"The next caravan comes tomorrow, right?"
Quinn jumped and whirled, cursing. "God damn it, smoothskin, you can't sneak up on an old ghoul like that," he rasped angrily, glaring at the girl standing in his doorway.
Leah blinked and her lips were set in a straight line. "Sorry."
"Yeah, it comes tomorrow. Why?" His voice had turned cautious, not wanting to set her off into some spiraling depression. She looked normal, blue eyes a little flatter than usual, but her skin was still flawless porcelain, black hair lank to her shoulders. She turned and slung her back up onto her shoulder.
Only now did he realize she was dressed in her armor, assault rifle clutched to her side. "I'm going out. I'll be back by tomorrow morning at the latest." She half turned, a hardness in her expression. "I promise."
Leah didn't wait for his answer. Even if she'd heard it, she probably wouldn't have registered it.
She reveled in the crunching sound of her footsteps as she walked away from Megaton. The sun was just breaching the skyline, brilliant gold peeking out from the horizon. There was a chill lingering in the air from the crisp night, but it felt refreshing on her face. She lifted her eyes to the sky and inhaled deeply.
It was unclear exactly when during the night she'd reached the decision, but she was certain now that what she needed was a haircut. And it had to be from Snowflake. She wasn't sure why, but for some reason it seemed the answer lay with a Jetting ghoul in the middle of a dingy museum. And she really needed to get out of Megaton, at least for the time being.
She walked for some interminable amount of time, never speaking, watching the sun progress across the sky with each step she took. It marked the passage of time, it seemed, so that everything else could cease to be held up in the universe and the sun would take up all the slack as the world slowly rebuilt itself.
The Super Duper Mart parking lot was completely empty. She frowned and ducked through a hole in the fence. A few dead raiders were strewn on the ground near the doors and she assumed that, if she'd wanted to venture inside, there would be more within as well. But she wasn't really that curious. She knew what it felt like to kill a raider. She knew what it felt like to kill ten. As good as that feeling was, that wasn't what this journey was really about.
She turned and walked on.
Up ahead ran the Potomac River, along the edge of which could be any combination of irritations to deal with. Gunshots and roars of anger echoed toward her. Palming her rifle, flexing her sweaty fingers expectantly, she slid silently against the tall building nearest the river.
"I will eat your arms after I kill you, human!"
Leah rolled her eyes.
Super mutants, am I right?
She crouched and waited for a break in the gunfire. Finally, after a few moments when the mutants had to reload, the battle came to a complete stop. She gave it a few extra minutes, listening hard. There were no more mutant battle cries, so she assumed the raiders that always camped on the other side had won.
Simple enough to deal with.
She hugged the wall of the building as she ghosted to the other side. From the shade of the building's awning, she surveyed the carnage.
Two super mutant corpses were limp on the pavement before her and just over the edge she could spot the arm of another floating in the river. No wonder the damn thing was still so toxic.
Two raiders remained on the opposite bank. Squinting through the heat waves, Leah watched them rummage through first aid boxes and apply stimpaks to their wounds.
Now was as good a time as any.
She calmly set her bag down and pulled out the Victory rifle. It rested perfectly on a pile of rubble and, kneeling down, she pressed her eye to the scope.
The crosshair danced over the brick wall, finding tires and apocalyptic debris, until it finally came to rest on a raider's head.
Pulling the trigger was so fucking satisfying. She didn't wait around to watch his body drop—she swung the rifle to the left and quickly dispatched his partner before it became difficult to follow him with the scope and she would have to track him.
Leah hummed in approval and hopped up to her feet. Slinging her things back onto her shoulder, she expertly clambered down the brick levels to the water.
It glittered appealingly in the noon sunlight. First glancing up and down the edges of the river to make sure there were no immediate threats, she popped a RadX and waded in. The water was cool, refreshing in the heat.
Her Pip-Boy immediately began to tick its disapproval, but she ignored it. She got almost halfway across when her feet could no longer touch the bottom. Gritting her teeth, she swallowed a huge gulp of air and dove.
Ahh, it was even better under the water. She floated for a moment, weightless, enjoying the lack of pressure on her shoulder blades. Then she propelled herself forward. All too soon, she felt the brick wall and surfaced. Curling her fingers around the wall's curb, she pulled herself up and onto the edge.
Leah leaned back and just enjoyed the open air for a moment. Sure, she was surrounded by dead raiders, but she was going to need a moment to dry her armor. Considering her only other option had been to walk around, swimming was worth it. Humming to herself, she took off her armor and set it to the side so she could wring the water out of her hair. She then peeled her shirt and pants from her skin and set them down to dry as well. She was just relaxing onto a nearby bench, pressed up against a wall, when a gruff voice called out, "Who's down there?"
Leah sighed and sat up. "I'm just a wastelander. Nothing to worry about."
An Outcast power armor helmet peeked out over the wall above her. "Oh," the voice said, clearly surprised and a little embarrassed. The man cleared his throat and pulled his head back. "You should put some clothes on, er . . . miss." It was obvious that he wasn't sure how to address her. "There are always things out here that would . . . um, hurt you," he called loud enough for her to hear.
