Chapter Twenty-Four: Good, Good Neighbours
She was singing softly in the darkness, and he could feel her fingertips gently stroking his hair. He didn't feel cold anymore, and his body didn't hurt. He was warm, and she was there at his bedside, singing lullabies he thought he would never hear again.
His eyes began to grow hot with tears and his hands clenched into tight fists, gripping the woollen blanket that covered him. He didn't want to cry again. He didn't want to remember who the unshed tears were for.
He just wanted to stay there in the darkness, warm and safe, listening to her voice…
But she had fallen silent, and her hand pulled away.
He bit down on his lip, the tears now seeping from between his lashes and rolling down his cheeks.
Please stay… don't leave me again…
"Shhh. It's okay, Leo… you can open your eyes."
He froze; his heart, his breath, his thoughts – everything stopped when he heard that voice.
As warm fingers gently wiped away his tears, he slowly opened his eyes.
They were both there, both smiling down at him, their faces illuminated by the warm glow of candlelight. His mother sniffed, her lips trembling as she smiled at him, her hand now gently cupping his cheek. His father stood beside her, and for the first time in over a year, his face was clear and distinct, not like the half-forgotten memory he had become.
Burke's vision began to blur with tears even as he tried to blink them away, his hands rising from the sheets to reach for them.
"It's okay, Leo," his mother whispered, closing her hand around his. "We're here now. We're with you, and we love you so, so much…"
"We're so proud of you," his father said gently, his large hand closing around Burke's own. "You've been so brave… we love you, Leon. Never forget that."
I love you too… He wanted to speak, but the words wouldn't come.
His throat felt tight and painful, and he realised with growing alarm that pain was beginning to flare all across his body. His grip was growing slack in his parent's hands, and his muscles felt so heavy, he thought they might drag him down into the mattress – away from his parents and back into the hell he had just escaped.
He tried his hardest to grip their hands, and when his eyelids began to grow heavy, he fought to keep them open, to see them for as long as he could, to imprint their faces to memory.
His mother's sad smile, and the way tears were beginning to glisten in his father's eyes.
"We're always watching over you," his father said thickly, his voice already fading away like an echo.
"We'll always be here for you and we love you," his mother added, leaning towards him even as she was pulled away into the shadows.
"We love you so, so much…"
His eyes closed and he felt dizzy like the world was spinning. He could still feel the blankets beneath his palms and weakly flexed his fingers, trying to hold onto them to ground himself. The sensation eventually abated, but he didn't have the strength to move or to open his eyes.
He gradually became aware of the candlelight that still flickered behind his closed eyelids, and the rough blanket that remained beneath his hands. For a while he lay there, holding his breath in the hopes that maybe he was still in the dream. That when he opened his eyes, his parents would still be there watching over him. That he might again hear their voices, or be able to feel their touch…
A loud snort broke the quiet and he flinched, his body tensed beneath the blankets as he held his breath and listened. He could hear the sounds of muffled voices, footsteps echoing upon concrete pavements, dogs barking, the distant droning of a vertibird… and the guttural snores of someone close by.
He fought to quell the panic rising within him, willing his body to stop shaking. He forced himself to drink in slow, deep breaths as he had done hundreds of times aboard the Prydwen, whenever he was pretending to be asleep.
He lay there for a time, straining to hear the faintest sign that the person was really awake, but the whistling snores were slow and rhythmical enough to convince him that they were definitely asleep.
Slowly, he began to open his eyes.
By the light of a lantern at his bedside, he could see a discoloured ceiling over his head, the plaster riddled with what looked suspiciously like bullet holes. A fan revolved slowly in the centre of the room, the shadows of the blades sweeping across the filthy walls, decorated with tattered scraps of wallpaper and cracked wooden panels.
When he looked down at the bed, it was to find himself covered by thick, stained blankets. His nose wrinkled when he noticed the musty smell odour they emitted – and then he noticed the sleeves. His arms lay atop the blankets, and were covered by unfamiliar pin-striped sleeves that had been rolled back at the cuff.
Ignoring the protests of his sore muscles, Burke raised his trembling hands to grip the edge of the blankets and pushed them down. Someone had changed his clothes, leaving him in his underwear and a too-big, button-up shirt.
