Hancock was just starting to nurse a particularly brutal hangover when Fahrenheit knocked at his office door. He didn't have to open his eyes to know it was her; nobody else ever pounded the damn thing like it owed them big-time caps.
"You're gonna bust it off its hinges one-a these days," he groaned, pressing the cold bottle of a Nuka-Cola to his forehead. "And my fuckin' eardrums."
She ignored him. "Letter came for you, bright and early this morning. I really need to remind those morons that not every person who shows up at the front gate is worth waking me up for."
"Ugh, I can't open my eyes. Read it to me, wouldja?"
There was a heavy sigh - and a roll of her eyes, if he knew Fahrenheit - followed by the crisp sound of unfolding paper. "Mayor Hancock, Goodneighbor," she read in a flat tone. "I hope this letter finds you well.' Aw, ain't that sweet?"
"Without the fuckin' editorial," he growled, waving vaguely in her direction.
"'I've recently found myself in possession of a castle. I know, I know, the pre-war princess got herself a castle, I can hear your jokes already.' Damn, she's really got you good."
Hancock was already on his feet, snatching the slip of paper out of her hands. She tossed a pouch onto the coffee table, where it landed with a dull thud that sounded suspiciously like caps and scraped like nails at his sensitive ears. "Guy dropped that off, too. Said it was important."
He scrubbed a hand over his face and blinked his eyes into focus, continuing where Fahrenheit had left off.
Hope you're ready for a hike. Now that the Minutemen are back where they belong, it's time for me to start looking for my son again. I've got a few things to wrap up here first, but we should be by in a few days. We'll need a room for the night, and whatever rad chems Daisy can spare. The caps I've sent should more than cover it.
Then it's off into the glowing sea with us.
I promise I'm not looking for trouble. It just always seems to find me somehow.
xoxo,
General River Bautista
He scooped the pouch of caps up and weighed it in his hand, shaking his head. "Damn woman," he grumbled in a low rasp, then raised his voice to the curious redhead still waiting in front of him. "So, I might have to leave town in a few days. . . ."
"I think I can keep things from falling apart around here."
"Wouldn't keep ya around if you couldn't. Do me a favor and send someone to DC after Valentine, huh? Tell him . . . I don't know, tell him duty calls. That's pretty good, yeah?"
She gave a noncommittal shrug. "Not bad."
"Yeah, well. He'll know what it means."
Fahrenheit paused in the doorway, tapping calloused, nail-bitten fingers against the wooden frame. "You're goin' through an awful lot of trouble for this woman," she said over her shoulder.
Hancock lifted his head from the papers strewn over his desk, tipping one corner of his hat back and regarding her with a rare gravity in the black of his eyes. "I'm done standin' by and doin' nothin'. She needs help, and there's someone out there needs answerin' for what they did to her." Cracked lips stretched into a wide grin. "Besides, you know me. Soft spot for the damsel in distress and a good revenge story."
"I know," she agreed quietly. "I'm just hoping this one doesn't get you killed."
For once, MacCready woke up first. He could count the number of times that had happened on one hand and still have enough fingers left to reload his rifle. From the other side of the stone wall, he heard the waves coming in from the bay, lapping over the shore. Still dark, of course, because for some godforsaken reason River's internal clock insisted on keeping pace with the sun despite two centuries of cryogenic sleep. The dread of what faced them in the days ahead threatened to creep into the spare few inches between them, anchoring his mind toward ice-cold fear, but he nuzzled his face close to the curve of her neck and banished the unease with the comforting, familiar smell there that filled his nose - skin and soap and the lingering sweetness of vanilla.
He brushed thin, white strands of hair gingerly out of the way and pressed his mouth to the soft dip of skin under her jaw. After a brief moment he felt her pulse beneath his lips, one beat of her heart after another, slow, steady, strong, and he could almost lose himself in the rhythm of it if not for the tremble of her throat under his mouth when she purred out a sleep-rough laugh.
"You should be sleeping," she mumbled, rolling over to face him. The weak light of a distant, dying lantern played shadows over her features, wove pale gold into the white of her hair, her smile a vague, affectionate curve through the darkness. Christ, what a fuckin' picture. "We've got a lot of walking ahead of us."
"Don't remind me," he groaned, ducking his face against her collarbone.
Her fingers slid through his hair, nails scraping skin and sending shivers down his spine. "You could always stay here."
"Beautiful and funny. You're a regular miracle, aren't you?"
River laughed, shaking her head and pecking the side of his mouth. "Not in the least," she answered wryly.
He smiled, pushing up onto his elbows as she rolled out of bed and got to her feet. I could spend a lifetime convincing you.
There was a subtle rhythm to the way River got ready every morning, muscle memories far older than him, and if he hadn't had the pleasure of waking up next to her for the past two weeks, he might not have noticed it. She gathered her hair up in one hand and ran a brush through it with the other, pausing to poke through the dresser for a clean set of clothes. She always dressed slowly, in phases, unhurried; River did everything at precisely the speed she wanted to, and on anybody else it might've annoyed him, but she was always the exception. And he liked watching her dress, almost as much as he liked undressing her.
River shrugged into a shirt, leaving it unbuttoned while she twisted her hair back into a neat bun, and he couldn't tear his eyes from that strip of bare, pale skin, the dip between her breasts and the soft planes of her stomach, monuments his wandering mouth had discovered and worshipped and craved now always. She read the hunger in his gaze and blushed, teeth edging along her bottom lip. "You make it really hard to get out of bed, you know that?"
