The Third Rail never really closed. Charlie might tell you to take a hike if you stopped spending and I'd seen a couple of folks who'd gotten on the wrong side of local politics get themselves thrown out, but as long as you had two caps to rub together and kept to your own business you could get a drink and something that passed for a meal regardless of what hour of day or night you wandered in at.
I ordered myself a cup of what was too-generously called coffee and few slices of fried cram – if you made sure to wolf it down before it cooled, it wasn't awful. A thought occurred to me then and I turned to catch Nick's eye. He'd shared coffee with me before, but I wasn't sure if he went as far as eating. "You want anything to start off your day?"
"Nicky here's practically a freeloader," Charlie groused as he fixed my order up, not giving him a chance to answer for himself. "Sometimes he'll buy for others, which is the only reason I let him in the joint. But never a damned thing for himself. Though I'm not sure where it'd go if he did, if you catch my drift." Abruptly, he set a plate and mug down on the bar before floating off to polish some glasses.
"It's not that I don't appreciate the offer," Nick said, once we'd found ourselves a corner table. Mid-morning, there were only a few other people around—the place wouldn't get lively until dusk. "But I don't actually need to eat or drink, or even sleep, for that matter. An occasional indulgence is one thing, but when it comes to muck like you've got in that cup there? I'll pass."
Muck was a fair description of what was in the cup, but I drank it down anyway. It was a little more gritty and a lot more bitter than I'd have liked, but it was hot and unlikely to actually harm me. Charlie probably wasn't above offing a customer, but not one that tipped.
High standards aside, Nick's comment raised a question in my mind. "Is that the same reason you smoke, then? An indulgence?" The only thing I suspected he could get from it was a coating of tar on his insides, maybe, and insulation against odors even more offensive than stale cigarettes. It seemed like an odd habit for a synth to pick up, and my curiosity burned. How much could I ask him without him getting suspicious about my motives? I was both his client and his partner; wouldn't he expect me to try to get to know him better? Wouldn't it be normal to begin to approach something like friendship?
If awkward questions didn't cause him to twig to my scheme, I worried that my habit of second-guessing myself might just do the trick. Would he accept it, if he ever found me out? Fondness wouldn't detract from my study of him, but could deceit be the basis of a real friendship? Even on the off-chance he'd overlook it, could I let myself allow it to all run together like that? I didn't have an answer, but my gut twisted at the thought.
The cram on my plate was losing its appeal, but I forced a greasy chunk of it down anyway. It would go from unpleasant to inedible if I let it congeal, and an empty stomach wouldn't improve my day at all.
"Well, that and style, I guess." Nick's voice pulled me back out of the tangle of my thoughts. Apparently he didn't consider it to have been too personal of an ask after all. "Goes along with the hat and coat, don't you think?"
It did. He cut a striking image; one that'd caught my breath in my chest when I'd first laid eyes on him. "You know," I said, dragging out the words. "I've been wondering about that. Can't say I'd ever seen eyes like yours before… well, before. But your outfit? The way you carry yourself, the way you talk? It's like you walked right out of one of those noir holoflicks. Must've taken some effort to piece a look like that together."
He tipped his head forward with a sheepish smile. "The leads of those flicks didn't tend to have metal for insides, but I take your point," he started to explain. I wondered when and where and how he'd managed to see them in the first place.
It was just one more point of mystery for me to file away about him – like why I recognized his name, why he'd kept the gun I'd replaced for him, why the library was important to him. For the moment, though, I was content to listen on as he spoke.
"Back when I first started up with the detective thing full time, I just wore the usual wasteland couture. Folks that hired me didn't care one way or another, but out in the wastes actually working cases? It took an awful lot of convincing to get people to see me as anything other than a threat, or at best a curiosity. No one's ever going to miss what I am, no matter how I dress. But in this getup, looking at least a little like what people expect a detective to look like? It usually distracts them long enough to see I'm not there to hurt anyone."
For a moment I tried to picture him wearing something else, but my imagination just wasn't up to the task. Flannel, leather, denim; nothing seemed to suit him half so well as what he was wearing already. But then I caught up with what he'd said. "Usually? So there are exceptions?"
He shrugged, but it looked a little put-on to me. Maybe he just didn't want to admit how much people's doubt in him hurt. "I look an awful lot like those earlier synths that tend to tear whole settlements apart for scrap. It's hard to blame folks for not being willing to give me a chance, especially if they have personal experience with one of them. They're just scared."
