A/N: I apologize for the lack of updates. It's not because I am not inspired by this story. I have a LOT planned for it, actually. I've been so overwhelmed in my internship this semester, that I have little time for writing. I'm not even participating in Nanowrimo this year. ;-; But that's okay. Please enjoy, and thank you for your patience.

Postpartum
Chapter Seven

It wasn't until after they had left Concord, passing by the Red Rocket Station, that Danse broke their tense silence, asking about the small burns on her left cheek. Nora absently touched at the pockmarks, recalling the sting of cigarette ash being pressed against her face. She had ignored the pain then, and pushed the uncomfortable burning to the back of her mind. She wiped at her face, smearing the black grime on her shirt across the miniscule injury. Surprisingly, it helped to sate the pain. Nora didn't answer Danse, her gaze stuck on the ground before her. Sanctuary methodically bumped against her back with the loose strap on every step.

The later afternoon sun was straight ahead, blinding them and sinking lower into evening. Cresting the hill, approaching the crumbling bridge, Nora saw how the settlement remained, and a wave of relief washed over her. Sanctuary Hills was a defensible place, but at least the five settlers could defend themselves. The wall was nearly complete now, much improved when she first left days ago, complete with a swinging, creaky gate, and a mounted guard post facing the bridge that Preston now manned. He saw them approaching, and Nora saw his eyes darken at Danse's presence. She couldn't entirely blame him.

Nora managed a weak smile for Preston just before the gates opened for them. Dogmeat ran ahead to settle down somewhere in the depths of Sanctuary Hills. Nora suppressed a cringe when Marcy was there to greet them, arms crossed, bottom lip puckered out. Nora matched her resentful stare that bored into her with an even, dead one, waiting for the verbal onslaught.

"So who is this?" Marcy asked, tone clipped, a curt nod indicating to Paladin Danse towering in his power armor suit. A power armor suit and a menacing laser rifle didn't intimidate Marcy. Nora doubted anything could.

Nora stole a cut-away glance at her hunkering companion. "His name is Danse," she introduced quickly before he could say anything, conspicuously leaving out the title of 'paladin.' She hoped Danse caught on to her deliberate mask of information. She didn't want to worry the settlers. Marcy and the others were suspicious enough. Someone affiliated with the Brotherhood of Steel would not be a good sign after what they had experienced with Quincy.

"Where is Mama Murphy?" Nora asked quickly before Marcy could continue her interrogation.

Marcy jabbed her thumb over her shoulder, and so Nora silently led Paladin Danse away as she heard Marcy berate Preston for letting Nora romp through with whoever she wanted. Nora sensed Paladin Danse turning slightly around to glance at the pair behind them until the street curved 'round to lay out her house before them.

Most of the settlers seemed to prefer taking refuge at the house across the street, what used to be Mrs. Rosa's house. She had been a single mom with a young son. Nora didn't want to imagine what had happened to them after the bombs fell. Nothing pretty, she imagined. Nothing was pretty any more.

Sturges had turned the carport into a workshop area, and so far, the battered settlers had chosen to cram their dusty mattresses inside, maintaining their sense of close-knit camaraderie, safety in numbers. Nora saw Mama Murphy sitting inside of the house through the glass-less window. Nora paused, glancing at her own home on the other side of the street. Codsworth was whizzing through the living area, dusting, straightening, making the odd comment here or there to himself.

"This is a quaint settlement you've got here," Danse said, looking around, admiring the quaintness.

"What are you still doing here?" Nora asked, rounding on him. "You've walked me home. I made it safe. Now it's time for you to go."

Danse was taken aback. "Am I not welcome here?" He was more stunned than offended.

"No, you're not," she said curtly. "It's time for you to go back the police station. I'm sure they could use your help."

Danse gave her a strange look. "Why? Do you know something I don't? Did those raiders tell you anything else?"

"Nothing I haven't told you," she said. "They want your power armor suit. But I wouldn't put it past them to attack the station while you're not there. Anything for an advantage, anything for leverage."