"So don't." MacCready grinned, dragging a hand down his bare chest and watching her eyes follow closely along with it.
"You're a wretched tease," she accused him crossly, and then he gripped himself through the sheet, hard and aching for her already, and desire chased the resolution from her features, cheeks pink and lips parting around a sharp breath.
"That's pretty funny comin' from you," he shot back, rather pleased with the effect he was having on her. "Why don't you come over here and stop me?"
"You should be sleeping in while you have the chance," she scolded, even as she crawled on top of him and peppered kisses over his jaw and cheek. "Don't come bitching to me when you can't feel your legs."
"Mmn, that sounds more like a promise than a threat." He laughed, rough and cracking with want, running his hands up her waist.
"Jesus, RJ," she breathed when she felt the hard weight of his cock beneath her fingers.
"It's the morning," he offered as means of explanation.
River ducked her head against his shoulder, trembling with laughter. "God, some things really don't change, do they?" Then she sucked at his throat, thumb sliding over the head of his cock, murmuring in pleasure at the strangled groan it wrenched out of him. "You make the best little noises."
He wanted to protest - she was hardly one to talk, practically had a different fucking sound for every time he touched her, each one more tempting than the last - but the heat of her mouth sinking down around his cock scattered the words he was only tenuously holding onto in the first place.
"Fuck, Riv," he gasped, burying his fingers into the soft tresses of her hair. "I didn't mean - oh, fuck, that's good."
She hummed as if in agreement, fingers gripped tight around the base of his cock as she sucked him off. 'Not in the least,' said the real-life-fucking miracle, he thought in the frantic, white haze of pleasure, toes twitching at the flick of her tongue over the swollen head of his cock. He'd meant to entice her over and fuck her, but River did everything with purpose, and if she had other plans for him in mind, there really was no dissuading her.
"Shit, beautiful, you're gonna make me come," he groaned.
"Mmn," she hummed again, lifting her eyes to meet his, lips swollen and parted around his cock, and he couldn't think of a damn thing he'd ever done to deserve something so beautiful and fucking perfect. He held her gaze until the heat and suction of her mouth sent him over the edge and his eyes screwed shut in the onset of climax, hips seizing as he came.
"Fuck, fuck," he panted twice as she swallowed him down, then cut himself off with a shake of his head, shivering when she pulled off of him.
River licked her lips and got to her feet, smiling in satisfaction. "You done distracting me now?" she teased.
"Definitely not," he protested with a crease in his brow. "What about you?"
A coy smile played at her lips as she buttoned up her shirt. "Buy me a drink tonight and maybe you can make up for it." She hesitated at the dresser, blinking thoughtfully as if trying to remember where she'd left off, and he frowned, guilt threading tension into his shoulders.
"Sorry."
"Mmn?"
"I interrupted your morning routine."
"You interrupt all my routines," she answered easily, slipping into a faded pair of jeans. She fished one of his shirts from the dresser and tossed it at him before sitting down to pull her boots on, throwing him an amused look. "Why do you think I like you so much?"
MacCready shook his head, eyes fond as he watched her lace up her boots. "Beats me, angel."
At the softness to his voice, River glanced up to meet his gaze, cheeks blushing pink, and it was still so hard to believe that he could do that to her. Her lips curved up into a tender smile, and then she laughed, pulling the navy blue general's coat onto her shoulders. "Come on, handsome. We gotta hit the road. I have a date tonight, and I've got a good feeling about this one. This smart-ass I met in a bar who keeps following me around."
"Oh yeah?" MacCready grinned. "He sounds like trouble."
"Definitely. But he's my kind of trouble."
Packed and fed and armed to the teeth, River and MacCready said their farewells at the front gate. Preston Garvey and Ronnie Shaw had gathered to see them off, promising River that the Castle was in good hands while she was gone.
"I've never doubted it," she replied in earnest, shaking Ronnie Shaw by the hand. Preston she pulled into a hug, and after a brief moment of surprise, he held her back tightly.
"Stay safe out there, all right?" he told her. "You've got friends here worried about you."
"I'll be back before you know it." She squeezed his shoulder and released him, turning to the hound waiting patiently at his feet. She knelt down and wrapped her arms around him, pushing her face into his coat. "I'm gonna miss you, boy."
He licked at her face, whining low in his throat.
"Oh, god, please don't do that," she begged, feeling tears burn at her eyes as she stroked behind his ears. "I'm gonna be just fine, okay? MacCready's gonna bring me home safe, and I'll cook you up a big ol' brahmin steak and we'll cuddle all night, okay?"
Dogmeat grunted out a low whuff of acceptance and nuzzled at her cheek, sniffing affectionately.
"Thatta boy. You keep everybody in line while I'm gone. I'll be home soon. Promise." She kissed his snout and got to her feet, waving one last time at Preston and Ronnie before she and MacCready ventured through the front gate. Twin suits of mismatched power armor waited on the other side, finally complete after weeks of scouring nearby raider camps and old military checkpoints.
He had a thumb hooked under the strap of his bag, tossing a fusion core in his other hand. He caught it again and held it out to her, grinning. "Ready?"
"Almost." She grabbed him by the collar and tugged him down into a kiss, humming in satisfaction when his surprise transitioned quickly into enthusiasm. His hand came to the curve of her waist, palm sliding rough and scalding hot over an inch of exposed skin.
