Tuesday hadn't expected the search for Shaun to be easy, but coming back from Park Street Station with Nick Valentine safely in tow only to find out immediately that she'd have to journey out after Kellogg's scent trail for another who-knows-how-long felt like a little much.

A ten-year-old boy, Ellie Perkins had said, and though Tuesday was loath to believe that it could have been Shaun, the knot weighing in her gut like a stone knew better. It had to be him, and that had to mean that she'd already missed the first ten years of her son's life—arguably the most important ones. She had no idea what he looked like; what he sounded like; what he acted like. Whoever Kellogg was in league with could have raised him kindly, or they could have abused him and used him like chattel. They could have even molded him into a heartless monster just like Kellogg. She had no way of knowing, and now the closer she got to finding out, the more afraid of the truth she became.

He probably wouldn't even recognize me, she thought glumly. Who was she kidding? Of course he wouldn't! The last time he saw her, he was too small to remember anything at all. But would he know anyway? Would he be able to…sense that they were family, somehow? Or had he simply been brainwashed into believing that Kellogg or some other villain was his family?

Tuesday sat in the chair in Kellogg's secret room and buried her head in her hands. Was it even worth it to try to hunt down a son whom she didn't know? Who didn't know her?

If she did, would she like what she found? Or would her search end in a heartbreak worse than failure and her driving purpose in this world be tossed to the wind?

She didn't know. And yet, what choice did she have? She'd already failed to save Nate. She would never forgive herself if she simply gave up on Shaun.

Tuesday didn't realize she was crying until the droplets slipped down her palms and hit the floor beneath her. No. No. She sniffed to keep the wetness from her nose from following. The motion seemed to crack something inside of her, and once her shoulders shook the first time, she couldn't stop the silent sobs from wracking through her again and again. She squeezed her eyes shut and pressed her hands against them like she could hold the sorrow back that way, thinking that if she didn't stop now, she never would.

She'd kept it together until now, mostly. Those first few days in Sanctuary, both before and after meeting Preston, had been the exception. The shock of stepping out of the vault to find her world destroyed; empty, barren—it had been too much, and she had lost days to lying curled up in her old house, crying out the little hydration she possessed and wondering if Nate's old gun was still under the bed for her to use.

Codsworth had been the one to get her on her feet, surprisingly enough. He'd brought her scavenged tins of water from someplace indeterminate and begged her to take care of herself, in his roundabout way: I have been tidying the house in preparation for your return for two hundred years, mum. Without a master, I'd have no more purpose!

That had given Tuesday just enough of a mission to pick herself up and keep going: help Codsworth. After that, she found more and more causes to apply herself to in order to keep her mind off of the looming, depressingly unlikely drive to find Shaun: help Preston's crew, clean up Sanctuary Hills, save a nearby settlement, anything to motivate her onward, because she didn't want to give up; not really. She just wanted her life back.

But now that the prospect of finding Shaun was suddenly much nearer, and yet so much farther away, Tuesday couldn't keep her emotions bottled up under the pressure. She cried in the middle of Kellogg's house—the very home of the man who'd stolen her family from her—until her throat was raw and her lungs were sore. Then she cried even longer.

A rattle of the front door was what finally jerked her out of her ocean of misery, sending her heart racing in an instant. She jumped up from the chair, swiping at her swollen eyes even as she cast around for a weapon in case somehow Kellogg had come back, or the mayor was here to nail her for trespassing, or—

The door swung open and Tuesday froze like a deer in headlights (or a radstag in…something else, now) as the figure who rounded the corner was revealed to be not a shadowy enemy, but Piper.

She was talking as she entered: "Blue? Nick said you sent him away but you were still—" Then she reached the secret room and laid eyes on Tuesday standing there taut as a bowstring and red in the face, and her voice died. For a moment, at least. "Blue?" she asked gently once she'd recovered, taking a tentative step into the room like she wasn't sure Tuesday wouldn't attack her. Her brows were furrowed in concern, and she half-raised one hand toward her friend. "Were you…crying?"

The vault dweller turned away, eyes stinging again, in shame instead of sorrow this time. She had always hated crying in front of people. When she was young, she was scolded for it. When she was grown, she was patronized for it. These days, she may well be killed for it. As much as she trusted Piper, she didn't want even her to see her like this.

