Curie didn't know what she expected to find when she barreled through the flimsy wooden door. But she was almost certain she hadn't expected to see the half-naked woman lounging on the floor.
For one absurd moment, everything else seemed to fade into the background. The horde of ghouls outside, the impending artillery barrage, even her heart pounding dangerously in her chest; all of it took a back seat as a wave of embarrassment flushed her cheeks.
I should apologize. She thought, automatically wheeling backwards. Apologize and give her some privacy.
And then the reality of the situation came crashing through her mind like a freight train.
Oh! The ghouls. The artillery!
"Get up! GET UP!" she screeched, trying and failing to keep her voice down. The woman raised an eyebrow but refused to move. Instead, she sighed and stretched her arms above her head, barely stifling a yawn.
"This is my rug, and this is my house." She murmured. "I think I'll stay right here." Her eyes dipped down, focusing on the rifle in Curie's white-knuckled grip.
"Are you planning on using that?" she asked, nodding towards her weapon.
No time! There's no time for any of this!
"There's an artillery bombardment coming in two minutes. We need to get out of here!" Curie tried again. The woman was unmoved.
"There is no we." She said calmly, staring up at the ceiling. "And I don't feel like living."
Hopeless. Curie had always fought to protect life at all costs; it was her prime directive after all.
But what could she do if the woman didn't want to live? She couldn't force her to keep breathing, could she?
Save yourself. A voice whispered urgently in her head. Save one life.
Before she could make up her mind, the first shell slammed into the ground. The ferals' snarls were drowned out by an unearthly roar, as a massive fireball incinerated a whole host of the creatures. The woman on the ground bolted upright, her mouth twisted into a grimace while her wide eyes strained to see through the glass windows.
Glass. Windows. This time, Curie's instincts managed to save two lives. As the second shell hit the ground, the two-hundred year old glass shattered instantly. Curie tackled the woman to the ground, shielding her bare legs and astonished face with her body. Shards of glass rained down on her back, slicing through her flannel shirt and digging into pale skin.
Pain. Curie gasped at the sensation. No wonder humans were always so afraid; she would have done anything to avoid the fiery agony flashing through her nerves.
Still, she held Lily down with all her strength until she stopped struggling. Curie was flush up against her trembling body; she fought off her own terror as the third and fourth shells landed simultaneously, some distance down the road.
Years ago, Lily had found a book that described an ancient war, centuries old. She'd carried it everywhere, studying it religiously whenever she and Rachel had some free time. Trenches and guns, tanks and bombs, page after page occupied her imaginative mind for hours.
Shellshock. That's what they called it. A sickness that shattered people's minds, leaving them deaf and mute. Broken. She'd laughed then, mocked the weaklings and cowards that called themselves soldiers. Scared of loud noises? Struck dumb by bright explosions? Even Rachel had chuckled softly when she'd heard.
Now, deaf and speechless, her heart pounding and limbs trembling, Lily finally understood what it meant to be shell-shocked.
And it was terrifying.
Five minutes after the final explosion and Lily was still pinned to the floor. The hundred pounds of dead weight that kept her down was really starting to strain Lily's sore back.
Was she dead? No, the woman's heart was rattling away furiously, easily keeping pace with her own.
"You can get off now." Lily mumbled, a flood of angry embarrassment leaving her red-faced. Her bare legs felt exposed, sandwiched between the rug and the woman's unconscious body.
"I'm not a goddamn mattress!" She growled; her voice muffled by the pressure on her chest.
The woman wasn't budging.
"Hey!" Lily shoved aggressively, and her back cried in relief when the woman finally rolled off and onto her back.
She breathed deeply and greedily, relishing the smoky, stale wasteland air. A thick coat of white dust covered every surface in sight, including Lily's bare legs. Little islands of red were slowly appearing in the sea of white, marking where shards of glass had burrowed into her skin.
That's going to hurt.
Lily groaned mentally, then braced against the couch and heaved herself to her feet. Her eyes watered and her vision darkened as her head swam in a cloud of smoke.
