Wasteland Magick-Man

by Roku - Molester of Science

Martin never wanted a life of excitement. At most, he wanted recognition for his studies into the properties of pseudo-arcane components implemented into advanced alchemy. For his troubles, he was given exactly what he wanted the least, but perhaps needed the most. He just wished he'd been allowed to change out of his lab-robes first.

19. Bunker Hill

Bunker Hill

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The Commonwealth has a way of making you both hate and love it. I found my reasons for both in Bunker Hill. If I am to be honest, I found them both the first day I came to this accursed place, but admitting it... took some time.

---

The Bunker Hill escort awaited them at the first major intersection.

The first of the guards stepped out of the shadows, from underneath a curtain of vines and ivy, where old stonework seemed to merge with wrought iron and steel, nearer the end of civilization. A number, or maybe a year, 19...0 was chiseled into the stone, but obstructed by the greenery. With the river now behind them, Shaw said something to the caravan boss and gestured for her comrade. They turned, wordlessly, and headed back across the bridge again.

"You folks gotta be the Torques caravan."one of the guards bore a stripe of red on his shoulder pad, but otherwise looked much akin to the ones Torques had protecting the caravan. Was it some larger mercenary company that hired itself out as guards? He sounded jovial, almost entertained by their presence, "We'll take you to Bunker Hill, no worries. Everyone's here, right? No one's taking a piss behind a tree and forgotten about until we hear 'em screamin' about ghouls? No? Awesome."

There were just three of them, with the apparent leader, so in all it did not seem like Bunker Hill expected dangers along the route. That, or they simply did not have men to spare for something as mundane as escorting caravans. They did seem well-armed, at least, with firearms that looked to be taken good care of, black and gleaming in the sunlight, like an oiled blade. One man bore a bandolier, but rather than the large shells Martin had come to expect, it seemed decicated instead to small, white cylinders, each no larger than his thumb. The leader waved his hand north-eastwards, and the caravan resumed movement.

"Cheerful fella."Piper noted.

Somewhere in the distance, as if to underline her comment, the sound of gunfire rippled through the air, a dull and almost muffled staccato that seemed so far away and so unimportant that it might as well have been the creaking of one of the rust-eaten cars. Then it ended, just like that. A hound, or some sort of mongrel howled, far off and between the old monoliths.

"It is a cheerful place."Martin hummed, making no effort to mask his sarcasm. Piper scoffed, glancing behind them as she walked, but otherwise made no sign that she was at all concerned with any of the local wildlife, "I suppose it answers the question, you have hounds here. Though, I am not keen on meeting whatever mutt could survive on its own."

He remembered well enough what wild dogs were like at home, and doubted they were any less unpleasant here. If anything, the mutations and radiation likely had the wilder sorts twisted into some sort of nightmarish fiend.

The cityscape resounded with an almost song-like echo of creaking metal, as well the occasional sound of gunfire. Around them, as they moved along what turned out to be a low-set bridge, the surroundings opened up, fewer but more imposing monoliths of glass and steel gazing down upon them from high up, as towers of brick and iron and concrete formed ranks, like sun-bleached teeth of some ancient, godlike beast. They walked its opened maw, gazing about where skeletons of pre-war wealth now sat bare, stripped of all value and significance, until only the rusted framework remained in the distance. Shuffling sounds came from within cellars and old, cavern-like parking halls, none of which dared to near the entrance. Whatever was down there, it did not wager its chances well enough against armed travelers. Everything hid beneath thick covers of vines, and old trees that had escaped the confines of their old existence, now gnarled giants that crept along the highrises.

Sometimes, as he looked about, Martin thought he saw movement behind mold-eaten curtains in the highrises, or malicious, old eyes behind the mesh and wire of half-sunken ruins and balconies. In one place, as if marking the site of some long-forgotten battle, a once-white apartment complex had been shattered, and seen its side spilled across the road. Furniture lay strewn about here, somehow preserved against wind and rain and radiation, as well did half-eaten human bones. For all that the sun shone, the shadows were dense within the opened wound of the old building, and seemed as if venturing within would squeeze the mind of even the most daring explorer.

On the right hand now, the cityscape changed entirely, opening up to a twisting mass of viaducts and bridges, each circling around itself or another, going above or below. It seemed like some ancient system of transportation, yet for all that the columns seemed so thin and fragile, they had mostly remained standing, only cracking and collapsing in a few places. One of them continued north, eventually crossing above the very road they now walked. If there was a place to be ambushed, he noted with mounting concern, this was the place. From up high, in concealment, and with the caravan having nowhere to go but back and forward on a raised bridge.

A man appeared atop the bridge, weapon in hand.

Fortunately, he wore the same garb as the very men escorting them, and seemed entirely at ease. Others poked their heads out, from atop the bridge, revealing that rather than what he had at best thought an abandoned bridge, there was a camp up there, maybe an outpost for the guards. Some of them were not masked, and seemed to find the spectacle below almost amusing. It seemed a far away place from anything to have such an outpost, but if Bunker Hill depended on trade to make ends meet, and trade from Diamond City, Quincy and GoodNeighbour was the most common, it did make sense that they wanted the route protected, and least in such a place the men were somewhat shielded from the dangers of the ground. It struck him again that they were all dressed as if there existed a sort of standardized uniform for guards in the Commonwealth.

"They are all dressed the same," he noted dryly, "What, there is a dress code?"

"Most of the people hiring themselves out as guards are from the Commonwealth Brigade," Piper shrugged. Martin frowned, taking another glance at the men that had guarded the caravan since Diamond City. Commonwealth Brigade? Piper apparently noticed his gaze, "It's an older mercenary group. Not as big or well-armed as the Gunners, but with an actual moral compass. They're not known to take on jobs if they're affiliated with any of the raiders or Gunner operations, so they're mostly on caravan duty or hired guns for settlement security since the Minutemen stopped responding to calls. Some were Minutemen, actually a lot of them were."

"But they left, like Shaw."It made sense, he supposed. Men who knew how to use weapons were of greater value in tasks that benefited from such experience, than in tasks that did not. Still, the image of the broken Garvey was brought to the forefront in his mind, a man that seemed about as genuinely good as one could be, yet broken and betrayed. Why had those men, those who now served as guards or held out in old stations, not come to his aid? He did not want to imagine what might come about to Applewatch if the Bravil guard simply abandoned its posts at the first sign of danger, "Abandoned them."

"Mmm."

There were things he wanted to say and ask, but few of them were likely the sort one could say and ask in the proximity of the very guards that might have once been Minutemen. It was something he didn't yet fully understand, about himself either, why the idea of these men abandoning the Minutemen was so morally abhorrent to him. He barely knew the Minutemen, and being Garvey, had no real personal reasons to feel a connection to what was, by all accounts, a failed militia group.

"Men can do crazy things when the right man is in charge, you know?" Piper spoke again, her tone almost wistful as if there had been an actual time in which such a man had been in charge. In charge of whom, the Commonwealth? The Minutemen? "But when he's gone, they all fall apart. It's the way of the Wasteland, good things just don't last."

"It should not be like that," Martin frowned, annoyed though he could not find a place or person to pin it on. Garvey? Shaw? The nearest guard who might have been a Minuteman? Maybe it was just this world, once again, giving him reasons to despise it. Much as Piper was his attraction to this land, the land itself was its own detraction. Actively, as if it sought to send him away, far away, with little reason to return, "Why couldn't they have the next person in line step up? Who sets up a system where death of the leader causes all to fall apart?"

"True, it shouldn't."

"But it is."

"But it is," Piper nodded, her expression bereft of its former cheer, "In case you didn't notice, a lot of stuff in the Commonwealth needs fixing. Folks like us, the good guys? We can only do what we can do, you know? Rest comes down to luck."

If there was luck to be had in the Commonwealth, Martin felt he could claim with some certainty that he had spent his meeting Piper. Good fortune was rare enough in a land as peaceful as the Empire, but here it was far more dire, and far more in demand. What luck could be had when even a moment's worth of carelessness could see an insect the size of a hound rip the flesh from your bones?

Past the overpass, the landscape changed from that of bridges and columns to what bore greater resemblance to the streets of the Imperial City, if only in scale. It gave the old concrete viaduct the sense of being like the gate to a city, only one where none still lived.

The buildings here no longer were towering monoliths of steel and glass, but rather the ruins of what had once been the homes of commoners. Red brick and black slate roofs, worn-down and weathered, white paint peeling off the frames of whatever wood had not rotted away. Vines and ivy covered much of what was left, like a blanket thrown over old shame. And in the distance, now free of the overhanging viaducts, he could see a single, white obelisk. It rose above the skyline, far, far above even the tallest of the houses in the distance, like some sort of misplaced artifact. It bore such a striking resemblance to the White-Gold Tower that the sight alone made him halt in his steps, and nearly stumble when his feet no longer moved as they should.

He stopped entirely, pointing a weak finger at the Ayleid-like structure. Was this the answer to it all? Was the presence of something so utterly Nirnian what he needed? This single piece of rock, formed by hands before the dawn of the Empire.

"What is that?" he whispered, almost afraid to ask. For all he knew, the obelisk was something otherworldly, something only he could see. It did not at all fit in with the rest of the city, as if put there by an entity that cared little for the harmony of its creation. It was far too symmetrical, far too perfect for a world so ruined. Piper had stopped as well, less so from surprise and more it seemed because otherwise he'd have been left behind on the road.

"The monument?" she asked, her free hand shielding her eyes from the sun, "That's Bunker Hill, up ahead. Like, still way up ahead. It's taller than it looks."

"It's an obelisk."

"It is," she nodded, a look of mild surprise upon her face, "Didn't expect you'd know those. They set it up long ago to commemorate a battle there. The battle of Bunker Hill, you know, hence the name. It's almost as old as America, supposedly. What, you have them too?"