When she pulled back, he blinked and smiled down at her, straightening his shirt with a roll of his shoulders. "Better," he agreed, and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear before finally letting her go.
Most of the raider camps and mutant dens in the surrounding area had been cleared out already over the past few weeks, while they searched for parts and MacCready got what River called his power armor legs. He was pretty sure she just liked watching him kill things, but that, at least, was an appeal he could understand. There was just something about seeing River nail a guy right between the eyes, usually before he even knew she was there. She hated the fighting and shooting and killing - he knew that, wasn't always such a big fan himself - but she was getting pretty damn good at it.
They walked the shadows cast beneath the dilapidated overpass leading into town, skeletal remains of a highway she'd driven every day to get to work.
"The discrepancy isn't lost on me. It never is," she remarked dryly. "Though I often wish it was. Might make some of this easier to swallow."
MacCready shrugged, shoulders bumping into padded metal. "Maybe. Wasteland's gonna be the soul-crushing nightmare that it is, no matter what you compare it to." He smiled when she snorted with laughter. "You gotta have plenty of things left over that you're glad you remember."
"Okay, yeah," River agreed after a brief moment of thought. "I could probably think up a few."
"I'm all ears."
"Just start spouting them off?"
"Throw 'em at me, I'm listening."
She laughed. "Fine. Skating rinks."
"Skating rinks?"
"Yeah, they were these big, long buildings with special wooden floors you could skate on, and I used to go with my friends every Saturday for ladies' night. I'm very good," she added with a smirk in his direction.
He rolled his eyes affectionately. "You say that like you're not good at everything."
She smiled, her voice growing fond and distant as she went on. "Dressing up and going out to dinner at a nice restaurant. Coming home from work on a Friday and having the whole weekend to yourself. Bookstores, and live bands, and ice cream." A wounded sigh followed. "Oh, god, RJ, ice cream. You would've loved it so much." She shook her head, a crease of determination forming between her delicate brows. "You know what? I am gonna find a way to make you ice cream if it kills me."
He laughed. "Please, god, no. I have some bad memories experimenting with desserts." At her curious look, he explained cryptically, "Let's just say my brother wasn't always called Eclair and leave it at that."
River beamed at him in excitement. "You'll have to trust me."
"I do," he promised, absently tracking a blackbird across the grey cut of sky above them, sliced into jagged pieces by the towering skyscrapers that loomed overhead. "With my life, I do."
She made a low, amused sound, edging toward frustration. "You always do that," she said with a twitch of her brows. "Cheeky, irreverent bastard all morning and then suddenly so genuine."
MacCready tried to hold back his laughter, barely able to restrain a grin. "Got to keep you guessing, don't I?"
"You are impossible." But she laughed, and he'd do anything to keep that smile on her face, even something very, very stupid, like walk into the glowing sea, or fight a mirelurk queen, or give his weakened, weary heart away and hope to god he never lost her.
He gripped her hand, the plated fingers too thick and clumsy to lace together, but the sentiment was there, even if he couldn't voice it.
Goodneighbor was a strangely welcome sight for a place that reeked of piss and garbage. Even River seemed to relax once they were past the gate, though her nose wrinkled in momentary disgust.
"It passes," he assured her.
She shuddered. "Not soon enough. Hey, Daisy!" she raised her voice to call out and drifted toward the ghoul's countertop, lips stretching into a warm smile. "Aren't you a sight for sore eyes?"
"You two ought to knock it off, or an old ghoul is gonna start to get some ideas," Daisy teased back, sliding an old typewriter aside and wiping her hands clean on a rag before splaying them out over the counter. "Now, Mayor Hancock came by and said you two need some rad-away."
"Whatever you can afford to sell," River confirmed, pulling a tin of caps from the bag over her shoulder.
Daisy waved her away. "No need for that, he already settled up for you. Wasn't too happy about it either, might I add."
"Awfully nice of him." She smiled innocently, blinking wide eyes back at the ghoul's shrewd gaze as she scooped bottles of rad-x and rad-away pouches into her bag. "We're gonna be doing something pretty dangerous and stupid soon, so naturally we're getting drunk tonight. Want to join us?"
The mottled remains of her brows knitted together in concern, but she squeezed River's hands in her own, nodding fondly. "Sure thing, smoothskin."
"Great." River grinned, then suddenly jolted as if remembering something. "Hey, before we go, you wouldn't happen to have any hubflowers, would you?"
"Hubflowers? Hmm . . . sure, I probably have some around here somewhere." After a few moments of determined searching - during which MacCready shot River a curious glance and she only smiled back - Daisy returned with a handful of the blue flowers. "Here, take 'em. On the house."
"Thanks, Dais. We'll see you soon."
River lovingly straightened the delicate petals before storing them in an empty box of shotgun shells. They stomped through a light, oncoming drizzle toward the Rexford. Clair had a room saved for them, but eyed the hulking metal suits suspiciously until the scrape of caps over the front counter set her worries at ease and she allowed them the side room to store their armor.
MacCready climbed out with a sigh of relief, stretching his arms high above his head and groaning when the muscles there cracked and loosened. He helped River down and she pecked a grateful kiss to the side of his jaw, twisting the fusion cores loose and stuffing them into her bag.
After hours of dragging around the heavy power armor, the muscles in his legs protested painfully to climbing three sets of stairs to their room. River reached over to grab his hand, white hair wild and frizzled from the rain. Her mouth was set in a tight, grim line, eyes darting restlessly back and forth, and he recognized there a little of the dread he'd felt this morning.
