Ut inde veniat bonum - so that Good may come.
Hancock was still injured, Nick had his pistol. Thea had Firecracker and Dogmeat - they were surrounded by heavily armed and armoured enemies.
They needed an edge.
Nick very carefully tipped his head down and muttered 'You got a plan for this sort of scenario?'
Yeah, usually the plan was don't walk into the trap. It had to be said that it had failed her this time.
She looked from the kid's ashen face to Clint standing triumphantly on top of the tugboat and then down to the underside of it. Her mind worked fast, pulling up the details of when she was last in Irish Pride Shipyard.
There was a terminal on the boat - if she recalled correctly - that played several of Rigwells reminders to his affectionately called Murkies.
A somewhat suicidal plan began to develop.
Clint, having dramatically paused to enjoy the hatred seething out of the General of the Minutemen leaned forward on the railing and tipped his hat up to better look at them. 'Sorry it had to end this way - It's not personal. Business is business. Alright boys, take careful aim, now.'
Would it work? It would have to - she was fast running out of time and low on options. If anything it would do more than even the playing field - it would create a free-for-all.
'She's got that look on her face again,' Hancock wheezed with a laugh.
'What do we need to do?' Nick murmured.
'Keep them busy.' Thea replied.
The first shot came from Firecracker. The incendiary round hit the chest of a gunner that had been edging closer. After that, it devolved into chaos. Nick and Hancock danced around the empty space, keeping the death-squad busy as Thea and Dogmeat broke off and made for the gangplank to the boat.
The Gunners seemed reluctant to let them through, but they pushed on.
'Woah, woah! Where do you think you're going, missy?' Clint yelled.
She ignored him as she kneecapped a Gunner and leapt over his crumpled body as Dogmeat descended to finish him off. His mistress leapt onto the gangplank and made her way onto the boat. The skirmish happening around them had woken some of the mirelurks, they were beginning to shift and move in agitation and curiosity as the battle raged on.
She raced into the wheelhouse, ignored the mouldering bedroll, the table with dusty glass and vodka and instead headed straight for the computer hooked up to the boat's nuclear battery.
She could see, out of the window, Hancock and Nick doing all they could to keep the Gunners at bay and yet still hold their attention. They weren't holding up too well.
She needed to help them.
If help was the right word. What she was about to do was insane.
She slammed her shotgun down on the table, causing the glass to jump and set to work. The computer struggled to power up - but the monitor eventually hummed to life and settled as Thea hastily tapped commands into it.
The speakers around the shipyard suddenly squeaked into life as the voice of the late Rory Rigwell blasted out of them. 'When Rory yells at you - it's because he loves you! Claws are for hugging! Not pinching.'
She cranked the volume up higher til the dust was raining down from the old steel beams and within seconds, she knew that it had the desired effect. The mirelurks were shaking off the dark, claggy mud below the boat - irritated by the squawking messages and were beginning to come out and attack the Gunners.
She smiled grimly to herself as Dogmeat, Nick, and Hancock backed away from the tide of mirelurks assaulting the Gunners.
When Althea reached out for Firecracker, her hand came up empty. She turned sharply to look for where it had gone and heard the safety ease off from behind her.
'Pretty and smart.' Clint drawled. 'You really should have come to work for the Gunners.'
'I'd rather be dead.' She spat, frozen in the act of reaching for the gun that was not there.
'That can be arranged.'
This was also a situation that she had mentally categorized as: Don't be dumb enough to be caught in. Now she was caught in it, she had to seriously question what she could do. Clint hadn't shot her - yet. There was no question that he would. The man had the moral fibre of a woodlouse and a history of shooting people in the back.
'This is a nice gun.' He marvelled and cocked it to get a better look. 'I may just keep it after we're done.'
Sackless piece of shit. That was her gun.
As he admired the gun she reached out slowly and picked up the vodka bottle, neck first. This was going to be such a waste of perfectly drinkable booze, but needs must.
The bottle flew drunkenly, the contents flipping end over end as it aimed straight for Clint's face. He dodged at the last second and the bottle smashed harmlessly on the deck as she turned and charged him, forcing the gun up as it fired and peppered the ceiling with fiery shot.
Althea's momentum sent them both crashing to the ground as Rigwell's voice continued to warble on above them, almost drowning out the shots and the screams coming from outside the boat.
Clint still had an iron grip on Firecracker as they fought - even an elbow to the face couldn't get him to let go of it.
