A/N: Hey again! Back at you with chapter 7! I had a pretty hard time writing this thing, actually. It's mostly dialogue and try filling up 14,000 words full of people talking and shit. Tough. But hey, it needed to be done. This thing is pretty damn big, too. I actually intended there to be about two more parts but it would be a goddamned novel by then so I forced myself to cut it down.
Anyways. Lots of dialogue. No killing. No blood. No gore. Sort of a plot progression, but hey, after last chapter, I figure our protags need a rest. Jesus.
Enjoy, and leave a review!
Chapter 7: Daye of the Living Dicks
Part One: In Which All of Cait's Expectations are Horribly Dashed and She Realises That, Despite How Much She Hates Him, She's Probably The Only Person on Earth That Can Stand to Be Around Daye for Any Extended Period of Time
"This is yer Castle then, is it?"
"Yeah, this is it. What, were you expecting some massive stone fortress with a fucking moat and knights and shit?"
In all honesty, yeah.
With a name like 'The Castle', Cait sort of did expect something massive and grand and important and shiny.
But The Castle was… uh, not.
Not from up here, anyway. Looked sort of small and lame, really, just a mish-mash hodgepodge of wood and metal and brick, all closed in with a crumbling greyish stone wall, the entire thing teetering dangerously close to the water's edge. Reminded her of the fishpacking plant, you know, before Daye blew it to fucking Hell and back.
She should just learn to lower her expectations around this guy, really.
Let's kill some raiders! Let's visit my super-secret hideout! Let's bust a chem deal! Let's blow up a factory! Let's ride in a pre-war flying machine with human-robot people!
Sounds fucking awesome, right?
Nope. All shittier than they sound.
Cait's leg still hurt. Her shoulder still ached. She still had splinters in her palms. Ears were still ringing. Stomach still woozy – from the flight and from being starved like a goddamned hooker being forced into a tiny dress at The Third Rail or some equally scummy bar.
And also, her face had stopped bleeding, but she was gonna have a nasty-looking, fucked up laser-rifle scar there. Just like Daye.
She didn't know if she liked the idea of that or not.
"Hoss," the asshole said, hauling himself from the civilian seat to lean over the pilot's. "Listen: just land this thing. Don't bother calling in."
Hoss sighed, shaking her head slowly. "You know I can't do that, Daye."
"Seriously. Just land."
"Why?"
"There's... some people here that I'd rather not see. Or, would rather not see me."
"Big surprise."
"Har har. Pretty please?"
"I can't risk taking fire from those artillery guns. We're an unmarked vessel landing on the foreign property of a military establishment, and I don't know if they have radar or flight tracking. Might not even have ATC."
"Wow. Those are some big words, Hoss. You sure you know what they mean?"
"I do," she bit. "If you feel you can do a better job at piloting this 'bird, then by all means, come up here. Give it a shot."
Daye pondered that a moment, and Cait was almost certain he'd take Hoss up on her offer and plunge them all into the side of a skyscraper just to prove a point.
Luckily he didn't, thank fuck. If Cait was gonna die anywhere in this stupid post-apocalyptic shit-scape of a world, blowing up into the side of a building with this bunch of stuck-up assholes and Daye the Mad Martigan himself would be the absolute fucking last place on her list. Which was saying a lot.
"Daye, I need to call this in."
"Hoss –"
"Daye," Handsome Dansome said, commanded really, his hands still glued to the vertibird's minigun at the side door, apparently quite concerned about flying deathclaws or winged mirelurks or some shit. "She's right. Let her handle this."
"Fine," he huffed. "Fine. Alright, whatever. I can see I'm outgunned."
"Literally."
"Call it in, then. Be prepared for a shitstorm, though."
If there awaited a shitstorm at the end of this horribly long-ass, awkward-as-fuck, terribly boring flight, Cait would welcome it with open arms – throw it a fucking bar mitzvah – if it meant it was on solid, stable ground.
Hoss smirked a small triumphant smile, flipped some switches and dials on her dash, then put her headphones back on.
"Castle Command, this is VB-02 Gladius One requesting permission to land. Repeat, this is VB-02 Gladius One requesting permission to land, over."
A moment of silence, and some soft static, then –
"VB-02 Gladius One, this is Castle Command."
"Castle Command, VB-02 Gladius One reads you loud and clear."
"Gladius One, permission to land granted. Please set down on the LZ marked one hundred metres from the west gate, over."
"Roger that, Castle Command. Over and Out."
Hoss took off her headphones again, then turned round to flit another fucking smug-ass victorious smirk back at Daye. "See? That wasn't so painful now, was it?"
"Shitstorm, I tell you."
Daye sighed long and wistfully, rubbing his eyes tiredly, and then collapsed back into the seat next to Cait, which was sort of a shame, really, seeing as she'd been not-so-subtly checking out his ass. Kind of hard to do with all the layers he was wearing – especially that stupid fucking infinity-jacket – but she made do.
It was easy to tell he was decently built under there, better than the scrawny raiders and wastelanders, at least, who never ate well as kids and still probably didn't. So it wasn't too hard to imagine that he probably had a nice, full ass under his pants, with a matching set of dick-n-balls, despite Cait never seeing more of his skin than just his face and hands and his foot once. Not that she ever tried to sneak a glance when he was undressing or stopped to take a piss on the side of the road.
Okay. Maybe she had, once or twice. Or a little more.
Fuck, she was curious, alright? And it wasn't too often Cait hung around a guy who wasn't starved to death or almost shorter than she was. Plus, Mr. Danse Party marching onto the scene like some fucking Old World hero hadn't done any favours to her active imagination or libido.
Daye was dirty and greasy and still caked in soot and sweat and Gunner blood, and he desperately needed a haircut and a shave, but…
Shit. He had seen where her eyes had been, the fucker. He settled back into the seat and put his hands behind his head, the right picture of smug asshole. "Like what you see?"
Cait huffed, crossing her arms, entirely aware that his legs were resting about half a millimetre from her own, spread open, practically inviting the world to stare down at his crotch. It was distracting as fuck.
"No, actually," she said, focusing on his weird green eyes instead. "Yer face looks like if Tommy fucked a deathclaw and they had a retarded lovechild. Who was also ugly."
"You weren't staring at my face."
"I wasn't starin' at nothin'."
"Coincidentally, I like to call my ass nothing, not because it's free, but because you've seen nothing like it before. That makes sense, right?"
"Oh my fuck Daye, d'ya even listen to yerself?"
"Don't need to."
"Ya sound like a fuckin' dunce."
"You sound like you're in denial."
"Of what?"
"Of the obvious romance blossoming here, Red. It's actually kind of embarrassing."
"Fuck you and fuck yer blossoms."
"See? Beautiful poetry. This is like a page right out of Romeo and Juliet."
"Listen here, bub, I wouldn't fuck ya if ya were the last cock on the planet. I'd rather shag a mutie."
Daye smiled an arrogant little smile, one that twisted his burn scar and made him look downright wicked. Then he leaned over real close - too close - and Cait thought he was gonna whisper something in her ear maybe, or even touch her shoulder or leg – all things the raiders used to do when they were hankering for a quick shag. And honestly… being totally honest here… Cait wasn't so sure she'd make Daye stop.
But he didn't.
"Alright," he breathed, in a tone that said he clearly knew she was lying. "Whatever you say."
Cait's stomach pitched, though she wasn't entirely sure it was because of the wobbly vertibird or the way Daye said that. She hoped it was the first one because honestly, she hated Daye more than anyone she'd ever met and if he made her squirm like that, then there was something seriously wrong with her. Maybe she had worms or something.
She seethed to herself, trying (and sort of failing) to keep her eyes from Daye's crotch, still wide open and just flappin' in the breeze. Metaphorically, of course. But hey, she wouldn't complain if it was literally, too.
The vertibird wobbled and lurched and circled around a few times, hovering here and there for way too fucking long, before Hoss finally, finally spotted the landing zone exactly where the voice on the intercom said it would be – about a hundred metres before the west gate, on a relatively flat and barren patch of sand and scrub. The machine came in low and slow and so loud, a dull chopping thud-thud-thud, whipping around stones and twigs and hot, choking dust into the already hot, choking air.
Finally, fina-fucking-ly, this metal tube thrust from the black pits of Hell itself landed on solid earth. Cait launched herself from that thing faster than a wild mutant hound on Psycho hurtling headlong after a hyperactive radroach hopped up on Jet. That's pretty fucking fast, in case you're wondering.
"Jesus Christ, Red," Daye smirked, hopping down from the vertibird annoyingly easily. "You alright? You're not going to pass out or anything, are you? Because I'm not going to carry you if you do. You're heavy as fuck."
She leaned heavily against the crumbling remains of some twisted metal cement thing sticking up from the earth like some fucked-up tree, trying (and pretty much failing) to ease her churning, woozy stomach and straighten the world the fuck out. "Ugh. If I was gonna vomit, I'd have already spewed me chunks all over yer butt-ugly face, Daye. Make it a little prettier, maybe."