Not for the first time, I wondered where exactly his scars came from – they were more serious than simple wear and tear would explain. I'd initially taken them as the result of torture. Had I been right about that and only mistaken about whose hand had been responsible?
What had he suffered just for the sake of helping people?
What, asked a traitorous little voice in the back of my head, would he suffer for the sake of helping me?
"Anyway. You didn't bring me down here just for breakfast and to hear me run my mouth. You said you had some news?" I'd gotten lost in my head again instead of answering him.
He had a point, even if I knew he was just changing the subject because of my awkward silence. If I wanted to hear him talk about himself more, I'd have to find a way to stay checked into the conversation.
"Yeah," I said. "News, uh… you could say that."
He watched me as I finished the last of the cram. What was the best way to explain what had happened?
"I had someone break into my room last night for a little chat. Said he was from the Railroad. Interrupting my sleep wasn't the best way anyone's ever tried to win me over, but he left this as a parting gift." I pulled the holotape out and set it on the table between us. "There's a recorded pitch to join up… but it's fairly generic, and there aren't any instructions. Makes me think they didn't expect to be able to control who found or heard it. It's not a hell of a lot to go on. What do you think?"
Nick picked it up to turn it over in his hand, narrowing his eyes at the label in a way that seemed an awful lot like recognition. Was the handwriting familiar to him, or had he just found one of these tapes before? How many of them were out there, across the Commonwealth?
"'Join the Railroad', huh? Usually they go more for a nod and a wink than a midnight visit. But maybe subtlety was off the menu once we got Hancock involved. Did you get your new friend to explain what the deal was with the radio?"
I didn't miss the fact that he had at least some familiarity with the Railroad's operations, but that wasn't particularly surprising. Even setting aside the fact that he was a synth himself, it was easy to imagine the concerned family of one of their recruits hiring him to find answers.
"Apparently they make a habit of feeding intel to Travis, disguised as news bits. Gets the message all through the Commonealth with hardly any risk of anyone getting shot. It's clever… but I guess they hadn't counted on Kellogg listening in. It's the kind of foul-up that sounds about right for a group not used to having many allies, but it doesn't exactly leave me feeling warm towards them."
"Not used to having allies... that's one way to put it. I've crossed paths with them a few times over the years, but it's almost always been on their terms," he said, leaning back into his seat. "And even if you're lending them a hand, they'll keep you in the dark. I guess it's safer that way, but it's not really a way to make friends, you know?"
Despite the fact that he seemed to have worked with them before, it didn't sound like there was much love lost between him and them. Was it just the secrecy that bothered him? I wasn't above keeping Nick in the dark about a few things, myself, and I couldn't judge them based on that alone. I just didn't want to think about him talking about me one day the way he spoke about the Railroad now.
"It's about what I'd expect, if they really are what they say they are," I allowed. "But even if you don't see eye to eye with them exactly… you'd trust them? Help them?"
"Don't get me wrong, it's not like I'm not glad they're out there," he was quick to clarify. "It's one thing for me to make my way in the Commonwealth alone; the Institute washed their hands of me decades ago. But the gen-3s… when they escape, they're hunted down. The Railroad tries to help get them out of the Institute's reach, and when push comes to shove I'll help them. But let's just say that there are reasons I tend to keep out of their way."
The way he phrased it made two things clear to me. First, that he was sore about whatever happened, and second that whatever had happened wasn't any of my business to pry into. I was desperately curious, but trampling a clear boundary wasn't going to be the way into his confidence.
He turned the holotape over in his hand, examining it from every possible angle and apparently deep in thought. On the other side of the room, I could hear Charlie haranguing someone to make good on their tab.
"Hey, I just thought of something. You mind if I borrow that pip-boy of yours?" he asked suddenly, breaking my train of thought.
I unfastened it from my arm and passed it across the table to him. "Go ahead."
He popped the tape into the deck, muted the audio, and focused his attention on the screen. From the angle I had I couldn't quite see what he was doing with the controls, but he seemed to be shifting his weight from side to side as he worked. Once again, I was struck by how human his little habits were.
"Just like I thought," he said, looking pleased with himself. "That recruitment pitch wasn't the only thing on the tape. Take a look, there's a set of coordinates buried in the metadata." It was something that I should have thought to check, but I couldn't even kick myself for the oversight. Getting to watch him work had been worth it – I hadn't even suspected his knack for hacking, and he'd treated me to a personal demonstration.