"I know," she assured him, lying back down with a smile. "And I'm ready for them."
"What's going on down there?" another man called to the first.
"Just some girl. I mean, a girl," he corrected, realizing the first sounded rude.
"Come on, Rockfowl! We don't have time for dealing with locals."
"Do not speak to me in that tone," Rockfowl snapped reproachfully whoever it was. "Do not forget that I am a Defender, Jackson, and I am your superior."
Leah rolled her eyes. Great. Typical Outcast assholes. Why did he have to come down now? "I just want to sunbathe," she protested in a whine.
All she got was a grunt and some footsteps that were carrying down the steps about twenty feet away. Grumbling to herself, Leah got up and stuffed herself back into her wet clothes, an altogether very unpleasant sensation.
Rockfowl had reached the bottom and was just swinging into view by the time Leah was sitting back down again, legs crossed and foot waving impatiently in the air. He had slipped his helmet off of his head and was holding it between his elbow and side. She was surprised to find him attractive.
Leah found the Brotherhood and the Outcasts all good and merry. She didn't trust either of them really, but she would help one or the other out where help was required. The only thing was the Outcasts sure could be assholes whenever she encountered her in the wastes.
"Local." She fucking hated that word.
She planned to make that clear.
"Call me a 'local' and I swear to God, I will punch your fucking face in," she warned in a hiss, eyes blue slits of anger. "You'll regret having taken that helmet off."
"Whoa," Rockfowl sang, holding his hands up to portray his innocence. He smiled and his teeth were snow white. "There will be no need for that. I'm just here to make sure you know what you're doing." His eyes weren't looking at her face and she could see him take in the bruises still left on her neck.
Leah had slid the toes of her boot under her rifle where it lay on the ground beside her. In one quick motion, she kicked it up and caught it in mid-air, flashing the butt against her shoulder and, with a wicked grin, popped off one shot. It rushed right past Rockfowl's ear.
Deafened in his left ear and feeling not a little bit shaken, Rockfowl covered it with a smile. "So you are sharp. I have to say I'm glad I was wrong for once."
"Good to hear." She stuffed her rifle back into her bag and started retrieving pieces of her armor.
Rockfowl's eyes zeroed in on it. "Power armor, huh?"
"Uh-huh," she said matter-of-factly, fastening the plates around her body without looking at him.
"Brotherhood," he noted suspiciously, wondering if he'd been wrong about being wrong. Jesus, it gave him a headache to think in circles.
"Ah, wrong again, Rockfowl," Leah teased, finally meeting his eye again. "It's just regular ol' power armor. No big deal at all, see?" She did a twirl for him.
"But someone had to teach you how to use that thing," he countered, leaning against the brick wall and eyeing her skeptically. She was different and so damn confident.
And then he spotted her Pip-Boy. Of course! Of fucking course! How had he not noticed it before?
Easy. I was staring at her rack.
He shook the thought from his head, a sneaky grin appearing on his handsome face. "Lone Wanderer, huh? Can't believe I actually ran into you out here."
Her eyes didn't give away the slightest surprise that he'd figured it out. She seemed almost glad for it. "Yeah, well, Defender Rockfowl. Can't say I expected to see you out here either. Don't you usually just stick to Fort Independence and scare away mindless locals like me?" She shrugged her bag on and walked past him, wincing as she climbed the stairs.
He didn't seem surprised that she knew who he was either. "Let me get that for you," he offered unexpectedly and she laughed out loud.
"Thank you, Defender, but I've carried it this far. Plus it's great for my biceps." As proof she flexed her arm, the gesture pointless as it was hidden by her armor.
"Yeah, yeah, I'm sure you're ripped," he said, voice oozing with sarcasm as he fell into line behind her. They emerged together at the top of the stairs into an old parking lot, where two Outcasts stood around, their boredom and impatience evident in their body language even through power armor.
"And thanks for checking on me, though as you found out I don't need anyone's help," Leah chimed arrogantly, turning and walking away.
"Wait – where are you headed?" Rockfowl insisted, following her.
"Underworld." She grinned as he grimaced.
"Why Underworld? What would you be doing there?"
"Got a little bigotry in you there, Rockfowl?"
"No, it just doesn't seem like the place for a –,"
"You'd better stop there before I get real mad," she warned.
Rockfowl stopped talking but kept walking with her, despite her obvious irritation at his presence. "Let us escort you."
"With all due respect, Defender Rockfowl, fuck that," one of the Outcasts said from behind them. Obviously they'd been ordered to follow him, because they didn't let more than twenty feet come between them.
"Then leave," Rockfowl commanded coldly. "You two can handle the big, bad Wasteland on your own, can't you?"
Grumbling and cursing, the Outcasts whirled and walked in the opposite direction. By the time Rockfowl turned again, Leah was already a good fifty feet away.
"Hey! Wait!" he called, jogging after her.
"God damn it," she sighed, spearing him with an uneasy gaze. "What do you want from me, really? Honestly?"
"I'm . . . not sure," he admitted, the strength in his shoulders momentarily wavering. And then he shrugged it off and came face-to-face with her. She found that she liked the arch of his brows, sharp and almost arrogant. His five o' clock shadow added a scruffy look to the tamed, smooth cut of his brown hair.