"Obelisks?" How old was America? Maybe it was as ancient as Tamriel itself, and shared more things with the Ayleids. It would explain how such a thing came to be, if an ancient version of this land had shared the same ideas as the Ayleids. Maybe they had understood the arcane in ways only the elders could, "Yes, we have them. The Ayleids built them first, before the Empire. I... do not know exactly how long ago, in years. Many hundreds of years ago, I think thousands, in the first era. They were elves who enslaved humans and built things we could never manage."

"Sounds familiar," Piper muttered, the words quieter than before, and he caught her eyes as she gazed at the remnants of a house, shattered and reduced to half-rotten planks of wood, "Doubt we'll ever match what came before, either. Folks these days don't seem to care that much for it."

"Glory of the ancients is put on pedestals, I think," he realized the irony only when it was spoken out loud, and it made him laugh, "And here I praise the Ayleids, slavers and butchers, because they built obelisks. Ancients are no purer than us, no better. If they were, there would have not been the war, yes?"

"I'm sure they had their reasons," Piper argued, though it came off insincere and betrayed by a sigh of resignation and weak humor. She chuckled, bereft of mirth, and gave him a look that seemed almost accusatory, as if an admonished child, "Not saying they were good ones, mind you. Not like there's any reason good enough to plunge the world into its current state. Worse, actually, people have been trying to get things back together again."

"I thought you said people do not care?"

"Well, yeah, they don't. But things improve anyway, if nothing else then because folks want better lives. Sometimes all you gotta offer a hand. Who knows, you might just pick up some total stranger who happens to be the best thing that's happened to you in years," Piper coughed, as if she only realized her own words once spoken, "I mean, life out here's down the drain anyways, take the small pleasures with... I mean, no, that... you should take friends not for granted and... just... shut up."

It was praise, and badly hidden. Martin felt his neck burning with embarrassment, as well as his chest fluttering with... joy? No, it was that, yes, but more too. Even more so, when he saw the embarrassment on Piper's face, the utter shame at the realization of what she had said. It was rare that she was worse at choosing her words than he was, and he enjoyed this all the more for it. It was a most welcome, if not exactly rare, reminder that for all the misfortunes of this world, he had struck up with possibly the best person in it. That the feeling was mutual, he still had not come entirely to terms with.

Bunker Hill came into full view as they rounded the last corner of a larger intersection, flanked on all sides by solid, impressively built apartment complexes of wood and brick. Here as before there were none of the towering pillars of glass and steel, and somehow the place felt older for it. Steep hills marked the place more than before, as if much of the city had been built up against a mountain. Though not as imposing as before, the facades still bore clear signs that their designers had crafted them with pride. When they came clear of the last block of red bricks, the monument appeared before them like it had risen from the ground in the blink of an eye, white and pure, a towering monolith of stone. As the caravan approached the mount though, he grew aware that the obelisk was not of one solid piece of white stone. Massive blocks of white granite made up the structure, visible even from a distance, though the base of the obelisk hid behind a wall of wood and steel, like a stockade reinforced with metal sheets along its entire front. It might have been impressive once, but now the ramshackled barrier looked more at home enclosing an army camp, not a trade hub.

The gates were heavy wooden doors set with iron frames, and above them a platform had been raised as something akin to a gatehouse. Machineguns with wide nozzles were at rest behind sandbags in the gatehouse, and guards in heavy armor stood there, attentive as the caravan drew closer. Every surface was studded with spikes or barbed wire, allowing entrance only through the currently opening doors. The caravan clearly had been observed from a distance, likely a lookout somewhere up high. Maybe in the obelisk? It was already clear it was not the solid monolith he'd thought when it came into view the first time, maybe it was a tower of sorts.

Before the gates were wide, well-maintained stairs, clean and with mortar in the cracks, though clearly marred by the ages. It was easy to see where the brahmin usually walked, their weights having all but worn a groove into the once-smooth stone tiles.

"It's quite the fortress."He'd not expected this scale of defenses when Piper had told him of the place, but then, maybe these people as well had increased their fortifications after the attack on Quincy. Especially if they were as rich as he'd been made to believe, it would make sense that they saw themselves as the next target. A woman stood in the gateway, hands behind her back as she watched Torques approach, "Who is that?"

"Kessler, Bunker Hill's mayor. Guessing she's making sure all the profits get properly welcomed" Piper reasoned, something like a snark to her voice, "Don't let the title fool ya, the only reason the place hasn't been overrun by raiders yet is because of the protection racket. Even the druggies out there realize there's more profit in extortion than a one-time raid."

It seemed like everywhere they went, people wanted money from the caravaneers. Strangest thing was that caravans even still existed, with the constant tariffs and tolls. Even in the Empire such things were the norm, true, but the market towns were rare, and promised great profits to the traders. Here, it seemed such profits depended entirely on the whims of the local power mongers. Bunker Hill was sizable, yes, but enough that the profits could make up for it? He doubted there were a great many villages nearby from where folks would come to frequent the markets. Boston, if anything, was concentrated into the larger settlements. The only ones he had seen that resembled villages were small stations like Arlington and Boylston, and they were far more likely to spend their coin, or caps, at Park Street. Were there settlements nearby here that frequented Bunker Hill? Maybe beyond the borders of the downtown area, in the places where the streets were wider and not filled with metal and rubble.

"The walls seem like they can hold off an assault."And what he had seen so far did not speak highly of raiders' abilities to coordinate something as unappreciatedly complex as a siege. Machineguns at the sole opening, and walls that for all they were ugly as sin, seemed sturdy, tall and strong. He even now, on a second glance, noticed the same kind of small, bustling turrets as he'd seen at the entrance to Diamond City, buzzing away on elevated platforms up on the walls. How exactly they knew what and who to shoot, he could not fathom, but like so much else he chalked it up to some pre-war borderline arcane technology. Piper didn't understand it either, but he felt it might as much be her lack of interest in all things mechanical, save the print, "Why pay?"

"It's not Bunker Hill that's vulnerable," Piper cast a glance at the city around them, one he followed. Nothing sprung into view, no matter how hard he stared at the vacant, dark windows of apartments long-since abandoned, and alleyways where all sorts of crap might lie in wait, "It's the trade. Raiders don't touch the caravans going to Bunker Hill, if they're close enough that Bunker Hill finds out."

"Then why the escort?"

"Raiders," she scoffed, "Only the dumb and or greedy believes a deal with them can last. Or will be honored at all. Kessler keeps up the payments, but still sends out the escort. She's greedy, but not dumb. People are only as safe as they're armed..."

It sounded like there was something behind Piper's words. Bunker Hill was far enough away from Diamond City that he doubted she came here frequently enough to have struck up a relationship of any sort with the mayor here. He could read nothing from her face, save weariness, and some lingering aversion from before.

For some reason, Natalie's face appeared before him as an uninvited flashback, that day in the clinic when they had worked, and she'd admitted that they were friends. Aye, she worried for her sister, it was clear. Was it arrogant of him to have thought the discomfort to have been because of her small admission from before? Each step brought them further and further from Diamond City, as well as any chance of coming to her sister's aid.

He had the sense not to speak of it, not openly at least. Piper did not need a reminder, and no one around them needed that information. That he at least understood it, it was enough for him. Hopefully they would be back by evening, and they could find some reassurance in Natalie doing her homeworks, or drawing in the living room. Something so utterly mundane that it would set all things right in the world.

They passed within the walls, past barbed wire, sandbags and machineguns, and past where the hillside on the left had been turned into farmable terrasses, and rows upon rows of the foul-smelling tato's stood packed. The crows seemed to continue around the settlement itself, lending credit to Piper's words earlier that Bunker Hill produced much of its own food, yet likely not enough as it was.

The change in atmosphere was so sudden it felt as if they had just left behind the subways a second time and emerged back onto the surface. Daylight had never left since they came out of North Station, not even for a cloud, yet now there was a sense of safety that had not been there before, a sense of life. What seemed to have once been merely a park, now was a town proper, with shops and stands, all centered around the massive obelisk. The layout bore a striking resemblance to a sketching he had once seen of a legionary fort, with its structures and streets organized into rows, neatly aligned for ease of traffic.

A single main street led from the gates to the base of the obelisk, while an intersection almost immediately within the walls diverted streets of packed dirt and wooden boards left and right, creating a crossroads proper as hovels and housing, in places in several storeys, walled off the side streets almost as soon as they branched off. Those he could see were little better than shacks, made from metal and wooden planks, though they at least seemed of better make than what he had seen in Park Street.

They continued up the central stairs, onto a paved pathway that went all the way up to the base, forming an impromptu plaza. There was a strong smell of roast meat in the air, mixing with the unmistakable stench of industry that made his face scrounge up, and he had yet to see a single child on the streets here.

"You'll get used to the smell," Piper grinned next to him. Before he could ask or react, she grabbed him by the hand, "Come on, you're gonna want to see this."

She did not specify exactly what this was, though the fact that she had taken such abrupt action made it evident that whatever it was, it was important, or at least impressive. Piper's hand was warm on his, her thumb resting on his knuckles in a way that sent a jitter down his spine, and it made him forget entirely where he was, until they were suddenly in the shade, and he realized the obelisk was not only hollow, but contained a staircase.

She let go of his hand as the staircase narrowed in, and only then, bereft of the warmth, did he notice where they were, and how far up they were.

How had they already made it this far up? It had seemed like not even a second had passed since she'd dragged him along, and suddenly he could see light up above, shedding illumination on the interior stone of the tower. A few more steps, trying to look anywhere but at Piper as she climbed ahead of him, in a height where his eyes were much too easily drawn to places they should not.

Then, he stood at the last of the steps, and there was nowhere left to go, but a flat piece of floor, and an opening. Piper looked like the climb had knocked some wind out of her, leaning against the wall with a thin sheen of sweat reflecting the incoming light, and her hair a mess already. The sight was enough to make him pause, just for a moment and long enough to take it in.

