The mutt was clever, she had to give it that. Twice it had disappeared on them, dashing through construction pipes and diving under cars to avoid Curie's haphazard aim. Not it was nowhere to be seen; the only indication that it was even there was the low, vicious growling that seemed to be everywhere and nowhere at the same time.

Come on you dumb, ugly, stupid little bastard. Lily's finger tensed on the trigger. Poke that hairless snout out one more time.

The wild mongrel refused to oblige her, choosing instead to bark and threaten while slinking from cover to cover. From what she'd seen of him, he had to have been the Alpha of his pack. His body might have shrunken and weakened over the years, but his thick hide was covered in battle-scars. There was a wily cunning in the way he moved, ducking behind obstacles whenever Lily managed to get a bead on him. There was no doubt he'd dominated his pack in his prime, back when his bark was law and his teeth were justice.

But like any alpha, his number had come up eventually. He'd been cast out of the pack he founded, chased out by a young upstart with more teeth and better eyes. Now forced to wander the abandoned streets of Boston, the old veteran was hunting with all the conviction of a being at Death's door, searching for one last warm body to sink its remaining teeth into.

And instead it had found two.

"Lily!"

The raider didn't need Curie's shrill cry of warning. She'd spotted the mongrel slinking behind the car closest to her, and was ready when the beast burst out of cover, shooting towards her with all the strength it had left. Lily watched patiently as the monster hurtled towards her, saliva flying from its frothing mouth. It skittered frantically across the concrete, converting the last of its willpower into speed before taking a sudden leap to close the last three feet between it and its prey. The twisted creature's dull, black eyes were locked on Lily's throat.

The crack of a revolver echoed through the city, rebounding off abandoned buildings and rusting vehicles before quietly fading into oblivion. The shot blew the dog's head off in an instant. Its body, however, flew through the air like a bloodsoaked missile, hitting Lily square in the chest. Both Lily and the hound crashed to the ground in a bloody tangle of limbs.

Curie rushed forward, backpack already sliding off her shoulders. By the time she reached Lily, the hound's headless corpse had covered her in a bucketload of blood.

"Hahahahaha" Lily mumbled incoherently, rolling around on the ground while blood continued to spurt out of the hound's severed neck. Curie feared the worst; her patient's shoulders were shaking violently and she had inexplicably buried her face in her hands. She fought the rising panic in her chest and focused on fishing through her medical supplies.

One Med-X, one Stimpak. A quick glance at Lily made her to reconsider. Her matted hair plastered across her pale face as dark-red liquid continued to soak into her shirt. She was still rolling around, arms wrapped around her waist and her face twisted between various expressions of distress. The sudden attack, the gunshot, the shower of brains and bone, it had all happened in an instant. She couldn't even see Lily's injury under the thick coat of blood.

Two Med-X. No three, with thirty minute intervals.

"Ha! Hahaha!" Lily yelled suddenly, followed by another series of incomprehensible noises.

It took Curie a moment to realize that Lily was laughing.

"Lily?" Curie gently prodded the redhead's bloodsoaked arm. Blue-green eyes locked onto her as the laughter petered out.

"Did you see that shot?" Lily demanded, ignoring for a moment the sick taste of mutt blood on her tongue. "That dumb fucking dog!"

She launched into another maniacal fit of giggles, rolling on the ground while Curie watched in bewilderment. Was this a side-effect of the anesthetic? A symptom of mental illness? She wracked her brain for an explanation as Lily continued to paint herself a sickly shade of red.

"I'm fine." Lily mumbled finally, after twenty more seconds of unrestrained hilarity. She slowly, carefully climbed to her feet, well-aware of what Curie's concerned eyes meant.

She probably thinks I'm crazy. Lily thought, spitting out mongrel blood and steadying herself against a rusted car. Maybe I am.

How else could she explain the sheer rush of euphoria coursing through her body? The ghouls had been one thing. Distracted by Curie's warm, inviting flesh, they'd completely ignored her until she put them down. Killing them had been an easy, brainless task.

But this was different. The mongrel had been seconds away from tearing open her jugular, and she'd still held her ground. If she'd flinched, if she'd blinked, the story of Lily Tourette would have been over in a heartbeat. The rush of adrenaline from staring death in the face, the new confidence with which she held herself, all of it contributed to the sheer bliss she was reveling in.

