FALLOUTGATE PART 2: COMMONWEALTH
CHAPTER ONE: SEMPER FI
Welcome back, hope you've missed the story and are eager for more of Sam and Jack's Wasteland adventures! I've added a little bit of in-story recap for Part 1 below, to catch you back up, but for those of you wanting something clear cut: suffice to say – please read FalloutGate Part 1 or this won't make a bit of sense /works/26215141?view_full_work=true
Part 1: (In a nuclear nutshell) A year ago Sam/Jack (Stargate SG1 s8 – pre-threads) were spat out of a malfunctioning Stargate onto a parallel Earth that suffered a nuclear apocalypse. The gate is gone, the Goa'uld never came to this Earth, which is an eery parallel version of their own with a freaky Jetson's style 60s imagined retro-future (or Fallout 4 if you know it). This Wasteland is populated with the weird, the wonderful and the downright terrible. They've made some homes, some friends, some enemies, admitted their love and found domestic bliss – as much as you can eating 200-year-old crap and popping Rad-X pills like they're going out of fashion. So where do we go? Well game-wise we've barely scratched the surface so let's get ready to power up - we've got manipulative psychic's, the mysterious Institute and their Synth's, a sneaky Railroad and fresh off the Prydwen Brotherhood of Steel coming up. Not to mention a certain Cabot House and a trip to everyone's least favourite asylum. I can't promise smooth sailing, this is a Vault-tec future in the Commonwealth Wasteland after all, but I can promise you it will be a hell of a ride. And who knows maybe Sam will pull a miracle out of her ass and get them home after all … maybe.
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[3 months after Nuclear Winter] – [14 months after P4M-523]
The gun blast damn near took his head off and Jack dropped down hastily diving behind a row of metal fixed trash cans that were inexplicably still standing and sending a bunch of raven's squawking up into the air, giving away his position. "Oh, fer crying out loud!" he roared. He glanced around the impromptu cover and took in the raiders squatted up on the damn balconies of what he assumed were once some pretty nice flats.
"Stealth I said. What the hell am I teaching these idiots?" he muttered, irritated. But he only had himself to blame. He was the one running the training program's although, since he'd let Preston and Ronnie take a more active role, it was a somewhat diminished responsibility. Besides, he supposed, when was there much requirement for damn stealth in the Wasteland?
Sam's invisible hand went down on his leg and he flinched, barely curbing the natural instinct only because he was expecting it. "I've got it." she rasped against his ear, pressing a kiss to his lips quickly and then she was gone, off in her 'phased' state. He shouldn't have found the idea of her going out there to spread a little mayhem so damn arousing, and yet, or maybe it was just the idea of her invisible that was hot. He provided some distracting cover fire, trying to keep his team alive, whilst one after another unsuspecting raider fell to her silent switchblade, which gave them back the element of surprise.
Sam re-materialized in front of him about ten slightly nerve-jangling minutes later, huffing as she smacked her Stealth modified Pip-Boy and shook her head. "Out of juice. It'll have to recharge for a few minutes." she sighed as she joined him. He took the opportunity of her visibility to give her a once over. "You know, there's an argument to be had for going out on our own every now and again." She indicated the variously bleeding or wounded Minutemen around them who were muttering amongst themselves. The ambush by these assholes in the high-rises was well orchestrated. It seemed like they'd been dug in for a while and unfortunately the damn laser crank rifles that Preston kept shoving into their hands weren't helping with return fire; too noisy and not nearly the range. They were impressive looking weapons but that was about it; far too showy, give him his P90 any day. Sam had managed to modify the weapon for him to take this World's version of the 5.56mm, which had been a Godsend. Whilst she still carried hers, she did prefer her Plasma pistol, which she unclipped now; her 'raygun' as he called it. The damn thing was a science geek's wet dream and she'd tricked it out to the max. So much so that when she did occasionally unleash it, the unfortunate target would completely disintegrate into a green goo. But, since plasma cartridges were a lot harder to come by, you had to have really pissed her off to get her to fire off one of the babies these days. They were a lot like the Zat guns. Once or twice, he had considered going back for the alien weaponry they had stashed in Sanctuary. He doubted anyone would bat an eye given Sam's well-known genius, but he was slightly wary of that. Besides the stun setting was less helpful out here, and this place didn't lack for fancy energy weapons itself. Better not to rock the boat.
"Whatcha thinking?" she asked wincing and ducking her head down further as a hail of bullet fire ricocheted off the remnants of an old fountain, in what he assumed was an old courtyard for these apartments.
"That we should have left the team at home." he muttered, shaking his head. He glanced over. This whole mission was a fishing expedition more than a rescue as it was.
"You want to send them back?" she queried and he thought it was telling that she wasn't arguing the toss on this. He didn't answer. "It's your call, but right now, I'm thinking the two of us have a better shot of getting through here quietly." she pointed out. Jack glanced up at the high-rise buildings and the endless snipers. She was right of course; the big group were sitting ducks down here. They really needed to get up top and start taking them down one at a time.
"Yeah. You're probably right." he acknowledged. Jack whistled; eyes and ears turned to him. He gave them the 'bug out to base' signal and got a mostly aggressive hand gesture back from Preston. "Get them home, that's an order, this isn't working!" Jack snapped at the man who looked like he wanted to start a row about it. "We'll go check out this signal and report back." It took a few minutes, but under cover, the Minutemen mostly managed a silent retreat. God, they weren't even in the thick of it yet and they couldn't even manage to conceal themselves amongst all this damn rubble. Sam was right, this wasn't the right squad for this. They'd just get killed and he didn't want that on his damn conscience.
Jack glanced back at Sam squatted down next to him, "You sure you want to do this?" She looked up at him with a frown. "Right, dumb question." Sam was taking Mama Murphy's words seriously. Especially after her little Christmas 'ring' trick, which meant that they were heading to the Glowing Sea, and the only way Sam could think to get them out of it in one piece was in a fancy suit of Power Armour each; equipped with the best pre-War tactical radiation and environmental shielding the military could provide. Which meant they needed to go where the Power Armour was. He just wasn't sure how wise it was to go running after a group that called themselves the Brotherhood of Steel. Especially when their mission statement to "cleanse the Commonwealth" bore more than a passing resemblance to a certain European Fascist group he had pointedly not mentioned to Sam. But she'd heard their distress call and had figured if ever there was a way into this closed off little group, and to their fancy armour, then this was it.