"I'm with you," he promised, pressing a kiss to the back of her hand. "Come on, I owe you a drink, right?"
She laughed quietly, tired but genuine. "You do."
It was quick work undressing, especially with River's help, and tugging his clothes off seemed to put the smile back on her face at last. She tried to tame his hair with mild success, giggling when he distracted her with teeth at the crook of her throat. He sifted through his bag for something even slightly decent until she threw a bundle of clothes at him.
He caught it with a few surprised blinks. "You . . . bought me clothes?" He held the shirt up in one hand and shook out what might have been the most intact pair of pants he'd ever seen in the other.
"Is that so shocking?" she asked fondly, laying her coat out over the dresser. "That I might like dressing you up?"
He shook his head as he slid his arms into the sleeves, smiling when it buttoned up into a perfect fit. "Not from you."
From the seemingly endless depths of her bag, River pulled out a length of deep blue fabric, gingerly swiping it clean. He watched, somewhat transfixed as she drew the soft material up around her hips, fixing thin sleeves into place over her shoulders. The dress parted in the back over a deep valley of bare skin, and she turned away from him, gathering loose strands of hair up out of the way. "Would you zip me up?"
MacCready swallowed air past his dry throat, placing one hand at the small of her back and taking hold of the small metal zipper in the other, slowly dragging it up the length of her back. He paused at the last few inches, brushed his lips over the smooth skin between her shoulder blades before sliding it to the top.
He stuffed a pack of cigarettes and a lighter into his pocket and attached a holster with Kellogg's pistol to his belt. Then it was mostly a lot of waiting while she finished getting ready, and it only took a few minutes of his restless fidgeting for her to laugh sympathetically and send him downstairs.
"Go smoke a cigarette while you wait. I'll be down before you're done."
He grumbled skeptically, but let her shoo him from the room, a cigarette clamped between his lips. He waited until he was settled onto a chair in the lobby to light the end of it, legs stretched out in front of him. It probably wasn't the most brilliant idea to go out drinking the night before their expedition into the glowing sea, but if a few hours of something familiar put her mind at ease, it was worth doing. He couldn't take her to a nice restaurant, couldn't give her what she knew before, just a dingy bar carved into an old subway station, and he wondered with a pang if these crude facsimiles could ever make her as happy as she used to be.
Hanging neglected between his fingers, the cigarette had all but burned out by the time River came down the stairs, and the sight of her swept the worries from his mind like a current. She'd woven hubflowers into the plaits of her braid, blue petals pinned into snow-white tresses, a black leather jacket slung around her shoulders. She smiled at the admiration on his face, violet lips curling up at one end. With the lipstick and the dress and the boots with mutant blood still streaked over the soles, she looked tempting and downright dangerous - walking fucking trouble, like he knew she was the first moment he saw her.
She ducked under his arm while they hurried through the rain, shivering when she stepped into the sudden warmth and noise of the Third Rail. She shook the rain from her jacket and slipped it back over her shoulders, leading him by the hand past Ham, who nodded wordlessly in greeting, and down the stairs into the smoke-hazy subway station, tiled walls ringing with the swell of jazz and Magnolia's crooning voice.
River stretched up on tiptoes to peer over the crowd. "That's Nick Valentine over there, isn't it?"
"In those clothes? Definitely." He nodded vaguely in that direction. "Why don't you go see him? I'll get you something to drink."
"Surprise me, yeah?" She blew him a kiss and darted through the sparse crowd, drawing far too many stares along the way, but sitting between Nick Valentine and the mayor, she was about as safe as she could be in Goodneighbor.
"MacCready," Whitechapel Charlie greeted him distrustfully. "Come by expectin' free drinks again?"
"Come on, Whitey, don't be like that," he shot back with a grin, sliding onto an open barstool. "I always pay my tabs . . . eventually."
"Just because Mayor 'Ancock won't let me charge that friend of yours - "
"Now, now, Chuck," Hancock drawled as he came up and leaned against the counter, arms crossed over his chest. "You're not givin' MacCready a hard time now, are you?"
There was a long, pointed pause, and then a surprisingly emphatic sigh. "Wouldn't dream of it, Mayor 'Ancock."
"Nah, I know you better than that," he agreed good-naturedly and pushed a pile of caps across the counter. "Couple of beers, wouldja?"
"I can't take your money, boss," Charlie protested as he pulled two bottles from an icebox below the counter.
"Ain't mine. You can thank the General over there next time ya see her."
MacCready chuckled at the disgruntled crease in Hancock's brow. "She always gets her way, you know. It's easier just to accept it."
"How come you're here then? Thought she was gonna leave ya behind."
He glanced over at where she sat next to Valentine, chatting animatedly while the synth just smiled and listened, head bent against his good hand. "I think I'm starting to learn her language."
"Yeah, good luck with that one."
"It's a learning process," he agreed with a wry laugh. "Got any mutfruit back there for a dirty wastelander, Charlie? I wouldn't say no to something on the fresher side."
"I'll see what I can find," the Mr. Handy replied, still vaguely disdainful in tone, though MacCready strongly suspected that was just his default setting.
Hancock tilted his head forward and inspected his face through narrowed, black eyes, rumbling thoughtfully under his breath.
"What?" he demanded, angling a shoulder defensively between them.