He smirked again, brushing the dust and soot from his old ratty jacket, the one Cait hated so much.
"Hey, for your first vertibird flight, you did okay, kid," Danse Romance said, finally letting go of the minigun and stepping down from the machine, metal armour hissing and whirring gently in the dust, black hair soft and shimmering in the sunlight like a gorgeous fucking model from heaven. "When I first flew in one of these, I passed out from the height not five minutes after takeoff."
Cait raised an eyebrow. "Really?"
"No. He's just trying to make you feel better for being a massive pussy, that's all." Daye squinted into the blazing sun, a wicked little smile playing at the corner of his mouth.
Danse threw Daye his trademark frown, and had Cait been a little less chicken-shit wobbly on her feet she'd have marched right over there and beat the living shit out of him for that.
"No, it's true. I couldn't handle the speed at first. Had terrible vertigo for a month."
"Yeah. Had to sit to take a piss, didn't you?"
Do-me-Danse's perfectly fuckable face flushed red as a rotten mutfruit at that. "Daye –"
Daye chewed at his filthy fingernails casually. "What? Oh. Was I not supposed to mention that part? My bad."
Mr. Fuckable graced them with a classic Disappointed Danse®, the frown so deep Cait thought his mouth might just fall off his face and land in the dirt. Which Cait would pick up and keep, of course. For… research purposes.
"I don't know why I ever told you those things."
"Hey man, me neither. People just seem to dump their personal shit on me, and I don't even ask for it. Must have one of those faces people trust, you know?" he smirked, his burn scar twisting his smile into such a fucked-up sneer that even the highest and most smashed raider asshole this side of the post-apocalyptic US of A wouldn't trust if his worthless life depended on it.
Daye straightened his ugly jacket out and shielded his eyes from the intense sun, gazing out toward The Castle. Cait peered out that way too, and so did Danse. Nothing but dirt and rocks and parched little shrubs between them and the massive wooden doors, tall and old and set snugly into the towering grey stone around it. There was the crumbling remains of a small building – an old ice cream shack, maybe, and the rusted frame of an old Corvega between them and the building, and that was it.
At first Cait expected The Castle to be something outstandingly awesome, something grand and old and impressive and simply teeming with lights and people and movement. And then, from the air, she sorta expected a little less. Now – honestly, what the fuck? Fucking building looked boring and dead. Like a blank tombstone thrust up from the dusty earth, not even a tree or boulder around, only the choppy grey ocean beyond to break the desolate tan and brown landscape. Wouldn't be surprised if the only residents were rats and dusty bones.
Why did everything to do with Daye turn out to be less than what she was expecting?
It smelled liked dust and old and sour vertibird fuel, and Cait could taste the grains of sand on her parched tongue – but she could hear the sea crashing against the shore just beyond, and she could almost smell it, too – clear and cool and salty.
"So…" Cait began sort of awkwardly, her head beginning to throb from the sunlight and from the lack of Psycho juicing her up. "Is there supposed to be –?"
"Nathaniel fucking Daye!"
The voice was clear and shrill and female, and it carried swiftly across, and despite, the empty distance. A pinprick of a figure moved about the battlements, up beneath the wind-whipped blue flag on the outermost right wall, and then it disappeared.
Cait frowned. "Who the fuck was that?"
Daye sighed, running a hand through his slick hair. "The Shitstorm."
The great wooden gates opened slowly and loudly, puncturing the sheer immense slate-like face of the stone, and out marched a few people in uniform – soldiers, Cait rather thought. All sported stained button-up shirts with a tattered tan jacket over it, and dusty jeans and boots. A couple had ragged slouched cowboy hats on their heads, and all held rusty laser muskets at the ready. Quite a ragtag militia, Cait thought, but hey, at least they matched. Points for coordination and giving a shit.
The craggy woman leading the soldiers simply fumed across the dust, her followers just about jogging to keep up.
"Nathaniel god-damned-fucking Daye!" she screeched as she stalked closer, voice harsh as her old, wrinkly face, and even Cait winced at her very presence. A presence that said, 'I will not hesitate to beat you down, chew you up, spit you out, and wear your hide as a motherfucking matching trophy scarf and shawl before I've taken my morning piss.'
"Nate!" the terrifying woman shrieked, storming right up to Daye and just about screaming in his face. She was a good head or two shorter than the man, but Cait had known Daye for a little while now, and she knew the little twitch of his eye there gave away the very amusing but somewhat worrying impression that he was not really enjoying this. "Nate! What in God's shit-stained earth do you think you're doing, boy?"
Cait and Doable Danse peered over at Daye, who very clearly did not look up for this bullshit right now. "It's Daye," he seethed. "Daye."
"It's whatever the fucking Lord Almighty – that's me – says it is. And the Lord Almighty says it's Nate."
He clenched his jaw and swallowed. "Hey, Ronnie. Long time no talk. Good to hear your voice again – I was just about done with the night terrors and needed a fresh bout of your wonderful articulation to keep me up at night."
"Cut the hokum, you good-for-nothing piece of scavver shit," this Ronnie threw back at him, thrusting a finger into his chest. "What in God's missing testicle are you doing calling in an LZ request? You know goddamned well I ain't ever gonna let your hideously disfigured ass within a hundred clicks of this place, you greasy fucking charlatan."
Daye frowned a little, rubbing at the sore spot this Ronnie chick – well, scary fucking hag, Cait supposed – made on him. "Well, it's a little too late now, I guess."
"It's never too late to lace up my shitkickers and go up one side of you and down the other."
Daye chewed the side of his mouth. "You sound angry, Ronald," he smirked to himself. "Are you angry at me or something?"
"It's Ronnie, you insubordinate backstabbing good-for-shit-all freeloading –"
"Listen, Ron, it's been wonderful talking to you, and this has been such a stimulating, memorable conversation, but be a good gofer and fetch me Gravy, would you? I need to talk to him."
"Garvey's not here, assface, and even if he was, there's no way in good fiery Hell he'd have the time in his busy schedule of actually doing a goddamned decent thing to entertain your bloodsucking fucked-up excuse of a face."
"Thanks for the compliment."
"More where that came from, let me fucking tell you."
"I bet you have a whole book of personal insults made just for me."
"Damn straight. Keep it under my bed. I titled it 'One Thousand and One Insults, Put-Downs, and Comebacks for Every Occasion, but Mostly Just Telling Nate He's a Goddamned Useless Piece of Shit.' "
"Inventive. I like it."
Cait might be slightly (or more than slightly but you better not ever fucking mention it, alright?) terrified of this coarse old cunt before her, but goddammit if she wasn't impressed even a little by her quick-as-lightning comebacks. She'd have to take notes.
"Thought you would," Ronnie hissed. "I dedicated it to you and your pathetic excuse of a leader. It's a bestseller here."
"What about Diamond City?"
"Haven't had the funding to crack open that market yet. Give me time."
"I'm touched. Truly, Ronald, I am. So, where's Gravy, then?"
"Ha! Like I'd ever tell you a thing like that. Now get the Hell out of here before I order my guys to open fire and kill you by firing squad."
A metallic click to Cait's left signalled Danseless Pantsless Party pulling out his laser rifle and aiming it straight at Ronnie's chest. "I don't appreciate the threat, ma'am," he growled in his stern (and sexy) voice, prompting Ronnie's men to do the exact same. Not half a second later Cait whipped out her double-barrel and aimed it in the face of the nearest soldier, a pocked-face young dude who looked just about ready to shit himself and pass the fuck out. Simultaneously. Cait grinned madly. Shit was going to get exciting.
"And I don't appreciate your goddamned robot goon aiming his gun in my face," Ronnie snarled, the only one, other than Daye, to be weaponless.
"Fucking Jesus Christ," he groaned, throwing his hands up in defeat. "Seriously! Can't we just have a normal conversation for once? Danse, we don't have time for a dick-measuring contest, so put the gun away. Ronnie –"
"I ain't gonna listen to a thing you say, Nate."
Daye sighed, clearly not giving a fuck about the half dozen guns pointed all around him. "Listen, Ronnie," he began, rubbing at his eyes with his fingers tiredly. "Enough of this shit. I get it. You don't like me very much –"
"Understatement of the goddamned century."
"But I really don't give a fuck. I'm tired and hungry and fucking filthy as a whore. I've got a million and one things to do and some angry people on my ass. I'm not here to play army with you, and I sure as shit don't have to listen to the verbal diarrhea you're so keen on spewing all over the fucking place."
"I ain't –"
"No, listen," he snapped, making Cait blink, and even Ronnie Hagfish herself took half a step back. "I'm still your General and I can still do whatever the fuck I want, including coming and going without being harassed by my own men."
