Staying in Goodneighbor meant making good on her promise to Kent Conolly. Tuesday followed his radioed leads to three different no-good lowlifes upsetting the peace of the town: first some ratty murderer, then an enterprising chems dealer, and lastly a full-blown assassin with her very own gang. She'd dished out heroic justice as the Silver Shroud, and though she'd never enjoyed killing people, it was satisfying in a way to make the streets of Goodneighbor a little safer for everyone. It's what she usually did, only this time she was wearing a costume and speaking in a funny voice as she did it.

Tuesday had just taken down Kendra, and after dragging the body over to the door where it would trip up any potential ambushers, she had time to take a breath.

This room would have been nice, had it not smelled like chems and been decorated with bloodstains. There was a pair of windows on the streetside wall that let in a lovely stream of natural light, and the big bed pushed up against the corner was in decent shape. The chemistry station in front of the far window would have been better replaced by a bureau or a cabinet, but it filled the space rather aesthetically anyway.

Then there was Piper. The reporter stood at the chemistry station, hands braced on its surface to lean for a better look out the window, her strong profile bared to Tuesday. The evening light spilling pink-gold through the shade painted her dark hair and coat in warm contrast.

Suddenly and unexpectedly, Tuesday found herself overwhelmed by the serenity—the beauty of the sight and all the feelings that rushed up her throat every time she associated that word with Piper. She ached to cross the distance between them; to get a closer, deeper look at the way her friend practically glowed in the evening light; to enter that beam of luminance and be caught in the ethereal world it seemed to encompass.

That was a lot, but Tuesday couldn't fight down the almost giddy energy it gave her. Damn, she had it bad.

A glance between the bed and the reporter gave her an idea and although it was a terrible one, she wasn't in a very discerning state of mind. "Lie down with me," she blurted out before she had time to think.

In the wake of her unintended words, she froze, and Piper whipped around with a perfectly echoed look of surprise—and panic?—on her face.

"I—I need to recover my strength," Tuesday explained quickly, lamely, under Piper's wide-eyed gaze. She really did; a few of Kendra's bullets had grazed her skin through the chinks in her Silver Shroud armor and though a stimpak had closed up the holes, it had done nothing for her exhaustion from the fight. "And there's a bed here. And it's safe. Ish."

"And you want me to join you?" Piper clarified as if she couldn't quite believe her ears. Her face was flushing slowly from the cheeks up.

Tuesday laughed awkwardly. Was the idea that inconceivable? They'd shared a bed before, after all. Usually when it was dark, and usually without any weird overtures, but still. "I mean, what else are you going to do? Watch me sleep?"

"Keep watch for any unfriendly visitors," Piper provided, searching the vault dweller's face rather suspiciously. "But if you think the place is safe…" She shrugged, and it looked stiff. "A power nap couldn't hurt."

She rounded the bedframe, eyes locked on Tuesday's with something inscrutable in their depths, and the vault dweller sorely wished that she could understand what they were telling her. But she didn't get the chance to dwell as Piper climbed onto the far side of the mattress and propped herself on an elbow, waiting to get comfortable until Tuesday made herself vulnerable as well.

And she did, her heartbeat picking up as she lowered herself down beside her companion and all the feelings she'd been trying to push down since she first recognized them flooded to the forefront.

Okay. Yeah. Bad idea.

But she was committed now, so she rolled onto her back with a sigh that she hoped didn't sound too forced and laced her fingers over her stomach. The picture of relaxation. Not.

Piper folded her arm under her head and leaned on it, still on her side so she faced Tuesday. "Well, this is romantic," she joked, but couldn't hide the nervous undertone to her voice. The vault dweller wondered what she had to be nervous about. Was this making her uncomfortable? "We've got our lovely bloodstains on the walls; our freshly dead body guarding the door; the threat of more gangsters showing up at any moment."

Tuesday let out a defeated sigh through her nose. "Piper, don't." She knew how messed up this was even without Piper pointing it out; without even considering the fresh remains of her target littered around the room. She also felt bad enough about the thrill that went through her at lying in bed beside Piper without even bringing up the word romantic.

"Don't what?" the reporter asked worriedly, like she was afraid she'd done something wrong.

Tuesday turned her head on the mattress to face her. Gazing into those hazel eyes from half a foot away, her gut shriveled at the thought of ruining what they had. Of going too far and chasing Piper away. So, "Don't tempt me," she said on a breath, and she simultaneously loved and hated the way Piper's gaze flicked to her lips as she spoke in spite of the words she was saying.

The younger woman's eyes went heavy-lidded even as her breathing shallowed. Her expression was a contradiction, too; brows furrowing in distress even as she said huskily, "You were the one who wanted me in bed with you."