"Best view in the Commonwealth," she breathed, hopefully unaware of how and where his eyes had roamed. If she knew what such sights did to him, it was uncertain how she would react. Better than to err on the side of caution. He liked what they had, though he could not say exactly what it was. Friendship, yes, but at times it almost felt like more, and yet he'd not dared act upon such moments of lowered guards and inhibitions. If there was a spell to read the minds of others, he would have given more than a single toe to learn it.

She was right, though. The view here really was spectacular, as much as it was frightening in the sheer height they were now at, and just how easily one could fall from here to the ground far below. From the lookout, it seemed as if all of the Commonwealth, or at least all of southern Boston, lay before him like a map, or a model of something so much larger. From here, he could see the Boston River, snaking its way through the city until it vanished from sight behind ruin-strewn hilltops far to the west. In the middle of the river, two colossal monoliths of steel and dangling wires stood, like guardians in the water, with the ruins of bridges broken into pieces about them.

To the south lay what was called the Commons, or merely downtown, and rose into the skies like rotting teeth of some ancient creature, glass and jagged steel jutting upwards from the earth, in places almost forming a solid wall, so impossibly tall and vast that by all logic they should long ago have collapsed in on themselves and crumbled to the ground.

He had known Boston was a large city, but this was the first time the scale truly became clear. No matter how far into the horizon he peered, still he saw the cityscape, brown and gray and red, sprawled out like an endless carpet of manmade stone. Bridges, skyscrapers, parks, temples, museums...

He could not imagine the glory of this place before the war.

"It's awesome."he could find no other word for it, though he understood that the word had a slightly different meaning here than at home. Awe-inspiring, maybe. It was hard to say, the sight of this massive, ruined land left him bereft of words. It looked at once intact, as if it should have been full of life, and at the same time it was a carcass, the bones of a forgotten age, "...I would have liked to see it before."

"Before the war."Piper's voice was surprisingly somber, for all that she had so eagerly dragged him up here, "Those highrises out there, to the south? People used to live in them. These days you can't go more than a few floors up in them before the floor gets unstable. The stable ones are full of super mutants, usually. That big one, there in the middle?" she pointed at a monolith of white and orange, in the center of the row of towers.

"Trinity Tower. Full of muties from ground to top floor. Sometimes they even get their radio to work and you can hear them on some of the channels. Dumb bastards. I bet that place used to be beautiful, once. Still pretty enough from the outside, you know, if you're far enough away that you can't see the corpse bags dangling from the windows."

They were far enough away, and he was thankful for it. He'd already seen what raiders could do to their victims, and had no desire to see the super mutants outdoing their human counterparts.

"I'm sure it is very nice even with the corpse bags."The attempt at a jest was only half-hearted, but still he could not miss the small crack in Piper's otherwise contemplative expression, as if she had slipped momentarily, allowing humor through, "It is just that no one has taught the super mutants what proper decoration is."

"Because they're afraid of getting eaten?" Piper's smile grew a little, enough that it almost formed a proper crease now. Martin chuckled at a mental image that appeared in his mind, of some scholar attempting to educate the green brutes from the confines of a lit cauldron, "Otherwise they certainly have a hard time learning. Dangling your neighbors on hooks isn't the best way of keeping property values stable."

"Something like that."It was nice seeing the smile return to her face, and if he could take credit for it, so much the better, "Maybe it is difficult to teach from inside the cauldron? Echo is bad, I hear. Lecture could get misunderstood."

"Right, so instead of hearing 'hang out with the neighbors', the big dummies thought it was 'hang the neighbors' and went with it?" Piper shook her head, the smile now fully formed. Something about the way she stood, it was as if she meant to say more, but stopped herself. The smile remained, but seemed almost a little resigned, "I hope Nat's doing okay."

"We will be back before she goes to sleep, yes?" the entire trek should take no more than twelve, maybe sixteen hours in total, if the caravan schedule held. They would be back in time, he hoped, "Even if she publishes articles McDonough does not like, we will be back before consequences start."

It was strange. If others saw them, heard them talking like this, they might entirely misunderstand the dynamics of their little... family? It was not, he knew, but lacked other words for it. They might think Nat the daughter, rather than the sister, and... other things, of Piper and himself. Luckily then that no one else was here, and that he heard no one on the stairs either.

For now, at least, right now, they had something that amounted to actual privacy. Not the privacy of being in a crowd of strangers, where no one cared for what was spoken, or simply could not hear over the noise, but a kind of privacy so surprisingly rare in Diamond City that he could count on a hand the times they had had it. And in almost none of those times had he had the mind or mental capacity to consider things like these.

Minutes passed by in complete silence, though not an uncomfortable one. He'd found it was hard to ever feel uncomfortable in Piper's company. Her mere presence was enough that he felt entirely at ease, even with not a word spoken.

"You know, I don't really think she's ever taken so well with new people. She doesn't even treat half her classmates the way she does you," Piper finally spoke then, the words coming slowly, measured, as her eyes fixed on the horizon as the smile remained on her lips, like a fond memory, "Back in our old settlement, Nat didn't really have friends. She was... what, five? Six, maybe, when we moved. We weren't the only kids in the settlement, sure, but most were up there like twelve or thirteen. The girls didn't like us at all, and the boys were... interested in other things. So, both of course excluded Nat. Being boys, of course, they didn't seem to realize that treating my sister like dirt wasn't the best way of being my friend. We... more or less ended up just being us, eventually."

"Interested in... mm."Of course, it should have been a given where the interests of juveniles lay when it was turned against someone like Piper. The thought did not please him, and he shoved it aside fast as he could, to instead focus on less unsettling subjects, "But, she has friends in school. She does her homework, helped me at work. You have raised her better than most parents could boast, I think."

He felt like this was retreading ground he'd already cleared once before. Piper was worried for her sister, it was obvious, but he could not see why she would bring up that Natalie had warmed to him. Safe, of course, for it being another attempt at finding reasons for him to stay. Or, maybe it was her attempt at getting the answers and response she wanted, about her sister. Or rather, maybe about herself. She was doubting her own abilities to raise and care for Natalie on her own?

"Yeah, well, it's not exactly been all roses either," Piper sighed, weariness mixing with the smiles. It was no surprise, given the trip they had already been on. And there was still much of it left to go, "I'm not... good at these things, you know. I mean, look out there, that's Boston. That's my home. It... could... be yours too. I mean it's not as bad as it has been and... it just... needs better people in it."

Martin said nothing, the cogs of his mind churning. Each new turn of the gears spouted forth new ideas, new ways to interpret what she actually meant. He knew she wanted him to stay, knew she was bereft enough of close friends that someone like him would qualify. And he knew Natalie would not mind either, that the girl had outright warmed to him recently. By all rights and gods, he could remain here.

He could stay with Piper. He could help bring something back that resembled order to this place, even if he had no notion of how. And he was aware that, as the seconds passed by without a word from him, Piper seemed to anticipate what he might say, saying nothing more herself.

He had to say something. Had to make a choice now, to say something even if he wouldn't know it to be true or false, even if she had promised that he could make it later. Maybe that was as much the reason for her suddenly much less upright stance, that she knew she was reneging on their agreement. He did not hold it against her.

For, if he wanted to stay, did it really matter whether he gave his answer now, or at Salem? And if he did not mean to stay, would she leave him now, right here and return to Diamond City, if he gave that answer?

The thought of Piper leaving him behind, of not seeing her the moment he turned his head, or knowing that a few mere steps could bring her back to his sight, was terrifying in a way that nauseated him. And cowardly, he knew that the knowledge that he was the reason for it, for taking her from his life.

"If I... found a way home," he began, throat thick and the words hard to speak. It felt like he was pushing through some kind of wall, a barrier that was unseen but felt on the mind, thick and viscous. Piper had stiffened at his words, weariness and something bordering on resignation filling her eyes. It was clear what she had concluded he would say, and simply wanted it over with, "...would you want to come?"

Piper, for what felt like minutes, did not seem like she had understood his words. Martin was fairly sure his Common had progressed to the point now that he was as well as fluent in it, yet the words had not had the effect he'd hoped. Rather, she blinked, repeatedly and fast, eyes averted. She was breathing more heavily than before, too, and moved her mouth without a word passing by her lips. Finally she breathed in, deeper and faster than before, almost a gasp, before she spoke with something that sounded almost hopeful.

"That's... an option?"

"I don't know," Martin admitted, trying not to hear the hopelessness in Piper's voice. Even if she seemed happy that he had not outright remained firm in his desire to return home. In truth he grew less and less assured by the day, that it was his true wish. It would be, of course, if he could take all that tied him to this land, with him back to Tamriel. There would be not a moment's worth of hesitation then, "But I... hope it is."

Piper's entire body seemed to relax, almost slumping against the wall. She wore an expression he couldn't read, exactly, only that something inside her was better now than before.

Maybe, even more so for the chance at leaving behind this ruined land. Much as it was her home, she recognized its decay and rot. Or maybe it really was that he had said he'd not leave without her. But why? Why had she not tired of him yet?

More than a decade of knowing how little his company interested others, and now Piper had turned it all on its head. He knew nothing anymore, could be sure of nothing. What was it about his company that so compelled her to want for him to stay? And why could he not bear the thought of parting from hers?

He did not get a spoken answer.

Piper closed her eyes for a moment, then crossed the short span between them. In less time than he could blink, her arms were around him, and she drew herself as much as him into an embrace so much tighter and desperate than he could have expected. It left him unable to process what had happened, until she breathed, another deep gasp of air that came out as a nasal sound. Slowly, processing the event, he returned the gesture, wrapping his own arms around her in kind.

"Sorry," she muttered, face still buried halfway into his shoulder. The word came out muffled, and warm against him, "It's not... fair, I promised you'd get time to answer. Just..."

"I know."

He didn't, not entirely, but he understood enough to grasp her intent. He'd simply underestimated just how much their friendship meant to her, and not understood things that ought to have been obvious. He blamed his self-imposed solitude in the Imperial City, but knew such could only be blamed for so long.

It was just as much, if not more, because he'd not wanted to realize the consequences. Piper seemed to stiffen at his words, briefly, then tightened the embrace even more, resting the side of her face against his shoulder.

