20 Years Ago

"You're going to have to wait until he's done."

"It's already been three days!" Darcy snapped. "I've waited for as long as my patience has permitted!"

The madam of the brothel gave a curt wave of her hand in response. "Get-" Her dismissal was cut short as a heavy bag of caps smacked the table between them. Long fingernails reached out, coaxing the caps to spill along the counter. With a slow raise of her head, she reassessed the shrouded woman defiantly standing before her. "I won't lose him as a client over this. Make your business quick, then get out."

Darcy dipped down the dark corridor, the putrid smell of sour flesh and heavy smoke itching her throat. A few eyes stalked her down the hall, the whispers low and indiscernible. The toes of her shoes came to a closed door. Giggles, music, and some garbled moaning were met with the knocking of her fist on the wooden frame. A few seconds passed, and she rapped her knuckles a second time, trying to be heard over the sound of lewd pleasure. A clattering bottle followed heavy footsteps. The door swung open to a behemoth of a naked ghoul, a ratty stained sheet bundled over his groin.

"Yeah?" he drunkenly garbled. The three ghoul women curiously eyed their newcomer- one deeply inhaled on a canister of jet, whilst another reached for a packet of cigarettes on a nightstand. The merc blinked down at her, clearly inebriated. "Fuck you want?"

"I need to talk with you," Darcy said lowly.

He furrowed his brows. "What?"

"I said, I need to discuss some important business!" She tore her eyes away from the promiscuous scene unraveling behind him. "We need to leave. Tonight."

The merc barked out a gruff laugh, wiping a hand down his face and shaking his head. He went to close the door, but she slapped a hand against the frame and threw her hood down to her shoulders.

"Please," she softly pleaded.

From the moment he saw her face, she knew he instantly recognized her. Her beauty was both a blessing and a curse, but if it would further her endeavors, then she would use every angle she had for this.

Cross took his hand off the door, a hint of sobriety peering down at her as he straightened upright. "Give me a minute. We'll talk at the bar." When he exited the room, fully clothed and with a hard-set mouth, he spared her a quick glance. "Put the hood back on."

She quietly followed him into the rowdy tavern, his hulking shadow effortlessly parting the crowd as he made way to a table in the far corner. He already had a smoke lit in his mouth before she took her seat, his nasty habit curling her lips in distaste. The merc was the last sort of person she would ever strive to have company with…but he recognized her, and he could get her to Braxton.

The ghoul casually leaned back in his chair, his stone-washed eyes painting a picture of her face. "So…you remember me."

She nodded. "I could say the same." It had been many years since she had escaped from that vault with Evelyn…she was honestly surprised he had so quickly put her face to that memory of guiding her out of the city. The grey ghoul was completely unchanged…he even wore the same leather jacket as before.

"Drink?"

Darcy blinked. "Excuse me?"

The merc leaned forward on one elbow, his aroma nothing but the stale stench of sex. "Do you want a fuckin' drink?"

"No," she said firmly, and she felt a prickle of irritation as he waved a few fingers to buy his own. "I need you to take me to Braxton, there's-"

"Goddamn, slow down," Cross grunted, removing his smoke to flick the ash in a tray. He mindfully blew the white toxic cloud to the side. "Look, ya already got me this far, alright? Let a man enjoy a drink, and we'll talk, capeesh?"

Seeing as how the ghoul wouldn't be swayed, she instead gave a cold glare from under her shroud. "It's capisce."

A bottle of bourbon and a chipped glass was set at his elbow, and he removed the cork with a pull of his teeth. "Fuck I say?" he muffled behind the stopper.

The liquid made a pretty swirl inside his cup. He took a long swallow, cracked his neck with one hand placed under his chin, and then settled back into his seat with his legs spread wide. The glint of his revolver gave a wink from inside his jacket. "So. Braxton, huh?"

"There's a ghoul I need to see." A partial lie, but not the entirety of the truth.

Cross stared at her for a moment, and then barked out a deep, raspy laugh. His fingers met the underside of his jaw, and there was a scritch scritch as he scratched at it.

"Ya know, most people start by givin' me their name, first," he chuckled to himself.

"Darcy," she supplied icily. "Darcy Lackins, if that makes any difference to you. Now that we have the formalities aside, I need you to take me to Braxton, starting tonight."

"Ya know…Braxton ain't an easy walk." The merc squinted his eyes as he calculated something far-off in the imaginary distance. "It could really cost ya."

She had already dove inside her small pack for the bundle of caps she was more than willing to sacrifice. It made a loud thud between them.

"This will more than compensate you for your time," she said flatly.

Cross made a low, appreciative whistle as he handled the weight. His eyes met hers, his demeanor serious. "Who's the ghoul?"

She stiffened in her seat. "He is of no importance."

The merc tilted his head to the side. "Payin' a lot of caps here for a man worth nothin'."

"It is…a personal matter." She left it at that, and he settled the caps back on the table. "We will go to Braxton, you will grant me entry, and we will find him."

"And then what?" He snorted. "I need a little more to go on. Braxton ain't friendly with smoothskins, and I ain't lookin' to get my ass barred from the place for just one bastard that pissed you off."

"He is a threat," she snapped. "He…he tried to take something very dear from me."

"Yeah, well, wasteland will do that to ya," he mused, pouring himself another round.

"Are you going to help me, or not? I cannot waste any more time." She was already standing from her seat, attempting to appear more threatening than she actually was.

