The sun beat down on the trio as they trundled through the streets north of the river. The tip of the white monument at Bunker Hill was visible from their location, newly restored architecture shining brightly against the cloudless sky. Jack remembered the way his father described the two-hundred-foot spire when he first saw it after the war, how his heart clenched at seeing it bloodied, but not bowed. Jack always assumed his father was being overly dramatic, but he had to admit – seeing one of the old world's stalwart icons looking almost as good as the day it was built inspired an awe he couldn't describe.
"Jesus Christ, I need a fucking shower!"
And just like that, it was gone.
"Would you calm down? We don't need to get blindsided by raiders when we're a hundred feet from the perimeter." Jack was weary, far too tired to let Ronny's whining go.
"Not that I don't need one too, but he's right, Espresso."
Ronny blew a raspberry, but otherwise quieted down as they strolled down the road. He knew Jack was right, not only because Jack had more road experience than him, but because it was common sense everywhere. The Commonwealth was less tainted by the lawless rabble than it had been in centuries, but even still, all it took was one slip-up to get sent to an early grave.
The walls of the Bunker Hill settlement were expanded beyond what they were a scant two years prior, with reinforced steel beams holding them up, and laden with auto-turrets at regular intervals. Jack knew from his regular pit stops at the bastion of north Boston that it was the second most self-sufficient settlement in the land, only behind Diamond City. They'd installed much of their current arsenal themselves, but he also knew that his father had helped springboard them to an elevated status. The matter of why eluded Jack, but the point was beyond moot at this juncture. The gate guard's shout broke his reminiscing.
"You three, state your business!"
Nat rolled her eyes, cutting off Jack's response. "Spend money, drink beer, pass out. That alright with you, Spencer? And do you have to ask that every time?"
The man chortled at her. "Sorry, Nat, I told you that Kessler mandated that we question everyone coming in. Just doing my job, baby."
"And I told you, pipsqueak, that I am not your baby. You gonna open the gate, or what?"
Jack wore a bemused smile as he heard disheartened grumbling behind the wall, and followed Nat and Ronny through the open door.
As was typically the case, Bunker Hill was buzzing with commerce and chatter. The brahmin pen for the traveling traders had one more stall than even the last time Jack had been there, and it was full to capacity. Ronny elbowed Jack's side.
"I'll get us a set of beds, meet at the bar?"
"Way ahead of you."
Nat pushed past both of them and made a beeline for an open stool. Jack jogged after her and sat down, ordering his usual whiskey, neat. The bartender dropped off the liquor before returning to his other customers, and with cold drink in hand, Jack sighed, looking around. The adjacent power armor parking bays housed suits of varying size and state of wear, most sporting a faded Brotherhood of Steel logo on the chest piece. Every frame carried plating littered with scores and burns, once-proud metallic shine and paint long weathered under the oppressive battering of Commonwealth hospitality. Owners of the suits, both Brotherhood and not, wandered amongst the crowds. These days, Bunker Hill was just as busy as Diamond City, with an even bigger trade hub.
Minutemen soldiers also dotted the crowds, telltale uniforms and hats making them stick out. They shopped, stood guard, talked, laughed, and shared company with everyone – Brotherhood included. It wasn't the first time he'd seen it, or the only place, but it always gave Jack a mild sense of relief when he saw the Commonwealth's two power players not only getting along, but actively cooperating. With the Brotherhood as the bricks and Minutemen as the mortar, the people of the wasteland typically enjoyed safety in and around the ever-growing towns the likes of which hadn't been seen in a long time.
Typically.
Jack hadn't chastised Ronny just for the sake of it, despite the plausible possibility on any given day. There was no question that the efforts of the two factions, as well as Jack's parents and those like them, had created a remarkably better off world, but it was dangerous to assume the twin brothers of guns and explosives weren't still any traveler's best friends.
Jack polished off his glass, setting it down at the same time as Nat. She sighed.
"Forgot how much I missed the booze here. Compared to Vadim's stuff, it's got less… what's the word I'm looking for?"
"Shit?"
She beamed. "That's the one! Plus, the eye candy is better here."
Jack followed Nat's eyes as she spun around, brow furrowing as he looked around the bar. Military and civilian soldiers, as well as perfectly average people, occupied her field of view.
"Which one?"
Without missing a beat, she sat back against the bar. "All of 'em."
"You trying to run a one-woman swoon crew?"
Nat shrugged. "You think I could?"
"I don't think my opinion would stop you from trying."
She swatted him, smirk on her lips. "Ass."
The stool next to Jack sagged down, its new occupant calling for a beer of his own. Ronny tossed a key to Nat and Jack. "Second floor of the Brady."
Nat scrunched her face. "Is that what Kessler is calling the hotel now? Why?"
"Dunno. Said she wanted it to feel like the Rexford, with a snappy name, and that it had something to do with some local sports team from before the war." Ronny spoke between gulps of his drink.
