- XIII -

Dirge for the Lost

Raine sat at the edge of the chair, face blank as she tinkered with the custom-built radio on her desk. A single lamp illuminated this corner of her room, enough for her to see her work, but not so bright that it triggered another migraine. Dull pain still throbbed from the poorly stitched incision on the back of her head, and no matter how she moved, she felt the weight of the metal chip fused to her skull.

Her fingers worked in automatic motions, screwing the last pieces of the radio into place even though the reason for its construction escaped her at the moment. She hadn't done any electronics job in several months, but after returning from the surgical procedure earlier, her first instinct had been to blow the dust off the project and resume work on it. The repetitive actions gave her something to focus on, kept her from noticing the effects of the artificial rewiring in her brain.

She paused when the front door of her apartment slid open and preceded a chorus of boisterous voices. At least four, all male. They came closer until someone pushed the button for her bedroom door. She brushed her shortened hair to the side and set down her tools, standing and rotating toward the entrance.

All four rowdy Tunnel Snake members stumbled inside, chattering amongst themselves as they invaded her space. Paul flopped onto her bed in a laughing fit, followed by Wally, who took a long swig from a flask. Butch had Freddie by the collar of his jacket, and he tossed him to the floor as soon as he spotted her at the far side of the room.

"There she is! The most hated girl in the Vault!" Butch hollered, teetering in place as he threw his arms out to the sides in a dramatic gesture. "Also known as our buddy Freddie's MIA lesbian girlfriend. Wow, nice haircut. Makes you actually look the part of a full-fledged dyke. So where've you been lately, kitty-licker? You haven't been chasing pussy behind his back and not even having the courtesy to let him watch, have ya?"

Paul and Wally broke out into another round of chortling while Freddie picked himself up and hovered unsteadily next to her dresser. She refrained from answering as she studied her boyfriend. In a sudden and startling instant, her vision zoomed in by itself on his flushed cheeks and dilated pupils, taking in the symptoms of alcohol and chem use before zooming out again. The abrupt shifts in perspective left her dizzy, and she swayed back against her desk to regain her balance.

"Hey, look at that. You been drinkin' too?" Butch jeered, stalking toward her. "Good! Let's let bygones be bygones, huh? Tonight's the night we throw a 'Fuck the Overseer' party! Hosted by yours truly and this bitch, the number one target on his hit list."

Raine barely reacted when he seized a fistful of her jumpsuit and shook her. The jostling movement sent sharp stabs through her head, but her expression remained detached even as the pain reached unbearable heights. Butch seemed to notice her apathy, for he ceased at once and scowled at her.

"The fuck is up with you?" he demanded, smelling of whiskey as he leaned closer to her face. "You were supposed to cuss me out and throw me a jab by now. What gives?"

She stared back at him, feeling no oncoming emotional response. "I don't know."

"You broken or somethin'? Not even gonna chew us out for barging into your place at one in the morning? Hey, Freddie, what happened to your girl? It's like she got smacked on the head and changed personalities—"

Now she did wince when he grabbed the back of her skull, his fingertips swiping over the shaved area and uneven stitches. Butch stopped, his sneer disappearing. His brow knitted as he turned her around to get a glimpse of her head from behind.

"What the hell?"

Both Paul and Wally's laughter died down when they caught sight of the jagged stitch work running from the top of her cranium to the base of her neck. She felt a trickle of blood rolling along the bottom few stitches, telling her that one of them had ripped open. Her gaze went to the baseball cap hanging on the wall, which she had planned to wear around her father until her hair grew back and hid the gash.

"Raine!" Freddie exclaimed, coming forward to take her from Butch's grasp. "Holy shit, babe. What happened?"

She merely shrugged, her usual answer to his questions in the past few months. An unexpected dark look passed over his features, which caused her to hesitate at the uncharacteristic expression. Before she could analyze it, however, Butch reached around her and gave Freddie's shoulder a push.

"Don't get all lovey-dovey on me now, Gomez," the Tunnel Snake leader drawled. "I thought that Buffout and vodka mix was supposed to make you all manlier and shit."

Raine blinked. Buffout and vodka? But his chlorpromazine meds…

She noticed the tightness that had entered Freddie's jaw, the veins protruding beneath his skin.

"Yeah, well…" he muttered, although the tension in his muscles contradicted his passive reply.

"So… what should we do now?" Paul inquired, sounding uncertain as he hopped up from her bed. "We've got at least two hours before the doc gets off work, but if she's too injured to get into a party throw down…"

"Why don't we fuck her instead?"