He passed the pip-boy back to me and his hand grazed mine as I took it. The coordinates looked like central Boston to me, and sure enough – when I copied them onto my map, they pointed to the Commons.
Now that we knew where our next steps would take us, it was time to check in with Hancock. One of his guards showed us upstairs to wait – he was occupied with other business, apparently, and he'd be along as soon as it was settled. The way the man had chuckled suggested to me that I really didn't want to know the details.
I spent the time trying to plot a route from Goodneighbor to the Commons out on my pip-boy. Planning ahead tended to help me to take the worst edges off my navigational woes, even with the headache that came with adjusting on the fly to take new raider camps or freshly-collapsed buildings into account.
While I worked on that, Nick opened a drawer to find a well-worn paperback with a strip of newsprint wedged in it as a bookmark before settling into the sofa beside me. I could only guess that this wasn't the first time that he'd found himself waiting up here, and that he'd left off the last time.
The silence that fell between us was a rare, comfortable kind – not like during breakfast. It was the sort that I hadn't been fortunate enough to share with anyone since Nora. And how long had it been, the day the bombs fell, since we'd taken the time to just sit together and enjoy each other's company? She'd been so busy with her work and her family, and I hadn't had much more free time myself.
We'd met by chance the summer before college – I'd left my parents' home with little more than the clothes on my back and what had fit into the suitcase I'd stolen from their matched set. Nora had mistaken it for her own at the bus terminal, and once we'd sorted out the confusion it wasn't long before we'd become inseparable.
Footsteps on the stairs brought me back to the present, and I blinked against the threat of tears. Grief had ebbed up once again when I'd least expected it. Nick closed his book and looked to me with a question on his face. "Just a memory," I said. He nodded like he understood, and if Hancock hadn't entered the room at just that moment, I think he'd would've tried to say something to comfort me.
Instead, he stood to put his book away – conveniently giving me cover to pull myself together.
"Well, well. You two are up bright and early, aren't you? Have a plan all worked out and ready to share?" he said by way of greeting, sitting down in the armchair across from where I was.
"About that," Nick started, leaning on the back of the sofa with his arms braced against it. "Turns out we had the wrong end of this thing. Vera's… friend… turned out to be from the Railroad, not the Institute."
"So he said, anyway," I added, before filling Hancock in about the midnight visit from the stranger whose name I'd been too addled to ask for. "My gut says he's on the level, but that's all the evidence I have. It's not like either of them hands out anything as convenient as membership cards."
Hancock's fingers drummed against his knee. "Well, I wouldn't put it past the Institute to drop in on you in the middle of the night, but their style tends not to involve leaving any witnesses behind to wonder about it afterwards. Either they would've grabbed you and disappeared without a trace, or leveled the whole town. Nothing in the middle."
"The fact that it probably wasn't the Institute doesn't necessarily imply that it had to be the Railroad," I pointed out. "And even if it was them, I'm not exactly thrilled about how they went about approaching me. The business with the radio was apparently just an accident, but it's got a bad taste in my mouth all the same."
"Desperate people sometimes make choices that look a little ugly from the outside," Hancock said. Something about his tone suggested personal experience that I wasn't privy to. "But no one got hurt, right? I'd call it water under the bridge if I were you. And anyway, if you're chasing down the Institute then they're the most likely to be able to point you in the right direction."
In other words, the Railroad was my only shot. I'd come to that conclusion myself, but I was no happier for hearing him say it. "Which is why I'll be taking them up on their invitation, once we leave here. But I have to ask you one thing, first – those people you talked to last night, on my behalf … was one of them with the Railroad?"
"You're asking me if I told them where to find you?" He sounded insulted at the thought of it, and that alone was enough to convince me. I hadn't actually thought he was responsible for how my visitor had found me, but I'd had to rule it out. "No. All I said to my people was to watch out for anyone on your tail. But you didn't exactly make a secret of where you'd be spending the night, and the Rexford's never been known for its security."
"Which implies that they have a presence somewhere here in Goodneighbor. And you're too good at staying on top of things here not to know about it if they do." It was a risk to keep pressing after I'd already managed to offend him, but I was sure he had to know something about them, something I could use to get the advantage on whatever my next encounter with them would hold.