With a start, his hand flew up to pull at the shirt's collar.
No. No. No…
He couldn't feel them. His mother's holotags were gone, and when he glanced down at his wrist, it was to find Tara's bracelet had vanished, too. He began to panic, an iron band of fear constricting his chest as he turned his head, desperately searching for the blue glow of the holotags, a flash of steel…
He caught sight of them, laid out neatly on the bedside table beside the lantern.
He lurched across the bed, his fingers clawing at the table top, only to send them both clattering to the floor. There came another loud snort, and Burke's eyes darted to the far side of the room.
A battered couch was set against the opposite wall, and he could see a tall figure lying across it, hidden beneath a mustard yellow coat draped over them like a blanket. Their head was turned away from him, presenting him with the view of a bald, withered scalp.
Burke held his breath, watching the stranger, but when they simply continued to snore, he relaxed slightly and returned his attention to retrieving the holotags and bracelet. They had landed on the warped floorboards below, just shy of a threadbare rug set beside the bed.
He braced one hand against the mattress as he reached for them with the other, but no sooner had he leaned over the edge then he was taken by a sudden wave of dizziness and his arm gave from beneath him. With a gasp, he tumbled headfirst from the bed and onto the floor with a thump .
He groaned, raising a hand to his head when there was a rustle of fabric, and he glanced up in time to see the figure on the couch stir. The yellow coat slid from their body and puddled onto the floor as they rolled over.
His stomach dropped.
He scrambled backwards, pulling himself underneath the bed, the holotags and bracelet forgotten.
That's not a person…
He dragged himself into the darkest, farthest corner under the bed, ignoring the filth and dust that coated the floorboards. As he crawled, his hand bumped against an old beer bottle, which he hastily grabbed by the neck, desperate for some way to defend himself.
He had just pressed his back into the corner, when the ghoul woke up.
He heard a gasp, and could only watch as a worn pair of shoes slammed onto the floor.
"Kid?"
He shuddered at the harsh, gravelly voice, helpless to do anything but stare as the abomination drew closer.
"Kid?" Its shoes stopped beside the bed, and he could hear the rustle of sheets and the creak of the mattress as it searched above him. "You know," the ghoul called out into the room. "There's no need for you to hide! It's not like I'm gonna turn f… fuh… fuggghhh…."
The ghouls words dissolved into a groan, and Burke's eyes widened in horror as it staggered back a couple of steps, snarling and gibbering to itself.
It began pacing the room, its gait suddenly uneven and shoes dragging across the floorboards.
" Kiiiiiiiiiddddd…." It moaned. "Kiiiiiiiiiiiiiidddddd…"
It's gone feral! It's going to eat me! Burke bit down on his lip, his hands shaking so violently he feared that he would drop the bottle. His mind flew to the feral-inflicted scars he had glimpsed aboard the Prydwen, his lessons on how feral bites almost always resulted in a serious infection and radiation poisoning, not to mention Scribe Haylen's wounds back at Bunker Hill.
What do I do?
The abomination was shambling back towards the bed and he held his breath, his muscles tensed, palms sweating and hair standing on end.
Go away go away go away…
It stopped a few feet away, swaying on the spot. Then it dropped to its hands and knees and scrambled towards the bed. " Gotcha!"
Burke flinched back into the corner, his eyes squeezed shut as he held the bottle in front of him, waiting for the inevitable.
"Uh… kid?" Came the raspy voice. "I was just playing around, I'm not really feral!"
Despite his best efforts to hold it back, a frightened sob escaped Burke's lips and he swung the bottle in a pitiful attempt to ward it away. He heard the floorboards creak, and when he dared to squint to the edge of the bed, it was to find the ghoul retreating back into the room and rising back onto its feet.
"I never was any good with children. Not even pre-war," it lamented as it turned heel, its shoes clunking towards a door on the opposite side of the room. It stepped outside, but Burke remained where he was, listening to its footsteps until they faded away completely. Finally he slumped back against the wall, feeling light-headed and weak.
The bottle fell from his hands and he watched as it rolled towards the edge of the bed, which was when he spied the soft blue glow of his mother's holotags.