Unfortunately, the signal was coming from Boston Central, somewhere by the Police HQ, and surrounding that were dozens of these damn high-rises, chock full of opportunistic little bastard raiders. Perfect place for a romantic stroll with his lovely, albeit deadly, wife. In fact, it reminded him of taking a stroll through central Beirut that one time.
Sam's suggestion to get to the top of the crumbling hotel had been an interesting decision. These guys had been using the high-rise like some sort of super-highway. There were planks across gaps, jerry rigged dumb waiter operated lifts. Jack would have been more impressed if he wasn't so worried about the stability of the flimsy metal strip he was traversing currently, hundreds of feet in the air between apartments. A bunch of ravens he suspected to be the very same group he'd startled from their perch earlier, were watching him with beady little eyes, probably wondering what the hell he was doing up here without wings.
He reached the other roof and let out a sigh of relief, rubbing his cold hands together. He needed to find some damn gloves. The cold had really started to bite this time of year. They'd even had snow the last couple of months, just as Preston had promised, which had kept them largely holed up in the Castle. Don't eat 'yellow' snow really took on a whole new meaning when it was radioactive, although the glow was sort of pretty at night in a weird way. He was grateful for the damn vault suits they both had on again under their clothes. Jack had always suspected they had a temperature regulating property to them; he was feeling pretty toasty in his core, which was something. His Minutemen General's outfit strapped down with some pretty slick low weight, high durability combat armour helped. He'd left the Tricorn hat at home, opting for a nice warm beanie instead, which had been a good decision given as he tended to stick out like a sore thumb in it. That was usually the point of wearing it, but not for a mission where he was supposed to be stealthily clambering over rooftops.
He turned to watch Sam inch her way, with a fair bit more grace than him, over the metal bridge and hop down beside him, accepting his outstretched hand. Her hair whipped into her face despite the ponytail she'd dragged the long blonde locks into, and the black baseball cap on her head. Jack hadn't meant to admire, but as she bent down to readjust her pack, he got an eyeful of just what a vault suit beneath her trusty wine-coloured leather pants did to shape her ass. He swallowed. Oh, he was far too lucky to be able to genuinely tell people, with a small thrill now, that this was his wife. She whipped out her chem-box and handed it to him.
"Take one of these Jack. The radiation is higher up here, must be the strong winds." she told him. He held his hand out accepting the little green pill without comment and throwing it into his mouth to swallow. When the Pip-Boy did that ominous little 'ticking' thing on his wrist he tended to listen. Rad-X, 'never leave home without it!'. Or at least he and Sam couldn't. But then they were the only ones who seemed to be sucking up radiation like it was going out of fashion. Everyone else native to this Earth had a much better resistance, both naturally and through Vault-tec's and the Government's dumb ass manipulations. Sam took her own and he watched her stow the little chem-box away. At least the pills were relatively cheap and abundant to get hold of. Most people didn't bother with them unless they were going spelunking in radioactive water, so not much demand. Sam straightened out her own combat armour and the thick fur lined leather trench coat that MacCready, of all people, had sent for her with a note; 'It gets cold in Boston, wear this space ranger'. Jack should have been more bothered about guys sending her random gifts, except she already got moonshine sent from the bartender Vadim in Diamond City, machine parts from Sturgess back in Sanctuary and almost daily call out's to her on the radio. If he wanted to take the hump about that type of thing, he'd be spoiling for a fight with half the Wasteland at this rate.
Not that he didn't get his own fair share of unwanted attention. It came with the job, although most of his were from people trying to get into his militia rather than his pants, so it tended to come in the form of guns and ammo. Or food … Abernathy's cheese and a Donapple were well known ways to wheedle into his good books. But, he had to admit there was something faintly disturbing about being gifted a basket of sonic mines from a pretty young girl that looked like she should have been in college, rather than batting her eyes at him and urging him to blow something up. But the Wasteland was fun like that.
"We should split up, take the element of surprise. You've got the stealth-boy. I'm just going to slow you down if I'm tagging along." Jack admitted finally. He didn't particularly want her off on her own but tactically they needed to make this quick, and she was better equipped right now. "I'll make my own way down the left. They're all focusing their fire inwards. They won't expect it from behind anyway." he told her. She glanced at her Pip-Boy again, he did too, taking in the red blips of life-signs. Handy.
Blowing out an exasperated breath Sam nodded. He knew she was impatient to get to the Brotherhood team who had sent out the distress signal; this was a distraction they didn't need. The signal was already several weeks old, but it was still broadcasting, so there was that.
"Fine." she agreed. He nodded and turned to leave. Sam grabbed his arm and pressed herself against him, their armour clunking together, making it a touch harder than it should be, as her hand slid under his jaw. Her lips found his and he responded, kissing her fast and hard like she clearly wanted; that was enough to warm him the hell up.
"I'll be fine Sam." he promised in a rasp against her lips, giving them one last kiss and stroking her cheek with his thumb. "Just make sure you leave some for me yeah?" She smiled gently and nodded. Something about this seemed to have got her spooked, she was quieter than usual. "Just remember invisible isn't bullet proof." he reminded her.
"I know. Just, be careful too okay?" she asked him. Jack nodded, knowing that she was probably thinking about the last time they were out here together, not long after Christmas. He had possibly bitten off more than he could chew at Fort Strong. It was almost directly NE of their position at the Castle and had been dug in well by Super-mutants. He'd been eyeing it through the binoculars for some time from the castle ramparts, but the bastards were well armed and in a defensible position. Sam had come out of their last full-frontal assault on the place a little singed; her back and left arm needing some burns treatment. He'd fared worse, losing a damn kidney. The medic had somehow managed to make it sound like he'd carelessly misplaced it, instead of having it busted up by a stray bit of shrapnel from a bottlecap mine, of all the damn things. He supposed he was just lucky that he'd managed to get inside the remnants of one of those little 'fallout booths' of theirs. Maybe his initial quip that the phone booth style metal pods wouldn't protect you from a nuclear blast needed a rethink. After all, they were still standing and he'd only been partly blown up.
A few Stimpaks, and the best surgeon they could tempt into joining the Minutemen's cause, later he was patched up and mostly good as new. Even if there was still a bottle cap lodged somewhere inside him. It hadn't even been worth it, other than for intel. They'd had to run away with their tails between their damn legs. Retreating for now. Even the mortar shelling hadn't helped, not behind the Fort's thick walls and the area was just too large. Still … it hadn't stopped him from ordering Ronnie and her ramparts team to blow the ever-living shit out of it for a few days. He hadn't seen any movement for a while after that, but they might have just retreated within the Fort. One day, when he could convince Sam it wasn't an insane idea, and that he didn't actually have a death wish, he'd go take another look and see if they were as dead as he'd hoped. He hated Super-mutants. The damn things were just overgrown trolls, dumber than sin, with a real mean streak that extended to eating people. Ever since their little trip into the Supermarket where one had nearly pulled Sam into bite size pieces, he'd taken particular glee in blowing them away.