Not to mention, for the first time in a long while, she truly felt free of pain. The Med-X was working wonders, numbing her to the soreness of her muscles and the agony in her hip. For once, she was oblivious to the demands of her worn body, free to move as she pleased.

Red's reply disappeared in a storm of dizziness. The adrenaline coursing through her veins, the only thing keeping her upright, faded so fast she nearly puked. Lily tried to take a step forward, but the ground was whirling out of control and her foot slipped on the gore-slicked ground.

Before she keeled over, a surprisingly strong arm wrapped around her waist. Curie had appeared seemingly out of nowhere, propping up the exhausted raider. Lily wanted to shove the woman away, but her feeble arms lacked the strength to do anything but hang on for dear life. The last dose of Med-X had been hours ago, and she could feel her hip starting to sing with anguish once again.

If the pain returned, would it bring her fear back with it? What if it washed away what little courage she'd managed to salvage, leaving her a mewling, whimpering coward once again? Her muscles seized up, her eyes flew open. She couldn't let that happen.

Lily allowed herself to be dragged behind cover, where Curie promptly sank to her knees and began washing blood off of her, pouring little trickles out of a blue canteen.

"The medicine I gave you should not have caused this." There was a slight tremor in Curie's voice. "I'm so sorry."

Her tone reminded Lily of cracked glass, ready to shatter at the slightest touch. Concern was etched deep on her face, aging Curie's features by decades.

"I-I'm alright." She croaked, in what she hoped was a reassuring tone. "Just got a little excited, that's all."

Curie stared at her with obvious disbelief.

"Really?"

"Really. I'm good." Lily muttered, reaching for a dose of Med-X lying on the ground. Her fingers had just about closed around the syringe when Curie yanked it out of her weak grip.

"Wha-" Lily's fingers curled around empty air.

"If you are fine, then you do not need this." Curie said firmly, putting the syringes back in her pack. "And if you are not fine, then I cannot risk worsening your symptoms. You may be having a reaction to the medicine."

"You can't. I-" Lily's foggy mind struggled to come up with a good excuse. "I need it."

Curie gave her a long, hard look. Her suspicious, steel-gray eyes seemed to drill right through Lily's paltry, blue-green defenses, prying open her inner thoughts with ease.

Any second now she was going to spot the fear Lily was desperately trying to hide. Her cowardice, her weakness, all of it would be exposed in an instant. And then she—

"Mademoiselle Lily, you are rather young, are you not?"

What? What does that have to do with anything?

"Twenty? Twenty-one?"

"Nineteen." She answered truthfully, eyes still locked on Curie's pack.

"Ah! And you are so strong, too! Very few of my patients are able to walk so soon after a surgery!"

A small flicker of pride danced across Lily's lips, pulling them up into a haughty smile. Years of scraping and scrapping made raiders a harsh breed of human; and of course, she was no ordinary raider. She was Lily Tourette. Obviously she was tougher than the pale, soft Vault dwellers Curie was used to treating.

"Of course, if you are unable to walk, I will certainly assist you." Curie smiled reassuringly, strokingher back like she was some sort of pet or infant. "If necessary, I am even willing to carry you."

The pride vanished, replaced instead by the appalling image of being carried across the Commonwealth like a helpless newborn, cradled in Curie's arms. She shook her head vigorously in a vain effort to erase the image from her head, but Curie's hand was already snaking around her waist…

"No!" Lily cried, twisting away from her grip. With a sudden burst of determination, she shakily pulled herself to her feet. Her hip screamed in agony when the pain returned in a fury, but this time, she gritted her teeth and straightened herself up.

She was a Tourette. What was a little pain to her?

Lily had to fight hard not to smile with pride when she saw the look of shock on Curie's face.

"Don't slow me down." She snipped, before generously offering her a hand.

"Evening General!" A young Minuteman saluted, a shy smile on his face. Jennifer smiled back and returned the salute without missing a step. While she rarely stepped out of the Castle without a suit of power armor or her uniform, within the safety of the Minuteman HQ she often caught soldiers unawares while dressed in a casual shirt or her vault suit. She enjoyed those fleeting moments of anonymity, when a new recruit might greet her casually or even comment on her appearance.

