Chapter 10

Penny Fitzgerald's shop was as scrubbed free of dirt as the owner herself. As they walked in, she was leaned over her counter, pointed chin in her hands as she gabbed with an equally clean woman wearing a pink dress.

"That last caravan?" Penny giggled. "They were rather… fragrant, weren't they?"

"Well, the guards were ghouls, so what did you expect? But honestly, would it kill any of the humans to bathe once in awhile?"

"Talia didn't seem to mind the guards." Penny wrinkled her nose. "But then, she never does…"

"Ladies," boomed Jacob with a false smile and a nervous glance in Beatrice and Deacon's direction. "Don't let me interrupt your… er, girl talk, but I wanted to introduce some potential new business partners to you, Mrs. Fitzgerald."

The woman in pink blushed the same color as her dress and hurried out, ducking her head as she walked past them. Penny straightened the front of her own vibrant green dress, her thin lips stretching across her sharp face in a smile that seemed a little anxious.

"Oh! Welcome to my shop. So happy to meet new folks. I hope Swanson didn't give you too hard a time? He's so serious I swear he scares off more people than lets in!"

"Mrs. Fitzgerald," Jacob said in a low tone, and her half-expressed giggle ended and she looked rather irritated and embarrassed.

Feeling that some goodwill was needed here, Beatrice grinned secretively at Penny, leaning forward to rest her hands on the counter. "I have to agree with you about the baths, Mrs. Fitzgerald. Hot water isn't that expensive! You'd think no one ever heard of soap these days!"

Penny beamed, looking triumphantly at Jacob. "I know! That's what I've been saying. Well, what a refreshing change this is. Some of these caravans are so dour and stiff, clomping around like a protecteron, but you folks will fit right in around here…" She hesitated a little, seeing Rob's ghoulish features behind them at the door, but returned her focus to Beatrice. "So, what can I do for you?"

Beatrice laid out their pitch, placing the four fusion cores they'd brought with them on the counter, Jacob and Penny's eyes growing larger with each she pulled out. When the talk turned to caps—Deacon's stated role in the business—Beatrice took the opportunity to back out of the store. With any luck, she'd get a chance to meet Honest Dan without anyone watching.

"Penny, dear," she said, "it's been such a long trip. Is there a place a lady might freshen up?"

"Oh! Of course. My apartment is right upstairs. You can use my—"

"Let me get Brian to show you the guesthouse," Jacob said, interrupting Penny. "You can stay there tonight, free of charge."

Penny deflated a little, but Jacob missed the grumpy look she aimed at his back.

"I'm not sure that we were planning on staying the evening," Beatrice demurred.

"Come now, Mrs. Wake," Jacob said in a coaxing tone. "It's nearly dinner time, after all. The trek back to Bunker Hill or Diamond City would take hours. Let us show you some real pre-war hospitality."

"It won't hurt to take one night off, I guess," Deacon said. "And it would be nice to see more of the town."

"Then I guess we'll stay," Beatrice said, smiling.

Jacob escorted her out of store and flagged down a man with slicked back dark hair and a square jaw. "Brian, this is Mrs. Wake. She and her husband will be staying here tonight. Could you show her to the guesthouse?"

"Sure thing, Mr. Mayor. Nice to meet you, Mrs. Wake. Here on business?"

"Word certainly travels fast here in Covenant."

"I'm the closest thing to a security guard that our settlement has," he said with a chuckle. "It's my business to know of any newcomers in town. We're a tight-knit group here, and a lot of wasters—if you'll pardon the expression, ma'am—aren't used to our ways, so we all do our best to help them out."

And check to make sure they're not causing any mischief, she added silently. As they crossed the expansive square, Beatrice's eye snagged on the one element standing out in the landscape: a man with long hair, unkempt beard and ragged leathers was leaning over a settler, a scowl on his face.

Brian followed her gaze and frowned.

"Not a resident, I assume?" she asked.

"No, another guest like yourself," he said, though his smile this time was a little more strained. "Like I said, some wasters aren't used to our ways. Would you excuse me a moment? I need to have a word with Mr. Honest Dan before he talks our residents to death."

Beatrice wanted to edge closer to catch what was being said, but that would be suspicious, so she stayed put.