Mom…
Despite the aches and exhaustion of his body, Burke forced himself to crawl towards them. His fingers had just closed around the steel when he heard footsteps striding back towards the room.
He withdrew beneath the bed and grabbed the bottle, just as someone knocked on the door.
"Hey, I'm coming in," a man's voice called, and as the door opened Burke retreated into his corner.
He watched as a pair of dirty black combat boots approached the bed, and steeled himself for a second meeting with an abomination.
But when the newcomer knelt down, he wasn't confronted by a melted face and black eyes. Instead, he found himself looking upon a young man with a thin face and sharp features, shadowed by the brim of the green cap atop his head.
His eyes were a vivid shade of blue and piercing, though when he locked eyes with Burke they seemed to soften, and his thin lips quirked into a small smile. "Hey buddy. You okay down there?"
Burke remained silent. His throat still felt too raw to speak, and he didn't trust his voice to not betray his fear.
"Hey, you're safe now. Nothing's going to get you in here," the man said, keeping his tone light and friendly. "I know that other guy's ugly, but he's harmless. He once paid me thirty caps to chase a radroach out of his room."
Burke bit his lip, and shook his head.
Ghouls weren't safe. They were ticking time-bombs, doomed to turn on and savage their neighbours. The only thing that made them better than synths was the fact a ghoul couldn't hide what they were.
The man sighed, bracing one hand against the floor as he sat down cross-legged. His long fingers brushed against Tara's bracelet, and Burke inhaled sharply when the man picked it up.
His eyes immediately returned to the Squire's.
"This belong to you?"
Burke hesitated, and then nodded faintly.
"Here." The man leaned forwards, and threw the small chain towards him. Burke snatched it up and sat back in his corner, taking a quick mental count of the charms before he glanced back to the man, and offered the tiniest of nods in thanks.
He lowered the bottle to the floor, but kept his fingers looped around the neck, unwilling to disarm completely. Silence fell between them, disturbed only by the distant sounds of voices both elsewhere in the building, and on the street outside.
Despite his best efforts, Burke could feel his eyelids drooping again. His entire body ached, and his limbs felt like they were getting heavier by the second. He could feel his head lolling forwards, his chin pressing down onto his chest…
"Y'know, the bed might be more comfortable than the floor," the man commented, watching as Burke started awake again. "Trust me, voice of experience talking here."
"Who… are you?" Burke croaked, vaguely realising how dry his throat was.
"Name's MacCready," the man said, "but my friends call me Mac. What's your name?"
"…Burke," came the flat reply.
"Well, nice to meet you, Burke. Do you know – "
"Where am I?"
If MacCready was phased by the interruption, he hid it well, his smile only growing wider.
"Well, you're in Goodneighbor. Do you know where that is?"
Burke nodded slowly, remembering Nora's instructions and following the signs to –
Nora!
The thought broke through to the surface of his mind, and his eyes grew wide.
MacCready frowned and cocked his head. "What's wrong?"
"Nora. Where's Nora? Has she come for me? Has she -"
"Whoah, slow down there," MacCready said, trying to stem the flow of the boy's babble. Then something in his expression shifted, and Burke tightened his grip on the bottle. "Has who come for you?"
"Nora – Knight Nora Hart. She said she'd come for me and…" Burke's eyes widened as realisation dawned. " You're MacCready?"
MacCready's face grew pale beneath his beard as he nodded. "Yeah… the only one in town. Nora's a friend of mine, I… what happened to her?"
For a few long moments Burke stared at him blankly. Then his face crumpled and he lowered his eyes to the floor, stubbornly blinking away his tears. "I don't know…"
"Hey – there's no need to cry," MacCready insisted, smiling though it didn't reach his eyes. "Listen… why don't you come out from under there and tell me what happened? Maybe I can help."
Burke hesitated and then slowly crawled towards the edge of the bed, leaving the bottle behind. MacCready stood and offered his hand, but Burke ignored it and dragged himself back onto the bed instead.
As he sat and gathered his thoughts, MacCready moved towards a battered curio and retrieved a bottle of purified water, which he offered to Burke. As the Squire slowly sipped the water, MacCready pulled a rickety chair to the bedside and seated himself beside him.