She opened her mouth; whether to shout or threaten, she would never know. Sulfurous, suffocating gas rushed down her throat, catching her words on the way up and shoving them back down. Her eyes watered as her lungs pumped furiously, forcing more of the toxic smoke into her chest. The dizziness hit hard and fast, and she barely managed to aim for the couch before her legs gave way.
"Stay….down." the woman gasped, weakly pulling on the edge of Lily's shirt. "the smoke rises."
And so she did. For nearly an hour, the two wastelanders stared at the ceiling, with only the occasional cough interrupting the awkward silence. Lily picked and pulled at the shards of glass stuck in her leg; any expressions of pain were quickly broken down into dry coughing fits. Lily wanted to scream in frustration when her throat began to cry for water again. Tears, forcibly extracted by the smoke, only worsened her growing thirst.
Eventually, the noxious cloud of black smoke began to thin, once again exposing the newly blackened ceiling.
The other woman was the first to her feet, although the movement was hardly swift or graceful. After a few seconds of stumbling, she managed to find her balance and headed towards the kitchen.
Lily eyed her suspiciously, one hand on her revolver. The longer she watched, the less convinced she was that she'd need to use it.
The woman was leaving herself completely open, even turning her back on Lily, a complete stranger, more than once. Her hands moved quickly but clumsily; it took her three tries to figure out how to unzip her own bag.
Lily's hand relaxed at her hip. There were any number of explanations for her odd, jerky movements. An old injury, chem withdrawal, residual shock from the explosions. But whatever the reason, it was clear she wasn't about to outdraw her anytime soon.
Lily quickly scanned her features from head to toe, hoping to figure out something about the mysterious figure.
She was lithe and young, sporting a short, boyish haircut that emphasized practicality over style. Her jet-black hair showed no signs of the premature graying that came with life in the Commonwealth. The only clothes she had on was a torn flannel shirt and a dirty pair of jeans. The backpack she was rummaging through was light-blue and decorated with symbols Lily didn't recognize. And so many pockets. Lily felt the sudden, childish urge to open each one and uncover the backpack's secrets, one zip at a time.
Instead, she propped herself up against the couch and watched as the woman pulled out bandages, Stimpaks and…purified water. There was no mistaking the white, plastic cylinders she was now arranging in an orderly manner on the kitchen counter. Even Red's hiss of protest couldn't stop Lily from weakly reaching out for a can.
"Take it." The woman offered, handing the water over freely. Too thirsty to marvel at her generosity and too desperate to be suspicious, Lily snatched the can out of her hands and squeezed it until the top popped open. Some of the priceless fluid spilled onto her shirt, but the can was still half-full when she brought it to her lips.
She guzzled down the entire can in one go, oblivious to everything but the silky sensation of water flowing past her dry lips and soothing her burning throat. It was quite a while before she noticed the curious gray eyes watching her.
"Thank you." Lily gasped, her eyes lighting up with desire as the woman pulled out a second can of water. If a few words of gratitude meant receiving a few more swallows of the delightfully cool liquid, she was more than willing to swallow her pride for the time-being.
A storm of emotions and sensations raged inside Curie's mind, jockeying with each other in a desperate bid to direct her actions. Their efforts were futile since curiosity already had a stranglehold on her mind; the dominant emotion left her giddy with excitement as she eyed the redhaired woman.
Her first conversation with a stranger!
Surely it would be a crime against science if she let this historical interaction go undocumented! She held the water in one hand and pulled her voice recorder out with the other.
Now what? What do I say? How did humans usually start conversations?
"H-Hello." Curie stammered stupidly. The stranger merely glanced at her before returning her focus to the can.
Of course! She was still thirsty!
"You want water?" Curie asked, chastising herself as she spoke. Of course she wants water. An emotion she didn't recognize made her want to tear at her hair. She was ruining her first conversation!
Frustration. The name for this new feeling floated out of her subconscious, where so much of her Pre-War medical databanks were now hidden.