While they were waiting, she found herself glancing at Rob out of the corner of her eye. They hadn't really had a chance to talk one on one. But this place with its smells of cut grass and clean laundry made her feel closer to her previous life than she'd felt in a very long time. Rob looked different than her memories—apart from the obvious, of course. Radiation had taken away his hair, nose, and most of his skin, but he was also shorter than she recalled—the years adding inches in her mind. He was still taller than her, with an inch or two on Deacon. He was leaner too, though she supposed that was probably more due to the lack of ideal nutrition in the Commonwealth than any ghoulish change.

"Take a picture," he said, shifting on his feet. "It'll last longer."

"Sorry," she said, blushing. "I didn't mean to stare. It's just… This place reminds me of… back then. It got me thinking of old times." The houses in Covenant weren't like the houses in Sanctuary, but she and Nate toured a neighborhood that looked very much like this when they were house-hunting. Beatrice had hoped it would be a new start for them: she was expecting a baby—Nate's baby—maybe he would stop seeing his lover and be an attentive father-to-be. But he hadn't, of course, and on her worst days—the sudden memory made her cheeks burn—she'd escaped from her crushing reality to that one night in the back of a stranger's car to a world where Rob's breath was hot on her neck. A world where Nate had been left behind in the motel room, with suitcases and expectations and bitter disappointment.
But the escape was only ever that, and when the fantasy ended, Beatrice nursed her broken heart, stoking her last glimmer of happiness, to rekindle it for another day. But that memory of his kiss… she hadn't thought about that in awhile. Having Shaun to care for had helped ease Rob out of her mind too. Nothing like an utterly dependant infant to chisel your focus into a fine point.

With a twist of guilt in her stomach, Beatrice thought of Deacon. Just thinking of him, of his smile, made fluttery feelings erupt in her stomach that she didn't know what to do with. She knew she cared about Deacon more than she'd thought, but he was so hard to read even at the best of times. Did he care that she and Rob had a fling (if you could call one passionate makeout session a fling)? Did it matter if he cared? It wasn't as if he was in a position to object, she thought grumpily.

"Oh," Rob said, startling her out of her thoughts about oblivious men. "I've been thinking about old days too. You know, um, I went back to that shooting range every day for two weeks, hoping to see you again."

Beatrice blinked. "You did?"

"Yeah." He chuckled, sounding embarrassed. "I mean… well, I'm a sucker for a good story and I was hoping you weren't going to be 'the one that got away.'" He smiled and Bea's heart gave a little thump of remembrance. His smile was unchanged even by the ravages of radiation. "Guess I didn't know what story I was in."

Brian Fitzgerald walked back to them at that moment, looking irritated. "I have to go. The guest house is just there—the green one. Speak to Mr. Singh; he'll show you where you and your husband can stay."

"What about Mick?" Beatrice gestured at Rob.

Brian looked startled, as if he hadn't even noticed Rob was there. "Hmm... well, the guest rooms are small, and…" He leaned in closer to Beatrice, though his voice didn't lower much. "I don't know if we can let your ghoul have an extra bed. The smell, you see… it might upset the other guests."

Beatrice had never had such a hard time keeping a smile on her face, though she wanted to smack the sneer off of Brian's.

"Mick is a valued employee," she said in a cold voice, her hands clenching. "I may rethink my decision to do business—"

"Mrs. Wake, it's fine," Rob rasped. "I prefer sleeping outside anyway. 'Sides, if the room is small, I don't want to be stepped on in the middle of the night if you or Mr. Wake have to get up to use the bathroom."

"Well, I guess that's settled then," Brian said cheerfully. "Let Mr. Singh know and he'll get an extra sleeping bag. We always keep several on hand for bigger caravans." He waved and headed toward his office.

"Thanks, Bea," Rob said in a quiet voice. "But you don't have to stick up for me; I've had 200 years to get used to it."

"Everyone needs someone to stick up for them," she said in an equally low tone. "I'm sorry you haven't had enough people to stick up for you."

He chuckled. "There's the fire I remember. Saw that within the first five minutes I met ya."

She fought the blush staining her cheeks, glad that she couldn't look at him without compromising her cover.

"I… I owe you an apology," she murmured, keeping her eyes fixed on the door to the green guest house. "For back then. Before the bombs. I was in a… I was having a bad day, and I think I used you to feel better about myself, and it was wrong, and I'm sorry."

"Thanks, but you don't have to do that. I sort of figured as much after you left. Well, I ain't saying it didn't startle the hell outta me, but after awhile I got over it and thought, you know, I can either be real bitter about a pretty married girl who came and kissed me senseless, or I can just remember how much fun it was. And after the bombs fell… well, that memory and others were happier things to dwell on than my skin falling off." His fingers touched her elbow as they reached the porch of the guest house. "Careful of the steps there, Mrs. Wake."