Cait blinked. "General?" she murmured to no one in particular, and not surprisingly getting no answer from anyone for clarification. Cockbites.
"General?" Ronnie hissed. "You ain't never been the General, son, not in my book! Not since you fucking backstabbed the entirety of the Minutemen and used us like some –"
"I. Am. Your General. Shaw."
"You're a fucking –"
"You're a fucking dusty old cunt that should've been put out of your misery years ago. You lost all your usefulness last fucking century, Shaw, so sit down and shut the fuck up before I throw you the fuck out of here!"
Shaw's eyes narrowed into such tiny little slits Cait thought they might've just fallen out and rolled around in the dust.
"So here's the deal," Daye continued, a little less livid. "I've got some crates in the vertibird I need to store down in the armoury for a while, and I'm going to do that, Gravy or No Gravy."
"It's Garvey, you piece of shit."
"You'll let my goddamned robot goons here into The Castle without a word, you'll let them down there without a word, and you'll let them leave without a word. I know you have trouble keeping your mouth shut, Shaw, but if I hear you've been giving them trouble, I'm going to give you trouble. Got it?"
Cait's eyes nearly popped out her fucking head. Never in her whole entire life had she been so sure someone was going to throttle someone else with their bare hands and enjoy it so much. Ronnie looked like she was about to pounce on Daye and rip his fucking throat out with her teeth and not even bat a crusty eye. Cait's finger hovered over the trigger, aimed halfway between the ugly soldier in front of her and Ronnie herself, though she wasn't entirely certain the bullets wouldn't just bounce off the old woman and ricochet back.
The old woman scowled. Spit a wad onto the dusty ground. Crossed her arms. Then, honest-to-fucking-goodness, Ronnie Shaw let out a laugh. More of a cackle, really, and Cait was sure she'd have nightmares about it later on. "Ha! You got daddy bags of steel, boy, I'll give you that. Fine. I won't say a fucking word."
"Good."
"But that don't mean I gotta like any of it."
"I don't care."
"I'll be keeping an eye on your robot friend till he leaves. And your red-head fuck-buddy here."
Cait glowered at that.
"Again, don't care. Just keep out of our way."
She scowled, hands on her hips. "Garvey'll be back tomorrow afternoon, if you're looking for him. Did a run to Hangman's Alley. Left yesterday. Just a broken generator, I think."
"Yeah. Okay. Thanks, Shaw."
"Hm." Ronnie sent all three of them one last nasty glare almost certainly meant to insert horrid nightmares into their subconscious, then she turned on her heel and stalked back to The Castle with almost as much piss and vinegar as when she came, her little party close behind, tagging along in her dust.
An awkward moment. Or two. Fucking way too many of those lately.
"Well," Danse sighed at last, lowering his laser rifle. "That was… fun."
"She's such a sweet old lady, isn't she?"
Cait lowered her gun too, glaring at Ronnie's retreating back, and she let out a constricting breath she didn't even know she was holding. "The fuck was that about?"
Daye shrugged, lighting himself a Lucky Strike, and offering Cait one for a change. She took it gladly. Anything to calm her nerves after meeting the Devil reincarnate herself. "Nothing really."
"Nothin'? Daye, that bitch almost tore yer fuckin' head off yer shoulders with her rat-claws. And she's got a potty mouth ta rival me own."
"Actually, she was in a pretty good mood today, I thought."
"The fuck was she? Some sort of half-deathclaw, half-mutie bitch on her period or somethin'?"
Daye blew in, held it. Blew out long and slow, almost in Cait's face. Fucker. "Hm. Just about. Ronnie Shaw. Shitstorm of The Castle. One tough bitch, I tell you. Storms her way through everything, but we need her like a straw house needs cow shit to keep together. Shit storm. Shitstorm. Get it?"
Cait took a long drag of her dart, eyes narrowed. "We?"
Daye blinked. "…they?"
"Nope! Nuh-uh! I caught you red-handed, assbiscuit! This have anythin' ta do with bein' General or some shit? What, you the leader of some greasy raider gang? You gonna tell me yer Chuckles' second-in-command now?"
He just shrugged again, flicking his cig carelessly.
"Daye."
"I don't know," he groaned, sort of irritated-like. "It's not really a secret, I guess. Just… don't run around town shouting it to all the raiders and other wasteland assholes we come across, okay?"
"Shout what?" she frowned. "I swear to fuck, I've had it up to here with all yer shitty secrets, Daye –"
"Red, shut the fuck up for a sec. Jesus. These are the Minutemen."
"Kay, I've heard of 'em, yeah."
"This is their stronghold."
"Mhm."
"And I'm their General."
"Like Hell ya are. And I'm the bloody President of Canada."
He shrugged a third time, staring off into the distance with unseeing, careless eyes. "Whatever. Don't believe me. I don't care. I don't need to prove anything to you."
Cait looked to Dansealicious for confirmation, for help, for anything really (and not only just to look at his smoooooth face, honestly). He only pulled another Disappointed Danse® and shrugged.
"Well. This has been fun," Daye said. "Thanks again, Danse. Just put the crates down in the armoury for now, near the east entrance. You know where that is, right? The west tunnels are still blocked, I think. I'll have to ask."
"You're not helping, Daye?"
"Nah. You'll be fine, big guy. You and Hoss and Peanut Butter got this covered. I got some… shit to do. Things to look at. I'll be busy. If you want to stay a night I'm sure Shaw can find you a bunk or something. Just don't get too close. She might bite your fingers off."
Danse frowned. "No. We need to return to the Prydwen as soon as possible. Wasted enough time escorting you and your undesirables around."
"Undesirables?" Daye laughed. "Jesus Danse, you make it sound like I'm carting around dildos and crack."
"Might as well be."
"It's just some Jet and shit."
"It's still illegal."
"Hey man, this is the end of the world. Nothing's illegal anymore." He chuckled to himself, took one last long drag of his Lucky Strike, then flicked it on the dusty ground. "Well, it's been real. Until next time, Danse," he half-heartedly saluted.
Then Nathaniel Daye turned and just fucking walked away.
"Oi! Oi!" Cait screeched after him. "Daye! The fuck I'm supposed to do, huh?"
Daye turned around but continued walking backwards. "Don't care," he shrugged. "Stick around for a few days, entertain yourself. You're good at that, right? I'll come find you when we're ready to head out."
"A few days? Fuck, I'll be dead and gone of boredom by then."
"I just need to wait till Gravy comes back. Tomorrow afternoon, Shaw-zilla said. I'm sure you'll survive."
"And right now?"
He shrugged, smiling a stupid, stupid smile that Cait wanted to smack off his ugly face. "Help with the crates?"
Cait hoped the fucker tripped backwards and smashed his stupid head on a rock.
No such luck.
"Fuck that. I need to get drunk. There a bar or somethin' round here?"
Daye either ignored her or didn't hear her. He was already out of earshot, making his leisurely way across the dust to the great wooden doors of The Castle. Cait watched him recede until he was a small blurry pinprick, wavering in the heat of the scrub, outlined black against the grey stone walls.
She sighed, crossing her arms.
Just like the smarmy bastard to drop her off and leave without a fucking explanation or reason.
Honestly Cait was too damned hungry and hot to give a fuck. She'd gone on less before. Her whole life seemed a whirlwind series of being left and abandoned and forgotten, no rhyme or reason to it. She just got swept up in the current, is all.
She swallowed, throat parched in the blazing heat, and stared up into Danse's hot-ass face. He frowned down at her.
"So."
"So."
Cait sucked in her cigarette. Held it. Studied Danse for a second or two, then blew it out in a long, tired breath.
"Danse, is it?"
"It is, yes. Paladin Danse."
"Okay, sure. So listen bud, I gotta ask you somethin'.
"I'll help if I can."
"Is Daye really the fucking General of the Minutemen or was he just playin' me like a goddamned fiddle?"
His frowned deepened. "Yes, I believe he is."
"God fucking dammit."
Danse chuckled a little. "I said almost the same thing when he informed me. With a little less swearing, perhaps."
"How in tits did he pull that off?"
"You know, I'm not entirely sure myself. He… never went into much detail regarding himself. His past, his training, his experience and the like. Always changed the subject."
"Yer fuckin' tellin' me."
"He was already their General by the time he – by the time I asked him to join my squad. I thought being the leader of the Minutemen, he might prove a valuable asset to the Brotherhood and our expansion efforts here. Access to intel, weapons, soldiers at his command. Knowledge of the surrounding landscape." Danse shrugged, shifting a little uncomfortably. "I didn't realise at the time what the Minutemen were."
Cait smirked. Drama. Always fun.
"Oh. N' what are they?"
"Romantics," he bit. "Starry-eyed idealists. Complacent and oblivious to the perils of the Wasteland. To synths and mutants, among others. And Daye… isn't. I'm not sure how he became General of the Minutemen but what surprises me even more than that is why, despite everything he is and everything he's done, he still associates himself with them."