Why was this so hard?
"Yes." Was the abrupt response from the stranger. "Please." She added hastily.
Remembering the appalling waste of water from the last can, Curie took it upon herself to offer a demonstration.
"Y-You can also open the can like this." Curie explained, showing her how the pull-tab worked. For once, her shaky human hands proved perfect for the task; the stranger's blue eyes watched attentively as Curie cracked the top of the can without spilling a drop.
"Ah!" The stranger gasped in surprise. Did she not know how the tab worked?
In between mouthfuls, she spoke again.
"Could you show me again?" the stranger asked, her eyes shining with curiosity.
Curie could hardly contain her excitement as she quickly reached for another can. Slowly, carefully, she demonstrated the technique again.
"Don't pull too hard, or you may cut your finger." Curie warned, handing over the can. "If you do, make sure to clean the cut and apply antiseptic if possible."
The stranger nodded, finishing off the third can with hardly a pause.
"Can I try for myself?"
"Of course!" Curie replied with a smile, handing her another can. The woman's dirty, cracked fingernails scrambled to find the pull-tab. When she did, however, she pulled it open in one quick, violent motion. She grinned, looking very pleased with herself as she brought the can to her lips.
Curie resisted the urge to clap with delight; something told her it would be inappropriate for the situation. Instead, she contented herself with a small, hopefully encouraging, smile.
Her own throat cried out in thirst, and she instinctively reached into her pack for another can. To her surprise, her hand came away empty.
A small price to pay. She decided, watching with only a hint of jealousy as the stranger wiped away the last of her water.
Lily's satisfaction over satisfying her thirst was only slightly soured by guilt.
She didn't have to give it to you. Red reminded her. Generosity kills out here.
But it was more than that. The woman's wide, innocent gray eyes seemed to invite trouble. They were too naïve; too trusting. Not once during their conversation had they clouded with fear or suspicion, jealousy or selfishness. Try as she might, Lily couldn't shake the feeling that there was something more to this woman.
Was she just…nice?
There was no doubt in Lily's mind that she'd taken advantage of her. She felt obliged to give her a quick death as repayment. Her recent brush with the Supermutant had confirmed it, there were far worse ways to die than a quick bullet to the head.
Especially for someone as innocent as her.
"Are you alright?" The woman asked, as Lily heaved herself to her feet. Her back was still numb and her legs still shaky, but blessed rehydration had given her the energy she needed to stay standing. Propping herself up against a worn couch, she pulled her gun out with the other.
"I'm fine." Lily responded automatically, popping open her revolver's cylinder. Don't encourage her. Don't make this harder than it has to be. The small voice of compassion in her head pleaded.
"Why do you want to die?"
The question caught Lily off guard. This was usually when both raider and settler remembered that they were sworn enemies and reached for their weapons, leaving the quicker draw to walk away with all the loot. She'd participated in this Wasteland ritual dozens of times, and it never involved a lot of talking.
Before she knew it, an honest answer escaped her lips.
"It's not that I want to die. I just don't feel like living." Lily mumbled vaguely, watching the woman's eyebrows scrunch up in deep thought.
"How can that be? Those are both the same!" The woman cried out suddenly, as if she'd solved a difficult puzzle.
"Never mind." Lily sighed heavily, returning her weapon to its holster. She didn't have the drive to kill this woman, and there was no point in pretending otherwise. Even robbing her felt like a waste of time. It was one thing to hold someone at gunpoint and demand caps. That was a trade, a simple Wasteland transaction. Caps or your life. But this woman had simply given away her water. Would she even understand what a robbery was?
Killing for survival was something Lily understood; it was a necessity in the Wasteland. But this felt more like slaughtering an abandoned Radstag fawn. Not wrong, just unnecessary.
However, just because she wasn't going to kill her didn't mean she had to stick around and answer stupid questions all day. The Sun was already high in the sky; if she wanted to make any progress today, she had to get moving. Fast.
Which meant finding a pair of pants.