If he was honest with himself, he kind of liked that Sam worried about him. The fact that he worried about her was just a given, it had been for years. He damn near had nightmares every time he watched her disappear off out of his sight out here. But she was trained and damn good at her job, even before a year in a hellish Wasteland that had fine-tuned her combat instincts and her aim. Sam could take the head clean off pretty much anything that got within her visual range. But still, he worried. He supposed that sick feeling in his gut, which he was sure would lead to an ulcer one day, was just part and parcel of being stranded on an alternate Earth ravaged by nuclear war, or of being hopelessly in love with someone on the front lines. It was hardly going to be all cupcakes and rainbows all the time. Again, he found himself sympathising with Sara for all the times he'd run off to do his thing and she'd been left behind wondering if that smart ass comment would be his last to her.
He returned Sam's short nervous wave as she headed down inside, vanishing as she turned her Stealth modified Pip-Boy on. Jack just hoped his poker face had been on and she hadn't read exactly what was screwing up his head right now. The last thing he wanted, when they got back, was a row about coddling her. He checked his Pip-Boy; the signal was sending out a strong broadcast to hers. She had set up an SOS between them, linked to their life signs, so he would know if she got in trouble. With a sigh, saying a prayer to the God's that fancied taking bets on him today, he headed off down the staircase of what he presumed had once been some pretty nice condos.
As he made his slow and silent way down the crumbled floor and along the outer balconies, hopping from one to the next as silently as someone his size could, he considered why he'd let her talk him into this. As he'd told Sam and Major Shaw when they'd ganged up on him about this little 'rescue mission' to save a bunch of Jarheads in tin-cans, 'If they were really as advanced and technologically superior as they boasted, then whatever had managed to get the drop on them, was probably something of a shit show.' He really felt that point hadn't been given nearly enough thought by the two women glaring at him.
Ronnie had come back with a whole spiel about how it would help the Minutemen's cause to have the Brotherhood on side and generate cooperation in this part of the Commonwealth. Sam had stood there politely agreeing with everything, but Jack suspected she didn't give a rats ass about whether this was good for the Minutemen or not, so long as it wasn't overly damaging. In fact he'd got the distinct sense that Sam, being the clever little cookie that she was, had somehow manipulated Shaw into this rather impassioned defence of a plan she was all in favour of. She'd wound the good Major up and pointed her at Jack, only he could see the damn strings. He'd glared at her at the time, over the top of Shaw's head, promising her with his eyes she'd pay for getting him in the crosshairs. Possibly with a good spanking. Ronnie had a temper like a bear trap and once you were snared in it, there was nothing to do but wait to be mauled. He surrendered himself and took the damn mission. Sam's little smug grin hadn't won her any points, because he knew damn well that she'd considered the implications of a call for help like that out here.
But Jack also understood her mindset. Hell, he even agreed with it in principle, so long as it was safe. Sam though had been more than a little pre-occupied with finding this Brotherhood lately. She'd plundered the data banks for more intel on them when, about a month ago, they'd stumbled across the National Guard Training Centre which had been a former Commonwealth Provisional Government stronghold. Inside had been a treasure trove of mostly up to date intel on all the major players this 'CPG' had been able to source. Of course, like any sense of law and order out here, this 'government' had fallen, corrupt and overstretched, but their intel had been sound, particularly on the Brotherhood. On the Institute, other than noting that they felt they were somewhere 'underground', they had next to nothing. He took a look for himself, not entirely trusting Sam's rather clip-notes version that was emerging of the Brotherhood. He'd been right. He personally hadn't liked the sound of them. They were all about protecting and controlling technology from falling into the wrong hands; the wrong hands being everyone else's of course. Pro-humanists, Anti-politics, they were more like a religious group than anything military Jack had thought. But, Sam had been right, they had weapons, tech and an organisation that spanned a lot of what was left of the US. But it was the technology Sam was interested in, given as they were no closer to getting to this Institute … who were a noted enemy of well, everyone. He was kind of hoping for an 'enemy of my enemy is my friend' style deal.
Jack could pinpoint the exact moment when it went from mere interest to 'mission' for Sam. It was when they'd found a body of one of the Brotherhood's soldiers, during one of their little walkabouts to visit a few old friends between Settlements. The body had come with a holotape and a set of dog-tags that Sam had pocketed almost reverently. From the intel they'd gotten off the body, they were part of some sort of recon unit, Artemis, and it had apparently all gone tits up for them out here if this guy's miserable recording, as he'd bled out, meant anything. Jack wasn't sure what had shot him before the Ghouls got to the body, but the weapon had left a mark that neither Sam nor Preston had seen before. Some sort of beam straight through his impressive chest-plate armour, which was military grade Sam had said, strong carbon fibre alloy. Personally, he was more interested in the group that had done the shooting but he imagined the answer lay with the Institute. There had been a body, which Sam had examined; it had been mostly human. Their field medic had examined the body, returning grim faced with some sort of plastic-metal device; a 'Synth' component buried in his brain. Out here, this was the only way to tell who was a Synth. Sam had pocketed the thing, looking down at the completely human looking body with unease. Jack was thinking these things were more like cyborgs than a robot, but what did he know?
He'd taken a couple of jobs with the Railway trying to find out more about the Synth's and the Institute's endgame, but no one seemed any the wiser as to what they were doing replacing people. Or why, if they had this technology, they were bothering at all. Surely they could just wipe them all out. Jack found it all very odd. Particularly when he'd got more info on these Synths. They were grown in a lab. Although Synth bodies looked human, they were stronger, faster and functionally immortal; they didn't need to sleep and ate mostly to fit in. That damn chip in their brains provided most of the processing power and their cells were equipped with some sort of sustaining energy reaction. It was all very Frankenstein. Jack had tried real hard to keep his poker face in play when Desdemona had been trying to illicit sympathy from him about their enslaved plight. Personally, he thought they sounded like the damn Terminators, just waiting to rise up and stomp down on what was left of humanity. Dutifully though, to keep in with them, he'd done some of their damn grunt work. He would have rather put some of his Minutemen on it, but apparently, they weren't 'in the gang'. The dead-drops hadn't led to much yet and he was resisting doing anything more for them given Sam's feelings on the matter. But she'd asked him to keep P.A.M. sweet, so that was what he was doing, even though he thought their outfit was a strange sort of exercise in self-destruction.