"How are things around here?" Jennifer asked, offering him a helpfully reassuring smile. The soldier swallowed nervously, saluted a second time and then finally began to speak with a frightful stutter.

"T-Things are great, General." Jennifer waited patiently as he composed himself.

She couldn't care less about the state of things at the Castle; that was what her council was for. No, her reasons for talking to him were rather selfish. One of the perks of being the General of the Minutemen was that her soldiers were obliged to speak to her. She could initiate and terminate conversations whenever she wanted, with no serious repercussions. There was no need for restless nights, wondering if she'd ruined a friendship or another person she trusted would betray her before dawn. The brief moments of control she felt during these meetings were what she built her confidence on.

"Carry on then, Private." She said with a nod, as the flustered man offered her a hasty salute.

As the man was quickly swarmed by curious friends, Jennifer headed straight to her office. After a brief discussion with the guards outside her room, she dismissed them from their posts and shut the massive Oak doors behind her. Sickly yellow lightbulbs sputtered to life as she crossed the room until she was standing in front of a dusty bureau.

Instead of opening it, Jennifer squatted down and began to pull it away from the wall with slow, careful movements. The bureau wasn't particularly big, but if it tipped over it would have easily squash her tiny frame.

Once the bureau had moved far enough, Jennifer reached into the small recess carved into the wall and pulled out a dirty brown bottle.

Isn't it a little early, Pineapple? John's voice was soft and understanding in her ear. Jennifer ignored him and instead poured out a generous helping of Whiskey. She didn't even like Whiskey, but that didn't stop her from downing half the glass in one go.

If there was one thing to be said for ghosts, it was that they really couldn't stop her from doing what she wanted.

"It's a bit early for that, isn't it?"

Jennifer gasped, and the glass slipped from her hand to shatter on the ground. She ignored the sudden stench of alcohol and focused instead on her trembling hands. Her heart pounded in her chest, and the hair on the back of her neck stood at attention as an involuntary shudder ran through her body.

It had to be her imagination. Ten hours on the road, half a glass of whiskey burning in her belly, of course she was hearing voices.

One hand inched into the bureau, grasping blindly until her fingers wrapped around a kitchen knife. She spun around, wielding the blade in front of her as she challenged the dark corners of her room. Jennifer spotted the silhouette immediately, sitting on the edge of her bed with its head in its hands. There was an almost supernatural chill in the air.

"J-John?"

"I'm afraid not."

Fuck. Jennifer let lose a shaky breath and tossed the knife onto the table.

"I've told you not to sneak in here." She growled, angrily swiping a rag off a chair and mopping up as much of the alcohol as she could. Most of it was already evaporating, the stinging odor giving her a convenient excuse for the tears rolling down her cheeks.

"I needed to talk to you."

Jennifer slowly made her way to the large oak table, abandoning the rag and the mess in the process. With a heavy sigh, she dropped into the nearest chair.

"You should have waited for the next meeting, Dyson. I'd prefer to be able to trust my Commander of Intelligence."

Dyson chuckled softly, getting off the bed and moving towards the table as he spoke. It was comforting to see that the man she'd mistaken for John was also the one who resembled him the most. The way he moved, straight-backed and tall. The subtle smile he flashed to scare away her fears, reminding her he'd been through hell and wasn't daunted by a broken washing machine or a cold shower. She would've been terrified to find any other man sitting on her bed, watching her be a hypocrite. With him it was just a painful twinge in her chest, a reminder of what could've been.

"If you could trust me, I'd be pretty useless, wouldn't I?"

He was already sitting down in his usual spot, his face still masked in shadow. The man had a clever eye for drama; in her time he could have easily become a brilliant photographer or successful director.

"Spit it out."

"Ah, just like that?" he mused, finally abandoning the shadows and basking in the warm, yellow glow of the solitary lightbulb. "No foreplay whatsoever?"

A familiar urge stirred in the pit of her stomach, as Dyson came into relief. The man's mahogany skin shimmered in the light, his well-chiseled jaw and aquiline nose bearing a striking resemblance to that infamous bronze statue on her old college campus. Her heart fluttered rebelliously when she finally managed to meet his intense gaze.