She turned and there was a look of such utter longing in his eyes that it almost took her breath. If they had been alone, she was certain he would have kissed her again.

What's more, she might have let him.

#

Like all the other residents of Covenant she had met so far, Mr. Singh had a pleasant smile and a cheerful attitude. He was at least more polite to Rob than Mr. Fitzgerald and gave him an extra blanket along with the sleeping bag.

"I saw another guest of Covenant on the way here," she said casually, as Mr. Singh bustled behind the counter with the extra blanket. "I think I heard him called Dan? Is he staying here as well?"

Mr. Singh's friendly smile dimmed. "No, ma'am. He is also sleeping outside—he won't bother you, and if he does, just talk to Mr. Fitzgerald."

"Oh, that's a relief." Beatrice fussed with her bag, watching Mr. Singh out of the corner of her eye, but he seemed flustered, and she didn't think she could press the issue of Dan again without provoking some suspicion. Perhaps he'd be amenable to gossip later.

"If you need me, Mrs. Wake," Rob said as Mr. Singh gave him the sleeping bag and blanket. "I'll be out back."

The guest house was just a regular house, though it had been partitioned off into something like a tiny bed and breakfast with two bedrooms upstairs converted into miniature suites with Mr. Singh's apartment on the lower floor with the kitchen and dining room.

Everything was clean—even the mattress looked new—and there was a bathroom with actual working plumbing, though Mr. Singh told her apologetically that hot water could only be turned on by request, and then not very long.

Upstairs, the landing ended at three doors: the common use bathroom and two bedrooms, one of which was already occupied by other guests. The room she would share with "Mr. Wake" was indeed small. Before the war, this might have been a child's room, or a nursery.

Two and a half strides were enough to cross the width of the room, which held a bed with crisp, clean linens, a nightstand with a working lamp, and a small but new chest of drawers, which she determined had been made by someone recently rather than it being a pristine pre-war antique. There were candles on the nightstand as well, which probably spoke to their energy consumption problem. Perhaps the electricity wasn't very reliable.

Beatrice used the facilities—toilet paper! Dear heaven, she wanted to cry over toilet paper—and splashed water on her face, wondering if Covenant's miraculous stores had any makeup. She'd kill for mascara. Then she smiled at herself in the mirror, rueful. She was here on a mission, not to get dazzled by reminders of what her life once was.

But the illusion truly vanished when she re-entered the bedroom and sat down on the mattress. A glint out of the corner of her eye made her look into the dark corner above the doorway, almost hidden by a high bookshelf, and a chill ran down her spine as she tried to casually look away. There was a camera in the guest room.

"Mrs. Wake?" Mr. Singh's apologetic tone sounded from outside the bedroom door.

Beatrice jumped, startled, then patted her hair into place and opened the door. "Yes? Did you need something?"

"Yes, ma'am. The mayor wanted me to extend you and your husband an invitation to dinner tonight."

Beatrice bit her lip. "I should check in with my husband..." Weren't we going to sneak around tonight? And we still haven't met with Honest Dan... though Rob is probably doing that now.

"Ah, he has already accepted, ma'am."

"Oh. Good then. What's the time? When is dinner?"

"In a half-hour."

"Nancy?" came Deacon's voice from downstairs.

Mr. Singh hurried to his host duties, and she followed him to the top of the stairs. "Mr. Wake, your wife is just upstairs. Please, let me show you the way."

"No, thank you. I can see her." Deacon's smile grinned up at her from the first floor and she struggled to smile back, thinking about the camera. She'd have to be careful.

"Darling, I was just coming to check on the negotiations," she said as he ascended the stairs.

"Got some papers to look over already," he said in a pleased voice. He reached up to loosen his tie as she opened the door to their room.

"Been a long hike today. Gonna be glad to hit the sack later." He set down his pack near the bed.

When she closed the door behind them, she leaned against it, hoping that her glimpse of the camera had been accurate earlier and she was in its blind spot. "Joey," she said in a breathy voice, heart thudding, "I need you."

Deacon paused in the act of looking around the room, his expression frozen. "Uh, Nance?" His voice was uncertain, and she could tell she'd rattled him. Unfortunately she didn't have time to revel in the rare event of catching him off guard.