But Piper didn't let her hide for long. "Blue," she said in tender tones, now certain of what she'd walked in on. "Are you okay?" She took another step closer, still careful, and tilted her head in an attempt to catch Tuesday's misty gaze.

Of course I'm not okay.

The vault dweller kept her eyes trained stubbornly on the floor, wrestling within herself: part of her wished that Piper would just leave, but another part of her—one that had been starved for far too long—wanted nothing more than to open up to the reporter; relieve some of the crushing weight that was pressing down on her shoulders. She clenched her fists at her sides as the silence in the room stretched longer and the tension grew thicker. She doubted Piper would leave her alone without a damn convincing assurance that she was fine, and Tuesday knew she would not be able to rustle up such an act tonight. So she didn't have a choice, really. She'd have to let herself be vulnerable. As much as that idea went against her very grain, she could stomach it, she thought, as long as it was Piper.

Tuesday let herself sink back into the (torture?) chair in the center of the room and lowered her head into her hands again. The posture of defeat felt different this time; less lonely. That was even before Piper closed the distance to her and ventured one hand out to rest on her shoulder, sending warmth cascading through her frame.

"No," the vault dweller admitted hoarsely into her hands. "I'm not okay."

Piper let her hand slide down to Tuesday's knee as she sank to her own knees in front of the chair, facing her. "Well, yeah," she said, still soft but with a wry edge to her voice. "Wouldn't take a Nick Valentine to figure that one out." She waited a moment in case Tuesday volunteered anything more, and when she didn't, the reporter continued, "Is this about Shaun?"

"What isn't?" shot back the older woman sharply, but more in frustration with her situation than with Piper. She let her hands drop so that her tear-streaked face could burn in the open air. "I'm just—" She shook her head, still unable to meet her friend's eyes. Her shoulders slumped. "If I'm too late and he's ten years old…"

Piper's grip on her tightened. "Hey. None of this is your fault. It's not like you chose to get boxed up in a fridge for two centuries." If Tuesday had been looking, she'd have seen Piper grimace at the blunt way that came out. "What I'm trying to say is, you're doing the best you can for him," the reporter amended.

"That's not good enough," Tuesday insisted. "I've missed his whole childhood. What if he's—" Her voice strangled off as a lump came to her throat again. Sheer willpower was the only thing holding off a sob.

"What if he's like them?" Piper finished lowly, knowingly. At Tuesday's nod, she assured, "Then that isn't your fault either."

"That doesn't make it any easier." It came out as a weak whisper.

Piper let out a sigh. Her hands shifted to take Tuesday's and squeeze, as if to try and transfer some of her strength to the other woman. "I'm sorry, Blue," was her only response—the only response she could give, the vault dweller realized, because this whole mess was so far out of her hands that condolences were the only logical reaction.

Tuesday took a deep breath and released it and it shook going both ways. She was trying hard not to cry again, but all she could think about was all the horrible ways her search for Shaun could implode, and it was just eating away at her mind, and—

It surprised her when Piper rose abruptly to her feet and tugged on her hands to follow.

"Come on," the reporter prompted, wiggling their joined hands between them. Her voice was strained, but still tried to be chipper. "We're going home. What you need is some food and rest."

Tuesday obliged her and unfolded to her feet to a protesting creak in her knees. For the first time in this exchange she met Piper's eyes, and the raw concern in the younger girl's was at once heartwarming and heartbreaking. Just to make her feel a little better, Tuesday teased, "Sugar Bombs don't count as food." Though she didn't smile, she got half of one from Piper.

"Yeah, okay, smartass. At least they're hardly radioactive," the reporter shot back as she eased them toward the door. Tuesday followed without protest, and when they stepped out onto the metal catwalk of the Diamond City stands she realized just how much of a relief it was simply to be out of that place. She breathed deeply of the radioactive air and it was the most refreshing she'd ever tasted.

Piper kept hold of her hand the whole way back to Publick Occurrences, and Tuesday found that she didn't mind. She savored it, in fact. It was a grounding point of warmth in the middle of the uncaring cold of the Commonwealth, just like Piper herself, and it made Tuesday very glad that she'd opened up to this girl.