It's just the alcohol talking. She reminded herself. He's nothing to you.

The lone butterfly in her stomach fluttered one last time before it was quickly laid to rest.

"I listened to Diamond City whining for three hours today, Dyson. I've also been marching non-stop for ten hours. I'm sore, tired and this close to losing my patience and tossing you out. So get to the damn point."

"We're in a spot of trouble."

That was an understatement. They'd exchanged a few terse words about the expedition in the Publick Occurrences, but the real shitshow was still on the horizon. Almost thirty Minutemen, most of them fresh recruits, had died on what was supposed to be a routine mission. Heads were really going to roll for this one.

"There have been bad expeditions in the past and there will be more in the future." Jennifer said nonchalantly. "That's no excuse for breaking in."

Everyone and their mother is going to bring it up in tomorrow's meeting anyways.

Dyson shook his head and paused, probably for dramatic effect. The man did have an eye for it.

"What do you know about the Brotherhood of Steel?"

Not the question she'd expected, but the answer was simple enough.

"Not much." Jennifer shrugged. "They hate technology, I think?"

"They really hate technology, especially when it's in someone else's hands." Dyson confirmed. "They're fanatical about it."

"Technology…including synths, right?" Jennifer's expression hardened. "Let them kill as many as they like."

"It's not just that. They hate ghouls and supermutants too."

"I'm liking them more and more."

"What about Strong, Jennifer? What about those ghouls at the Slog? Hancock? Valentine?"

"You make it sound like they're already here."

"They might be." Dyson sighed, running a hand through his jet-black hair. "I've been chasing reports of a patrol spotted in the North."

Jennifer was already shaking her head frustatedly.

"We have real enemies right here in the Commonwealth." Her hands reflexively curled into fists. "The Railroad is almost in our hands, I can feel it."

Dyson gave her a sympathetic look.

"General, I get that you want to rescue your son. Heck, I want to rescue your son. Most of the Commonwealth wants to rescue your son after all you've done for them."

Dyson bit his lip. "But I really think the Brotherhood might be the bigger threat here. You know the old saying, 'Better the devil you know'?"

"I don't see the point in making devils out of rumors, Dyson."

"General, if the Brotherhood ever does get here, they're the only ones strong enough to challenge our authority." He gave her a pointed look. "What if they decide that they'd do a better job running the Commonwealth?"

"Then I'd ask them to come here and say that to my face." Her tone was dead even, her face hard.

Dyson stifled a sigh and did his best to wipe the disappointment off his face.

"I understand, General. I'd ask you to reconsider but…" he glanced suddenly at the clock. "It's getting quite late, and I know you're tired."

"That's all?" She couldn't keep the eagerness out of her voice. "Nothing about the Railroad?"

There was genuine regret on Dyson's face when he shook his head.

"The autopsy reports came back positive on McDonough." Dyson offered. "He was definitely a synth."

"Why didn't the SAFE test catch him?"

Dyson shrugged helplessly.

"He went into hiding when we started testing people in Diamond City. Nobody bothered to drag him out of there until you did."

"And Geneva?"

"Who?"

"The secretary. With the blond hair?"

"Oh right." Dyson rubbed his chin. "I don't remember seeing her report."

"It's going to have to be on my desk by tomorrow, ten o'clock." Jennifer's eyes narrowed. "So figure out where it is and get it to where it needs to be."

"Understood, General." He paused, then added. "One more thing, General."

"Make it quick?"

"Cassie Shaw wants to sit in on the meeting tomorrow. I tried to talk her out of it but…"

But she's just as stubborn as her mother. Jennifer masked a smile with one hand and waved dismissively with the other.

"If you see her, let her know she's always welcome. If she behaves herself."

Dyson sighed, and Jennifer almost felt guilty sending him off with that message. The little spitfire would probably give him an earful, maybe even a handful if she was in a slapping mood.

Then she remembered the mess she still had to clean and her pity boiled into a hot lump of red anger.

"Hey Dyson?" The man paused, his hand inches away from the door, head cocked expectantly.

"If you ever sneak into my room again, I'll kill you."