All eyes swung to Wally, who was already unzipping his jacket and advancing on her. Although he seemed the least under the influence of a substance, he appeared dead serious. Raine made no effort to evade him when he stopped in front of her, but deep inside the crevices of her altered mind, an echo of her suppressed voice reached out from the darkness.

"Hey, man, cut it out. That ain't funny," Freddie said in a warning tone as he wedged himself between them.

Wally snickered. "Heh, look at this. Did you actually grow a pair, Freddie-boy?" he mocked, shoving him out of the way. "Nice, but share the wealth. You've been keeping her to yourself for months now. It's a crime that the hottest girl in the Vault went from being a lesbian to dating you."

"You asshole, is that why you told Butch to bring the party over here?" Freddie snapped, quite unlike himself as he shoved Wally back. "So you could put the moves on my girl?"

Butch stepped in before Wally could retaliate, taking Freddie's arms and holding them behind his back as he dragged him a few paces away. "Hey, hey, relax. We're all friends here, right?"

"That's my fucking girlfriend he's about to lay his paws on! She and I haven't even—" Freddie cut himself off at that point, seeming to realize his error when Wally's eyes lit up.

"Haven't what? You two haven't even done it yet?"

The strained hush that fell over the room provided the answer. Wally grinned and whirled on Raine, who stood still as he wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her against him. Over his shoulder, she saw Freddie trying to free himself from Butch's grip, desperation and ire twisting his visage into something almost unrecognizable.

"Virgin, huh? Technically speaking. Hell, you've slept with more girls than Freddie has for sure," Wally murmured, peering down at her as he stroked her cheek. "Why don't I show you what it's like to be with a man?"

Raine turned her face away in the first sign of resistance when he leaned in to kiss her. Inside, she still felt numb, cold to the situation unfolding, but the distant thrum of her forgotten spirit grappled for acknowledgement in her hollow center. Wally moved his mouth to her ear, his tongue darting out to lick the creases, and she shuddered in revulsion out of reflex more than active dissent. As Freddie bit out a stream of expletives, Paul sidestepped toward the door, all traces of humor gone.

"Yo, I didn't sign up for this, guys," he declared, looking more disturbed than anything.

Wally backed Raine into her desk, seating her on the cluttered surface as he tugged down the zipper of her jumpsuit. "So watch or leave."

Paul needed no further persuasion, turning and bolting when Wally's hand slipped beneath her undershirt to squeeze her right breast. She kept her line of sight fixed straight ahead, catching Freddie's enraged struggling when Wally shifted enough for her to see behind him. What drew her attention, however, was the ambivalent quality in Butch's features.

He observed the scene while still restraining Freddie, neither enjoyment nor consternation evident in his face. If anything, he seemed hesitant, conflicted, giving no clear clue to his personal opinion on the matter. Similar to her surprise at Freddie's atypical behavior, she found herself having to digest this bewildering demeanor coming from Butch. She maintained her gaze on him even as Wally spread her legs and settled between them, his rough fingers attempting to strip her of the top half of her jumpsuit.

"She's not even resisting," he snorted, pausing to glance at his fellow gang members. "You see this, Freddie? She obviously wants me."

No. I don't.

Her inner voice had managed to break through to the surface of her consciousness, weak and faint, but tangible enough for her to hear it.

Freddie went very still, a shadow falling over his countenance. His glare snapped to her, both incredulous and condemning. "What're you doing, Raine? Push him off! Fight him! Why are you just taking it?"

She only regarded him in silence, at a loss for the correct action to take. Trapped by her own damaged mindset, she lacked the will to save herself from this defilement. Harsh betrayal flashed across Freddie's eyes, and she saw the denunciation there, the new fury directed solely at her. He faulted her. He blamed her.

But she was no longer human enough to care.

"Wally, maybe we should call it a night, huh?" Butch suggested out of the blue, releasing Freddie when the latter stood motionless in place. "This party's lost its vibe. Let's ditch this joint and go find more booze."

Wally shot him a peculiar vexed look. "We're not finished here. I'm not finished with her."

Raine uttered no sound when he tore her undershirt in half, hardly blinking when he went on to slide his arms around her and fumble with the clasp of her bra. Both Butch and Freddie appeared paralyzed from their own individual dilemmas. And as she focused on the picture frame hanging at the far wall, Wally brought his lips back to her ear, whispering in tones low enough for the others to miss.

"Nothing personal. Overseer's orders."

He yanked off her bra in one fluid motion, but then froze when her bare chest came into view. Another shift in the atmosphere pervaded the room at that moment. She already knew what he and the others were gaping at, as even in the dimness, the ultraviolet markings glowed across her sternum.