It was nice not to be alone.

…

Dogmeat led them through the hostile, barren wilderness for what seemed like weeks. In truth, it was only a day, but Tuesday was wired so tight the whole time her energy burned up like gasoline. She never took her hands off her rifle, half-expecting Kellogg to appear behind every copse of trees or rocky outcropping that they passed. He didn't, but plenty of other foes littered the path west from Diamond City. Tuesday and Piper had shot down more mongrel dogs, bloodbug swarms, and even the odd yao guai than she could keep track of. She just hoped their course would stay clear of anything worse.

Until they reached Kellogg, that is.

They were approaching what looked like a checkpoint along a car-littered freeway; a square, gray structure intact but for its missing doors. Dogmeat bounded ahead, huffing excitedly as he picked up a strengthened scent, and the two girls followed on slower, tired feet.

Tuesday led the way inside, rifle raised. Her first glance told her that the shelter was empty but for some rubble, a shelf, a few scattered supplies and a sleeping bag. Nothing looked too interesting except some .44mm rounds on the shelf, which she pocketed. Whatever evidence Domeat had found must have been outside.

Tuesday started across the dingy shelter, heading for the doorway on the streetside in search of their next lead.

She noticed the frag mine too late.

The urgent beeping was what caught her attention. At the noise she stumbled back a few steps, but she was unsure of which way to flee because she hadn't actually laid eyes on the thing yet and there was little place to go anyway. In the seconds that she had left, she whipped her head around to locate Piper, thinking that if she herself got blown to bits she had to at least keep the reporter safe. Piper was at the door, unintentionally blocking the exit as she came upon the room just as Tuesday was trying to escape it, and time was slipping away like sand through her fingers so all Tuesday could do was throw herself in front of the girl's smaller body and brace—

Bam!

The shockwave threw Tuesday into Piper and Piper into the doorframe, where her back hit painfully (it could not be nearly as painful as the burning sensation ripping through Tuesday's right arm right now, though, the vault dweller thought as they hit the ground). Tuesday rolled off of her companion immediately, gripping her wounded arm and trying to muffle her cry of agony behind clenched teeth. The sleeve of the Silver Shroud coat that she wore because it was the firmest armor she had was torn to pieces. Shrapnel was buried in the skin near her elbow, but the burns stretching from wrist to shoulder were far more concerning. Her skin was peeled away and almost as red as the blood leaking through ragged roles. Even the brush of the air was enough to touch off a horrible pain worse than that of the explosion itself. Tears leaked from Tuesday's eyes as she writhed as if maybe it would hurt less in a different position.

Piper took in her condition in one round-eyed glance and gasped. "Shit, are you okay?" Obviously Tuesday was not, but the vault dweller groaned to at least assure her companion that she wasn't dead. The reporter knelt in front of her, face paling as her eyes fixed on all the blood, and her voice came out thin: "Blue, your arm."

"It's—fine. I'm fine. I just—gah," Tuesday dug her heels into the rubble beneath her and pushed futilely against the pain. "Need a stimpak."

Piper nodded and lunged for Tuesday's pack, digging for it frantically as the vault dweller forced herself to breathe through her grinding teeth.

"Got it!" Piper returned to Tuesday's side with the syringe in hand, but when she leaned in to administer it, her hands were shaking so violently the needle tip wouldn't go where she wanted it. She cursed and grabbed her wrist with her other hand to steady it, but the added support only doubled the trembling. "Shit!" she cursed again more vehemently, and when Tuesday managed to look up, she found the reporter's eyes shining with frustrated tears.

The vault dweller made a split-second decision, shot her hand out to grab the stimpak over both of Piper's and plunge it in herself. It didn't hit the vein, but it would have to be good enough.

Tuesday screwed her eyes shut and groaned again against the pain of the drugs beginning their work. Quicker than any human body ought to bear, the ugly, bloody, burnt-up wound began to close up and fade. Dimly she could feel Piper holding her undamaged hand as the concoction raced through her veins. Even once the burns were covered with a brand new layer of skin, it was clear by the lingering scar tissue that the arm would not be the same again, and Tuesday felt her heart sink. It was worth it, though. Better her than Piper.

