad hadn't died in vain.
~~~xxx~~~
Less than three days later, Mags was released from the Brotherhood's medical wing, and found herself packing to visit the Mojave chapter of the Brotherhood of Steel. The Elder, she'd learned, was a man named Nolan McNamara. He'd recently been installed as Elder, after the disaster known as Operation: Sunburst, also known as the greatest fuck-up of the year, and the subsequent disappearance of the previous Elder, Father Elijah.
Arthur had protested her departure, but yielded in the three days since she'd awoken. She promised to stay as safe as possible, but told the boy she was interested in the newly-created Mojave Express, a courier system that was slowly branching out across the wasteland.
"I'd get to see the rest of the country!" she'd exclaimed. "And get paid to do it!" Arthur just frowned at her as she patted his head and began to pack her things.
Sarah and Madison weren't particularly thrilled either, but both had quickly learned how stubborn and bull-headed Magdalena Frost could be. When that girl had a plan, she stuck to it. When there was fire in her eyes, it would happen. And by the gods above, if anyone had the willpower to make it, it was Mags.
She'd chosen to forgo the Power Armor offered to her when she was all packed and ready to go. It would only slow her down, she claimed. In reality, she'd take her Reilly's Rangers combat armor any day of the week. Call her crazy, but it was almost like a lucky charm.
With a final salute the Elder Lyons, hugs for Sarah and Madison, and a kiss on Arthur's head, she was ready to go. She began walking to the entrance to the Citadel, raising one hand in the air in a wave goodbye.
"May steel guide you," Elder Lyons murmured, and if tears gathered in his eyes and the eyes of those gathered around him…well, no one needed to know that.
~~~xxx~~~
Three-Dog's voice had been gone for three now, the ever-shifting static her only companion on her journey. Her Pip-Boy told her she'd be nearing the town of Primm within a day, if she kept up her pace. Searching through the available radio stations, she found one she hadn't seen before: Radio New Vegas. Well. That certainly had a ring to it, now didn't it?
"It's me again, Mr. New Vegas, reminding you that you're nobody 'til somebody loves you. And that somebody is me. I love you." The DJ crooned through the Pip-Boy's stereo.
This is what a creep sounds like when he's trying to be smooth. Mags thought to herself before shrugging and trudging on. Oh well. Anything's better than static. Maybe they've got some good songs?
When Dean Martin's "Ain't That a Kick in the Head blared out of her speakers moments later, Mags smiled. Maybe Radio New Vegas won't be so bad after all.
~~~xxx~~~
Primm was a tiny town toward the western side of the Mojave Wasteland, and getting there was hell on wheels. Between Legion freaks in pre-war athletic get-ups to the winged "what-the-fuck-are-those" – otherwise known as cazadores – Mags realized one thing. The Mojave wasn't playing games, and honestly seemed to have more problems than the Capital Wasteland. She'd take Super Mutants any day over the angry, swarming creatures of death that simply wanted to sting your face off!
But walking into Primm, at long last, Mags felt a sense of belonging she hadn't felt since her first few months out of the vault. This place needed her, and damn it all, she'd help every single one she could. Except those Legion fucks. They could rot in hell.
Johnson Nash was her first point of contact in Primm, a grizzled older man who owned the newly-dubbed Mojave Express. He looked her up and down and called her a whippersnapper the moment she said she wanted a job as a courier.
"Come back when you've got some more experience under your belt, kid." Nash had grunted, turning away. Wrinkling her nose and gritting her teeth, she did the same, slamming the door harder than necessary on her way out.
Thankfully, not long after her confrontation with Johnson Nash, she met a woman in charge of a caravan service, looking for a courier to deliver invoices to their customers. The woman had checked her over the same way Nash had done, but instead of the frown lines on her face growing deeper, she gave the young lady in front of her a small smile.