Next to the Railroad, the Brotherhood were making all kinds of sense, even if they seemed like humourless assholes. Sam, of course, was willing to jump at the chance to get an 'in' with the next best technologically advanced group, and military to boot. It was literally the way she was hard-wired from birth by dear old Dad. If these Brotherhood guys had what she thought she needed, then Sam was going after it with the same bloody-minded determination she'd used to re-writing the laws of physics for him once. Besides, he was one to talk; he'd gone out with the idea of 'rescuing' settlements with the same sort of zeal.
Jack knew Sam was literally their only shot of getting out of this place and despite her recent comments suggesting otherwise, that was something he very much wanted. So if she had to turn over every damn stone and throw a hundred more snowballs at this problem, he'd have to let her and accept the consequences of that. He just hoped this Brotherhood lot weren't going to follow the depressing pattern out here, by stomping all over their ever-decreasing chances of finding a ticket home. Hell, at this point he was wondering if they should just settle for a ticket off this irradiated fucked up planet. He'd been feeling a lot less charitable since the recent spate of raider attacks on their established settlements. It seemed every day now, one or other farm was being raided. The Minutemen were being well and truly stretched. He honestly didn't know what it was with this place but it seemed determined to tear itself apart. The spirit of long-term cooperation was starting to dim with the need for self-preservation in the here and now.
That meant it was getting easier to refocus on the priority of his wife and himself surviving this; to get her that chance to get them home. But that didn't mean he wanted anyone else dying on account of his head being wherever she was at, which meant he was pretty much along for the damn ride. Problem was, when it came to Sam, he stopped thinking like a General and started thinking like a man who was trying to keep the light of his fucking life, from running off and enlisting with a bunch of metal-clad Jarheads.
An axe whizzed past his head and embedded itself in the wall next to him and he cussed quietly, noting the tripwire he'd just triggered. 'Get your fucking head in the game old man!' he chastised himself, quickly slid into the room, sticking a blade silently into the idiot on watch that was asleep, or too doped out to care. It was brutal, but then so was this setup. These raiders had been picking off anyone that ventured into Boston Central for a long time now, making this whole area a no-go zone. And they didn't take prisoners, having long forgotten the meaning of mercy, which meant that he couldn't show any either. Just one of these fuckers could get a lucky shot at them from range as they headed out; that was something he wasn't about to let happen.
It was when he was alone, creeping through abandoned buildings and trying to avoid stepping on things that went boom, that he really missed Dogmeat. The dog had been an amazing early warning system and a hell of a comfort when your back was to the wall. But he was holed up tight in Vault 81, living the good doggy life, so he had to make do with his Pip-Boy. It reminded him of a damn Gameboy, only less fun. Although the fact that he'd found the video game Red Menace on there – a surprise gift from Sam that she'd sneakily downloaded for him – had helped with his enthusiasm for it somewhat. It was pretty much Donkey Kong with barrels and everything. She'd promised that if he was a very good boy she'd see about getting him Zeta Invaders. Apparently, she knew all sorts of people out here from her little side gig, trading in weapons and munitions. Right now he wasn't interested in playing games on the damn thing; he was fiddling with the settings and trying to get a display for life-signs. Apparently, someone around here had a Fat Boy because he was picking up the distinctive radiation trace now. Nice! He liked those big ass mini-nuke launchers. Not something he'd get to say in polite society. Fortunately, out here wasn't polite.
Jack came across a group of assholes holed up on a balcony, nursing their wounds and bitching about it, when he got the drop on them. Seemed like Sam had been taking a few pot shots at them from her cloaked location. He used a switchblade to take two down silently. He pulled out his 'double 00' gun as he called it, the Walter PP9 with silencer (it looked so damn close to one he chose to believe it was); relieved from a wall safe in one of the nicer parts of Boston a while back. He'd been itching to try it out, particularly as he'd always been taught to take his targets down by stealth; it was his original trade after all. Seems like it's a skill once mastered, never forgotten.
Although Sam's fancy little cloaking toy made it child's play. She got a grin whenever she engaged it and he likewise felt it, knowing he'd put that joy there by getting her this. Although to be fair, he'd just got her the bog-standard thing. She'd managed somehow to integrate the technology into her Pip-Boy and 'recharge' it using a similar technique to the fusion cells, which incidentally was what it ran off. Jack tried not to dwell too much on the fact that she had popped two Rad-X pills before wandering off in it. It was nifty though. He'd had a little play with it, but she'd told him snarkily that he was too immature to handle it when he'd surprised her one morning in the barracks shower. His jaw still attested to how surprised she'd been. He could still feel it when he chewed; she'd always had a mean right hook.
It wasn't invisibility. Jack figured that out from watching her before he'd even taken it for a spin. But, it had been as near as he was likely to get and that had been absolutely thrilling for as long as he'd gotten to play. He'd come to think of it more like active camouflage. Sam's explanation, as she 'talked dirty' to him and he'd genuinely tried to listen with his hands all over her, had been that it scanned the user and the surroundings and overlayed an image perfectly. It was certainly working today. He hadn't heard a peep from the red blips that Sam was clearly making 'disappear' on his Pip-Boy.
He took out the last blip with a switchblade, straight into the spinal column, back of the neck, quick and clean. Probably better than these assholes deserved. He was startled by the feel of Sam's hand on the back of his neck, her leg between the back of his knees stopping him from suddenly turning on her and taking her down. Risky … as it was he managed to curb his impulse to drive the blade back. He grabbed her hand and spun, shifting his leg and just about managing to pull her off balance and press her into the ruined desk the raider had been using as a seat. His lips found her invisible ear.
"Don't you know by now that it's a bad idea to sneak up on me?" he growled at her.
He felt her lips curl into a grin as she pressed a kiss to his cheek. "Fun though." He grinned, not disagreeing. Jack felt the electronic tremor before the energy field vanished and she became her gorgeously visible self; he mostly kept his relief to himself. He wasn't a huge fan of her using that device despite being the one to give it to her.
"You get 'em all?" he queried. Disliking the notion that she'd probably just had to murder about a dozen raiders. It was one thing for him to be a heartless bastard taking out targets, it was quite another for her. Even if the people they were taking out were monsters in every sense of the word, praying on the weak like opportunistic damn parasites. Sadly, that was just the way of this world. He'd long learnt to stop questioning it and the things it made them both do. Even if he hated it.