"You look different, s'all," the ghoul answered with a shrug, smiling to himself. "She suits you."
"Come on, man."
"Look at you, blushin' like a kid," he chuckled. "What've you two been up to out there?"
"Bustin' skulls. Whole way from here to the Castle's clear thanks to us." MacCready grabbed their drinks from Charlie and tried to ignore Hancock's amused laughter beside him as he headed back for Valentine and River.
"Community service from the dynamic duo," he rasped teasingly. "Turnin' the Commonwealth around."
"Trying to, anyways," River piped up, catching the tail end of his sentence. "A woman can only do so much."
"I wouldn't bet against you, doll," Valentine said, lighting the cigarette between his lips.
She smiled and took a sip of the drink in her hands, eyes widening when the taste hit her tongue. "This is amazing."
"Commonwealth specialty," MacCready said, stretching an arm along the couch behind her. "Dirty wastelander, just like me."
"Funny, I like this one, too," she shot back with a grin, teeth pearly white against her dark lipstick.
Valentine groaned in exasperation. "Tell me you two aren't gonna stick with this lovebird act the whole time."
"You guys wanted to come," River reminded him cheerily, between long sips of her drink. "We've been doing okay so far on our own."
Valentine rumbled out a reluctant laugh. "Oh, I'm sure you have, sweetheart."
"Detective Valentine," she scolded, lips a playful curve of dark purple. "Such a crass joke from such a dignified man."
"Emphasis on the detective part. These optics of mine don't miss much, smitten beauty queens included."
"Now that is just a rumor," River said adamantly, pointing a determined finger in his direction. "I mean, I competed, but I never placed or anything. Wasn't really my scene. Also, I started putting the moves on one of the other contestants, so I got disqualified."
Hancock erupted in laughter and MacCready smiled, his fingertips at her shoulder, tracing the seam of her sleeve. "Couldn't help yourself, could you?"
She sighed, resting her chin in the valley of her palm and staring off into the distance, lips curling toward a smile. "Absolutely worth it."
"'Not lookin' for trouble,' she says," Hancock muttered from Valentine's other side.
"Not actively, anyway. Not anymore." She received three very different, but identically skeptical stares. "Oh, fuck all of you." Then a chorus of laughter, and her cheeks burned pink, smile widening into a grin.
MacCready drifted in and out while she talked, enjoying the smoke and timbre of her voice, even if he zoned out the words. He watched the drink slowly dwindle in her glass, listened to her laughter grow louder and more frequent. She crossed one long leg over the other, tucking the toe of her boot under his knee, her features easy. And even with the shitstorm looming ahead, the danger and fighting and inevitable heartbreak, at least for now, she looked happy. That's all I could ask for, really.
"Daisy," River said suddenly, wiggling a few fingers at the ghoul coming down the stairs. At her side was another, hunched anxiously under a faded green hat. She got to her feet and straightened the brim of MacCready's cap with a smile. "I'll be right back."
He nodded toward Daisy. "Go on." Then, once she was out of earshot, "Who's the guy?"
"Kent Connelly," Hancock answered, for once without a smart comment. "Sweet kid, hangs out at the Den all the time. Completely harmless. Too caught up in the past, maybe, but who isn't these days? At least, not when ya know how good it used to be."
A crease formed between MacCready's brows at his words as he watched River give Daisy a hug and shake the other ghoul's hand, a bright smile on her face. She hung close to their side as they left for the bar, hair glinting golden-white in the yellowed lighting of the old subway station. His eyes followed the shape of her skirt, playing around her slim legs with every step.
"He's a goner," Hancock chuckled darkly beside him, lips pulled back to expose a cut of off-white teeth in a wicked smile.
"Yeah, yeah," MacCready sneered and took a sip of his beer, savoring the cool taste and carbonation as it washed over his tongue and down his throat. He tipped the brim of his hat back with a fingertip, shoulders rolling to find something reminiscent of a comfortable position on the hard metal. River was leaning over the bar now, sweet-talking Whitechapel Charlie if the smile on her face was any indication. "Like you two aren't."
"No idea what you're talkin' about," the ghoul deflected with a dismissive sweep of his hand.
Valentine just smiled, a knowing twist of greying, synthetic lips.
"Sure, 'cause you'd follow just anyone into the glowing sea."
Hancock jabbed a mottled, accusatory finger at him and narrowed black eyes into a glare. "That woman's never been just anyone a day in her life, and you know it."
"You got me there," he muttered against the rim of his bottle before another drag of beer. He pulled his hat off and set it on the table, scrubbing a hand through the matted mess of his hair.
"Guess I shouldn't be surprised you're coming with us," Valentine drawled with a smirk that was probably centuries older than MacCready, no matter the face it adorned. "How do you two plan on beatin' the rads?"
"Power armor. Hazmat suits if anything goes wrong, and all the rad chems she could fit in that gigantic bag she has." At the skeptical lift to one of Valentine's brows, he added, "It's not ideal, but ideal would be not going into the glowing sea in the first place, so . . ." He shrugged a shoulder to finish the thought off, gesturing a vague circle with the neck of his bottle.
"At least the company's decent," the synth remarked with a nod at the bar, where River was waiting with Daisy and Kent for their drinks, swinging the toe of her boot along to the lulling bass of Magnolia's song.
MacCready grinned at him, splaying a hand over his chest. "If you wanted to spend more time with me, Valentine, all you had to do was ask."