"I suppose you'll do. C'mon, let's get moving. I need you to deliver this invoice to the Mayor of Nipton. Think you can do it?" The woman, Natalie, asked. Mags nodded. "Good. The pay is 150 bottle caps for every successfully completed job, along with ammo and discounted repairs. Sound good?"
"Yes ma'am!" Mags replied. She knew she should probably set out immediately to find the Brotherhood of Steel bunker, but she felt she needed a better lay of the land first. She needed to understand the climate of the Mojave Wasteland, and how they perceived the Brotherhood before she immediately flew to them. Something told her they weren't well-received. And who was the NCR they were fighting for Helios One? What was New Vegas? She'd read about Las Vegas back in the vault, but what was it like now?
She had far too many questions that needed answering before she gallivanted to the Brotherhood's bunker. And so, after a night's rest with Natalie's caravan, she popped the coordinates into her Pip-Boy, and her journey began.
~~~xxx~~~
Finally, after a week of bedrest and Rad-Away treatments, Dr. Barrows had allowed James out of the Chop Shop, and allowed him to mingle with the rest of the Underworld's inhabitants. He learned about some of his daughter's (mis)adventures while under Barrows's care, like when she rescued Reilly's Ranger's from the rooftop of the Statesmen Hotel in downtown D.C. Not for the first time, guilt stabbed at him for not sitting down with his little girl before throwing both of them headlong into Project Purity.
When he spoke to the other residents, he learned even more about his daughter. How she purchased Charon's contract from Ahzrukhal, the owner of the Ninth Circle. After purchasing the very paper that bound him to first the ghoul bartender and then her, she'd burned it, stating that if he wished to follow her, it would be of his own free will, not because some ridiculous paper said so.
Charon wasn't certain how to take such an action, and chose instead to stay in the Ninth Circle after shooting his former "employer." But he had his freedom now, and it was all thanks to Mags.
Carol and Greta spoke of her politeness, and her willingness to carry messages back and forth from Gob in Megaton. James found his daughter often stayed in Carol's Place when she was nearby, citing good company and cozy beds.
Winthrop didn't have much to say, but told James of his agreement with Mags for exchanging scrap metal. He was told that every time she wandered through the museum door, it was with as much scrap as she could stand to carry.
Tulip remarked on the fact that she hadn't seen her in quite some time, and was missing his Mags terribly. She said she was always so bored, and Mags seemed to brighten the room with her smile and willingness to make conversation.
Snowflake smiled when he heard Mags was his daughter. The ghoul told him Mags had a beautiful head of hair, and was always willing to let him experiment with it whenever she'd come to town. The last time he'd gotten to style it, she'd put it up in a messy bun, but refused to dye it. For whatever reason, thanks to a genetic fluke, she was already going gray. Snowflake offered to dye it, but she'd refused, claiming she'd rather just let it go.
It seemed Mags was well-liked by everyone, and while he enjoyed hearing stories of his girl, he knew he needed to get to the Citadel post-haste. He needed to apologize for even thinking of leaving her in the vault in the first place, and needed to hug her as tightly as possible without breaking ribs.
Five weeks after the kickstarting of Project Purity, James was finally issued a clean bill of health and allowed to leave Underworld. Doc Barrows was scratching his head, unsure why he hadn't undergone ghoulification due to the exorbitant amount of radiation.
"I just don't get it. If you were going to turn into a ghoul, you'd have done it by now. But you're still here, and your flesh isn't anywhere nearly flaky. How!?" the doctor exclaimed. James simply shrugged his shoulders.
"The large doses of Rad-Away you've administered could have done the trick. I was found not long after the incident," he spat the word like it tasted foul just to say it. "And was given treatment nearly immediately. The dosage could have stopped ghoulification in its tracks, given that, externally, I showed no signs of turning. It must have been in its early stages."
He had no idea, frankly, but when you have eliminated the improbable, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth. Amicably, the two doctors parted ways, and James looked at the graying sky above the Mall.
I'm coming, Mags, just you wait.