She took a step forward, yanking on his lapels and stumbling back so she was against the door again. "Kiss me, Joey," she moaned, then quickly in his ear, "There's a camera in the corner above the door frame."

The tension melted away from him. "Nancy, baby," he said, tilting his head to catch a glimpse of the device, "not sure if we have time for this…"

Beatrice laughed with real relief. "Don't worry. It'll be quick." She snatched the hat off his head and tossed it up, as if in sudden passion, and it hooked onto the black-painted cylinder's face.

"Ooh, just like that, baby," Deacon said, and she had to stifle uncontrollable giggles as he let out a theatrical moan that sounded like a deathclaw in heat. With quick hand signs to communicate and a few more dramatic groans, they swept the room. Beatrice found a vacuum tube-sized gizmo in the radio that shouldn't have been there, and Deacon located another of the devices under the bed. No other cameras, though. They turned the radio up—now listening device free—and kept the devices next to it while they plotted on the other side of the room.

"Rob's going to poke around tonight and make contact with Honest Dan while we schmooze the mayor," Deacon said while the singer on the radio wailed about lost love.

Beatrice nodded. "I was also thinking that I should try to get to know Penny more. She's an obvious gossip if I ever saw one. If something strange has been going on, she's bound to want to talk about it."

"Oh yeah, before I forget..." He pulled out a piece of paper from his pocket. "I found this in the trash can at Penny's store. Nicked it while they were drooling over the fusion cores."

Beatrice unfolded the paper, which looked like it had been crumpled before tossed in the garbage.

A reminder…

Covenant is a safe place. Whatever bad happened to you in the past won't happen here. But we've all got a job to do. We need word-of-mouth to spread so eventually dozens of people a week come through here.

So, some guidelines:

* Be welcoming, but don't make visitors uncomfortable
* Any opportunities to encourage visitors to bring their friends, exploit
* NEVER talk about synths
* NEVER talk about the Institute

"Why are they afraid to talk about the Institute?" Beatrice asked.

"Weird right? It's the favorite topic of conversation everywhere else. I mean, everyone's afraid of the Institute, but this place seems to take it to a new level," he said, frowning thoughtfully. "I'm also betting this note might not have been intended for public consumption. Interesting that it was thrown away. I didn't even really have to dig for it. It was laying right on top."

"Well, the mayor did seem a little upset with her gossip when we walked in. Maybe this note was for Penny herself and she didn't appreciate being singled out."

"Could be, even though it doesn't mention her by name." Deacon pulled out a silver watch on a chain from his waistcoat. "We only have five minutes till dinner. Better get ourselves to rights. They might be expecting us a few minutes late though."
Beatrice glared at the camera, still with Deacon's fedora hanging off it. "Sick perverts."

"I think it's more than just voyeurism," he said, pulling out a holotape from his inside jacket pocket. "This is a Railroad recruitment tape. I found it in the trash can in common area downstairs. Also? The terminal—a public one—was full of really culty sounding stuff: 'We're a community formed by like-minded individuals' and the SAFE test is so that 'good, quality folk' are the only ones let in. That, plus that note? There's definitely something weird going on here. Dez didn't say anything about us having a recruitment effort here already. But then, she wasn't sure about Amelia's knowledge of Railroad activities either."

He stood, rummaging around in his pack for a fresh tie.

"No, keep the wrinkled one," she said. "It'll sell the act that we… uh…" She blushed and couldn't finish the sentence.

"Got frisky?" he grinned, wiggling his eyebrows behind his sunglasses. "Joined the Railroad? Ran the bases at Diamond City? Supered the Mutant? Brotherhooded the Steel? Became real Minutemen? Ate all the Sugar Bombs?"

"Deacon!" She was shaking with laughter. "That last one doesn't even make sense!"

"I have dozens of these," he said, smug as he re-tied his tie to hang a little bit sloppy. "I could go all night."

"Sixty-minute man are you, now?" The quip left her mouth before her brain could put up a filter, and she clutched her still folded dinner dress to her chest like a shield.

Deacon laughed. "Wouldn't you like to find out?"

Then he froze, as if he too hadn't been completely aware of what he was saying, and they stood staring at each other in a suddenly full silence.

Beatrice's eyes dropped to his mouth. Abort, abort! She darted for the door. "I'm going to change," she squeaked and closed the door behind her, taking a deep breath.

"Atom's irradiated balls," she muttered, fanning her heated face, then walked into the bathroom.