He gave a terse nod. "Understood. If you ever wander through Cambridge again, you should stop by. This should not be the last time we see each other."

Something folded inside of her. She lost her brusqueness. She resolved to resignation once more. "Take care of yourself, Danse."

Danse inclined his head, dipping his chin just a moment too long to be surface civility. It had a deeper meaning, respect, high regard. She couldn't imagine why he would hold such a high opinion of her after she had been so coarse with him. Then he turned on his heel, and walked the now too-long street that curled out of her sight. She watched him leave and didn't move again until she heard the heavy gate creak shut behind him.

Nora cast one last, lingering glance at Mama Murphy through the window, her fingers tightening around the jet. She then turned her back and headed into her own house, pushing open the still-sturdy red front door.

Codsworth paused his cleaning to greet her frozen form at the door way. "Ah, ma'am. It's so good to—"

But the rest of his words were drowned out by a sudden sickening wave that turned her stomach. She ran for the bathroom, heaving the offensive bubbling rising in her stomach just in time. Once the humiliating moment had passed, Nora could appreciate the invention of indoor plumbing that had once worked in the house. Now, the repulsive smell lingered, but Nora ignored it, leaning against the ashy tile wall of the shower.

Codsworth joined her shortly. "Oh dear, ma'am. Did you eat something that didn't agree with you?"

Nora wiped the vestiges of the vomit from the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand. "Actually, Codsworth," she said with a sudden realization. "I haven't eaten anything since I left Sanctuary Hills."

A pregnant silence dragged, almost painfully. Nora could hear some of the gears of Codswoth's machinations clicking. She imagined him processing that shocking revelation. When had she left Sanctuary? Two days ago? Three days? Her stomach growled like the creaking of an old, empty house as if to support her claims.

"Well, I shall have to make you something that's agreeable to your stomach," Codsworth decided.

The supplies she had brought back from Concord and Lexington were scant at best, especially since it would seem that Jared and his raiders had stolen most of her supplies. This did not phase Codsworth as he decided, undaunted, to scavenge outside of Sanctuary Hills for possible cooking ingredients. Nora tried dissuading him from such an endeavor, but Cosworth would hear none of it, emboldened by his new purpose. She warned him not to wander far before climbing into bed for the rest of the evening. He didn't return until hours after sunset. Nora hadn't slept in that entire time and heard him bumbling about in the kitchen. Nora pushed herself off the bed to meet him.

"Look, ma'am. Tatos!" Codsworth proclaimed excitedly, gesturing to his bounty. His basket was overflowing with the red shiny foodstuff that reminded her strongly of tomatoes. She picked one up, testing it with her fingers and giving it a sniff.

"Where did you get these?"

"There's a lovely farm, a bit south from here, run by an even lovelier family called the Abernathy's."

"And they just gave all this to you?" she asked skeptically.

"Well, I had just happened across their quaint abode. They seemed rather nervous at first, demanding all sorts of questions at me. 'What are you doing here?' 'What do you want?' And, perhaps most troubling, 'please don't kill us!' After I had calmed them down enough and assured them that I certainly wasn't there to murder them, I explained that I was out and about scouting food for my mistress. They were very generous and offered me this basket."

"And they didn't ask for anything in return?" Nora asked, surprised. Especially after her encounter with Danse and the Brotherhood, she had come to expect that the Commonwealth wasteland operated on a basis that was fueled by some measure of exchange.

"Not at all," Codsworth assured.

Nora withdrew a serrated kitchen knife from one of the drawers. It was almost completely rusted through, but Nora used it to slice open the tato in her hands. It was brown and stiff on the inside, like a potato. She could only imagine how the tomato and potato was able to fuse together in such a mutation over the course of two centuries. It didn't look particularly appetizing.

Codsworth was undeterred and set to work concocting a vegetable stew, using some carrots that the Abernathy's had also been so kind to give him. He overestimated his ingredients though, and ended making way too much for just Nora to eat. She sipped the soup, deciding that it did not taste as bad as she had expected. It embraced her belly with warmth and substance. It growled again, demanding more. She ignored it though, gripping the stew pot by the protruding handles to carry it across the street.