Cait frowned. "Not sure why he hangs out with you robot pricks either, to be totally honest. No offence."
"None taken. I guess."
"I've seen him do some pretty bad shit, ya know. Think he's got his hands in chems and guns and raiders and some right back-alley shady shit, right up to the fuckin' elbows."
So why the fuck he was even remotely associated with the Minutemen or the Brotherhood or anybody with a shred of morality in their irradiated body was entirely beyond her comprehension.
"If I'm correct," Danse went on, "he and Preston brought the Minutemen back from almost nothing."
"Preston?"
"Garvey. Preston Garvey. The man who tails him like a lost dog for reasons beyond my comprehension."
"Kay."
"They built this place up from the ruins of an old fort. Have settlements scattered all throughout the Commonwealth. Soldiers ready at a moment's notice."
"You don't sound too happy 'bout that."
"Well, I can't say I am. The Brotherhood is few in number, but our strength lies in our skills and superior technology. The Minutemen have numbers and area to their advantage."
Cait smirked a little. "So yer scared these goody two-shoes'll kick ya outta the schoolyard or somethin'?"
Danse shifted and grew even more serious than he normally was. "The Brotherhood has enough on our plates. We don't need to deal with a sub-standard military façade type of organisation bullying their way onto the scene."
"From what I hear these prudes are tryin' to help the people of the Commonwealth. Noble goal, don'tcha think?"
Mr. Fuck, PhD in Fuckology, frowned. Again. "The preservation of pre-war technology and information could very well save the human race. I'd say that's the noblest of goals one could have."
Cait rolled her eyes. She'd heard this fucking tripe before. "So yer tellin' me it's tech and old shit over people?"
"I – well, no, I wouldn't say that –"
"But yer sayin' that if some poor sod of a wastelander had his paws over some junky computer or somethin', and you really wanted it, you'd blast his head off and take it from him?"
"Well –"
"Even if he was only gonna sell it for a few caps to feed his family? Or just himself?"
"Well, it depends on the circumstances, of course. If –"
Cait frowned hard. "No circumstance. Just that."
Danse cleared his throat, clearly a little uncomfortable. "The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few. If that piece of technology meant unlocking the secrets of the past, meant we had a chance at saving the human race, then yes. I'd take the shot myself."
Cait crossed her arms. "Well, look around," she said, nodding out to the desolate sand and scrub and ruins around them. "Maybe we ain't meant to be saved. Ever think of that?"
Danse blinked.
Cait went on. "Maybe it's gotta be like this, ya know. Maybe it's meant ta be. And maybe we fucked it all up an' ended the world 'cause we were stupid, selfish cunts, and this is what we get for it. I say fuck the Old World and all the bastards that killed it. I don't give a flying fuck about them but seems to me tech and robots and shit is what made them fight in the first place. Made them end the world. If you go lookin' for the things we fought over all that time ago, who's ta say it ain't gonna happen all over again? That we ain't gonna just keep killin' each other over bits of metal and plastic and lines of code on a screen? If you kill that wastelander over that old junk, who's ta say yer any better than the fuckups from two hundred years ago who ended the world? So maybe best we can do now is try an' survive in this one. I seen and done some fucked-up shit in me time so I ain't got a decent bone in me body, but I ain't gonna stop the ones who do from givin' a damn and makin' someone else's life a little less fucked-up."
Cait shrugged, wiping the sweat beading on her forehead. "I haven't known Daye too long but maybe that's it, ya know. Maybe that's all it is."
Danse shifted again, looking at her sidelong, with new eyes, Cait rather thought. "That's… profoundly deep, Cait. I never really looked at it that way."
Cait wasn't too smart, honestly – not book-smart like Tommy or Piper or maybe even Daye, but she liked to think she had good common sense. Shit like this – like the Great War and the Old World and the End of it all – it was simple, really. Surprised her sometimes how 'smart' folk struggled to comprehend it.
Cait huffed at him. "What? Just cause I swear like a fuckin' sailor on acid don't mean I ain't got a brain, asswipe. I can use it when I wanna."
Danse laughed.
Intense Danse was insanely hot, but Laughing, Carefree Danse was like a port in a fucking radstorm.
His laugh, and his face, and his soft-looking hair was just so… damn. It made her forget all that stupid old shit about wars and the end of the world, and it made something inside Cait squirm a little. In a good way. A very, very good way. Like it did with Daye back at Fort Day Tripper, and even in the vertibird, but… fuck.
Fuck. Ha. Exactly.
Cait smiled back, shifting her weight to her other foot, swaying her hips a little, aware that she smelled like a yao guai left to rot in the sun too long and probably didn't look much better either. Oh well.
"So. Mr. Danse."
"Yes?"
"Wanna fuck?"
His sexy eyes just about popped out of his sexy head as he nearly choked on his own sexy spit. "I – excuse me?"
"I asked if ya wanna fuck."
"No, I – I heard you, I just –"
"Fuck. Bang. Shag. Screw."
"…Cait, I –"
"Come on, throw me a fuckin' bone here," she whined. "I been walking with Nathaniel Tweedlefuck for almost a week now and I haven't gotten any. From him, from anyone. It's been a while. A girl has needs, ya know."
She unabashedly checked him out, imagining his chest and his ass and his dick, if she was being totally honest here, and how sweaty they probably were under the metal armour and how that would feel against her own skin, also slicked in sweat but because of the epic fucking they were doing together, maybe at a nice hotel in Goodneighbor or even out in the Wasteland somewhere, acting out their raw carnal desires after that close call with the deathclaw back at the drive-in.
Well. People always did say Cait had an active imagination.
Her smile grew almost predatory as she took half a step closer. "You got a nice face and I bet ya got a pretty nice ass under all that armour. So. I wanna see it. You wanna show me?"
He coughed awkwardly, like a little virgin schoolboy. It was so goddamned hot Cait almost tore off his armour like a feral deathclaw right then and there.
"I – I'm sorry, Cait," he choked out, eyeing the slim hand she'd placed on his chestplate. "I have to refuse."
Cait deflated. "Of fuckin' course."
"Brotherhood soldiers are discouraged from forming – relations with outsiders. Even if –"
"Alright, alright, fuck it, Tin Can, I get it," she waved him off. "I been turned down before, I can handle it." She sighed though, gazing at him longingly (and more than a little inappropriately). "Oh well. Thought I'd try, at least. Too bad fer you, though," she smirked, trailing her fingers down his metal chest. "I'm a pretty good fuck."
With that, she turned on her heels, marching off to The Castle.
"If ya change yer mind I'll be inside. Getting' drunk, probably. Come find me. Offer's still open, big guy."
"Uh… right."
"Oh. One more thing," she added, twisting back round to him.
"Yes?"
"Did Daye really blow up Jamaica Plain? Or is he fuckin' with me again?"
Danse looked quite relieved the conversation had been deflected off the subject of his dick. "We did a fly-by of the area about a month ago. As far as I can tell, the town is gone."
"Jesus Christ."
"But Daye is known to… extend the truth. It may be gone, but if he did it? I can only guess."
"Well," Cait practically purred, voice low and sultry. "Guessin' can be fun too, right?" She winked at him and turned round, putting some extra sway into her walk, and thinking she might need to work on her seduction skills a little more.
Nah, fuck it. She'd been bit by the Fuck Bug. She needed dick and she was gonna get it. Soon. Cait was on a Quest for Cock and nothing was gonna stop her.
Part Two: Quest For Cock, Act I
And Also In Which Cait Wastes Away in The Most Boring Settlement Of All Time and Meets A New Friend of Daye's Who Actually Doesn't Hate His Guts (Well, Not All The Way, At Least)
Cait's Quest for Cock went about as well as you'd expect.
Which was not at all.
Two days. Two days now. She'd been squatting in this godforsaken shithole for two fucking days, sick to her stomach with all the morality and goodwill being shoved down her gullet, not one dick or ass or even a fucking titty grab, for fuck's sake. No sign of Daye, either. Asshole might as well have poofed out of existence for all she knew. Not like anyone here would tell her where he was, mind you. 'Oh, he's busy,' or 'he's probably in his private quarters,' or 'I told you I don't care or know, now leave me the fuck alone, Christ.' That last one was Ronnie Shaw, standing guard atop the battlements by one of the artillery guns. Ronnie fucking Shaw. Shows you how desperate Cait was for… well, anything, to go to Shaw asking after Daye.
So remember when Cait said The Castle looked boring and dead?
Well, how fucking wrong she was.
She'd almost fainted from sheer shock when the two guards by the great wooden doors (who, yes, she'd tried to seduce with mixed and concerning results) thrust them open for her and she'd finally laid eyes on the interior.