When Burke had drained half the bottle, he began to speak.
Hancock rattled a jet inhaler between his fingers as he stepped from the barricades and into the drizzle, leaving the defence of Goodneighbor in Fahrenheit's capable hands. As he crossed the narrow square towards the Old Statehouse, he nodded in greeting to the various misfits he passed, all of them armed to the teeth and spoiling for a fight.
He smiled to himself as he took a puff of jet, one hand reaching towards the Statehouse's door.
Not one mutant had made it to Goodneighbor's gates, and it was all thanks to the skill and ferocity of his people.
He stepped inside out of the rain and closed the door behind him. The Statehouse's interior was dark and still, with only a skeleton crew holding the place down as most of his guys watched the walls with the citizens. Those that remained greeted him as he moved towards the spiralling staircase and ascended to his quarters above, only to pause on the top step when one of his men, a ghoul named Murray, approached.
"Valentine's here to see ya," he grunted, jerking his head towards the office. "Says its urgent or somethin', so we let him in."
"Well, guess I better not keep the dick waiting," Hancock drawled, tugging on the lapels of his sodden frock coat. He strode towards the double doors and opened them with a flourish, only to find that the detective was sat rigidly on one of the sofas, his golden eyes vacant and unblinking as he stared into space.
"Waste of an entrance," Hancock muttered, though an amused smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. He shrugged out of his coat as he swaggered into the room, draping it over the opposite couch to Nick's before throwing himself down upon it. He kicked his feet up on the cluttered coffee table and sent an overflowing ash tray to the floor.
Nick didn't so much as blink, and so Hancock settled in to wait, allowing himself to relax into the worn cushions. He was bone tired after days and nights spent rallying his citizens and fighting alongside them - not that he'd ever admit to it. It was dangerous to show weakness in Goodneighbor, even if you were at the top of the food chain.
Especially if you were at the top of the food chain.
He absently reached for his coat and procured a small bottle filled with daytripper tablets. He took two and knocked them back dry, just as Valentine blinked and returned to reality. He smiled wolfishly in greeting. "Hey, Nicky. Ya have a good trip? You should really share that coolant or whatever ya take. Looked like you was on a whole different planet."
"Wouldn't dream of doing that to you, Hancock," the detective sighed, his stance slouching into something more natural. "Might be like the ghoul pills and turn ya into a synth."
Hancock blinked at him before laughing, draping his arms across the back of the couch. "Stay you, Valentine," he grinned, his eyes reflecting the dim lamplight. "Now, Murray said you have some urgent business with me… what's it about?"
"I heard you rescued a boy from the ruins yesterday," Nick began, his expression becoming grave. "I heard that he was alone, and that nobody else followed him in through the gate."
"What? You only heard that today?" Hancock asked, his forehead wrinkling further as he raised a non-existent brow. "The rain must be turning ya rusty…"
"Very funny." Nick drawled, rolling his eyes. "I spent the whole day watching the barricades on the other side of town. Didn't have time for idle gossip until a few hours ago."
"Alright, well, lemme fill you in then." Hancock smiled, sitting up a little straighter. "Little guy turned up on his own, and he almost didn't make it – a mutant hound pinned him right outside the gate, 'til Mac got it clean in the eye. By the time we reached him, he was unconscious, so I had him set up at a room in the Rexford. Why? One of your cases involve a missing kid?"
"No, not yet, but he'll likely need my help if he was separated from his family or friends."
At that Hancock snorted, and Nick's eyes narrowed. "What's so funny?"
Hancock shook his head slowly, crooking one arm so he could rest his chin on his hand. "Nothing's funny, Nick. I just think you're being a little optimistic for a guy who doesn't take daytripper. The kid was lucky enough to reach the gates… If there was anybody out there with him, chances are they're mutant chow."
"You don't know that, and it benefits no one to jump to conclusions," the old synth replied. "We haven't even spoken with the boy yet."