Sam nodded, her expression not betraying what was going on inside her head. "We should be clear now. Although I'd recommend we make use of their rooftop network. It extends throughout Cambridge Central." she suggested and he sighed. 'Ah yes, metal suited jarheads to save. Wouldn't want to be late for that'. He kept that part to himself though.
He nodded. "After you then." he instructed, not bothering to tell her he'd rather watch her six than just about any other sight in the Wasteland, because that was obvious. "Keep an eye out for boobytrapped routes though, I found a crate full of frag mines back there that I'm betting weren't just for show." Sam absorbed that with a nervous but determined look. A mined rooftop wasn't about to slow her.
It took them the better part of two hours to make their way across, what with the raiders that had wormed their way out of the woodwork, and the damn snipers, taking pot shots at their asses every five seconds. One particularly hairy dash over a rooftop later, with the sound of an explosion rattling his teeth and setting his ears ringing as he pressed his larger body over Sam's to shield her. They lay still for a minute, counting body parts pressed against a crumbled wall in what looked like an old office block, from the strewn desks, before they started moving again.
"I thought we were going for stealth." he growled and Sam gave him a sheepish look, holding up the roll of duct tape she'd gone for that had set off the chain reaction of time-delay mines. His eyes widened and irritation bloomed. "Wow! I feel so much better having almost lost an arm and a leg, knowing you could have taped them back on again!" He swore under his breath and she rolled her eyes. She wasn't going to apologise, he knew that. Hell, he couldn't even comment really, not when he'd risked life and limb the other day for the perilously balanced box of Sugarbomb's cereal over a good twenty-foot drop. The people in this world were freaks even before they got turned into them literally. Who the hell kept food stores on the top floor of anything? That's what basements were for.
There was a smattering of gun fire from further away and Sam froze, ducking down and crawling to an edge. Jack instantly followed suit as they crawled around the ledge of the crumbling old building they'd made it to on a Hail-Mary leap. He laid down on his belly next to her and stared out at the sight that greeted him down his rifle scope.
"Damn that's a lot of ghouls." he muttered, staring in faint horror. He wasn't sure they'd even had that many on them in the damn forest that one time. And he remembered very well how that had gone. He knew exactly what a bunch of Ferals could do
Jack could pinpoint heavy arms fire now and he watched Sam check her Pip-Boy. She gave him a grim look. "Please tell me your soldier boys aren't in the middle of that?" He dropped his head, taking a breath and wishing he hadn't dismissed his entire Minutemen platoon.
"I guess we now know why they called for help." Sam sighed staring down her own scope until he followed her line of sight as she pointed out the barricade they'd made around the Police HQ, which was taking a hammering. There, on top of the ramparts was a suited and booted soldier, in full Power Armour, doing his best to hold back a flood of angry pissed off ghouls that seemed intent on knocking the damn doors in. It was a siege, that was the only word for it. Staring down at it from his high up vantage point, Jack could see it clearly but he'd never seen ghouls attack like this, wave after wave, like the entire population of Boston had been ghoulified and was only now deciding to be fucking annoyed about it.
Sam unclipped the flare gun from her belt and gave him a pointed look. "You think they're good enough shots for this? We don't know the Central boys as well." she asked rightly concerned that unleashing a can of hellfire where they were standing might not be the wisest move.
Jack glanced at the swarming ghouls. "I'd say it'd be fucking hard to miss to be fair." he muttered and watched as she launched the flare into the air. It shot up higher than you'd expect, which meant she'd obviously been tinkering with it, before it exploded in red smoke. Sam dropped down and started broadcasting the distress signal from her Pip-Boy back to the Castle where Ronnie Shaw and her team would be manning the battlements. He hoped, primed and ready to send the signal to the Minutemen tower in the Central Boston Outpost, to fire the artillery shells. The flare was smack bang over the biggest swarm that were trying to climb over each other, trying to scramble their way inside the damn fortified walls of the Police HQ which had clearly been barricaded from the inside by the Brotherhood soldiers.
Jack, like Sam, just hoped those boys had as good an aim as the ones at the Castle, otherwise this was going to be a real short rescue. He could help with herding he thought, maybe a distraction, draw them slightly further away from the barricade and the solider boys. It would suck to blow them up before they got to rescuing them. "Grenades." he muttered, popping the pin on two at once. "FIRE IN THE HOLE!" he bellowed, mostly for the benefit of the armoured guy who dutifully looked his way and jumped down back inside the walls, as he tossed the grenades into the back of the feral crowd and watched the body parts fly. The explosion rocked the air and he ducked down himself covering his ears. Sam had already ducked and covered.
The grenade smoke joined the flares red trail and swept up into the sky. The ringing that seemed a constant out here drowned out by the howling sounds of the ghouls as they roared their annoyance at him.
"Radio Freedom Broadcast on secure Channel. We are a go General, target acquired." Ronnie Shaw's voice came over Sam's Pip-Boy radio. He took that as fair warning to find shelter. He turned, spotting an abandoned metal desk, he grabbed Sam's elbow and they both tucked up behind it, heads down, ears plugged. He hoped solider boy stayed put. Mortars weren't exactly an exact science and usually they weren't in the target zone when they lit it up. Then the fireworks started and his whole body shook with the force of the explosions as the Minutemen unleashed merry hell from above, to land just beyond the building they were cowering up top in. Sam had fixed these babies up and added the targeting system. He had to put his faith in Shaw's ability to programme the very simplistic targeting programming information Sam had given them, which locked onto the flare colour and heat signature if aimed correctly. It was better at least than the manual targeting they seemed to have been doing back in the day. He wrapped his arm around the woman herself, who was staring at him now, her hands clapped to her ears and the strangest manic smile on her face. Damn adrenalin junky. He'd tell her to stop enjoying it, but hell, if they were about to get blown up by their own people he supposed he should try and enjoy the irony.
The ground stopped trembling and he shook his head. His ears were never going to stop ringing at this rate, but they were still in one piece at least. He gave Sam a cursory pat down and check over, noting her doing the same before they shook the debris and dust off themselves. Jack darted out to the ledge again and jumped across the rooftop to get his vantage point, looking through his scope and seeing one hell of a bloody mess; not that many ghouls left, at least not in one piece. He lifted his rifle and started picking off the stragglers with clean and crisp head shots. Sam joined him and he heard the crackle of the radio on her Pip-Boy.
"This is Paladin Danse of the Brotherhood of Steel, Recon Squad Gladius. State your intentions!"