"Wise ass," Valentine groused as Hancock barked out a laugh.
"I'm already having fun," the ghoul remarked with relish, thumbing the jet inhaler in his hand, twirling it deftly between his fingers. "Should be an interesting few days."
"That's one way of saying it." His eyes skimmed over the crowd, leapt from face to face in a cursory scan before landing on River once more. This time she was watching him back, and her violet lips tugged up into a crooked smile, neon lights casting pink and gold over her fair skin and playing through the white of her hair. She took a sip of the drink in her hands and winked at him, turning back to Kent at her side.
Magnolia drew her song to a close with a long, high note over a swell of brass and percussion, the loud, resplendent harmony fading into quiet once more, leaving a heavy silence behind, followed quickly by a round of enthusiastic applause. She smiled when she spotted River at the bar, waving a few elegant fingers in her direction. "I'd like to dedicate this next song to the only other Julie London fan left in the Commonwealth," she crooned into the microphone. "This one's for you, little lady."
River laughed, raising her glass up at her in gratitude as Charlie poked at the jukebox in the corner with a metallic claw and the sound of plucking strings began to filter out from the speakers.
Now you say you're lonely, you cried the whole night through
MacCready watched River's expression soften into a reminiscent smile as she recognized the tune, elbow resting on the bar with her chin propped up in her palm.
Well, you can cry me a river, cry me a river, I cried a river over you
Amber eyes shifted to meet his almost instinctively, and she tilted her head toward the open floor in front of the stage, where a few people had gathered to dance, lifting one of her brows at him in a silent question. A pit of dread knotted behind his ribs, and he exhaled heavily, weighing his options. She seemed to read his unease even from across the bar and smiled in understanding, turning back to face Daisy and Kent.
"Now that's interesting," Valentine observed with amusement from beside him, keen, spark-bright eyes flickering back and forth between him and River.
MacCready hung his head with a groan. "You guys aren't gonna be watching us the whole time, are you?"
"I dunno, not every day wasteland punk meets pre-war princess." Hancock snickered as Valentine grinned conspiratorially beside him. "Kinda fascinating, to be honest."
"Great," he deadpanned. "Yeah, no, this is gonna be just great."
"Best Wizard of Oz remake the wasteland's ever seen," Valentine joked.
MacCready laughed, shaking his head. "River's not here, nobody gets your pre-war references, old man."
"Come on, now, one of you really ought to know that one," he chastised the both of them, then sighed in defeat. "I'll give it another go when she's around."
"Solid plan." He rotated the empty beer bottle between his fingers, distantly registering Magnolia's shift toward the end of the song.
And now, you say you love me
Well, just to prove you do
Come on and cry me a river, cry me a river
I cried a river over you
When the music finally faded out, the bar erupted in cheers. River and several others stood up to clap, and Hancock stuck two fingers into his mouth to let out a piercing whistle. "That's my girl," he said approvingly, lifting his beer at her, and all the way from the stage, Magnolia gave him a curtsy.
River lingered at the bar long enough to buy Magnolia a drink once her set was over. When Charlie filtered Diamond City radio over the speakers, she dragged Daisy onto her feet. After a few stiff turns, Daisy relented with a smile and let River twirl her around the open floor, feet falling into the steps with a distant familiarity.
MacCready glanced over at Hancock, black eyes amused and fond as he watched them, fingers tapping restlessly at the table at his side.
"Oh, just go, then," he told him, smirking. "It's what she wants."
"I don't like steppin' on anybody's toes," the ghoul replied casually, leveling him with an earnest stare.
MacCready shook his head. "We're good, man."
Hancock rose to his feet and craned his neck from side to side, cracking the muscles there, before stalking through the crowd toward where they were dancing.
"Awful generous of you." Valentine held a pack of cigarettes out toward him.
He took one with a noncommittal roll of his shoulders. "Yeah, well. She doesn't get to let loose like this all the time. 'Sides, it's not like she needs my permission."
The synth merely nodded in agreement, doing that faraway look River always did when her mind was a couple hundred years away.
"You remember what it was like, right?" he blurted out before he could stop himself, and golden optics flickered over to read his expression, carefully, like he was taking him apart, inspecting all the pieces, and putting him back together all with one look. "Before, I mean."
"Sure. Human memories aren't great, but I still got a few of 'em swimmin' around up there. What's on your mind, kid?"
MacCready bristled at that, but figured he wasn't really on the negotiating side of the conversation, and, well, he kind of was, to Valentine at least. "Do you think somebody could be happy now, like they were before?" He didn't elaborate, and from the knowing tilt to Valentine's mouth, he didn't need to.
"Maybe not in the same exact way, no," he replied after a long moment. "But that doesn't mean she can't be happy. And anyways, you're wasting your time thinkin' like that. Look at her."
His gaze landed on River, laughing as Hancock spun her and the ends of her skirt flared out around her.
He reached out with his good hand to pat him on the shoulder. "She's gonna be all right. Got you to worry about her, anyways."
They fell into a mutual silence, not quite companionable, but something close to it maybe. After a few more beers, he let River convince him to dance, and the joy that lit up her eyes was enough to soothe the lump in his throat as she pulled him across the bar. He'd learned a lot in twenty-two years, but nobody had ever taught him to dance. Well, Leah had tried, at least, until he put up enough of a fight to weasel out of it. He and Lucy had sat by and laughed at all the others, so they both looked like idiots trying to dance on their wedding day.