"I'm just sayin' I wouldn't get my hopes up, or his , that's all," Hancock said with a shrug. "Being out in those ruins right now is a death sentence… well, until our least favourite militant cans are done mopping up the streets, anyway. First productive thing they've done since they arrived…"
He trailed off, turning his head towards the doors as a commotion echoed from the hallway. They could hear the thunder of approaching footsteps and the raised voices of the guards. As he sat up one of the doors opened a crack and Murray poked his head inside.
"MacCready's here to see ya, Mayor Hancock. Says it urgent."
"Then what are ya waiting for? Send him in," Hancock ordered, lowering his hand from the knife sheathed at his belt.
Murray had barely started opening the door before MacCready barged past him and into the room, his face pale beneath his cap.
"Nora's in trouble," he blurted without preamble. "That kid – she was trying to get him to Goodneighbor but she was chased off by a pack of mutants –"
" Whoah. Whoah. Slow it down there, Mac. You're talkin' faster than I can think," Hancock's frown deepened as Nick jumped to his feet.
MacCready spared the detective a disdainful glance before returning his eyes to the mayor.
"The kid you rescued yesterday – he was travelling with Nora and Danse. They were trying to reach Goodneighbor, but Danse didn't make it and Nora's missing! We've gotta do something!"
"Is the boy's name Burke?" Nick demanded, his eyes boring into MacCready's as the man turned to frown at him.
"How the fu – how do you know that?"
"That's not important right now." Nick said firmly, "tell me what you know, like where and when she was last seen?"
For a long moment Mac just glared at him. But then he huffed, removing his cap to wipe a hand across his forehead. "He said she was heading back towards Boston Common with a pack of super mutants on her tail, but he doesn't know any more than that. She told him to make for Goodneighbor, and to wait for her here."
"Boston Common it is," Nick said, adjusting his fedora as he headed towards the doors.
"Nicky, don't tell me you're seriously goin' out there?" Hancock frowned. "Never mind all the mutants roamin' around, the Brotherhood soldiers will shoot ya on sight!"
"Time is of the essence Hancock and there's none to be wasted." Nick said firmly, glancing back over his shoulder. "She's saved my skin more times than I can count, and I'll be damned if I'm leaving her to the mercy of mutants."
"Well, good luck with that," MacCready muttered as the synth brushed past him. "Just don't expect me to haul back any scrap that's left of you."
"What's the reason you're not getting your hands dirty, Mac?" Hancock drawled, catching the mercenary's attention. "You want me to pay ya to cover Nick's back?"
MacCready scowled and his hands clenched into fists. "When things have cooled down out there, I'll help. You said it yourself, it's practically suicide to walk out of those gates and I've got somebody I need to live for."
"I can respect that," Hancock said with a nod, rising from the couch with his coat draped over his arm. "Well, if you can't help in the search for Nora, how's about you keep an eye on the kid for her?"
" Me look after him?" Mac frowned, pointing at himself.
"Sure, why not? Be good practice for when you head back home." As Hancock spoke, he loped past MacCready and into the hallway, making for the sanctuary of his own quarters. "By the way, when he's feeling up to it, bring the kid around here. I'd like to talk to him myself."
"I uh… I don't know if that'd be such a good idea," Mac said, prompting Hancock to pause with his key in the lock. "He doesn't react well to ghouls."
"Well then, good thing you're gonna be looking out for him," the ghoul smiled, glancing at MacCready in such a way that left no room for argument. "See if you can't change his mind before he meets me."
With that, Hancock opened the door and closed it behind him, leaving Mac to grumble to himself as he stomped back down the stairs.
A/N: Many thanks again to the wonderful Sunsolace and MrNinjaPineapple for betaing for me!
So this is a one-off early chapter posted to answer a question! *salutes LothrilZul* but yep after this, the rest of the chapters will be posted when Bleeding Steel's completed. (I say that now but lol we'll see XD)
Burke's first name comes from the fact that both of his parents were stalwart Lyons supporters and they named him in their honour!
VTR also has no idea how to act around - well, anybody, tbh, but playing feral was definitely not one of his finer moments! Anyway I can promise that there will be plenty of GN shenanigans, drama and meeting the locals coming up!
Thank you all for sticking with the story so far and I'll hopefully have the rest of it ready for you soon! Special thanks for any follows, favourites and especially reviews! I love hearing your thoughts on the characters and story! C: