We're staying in an abandoned apartment complex one night. Sun's already set, and MacCready hands me a can of Cram we scavenged today, "your favorite. Right, partner?"

I scoff, taking the can. He sits next to me and peels open his own can. "You're getting better at shooting, you know?" He comments. "Good thing too, by what your Pip-boy's telling us, we'll be at Mass Pike Interchange tomorrow."

"Hopefully won't die," I comment lazily, my heart not really into the severity of what I'm saying. I peel open the can of Cram.

MacCready chortles, "Can't believe you didn't die today."

"At least dying's better than being taken by the Institute," I say, chewing on the meat. "Or is it? What do you think, MacCready? Would you rather die or be taken by the Institute?" I've been thinking about the Institute ever since Kellogg. I can't get it out of my mind.

He blinks, I clearly caught him off-guard with that. "Don't ask things like that," he scowls.

"C'mon it's not like you haven't thought about it-"

Suddenly, we hear shots ring out outside. We're on the sixth floor of the apartment, so whoever's outside won't hurt us, but it's very disarming to hear it. MacCready steps over to the small window, and peering through the ratty drapes. My eyes widen, "who is it?"

"Raiders," MacCready says. "Or, looks like it. Better stay quiet."

So we do. We lean against the wall, helplessly listening to the screams and gunshots from outside. We wait for what feels like hours, until the last gunshot fires and the Raiders are gone. We sit in silence for a long time after that, eating our Cram, pretending we didn't hear the screams. Then:

"Institute," MacCready whispers. "I'd rather be sent to the Institute."

Even though it's been a long time since I posed the question, I know exactly what he's talking about. It's like the questions has hung in the silence all this time, waiting to be answered.

"Really? Why?"

"Believe it or not, I've actually got things worth living for." He scratches the side of his face, pausing in thought. "People sent to the Institute don't die right away, they're made into synths. And the synths keep their memories. I guess it's just living in another body. Right?"

And then I ask the question. Not a question, the question. Asking it is the great taboo among the Commonwealth. It's what everyone's thinking, but no one dares to ask out loud. "So," I begin. "If they take your memories, but it's inside someone else, are you alive or are you dead?"

MacCready looks ticked off, "you know what? How about we just agree that the Institute sucks and leave it at that?"

It shuts up the conversation for a while, but not long. MacCready speaks again. "What about you?"

"It depends," I shrug. "Depends on where your soul is once you're made into a synth."

"Don't tell me you believe in that sh...stuff," MacCready say.

Maybe MacCready's not used to talking about religion, but I want him to. "Let's say it happens to you. What do you think happens to your soul when you're made into a synth?"

"Who says I've even got one?"

I roll my eyes, "let's say for the sake of the argument, you do."

"Who says I want an argument?"

I kick his leg, "just give me an answer."

He squirms, "How should I know? Maybe synths don't even have souls, maybe they're just consciousness." He pauses, folding his arms together, and tilting his head down. We sit in silence for longer than a few minutes. Then MacCready says, "I had this employer once. Liked talking about these things, like you do. He had this weird thought about people taken to the Institute."

I raise an eyebrow, "What was it?"

"He had this weird theory that if someone actually was made into a synth, that they never had a soul to begin with," MacCready says. "He said God must know who gives taken and doesn't give them souls to begin with."

At least he's in a loving home. The Institute. I shiver. "That's fucking weird."

"He had it all worked out in his head," he continues. "A whole science to it."

I rub my shoulders, feeling very cold. I didn't like where the conversation was heading, I wanted to put it to rest now. Then MacCready says, "well what's your opinion? You're just dishing out questions, I want an answer: Institute or death?"

A long silence goes between us. Then, I say quietly, uneasily, "I don't know."

"That's not an answer."

Reaching across, I grab his hand and force him to look into my eyes. "Yes, it is an answer." I say, fire in my eyes, "Maybe it's the best answer of all. If more people could admit they really don't know, maybe there would have never been a Great War."

MacCready shakes my hand off of his, his pupils shrink. "I think we should go to bed now, partner."

I nod, breaking my stare. I felt like apologizing for such a strange comment, but I said my piece: I really don't know if I'd prefer Institute or death. Both of them scare me beyond comprehension. Maybe in the end they both equal the same thing though. Institute = death. Death = death. Not a lot of fun either way. And definitely not the type of question to ask after the day we had. Between raiders, and that gen. 1 synth attack this afternoon, we're both much too tired to comprehend the possibility of either. "Sorry, MacCready," I say eventually. "Weird topic."

"No sh- kidding. Let's just get some rest," he says, standing up. "I want to be ready when we take out Winlock and Barnes tomorrow."