Jack glanced back at Sam and down at her wrist where the voice was coming from, eyebrow cocked. "Now that's gratitude for you. Tell that asshole we're saving his ass!"
Sam squatted down and raised the Pip-Boy whilst Jack kept up the assault on anything still moving down there. "Recon Squad Gladius, this is Colonel Carter and General O'Neill of the Minutemen. You have a ghoul problem we're taking care of. Be down in a minute to introduce ourselves officially. Out." She snapped into the microphone and Jack smirked staring down his scope and spotting the armour-clad soldier getting back up onto the ramparts to assist with the mop up. Jack had to admit, those metal suits looked handy; a cross between an astronaut and a tank, like a damn space-marine. They were certainly an upgrade on the rust bucket Sam had salvaged back in Sanctuary.
They made their way down to street level, including a quick slide down a drainpipe which made him wince as he hit the floor, his knees groaned with the abuse. Sam took a more direct drop, hanging and landing soundly on her feet; he admired her athleticism for a moment. There wasn't much call for drainpipe shimmying in their previous lives, but he thought she'd have made a damn fine cat-burglar in those leathers.
"Let's go." he instructed. Sam nodded and suddenly her gun was in her hand; a plasma shot singed his ear and left a smoking crater, instead of a ghoul's head, behind him. He darted back out the way and put a round in its chest for good measure. He glanced up at her and she nodded grimly. "Thanks." he muttered. God, he hated these silent fuckers.
"Hey." Sam said quietly and he glanced up. She reached forward and touched his cheek. He blinked as she swiped green goo off him and he grimaced. "Careful, okay? We don't have the best of luck with ghouls." He glanced down at the melted remains, bit of an understatement.
"Yeah, sure ya betcha." he sighed, and Sam dropped her hand wiping the remains on her pant leg.
They moved quickly. Hanging about anywhere out here, even if they had bombed the shit out of the place, wasn't any guarantee nothing else would come crawling out of the woodwork. He flipped his rifle into automatic fire mode and jumped mostly dead bodies, unloading bullets and kicking out at anything that moved. Watching Sam's six as he went, knowing she had his like she always did. Perhaps it wasn't something typical couples did, taking a stroll through ruined city streets dodging post-apocalyptic zombie-like creatures, but he supposed being next to Sam in a warzone was pretty much their life together. Perhaps it was a sad state of affairs that he genuinely could hardly remember what it felt like just to take a walk in the park, or the supermarket, somewhere he wasn't expected to take his rifle. Somewhere he could reach out, take her hand, enjoy the damn moment in some fresh air for once. One day, he promised himself, one day he'd get to do that with her. To think, he'd had seven years before all this. Seven years when he could have had that with her; BBQ's on Sundays, strolls in the park, a kiss on his dock. Okay so he was romanticising. The Airforce never would have allowed it, not if he wanted to stay out of jail, but a man had his fantasies. Although, given as he'd never imagined Sam would voluntarily marry him in pretty much any universe, perhaps he hadn't dared to dream big enough.
A claw launched at his head and he ducked, grabbing and using the momentum to propel it over his shoulder and putting a bullet in the ghoul unlucky enough to disturb that particularly fantasy.
"Oh, screw this." he growled and unclipped a grenade. "Move it!" he barked needlessly. Sam was already following his line of thought and putting a sprint on as he tossed grenades behind and to the sides for good measure. They picked up speed as they exploded, sending debris showering everywhere. Jack skidded to a halt outside the HQ barricade, which had seen better days. The Ghouls had made several holes where they'd torn at entire metal walls, bodies and parts littered the area..
"Friendly here. Don't shoot!" Jack shouted; there was no answering gun fire. There was however a giant damn hole blown in the metal gates that had clearly been protecting the Police HQ.
"Damn." Sam swore. "Looks like a mortar hit it."
Jack nodded and stuck his head inside the hole, taking a good look. Bodies littered the area, thankfully all ghoul and mown down by whatever was inside. There were ramps, walkways up on scaffolding, and one solder dude in a suit pointing a big fuck off gun at them.
"You blew my door off soldier!" the metal suited man barked, putting one heavy footed foot in front of the other until he took a leap and landed with a ground trembling thud; the suit taking the impact, just like Sam's somewhat busted up version had. He looked like the Iron Giant or something Jack thought, noting the rifle still aimed at them with intent. He got his first look inside and spotted that they weren't alone. There were two others; one in combat armour slumped on the ground with a bullet in him but still breathing, the other looked to be in something more easy moving, combat but not heavy duty. She was patching up the wounded soldier.
Jack strolled in, Sam behind him, her weapon trained on the busted doorway. "You mostly in one piece?" Jack barked up at the soldier.
"We are. You have an odd idea of what constitutes a rescue though." he gruffed and stomped up to them, indicating the busted barricade. "But I should thank you. I wasn't aware the Minutemen had such an arsenal at their fingertips. But it was timely. I'm not sure we could have withstood another few days of that assault. We're low on ammo and low on metal, to keep patching up those walls."
Jack nodded, stepping up to him. The guy didn't speak like any Jarhead he'd ever come across. Way wordier. "You're welcome then, I suppose." Jack replied. "So, you're a Paladin … that like a rank or something?" Jack questioned as the guy came to stand in front of him.
The head concealed in the intimidating helmet swivelled taking him in. "It is. And you're a General. I'll admit I haven't encountered one of those in a while."
"I get that a lot." Jack grinned thinly.
"I wasn't aware a bunch of Civilian's running around playing militia had any call for General's?" Danse snipped and Jack got the feeling the guy was trying to get a rise out of him rather than any particular ill feeling. Although Jack imagined he was probably feeling a bit sore that a bunch of Civvies playing solider had rescued him.
"Oh you know, we're having a bit of a revival." He gave him a thin smile not amused. "New leadership and all." Ok so maybe he was slightly irritated with the Jarheads assessment of the people he was leading. Good men and women who were trying to make a difference in this shithole Commonwealth.
"So…" he turned back to Danse, "You wearing some sort of Goua'uld attractor spray or something?" He snipped and the man frowned as though he'd misspoke again. It took him a moment and he paled. Twice in one day, he was really getting old. Goa'uld he'd said, not Ghoul. Easy mistake to make, he had spent the better part of ten years with them as the enemy, if he included Ra and the Abydos mission – which he did, poncy asshole.
"The Ghouled. Nice I like it." Danse muttered, not noting or caring for the slip that meant nothing to him, as he hit the word with a very different sound, "Very apt." But he didn't answer Jack's question he noted, so clearly not the trusting sort.