Diamond City had come to mind at first. Diamond City on excellent fucking steroids, but smaller. Take everything from that fuck-uppity city and condense it down to a quarter of the size and add a dash of altruism and that was The Castle. It was bright, loud, and simply teeming with people from all walks of life. There were shops and stalls and garages and buildings, both ramshackle and new, crushed together, shaded over with wooden walkways linked between roofs and tarps hastily strapped to beams, rusty sheet metal and bricks and stone and planks all jumbled up together to form the most colourful, chaotic mass of structures Cait had ever seen. It gave her a headache just looking at it.
Minutemen soldiers, footmen and colonels and artillery-men and sharpshooters intermingled with shopkeepers and barkeeps and radio techs and scrappers and wastelanders and maybe a robot or two, all bartering and shouting and trading and buying and selling shit and food and armour and weapons, all slithering their way between the endless maze of narrow alleys and pathways. There was an opened-faced garage with six or seven suits of power armour, almost like Danse's but with a motley mix of helmets and body pieces and colourful paint jobs, a couple mechanics tinkering away at them. A great big green copper statue of some pre-war soldier stood at attention by the great gates, and a small, cleared training area peppered with some training dummies and jogging soldiers took up a good chunk of the side yard.
And in the centre of it all there soared over everything a massive wooden tower, at least six or seven stories tall, with a set of stairs wrapped around the outside leading to the top, housing the largest, most complicated radio beacon Cait ever had the misfortune of being massively confused by. It cast its shadow across the courtyard, looming over all, the only landmark visible from anywhere and everywhere inside the great stone walls of the military settlement, and constantly spewing out over loudspeakers the most boring radio station ever conceived.
And there was a pen in the corner with a few smelly brahmin mooing their displeasure at it all, and Cait couldn't disagree with them. It smelled like smoke and plastic and cooking food and brahmin shit and damp wood, and it was hot as fuck, wedged in between the sweaty commoners and soldiers and two-headed cows.
And for two days Cait had wandered, hopelessly and aimlessly lost, through it all.
At least she'd found herself a chem dealer and a bar. Priorities, right? There were a few bars, actually: one down by the gates where all the goody-two-shoes soldiers seemed to congregate, one jammed up beside the brahmin pen, and another up top the battlements, at the back beside the gardens, overlooking the ocean from quite an impressive vantage point. Cait didn't feel like getting all chummy with soldiers (unless it was the kinky kind of chummy) or breathing in brahmin shit as she drank, so Battlement Pub it was.
It was small. Poorly decorated. Only inhabited by herself, a ghoul, and some shaggy beggar who clearly snuck in the back way and was permanently way too hopped up on Jet but always found a way to smuggle some Psycho in and keep Cait's headaches in check. But the barkeep was sort of decent-looking, the drinks were alright, and it was kind of out of the way, away from the chaotic hubbub below.
So, naturally, Cait instantly made it her base. Almost made her miss Fort Day Tripper, though she didn't miss the Gunners and super mutants and flaming ferals crashing the party.
Anyways. Carl the barkeep was married, Cait would never fuck a ghoul's wrinkly old dick, and even she had standards when it came to cleanliness and junkies. The soldiers were always 'on-duty'. The shopkeepers were too busy. The mechanics were too filthy. The settlers were either ugly, married, or filthy. Sometimes all three. Cait almost got one of those gate guards in her pants last night, but he chickened out like a pussy.
She honestly wasn't convinced she wasn't in some sort of dream or some shit. Seriously. She wasn't no whore but she was decent-looking, she thought, and she had a working vagina. Automatically made her way out of the league of half the assholes here. Fuck, she'd even lowered her standards and asked a caravaner, but he gave some half-assed excuse about having to move on soon. She even offered him a handie, which he accepted, but he ran off with the caravan master before he could return the favour.
Fuckin' seriously. What did a girl have to do around here to catch a decent fuck? She'd been hanging around the last two days just wasting time and getting high, waiting for Daye to spontaneously appear and take her away somewhere less mindfuckingly boring. And avoiding the pretentious stares and looks the soldiers and settlers kept throwing her way as she skulked through the alleys and over the boardwalks. She could almost feel Ronnie Shaw's bat-shit crazy gaze all prickly on the back of her neck wherever she went.
It was like being back in Diamond City except worse 'cause she couldn't do anything illegal for kicks, seeing as nearly everyone in here was part of the fucking biggest congregation of law enforcement in the entire Commonwealth.
She was furious. And horny. And sort of drunk. And out of caps, so she was also hungry as a ravenous deathclaw.
"Motherfuckin' Nathaniel motherfuckin' Daye," she hissed to herself, rummaging through the cupboards in the mess hall – the mess hall clearly meant for Minutemen soldiers, not settlers or drifters or… whatever the fuck Cait was. Unwilling prisoner to Daye's stupid fucking top-secret plans he seemed to miraculously pull out of his ass? Yeah, that sounded about right.
"Just like that smug fuckin' cocksucker to drop me off in the middle of fuckin' Prude-Ville. Why couldn't it've been Goodneighbor or some shit? Fuck. Don't they have anythin' other than two-hundred-year-old canned shit?" she growled, tossing aside some bent cans and boxes of Cram and Salisbury Steak. "Really," she slurred, almost knocking over her stolen bottle of room-temperature Gwinnett, "how can fuckin' meat still be good after all this time? Like the fuck's it made of? Wet plastic? Fuckin' probably."
Didn't the Battlement Pub have some gardens beside it? Like where the fuck was all that shit? Mutfruit tasted like old Brahmin ass, but it was fresh, at least, and not some pink sludge with so many preservatives it would take your body half a million years to rot. The shaggy old cunt with the Psycho would probably harass her to buy some tubes, seeing as he kept forgetting Cait had no caps on her.
Whatever. It was better than munching on chalky old Yum-Yum eggs. Shit tasted like an old lady's crusty vag. Maybe she'd just go steal some mutated fruit or something. It was dark out by now, so no one would see her. Hopefully.
Good fucking plan, Cait. You smart son-of-a-bitch.
"Can I help you?"
"Jesus fuckin' Christ!" she screeched, just about soaring right out of her fucking skin. In one swift movement, she snatched hold of a frying pan in one hand and a can of Pork N' Beans in the other. She twisted round and lobbed the can at her intruder with all the strength a semi-inebriated person can, striking him square in the chest with a satisfying tha-unk.
"Ow, what the – hey, whoa, whoa!" the man said, raising his arms as she took a threatening step toward him holding the pan at the ready, completely prepared to smack this impostor into the fucking dust. "Hey, calm down! I'm not going to shoot you!"
Cait scowled at the gate-crasher like a feral dog, staring him down through narrowed eyes.
It was dark in the mess hall kitchen, being as it was located in the stone passageways of the fort, and there were no windows; the only light coming from the flickering pale yellow of a dying bulb above the sinks. It was dim and dingy and cold, and everything coated in a thin sheen of dampness, but it was enough to see the dude by. It looked like the guy just walked in off the roads after a long-ass journey. His windblown duster was spattered with mud and smudged with grease, and his cargo boots were nearly worn down to the soles. He carried a laser musket strapped to his back, and a small pistol at his side. Cait could see, under his slouched and tattered cowboy hat, a pretty handsome face beset with bright amber eyes and rich chocolate-coloured skin.
He looked like a hero. A good guy. So Cait naturally distrusted him.
"The fuck are you?" she growled.
"I could ask the same thing about you," he said calmly, arms still raised peacefully. His voice was smooth and friendly, not deep, but not feminine. Cait didn't recognise it. Or his face. She hadn't seen him around the settlement, to be sure. Because she'd eyed up every soldier in here. "I'm pretty sure you're not one of the Minutemen," he went on, "or I'd have met you before. And by the way you jumped when I came in, I could also take a guess and say you're not allowed in here, and you know that."
He paused a moment, frowning a little at the clutter of cans and boxes and utensils and trash scattered around the mess hall. "You must be Cait, then. Daye told me I might find you here. Well, in a bar, most likely, but when I checked them all and didn't find you, he assumed you'd be harassing the soldiers or raiding the kitchens." He smiled to himself. "Well, he wasn't wrong."
"Did he also tell ya I once killed a man who talked too much by pullin' his eyes out and shovin' them down his throat?"
The dude blinked. "I… uh, no, he didn't."
Cait lowered her guard a little, chewing her lip in half-clouded thought. "Yeah, well… I didn't, actually. I tried to once, but I got grossed out. Just gave the guy a red eye. Think I ended up smashin' his head in, maybe. He was an ass."
The guy clearly didn't know what to make of that. There was a heartbeat or two of silence punctuated only by the cold clicking of the faulty light, then he cleared his throat. "I… think we got off on the wrong foot," he smiled, lowering his arms and offering Cait a hand. "Preston Garvey, Commonwealth Minuteman. Second in Command, you could say, after Daye of course. But he's probably told you all that."