There's not much space in the apartment for us to be alone. There's the kitchen, there's a couch, a bed, and all inside the same room. Well, except for the bathroom. That's special. That's got a door.

"Who's taking the bed tonight?" MacCready asks, shaking off his duster.

"I got it last time we had one," I yawn, rising to my feet. "I'll take couch."

MacCready doesn't complain, in fact, he basically jumps into the bed, curling up. I wait for him to fall asleep waiting on the couch. When I hear his snoring, I wait a few more minutes just to be sure. Then, when I'm sure he won't see, I take a deep breath and rise from the couch, heading to the bathroom.

It takes me a while to work up the courage to look in the mirror, and when I finally do, I gasp. The experience is like running into someone you hadn't seen since high school-you recognize them, but what you really notice is the ways they've changed. They don't match your memory of how they should look and for a second you're thrown off, because your memory of them is them. So when I look in the mirror, I saw a self that didn't match the memory of myself; dark circles encircling feral, wild eyes. Fresh wounds already beginning to scab over and scar. Bruises over my left eye, my jaw, my nose. Stringy hair falling out of a messy bun. I run a hand over my jaw, down to my chin. It's a very odd sensation to recognize myself somewhere within the damage. I don't want to recognize myself in it; The face is front of me is a complete stranger.

No more Nora Clarke. No more curled hair, red lips, soft skin. This person in front of me is a different beast. This person isn't a person; She's a monster.

I sigh, and head back to the couch. Hating myself for looking the way I did, hating myself for asking the questions I do. But before I lay down, I get on my knees and pray. I haven't prayed since I left the Vault. It's regiment from pre-war days, but it makes me feel like me, and that's what I need right now; To feel familiar and feel comfort. So I'll keep praying.

Now I lay me down to sleep,

I pray the Lord my soul to keep.

If I should die before I wake,

I pray the Lord my soul to take.

A child's prayer, a mother's prayer. A woman who just really wanted to feel the words form in her mouth and find peace from it. Do I still believe in a God after the things I've seen in the wasteland? I think of the same answer I gave MacCready when he asked me a hard question: I don't know.

If I should live another day

I pray the Lord to guide my way.

Pulling out Mr. Bear, hugging him tight.

(-)

Next morning. We're up, we eat a solid breakfast of scavenged sugar bombs, we're out within thirty minutes. Then it's the Gunners that's our biggest priority.

We're staring at the Mass Pike Interchange highway soon enough, my hands are shaking, but MacCready doesn't seem to notice. He helps me climb up the fallen highway road, and we trek upwards, using the railing to steady ourselves. "Winlock and Barnes operate up here. Most Gunners use highways for bases…" MacCready trails off.

"Did you ever use these to… You know."

MacCready is silent for a moment, then after a pause, "Yeah, I did."

Soft subject. "Maybe we don't talk the Gunners after this."

"Good plan," he says.

"Speaking of plans," I say. "You ready for ours?"

"Uh, no." MacCready says flatly. That's when I notice the fear in his voice that he tried so desperately to hide. "This is a bad idea."

"Just trust me."

"Look, I would, but these are the Gunners. And they don't take prisoners. Negotiating is not what these people are famous for."

I roll my eyes, and take out my 10mm. "Well, your plan wasn't any better."

He turns around to face me, "My plan was way better!" He splutters. "We'd have a chance with my plan!"

"Oh, nuking them to hell with a million frag grenades?" I reply evenly. "Yeah, that's a great idea. Can't see where it'd go wrong."

"That's not what it was-"

"Listen, if this partnership is going to work, you need to trust me." I say, "I'll get us through this, promise."

He snorts, I shoot him a dirty look. He goes quiet. "Right. Okay," he rolls his eyes, and holds his hands up. "Let's just get this over with."

I poke the nose of the 10mm hard into his back. "Move," I say. We're reaching their base, and I need this to look real. I can do this. I used to be a lawyer, and half of that job was relying on words and thinking fast. All I've got to do is sweet talk Winlock and Barnes until they've let their guard down long enough for MacCready to shoot them. Then the real work begins. And if I'm right about the Gunners, then they'll take MacCready just as soon as they see him. If leaving the Gunners is as big as a deal as he's telling me, then this plan will work.

I place a hand on his shoulder and dig my pistol into the small of his back, pushing him forward. This needs to look convincing.

Two sentries guard the gates into the highway entrance, and I push him forward towards them and he stumbles forward. "Move it," I growl when I'm sure they can hear me. "I don't have all day."

The Gunner looks up curiously, but raises his gun. "What do you want, scavver?"

I push MacCready onto his knees and he raises his hands his hands in defeat. My nails dig into his shoulder, hard. It's harder than what's needed, but I need something to hide my shaky hands. Sorry, partner. "Recognize this bag of regurgitated puke?"

Gross, Nora.

He stands up from his patio chair, peering forward, "that MacCready with you?"

"Did you miss me?" MacCready replies, struggling to get on his feet. I push him down harshly, and he flinches as his knees hit the broken pavement. I aim the pistol at his head. "Shut. up." Really, I'm not kidding. I can handle this without him being a smart-ass.

I turn back to the Gunner, "Hired him as a merc a while back, 'til I learned he ran with the Gunners. Didn't want to take my chances. So I thought I'd offer him up. Don't want the Gunners on my back too."

The Gunner chortles, "We don't take charity from trash like you."

"Then pay me," I shoot back. "I'll take caps."

"Don't think so, scavver."

I frown, "Who are you to make decisions here? Let me speak to your bosses," I say, my grip on MacCready beginning to loosen. I'm getting nervous. The Gunner shares a look with the girl next to him, and raises the scope of his gun to his eyes. Shit. "It'd be a lot easier to kill the both of you, don't you think?"

Thinking fast, I pull MacCready by the collar and we dive in front of the roadblock in front of us. The Gunner fires a barrage of ammo over us. My hands are shaking like mad, I try to steady them, taking out the 10mm, putting ammo into it. I was too afraid I'd accidentally shoot him.

"Told you they don't negotiate," MacCready says, taking his sniper rifle back, adjusting how he's sitting. "You scraped my knees."

I can't make smart-ass comeback under the line of fire, my senses are all turned around. So I say, "Just shoot them!"

"Aye, aye, partner." He says. And under a timed 60 seconds, both sentries are dead. I take a deep breath, shuddering against the road block, "Are we good? It is clear?"

He looks over the block and his eyes bug out. MacCready grabs my arm and hauls me up saying, "We need to move, now!"

At first I'm confused because the sentries are dead and the problem is taken care of, but then I see the Assaultron racing towards us.

He pulls me behind him until I'm sprinting next to him, running from the Assaultron shooting rounds into pavement. Vaulting over a crate, I huddle behind him, taking in gulps of much needed air. This was a very, very bad idea.

MacCready is completely unfazed next to me, laughing whenever he manages to get a shot in. I stare at him incredulously; MacCready is crazy all the way down to his bones.

When the Assaultron notices where we are, behind the crate, it comes rushing towards us. I stand up and run for another spot of cover, to one of the abandoned cars. I shot it clip after clip as it follows behind but it doesn't seem to slow down. If anything it's coming closer and closer. My feet pound against the concrete as I go farther and farther away from the Gunner camp.

My heart is nearly in my throat, I need to hide. I hear MacCready from a couple yards away, "Boss, hide!"

Obeying, I jump behind a car and cover my head with my hands. It's only a few moments later, I understand why he told me to do that as an explode of red and orange flames burst onto the highway, erupting into a shower of metal, sparks and lights obliterating the highway. I peek up from my hiding spot once I'm sure that the debris has stopped falling. MacCready is holding the grenade pin triumphantly in his hand. I couldn't help it, I start laughing from relief. "Nice one, MacCready!"

MacCready laughs too, but quickly, we pick back where we left off and continue into the Gunner's camp. We move quickly, MacCready is front, me behind, picking off Gunners that make their way to us. We hide behind abandoned cars, road dividers, crates and whatever we can find.

It's not until I see one of the guys from the Third Rail, either Winlock or Barnes, that I realize that the Assaultron was just a preview, a sneak peak for the real dangers that the Gunners were hiding. One of them is in power armor, like the kind they used pre-war to fight wars.

We're reloading ammo back into our guns when MacCready tells me that because my plan didn't work, we're going with his. What, nuking them to hell? Yep.

He takes out the grenades he's been saving for this moment, gives me two, and takes two for himself. On three, we're supposed to throw all four of them, and theoretically, that's going to work.

One, two, three and the grenades explode. And after Winlock's gone, it's way easier taking out the rest of them, they go down pretty easily once their leader is gone.

We find a lift to take us down, and it's there when we're not under fire and its relatively peaceful, I notice MacCready's got a gash on his left temple, and he's nursing his side tenderly. "Shit, you got hurt." I say, "we need to put pressure on that."

He waves me off, "doesn't matter," he says. "That fight is gonna send a message to the Gunners to stay off my back. And neither of us died, so I'd call that a success."

"Right," I scoff, sliding my backpack off my shoulders searching for some stimpaks, "I'm sure they heard you loud and clear."

"Well, for the Gunners, it's always about the bottom line. They just lost this entire way station and that cost them big."