"The hell are these?" he asked, inspecting them closer. "Blueprint drafts? Tattooed on?"

She shut her eyes and recalled the stabbing of the needles over her skin, along with the verbal explanation of the next phase of her clinical sessions in the coming months. Wally was correct in his deduction, for they did function as blueprints of sorts. She peered down at the pattern they made over her chest, the way they stretched up to her clavicle and wound along the space between her breasts. They could almost have been attractive in design, if not for the reality of their purpose lurking behind the effervescent colors.

In the corner of her eye, she saw Butch stiffen, and when she glanced at him, the shock and trepidation he exhibited took her aback.

"Wally, we're done with this," he asserted, firm in his order as he tore his gaze away from her. "Let's. Go."

"Fuck you," Wally returned, still leering at her chest. "If you can't go through with it, fine, but I'm going to have her."

In a flash, something hauled him away from her and flung his thrashing body to the floor. Raine started at the abrupt action, lips parting when she spotted her boyfriend towering over him. Freddie bared his teeth in a ferocious expression as he delivered a hard kick to his fellow Tunnel Snake's ribs.

"Stay the fuck away from my girlfriend," he growled, no semblance of his usual timid manner anywhere to be found. "Now get the hell outta here before I kick your sorry ass, Mack."

Although Wally glowered and sprang to his feet, ready to attack, Butch came up and seized him from behind, using the momentum to throw him off balance.

"You two punks are a fuckin' pain to deal with," Butch grunted, dragging a cursing Wally after him as he made his way to the exit. "Fighting over some lesbian like she's the goddamn Holy Grail. At least know how pathetic that makes you look, for fuck's sake."

Freddie trailed them to the doorway and hit the button to shut it once they crossed into the hall. Their arguing voices continued for another thirty seconds before Butch managed to lug Wally out of the apartment, at which point peace finally descended over the area. Raine watched as Freddie braced himself against the closed door, his shoulders taut beneath the shine of his leather jacket. Minutes went by in quiet tension, and she stirred only when the vents came on and blew cool air against her bare skin.

Freddie took a few calming breaths and then straightened, turning to her. "You were really gonna let him have his way with you."

Raine shook her head, but said nothing as he advanced on her, the aggression radiating from him in waves. He grabbed her by the arms and pulled her from the desk, his harsh grip digging into her flesh as he pierced her with a wild look of anger and hurt. She remained impassive when he moved his hands to cup her face, accepting his frantic kisses and rough handling.

"I barely see you anymore. You don't tell me anything that's happening. I don't even know what the hell all this is," he told her in a hoarse timbre, running his nails down the length of her chest over the markings. "You've never gone all the way with me. And you were just gonna sit there and let Wally fuck you? Do you know how much that fucking pisses me off?"

She drew in a sharp breath when he reached down into her underwear and groped around before shoving his fingers inside her, the action sending ripples of pain throughout her lower abdomen. She tried to back away, but he used his free hand to rip the rest of her jumpsuit at the seams. Now almost fully naked with shreds of fabric at her feet, she grimaced as he pumped his digits in and out of her, the friction only worsening the agony of his clumsy ministrations.

"I'm not letting anyone else have you. Not Wally, not Amata, no one else. You're mine."

I'm not your property, the voice inside her head retorted, stronger now, but still imprisoned. And you're wrong in trying to guilt me.

A small noise issued from her throat when he suddenly withdrew, and she placed a tentative palm over her aching groin as he shed his jacket and unzipped his jumpsuit. She caught the scent of his arousal even before he freed his erection, the sheer size of it enough to send her pulse racing. As soon as he pushed her underwear down, a remnant of her inner self compelled her to latch onto his wrist. Unlike with Wally, some buried sentiment wished to preserve Freddie's integrity. She could live with the violation from a man she'd never cared for. But from this—despite her waning humanity—they would never recover.

"You're walking on thin ice."

The choice of words that spilled from her mouth were reminiscent of what she would have said as her former self, but in a stroke of misfortune, they caused the opposite of the intended effect.

Freddie's eyes narrowed, lust and resentment eclipsing the love he'd once felt for her. "Baby… you're the one on thin ice here."

She had no time to react as he spun her around and slammed her face-first into her desk. The impact jolted her vision into a temporary white light, and she registered the sensation of several screws lodged into her cheek as he lined himself up behind her. His inexperience made itself apparent in his attempts to find her entrance, but when he located it, he grasped her hips and plunged into her with one hard thrust.

Freddie, no!

Nothing could describe the pain of her hymen breaking in such a violent manner, the unbearable feeling of being stretched to her limits as he groaned and pulled out to drive into her again. And again. Over and over. Her nails raked into the edges of her desk, eyes watering, and soon she felt the blood dribbling down her inner thighs.