"I... think I knew the answer, already."

She was silent still, for several minutes, with only the sound of her breathing filling his ears, as well the fainter, yet intense sensation of her beating heart, pressed against his own. The plate only muffled it in the start, but with no other sounds, every sensation became more intense. This... did not quite feel like the sort of embrace mere friends would share. It brought the memory back, of that night on the roof, with Piper intoxicatedly leaning against him.

"It's weird."Finally she spoke, half in laughter, quiet and almost hushed against him. Her embrace tightened a little before she spoke again, warm hands against his back, "I should have just...done this, weeks ago. I've wanted to do this, this... since that night on the roof, you know? Just... couldn't get it together."

"Why?"

"'Cause I'm a damned coward," Piper laughed, a self-deprecating sound, "Nat called me one, at least. Said if I didn't get it together, I shouldn't be allowed near the press. She's not wrong, you know. I am a damn coward when it's this sort of stuff. I even dragged you up here hoping you would, I... don't know, do something. Say something, maybe."

It was not what he had meant when he asked her why, but it felt like pieces of a puzzle that ought to have been solved long ago, finally were starting to float into place. Each one, a small piece of Piper's actions, her words, behavior, her smiles, her touches. And yet, even here, even now, he dared not fully entertain the idea. Piper called herself a coward, but he was the one so terrified of losing her as a friend, of change, that he'd said and done nothing at all.

"You're no coward."He finally mustered the ability to speak more than a single word, still clinging to the embrace almost as fervently as her, "You're the... I mean, why have you... wanted this? I don't understand."

"I don't know, it's just, you," Piper muttered, pressing her face into his shoulder, "I just... I like being with you. Dunno how to... say it better, okay?"

If only for a moment, the idea of Piper, of all people, running out of words, was a funny one. It was somewhat squashed, however, by the softly spoken, almost whispered words that came next.

"I'm okay, you know, if you're not into that stuff, with someone like me. Just thought you should at least know."

With someone like her? Men ought to be throwing themselves before someone like her, not avoid her like some pox-ridden street beggar. Another reminder of a rotten world, where someone as good as Piper could go unappreciated.

Yet, all the anger he felt at such a world dissipated like morning dew, when he came back to the world as it now was, and the woman he held in a tighter embrace than he'd ever dared to hope. Part of him even yet persisted, yelling into the aether that he was somehow misunderstanding, that the feelings he bore for her, were not at all in fact reciprocated. That this was just how people in Boston expressed friendship, or maybe that they viewed each other then as very close friends, but still, just that.

For once, and what felt like it had been much too long a time coming, he paid that part of his mind no heed. But he also wasn't really sure of what to do, now. Some sort of boundary had been crossed, they were in new territory. Piper still had not let go of him. He still had not answered her.

"Hey, I'm not really one for interrupting something like this, but could you do it somewhere else?" Martin froze at the invading voice, eyes wide but otherwise stock-still as he turned his face to where the stairwell began its descent. A vaguely familiar, bearded face with a cap poked out of the opening, looking decidedly uncomfortable with the situation, "There's like, ten people down here, in a line, you know?"

---

Word was going around Bunker Hill now, of raiders up north. One of Stockton's caravans had been attacked near the caravan hub named 'Covenant', and none of the caravaners currently in Bunker Hill wanted to risk the path when there might yet be raiders capable of taking on the security of the Commonwealth's richest trader. Their own caravan, much to the open and audible frustration of Torques, would move no further today.

A patrol had been sent out. Martin had seen them leave, twelve men in heavy, metal armor, with long rifles, shotguns and machineguns. No caravanner would risk the route until it had been secured, not even if those who now secured it would offer themselves up as escorts. This would add a day to their journey, something he suddenly did not at all mind. Except...

Piper had not said a word now for almost ten minutes. It was starting to worry him, ever since they had been ushered out of the monument, she had been silent as a mummer, entirely averting her eyes from anyone they passed, all but walking in a perpetual bow. The cap was pulled down too, enough to hide the upper half of her face, and yet the skin he could see of her cheeks remained as red as her jacket. When they had finally found a place to sit, a table near one of the taverns, she'd sunken into the seat and planted her forehead into the table, arms around as if hiding from the world.

Much of what had transpired in the monument felt like it had been but a dream, some wishful hallucination concocted by a mind exhausted by impressions and the merciless sunshine, cold yet sharp enough to pierce the skull. He didn't know what to say, had come up with nothing yet as a verbal answer to her own words up there. What could he even say, though? Piper had not... strictly speaking... declared anything. All she had done was to hug him, and admit that she had wanted to do so for a while now. Why couldn't these things just be straight-forward?

He had done so well at home, in the fields, with the village girls, in his studies, because it had all been straightforward. There had been no complex tasks in the fields, or in the orchards, no complexity with the village girls once the festivals had begun, and his studies had all progressed according to tradition, books and timetables.

Why was the real world so much more complicated? Unsure of what else to do, he placed a hand on her shoulder, gently moving it around, trying to at least restore her spirits. It elicited a weak moan, but little more. In a strange way, it reminded him yet again of that night on the rooftop. An intoxicated Piper, so utterly comfortable with his touch once she had drowned her inhibitions.

"This isn't how it was supposed to go..." Piper muttered, half her voice lost in the fabric of her jacket. Martin winced, with sympathy and guilt both, for he suspected much of her discomfort came from his own incompetence. She lifted her head, finally, when she spoke again, her face bearing marks from the old leather, "I had it all figured out."

"You usually do." he did not stop rubbing her shoulder. She seemed to like it, "What went wrong?"

"I got spontaneous."

Her voice was half shame, half self-deprecating humor, a wry, mirthless smile on her lips. Even like this, face marred by imprints from her jacket, hair messed up and what little eyeshadow she wore smeared, she still was beautiful.

"Somehow, I got it into my head that the monument would be a great place to... you know, ask big questions."

"Mmm." It probably had seemed like a well-chosen place for it. The view was spectacular, and offered a perspective rarely gained from the street. And they had been able to have enough time alone since leaving Diamond City that she'd probably come up with it underways, rather than something pre-planned, "I think it was."

"Yeah?" she glanced up, eyes red, "You sure you're not just saying that to make me feel like less of an ass? Because I feel like one, you know. I promised we'd wait and see until Salem, and we didn't even get halfway there. Why'd you have to go and be such a... I don't know what you are, wholesome, I guess? Like, the wholesomest guy in the Wasteland, probably."

"The bar is set low, then," Martin snorted. Piper's face briefly split in a grin, before she managed it back into something that still resembled a wet Khajiit, "I have seen the competition."

"You're an ass," she snorted, batting him on the arm. Rather than retracting it though, she let it linger there and slide down on his. Her gloves were rough against his skin, but the fingers themselves, free of the cloth, soft atop his own. Between his own, then, as they curled together. The sensation alone was enough that the world around them all but disappeared, electrifying and warm, "...and I'm... okay with that."

This was a new kind of happiness, one he could not really recall ever having sampled before. Every part of him demanded more, craved more. He could not keep the smile down as he watched her.

"Good God, don't look at me like that."

"Mmm?"

"Yeah, like that," Piper muttered, averting her eyes as her smile grew. Warmth spread in his gut like a fire at the sight, the realization that he was causing this, "It's not fair, I'm not... used to being looked at like that."

"Sorry." though he had no intention at all of stopping. It was such a thoroughly novel and exhilarating experience, that he did not have to hide the way Piper made him feel when he looked at her, and now with the knowledge that much of those feelings were mutual. He could not have fought back the smile even if he had wanted to, "Difficult not to."

"Oh my God…" Piper hid away again, in the safety of her jacket.

Martin found himself entirely too amused with the sight, and did not notice the approaching figure until the polite, awkward clearing of a throat caught his attention.

"Sorry to butt in like that before, it seemed you two were having a good time, didn't mean to... disturb," it was the same man from before, the new-hired guard from Park Street. Martin recognized his voice before his face, hidden away in the sharp light of the afternoon sun. It was also the same man who had interrupted them atop the monument, though considering there had actually been a queue forming, and news of the delay had not yet been known, he could not fault him, "I noticed you're going north too, or were, before that whole mess by Covenant."

"To Greentop," Martin nodded, not so much wary of the man – and by closer look now it was clear he was actually younger than himself by a good few years – as he was unsure of what he wanted. Piper had popped back up again, embarrassment receding as the conversation had changed subjects entirely. Her hand disappeared from his, much to Martin's annoyance, "You? You are one of the guards, I noticed."

"Robert MacCready, gunslinger and survivalist, at your service. Currently at Torques' though, so there's a line if you're looking for protection. You ah, you can just call me MacCready though, most people do and these days I half forget I even got a first name."

It felt strange to call a man by his surname, especially a sellsword. Then again, customs here were not as back home.

"I was, ah, listening to you talking, on the way here. Didn't really understand a lot of it, but you're a foreigner, right? Heard Diamond City got itself a new doctor so I'm guessing that's you, with that plate and all?"

Perhaps the anonymity of the crowd was not quite so anonymous after all. Martin frowned, wondering just how many others might have been paying more attention than he'd given them credit for. Piper's expression more seemed like a quiet oh, so at least he'd not been alone in the mistake.

"Greentop Nursery is too far away from Diamond City for sick to make the journey," he offered as both confirmation and explanation, "I am going there to administer, and delivery of supplies. I cannot sell, if you were hoping."

"You're pretty young for a guard," Piper noted, one brow raised, "And you're not exactly a match in uniform. Freelancer?"

"Freelancer," MacCready nodded, pulling out a free chair from one of the adjacent tables, "Hired on to get north, away from GoodNeighbour. Don't let the name fool you, only the tough ones make it there, or the connected ones. Folks like me, don't stand much of a chance."

"Why north?" It seemed more the obvious path that one would head south, to Diamond City, if leaving GoodNeighbour, "Fleeing the Gunners? Mutants?"