River didn't seem to mind his inexperience. She leaned comfortably against his shoulder, and the way she fit in his arms was pleasantly familiar, even if the dancing wasn't. "New at this, huh?"
"I've got other talents."
"Plenty," she agreed with a soft laugh. Standing this close, he could smell the hubflowers in her hair and the sweetness of Nuka-Cola she'd probably spilled on herself at some point. "Thanks for tonight. I'm probably gonna regret it in the morning, but. . ." And she laughed again, slurring her sibilants, cheeks flushed and warm when she pressed her face against his collarbone. "Glad to have it, while we can."
He fixed one of the flowers back into place. "Ah, you deserve a night off. At least one."
"Mmn, I'm officially spoiled, aren't I?"
"Rotten."
Her eyes lifted to meet his, irises nearly swallowed up by dark pupils. "Wanna spoil me a little more?"
"Yes, please." He drew her toward the stairs, her laughter bubbling carefree behind him.
"Not gonna say good night?"
"We'll see 'em in the morning."
River sent Valentine and Hancock a cursory wave and followed him eagerly up the stairs. She swayed on her feet when they reached the top, murmuring an apology under her breath.
"Jesus, Riv." He laughed and bent forward, holding his arms out. "Come on, before you hurt yourself."
She steeled herself with a deep breath and vaulted up onto his back, nearly upending him if not for Ham reaching out to steady them. He ushered them warily out the front door, where he told them acidly that they were on their own from there.
"Yeah, yeah, I got her," MacCready griped, her thighs gripped securely in his hands.
She giggled into his back, slinging an arm over his shoulder. "My hero."
"Shut up."
"Mmn, sweet-talker." He felt her lips at the base of his neck, brushing over the warm, sensitive skin there and making him shudder. "I promised Kent we'd get him a Silver Shroud costume. Hope that's okay."
"Helping more wretched souls, huh?"
"He sounded so happy talkin' about it. Couldn't say no."
"I know, beautiful."
She clung to him tightly as he stepped carefully into the Rexford, cheered him on while he tackled the stairs, and barely bit back a screech when he faked losing his balance on the last few steps.
"Goddamn it, RJ!" she hissed, laughter breaking the words into rolling, rhythmic syllables, loving and undeniably fond even as she cursed him.
He set her down carefully near the desk, where she started laying out hubflowers once she freed them from her braid. He locked the door behind them and wandered back over, sweeping her hair aside and pressing his mouth to the nape of her neck, kissing softly at first before his tongue lashed out to taste her skin.
"You're making this very difficult," she complained, voice edging toward breathless.
"Leave 'em in, then."
River simply laughed as she pulled the last few flowers from her hair and brushed them aside. Her braid was coming loose by now, and he buried his hand into the soft tresses like fine silk around his fingers. His other hand hunted up under her skirt, thumb sliding over soft skin, and she whimpered under his mouth, low and needy.
"Gonna miss this," he mumbled against her shoulder as he found the zipper of her dress and started dragging it open. "Having you whenever I want."
She swallowed convulsively, bracing herself against the edge of the table, and when he pressed his hips against her and she felt the hard weight of his cock, her knees went weak. "Oh," she sighed, and an enamored smile touched her face. "So ready for me."
"Always." His voice was rough with want, and the husky sound of it sent a shiver down her spine. He worked the hooks of her bra open with surprising deftness, slipping the straps and the sleeves of her dress down her arms. "Always for you," he rumbled, trailing warm, open-mouthed kisses over her shoulders and spine.
"I'm yours," she promised, the syllables singing like an answered prayer over her tongue, some pure, perfect harmony in the vowels and nasal and sweet, final sibilant - this is it, this is perfect, this is finally something fucking right.
MacCready muffled a groan of relief against her shoulder. She felt his fingertips dragging over her hips as he slid her dress and underwear down over her hips, rifle-calloused and deliciously rough. "You shouldn't be," he breathed, running his hands over her with almost reverent disbelief. "Jesus, look at you. No way I get you all to myself."
Anxious and eager under his touch, River glanced over her shoulder, catching just a flash of blue irises before he ducked his head to kiss the line of her shoulders. She rolled her hips back against him, savoring the startled sigh it drew out of him. "All yours," she panted, and whimpered when his fingers slid up the inside of her thigh.
He dragged teasing strokes along her sex, exhaling hard through his nose at the silky arousal he found. "Fuck, you're so wet," he groaned, and she would feel bad about it later, but that breathtaking moment of breaking through his self-control always filled her with heat. "All for me, huh?" He nipped at the base of her neck as he shrugged out of his shirt and worked his belt open. She felt him prodding between her thighs, and then the thick head of his cock pushed slowly into her, and she sank onto her elbows, barely containing a sob at the sweet stretch and pressure of being filled.
"Oh god," she whined, more a sigh of garbled sound than actual discernible words. She stretched up on her tiptoes to let him take her, leaning heavily on the table. She hardly felt the strain or the cold wood biting into her elbows, only his hands on her body, warm over her stomach and cradling one of her breasts, rolling a sensitive nipple between two long fingers - and deeper, raging through her like ocean currents, the pulsing, aching pleasure of his thick cock sliding home.
MacCready groaned behind her, murmured her name and trailed his lips up her shoulder, fingers flexing around her hip.