He slammed the mug down and bellowed out a whoop. "Personally, I don't really care. Beer, bed, bath. Got everything I need! Did I miss anything?"
Jack opened his mouth, but before a word left it, he was cut off by a commotion in a nearby alcove. A pair of lightly armored men had a smaller man boxed in against a pillar, the victim's shirt bunched in one of their fists. His attacker lifted him off the ground, finger jabbing into his chest as he was accosted in harsh whispers. Jack couldn't hear the one-sided conversation, but it had every look of a shakedown turning violent, culminating in thrown punches. Blood sprayed onto the stone as blow after blow collided with his face, knocking him senseless. As he took each hit, angry bruises formed all over his dirty, rugged features. The people in the crowd passed by normally, completely unaware of what was happening mere feet from the main causeway. One of the attackers drew a large, oddly colored knife, and stabbed the man in his gut, drawing a howl from him. The noise was immediately silenced by the other attacker slamming his hand over the victim's mouth.
Jack returned to his whiskey, shaking his head before downing more of the beverage.
Nat elbowed his arm. "We have to do something!"
Ronny remained silent, but looked to Jack, who twisted his neck to stare at the groaning man. He coughed blood into the dirt while covering the hole in his stomach, whimpering like an animal that knew it would die. Jack grunted. "Nope. This ain't the Dugout, I can't just gun someone down and expect everyone to be cool with it. Poor son of a bitch probably deserved it, not worth stickin' my neck out."
Nat tilted her head, glaring at him sharply. "Jack!" Her exasperated voice underscored the surprise in her voice.
"Come on, man!" Ronny shook Jack, who didn't respond, waving his hand while polishing off the drink. Jack made no effort to rise from his seat, and, like the unknown masses, acted as if nothing had occurred at all.
The two attacking men dropped the limp body and gave it a kick each before disappearing among the sea of faces. Nat craned her neck to search for them, snarling at the utter lack of any trace. She pushed back from the bar and stood.
"Well if you're not gonna do something, I will. Come on, Ron. Help me."
Wordlessly, Ronny nodded and followed Nat through the crowd. They spoke to the man, adjusting his position to allow them to carry him toward the infirmary. Jack watched them go, and pushed a deep sigh through his nose. He ran his tongue over his top teeth within his closed mouth as his mind wandered. Nat and Ronny were gingerly placing the man on a bed in the clinic, giving Jack a look at how bloodied their clothes were from the effort. Jack sighed again, retrieving the bar tab for all three of them and leaving it on the wooden slab. He got up from his seat and followed in the footsteps of his friends. The doctor, a smaller woman that Jack didn't recognize, had her back to him, turning to meet his eyes without stopping her speech as he entered the tent. She was a head and a half shorter than Jack, with dirty blonde hair and dull, green eyes. Her face was dotted with light freckles and dark bags, scrunched at the top of her face by high-resting dimples.
"-his own treatment. He probably owed money to the guys that put him here."
"So, what's going to happen to him?" Ronny spoke for the room.
The doctor sighed, placing her hands on her hips. "Truth be told, I don't know. I'm short on the supplies that I would need to treat— " She waved her hand along the man's body, "—all this. And, whatever they stuck him with must have had some kind of toxin on it, you can already see it affecting the surrounding area. These ugly lesions forming near the wound are hot – way hotter than anything I've seen. That alone might be the last nail in his coffin."
Ronny deflated, shoulders sinking as the breath he'd been holding left his lungs. Nat spoke up.
"There's nothing you can do?"
The doctor slowly shook her head. "Not really. I don't even know what's in him, so all I could do is slow down the process. I've had a flier posted on the job board to have someone scout for some supplies that might be able to help, but I haven't gotten any takers for days."
"Well, why not? How much is the contract worth?" Ronny said, quietly.
She rubbed her arm. "Only a hundred caps. I don't have the money saved up for the kind of ask that this is. It'd take a trek through Mass General, or maybe Medford, and the clinic doesn't pull in enough money for the reward I'd have to offer." She turned to the man on the bed, taking note of his shallow breathing. "He might just be a goner."
"I'll do it."
Jack saw the room look to him, not missing the look of relief washing over Nat's face. The doctor looked him up and down, rested her gaze on Jack's face. After a moment, she spoke with hesitation.
"Not that I don't appreciate the thought, sir, but I still wouldn't be able to pay you properly to do the job, not to mention what his treatment would cost."
Jack stuffed his hands in his pockets, rolling his shoulders. "So I'll take less. Take off the cost of the supplies and treatment, give me what's left."
The doctor blinked hard. "But that might not be more than a few dozen caps. Why would you do that?"
Jack shrugged. "We're already headed up past Medford anyways. And sometimes, it's not about the money. Sometimes you gotta do what's right."
Nat couldn't help but roll her eyes, mumbling something about being a dork.
"Well, I can't possibly turn that down." She shook his hand. "You've got a deal, mister…"
"Thompson, Jack Thompson."