"Something like that, maybe," the mercenary chuckled, shaking his head, "It's… family matters, up there. Anyways, I just wanted to apologize for interrupting that whole scene up in the monument. Walking behind you two since Park Street I was starting to wonder, the way you were carrying on, but, you know, I can appreciate some softness in this jagged wilderness, you know. Even if it did get pretty painful eventually…"

Piper seemed like she was choking on something, coughing violently through the last few of MacCready's words. Martin snorted, somehow the idea of torturing others as much as the uncertainty had tortured him, was much to his amusement. Did that make him a bad person?

"It is fine, there was a queue." Though he tried not to consider how long the younger man had been standing there, gathering courage or annoyance enough to interrupt. It hadn't felt like they were up there for long. Piper did not seem keen on speaking, "Apology is fine. You are going with the caravan tomorrow then, yes? Do you know when it leaves?"

MacCready scratched his beard in thought, and Martin noticed hollow cheeks beneath. A man not stranger to malnourishment, it was clear. The life of a freelancer likely did not pay well enough, or maybe it was a more recent thing? He did not look ill, though, and so he decided it was beyond his rights to inquire.

"Haven't been told yet, but usually caravans want to leave here around noon, maybe a little earlier. Hopefully Torques doesn't end up ditching the contract and leave me here," MacCready chuckled, "Wouldn't be the first time. Proper mercenaries, they've got that nice safety net of theirs, the whole guild system. Freelancers like me? We don't hand in half the caps we make, that's true, but we also risk getting screwed over by the employer. We also have to pay out the ass for lodgings, like the rest of you. Speaking of which, you got lodgings yet? There's bound to be a shortage."

He'd not thought of that yet.

It was probably something he should have thought of the moment it became known that the caravan would go no further today. Instead, he had spent the time otherwise occupied, and much as he regretted none of that, he knew it had been poor prioritizing. On both their parts, true, but considering Piper had seemed the worse off at the time, it probably was mostly on him.

The bar they had settled down by was owned by a stocky, balding man called Joe Savoldi, hence the name of the bar. His son, a youth Martin did not get the name of, helped man the bar. Joe himself, however, was the man behind it all, and the one who delegated out lodgings. An argument of some sort seemed to have been brewing between the two, though Martin had neither heard enough to know, nor care, and was keener still on securing beds. The nights had already started getting cold enough without having to sleep outside.

Piper was looking through the menu card, mostly containing beverages.

"Sure, I got a room left. Business's great, what with that caravan up north getting hit. Lots of folks needing rooms awful fast." A smart look crossed his face, glancing between Martin and Piper, "So, will that be one or two mattresses? And remember, no noise, there's other customers too."

"T-two." Piper seemed to have returned to a state of reddening, putting a real attempt in at outdoing her jacket. For once, Martin was little better, though he did have greater luck at maintaining his composure. The owner seemed surprised at the reaction, likely wondering if he had misunderstood the relations at play. In all fairness, Martin didn't fully understand either, "Two mattresses, please, how much?"

"Ten caps for the room, extra mattress is another two."

Martin was starting to get the feeling that it might be businessmen, not raiders, that would be the death of him in the Wasteland. Certainly, none of them would last more than a week with prices like these. His pouch, already feeling light, now rattled with the few remaining caps as the barkeep counted the rest.

"Tony, room five." His son, Tony then, snapped to when the order came. It was hard to judge the youth's age, but he seemed somewhere short of MacCready, whose age Martin also could not yet place, "and bring an extra mattress up there, chop-chop."

"Hey, uhm, I gotta get a message back to Nat," Piper stopped him as he made to follow Tony, a hand on his arm enough to make him pause, "I won't be long. Just, gotta make sure she's not staying up waiting, and see if I can make her postpone the article."

He lingered for a moment as she left, watching her leave with a sway to her steps that seemed almost like she was skipping. For one who'd professed herself the 'older sibling' when they met, she seemed decidedly the one more seized by the energies of youthful infatuation. Also, it was just nice, overall, watching her and no longer worry if she'd catch his eyes.

The room itself made Piper's home seem an Imperial palace by comparison. There was little furniture beyond the mattresses themselves, and an old, weathered suitcase nailed to the floor. For storage, apparently, though the idea made little sense to him. There was a single window, on the opposite wall of the small room, with wooden shutters held open by a pair of hooks where the paint had peeled off to such an extent that he could not tell what color they had once been. If he'd laid down on the floor, across the room, his feet would touch one side and his head the other, and even then likely he'd have to bend the knees a little.

"Don't let my dad's attitude bother you, he's pretty okay." It was strange how old the boy sounded, even as he looked no older than someone ready to be a farmhand, at most. What, sixteen years, maybe? Yet the voice was gravelly and deep, but still nice enough. He would probably have been popular with the girls of Applewatch, "We had some raiders taking potshots at the bar last months, from one of those apartment complexes across the road. Walls themselves are thick enough, don't worry, but most of the windows were broken."

"So we get the one with the windows still whole?" Martin snarked, though he meant no ill by it. The youth seemed to sense as much, scoffing with some amusement, "And I thought my study was luxurious."

"There's covers too, you can pick those up in the bar when you're ready to turn in," Tony added, almost as if he was trying to make up for the cost. It was still not even four in the afternoon, yet he added, "But, you can pick them up whenever you'd like. There's not really a rule or anything. There's also breakfast, part of the price."

That, at least, sounded fair, and did go a ways to justify the high cost of the room, sparsely furnished and small as it was. He wasn't quite sure what to make of the comment on picking up the covers right away, if he was simply reading too much into things. Today had been a day for detours of the mind.

"It's fine." It would do no harm reassuring the… man or youth, Martin still could not tell, and it irked him, "There are still some hours till evening, what else is there in this town?"

"Well, there's the bar, downstairs," Tony hummed with vague amusement in his voice, as if it was an inside jest, "There's a cantina near the sweatshops at the central square, by the monument, most of the workers eat there, mostly because the food's cheap. Most of the guards are mercenaries, they spend their time in the barracks, also close to the monument, or the, ah, brothel, behind the old hall."

"I've seen no children. There are no families in Bunker Hill?"

"Not if they can help it," Tony huffed, stomping his feet down the wooden stairs, "Not exactly the kind of place you want to raise a kid. Dad of course didn't care, place was nicer back then, too. These days, with the Minutemen being gone and all, everyone's a lot more tense. More raiders and mutants mean more guards and more tariffs on traders, higher prices, curfews. Most of the families packed up and moved to Diamond City, or north, long ago. The ones that stayed are the ones that had nowhere to go, or made actual profits here."

"Your family is the latter case, yes?" Was that insensitive, or just none of his business to even ask? Hopefully, in either case, his curiosity would not offend, "The bar must be profitable."

"We make ends meet." Some of the cheer went from the young man's tone, as he cast a glance to the bar where his father served customers dressed in leather and steel. Guards, then, though he noticed MacCready was there too, "Dad spoke out against the ghoul purge, back then, when some folks from Diamond City came through. Not sure why, it didn't affect us here. But, now there's a list of names down there, apparently, and we're on it."

Again, the purge. It seemed as much a ghost in the Commonwealth as the Institute, and was for that part far more real. It was a reminder of the kind of man McDonough apparently was, that even when Martin knew of the mass eviction, the mayor's charisma had still all but disarmed him.

"I wear the town's uniform," Martin frowned, tapping the white-painted letters on his plate. It struck him that he didn't actually know what to say next, but it was clear he needed to speak, else Tony might get the wrong idea. He could not honestly claim not to mind ghouls, as he'd still yet to ever see one that did not attempt to kill him, "I am the new doctor, it's why we're going north, to Greentop Nursery. I don't know if I am on a list, but I have not yet been paid since I started."

A humorless smile crossed Tony's face.

"Mayor down there loves his lists, I hear. Loves the order, the sense of holding the reins. You're with Piper Wright, she's pretty well known up here for her dislike of that kind of stuff, and McDonough especially."

"She does not like him," Martin nodded, feeling a rueful smile spread, "I think she is rubbing off on me."

"I saw," Tony chuckled. He paused before going back behind the bar, turning with a more contemplative expression on his face, "I like her style, she's a good reporter. Of course, not that she's got much competition these days."

Martin nodded, bidding him as much farewell as one could a man that remained a few feet away. Piper had not yet returned, and he'd forgotten to ask where one might send such a message from in Bunker Hill. Rather than risking an awkward questioning so soon after their conversation, he deemed to leave Tony to work in peace, and instead explore the trade town himself.

It was not much more than a few hundred square feet, after all.

Of course, a few hundred square feet was a lot different when packed to the brim with slum-like housing, chicken-pens and market stalls, than if flat and open plaza. Only near the monument was there a semblance of civilized order, rather than the worst nightmare of any doctor. The densely packed houses, some little more than shacks, others in multiple levels, did not at all seem like the people who had built them understood common hygiene. In the Empire, there had been a theory that germs, tiny organisms, bore much responsibility for diseases, though not yet proven.

Here, it seemed, even a theory would be a step up. The narrow alleys and dark streets, even during the height of day, made Diamond City's streets and houses seem perfectly splendid by comparison. And where Diamond City did not have much in the way of street-beggars, the main roads here were all but lined with them now, as the warmest hours of the day had passed, and they could sit in the open with no trouble.

One bore a large wound, festering in the sun and uncovered. Bulbous, yellow-black boils covered much of the man's shoulder, from his neck to the upper arm. Martin recognized it well enough, a violent infection of the tissue, and the early onsets of necrosis. Untreated, the man would lose the arm, at best, within the month. A sign in cardboard sat in front of him, letters in fat black writing spelled out 'Crippled by work, need caps for medicine'.

"Spare a cap, sir?" Sunken eyes behind mattered hair glanced up, as they likely did at any so daring as to pause before a beggar. The unseen of society, it was almost a sort of magic on its own how they could avert the eyes of their fellows, "I won't spend it on drink, promise."

"What happened to your shoulder?"

"Crawled under one of the machines, something gotten stuck in'ere. Was something rusten, pricked me but I didn't have time to get it cleaned, though it was bleedin'" He rustled a small cup at Martin, two caps already in it, as well a glass bead, "Spare a cap? I can't work with my arm like this."

Martin glanced about. Though there were some people on the street, few if indeed any paid attention. They all deliberately avoided the scene, likely thinking the beggar was accosting him, and wanted none of it. His conscience gnawed, like a rat in his gut. But his brain, every rational thought, told him to move on, perhaps offsetting his own unease with a cap for the beggar. There were too many people, it went on, even if they did not look.

"Do not react," he told the beggar, hoping his words, though spoken quietly, reached him. The man blinked, unsure, watching him with confused eyes as Martin placed a hand directly above the infested flesh, all but touching the boils. He could give the man no anesthetics already reserved for Greentop, "Hold still."

A benefit to daytime was that it made the lights so much easier to miss. A lit lamp on the streets hardly registered, nor did the golden glow suddenly flowing out from Martin's palm, like threads of light washing over the boils and scabs. The beggar gasped, though he visibly did his best not to move, eyes wide with shock and disbelief. Much of the tissue was dead where Martin touched, making him wonder if the beggar could already feel the restorative spell, or simply was astonished another human being would touch him. Martin had passed the line of such years ago, when he'd first delved his hands through the flesh of a corpse.

The human body was, in its own way, remarkable. Though possessing nowhere near the arcane aptitudes of the elven races, or the resilience of the Orsimer, nor the reflexes of the beastfolk or the adaptability of the Argonians, it still was unique. Almost every part of the body could regenerate tissue to varying degrees, and could handle physical strain far better than any other race. The nords, of course, were the best example of the latter, but all humans embodied this quiet resilience. And, if left alone, and provided energy and water, it could also recover from most ailments. Where Argonians never fell sick at all, humans usually recovered. All they needed was rest, or for something else to fortify the regeneration of the body.

Martin removed his hand, a minute at most having passed. Where before necrosis and boils had marred the beggar's flesh, now there were but faint marks, and a shallow, reknit patch of skin where the primary wound had been. Casting one last look at his work, he stood quickly, satisfied that he had not been seen. And before the beggar could speak, or act, he made his way onwards up the stairs.

Near the monument, he was again assaulted with the bizarre combination of the stench of industry and the scents of roast meat. On one side, the cantina Tony had mentioned. It was little more than a covered area, tables and chairs and benches lined up, with a counter of sorts at one end, serving men and women in ragged clothes portions of gruel and meat. Even as he paused there, watching, he saw others in similar states of dress leaving a larger building of brick and metal on the left. The smells of industry came from in there, and he saw several large pieces of machinery, some of them recognizable in function. Another of its kind, though smaller, sat next to the cantina as a low, squat hall of brick and wood, chimneys at the top belching white smoke.

A longhouse of wood, metal and concrete blocks sat as the entire corner of the central plaza, almost touching up to the old pre-War hall. The pavilion was mostly intact, save a large hole in the roof near the entrance, casting more light into the hall. Inside, some of the more privileged and seemingly permanent traders squabbled and yelled, offering wares at prices that made his ears hurt. One man sold pre-war power armor frames, another laser weapons, and a third had pre-war electronics on sale that sounded more arcane than mundane by the attributes he ascribed to them. It made Martin's head swim, and he hurried from it. More caps were being bartered and dealt around inside the pavilion than he was likely to ever see himself.

Where what had been built before still was white, the barracks were a dull gray and dark brown, making up an almost eerie contrast. It was two stories tall and had iron bars across every window on the lower floor, with narrow slits like made for crossbows rather than windows. It was almost more a blockhouse, a fortress, than a mere residence for soldiers.

Two hundred years on, and a place dedicated to one culture now hosted another. Most people here likely knew as little of the former as he did. Martin cast a last look up at the obelisk, thoughts going back to what had taken place only hours ago. He was not entirely sure of where exactly it had placed them, what had changed, but… he did not mind, he thought. The knowledge alone that there were feelings from Piper akin to his own, he could take that. What he would do with it, also he did not know. But it felt good, like a pit of uncertainty had been cleared away.

Back at the bar, MacCready still sat in the same chair, though nursing a glass that seemed fuller than it had been before. Martin, unsure of what else to do to pass the time, slid into the stool next to the mercenary's. Joe looked up, perhaps expecting him to order, but Martin's finances were strained enough already, made no less so by the…hospitality… of the place. Four caps still rattled in his pouch, and he'd no intention of spending them on drink.

"Hey," MacCready nodded slowly. It was clear the alcohol had started its work on the man, "You two good?"

It took Martin a moment to realize the mercenary was referring to his newfound, was it a relationship? It was still uncharted territory. He'd never really known women before in any real capacity beyond the dalliances of the festival games. Piper was something completely, entirely, wholly different.

"I think so." It was a strange thing to speak of with a man he'd known for all of half a day, at most. But MacCready, or Robert, seemed oddly dependable, world-weary yet friendly, "I have not much experience with such things, but I think so."

"Pretty new to the Commonwealth, aren't you?" MacCready ventured, lifting his glass before putting it down again, untasted, "People think no one' ever listening in those crowds, because of all the chatting, so they talk. And because I was the new-hire, Torques put me on rear duty. You two talked a lot. Tried to ignore you, you know, since it's not really polite and all to listen in. But she was giving you the whole traveler's guide to the Commonwealth. Not exactly hard to figure out."

"I am. I came here a few months ago, before Quincy was attacked."

"Where from?" When Martin frowned at the question, trying to recall the details of his made-up past, MacCready seemed to take it as annoyance at the question, "Hey, not prodding if it's like that. Just curious. Haven't heard an accent like yours before, is all."

"Cyrodiil," he shrugged, "Far away from here, across the seas."

For a brief moment, it seemed the mercenary doubted him, or perhaps knew more of the lands beyond the sea than most in the Commonwealth. It would be rotten luck indeed to run into the one cartographer or geographer in the Commonwealth that for some reason worked as a mercenary. Then the moment passed, and MacCready returned to his drink, nodding with apparent understanding.

"I'm fairly new to the Commonwealth myself," he admitted, "Well, not like you. Been here for some time, been around. Made a name for myself as a good shot."

Martin eyed a chance at information. MacCready was friendly enough, and seemed pleased to talk more than to listen. And Piper had not been much north, limited as she was to safer routes.

"You have been north?"

"North, south, west, sure." MacCready took a swing from his glass, dark brew swirling with foam. There were fewer people in the streets now than before, though some lingered close by, likely hoping for lodgings if any were left, "Greentop, right? Quite a ways, especially the last stretch. Boston, the city, more or less ends after Malden. After that it's townships, villages, occasionally farms. Country Crossing used to be the biggest one south of Abernathy, but since the muties moved in at the satellites, farmers picked up sticks and got the heck out of dodge."

"But the road itself is safe?"

"Should be," MacCready shrugged, "Then again, we're here right now, not on the move because should be, isn't the same as is. There'll probably be more guards with the caravan tomorrow than there was today. Saw Torques chatting up one of the arms dealers in the pavilion, so might even get some high tech, like a robot or some power armor. Pricey though."

"Greentop is up north east, yes? What about the north west?" Martin lamented he'd not taken Sun's map of the entire Commonwealth, rather than only the subway map. He'd have liked to have something concrete to go from, "There is a settlement somewhere up there, Lexington?"

"Not a settlement." Again the glass came up, half-empty now. MacCready's expression became one of concentration, as if the beer was messing with his memory, or vocabulary, "It's an old town, pre-War. There's a massive factory there, the Corvega plant. Last I heard, raiders had taken up in the plant, and started staking out plots downtown, like a proper raider town. No one else lives there though, far as I'm aware. It's one of those places you could resettle, if not for all the nasty shit out there in the Wasteland coming running like you'd rung the dinner bell. Plant itself is this fortress of concrete, sure, but if people tried settling down in the town itself, who knows what kind of crap's sleeping in the ruins?"

Garvey's group had been headed for Lexington. Martin frowned, quietly hoping the refugees had found a safer path.

"There are mutants at another place close to the old route, that is why they made a new one, yes? But they said raiders attacked the caravan."

"It's a guess," MacCready shrugged, drinking again, "Usually muties are loud enough that someone escapes. No one did here, or at least if they did, haven't sent back a word. We only found out because Covenant found what was left of the caravan on a guard patrol. Could be raiders. Gunners usually don't hit caravans, they prefer stuff they get paid to hit, and with few casualties. Stockton usually outbids and outguns anyone else in the business of making and using guns. He's the big boy around here, we'd call him the Big Mungo back home, proof of all that's wrong in the world. Truth is, he doesn't sell to raiders, and the Gunners used to be just another band of mercenaries, if a lot more cutthroat. These days, no one sells to them, I guess, at least not openly. A man like Stockton would lose customers, fast, if folks found out he supplied guns to them after Quincy."

Martin paused, trying to process everything he'd been told. MacCready was a talker, it seemed, or at least just very talkative when the alcohol got to him. He did not mind, it was good to find someone more interested in answering questions than asking them. Most of it made well enough sense, and it seemed MacCready knew a lot more of the Gunners than Piper did.

"If Stockton makes most of the weapons, the good ones, and will not sell to the Gunners," he ventured, "then where will they get weapons from? I know they are not like raiders, no? Not crude weapons."

"Word is, they started out as some sort of remnant of the military, after the bombs, and knew where a lot of the storages were. Pre-war rifles, you know. They made some mean-ass stuff right before the world ended. Laser guns, plasma weapons, guns that fired pure radiation, railguns, and on and on and on. Sometimes a raider tribe finds one of those places and starts throwing mini-nukes and plasma all over. Wipe out everyone around them, or at least everyone who doesn't immediately join up and swear to the new boss. Then they run out of the new toys and someone gets uppity."

MacCready chuckled into his beer, an echo springing from the glass.

