The new reality of the post-war Commonwealth didn't seem quite real until Tuesday Mackevicius laid eyes on Diamond City.
She wasn't sure what she'd expected upon first hearing the name, but it hadn't been this.
Diamond City was a baseball diamond—one she'd visited on occasion, before. From what she could see on the near horizon, what had once been Fenway Park was surprisingly intact. The wall was…well, it was still huge and green, if faded from two hundred years without much care, and some of the stadium lights were operational. How, she could not comprehend. But it was a little lasting piece of the world she used to know, and it made her want to breathe a sigh of relief—or throw up; she couldn't really tell which considering the state she was in.
The ramshackle towers twisting into the sky in and around the stadium were new. They were illuminated from below by the stadium lights and shined like a beacon across the treacherous expanse of the Commonwealth still between it and her. They provided her a target; a goal, and that was the only thing motivating her to keep putting one foot in front of the other after her hell of a trip thus far.
If only she knew what she was getting into by following that light like a bug to a flame.
…
Usually when a stranger asked Tuesday to step up to my office, she'd decline out of fear for her life, her virtue, or maybe both, but something about this girl was different; profoundly trustworthy. The vault dweller had found herself unexpectedly charmed by the reporter's firecracker performance at the gate. She seemed like a novelty around here based on what Tuesday had seen of the Commonwealth so far; most folks seemed only to be passionate about one thing: surviving. Piper Wright, though, had a heart for the truth. The way her voice changed so quickly from abrasive to thoughtful when she aimed it at Tuesday, too, hinted that there was more to her than just a nosy rabble rouser. The vault dweller wanted to know more about her just as much as vice versa. Plus she ought to thank her, probably, for being her ticket into the city in the first place.
That's how she found herself here, standing in the carpeted loft of Publick Occurrences that she'd just realized was as much Piper's bedroom as it was her office. That fact made her a little shy, and she kept near to the door as the reporter grilled her cheerfully for her 'story of the century,' as she'd called it.
Piper's questions were blunt but not rude, and Tuesday answered them with the pinch of evasiveness that she'd picked up as a courtroom habit. The truth was she couldn't be fully sure who to trust just yet, whether or not her first impression of Piper had been a favorable one.
After the interview, the reporter thanked her, expressed how excited she was about her story of the century, and Tuesday figured that would be the end of it. Except, Piper was still looking at her with a bit of a sparkle in her hazel eyes, biting her lip like she had more to say.
"One last question, papergirl?" the vault dweller prompted wryly. That was the only explanation. She must still be curious about the sole survivor of a dead world, as it were. Tuesday understood, but she also knew she was going to get very tired of everybody looking at her like she was an ancient relic; like she might just break.
"Tell you what," Piper said instead of answering directly, her lips pursed. "Since you helped me out, I owe you one. How about I…come with you? Watch your back while you get used to the world above ground." She swung her arms and tilted her head awkwardly, eyes down like she was bashful of even suggesting it. Her next words reinforced that notion. "If you want me to, that is."
Tuesday had enough practice reading people in the courtroom that she could tell at once what Piper was feeling. Insecure. And by the way she'd seen the other Diamond City residents treat her—locking her out, calling her names, brushing her off—Tuesday could absolutely understand why.
She resolved within herself to be different to this girl. To give her a chance. Even if at first glance she seemed to be just a pushy papergirl, first glances were rarely the most astute. Tuesday was willing to look a little harder, if just to sprinkle some uncommon kindness into this unkind world. Plus, it couldn't hurt to have someone watching her back out there. Lord knew she wouldn't last long otherwise. So, "Okay, Piper," she agreed warmly, smiling when the younger woman's eyes shot up in subtle surprise. "Why don't you come with me now?"
"Now?" Piper echoed, brows climbing incredulously. "Like, now, now?"
"You're offering, aren't you?"
"Yeah!" the reporter blurted just a tad too loud. "I just—didn't really expect you to take me up on that." Her voice fell on the last words, as if she were speaking to herself. Then she raised her notepad. "Let me get this story in the works, and then I'm all yours." The crooked, hesitant grin that she shot Tuesday was many-layered: surprise, nervousness and excitement all packaged into one look.
Though the vault dweller had no clue whether Piper was as good with a gun as she supposedly was with a pen, she felt her heart bolstered by the girl's earnest reaction alone.
She had a good feeling about Piper Wright.
…
Piper had a good feeling about Tuesday Mackevicius.
She was a generous purveyor of common decency, which had long become uncommon. Without even asking for a reward, she'd given the local bum a cola, rescued some settlers who were being harassed by raiders, jumped in to defend a team of Brotherhood meatheads she didn't even know, gotten into a fistfight for Travis; the list went on and on. Piper found herself admiring this stranger more every day. The way she so willingly sacrificed her own time, effort and safety for others was at once profoundly touching and slightly concerning. The woman she'd come to think of as Blue wasn't special just because she was a relic from a lost age, but because she was genuinely good in a world that was, well, not.
Piper had no idea how she did it. She ought to be in shock in the wake of what had happened to her (having one's entire life turned upside down tended to do that), or in mourning, or stuck in a fit of rage, but she seemed…focused. Unwavering. Almost uncannily so. Maybe that was her secret: with a pressing goal in mind, she could put off thinking about everything else for a while. It could only work for so long, though.