Danse's head swivelled and he turned to look at Sam, who was doing a reccy of the perimeter, dropping mines as she went. "Your solider seems to know what she's doing." he pointed out and Jack grinned.
"Yeah, Colonel Carter's going to plug the hole in your perimeter for now. Although I'd suggest we use what's left of that tanker out there and get those doors back up. But we got a lot of dead ghouls out there, I doubt there's anything else left to come calling again."
"Colonel Carter huh." Danse's helmet turned her way.
"Colonel O'Neill-Carter, Air Force." Jack replied, wincing at his instinct to do that. Sam would not appreciate him labelling her, especially with the intent he'd done it with. But he couldn't help himself. The man was probably just remarking on the old-style military rank.
"Funny, you don't look like Ghouls, but there hasn't been an Air Force on American soil in a long time…" he gave him a shrewd look and Jack tried not to wince on realising that he had inadvertently given them away. Stupid. He berated himself, but then it had been a while since anyone had challenged the narrative.
"Your men need help?" he attempted to distract. "We got medics we can call out, be here in a few hours if you need it?" Jack asked, hoping he didn't actually take him up on the offer. He didn't really want to order his men back through that damn house of cards out there if he didn't need to.
Danse removed his helmet, the sound of air escaping as it depressurised and he lifted it away to reveal a living breathing man. Dark crew cut hair, round face, eleven o'clock shadow and a grim look of a man that had seen more than a few tours of duty. "No need. Scribe Haylen has medical training. She's more than capable of patching up a few scrapes, Knight Rhys is not too badly injured." Jack glanced over at the wounded man and the blood that seemed to be leaking out of him. Brotherhood seemed to have a funny idea of what was considered a scrape.
"Knight huh." He nodded, "That's cool." He glanced at Sam as she approached, "You know Knight O'Neill does have a ring to it. I've done the whole General thing for a few years now… it's not as cool as it sounds. Although there is the hat." He groused missing it again.
Sam made it to his side and gave him a look, he thought he heard the 'shut up' in it without her lips even moving. "Perimeter's secure for now 'Sir'. I'm not sensing any movement." She indicated the Pip-Boy and Danse's eyes alighted on it, really emphasising the 'Sir' in that statement. In fact her whole bearing had changed, falling into a parade square at ease stance almost naturally. He rather hoped she was doing that on purpose, rather than it being an instinct.
"That's Vault-tec technology." Danse queried, eyes on the Pip-Boy. "Mind if I ask where you got your hands on one of those?" he sounded almost accusatory.
"Suspicious much?" Jack snipped and Danse gave him a blank look. Okay, sarcasm apparently went over his head. He'd chalk up lack of sense of humour alongside lack of fashion sense.
"We came out of Vault 111." Sam cut him off, sensing his building irritation with this metal-jarhead. "Cryogenically frozen. We were soldiers before the war." Sam tipped a salute at him. "Nice to meet a fellow soldier again. Even out here."
Jack sighed, she was laying it on a bit thick, but then she wanted in, so who was he to argue.
"Well, you have the thanks of the Brotherhood Colonel. General." Danse nodded at them both. "I would hate to ask more of you both, but if you're happy to provide further assistance to sure up the barrier again, as you suggested General, I would appreciate it."
Jack sighed and rubbed his hands together. "Sure. Why not? Rebuilding walls is something of a speciality of mine now."
0000000000000000
Sam left Jack and Paladin Danse clearing out the ghoul bodies and pulling down metal sheeting to rebuild the barricade they'd inadvertently blown apart. She approached the two soldiers up on the platform.
"Anything I can do to help?"
"No, we're good." The young woman, with what looked like an old aviator hat and goggles sat on top of her head, told her tersely. Sam looked down at the wounds in the bald headed solider dispassionately, sharing the assessment; the guy would live. Sam ducked down and pulled out a Stimpak. Sometimes you had to give a little, to gain a lot.
"This might speed things along." She offered it to the wounded man. He glanced up giving her a once over, eyeing her with the same type of suspicion Danse had. "And I should trust you to stick me with something because … ?" he snapped up at her.
Sam shrugged. "Take it, don't take it, it's your leg." She tossed it at his chest and stepped away, turning her back on him to watch Jack and Danse. Noting the tell-tale hiss as the solider behind her injected the Stimpak. She glanced back and gave him an eyebrow quirk; he ignored her. Clearly these guys had no sense of humour or sense of gratitude. Fun.
The young medic came to stand beside her. "Nice job. Rhys is a miserable son of a bitch, but he's a brother so …" she smiled thinly at her, but it was honest.
"No problem." Sam nodded. "So he's your brother… as in sibling?" She was fishing but she just hoped this young soldier was in the mood to take the bait.
The woman gave her a look and let out a chuckle, her blue eyes sparking up at her in the first sign of actual life in her. "That would be a no. I like my gene pool without him in it." She shook her head like Sam had said something amusing. The young woman extended her hand. "I'm Scribe Haylen and all members of the Brotherhood are my brothers and sisters. We are family. However dysfunctional." She gave Sam a conspiring smile.
"Colonel O'Neill-Carter." Sam held out her hand and they shook on it. "You can call me Sam though if you like." She tried not to look too pleased with herself but it was the first time she'd gotten to say 'that' particular name out loud; she felt a small thrill at it that she tried not to look too hard at. She'd never considered herself someone that needed a man to define her, or a name. Although, she'd never had the opportunity to take Jack's before. Out here putting up a united front was always helpful as a show of force.
The young woman nodded smiling thinly at her, cautiously Sam would say. "Colonel." she settled on, ignoring her request for something less formal, or less military. She should have known. "Please don't take Knight Rhys's attitude personally. He's injured and we've been through a lot." Haylen dropped her eyes for a moment, as though she couldn't hold her gaze. "We were a team of seven a few months ago. But we lost our brothers, Knight's Dawes, Worwick and Brach almost as soon as we got here." She sighed and looked pointedly to what Sam realised was a grave with a simple marker and dog tags hanging over it. "Knight Keane died defending us in the last feral attack."
Sam pursed her lips, not taking her eyes from the grave marker. "And when you say you lost the others?"
"I mean dead." Haylen admitted quietly, looking shaken. "We had a rough entry into the Commonwealth. We lost Dawes at Fort Strong; we were ambushed by a bunch of Super-mutants. The others died in a firefight outside the Corvega Assembly plant, not far from here."
"Haylen!" Rhys barked and she jumped as if scolded, shutting her mouth abruptly. Sam sighed. Oh, she remembered that reaction. Rhys really was paranoid it seemed and didn't want them talking, even if she was handing out Stimpaks.