He leaned back and rubbed his hand over his face. The ancient wood of the chair groaned in complaint. "Vera. Listen carefully. As long as someone – or a group of someones – doesn't make trouble for me, there's a limit to how much I need to know about what they're up to. Do they pass through here? I don't have a doubt in my mind about it. But they're careful enough not to make themselves into a problem for me. There isn't anything I can tell you about them."
It wasn't an outright denial – he'd deliberately not said whether or not there was more he knew. But the refusal to talk was clear enough. I met his eyes and nodded. "Alright. I hear you." I didn't think there was much more to discuss, but something seemed to occur to him when I stood to leave.
"Oh, Nick – before you two fly off, did Amari have everything you needed to patch yourself up? I got a few people I can lean on if you still need anything. You know all you gotta do is ask, right?"
I turned to look at Nick in confusion, but he wouldn't meet my eyes. Who was Amari? "Uh, yeah," he said. "I'm all set, no need to trouble yourself on my behalf. It was nothing more than a scratch, anyway."
A scratch? Had he been hurt yesterday without me even noticing? I'd seen that his coat had been a little shabbier after our encounter with the Gunners, but I hadn't stopped to ask myself why. Hancock had known, though. Had Nick told him and not me, or did Hancock just know Nick well enough to pick up on a hidden injury without him having to say anything?
And why would Nick hide being injured? Did Hancock know Nick had hidden it from me? Why would he go out of his way to reveal something like that, but not tell me anything useful about the Railroad? It didn't make any sense, no matter how I tried to explain it to myself.
Nick lead the way outside and I followed mutely. Whatever the reason, one thing was clear: he didn't trust me. I knew that I didn't deserve his trust, but to see proof that I didn't have it stung for than I'd been expecting.
He didn't say anything to me while I was trading the last of what we'd taken from the Gunners to KLE-O, or while I stopped into Daisy's shop for another hug before we left.
But once we were beyond eavesdropping range of the gate, I signaled him to an alley where we had passable cover.
"Listen, I... it's fair you don't want my help with maintenance or repairs. I don't want to imply like I've got a problem with what you choose for yourself. But if you can't trust me enough to let me know when you're hurt ... when I'm going to need to cover more for you, or get you someplace safe so you can take care of things ..."
My voice trailed off and I let out a sigh. I didn't actually want to say it out loud – that it'd be hard to work with him as a partner. It'd have been a bluff, and a transparent one at that. Maybe the Railroad was a useful lead and maybe it wasn't, but I knew I'd get further along Shaun's trail with Nick at my side than without. And if push came to shove, if accepting that he wasn't going to trust me as far as he could throw me was the price for his companionship? I'd have paid it.
"You didn't ask," he said plainly. "It wasn't bad enough to slow me down, and you didn't ask, so I didn't think it was worth troubling you about. We had more important things to worry about than another gouge in my chassis, anyway."
He was right. I hadn't asked if he was alright, after the fighting had stopped. I'd worried while he was out of sight, but as soon as I'd seen him after the dust cleared I'd assumed he was fine. Why hadn't I asked? "I'm sorry," I said, uselessly. "That – that was thoughtless of me. You risked yourself for a plan of mine you didn't know anything about, and I didn't even…"
"I had a partner, once," he said, a moment after my voice trailed off. "A drunk by the name of Marty Bullfinch. Well, I say partner, but mostly we just shared an office and split the caseload. We didn't go out into the field side by side, not the way you and I are doing. It's… new. I guess we both have things to learn about working as a team."
It was a kinder thing to say than I felt I deserved.
"I'll do better," I promised him. I couldn't bear the thought of him just enduring another injury and thinking I wouldn't care about it. "But – please. If I don't notice something, if you need anything, if I've so much as stuck my foot in my mouth... I need you to tell me. We're in this thing together. And maybe we don't know each other well yet, and maybe you don't trust easy. But I've got your back. Don't ever doubt that I've got your back."
He held my gaze long enough that it started to feel uncomfortable, and then nodded.
"I saw you putting your tools in with your first-aid kit, you know. I guess you wouldn't do that if you weren't ready to back those words of yours up," he said. I startled and flushed – I hadn't done that as a performance for him to notice. I'd just wanted them near at hand, just in case.
He laughed, and I smiled. Together, we began to make our way towards whatever was waiting for us at the Commons.