The shotgun fired again, shot skittered off her breastplate and she could feel the heat as the round penetrated the thin shell of the boat. Light flooded into the cabin, illuminating them as they struggled.
Althea, it had to be said, had a lot of morals and a lot of feeling on the subject of playing fair - but not when she was fighting for her life. If the new Commonwealth had taught her anything - it was that survival always depended on how far you were willing to go to live.
To that effect - she drove her knee into Clint's crotch - not once, but twice. She felt his grip on her beloved gun slacken and ripped it out of his hands. The man barely had time to shield his face before she drove the butt of Firecracker into his face again and again. She grunted with each hit. 'You. Will. Not. Hurt. Any. One. Any. More!'
Blood splattered across her face as she reduced his nose and lips to a scarlet pulp.
She raised the gun again, ready to strike that bloodied, smug face and wipe off that smirk when he laughed, spraying blood. 'You've got the guts that Garvey doesn't have. He was always too scared.'
Althea paused as the words sunk in. Her blood splattered snarl froze.
This...wasn't justice. Just as she had condemned Orden for closing his mind and his settlement, condemned him for the injustice - she couldn't take the life of a beaten, defenseless man. That would be murder.
Even if it was the man that destroyed the Minutemen. Even if he was laughing at her. Even after the cold-blooded murder she'd just witnessed - She would be a hypocrite.
Damn, she hated it when her morality got involved. It usually caught her coming and going. She gave him a look of deep hatred as she lowered the gun and sat back.
'Oh don't stop now!' He complained weakly. 'You were doing so well.'
She scoffed and stood up. 'You're not worth the bullets.'
'Weak!' He spat as she walked away but the taunt had no effect on her. Althea Shapiro was many things - mother, survivor, General, saviour - but she wasn't weak. She knew this, and Clint's angry words weren't about to hurt her in the slightest.
This fight was over. As she moved out onto the deck, she could see that the mirelurks had turned the tide against the Gunners. Those that hadn't escaped were now outnumbered and being feasted upon by the creatures. She was pleased to see that neither Hancock, nor Nick numbered among them - they had gotten out.
When she finally made her way out and into the open air, Hancock and Nick were waiting by the back door. She locked both the inner and outer doors this time - wary of the aggressive things escaping into the Commonwealth.
'Did you finish him?' Nick asked gently.
'That would be murder.' She replied.
'Are you sure you wanna-' Hancock asked doubtfully.
'Let the Mirelurks have him.' Thea replied darkly. 'I won't avenge murder with murder.'
'You might not, but I'm perfectly happy to.' Hancock fondled his sawn-off, as though just waiting for the word.
Thea shook her head. 'We've wasted enough time. Preston's not here, neither are Danse and Strong. They've never been here. This was a trap that they weren't stupid enough to walk into.'
'I'm proud of you.' Nick replied gently, laying his skeletal hand on her shoulder in comfort.
She took a deep, steadying breath and ran an arm across her forehead, smearing the blood across her skin and into her hair as she replied 'Yeah, thanks Nick.'
'I still think nobody'd judge if you did decide to put a bullet in his brain.' Hancock murmured as Dogmeat sniffed the ground in front of them, looking for another scent to follow.
'Probably not, but I would.' She replied as she wiped down Firecracker with a sleeve. 'I just want to find Preston, Danse and Strong right now. There'll be plenty of time for dealing with the Gunners later. I think it's fair to say, we've routed them.'
'Alright.' Hancock agreed and cocked his shotgun. 'Lets find another crossing point and pick up the trail from there.'
A/N: The climax of the two-parter! I hope it's satisfying. Plot-bunny Clint Jr didn't want him dead - continuity issues. I think we've gone off canon at some points quite enough for one fic - so this would be the next best thing.
Also: Staken has recently de-lurked from Tumblr long enough to begin posting Rocket there - because Tumblr seems like it could use the general insanity that is Rocket's story. Find me under mc-staken! Or the Preston Garvey, Paladin Danse, Strong tags. We're gonna begin to post up the story and catch up slowly.
I use Google Docs for writing Rocket and a few other fics - because any change whatsoever is automatically saved. Useful for someone who's very forgetful of the uses of the save button! I also came to realise quite early on that any document over 35 pages takes some time to load! Staken is now starting her third master document just for Rocket. The end is nigh! How many more chapters must it take to get to the Science Museum and rescue Jangles? Um... *pathetic laugh* I don't know. A few.