Garvey… the name rang a bell. Ronnie Shaw had said it moments after they'd arrived. Cait had heard it tossed amongst the soldiers in the courtyard, and Carl the barkeep only had good things to say about him.
Sounded like a boring prick, honestly.
"Garvey, eh? You the one Daye's been waitin' on, then? Good. We can fuckin' leave soon. And, by the way, no, he hasn't said a fuckin' thing," she hissed, making this Garvey guy blink in surprise again. "In fact, the motherfucker hasn't so much as poked his ugly nose out the door the whole time I been here. Dropped me off at the gate like a fuckin' cheap whore and left me to fend fer meself. No one's been bothered to tell me where the fuck I am or what the fuck any of you have to do with Daye. I been wandering this fuckin' place in a drunken stupor fer two days now. Ran outta caps. Been sleeping in the fuckin' soldier's bunkhouse. Smells like old food and ass sweat in there. And I'm fuckin' hungry but I ain't gonna eat this fuckin' canned shit any more. Uh… sorry 'bout that, by the way," she murmured, nodding down to the can of Pork N' Beans on the floor. "Been jumped by raiders one too many times. Thought you were gonna try rape me or somethin'. Steal me caps at least."
"Uh… apology accepted," Preston said, still holding out his hand but with a little more reservation than before. "I… understand. I apologise for the treatment – or lack thereof. On behalf of Daye and the Minutemen, of course. I'd like to make up for it, if you'd let me. There's an inn by the gates, and they make a very good grilled radstag sandwich –"
"Do they serve booze?"
"Uh – yes, they do."
"Do you drink?"
"I… drink a little, yes."
"Well," Cait said tossing the frypan onto the stove and assortment of cans and shit with a loud clatter, "you n' I are gonna get along fuckin' beautifully, Mr. Garvey. I could murder a pint." She reached out and practically tore Preston's arm off with the aggressive shake, and pretty much dragged him off to the inn.
Speaking of, the inn was the one down by the gates that was always swimming with Minutemen soldiers. But, to give credit where credit's due, it was pretty fucking nice in there. It was bright but not too bright, and big but not too big, and the food was hot and not two hundred years old. It was sorta stuffy with all the soldiers getting drunk and taking up oxygen, but hey, at least Cait had some pretty nice asses to stare at. And the hairy beggar wasn't here trying to sell her chems. So yay.
She sat at a shady booth in the back with her new best friend, away from the all the commotion by the bar, shoving a grilled radstag sandwich down her throat and ignoring Preston's semi-disgusted glances her way.
"Uh… Cait, is it?"
"Mhm."
"So. How do you know Daye?"
She shrugged. "Picked me up in the Combat Zone. Asshat came stormin' in with his ugly shotgun. Blasted the place to bits. Killed all the raiders. Fucked up Tommy's theatre. Fatass was not happy 'bout that, let me tell you. Makin' me go along with the guy till things get fixed up, I guess." Cait paused to swallow her mouthful loudly, and then slurp back a few swigs of the barely cold Dirty Wastelander she'd been cradling the last ten minutes. "Where is the dumbshit, anyway?" she pressed. "Daye, I mean. Not that I'm worried 'bout him or anythin'. I'm gonna beat the livin' shit right out of him when I find him."
Preston frowned. "Oh. Daye? He's… I just got finished talking with him. Before I came to find you, of course. He's in his private quarters. I… don't think it wise to disturb him right now. He's busy."
Cait's eyes narrowed as she wiped the beer from her mouth. "With what?"
Preston hesitated. "Well, he did say you knew about it…"
Cait tore off a large mouthful of her sandwich. "Come on man, spit it out. I ain't got all fuckin' night."
He frowned at that but went on. "He's currently looking into the whereabouts of a man named Marowski. He didn't really delve into why, but I agreed to assist him in any way I could. I've got Ronnie asking the rest of the Minutemen and I've made Colonel Marbury send out a broadcast on Radio Freedom to all our soldiers in the field."
Cait laughed. "Marowski, eh? It's because we stole his chems an' blew up his lab."
Preston, to Cait's utter disbelief, simply sighed tiredly. "Well… I can't say I'm surprised, really," he frowned, playing idly with his own Gwinnett stout. "I hoped he'd… I don't know. Got himself out of… that."
"Outta what?"
"Drugs," he shrugged. "Drugs and alcohol. I know he's got it in with raiders and the folks down at Goodneighbor and some… ah, questionable people. Not you, of course," he said, smiling timidly.
Yeah fuckin' right.
"The fuck's up with that, anyway?" Cait asked. "I mean, yeah, dude's a right asshole, ain't he? Fuckin' high as a kite most of the time, and inta some real shady shit. So why the fuck is he yer General or fuckin' whatever and what the fuck's he doin' hangin' round with you guys for?"
Preston frowned. "Honestly? The General doesn't come around here much. He never really did. Says he doesn't like being near the ocean for long. Spent enough of his time near it."
"Ha! Well, Boston's the wrong fuckin' place for him, then."
He smiled a little. "That's what I told him."
"And?"
"And, well… to be honest, a lot of the Minutemen don't want him around."
Oh. Well, that was totally and utterly unexpected. Not. "Why?"
"Well, he's not the most... amicable of people at times. And he made a lot of people angry a while back."
"Jesus fuck," Cait snickered. "I scared the bejesus out of a soldier guy the other day in the market. Fucker was in my way. Pushed him down. He just shot right back up and guess what? Apologised to me for it. This place is right full of pussies. So whatever the fuck Daye did to 'em has to be pretty fuckin' good."
Preston frowned again, hesitating. "Listen," he said a little sadly, just about whispering. Cait had to lean in to hear him over the laughing soldiers at the bar. "One thing you have to know about Daye is that, despite what he does or says, he isn't a bad man. Just… a little misguided. A little lost. I'll be the first to admit he's made some bad choices and done some questionable things. But there's no one who fights harder and fiercer than him."
"Yeah. Seen it first hand. Don't know if that makes him crazy or brave, to be honest."
"Maybe a little of both. He just… focusses that on the wrong things, sometimes. I mean, I've seen him do some incredible things. But I've also seen him… do other things. Kill some people that maybe didn't deserve to die. Associate with less-than-desirables." He hesitated again. "Do you know what The Castle was before the Great War?"
"Does it look like I paid attention in history class?"
No, actually. She didn't. In fact, she never went to school. Most wasteland kids didn't, really. Not like her two-timing fuckwad parents cared enough anyway.
"It was a fort back in its day. Fort Independence. Used to protect the city of Boston from enemy naval attacks. It was also used to store weapons and ammunition. There's tunnels under the ground, running all under our feet," he said, making Cait glance at the wooden floor all around them, wondering if it could hold all this weight. "We call it the Armoury, and that's where we keep all our weapons hidden, just like they used to way back when. We lost The Castle to a mirelurk attack years back, and then the Minutemen fell, and…" he shook his head. "Anyways. Daye helped us rebuild from almost nothing. It was only me, you know. Me and the Longs and Mama Murphy and Sturges. But he helped us. In his own way. He helped us take The Castle back, and all our munitions. He –"
"Woah, woah, hold the fuck up," Cait slurred, shaking her head. "We talkin' about the same guy?"
"I, uh… yes?"
"Daye? Nathaniel Daye?"
"Yeah…"
"The tall ugly bastard with the fucked-up eye? That Daye?"
"Is there something wrong?"
"Well fuckin' yeah there's somethin' wrong! I once saw him shoot a guy 'cause he looked at him funny. Yer tellin' me he fuckin' built this place?"
"Well, in a sense… yes. He did."
Cait shook her head more vigorously, the bright lights and the alcohol not helping her stay upright well at all. "Okay, hold on, back up. Let me get this straight. Daye. Nathaniel Daye. Did. Something. Not. Selfish?"
Preston frowned, and remained silent. For a second. Then two. Then a whole lot more.
"Or… did he?"
The man looked downright uncomfortable now. One of the soldiers from the bar staggered over and clapped him on the shoulder drunkenly, laughing and going on about something with training that day and something some guy named Matthews did to Jacoren and that was why he was in the can right now. Preston smiled and laughed, then sent the drunk cunt on his merry fucking way.
He turned back to Cait, who'd by now downed the rest of her beer. "It's common knowledge, really, so I don't see why I can't tell you, it's just…" he sighed. "The General… took weapons from the armoury. A lot of weapons, actually, and he sold them."
Big fuckin' surprise, really. Cait was actually sort of bummed. Thought he might've sold a squad of men to slavers or blew up a settlement or something. Not that she believed he could, mind you. Jamaica Plain still stood, goddammit.
"To who?"
Preston shrugged. "To the Railroad. To Goodneighbor. To the Brotherhood. To anyone with a few caps in their pocket. I wouldn't be surprised if there's some raiders and Gunners out there with laser muskets and rifles."
