They woke early to find a sunny, hazing morning, the barren landscape around them apparently no worse for the wear, save the displacement of debris and some pretty decimated trees. None of that looked out of place in this world, though. They walked for almost eight hours before stopping to eat the last of their food. They hadn't accounted for the delay the storm had caused, so hopefully they'd either make it to the farm tonight, or find somewhere to loot some food from. They didn't rest for too long, they were on the home-stretch, so their anticipation lent them some endurance, despite how weary their legs were from walking for four days straight. They arrived just an hour or so before sunset.
And just like that, there he was, a six-year-old edition of MacCready standing on the porch of a white farmhouse wearing a t-shirt and the bottom half of a kid's vault suit held up with a pair of suspenders. His brown hair had a strange, small patch of blonde on one side, and was completely disheveled, sticking up in every direction. His skin was a warm, light tobacco color that must have come from his mother.
He looked at her with big, round versions of Mac's gunmetal blue eyes and by the look on his face you'd of thought she just told him he won a million caps and a trip to the moon. His look was expectant and excited and hopeful and he seemed every bit as optimistic and carefree as his letters made him out to be.
"Cryo?" he called out, then hopped off the steps to land on the dirt and run toward her at a full sprint. She wasn't sure how to react as he barreled toward her - did he want a hug? Yep, that became clear as he plowed into her legs and wrapped his arms around her waist, almost knocking her over.
"Take it easy, buddy," MacCready laughed. She leaned down to hug him back, taking note of how thin he was as she felt his shoulder blades sticking out from his back. She felt a surge of what she assumed was maternal instinct in the form of wishing she'd brought something for him to eat, though judging by the rows of crops she could see on the far side of the house, they weren't lacking for sustenance.
"Dad," he said, but not with the excitement he'd shown in her greeting. It was just pure, candid relief. MacCready knelt down to hug him for a few long moments and she saw Mac's face in an entirely new light, one that had instantly lost years of worries and wrinkles and fully expressed the absolute relief of having his son safely in his arms. Then she remembered - this was the first time in years MacCready had seen him healthy - unmarred by the terrible affliction that had almost killed him. Then she noticed the light scars and scabs that the boils had left in their wake, covering his arms and the back of his neck. He was young enough that with time they would likely barely be noticeable at all.
Then Duncan and MacCready shared a moment that made her feel like by observing, she was violating some kind of sacred father/son bond. But it was the sweetest thing she ever saw in her life so she couldn't look away. Like some kind of preordained ritual, they faced one another, nose to nose, with the blankest, most serious, calculating expressions. Then they just stared for a few long minutes, studying each others faces as if assigning every inch to memory. Finally, Duncan burst out laughing and MacCready shortly followed.
"You win, this time!" Duncan squealed, then giggled and turned to run back toward the house. "Uncle Owen's grilling brahmin out back! I want to show you our tatos!" he yelled, disappearing around the far side of the house. She exchanged a relieved look with MacCready before following him around the side of the house. In the back, a man wearing jeans and a plaid shirt was hovered over a fire pit. Large cuts of meat were laid aside and he was just beginning to start a fire. He turned around as they got closer, seeming surprised by who he saw, but not caught off guard that someone was approaching.
"Robert - aren't you a sight for sore eyes?" the man said with a rough, weathered voice. He was quite tall and wrapped with thick muscle but had a gentle look about him. His hair was shorn as short as his beard, all of which was salt and pepper, though he couldn't have been older than his late thirties. He gave Mac one of those man-style hugs that was half hand shake, half rough pat on the back.
"Owen, Jes-… why'd you stop writing?" Mac asked, "We were worried sick."
"We?" Owen asked with a small grin as he looked toward her. "I'm guessing you're the one I've been hearing so much about from Duncan?"
"Nice to meet you," she said, reaching out to shake his hand.
"Likewise," he replied, giving her hand a firm shake, then turning to MacCready. "We just got back last night - we got driven out by super mutants a few weeks ago," he explained, dread in his voice from the memory. Duncan ran toward them from the small tato patch on the side of the house with an armful of ripe fruit.
"Cryo, look!" he said excitedly, dumping the tatos on a nearby picnic table before holding a couple out to show her.
"Wow," she said, kneeling down to have a look at eye level. She was surprised that she didn't have to pretend to be impressed… the fruit looked downright great. "Those look amazing… how are they so… much like tomatoes?"
"It's called splicing," Duncan explained, and she raised an eyebrow as she turned to look at MacCready with disbelief.
He gave a nod to Owen, then explained, "Owen comes from a long line of botanists."
"I see," she said, making a mental note to talk business with the man later. She wanted every settlement in the Commonwealth to have these seeds. She looked back at Duncan as he turned around to set the tatos on the table. As he reached up, his shirt came untucked from his pants and she noticed a small, clean strip of gauze taped to his lower back.
"What happened here?" MacCready asked, seeming to notice the injury at the same time. He knelt down to inspect the bandage, which was bleeding through a bit.
"I don't remember," Duncan said.
Owen laughed, "You wiped out while running laps in the gourd fields."
"Right," Duncan said, his look blank at first, then he smiled, "Right!"
"Where the he-… heck… is your coat, bud, it's getting cold," MacCready asked, indicating the western sky as the sun was close to setting.
"I took my sweater off when I was running around the barn because I got hot," he explained excitedly.
"Are you sure you feel good enough to be running around so much?" Mac asked with some worry.
"I feel great, dad, really!" he said, "Look!" Duncan then sprinted toward the barn to demonstrate his unending energy by running around it in circles.
"He's been like this for weeks," Owen said. "I think it really worked, Rob." He shook MacCready's shoulder with one large hand and they shared a grateful expression. MacCready turned to watch Duncan with a look in his eye she'd never seen before - a combination of intense gratitude, maybe a little optimism. But most importantly - hope.