The vault dweller sighed again, her face heating as she turned it toward the ceiling. "I know. It's…complicated," she managed. That was an understatement. She had so many conflicting feelings vying for dominance at any one time that she constantly felt like she was about to explode. But that was probably a little dramatic to say, so instead she started at the root of the problem. "I still—I—I thought that killing Kellogg would give me some peace about Nate, but it hasn't."

"That's the thing about revenge, Blue," Piper returned softly, "It doesn't work."

Tuesday rolled her head to the side again to look her companion in the eye and was again hit by the way the hazel turned honey gold in the light. "You sound like you're speaking from experience." Maybe she was deflecting, but she also itched to know anything about this girl that she was willing to tell.

Piper hummed a regretful affirmative. "I've had my fair share of quests for vengeance," she said. Then she shifted to pillow her face on her hand, bringing herself a few inches closer to her companion. Tuesday tried very hard to keep her eyes from wandering down. "I've learned enough to tell you that the best thing to do is to let it go."

"I can't just let go seven years of marriage, Piper." Tuesday rubbed her brow with one hand, mostly to hide her burning face from the other girl. She wanted to be able to follow Piper's advice. She wanted to be able to accept that Nate was gone and be able to live freely again—to love freely again—but she was still carrying around her regret like a physical burden. She wished she could have saved him. She wished they had their old life back. She wished none of this had ever happened. She wished a lot of things.

Piper's hand closed around hers and pulled it gently away, fingers toying reflectively with the wedding ring still on Tuesday's own. The vault dweller's guilt told her that she should pull back, but the rest of her was hungry for something to help her move on. And if Piper was that thing, well…the way she was going, she might just manage it, eventually.

"'Till death do us part,'" said the reporter quietly, and Tuesday physically flinched at the words. "Isn't that the old saying?"

"Y-yes. That was our wedding vow." Tuesday barely managed to speak past the unwelcome tears rising to her eyes. She pulled her hand away and cradled it to her chest, unsure if she was anxious to preserve the ring or the ghost of Piper's touch. When a tear escaped her control, the younger woman moved her own hand to brush it away and then kept it there.

"I guess that's all I have to say, Blue," she whispered hoarsely into the uncertain space between them, regretful but understanding at the same time.

And Tuesday knew she was right, but it still hurt like hell. She couldn't help the sob that broke free of her throat in the next second, nor did she resist when Piper finally closed the distance to wrap her arms around her comfortingly. Tuesday held her back, taking comfort in the warmth pressed to her top to toe; in the familiar musk of paper and leather that grounded her in the middle of the storm. This felt familiar, but she couldn't quite place the memory. Maybe she'd just imagined it one too many times. Then again, maybe it had something to do with last night, which she couldn't remember at all.

It didn't really matter, she supposed.

She wasn't sure how long she cried, nor how long she slept afterward, but when she opened her eyes again the sun had gone down and she was still safe in Piper's arms.

I have to move on.

…

She tried to save Kent. She really did. But she simply could not talk down the bloody bastard Sinjin in time to stay his hand, and now the poor ghoul was slumped on the metal floor with a chunk out of his face.

She should never have become the Silver Shroud.

"I'm so sorry," she said brokenly to his unmoving form. She hesitated at first, never overly eager to touch a dead body, but it felt right somehow to lay a comforting hand on his back. Like that would make her apology reach him easier on the other side.

The swish of leather signalled Piper's careful approach. "You did everything you could," she said gently as she reached Tuesday's side and laid a hand on her shoulder, a warmer echo of the vault dweller's gesture for Kent.

"I should have shot that bastard as soon as I laid eyes on him," Tuesday said tightly, not raising her eyes. "I should have done something sooner."

Piper's grip went firmer, convicted. "That's not you, Blue. You always give people a chance, and that's a rare thing out here."

"Maybe I shouldn't. For all the good it does," the vault dweller mumbled hollowly, eyes fixed morosely on Kent's back.

"Then you'd be no different from them," Piper asserted, gesturing at the bodies of Sinjin and his fellow crooks cooling around the room. Tuesday figured heartless was the point she was going for, but dead fit just as well.

She knew her friend was right. She knew she couldn't just give up her whole philosophy; her core belief; her instinctual drive to help people because some missions went wrong. She couldn't let the Commonwealth drag her down when she failed to pull it up. That wasn't her.

But that didn't mean it wasn't really fucking painful to see all her efforts dead at her feet. That didn't mean it would ever be easy to watch evil trump good, like it seemed to do so often now. That didn't mean she had to be content with watching the world go to shit around her.

Tuesday had no choice but to keep fighting. And even when she seemed to be losing a battle, she couldn't give up, but keep going in hopes of winning the war.

If that war could ever be won, that is.

…