"Yeah, well," Cait shrugged, reaching over and taking a swig of Preston's Gwinnet. "Not surprised, really. He's an asshole. It was bound to happen at some point. You were just stupid enough to let things get there."
He sighed dejectedly, like a scolded little boy. "I know. I just… we all sort of looked up to him, you know? Idolised him even. There he was: a figure coming out of the gunsmoke in our time of need. Our final showdown. He helped us. Built us up. And then he just… just goes and turns on us like that. Arming our enemies, making it difficult for us to do what we do."
He took back his beer, playing with it carelessly, tracing the condensation ring on the table with his finger. "Hm. Almost like a joke, really. A funny joke that only he knows the punchline to. A lot of the Minutemen were furious when they found out. Ronnie almost shot him right then and there. Marbury and Foster wanted to impeach him, strip him of his title and weapons. Banish him. They wanted him out. Still do. But I didn't let them. I reminded them of all the help he'd given us in the past, however… ruthless and violent it was. I might not have agreed with his actions, but he got results. Things got done."
"No fuckin' shit, Garvey," Cait laughed, slapping him on the arm. "Things get done around that guy. Jesus, do they ever."
He smiled weakly at her. "That's why he tends to… linger in his quarters. I've seen the looks he gets from the other Minutemen. I know what they think of him. Of course, they thought he'd only joined because of the weapons. Think he helped just long enough to clear this place out and have access to the munitions stored here since it fell. Must've heard stories about all the stuff stockpiled underground."
Cait sobered up a little, staring Preston right in his pretty brown eyes. "And you?" she asked him. "What d'you think?"
"I… I don't know, honestly. Daye can be a very… ah, shady character. Enigmatic. Hard to figure out. I don't know if he only helped just to rob us in the end, or if he ever really cared about the people we saved."
Cait held onto his arm again, squeezing it like she was a fucking shrink or something, working through his problems. If Sober Cait ever found out about this… well, Drunk Cait would have some explaining to do, let me tell you.
"Honestly bub, probably not," she said. "I haven't known him too long meself, but I haven't really seen much to convince me otherwise. Oh, he's weird as fuck alright, I'll give him that. And…somethin' about him just seems… off, ya know? Like the things he says an' does. The shit he knows. The way he walks, too, and fuck – is it just me or is he one tall bastard?"
Preston laughed. "No, he is, I know. Towers over everyone here. Always has. Has he… told you about his past?"
Cait shrugged. "Not really. I just know he buddies around with that Mac fellow in Goodneighbor and he used to fool around with those Brotherhood pricks and Railroad guys. Before they kicked him out, o' course. And he knows somethin' about EOD or whatever the fuck. Explosives 'n shit."
"Ah. I see. Well, it's not really my place to say, then."
Cait reeled, nearly falling over in her chair. "Say what? Honest-to-fuckin'-goodness, what's with all the fucking secrets? This is like some fuckin' grade-A schoolgirl prattle, I swear. Getting' real tired of it."
Preston chuckled a little. "Well. All heroes have their secret tragic pasts, right?"
Cait actually slipped out of her chair a little at that one. "Ha! Hero? You off yer fuckin' rocker?" she wheezed, clambering back up into her seat. "Daye's no fuckin' hero, Minuteman. He's a swindlin' greasy highbinder if I ever did meet one. He's the bad guy in this story."
Preston's lips thinned. "This story? Let me tell you something about this story," he seethed, pointing an irritated finger down at the table, making Cait blink at his sudden seriousness. "It begins in Concord, maybe a year or so ago. Daye and I met each other at… difficult times in our lives. If it wasn't for him, I'd… I don't know where I'd be right now. Dead, probably. And Daye – I helped him, too, you know. I did what I could for him. I gave him a place to stay, food to eat, an ear to listen. I think we saved each other. I don't care where he came from or what he's done, I only know that if he didn't show up in my life, this place, these people," he said, gesturing to the soldiers and settlers around him "– they wouldn't be here. None of this would. I don't care what Ronnie or Marbury or Foster or anyone says, because they wouldn't be here either. Maybe he was being selfish, I don't know. Maybe he's got some real issues – I know he does, no matter what he says. But I do know more people have been saved because of him and the things he's done, than the one's he's hurt or killed. A thousand times over."
Preston smiled a little, leaning in like he did before, almost whispering now. "That doesn't sound like a bad guy to me."
Cait shook her head.
Fuck. She had a real talent for getting people to spill their guts (both literally and otherwise).
Maybe she should seriously think about becoming a shrink.
Part Three: Quest For Cock, Act II
In Which Cait Decides It's About High Time To Become A Lesbian
Cait staggered out of the inn, her eighth or ninth Dirty Wastelander clutched tight in her sweaty hands, leaning against the railing for support. She stopped there, a few soldiers brushing their way past her down the steps, all smelling like alcohol and greasy food as they wafted the cool night air around her.
She breathed it in, deep and long, and smiled a little. She always loved the smell of the ocean, the cool salty breeze that drifted in from the depths. Better than the stale, dusty stench still clutching to the aged rubble in the streets.
Daye was mad for hating the sea.
The settlement was nearly empty now, the shops and stalls all closed, and the garage's lights shut off. The radio still played horrible music softly all around, but even that had been left on low volume on repeat. An insect or two pinged off the hazy streetlights, and the near-constant crash of the sea against the shore lent a soft white noise that was almost comforting, in a way. The moon was slim and the stars above shimmered coldly in the vast night sky, only partially obscured by the radiation still clinging to the atmosphere. A few intoxicated soldiers teetered their way through the streets, and that was it. Everyone else was asleep.
She'd drunkenly asked Preston to fuck, just like she did with Danse. And of course he'd said no. Took it quite well, actually, laughing it off and offering to escort her back to the barracks and fetch her a glass of water. She told him to fuck off. He laughed again. She punched him. In the arm, of course. He laughed (a little less sure of himself) and then took his leave, giving her a decent handful of caps to last until Daye came and got her.
He was a good man, really. Less annoying than Piper, and friendlier than Danse (but not quite as jaw-droppingly fuckable). A little boring, maybe, but hey. Guy was passionate about something other than stories and technology and murder, so he checked off a lot of boxes on her list. Wasn't too hard on the eyes, either.
She stood there in the chill night, alone, like always, and thought about what he'd said. About Daye. About what he did to the Minutemen. How he burned that bridge, just like he did with the Railroad and the Brotherhood of Steel. How he stole from them, lied to them, made them all hate his guts. She wondered why he did that. If it was intentional or not. Because if it was, Cait wasn't sure if he really was just the Commonwealth's biggest asshole or if there were... something else.
Hey, Cait knew what it was like. Horrible shit happened out in the Wasteland. People died. Starved. Burned. Drowned. Fried up from rads. They were raped and tortured and murdered for nothing more than a flying fancy. Everyone had their own fucked-up childhoods, their own shitty stories and reasons why they were the way they were. Cait included. People burned their bridges and backstabbed all the time. Just…
There was something a little off about it all. Something different with Daye. Something that just… it was like running your hand over the scales of a lizard – all running the same way, smooth, and then – finding one facing the opposite direction. Catching.
A Minuteman still in uniform – an officer, maybe – waltzed by the inn, and Cait probably failed to look and act like she wasn't three sheets to the wind. He passed, and she let out a sigh, taking a clumsy swig of her beer.
She thought about what Preston had said Daye had done for them. How he'd come out of the gunsmoke at their direst hour, like some sort of fucking Grognak or Silver Shroud. How he'd helped them build from the ground up. Set up settlements. Clear out The Castle. Reclaim the Commonwealth for the people. And about what Danse had said – about how Daye was part of them, helping them find tech and shit in order to save humanity from itself. And the Railroad – only some mad motherfucker would join that cult, put themselves on the line for machines and androids like they did. Even if he did royally piss them all off in the end.
It… didn't sound like something a bad guy would do. And Cait was so sure Daye was a bad guy.
And then, as if he was walking right out of her thoughts, Daye himself strode out into the dark streets.
Her heart skipped a beat when she saw him. It was almost like she'd hidden away a few caps, forgotten where they were, and found them again after a time.
Cait knew it was him. It was dark and late and she was drunk as a rad-skunk, but she knew. He was tall and broad-shouldered and walked that certain way, almost with a small limp or some weird shuffle or something, but with a purposeful stride all his own. He didn't have his stupid jacket on, Cait could tell. Or his baseball cap or gas mask or ratty old scarf or medical tape or all the loads and loads of knives and grenades and ammunition and shit. Just plain Daye.
She'd never seen just plain Daye. Made her curious, to be honest.
His shadowy figure crossed from one narrow street to another, staying close to the shops, avoiding the few drunkards staggering along in the night. Cait watched him as he went.
Something about him had always been different. He'd always been bigger and taller and louder and smarter and… just more. Even now, his shadowy presence felt greater, felt deeper than the other men in the street, than the dark night air itself. It was mesmerising. Captivating, almost. Just his mere existence demanded a second glance wherever he went.