After the worst part was past and the pain gradually deadened to a manageable ache, Tuesday's body lost its vicious tension.

Only then did Piper let her own shoulders relax, switching her grip on the other woman's hand from a tight lifeline hold to almost a caress. "Did you…" the reporter ventured hoarsely into the now-silence, glancing back at the place where the mine had been, "did you just take that for me?"

Tuesday regarded her through hazy eyes. Stimpaks were a wonder of the modern world, but they were not without side effects. She held that hazel gaze with difficulty. "You have a little sister to take care of."

"You have Shaun," Piper shot back instantly. Her expression crumpled and her hand tightened again. "Blue, this is a dangerous world we live in, and I know that. And so does Nat. If something happens to me, she'll—" Her voice cracked, rendering her argument much less convincing. "She'll manage. Don't risk yourself for me."

Tuesday grunted and it was the furthest thing from a promise. Piper frowned, knowing this, and the vault dweller kept her gaze as resolute as possible. She wasn't going to stop risking herself for Piper. Ever. This girl had a family and a job and a life to take care of, and Tuesday…well, Tuesday was past her due, Shaun or no Shaun. She'd lived through the prime of her life in a world now lost. Logically, she was the more expendable one of the two.

Piper must have read the thoughts behind her eyes, because she sighed explosively even as her grip on Tuesday went gentle. "Damn it, Blue, I won't ever be able to forgive myself if you die on my watch."

"Likewise," Tuesday returned softly.

Piper's hazel eyes flickered over her face desperately as if searching for some way to make her understand, and Tuesday tried to express just as vehemently that she already did. She understood why Piper didn't want her taking bullets for her. She understood the overwhelming desire to protect someone else more closely than her own life. She understood the guilt of watching someone step in front of her to take the pain that should have been hers—she knew. But she had been protected for her whole prewar life, and now it was her turn to be the protector. Especially when it came to Piper, the one person she'd found herself unbreakably attached to since landing in this shitty new world.

She would get blown up a thousand times to keep her safe.

Tuesday was so absorbed in her thoughts and those eyes and that feeling of urgency and intensity that she didn't even realize Piper had been leaning in slightly, gradually, until they were inches apart. The look on her face was somewhere between stern and tender and her cheeks had not just returned to their normal color but reddened and Tuesday caught her breath at the warmth radiating off of her. Not for the first time, but for the first intentional time, she let her gaze drift down to those wry red lips, wondering—

Dogmeat's sudden bark signalled that he had found something.

Piper blinked out of her reverie, sighed, and leaned forward to peck Tuesday on the forehead too quickly for her to comprehend. "I'm glad you're okay," she mumbled out, though it was obviously not all she wanted to say, and before Tuesday could respond she was straightening up to rejoin Dogmeat just outside the shelter.

What the hell was that?

Tuesday's newly healed arm still shook as she raised it to brush over the spot Piper had kissed, hardly believing that moment had been real. Hardly comprehending why it, combined with such a small gesture, was making her gut flutter and her face burn like this.

Until she gave it two seconds' thought and realized that she'd gotten in way too deep without even noticing she was falling. She didn't just like Piper. She—

She liked Piper.

She let her hand fall, dragging down her blushing face in consternation.

Oh.

"Oh, shit."

…

She killed him. She killed Kellogg. And even after it was revealed that maybe she shouldn't have; maybe she should have kept him alive to pick his brain for leads to Shaun's whereabouts, she didn't regret it.

In fact, "I'd do it again if I got the chance," she said darkly to Nick Valentine when he brought it up.

The looks she earned from her two friends were surprised and a little disapproving. She wasn't normally the violent type, after all; that's why they liked her so much in the first place. But Tuesday felt no regret. She had a damn good excuse to want to watch the light fade from that bastard's eyes over and over again. To be the one who snuffed it out. He hadn't shown Nate any mercy; why should he receive any?

Piper regarded her as if she were a wounded animal, concerned and a little wary. "Blue…"

Tuesday stared her right in the eyes and knew that she didn't even have to speak; knew the look said it all: He took my husband. He took my son. A blink. What would you have done if it were Nat?

And Piper kept her mouth shut, because maybe she'd realized that she couldn't judge what she couldn't understand.

…