"That's usually how raider gangs don't end up taking over the entire Commonwealth. The cunts can't. stop. killing each other over the smallest things, you know. Gunners, on the other hand, they're a meaner bunch of bastards alright. There's a strict hierarchy, and if you step out of line you're usually shot. On the one hand, keeps the infighting at a low, but on the other it also keeps their numbers real low too. Some say they're not really from the Commonwealth at all, but got some sort of real base out west, north, or south. Somewhere out there, you know. Out in the distance, where the crows don't go. The ominous 'out there'. And that's how they get their big guns and their funding."

"You've been around." Martin had to acknowledge that the mercenary, for all he was clearly the younger of the two, had far more experience than someone like himself could ever hope to have. MacCready knew stuff Piper probably did not.

"I've been around," MacCready nodded, draining the last of his glass. He stood with a slightly uncertain care, grasping the counter until he was fully free of the chair. His cap, seated on the bar, found its place back on his head, adjusted with a deft hand, "Well, I'm gonna go find a tree to piss on. See you tomorrow, Martin."

Martin watched him leave with almost a feeling of disappointment. MacCready had been talking so long and so fast that he'd completely missed the sun dipping below the tallest of the old apartment complexes beyond the stockade, and much of the street was already cast in a reddish glow, and a quickly growing shadow. The bartender lit a cigarette, and used the tip to ignite an oil lamp dangling from the overhang in an old, brown chain.

"Heyyy, sorry it... it took a while," a familiar voice came at his ear, close enough that he could feel her breathing.

Piper appeared then, emerging from the shadows as if awaiting MacCready's departure. To his embarrassment he'd not heard her coming at all, until she dumped herself into MacCready's empty seat and seemed almost ready to fall asleep where she sat. She turned to face him, her expression lit in a slightly foolish, if shy grin.

"You seem... more relaxed."Drunk was the term, for he could smell the alcohol on her breath, or at least mildly intoxicated. Even so, he knew she'd not had enough caps to get too drunk, unless spirits here were dirt-cheap, "Did you get a message to Natalie?"

"Mmmm." the way she nodded only confirmed it. Piper had been out drinking.

It was strange she'd chosen to do so without him, but he was not so daft, not anymore at least, that he could not suspect she'd done so out of need for liquid courage. She'd all but admitted as much when she spoke of their night on the roof, and how she'd not before now had the courage to embrace him without alcohol. The persistent, shy smile, however, made it hard to be annoyed at her for it.

Piper Wright was a terrible alcoholic, this much was a fact. It was not so much that she had a drinking problem, more so that she couldn't hold her liquor in the slightest. She reached a hand up, touching his hair. It was a weird, but... pleasant thing.

"Hungry?"

"Starving," Piper muttered, pulling herself up into a more stable position, "What'd we have?"

"Cram." he savored her disappointed frown, even as he dug into her rucksack, still strapped to her but now halfway sliding from her back, "And, look here, more cram."

"Should have brought something else," she pouted, "Who packed the food?"

"You did."

"Yeah, well..." The retort, no doubt biting and sharp, seemed to escape her, and she visibly deflated as he cut open a can and put it in front of her, "Don't let me do that again."

Cram was not tasty - and honestly he wondered if it was even healthy -, but it was food, and they had enough to get to Greentop and back, even with the delay. Hopefully. The caps they'd brought were not enough if they would have to start buying food as well. There was beer, at least, and the prices were not horrendous. One cap bought you five bottles of the questionable liquid, though interestingly only one bottle of purified water.

"I know what you're thinking," Piper muttered as he handed her a clean-looking bottle of transparent liquid. He'd been assured it really was water, Diamond City quality even. Apparently it was an import from the Great Green Jewel.

"A terrifying notion," Martin hummed, amused despite himself at her frown, "I thought I was the mage."

"You really are an ass, you know that?" she scoffed, blowing stray hairs away from where they had fallen over her face, fork once again procured, "Aren't men in the Empire supposed to be all chivalrous and respectful when a fair maiden makes her confession?"

"When the confession is about love," he nodded, "I do not think it applies when the fair maiden went out drinking."

"I didn't... get drunk, you know, not really. Don't have the caps for that and I'm not stupid enough to drink away the ones we have," Piper defended herself with an indignation so determined he could do naught but believe her, "I just had one drink, over by the cantina."

"You don't need to drink if you just wanted another hug," Martin hummed through his food, smiling despite the bland taste. Something about the way Piper was so obviously out of her element was far more endearing than he had expected, even if he was just as much out where he could not feel the bottom, "You can just ask."

"I kind of... went looking around. It's a market town, you know," She added the last bit as if he'd managed to forget, with little but traders and industry around. Some of the drunken shyness receded, and a look of concentration took its place instead, "It's a while since I've been here last, so I just wondered if anything changed."

"Has it?" he asked, adding, "Changed, I mean."

"There's... more people here than last time, and I don't mean traders." Following her glance as she looked away, Martin noticed a beggar shuffling down the street, past the bar, recognizable by a small, painted tin cup rattling with caps, "I did some asking around, interviewed some of the locals. People started coming here just days after Quincy was attacked. I don't know if it's the Gunners being bold enough to attack a walled settlement, or if it's the Minutemen dying out, but a lot of smaller settlements are being abandoned now, and people wanna be where they think it's safe."

"Greentop?"

What would happen if Greentop was among the abandoned settlements? The caravans wouldn't be going there, certainly, and if it was common knowledge here, then... there would be no journey tomorrow.

"No, looks like it's mostly the smaller ones right now," Piper frowned, looking at her food as if it was some sort of grave offense, and no doubt more so that she'd been the one to pack it, "Greentop has its own stockade, remember? It's about as safe as here anyways, maybe with fewer guards. Food's probably better too."

Most of the smaller settlements, as far as he understood it, were farming settlements as well. Greentop might be one of the largest, but no single farm, no matter how large, could oversee and produce enough foodstuffs for thousands of people. Places like Applewatch might not produce enough food to feed the entirety of Bravil, but it was more than nothing. How long before food shortages would send even more people running to the larger settlements, hoping for some sort of miracle? Another bite, and his own smile turned entirely into a frown. Cold cram really is no wonder.

Cupping his hands around the cold metal, he breathed some warmth into the pickled meat. It was barely even a trickle of magicka, but enough that soon the metal was hot to the touch, and the contents smelled a little better. Not much, for the meat was still meat, but better.

"Show-off," Piper snarked, nudging her own can towards him. He enjoyed this, actually, even at the risk of strangers peering closer than they should. It was nice being able to do things for Piper. More than ever before, anything he could do that would bring a smile out, or make life easier for her, was worth it, "Must be handy, not freezing your fingers off when it gets cold."

"We have invented gloves," he noted, his voice dry yet he could not help the smirk when Piper seemed like she'd genuinely forgotten. He slid the can back to her, contents now steaming, "But, it... does come in handy, yes. I know of some healers that went on to... more specialized careers, where working with your hands is important."

There were healers capable of releasing mental and psychological stresses from the body through simple touch and knowledge of the human anatomy, but something about the way Piper looked at him in that moment made Martin wonder if she had misunderstood entirely. Even so, she said nothing more for the moment, instead content on eating the heated cram.

It was a curious thing, comfortable silence. Neither spoke, but he did not feel the need to, either. At one point he had, back when they had met and he still did not fully know her, the need to fill the silence. Now, just being near her was enough, more than enough, that he did not need to speak. The sun had already set, though light still shone into much of the settlement through gaps in the towering structures that surrounded it.

When the cans had been scraped empty, and the bottles drained to the last drop, a different kind of silence seemed to impose itself. This one, rather than the one before, marked especially by Piper visibly trying to find something to say, or maybe a way to say it. He arched a brow at her, trying to show he was paying attention.

It seemed to do her state of mind no favors, though it did bring forth words.

"You, ah, you got the lodgings sorted, right?" she asked, "Two mattresses, breakfast, all the jazz?"

"I don't think I know what jazz is, but yes." he'd thought it was a sort of music, it was mentioned on the radio once. Maybe he'd been wrong, "It is not terrible, but..."

"I know, home's always better," Piper half-chuckled, "East west, home's best, as they say."

"They probably had to spend caps on overpriced rooms too."

"Mmmm" Piper mused, then turned and stuck a hand in her rucksack. "I've got something for you."

"What?" He did not so much ask what it was, more so it was his confusion at the complete change in subject and tone, like so much else too sudden for him to instantly follow, "You... what?"

Martin understood as much that she had been out shopping, but even after nearly three months in Diamond City, the term was still foreign to him. Of course he understood what it meant as well, that she had browsed the local merchants, but shopping, was that not what two traders of the same profession did when discussing business practices?

But he did not know what she had for him. He'd seen no change in her rucksack when she had returned, and found nothing particularly strange in it when digging out the cram cans. There had only been the same boxes, each one with small pictures of shotgun shells. Had he missed something?

"Technically speaking it's... also kind of from Arturo, because of Nina. I may have mentioned, kind of, that you were going out to the settlements." Piper fished one of the parcels out he'd seen before, but had thought to be packaging for the shotgun's ammunition. Now though, as it was out, he could see the packaging was just for concealment, probably, as whatever was inside was longer, and slimmer, nowhere near the dimensions of the rest, "It was a little up in the air if you'd get it now or when we came back, but with the whole... you know, caravan delay..."

It was a gun.

Specifically, it was the kind of gun where the cylinder in the middle spins about, full of holes to be loaded with brass shells and fired off with great noise and spectacle. There was no rust to be seen, no marks of weathering beyond what its making had likely imparted.

"There's ammo for it too," she said, and another package appeared. This one she cracked open on the table, allowing half a score of small, brass-colored cylinders to roll out, "Hopefully, you're not ever gonna need this, but it's better to have and not need, than need and not have, right? And it'd be nice, if we're in trouble, to have a bit more firepower, right?"

Martin didn't know what to say.