"I'm sorry Scribe, I'm not trying to get information out of you." Sam admitted, trying to unruffle any feathers, as she reached into one of her pouches. "But we found these dog tags on a body. I assumed it was one of the Brotherhood. I'm sorry but he bled out from his injuries long before we got there." She placed the tags in Haylen's outstretched hand, "But I figure you might want these."
Haylen glanced down at the name and then back up at her in clear surprise. "These are Scribe Fari's tags."
"What!" Rhys barked and he was up, hopping on one leg now as he hobbled over to them. "What did you do to him!" There was a gun click and Sam was staring down the barrel of his gun. She hesitated for only a fraction of a second before she reacted. He might have been bigger than her and with a gun aimed at her head, but he clearly wasn't expecting her to fight back effectively. Sam had the weapon out of his hand and his wrist broken cleanly in seconds, the gun pointed at him instead. Rhys let out a hissing sound, cradling his wrist, but his eyes were wide and fixed furiously on her; the vein in his forehead practically bulging with rage.
"Don't point guns at me Knight." Sam snapped at him and pocketed his gun. "And we didn't touch your 'brother'. We found him and thought you'd appreciate knowing what happened to him, hence the tags."
Haylen placed her hand on Rhys's chest. Her eyes flicking from the clearly broken wrist, back to Sam, eyeing her again with a sense of caution. Clearly Haylen hadn't seen her as a physical threat to her before and was reassessing that assumption. "Thank you Colonel." She turned as Rhys continued glaring at her, cradling his wrist. "The Scribe was part of the Lost Patrol, Recon Squad Artemis They were part of our mission here, to find out what happened to them." She sighed, "I guess we know. The same thing that nearly happened to us."
"What the hell are you?" Rhys snarled. He looked at Haylen. "You really buying this bullshit? These two swoop in here, save the day with some fancy artillery. Take out all those damn Ghouls like it was nothing and rock up with the first bit of news we have on our goddamn missing team. You don't find that suspicious?!"
Haylen was looking at his wrist, "I think we shouldn't go throwing accusations about right now." she muttered, clearly realising they weren't in a good position. "The Colonel and her … "
"Husband." Sam supplied, "General O'Neill of the Minutemen." She reminded them that they weren't alone out here and that someone was definitely waiting for them to check back in … someone with mortars trained on this location.
"They helped us. That's good enough for now." Haylen added, "Come on, I'll set your wrist. With any luck the Stimpak's still in your system and it'll heal quick."
Rhys kept watching her as Haylen helped him to hobble away. He pointed back at her. "I'm watching you Blondie." he threatened and she was only marginally concerned, which was disturbing. When men with guns and a short fuse threatened you, it was probably wise to be a bit more concerned than she was.
Jack ambled up to her, his hand sliding to her elbow, brushing in a tender caress that would have looked benign to anyone taking note, but she knew differently. "Making friends again?" he asked. Clearly he'd seen their little disagreement.
"Oh, you know me." Sam sighed. "Apparently these guys are hurting. They've lost a lot, over half their team, and seems like we may just have waltzed in and inadvertently completed their mission for them." She gave him a look, hoping she hadn't made a poor judgement call here. "I don't think they appreciated being shown up by a bunch of militia guys."
Jack huffed. "Danse seems okay. He talks a lot, just doesn't say much, if you get my drift. But he's just trying to keep his team alive." Clearly, he could relate to that mentality. "He's offered us a bed and refuel. Given as they've got provisions and ammo he's willing to share, I suggest if you want in, we take that opening and see what further 'help' we can be to them."
"What do you make of them?" she asked as Jack waved at Danse as he stomped on past in his metal suit. They both watched him go with a shared expression of concern.
"Oh, you know me, love a Marine." he replied unable to hide the bite to those words.
"They're a little more than Marines Jack. Scribe Haylen is … well she's not a Marine." Sam started to argue and realised he wasn't necessary disagreeing with her. Besides, she had no words precisely for what she thought Haylen did in this squad.
Jack nodded, his fingers drifting down to her hand where he gave them a squeeze for a brief moment. "They're soldiers Sam. We know soldiers. These guys aren't the Minutemen. We need to watch our backs here, and our P's and Q's. I sense itchy trigger fingers."
"Jack honey, half the Wasteland has itchy trigger fingers." Sam pointed out giving him a wry smile.
He smiled back at her, "All the more reason not to break their wrists!" he pointed out with a hint of recrimination and concern.
Sam rolled her eyes as they strolled towards the Police HQ front doors which they'd clearly appropriated as a camp. "He pointed a gun at me!" she reminded needlessly, knowing he'd clearly seen it. She shouldn't have been surprised. Jack always been hyper aware of everything happening to a member of his team, particularly if she was on that team.
"Sam, that's pretty much how people out here say hello. Nice move though." He gave her a grin and she rolled her eyes at him as she turned to the door, surprised when his hand went back to her elbow, squeezing gently. "Wait … you figure out why they were top of the Ghoul chow list?"
Sam quirked an eyebrow at him, "You mean with my magical powers of deduction?" she queried. "I've barely spoken to them, let alone seen what their set-up is. Give me a minute." She wasn't sure if she should be flattered or irritated at his faith in her abilities.
"Oh, come on, you have a suspicion though, right?" he leant in and cupped her cheek, before pressing a kiss gently to her lips.
"Well, I don't think it was their winning personalities." she countered, kissing back with slightly more intent, but he pulled back with a regretful sigh, his eyes drifting from her lips over to the doors. They had more pressing concerns right now and whatever was inside that door, Sam had a suspicion that it wasn't about to get any easier.
"You realise we just survived a second feral ghoul swarm." he reminded her needlessly, dropping his hand from her cheek and patting his rifle instead.
"Guess we're just lucky." she replied tersely, feeling faintly sick at the memory of that damn forest.
"No one's that lucky. We need a better answer than that Sam. Because I sure as hell don't want to walk into a shit show like this one again. Hell no one does." he admitted swiping his brow and running his hands through his hair in frustration and, she imagined, with the same kind of hollow terror she was feeling and pushing way down to deal with some other time. Jack didn't get twitchy much but she got the feeling the Feral's would always do it to him now.
"Jack, I'll figure it out. I promise. In the meantime, you're right. I need to go and ingratiate myself with the squad. Although if saving their assess didn't do it, I'm not sure what will." she admitted, worried that maybe coming here hadn't been the smartest plan she'd ever had. For once, she hoped she was wrong.