Her face melted into recognition. "Oh— Oh! You're Nate's son?"
He winced and gave a forced smile. "The very same. You knew him?"
"Ah, no, but my mentor did. She talked about him often, I think she might have had a little crush on him." The woman leaned in. "But don't tell Miss Piper I said that. You can tell her that Mary and Kay say hello, though!"
Jack chuckled warmly. "Sure, alright Mary. So what are we going to be looking for?"
Well, let's see." Mary stared upwards as she rattled off a mental checklist. "Medford would probably have some run of the mill all-purpose treatments for poisoning, but they might also have special countermeasures in case someone accidentally ingested something more specialized-"
"So, what are we lookin' for?" Ronny cut in.
Mary cleared her throat. "Just look for anything in or near some kind of 'in case of emergency' container that says something about poison. Oh, and a working ventilator would be amazing! I'd give you extra for that."
Jack clapped his hands. "Perfect, I think we can remember all that. We'll spend the night here, and then head out in the morning. Do what you can for this guy."
"Will do. I can't thank you enough! And it was an honor to meet you, Mister Thompson!" She turned back to Nat and Ronny, both standing with smirks and crossed arms. Mary felt her cheeks burning, and scratched the back of her head. "Sorry Miss Wright, Mister Harrison."
Ronny laughed, dropping his smug demeanor. "No worries." He nudged Nat's shoulder, "But speaking of little crushes…"
They both shared a smile, causing Mary to look away, blushing more intensely. "A-anyway, thank you all for helping me, but I really should get back to work. Miss Wright, Mister Harrison, Mister Thompson, have a pleasant day!"
Mary ushered them out, and the three turned to converse outside the tent.
"She seems nice." Nat spoke, facing Jack directly.
"Yeah, bro, she really took a shine to you." He wiggled his eyebrows.
Jack scoffed. "Yeah, yeah," He looked upwards. "Getting late, how about we head to our bunks?"
Nat and Ronny shared a look, both shrugging. "Lead the way, Espresso."
Ronny pointed toward the north end of the settlement, "Onwards!" he declared.
Nat walked shoulder to shoulder with Jack, drawing his attention when she hummed at him.
"What?"
"Hm? Oh, nothing. Proud of you, though, Jack."
He cocked an eyebrow. "What for?"
She balled her fists and brought them to her cheeks, speaking with a high-pitched voice. "Doing the right thing!"
Jack lightly shoved her. "Shut up, Natalie."
Nat beamed at him. "You can't fool me, kiddo, I know you love me!"
His smile gave him away.
Jack dug into his bag, retrieving the caps for his supply run, and dropped them on the counter. He stuffed the ammo and stims into their proper compartments and thanked the shop owner with a nod and wave.
He saw Ronny standing at the market entrance, leaning against a column with his arms crossed, attention directed at something across the plaza. Jack followed his eyes and saw Nat leaning over a counter. She had her back to him, but Jack knew what she was doing – the same thing she always did. He'd seen it before, Nat would undo the top button on her shirt and lean into the shopping counter of a store, fishing for any hesitation or distraction in the demeanor of the shopkeeper. Like a wasteland viper, she would watch and prowl, putting on an alluring appearance before pouncing on the first sign of weakness.
When he was a younger man, Jack had once asked her if what she was doing was wrong, if it was any better than stealing, at the end of the day.
"There's worse things than getting swindled during a transaction because of a set of tits, Jacky boy. I'm not really doing anything, it's them that choose to acknowledge it. It's not stealing, and it's not extortion. Sex sells, and sex discounts. Been that way since the beginning of forever."
He understood, and he didn't ever blame Nat for it; if he had a charm like that, he told himself that it would more than likely get just as much use.
Jack shook his head and joined Ronny. "Got everything?"
Ronny turned. "Yessir. Ready to hit the road, maybe hit something else too. Hopefully not get hit."
Jack hummed and examined the crowds around them. Just like any other day, people milled around and went about their lives. A few minutes later, Nat joined them, rebuttoning her shirt.
"You boys ready?"
"Yep yep, let's go." Ronny pointed his finger guns toward the gate as he spun, leading the group outwards. A few paces before they reached the gate, the group stopped as the doors swung open to allow a caravan group inside the walls. Two traders in dusty, mangled clothes silently strolled past them, followed by a dozen scarred caravan guards and three weary Brahmin.
Jack felt eyes on him, and he turned to see that one of the guards had stopped to stare at him. The lower half of her face was concealed by a worn bandana, but bright blue eyes peered over the aged fabric, and the woman's auburn hair shone against the sun. Even through the face covering, Jack could make out the expression of curious wonder etched on her features and found himself equally as speechless.
"Pellin, keep it moving!" The shout from one of the male caravan guards further into the market broke her reverie, and she gave a small wave as she turned to leave.
"You know her, Blackjack?" Nat spoke from behind him.
He slowly shook his head. "No. Forget it, let's go."
Despite his own words, Jack found it difficult to do anything of the sort.