A firearm, especially a properly made firearm, was to his understanding worth a lot more than one should spend on a gift, even if it could also help yourself later down the line. He could scarcely fathom just how much Piper had paid for it, regardless of Arturo's goodwill. This thing was no raider's tool, but was clean, gleamed and seemed entirely new. He picked it up, hesitantly, almost afraid of the power dwelling within this deceptively fragile frame.

"Give it a spin, see if it runs right," Piper nodded, tapping a finger against the cylinder.

Martin obliged, running the palm of his hand down the side of the weapon. The cylinder did not so much roll as he'd expected, but rather seemed to follow like some internal cog keeping up the pace, offering no real resistance but neither did it continue when he no longer touched it, the indentations coming to a complete stop almost immediately. He tried again, emboldened by the smoothness, putting more force into the spin. This time, the cylinder did not immediately, but instead came to a slower halt with a cascade of click-click-click-click-click-click-click-click, and finally was still. He stared, a little in awe, that such engineering could be achieved in a world where even the trolley seemed a marvel.

"Arturo does good work. That's his signature, there on the grip," Piper grinned, prying his fingers from the course-surface grip of the weapon. A small 'A' was etched into the lower part, "Regular gunsmiths have a hard time with the big guns, that's why Stockton's got a monopoly. But revolvers? Arturo's good at those. He's supplied most of the D.C Guard its sidearms"

Martin looked from the weapon, to Piper, and found his words wanting. He could not find a word to express his gratitude, nothing simply came to mind. This revolver, simple though it was in this world, was a grander gift than he'd ever received from anyone at home, and priceless by comparison.

"So, uhm, do you like it? I know firearms and you are still not best friends, but, you know, look at it as an investment, right?"

What could he say? A simple 'Yes' or 'Thank you' could never suffice for a gift such as this.

It...I have never...I'm... not deserving of it.

His throat was dry as he spoke, "It will not leave my side, nor I yours, that way I might one day earn it, to my last breath." He added then words he did not yet quite dare speak in Common, and almost averted his eyes from hers, "Jas sekogaš ḱe te štitam so mojot živott"

Piper turned a new, rosier shade of red.

"How do you say... how do you say, 'You're welcome' like that?"

Like that. Did she mean in Nibenese? It struck him Piper had never actually asked him to teach her, only to translate a few scant words, or repeat himself if he'd ever ventured into his own tongue by mistake. It made him happier than he'd thought it would whenever she asked, even then taking great delight in the slightest bit of attention from her. Now, even more so, she wanted to actually learn?

"Ti si dobredojde." He measured each word before he spoke it. Piper's face scrounged up in a frown at the last word, "It means, you are welcome, though, it is formal."

"Ti si...dobredoite, Martin." Piper's accent was probably no worse than his own, but still it all but washed away his self-doubts by the sheer earnestness of the attempt. Hearing the words of his language from her mouth set off emotions and thoughts that were better off concealed, though he could do little for the warmth it spread in his chest.

It also distracted him enough that he had no chance of reacting when she leaned over, softly and quickly pressing her lips to his cheek. She retreated once more to her chair, expression set somewhere between far too self-satisfied and tethering on an emotional implosion. Her own cheeks now matched her jacket. He regarded her with surprise, one hand idly coming up to touch where her lips had been, only moments before. Piper regarded him right back, smiling.

"Still count as formal?"

---

Waiting for Piper to undress was an entirely unexpected thing.

His own jacket, the old duster from the subways, and the D.C chestplate had been stacked against the far wall, as well his newest acquisition, the revolver and its ammunition now safely wrapped up again.

Mostly because there wasn't a lot of room for him to avert his eyes from it. Even if she was only stripping down from her jacket and the heavy blouse, and he'd seen her in a shirt before too... if he looked away, her shadow did enough to fuel his imaginations, and looking anywhere but, he could see her in the corner of his eyes.

This was going to be... something new. His mind still halfway floated from the kiss before, chaste though it had been. Even with all that had happened between them yet, with all the signs he had only slowly begun to piece together, none had been as concrete a show of affection as that.

The lone lamp cast the room in a dim, yellow glow, yet a strong contrast against the darkness outside now. Unsettled, though he was not sure what at most, whether it was the situation with Piper, or that this was the first night he'd spent away from Diamond City in months. For all its rot and corruption, it had become something resembling home. Mostly though, it had done so through Piper.

Piper who, in the spur of a moment, had kissed him. Sort of.

Piper who, at this moment, had just tossed her boots against the wall. Where he had stacked his own belongings carefully, orderly, she'd dumped her own in a pile that seemed almost like a living animal more than inanimate clothes. The way her boots sagged, atop the pile, resembled almost the flopping ears of some animal, watching him with hollow eyes.

There was some distance between the mattresses, though it had not been from a verbal agreement. Tony, the youth, had simply placed them side by side like that, and Martin had not known if he should comment on it then, or now. There were covers too, and pillows, gray and a little coarse, though they seemed old enough to predate the settlement, not to mention the bar itself.

"You didn't have to, you know, turn around," Piper said quietly. When he turned, she was seated on her mattress, cover pulled up around her against the cool air. Though they were indoors, the nights were colder now, and the walls were only planks. He wondered if they insulated them during winter, though his attention was entirely stolen away when a part of her cover slipped, exposing a bare shoulder. Not... entirely bared, for she still wore the shirt underneath. The smile she gave was a little awkward, but also bemused, and caused within him a stirring like a fire, "But, I appreciate it, still..."

"You can make it... difficult, I think, to not... look at you," he admitted, smiling sheepishly despite the words drying on his tongue. Piper flashed a grin of utter embarrassment at his words, almost as if she had not considered the effect she had on him. The two of them, now wrapped up in their covers, resembled a pair of tents more than anything, though it would be small tents, the kind where there was no room to stand or even sit, and the head could stick out, "I did not think these things would come to pass. So, I... sorry if I am..."

"Awkward?"

Her voice was a little brighter for it, maybe in finding him as confounded as herself. Piper scooted over, dragging her little gray tent with her until they were side by side, and leaned in against his. With some maneuvering he managed to unwrap his blanket and cover her in some of it as well, much as he could reach around at least. She leaned in a little more, her head finding a place on his shoulder.

"I don't mind," she whispered, and her voice sort of changed, growing huskier as she spoke, "Do you? I mean, if I... kissed you again? Not on the cheek though, you really need a shave."

Martin had no words to describe how he felt, nor could he have given her a coherent answer. Every artery in his body pumped with more fury than ever before, even more than when they had run from radstorms and fought off ghouls. And yet, he was happy. Happier, actually, than he could remember having been for years. None of the girls he had known at the harvest festivals had ever brought him near to what he now felt, wrapped up in an old blanket with Piper.

He kissed the top of her head, savoring the smell of her hair even as he buried his nose in it. Piper trembled slightly, a shiver he could have written off as from the cold if not for the way she leaned against him now, harder than before.

A soft groan escaped her as she pressed against him harder. He could feel the curves of her body as she melted into the embrace, where she was soft, and warm. Soft mounds pressed against his arm. The covers already were feeling all but too hot to wear.

Thin trails of water had washed a path down the dust on her face. When he caressed her cheek, a gesture borne more of instinct than experience - He'd not known this kind of intimacy with the girls of the villages - she moaned, pressing her own, cooler hand atop his. His body burned with a need for her, to hold her close and to shed all inhibitions.

"Can we... stay like this... just for a little bit?" Piper's voice was a husky whisper, yet so utterly at peace that it nearly quenched the desire in his body. A raging inferno became instead smoldering embers. Half-lidded eyes looked up at him, brown orbs that seemed to swallow all light and thought, "...It's... really nice."

"Mmm."

He started running his free hand through her hair, dark and twisted lumps seizing on his fingers. Delving a little deeper, he started pressing down, gently, softly, applying just enough pressure. Then, slowly, he moved downwards, fingers dancing over her neck before he even knew himself what he was doing. Or why. Only that it felt right.

"Hey, Martin..."

"Mmm?"

"I like you," she hummed, sighing with delight. He tried not to react, but the words settled deep, warming and filling him with more happiness than he'd thought could still be crammed in. Life, right now, in this small, cramped and cold room, was bliss. Piper shivered, "Like... I really do. You're the second best thing I've ever brought home."

"Second best thing?"

"My hotplate, found it in the Commons."

"Beaten by a hotplate," he sighed, "Indeed, competition is stiff."

He found a new knot of muscle at the base of her neck, soft and smooth skin on surprisingly well-worked muscles. Piper shivered again, goosebumps standing at his touch.

"You tremble," he mused, working through muscle and knots. He knew where to go, "It is good?"

"It's cold," she muttered, somehow managing to sink deeper in against him, "That's better..."

"Mmm."

He should ask her for her cover, if they were going to sleep like this. He didn't, somehow. The willpower to break the moment simply was not there.

"Mmmmm," A soft, almost throaty moan escaped her, eyes falling shut as she all but collapsed against him, "It's very nice...You learned this as Healer?"

"I grew up on a farm." It was more a reminder than an explanation, and he did not stop what had turned into a massage. Not that he minded in the slightest, feeling Piper melting from his touch was raw delight, "...my parents have stiff joints, from work. I learned to help them. I liked it, helping them. I think it is what... caused me to seek out the healers in the first place back when my... aptitude was discovered."

"Mmmm... I like your... aptitude..."

"You are falling asleep," he noted, her words were becoming weaker, hoarser almost. Piper, to her credit, flashed her eyes open, as if to prove him wrong. Almost as soon she'd done it, though, her eyelids came down again. She shifted her seat, coming to a more firm position between his legs, and fell back down on his chest. If he'd not sat against the wall, she might have toppled him, "Should I stop?"

"Mmmno, no, no I'm just...real cozy..."

The first snores came not half a minute after. Martin halted his work then, pulled the covers around them both, and let himself drift off as well. Sleep came far easier than it had in weeks.

---

A/N: Jesus Christ that took a lot out of me, wrote half of this on a bloody tablet. Rest was easier, but still, damn.