She pushed back against him with an impatient moan. "Please," she begged, and her eyes fluttered shut when his hips gave another shallow thrust. "Fuck, baby, please." The teeth at her neck bit down, anchoring them together as he started up a steady, insistent rhythm. "Fuck, fuck, fuck," she chanted, trembling in boneless pleasure until she scraped together the sense and strength to push back into each thrust, taking him deeper.
He planted one of his hands beside her elbow, gripping the desk with white knuckles to leverage a slow, deep thrust that pressed thick and heavy over every perfect place inside of her. She shuddered through a wave of blinding pleasure, crying out as her toes curled inside of her boots. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she registered the need to stay quiet. They'd been trapped at the Castle for weeks, biting at sheets and shoulders to muffle themselves every time they fucked, and the Rexford wasn't much better, but she felt ready to explode with sound from holding back for so long.
MacCready sucked hard at her neck and shoulders, the hand at her breast dropping to the slick folds between her thighs. His fingertips made precise, searching circles around her clit, teasing but not giving, remarkably perceptive to what her body needed, and how to come just short of it and leave her frenzied and wanting. Which was pretty impressive, given how new all this was, the two of them learning each other, and while there was still a lot about MacCready she didn't know, sexually they had undeniable chemistry. A combination of quick learning and a precise touch on his part and voracious sensitivity on hers made each time he slid into her feel like some kind of actual miracle - and she'd stopped believing in those ages ago.
And then, of course, there was the fact that she was falling in love with him, and staring that fact in the face felt good, too. Scary good. So good it had her holding back tears as he traced his fingers over the swollen bead of her clit, rumbling breathless praise at her ear.
"Fuck, River, you feel so good," he gasped. She shivered at the timbre of his voice and how earnestly he meant it, like those could be his last words and he'd die a happy man. He pulled out, steadying her with a hand at the small of her back, and she whimpered at the cold emptiness he left behind. The sound made him chuckle, kissing the smooth skin of her back. "Don't worry, angel, I'm not goin' anywhere."
He slid the head of his cock over her sensitive folds, catching at the dip of her entrance and sinking back in. His hand moved to the curve of her ass, fingers digging into flesh as he pulled her deeper onto him. He leaned his head on her shoulder, groaning long and low into her skin at the scorching heat of her sex, squeezing him like she never wanted to let him go. "Oh, fuuuck." His fingers never let up at her clit, and the frantic, forceful pace of his thrusts had the desk shaking before them, slamming into the wall behind it.
"Shit," she panted, her nails scraping at the wooden surface. Sharp peaks of pleasure started at the base of her spine and streaked over her nerves with each slide of his cock back in and out. It was a tight fit, but her body was always eager for him, sucked him into her heat like he belonged there, and god, it really felt like he did. His fingers over her clit sent twinges of abrasive, almost unbearable pleasure through her, had her trembling, teetering torturously on the edge of climax. She heard him grunt when she clenched and pulsed around him, and it took only a few more determined strokes for her to fall apart, choking back a wail of ecstasy and tumbling into release.
MacCready cursed again, palming her hips as she seized up. "River," he groaned, and held tight to her twitching body while the waves of ecstasy crashed over her, until finally she came down heaving for breath. With a pleased rumble, he buried his face in her hair, inhaling vanilla and that delicate River smell, clean fresh air and salt on his tongue.
He loved her slowly after that, gently, kissing her neck and shoulders, and even when he sank his teeth in, the bites were tender little pains that sang like music over her raw nerves. Eventually his thrusts grew erratic, nails biting into her hips, and she urged him softly under her breath, "Come for me, baby. I need you so badly." He had her braid wrapped tight around his fist when he came, spilling inside of her with a long, drawn-out grown, muffled with her throat between his teeth. She savored the harmony of pains and the pulsing warmth of him filling her, that familiar, intimate thrill she loved so much.
River slumped forward onto the desk with an exhausted groan. "Oh. Oh, god."
"Yeah." He choked out a laugh, guiding her toward the bed when her knees started to shake. "Come on, if you collapse there's no way I'm lifting you now."
She rolled onto the mattress with a silvery laugh, white hair spilling out around her shoulders. She kicked her boots off at him while he pulled his underwear back on and he barely dodged the second one, turning with a wicked smirk.
"You're gonna regret that."
"Oh, shit - RJ, no!" She scrambled away from him, but he grabbed her by the ankles, yanking her to the edge of the bed and wrapping himself around her. She shook with giggles while he sucked a bruise into the curve of her throat, pushing playfully at his shoulders. "Fiend!"
The bites turned to kisses, his laughter rumbling against her skin. "Stop kicking shoes at me, then."
"Just testing your reflexes. They're fantastic, by the way."
"Could've told you that." MacCready tucked her head beneath his jaw, cradling her in the crook of his arm.
River wound herself closer, her lips at the edge of his jaw. "Promise me," she murmured, her voice quiet, ice-fragile and thin. "Promise me you'll stay close."
"I'm not going anywhere," he repeated. "I'm with you." He freed the band from her hair, teasing her braid loose, gently, like delicate silk in his hands. "Even you can't get rid of me. I'd like to see anybody else try."
That won him the sound of her laughter, warm and soft like the waves they woke up to that morning. A peaceful start and end to the last calm day she might have in a while, and again it struck him how monumentally idiotic it was, throwing himself headfirst into the dangerous search for her son. But even if he didn't owe her for saving him - for saving Duncan - out of all the promises he'd broken, that was one he could keep.
I'm with you.