He stopped, waited for a few soldiers to pass, and then slipped away behind a stall.
He was going to pass right by the radio tower, Cait knew. She'd gotten used to the layout of this place the last couple days.
Cait thought about just leaving the bastard to his creepy skulking ways. Just tossing her beer and crawling on up to the barracks to crash into her smelly cot and get some zzz's before she had to nurse this hangover in the morning.
She thought about it, yeah. For a second. But she'd been thinking about… something else.
"Fuck it."
So, yeah, she tossed her beer to the ground (after downing the last of it for courage, of course), and nearly fell down the steps into the dusty street. She shuffled her way as quietly as she could to the radio tower, intending to cut Daye off before he got there.
The world lurched a little and the flickering streetlights hurt her eyes. She slipped between a couple decrepit shacks, crossed a narrow street, and finally emerged under the dim red safety light of the tower.
She swallowed, waiting, waiting for what felt like an eternity. Maybe… maybe this wasn't such a good idea. Maybe she shouldn't do this. She'd been involved with her contract holders before, and things never went well. Nothing was worse than jilted obsessive lovers in a firefight. It was never good to get too attached. To anyone.
Half a second later Daye appeared from a shady street not five feet from her, and he froze solid when he saw her.
"Cait?" he asked, squinting into the dark. "Cait, is that you?"
Something in Cait's lower stomach warped at the way he said her name, at the way his face, damaged and marked as it was, looked under the watery red light. Made the hair on her arms and the back of her neck tingle and stand on end in a way it hadn't for… much too long. Made her chest twinge with a greedy hunger she knew she had for Danse, but one she'd been pretending not to harbour for Daye.
Daye. The asshole. The ugly motherfucker. The bad guy. The hero.
She wanted him. Contract and logic and Sober Cait be damned.
She smiled a smile that was downright predatory and shuffled towards him.
"Well, hey there, handsome," she slurred, trying her damndest to sound charming and flirty.
He frowned. "Uh, hi, Cait."
"I been missin' you the last couple days," she said, unabashedly eying him up and down like he was a piece of brahmin meat she was buying at the market down the road.
"Have you, now?"
He had on a grey t-shirt, and a pair of dusty jeans, and for once she could see the skin of his arms. Large arms, compared to the other men. She wanted to touch him. So she did.
"Where you been?" she purred, running a coy hand up his arm, the right one, feeling the muscles and scars. A lot of scars. No, not a lot… just one. A big burn scar, twisting his flesh, puckering it in strange places, shining oddly in the red light. She ran her hand along the length of it, up past his elbow, wanting to feel the end of it, then realising it had no end. It was all one scar, one monstrous marring of his face and his arm and wherever else she couldn't see.
He shivered under her touch. "I've been talking with Preston. Trying to find out where Marowski is holed up. So far I've –"
"You shaved. Looks good."
Cait went to touch his jaw, to feel the short, neat stubble there, to trace her fingers along his scar, but he grabbed her wrist before she could.
"Cait. You're drunk."
Her name, again. Sounded so… fucking hot on his lips, in his voice. She could almost imagine what it would sound like, over and over, panted out in breathless moans and groans and…
Fuck.
"Yeah. A little."
"You smell like a bottle of moonshine, for God's sake."
She shrugged. "Preston's fault."
"Is it, now?"
"Mhmm." Cait trailed the fingers of her free hand down his chest, feeling the muscles beneath. "Hm. How far down d'yer scars go, Nate?"
He frowned at her. "Red, you should… go to bed. Come on. I'll take you back."
Her fingers went further, down the side of his waist, ghosting over his hips, and she hooked them round his belt, smiling lewdly. "How far down?"
"Red, I –"
With a feral growl, Cait heaved the entirety of her small frame against Daye's much larger one, taking him by surprise, and she swung him round by his belt, hurling him against the rough wood of the radio tower. He slammed his back against it with a dull thud, the impact nearly winding him.
This was taking too long, and not going the way she wanted it. So maybe she needed to be more… direct.
"You talk too fuckin' much," she growled, fumbling with his belt buckle with one hand, and simultaneously bringing a knee up to press between his legs. Cait could feel him through his jeans against her thigh. It sent a red-hot flush of pure fucking desire through her. "Fuck, yer big," she breathed, all sorts of filthy images and scenarios rushing through her mind.
"Cait…" Daye said, and the sound of her name on his lips again nearly drove her off the motherfucking edge.
She forced her other hand free from his grasp and snaked it up into his hair, yanking his head down to her level, crushing her lips against his in a violent, bruising kiss.
He tasted like Lucky Strikes and whiskey and he smelled like leather and Daye and she felt his short stubble against her and it was so fucking intoxicating she nearly passed out. She sucked and pulled at his lips and their teeth crashed together, vicious and needy and then she moaned into it and fucking fuck almighty she wasn't gonna last long when they did it.
"Cait…" he said again, "I…no."
It was only then, when Cait paused for a fraction of a second, did she realise that Daye was not kissing her back.
She ignored him. "I want you," she growled, slipping her tongue into his mouth, and pulling violently at the belt that wouldn't fucking unbuckle fast enough. Her boobs were pressed against his chest and she felt how strong he was, how big he was, and all she could picture in that moment was him, and her, just like this, but naked and horizontal.
"I want you," she said against his lips again. "I want yer dick and yer ass and yer muscles and yer… whole fuckin' body. You want me too. You can have me."
Despite her viciously tight grip in his hair, he pulled back from her. "Cait, I can't. Just… not right now."
"Yeah you can," she pressed, giving up on the kiss and focussing on the belt with both clumsy hands. "It don't have to mean nothin'. Just fer fun. No strings."
"I… can't."
"Don't even have ta do it again. Just this once."
"Cait."
His lips were swollen and red and there was a little spot of blood there from her teeth, most likely, and his hair was messed up and he was breathing hard through his nose and his eyes…
Oh.
They were… sad, almost. Conflicted. She'd never… never seen his eyes like that before.
She paused in her debuckling and frowned up at him. "What?"
"I can't. I'm sorry."
Suddenly Cait felt very small and fragile, and it seemed the world was shrinking in around her.
She let go of his belt and staggered a step back. "Is… there somethin' the matter with me, then?" she almost whispered, crossing her arms in a hurt, broken, almost challenging way. "Or is somethin' the matter with you? Somethin' down there not workin' right?"
"Cait –"
"It's Mac, innit?" she hissed. "I fuckin' knew it. Yer gay for him, aren't ya?"
"No, he's – just a friend."
"Yer fuckin' lyin' through yer goddamned teeth, Nate."
"No I'm not."
"Yeah you fuckin' are!" she just about screamed. "If ye ain't gay fer him then what's the fucking problem?"
Suddenly Daye himself looked very small. "I'm sorry."
And suddenly Cait grew very, very livid. "Fuck you!" she spat, punching him in the chest hard as her drunken self could manage. "Fuck you, Nathaniel Daye! Fuck you and fuck your fuckin' morals! Where the fuck were they the last fuckin' – forever?"
"Cait –"
"Yer a fuckin' pussy, ya know that? A fuckin' pussy! And an asshole! Here I am doin' somethin' nice fer ya, ya know, 'cause who the fuck would wanna shag a guy with a face like that? Why – the – fuck –" she raged, the words punctuated by a drunken punch to Daye's chest that he only half-heartedly tried to stop, "are you such – a fuckin' – asshole?!"
"Cait!" he bellowed, managing to grab hold of both her wrists in his hands. "Fucking stop it, for fuck's sake!"
"Let go of me!" she shrieked, yanking herself free from his grasp. "Fuck! I thought… I thought…" she ran a hand through her hair and sighed angrily, chest heaving. "I thought you… I dunno. I thought we had somethin' there, Daye. I thought… you wanted me. Maybe. I thought… by the labs… and the vertibird… and I've seen you look at me – I thought – and I just…" she trailed off, not really sure where she was going with this.
He didn't say anything. Just let Cait sit and stagnate in her utterly unbearable drunken embarrassment. It became too much – the anger, and the hurt, and the confusion, and the lust – oh, yes, it was still there, just clouded out by everything else. It became too much.
Cait composed herself as best she could. "Fuck you, Daye. I'll go make someone else happy. I hope you fuckin' drown in your loneliness."
Still, he said nothing, and so she turned from his ugly fucking face and staggered away into the night.
She made sure she was far enough away before she stopped to lean against a shack and put a hand over her face to let out a shuddering, mortified breath.
"Fuckin' men," she seethed.
Things would be a Hell of a lot easier if she had a thing for tits and long hair.
Life wasn't fair.
A/N: So, yeah, I might've been a little obsessed with the settlement building feature in the game and made The Castle into the most seriously fucking awesome settlement of all time.