Stop it! You swore you wouldn't!

As he continued his carnal abuse of her body, he cried out proclamations of how much he loved her. They fell on deaf ears, for she had retreated within herself. With this deed committed, the final vestiges of her previous identity faded to nothing.

I won't forgive this.

Her lifeless gaze drifted to the unfinished radio, and in a belated recollection, she remembered it had been the one she'd started building earlier that year to surprise him on his birthday. It sat there next to her, rocking to the rhythm of his ruthless thrusts. As her mentality shattered, she thought she heard some evocative descant flowing from the speakers. It circled and embraced her, guiding her into its silent melody.

A dirge for the lost.

And with that, Raine Sinclair entered into the eternal sleep.

"Subject number seven-five-eight-one-zero-one…"

She opened her eyes and blinked up at the discolored metal ceiling, waiting for the aftereffects of the dream to subside. Several things hurt, some she identified right away—such as her healing lip and side wound. Others, buried deeper, proved much harder to label.

After a few minutes, she rose and pushed herself from the bed, stretching as the regular bustle of Rivet City resonated through the corridors. A disconcerting mixture of thoughts whirled through her mind, but one detail of note stuck out to her. This time, after reliving one of her worst memories, she had actually come out of it all right.

The floor felt warm under her feet as she padded over to her wardrobe. Reaching for one of the water bottles inside, she stopped when she sensed something out of place, a feeling she'd had about this particular piece of furniture for a while now. In light of her unusual calm mood, however, she dismissed it and took several long gulps of purified water, urging her thoughts toward her agenda for the day.

Whether by strength of will or as a sign that she had begun to move on, she found it easier to avoid dwelling on certain aspects of the past.

After all, she had awoken, and that was a miracle in and of itself.

x-x-x-x-x

The instant Raine stepped out of her room, she almost walked right into someone passing by.

"Whoa, my fault," she said, recognizing Ted Strayer's unkempt attire as he dragged half a Robobrain after him.

He paused to shoot her a lopsided grin. "Hey, you're Raine," he remarked in a splendid demonstration of short-term memory, considering he had just seen her the other day. "They recruited me as another lifter for your science team. Check it out."

"Uh, cool," she replied when he jiggled the defunct robot parts in his grip. "Just drop it off at the lab, and Pinkerton and I will see what we can do with it."

"Sure thing, boss," Ted intoned amicably, going on his way.

She watched him head down the corridor, noting his more sober demeanor. Approving of the change, she adjusted her mechanic jumpsuit and strode toward the hotel lobby, intending to pick up a bottle of Nuka-Cola on her way to work. The typical sounds of muffled coughing emanated from the direction of the clinic, and as she made a mental note to ask Pinkerton about his progress on tracing the source of the sickness, she came to a halt as soon as she rounded the corner.

Someone who looked very much like Harkness stood behind the front desk of the lobby. No one else occupied the area, and she couldn't help gawking at him as he shuffled through a stack of papers. The uncanny resemblance struck her hard, and the only reason it couldn't have been the android was that this man wore a casual blue button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows instead of the iconic black armor of the city's security chief.

However, when he glanced over at her, an amused expression crossed his face. "Something wrong, Raine?"

Her jaw dropped. Oh hell, it is him.

"What… what's with that getup?" she demanded, coming closer and pointing an accusing finger at his shirt. "And why are you here looking like you had a midlife crisis career change?"

He sent her a wry grin. "Today's one of my rare days off, but apparently that means covering for Vera while she takes Mister Buckingham in for repairs. I'm just here until she gets back."

Raine hovered at the other side of the desk, giving him a critical once-over. "You look weird like that."

"You sound so offended."

"Because this does things to my perception of you."

"What kinds of things?"

Her witty rejoinder died in her throat when he leaned forward on his elbows, his lips turning up into a devilish smile. Some vaguely familiar sensation swept into her chest, but she brushed it away at once as she stood there like a speechless idiot, heat creeping into her cheeks. He seemed different today, even beyond the attire. A certain ease had entered his posture, enough to almost convince her he had transcended his android status. She reminded herself of his true nature, but he had the build of a man, carried himself like a man, and identified as a man.

And for some reason, she suddenly found those facts bothersome.

"S-so listen," Raine stammered, coughing a bit as she grew conscious of her grungy appearance, "I was just going to grab some Nuka-Cola from here, but since Vera's out—"

A bottle appeared on the desk, and he scooted it toward her, a strange glint entering his eye. "Would this count as buying you a drink?"