Entering the house that once belonged to Mrs. Rosa was a strange sensation. She remembered when the house had been clean, save for a few toys belonging to her rambunctious son. Now, the crumbling house was crammed with five new residents that sat, huddled on broken chairs and ruined furniture around a gaslight lantern. They looked up at her entrance. Their faces weren't uninviting, but judging by their open-mouth expressions, it was apparent that she had interrupted some conversation, and they did not pick it back up again with her standing there.

But their eyes lowered to the pot in her hands. Nora looked down at the simmering soup, her mouth open, struggling to find words. Seeing them all there, suddenly, made her own house feel rather empty.

She cleared her throat. "Um, Codsworth made soup. I thought you might be hungry."

She set it down next to the flickering lantern and stepped back. The hungry faces peered eagerly into its contents, and, without hesitation, they began spooning the soup into cracked ceramic bowls scavenged from Mrs. Rosa's cupboards. Everyone mumbled some measure of thanks and gratitude through mouthfuls of soup, even Marcy whose curt nod was the most appreciative gesture Nora had ever witnessed from her.

"I'm sorry if it's too salty. Codsworth has always used salt religiously," Nora attempted with a pained half-smile.

But if they laughed at her small jest, she didn't hear it. The room was suddenly stifling to her. She tugged at the collar of her shirt, although it hung loosely at the dip of her collarbone. She backed a few more paces, longing for the fresh night air.

"Well, I guess I'll go stand watch, fill my shift and all."

No one seemed to notice her excuse for leaving or the fact that she had so suddenly disappeared from the house. She didn't allow herself a moment to consider that and walked briskly down the street, shoving her hands in her over-sized pockets. It was troubling to some extent that everyone was just sitting inside, leaving no one on watch. It was dark; nighttime should have been the time most important time to set up a sentry. Especially if Jared and the other raiders knew about them and this place.

She retrieved Sanctuary where she had left it and made her way to the front gate. Suddenly, a new smell pierced her awareness. It was foggy at first, but the closer she was to the gate, the sharper it became. It was faint, as if its source had been extinguished some time ago, but definitely there. It presence permeated, tainted the air, making her head and stomach roll. Cigarette smoke.

Once her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she saw that Dogmeat was pacing back and forth behind the gate. Not anxiously as if he detected an intruded, but methodically, as if he was on patrol. Perhaps they hadn't left the front gate unguarded after all, Nora thought to herself with a wry chuckle. Still, it was a poor decision to leave Dogmeat on his own.

She climbed the steps up to the guard post with heavy, cumbersome feet. It seemed as though the higher she climbed, the more repugnant the smell of cigarette smoke became. She never recalled ever having such a sensitive sense of smell.

Nora leaned over the guard railing, noticing that the smell became stronger just outside Sanctuary Hill's gate. Below, Dogmeat perked his ears up at her odd behavior.

She descended the post and pulled open the heavy gate just wide enough to slip through, following her nose. She walked the length of the bridge, but the smell waned the further she was from the gate. She turned heel and went back towards it.

Dogmeat was waiting silently just inside, his tail twitching. Nora almost went back through when she noticed her boots kicking something around the pavement. She froze, crouched, and picked up the obtrusive object from the ground, pinching it between two fingers. The source of the smell. A cigarette butt.

A brief inspection of the ground yielded proof of two more. She dropped the one in her hand, darted back inside the gate, and slammed it shut behind her. The metal clasp banged with the force. Nora ignored the loud sound, her mind whirring furiously.

Did anyone in Sanctuary smoke? The butts were fresh, not the products of two centuries worth of decay. Did she remember anyone else smoking since they had arrived? Did they even have a pack of cigarettes among their meager possessions? Mama Murphy did drugs, so that might indicate that she was a chainsmoker, that is, if she actually stood guard at some point today and flicked the butts over the gate.

But there was one person who smoked, who stuck out above everyone else. Jared. And he had left the burns on her cheek to remind her of it.

-Strigi