During her days traveling with the Woman Out of Time, Piper could see moments where Blue's laser focus on a mission faltered and her inner turmoil showed through the cracks. She would go quiet; distant, her gray eyes darkening to a stormy shade that hinted at the demons she was fighting where no one else could see. Piper worried for her; wanted to get her to open up and talk to her because maybe it would help, but the truth was she barely knew this woman. Blue owed her no explanations, and even if she did decide to open up, Piper would have no idea what to say in return. Sorry the entire world you knew got blown up or it stinks that you were locked in a fridge for two hundred years or I can't imagine what it must be like to watch your family get shot and kidnapped didn't exactly do it for her.
So Piper simply made herself available; watched Blue's back like a hawk and did everything she could to keep the woman safe while she chased after her goals. She distracted her, sometimes, too, with little remarks meant to ease the tension or a sweet treat to keep her strength up. She wanted to help, because Blue's character was a novelty worth preserving, but for the moment this was all she could do. This and the paper, which would hopefully win her some sympathizers in the long run.
Piper just hoped it would be enough.
…
The first hostile encampment they intentionally braved together was the Corvega assembly plant on a hill north of Diamond City. Tuesday had been there before, recently enough that the machine gun turret and the guards out front hadn't yet been replaced, but the inside was still crawling with men with ill intentions.
"I was underprepared before," Tuesday explained at a whisper as they passed the shell of the exploded turret and slunk up to the main doors. She was in her power armor now (she hadn't given Piper the scoop on that, yet) and her hunting rifle was fully loaded. She pressed an ear to the crack between the doors to listen for enemies beyond. When it was quiet, she added, "Almost died."
Piper's wide eyes looked dark in the nighttime as they flicked to her. "Blue!" she whispered fiercely, retroactively concerned. Tuesday found it a little endearing. "Too bad you didn't find me sooner."
"Yeah," the vault dweller agreed with complete seriousness, meeting that well-meaning gaze. "It is." Maybe her comment came across a little flirty, but what she was really getting at was that she truly was better off with Piper. They'd only been on the road together for about a week, but already Tuesday felt as if the nosy reporter was becoming a permanent fixture in her life. Piper had ended up being a pretty good shot ("You've got my dad to thank for that," she'd smiled sadly), and had already kept her promise to watch Tuesday's back out here in the wasteland more than a few times. It wasn't just her trigger finger that was rising in Tuesday's good graces, however; her simple companionship meant more than either of them could have imagined. With no Nate, no Shaun, and no recognizable ties to her old life remaining, Tuesday would have been adrift without something to hold onto. If that something happened to be Piper, well, maybe that wasn't the healthiest thing, but it wasn't the worst, either. Tuesday found that she rather enjoyed the way Piper cornered unsuspecting passersby for bits and pieces of a story, or the way she popped candy like chems and seemed to have an overflowing supply of nervous energy because of it. Whenever they failed to reach a settlement before dark and had to camp out in the nearest blown-out ruin, Tuesday fell asleep to the reporter's pen tapping hypnotically against the nearest surface, and when she woke she often found her with her notepad open on her stomach, notes scribbled in wavering lines in the dark. The way Piper lived and breathed the press—the truth—was maybe her most intriguing quality. Tuesday hadn't met anybody yet whose dedication to a cause was so complete (except maybe Paladin Danse, who was so stiff about it that his loyalty seemed almost robotic), or half as noble. Piper was unique in this place, and Tuesday liked that about her. A lot. With every passing day she became more glad that she'd taken the papergirl up on her offer to help.
Now was no different. Piper was at her side, pistol in hand, as had become their norm; ready to face the danger behind this door. In the glow of the floodlight above, it almost looked like she was blushing in the wake of Tuesday's admission. Or maybe she was just nervous for the fight.
"Let's do this," Tuesday hissed before she could think too long on that detail, and the two of them ducked into the plant in search of a different kind of trouble.
…
"Why didn't anything nice get mutated into a huge two-headed version of itself?" Tuesday grumbed to herself as she stood over the husk of a just-killed mirelurk, dark viscera still dripping from her bladed tire iron onto the Cambridge cobblestones.
"Nice?" echoed Piper, and the vault dweller wondered abruptly whether this girl had any idea what a nice animal looked like, besides Dogmeat.
"Yeah," she went on, a little more carefully. "What I wouldn't give to see a big, fluffy kitten or something instead of just nasty slimy monsters everywhere."
Piper snorted and returned lightheartedly, "What makes you think a kitten wouldn't try to kill you too?"
"I'm just saying," sighed Tuesday, "I wish everything weren't so…dangerous, now."
Piper seemed to realize that they had wandered onto a tender topic and tried to steer her friend toward something more comfortable. "Hey." She bumped the survivor's shoulder with her own and Tuesday raised her eyes from the ugly body of the mirelurk. "We've got Dogmeat. And, um…" She glanced upward and pursed her lips in thought. Then her brows shot up. "That cat that hangs around Diamond City!"
Tuesday had been mostly joking when she'd used kittens as an example, but now at the prospect of seeing an actual familiar domestic creature she perked up. "There's a cat? I haven't seen it."
Piper leveled a grin at her. "Well, then we'll just have to find him when we get home."
Home hit Tuesday unexpectedly hard, but she tried to keep her emotion from showing. She hadn't really been able to think of anywhere as home, since…
But thinking of Diamond City as home wasn't totally out of the question, given a little more time. Especially if Piper was there. Dependable constant as the reporter had become in the topsy-turvy hell of Tuesday's new life, wherever Piper was had begun to feel the most like home. That thought was as frightening as it was comforting, but it brought a smile to Tuesday's face that she didn't try to resist.
"Okay, papergirl."
…