Raine was fairly certain she resembled a deer in headlights—or however that old world saying went—as her own careless words from the previous day came back to haunt her.

"Do you always get this flustered when you stop hating people?"

"God, what's with you today?" she snapped, swiping the Nuka-Cola and clutching it in front of her like a warding talisman. "And I never said I don't hate you anymore, just so you know."

Harkness actually chuckled at that. "I'm only giving you a hard time."

"I had no idea you had a sense of humor."

"And I'm surprised you know what humor is."

Raine scoffed, crossing her arms. "Touché."

"This beats constantly going for each other's throats, though, doesn't it?"

She studied him for a few wary seconds before forcing herself to relax in the slightest. "I guess." Fingertips tapping on the cold soda bottle, she went on to ask, "So, substitute manager, huh? How'd you get roped into this gig?"

He sighed, exasperation taking over. "Danvers," he lamented. "I can always count on her to volunteer me for the most troublesome tasks."

Raine lowered her gaze to his papers, which she realized were actually security reports. "Yeah… again, thanks for taking on the task of looking after me while I was a raving lunatic. Sorry you had to do it, though."

Harkness's face fell, and he bumped forward into the desk as if attempting to step toward her. "No, I didn't mean… I want you to know it wasn't any trouble," he declared firmly. When she didn't answer, he softened his tone and inquired, "How are you feeling?"

She peered up at him and made a so-so gesture with her hand. "Not bad. I've been falling apart at the seams, but at least now I'm all patched up. Putting me down for good isn't that easy."

His irises gleamed in the lighting as he watched her, the standard computations flitting across the surface. Although he remained quiet, a predictable look came over his countenance.

Raine exhaled and shifted her weight from one foot to the other. "You have a question. Go on, just spit it out."

Harkness offered her a brief grin and then stated, "That night on the flight deck, due to my presence, you said it was the first time you could control something. Naturally, I'd like an elaboration. What did you mean?"

She deliberated on her answer before placing the Nuka-Cola bottle back on the desk and holding out her hands. "This. My physical abilities. I can't use them at will. Not typically. They activate when I have heightened emotions or when I experience some kind of trauma. Sometimes, like that night, I'll go into this autopilot mode and do things I'm aware of, but have no control over. It's been like this ever since I left the Vault, but it got worse after my attack."

"Things you have no control over…" He rubbed his temple, seeming perplexed. "I've scanned you an infinite number of times, gone over your biology, physiology, and anatomy like clockwork. What's the source of these abilities? I haven't detected any cybernetics or implants. As far as anyone's concerned, you're a fully organic human."

Raine reached up and felt the back of her head, where the raised scar tissue formed a long trail underneath her hair. "I told Preston to keep quiet about this, but I have a parietal chip welded to my skull. Its original purpose was to amplify my senses, but it fizzled out and turned into a nullifier for systems trying to scan me. I think it's the reason I started hallucinating after taking that blow to my head; the chip probably got damaged."

Harkness furrowed his brow and walked around the desk. "May I?"

His khaki slacks and sharp loafers came into view as he marched toward her, and when she caught herself staring at the way he moved in civilian clothing, she averted her gaze. He came to stand behind her, his proximity still overwhelming, but no longer as unpleasant. She hesitated for a few beats, but then undid her ponytail and parted her hair to reveal the scar. The moment his fingers touched her scalp, it took everything she had to keep from jumping.

"Jesus," he murmured, following the jagged scar all the way down to her neck. "Just what all have you been through?"

Her lashes lowered as the most honest response came forth. "A lot."

His touch lingered on her skin, the warmth of it seeping into her body. When he next spoke, his voice had taken on a hushed quality. "But my presence makes a difference for you."

The words hovered between a statement and a question, suspended across the stillness of the lobby.

Raine stepped away to break their contact. "Yeah. I'm still trying to figure out why."

Harkness observed her as she faced him, appearing intrigued. "I've never heard of a nullifier working that well before. So you do have cybernetic enhancements?"

She brought a hand to her sternum, where the numerous layers of crisscrossing gash scars covered the area the blueprint markings once occupied. "You have no idea."

The somber declaration hung between them, but before the conversation went any further, Vera rushed inside, looking distraught.

Harkness switched his attention to her. "What's wrong?"

"Bryan is missing," the hotel manager announced in a trembling voice. "I think Sister managed to kidnap and run off with him."

x-x-x-x-x

A/N: Longest flashback ever, holy crap. I actually had to cut out a huge chunk of the content intended for this chapter and move it to the next one. That's good, though, because at least the writing is flowing. (I worked on this for sixteen hours straight, a decision I will regret in the morning.) See you all next chapter!