"Whatever the case," I say closing my pack-no stimpaks left-and throwing it around my shoulders. "We don't have to deal with them anymore, so let's just get you to Diamond City to get patched up. It's not far."

The lift is on the ground, we step off. MacCready says, "thanks for helping me out with this. Most people I know wouldn't do the same… I guess I owe you now."

"Consider it payment for all the sames you've saved my live, then." I say. And for putting up with my weird late-night conversations…

"Yeah, I just think that's called doing my job. And I like everything to remain nice and even," he says cooly. "And you're one up on me."

"Well, we're partners," I remind him. "Partners do this kind of thing for eachother. You don't owe me anything-"

Before I can go on, he reaches into his duster pocket and pulls out a bag full of caps. "This is what you gave me in Goodneighbor. Take it." He stops completely and hold out the bag.

I realize he's not going to keep moving until I do. Hesitantly, I take it. I don't want his money, but if it makes him feel better, fine.

"Now we're even," he says, walking on. I stare at the caps in my hand. I shove it deep into my pocket and catch up with him.

"Yeah, we're even." I say. We walk in silence for a while then I break the silence by saying, "do you think the Gunners will know it was us?"

"There's no way of knowing that it was us," MacCready says. "So, no. I don't."

I clench my jaw, "That's a lot of people dead now."

MacCready doesn't seem fazed by it. Maybe in his mind, killing all the Gunners was a good deed. The lesser of two evils. "I guess that means I'm going to Hell," he jokes.

"Hmm. Tell you what. When you get there, save a room for me, okay?"

"Why? What makes you think you're going there?" He says, as if Hell was picky.

"I don't, but just in case." I shrug, "Gotta plan your contingencies, right?"

"Sure, partner," MacCready says slowly, obviously weirded out by that statement. "Let's just get Diamond City."

(-)

For the next few weeks, we were in Diamond City doing odd jobs for caps. And also because I needed a place to check in with Nick every other day on updates on the case. So far, nothing. I'd have to be patient while he was going over files and evidence.

In the meantime, it was nice getting to know MacCready better under less harsh circumstances. And without the constant threat of the Gunners on his back, he loosened up a bit.

I figured out pretty quickly that MacCready had been hoarding tons of the old Grognak comics in his backpack. He also loved Manta Man. I hated that shit. "It's not shi… bad," he tells me.

Me, I liked the Silver Shroud. Listened to it all the time way back when, loved the Unstoppables comics.

"Way too dark," MacCready says.

"This from a guy who kills people for a living."

"That's different," he says. "It's my job and you pay me to do it. Who's got the moral high-ground now?"

We argued a lot about dumb stuff like that. He was always arguing that comic books was literature, but literature is a serious topic when it comes to me. I read a shit-ton of books to get my law degree, and before when I did it for fun. I liked arguing with him, though. Kept me on my toes, since he was pretty honest with what he liked and didn't like. I read all of the Grognak comics I didn't read before for him. In return, I make him read an old copy of a book I scavenged. Fahrenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury. When he finished reading it, he told me he hated it. "Except," he says. "It's true. About not asking for guarantees, and doing your own saving. Bradbury's right about that."

I knew he was lying to me. I saw how he gripped the spine and feasted on the words inside. MacCready loved it, just like I did. Why he lied about it, I can only guess.

We weren't alike, MacCready and I. But we did have a few things in common. For one thing, comics. Which leads me to my next thing: Stories. We made up stories about the other settlers in Diamond City over a bowl of power noodles one day. MacCready points to a woman heading up to the stands, and whispers in my ear; "That woman there," he says. "I think she's having an affair."

"How do you know?" I whisper.

"She took off her wedding band while she walked past us."

I nod and smile.

We go back and forth, doing rounds of who could come up with the most bizarre thing. MacCready goes, "That woman there? She hates synths but she's actually married to one. He'll never tell, he thinks it's too ironic."

"That man there?" I point. "Everyone thinks he's got a boring life, or as boring as life can be in the Commonwealth. But actually, he's formed an underground fight club with his buddy who sells soap. Lots of people are in on it."

"That's pretty creative," MacCready says.

"Thanks, I made it up myself." Hopefully there's not still copies of Fight Club hanging around the wastes, otherwise MacCready will know something's up. I ripped off a lot of pre-war books and movies while we were people watching. The Godfather, Forrest Gump, Casablanca. Not like he's gonna know. And now he thinks I'm creative, so who cares? The actors and the directors died centuries ago, not like they can defend it.

At the beginning of our third week in Diamond City, Nick finds me in the marketplace one afternoon and tells me he went back to Fort Hagen and he's got a lead and it's in Goodneighbor.

On the road again.