But his eyes were what struck her. They were sincere eyes. Genuine eyes. And right now those eyes were looking hopeful.
"Let me escort you. You are famous, after all," he added, though the last comment seemed more like a thinly-veiled insult than anything.
Leah rolled her eyes. "Well, I can't stop you from coming with me, can I?"
Satisfied and showing it with a smile, Rockfowl made to put his helmet back on. Leah shook her head immediately.
"Trash it," she said disdainfully. "I hate when people wear helmets around me. I can't tell what they're going to do."
"You don't trust me?" he asked, having the gall to sound offended.
"I wouldn't trust you not to sneak up on me while I'm half-naked."
He laughed. It was a nice sound. Soft.
It contrasted sharply with Charon's cold demeanor and with that thought came the wave of frustration and lovesickness that had plagued her in Megaton. She swallowed and pressed on. It pleased her to see that Rockfowl had hung his helmet from the side of his armor, obliging her wishes.
Respect. It was a hell of a thing.
They walked in silence for a while. Leah's eyes never left the horizon and every tendril of sunshine that found life there. Rockfowl watched her, curious. The famous Vault Girl. He could certainly see why Three Dog had such a boner for her. She was smart and funny and cute as hell. And a great shot.
God, he liked her already.
"May I ask a question?" he said suddenly, catching her off-guard.
"Mmn?" she said as a response. They'd reached Anacostia Crossing and he held the metro gates open for her. She smiled in surprise as if no one had ever done that for her before and then ghosted into the darkness of the subway.
"Why are you going to Underworld exactly?" He closed the gates and took the lead, eyes sharply surveying the darkness.
"To get a haircut."
He stopped. The words were just so . . . unexpected. And then he burst into laughter because he just couldn't help it and that's how it was.
She laughed too, knowing how absurd it sounded. "It's weird, but it's the honest truth."
"Can't you get one a little closer-to-home?"
"Hmm." She sought out the right words to describe her odd and strong urge. "I guess I could, but for some reason it just wouldn't feel right unless Snowflake did it. That's the guy I go to," she explained, smiling at the memory of his humor, "Snowflake. He's a ghoul, obviously, and he used to be a stylist. He loves cutting my hair, because ghouls don't exactly give him much to work with. I don't know, I just wouldn't feel right letting anybody else do it," she confessed.
"Huh." That was it. Just 'huh.'
"To tell the truth, I just got into a fight with a . . . friend," she admitted, turning pink and glad that it was dark. Talking about it made shame light up like a fire within her and burn the insides of her skin. "I . . . I did something bad and he got angry and left." She looked anywhere but at her new companion's face. "It was pretty bad. And I feel like to get over it I need to lose some hair. It's an odd sort of want that I don't even understand."
Rockfowl was silent for some time. And then he asked the inevitable:
"Is he the one that hurt your neck?"
There was no other logical explanation. A fighter as experienced as he would never allow someone to get close enough to even touch her, let alone not be able to fight them off until the bruising had become that bad. It had to have been someone she cared about. He felt at once very angry and very jealous, a thrillingly unexplainable sensation as he'd only just met her.
Leah didn't answer, but she didn't need to.
"That's unacceptable. You know that, right?"
She just sighed and the sound was bitter.
"He was a slave and I freed him. But I kept it a secret because I didn't want him to leave me. I wanted him for myself and, just like the evil I sought to purge, I kept him. Now you tell me, Defender, just how acceptable that is."
It was night time or it was day time. Why couldn't he tell anymore? The hours were crunching together with the ferocity of starving men, merging into one solid drill of time and it was slowly penetrating his skull and he knew that it wouldn't stop until it had severed every last lingering ligament that connected him to reality.
And this was his life. It had been this way before, only there had been a reason: slavery. That had been the iron circle around his neck, the metal overtaking his brain and filling it with hatred, washing out every last desire to live. In the brief moments where he was with her, that hatred had been gone. She'd been the sun, shining light into every last crevice of his brain and exposing the desires and wants that he had pushed away in order to escape the disappointment, the self-hatred, the hopelessness. The desires and wants that gave him the will to live again.
When was the last time he'd actually wanted to do something? Something that wasn't killing or fighting or watching somebody die.
And now he was right back where he started but it was accelerated. He'd gotten his wish: freedom. And he'd always wanted this one thing, freedom from the hatred, freedom from killing, freedom from anguish and bitterness. He'd gotten freedom. And his first act as a freed man?
Why, to strangle the woman who freed him. Of course. What else would you expect from a slave? A soulless heathen who couldn't comprehend emotions, could see only in steel and alcohol?
With a tremulous roar, his entire body seized up and in one last, gasping breath his soul lashed out against its new captor, this rancor, this rage, and it broke through the hard, metal shell that contained it and he collapsed onto the ground because it was done, it was finally done and he was free, god damn it, he was free.
Then it shone bright as the sun within him, fierce and obsessive and stubborn, so brightly that he wondered why he couldn't see it even through the preexisting haze of fury.
He wanted her and if it was the last goddamn thing he would do in this ruined world, he would have her.