But the look on her face was anything other than a bluff; it made his spine crawl.

Cross stared through the bottom of his glass after he kicked it back. Braxton, huh? It'd been a few years since he visited…he briefly wondered what Penny was getting up to. "Alright…I'll take ya to Braxton."

The Present

"I got a bad feeling about this," Can warned as she stepped up to the barricaded entrance of Goodneighbor. "I hear Nick's a good guy, and all, ya know, for being a synth-"

Evelyn turned just before she swung the gate open, her hand still hovering midair. "He's a synth?"

"Yeah. Old prototype or something." He shrugged. "Guess he wasn't with the Institute, or he wouldn't be free-ranging like he is now."

Evelyn waved away her ignorance on everything he had just said…but she did know synths. The thought of Cross's double made her want to weep in the streets, but she teethed the scar on her lower lip as a distraction and mustered her resolve together.

"Let's go." The barricaded door made a loud creak as it swung on its hinges, the wood clacking together after it swung shut behind them. She blinked through the blinding sun at the supposed settlement of Goodneighbor they had stepped into. Compared to Diamond City, it was filthy. "God, what is that smell?" She slightly coughed, and Can bumped her with his elbow to indicate for her to follow.

"Better hope Cross is in a good mood if he catches us here," Can muttered.

"Trust me, he has absolutely no reason to be upset," she ground out somewhat jadedly. That man was going to have a lot to answer for. He'd already left her in the dust in gathering details about Sinjin- he wasn't going to keep her in the dark about this. Her sanity couldn't handle it, and her patience was spread thin.

She tiptoed around a drunken heap of a man slouched in a narrow alleyway; piss and rainwater splashed their boots; a few bystanders spared them a single glance before returning to their mundane tasks; men dressed in scruffy suits held their submachine guns close as they passed. She glanced up as they turned a corner. A ghoul wearing the most ridiculous outfit was leaning over the balustrade on the second story, a curl of smoke lingering around his thin mouth. He eyed them passing by underneath, visibly high out of his mind.

"That's Hancock," Can informed her after they stepped underneath the neon sign of The Third Rail. "He's the mayor here."

"Go figure," she muttered.

The bar was hazy with thick smoke; drifts of raucous laughter and a woman's sultry voice singing an unfamiliar tune danced around her ears as they descended the staircase. She pulled the collar of her jacket closer to her ears to thwart any unnecessary eyes, and they discreetly dipped through the shadows until they came to the bar. A few men leaned around the counter took them in for a few moments, before quickly losing interest and returning to their drinks and chatter.

"Beer." Can laid a few caps down.

A few minutes of watching the crowd and listening to the singer passed relatively quickly. The song ended, a round of applause quickly followed, and the woman left the stage as the jukebox provided harmonic entertainment. Their drinks were dripping condensation on the counter, untouched.

"Is he here?" she asked quietly at his side.

Can took a swig of his cold ale as he meticulously scanned the area. "No."

He caught sight of ol' Bobbi No-Nose seated in a booth on the far side, attempting to appear as inconspicuous as possible under her shrewd disguise.

"Boss ain't here yet either," he observed, more to himself. It sunk a bad feeling in his already twinging gut. "They had to have gone back. He doesn't make detours."

The concern didn't worry her as it would have a few hours ago. There were much bigger things at stake now…if he had lied to her about something like this-

Evelyn picked up her beer and forced a long swallow, the tingling of hops streaming down her throat stemming the tears pricking her eyes. She slammed her bottle back down, cracking the side of the glass.

"Let's ask around for this Nick," she said coldly. "We might've just missed him."

Can gave her a blank look, and then nodded his head to the stairwell. "I know a few other places we could try."

The memory struck him like a faint but familiar chord being played; he had to inwardly strain, pull at the endings wrapped tightly in his skull to hold on to it for just a few more seconds, just long enough to recognize its luring hum.

It was early, very early in their partnership. Megaton was but a single dot on the horizon; the dirt of the Capital Wasteland still dusted his boots. He was cautious, observing his new employer like a sponge soaking water, attempting to collect as much information as he could to better serve her with. It was like this every time, and it would be no different for when he would eventually change hands.

For now, she was asleep, curled in the depths of her sleeping roll after a day of near taciturnity between them. That suited him fine, preferred, even. His previous employer had not once shut up until the ghoul had grabbed him by the collar and tossed him into a ditch to avoid a hail of bullets. This one had given her predicted questions about his contract, and when she was met with his stone wall about its more…intimate, founding, she merely puckered her brows and gave one single command, foregoing to toe the waters of caution and instead stomping her whole fucking foot in.

Fine, do whatever the fuck you want. Be yourself…whatever that may be.

It was much too relatable, if not cruder, to Adam's exact first wish of his services.

Alright man…how about, you just be yourself?

He had instantly slammed away the rising emotions from this correlation between his new employer and his recently deceased…friend. Rather, he subjected himself on autopilot, and shadowed her through silence and ever-watchful eyes.

That night, in the late hours when the world was thick in their dreams, she had stirred, slowly rolling over and peering at his still form seated across the dying fire. She was not aware of his insomniac condition yet, and she must have assumed he was asleep by the way his head was tucked close to his chest and his limbs were motionless. She had reached for her pack, ever attempting to be quiet so as not 'wake' him. He simply watched her, not offering a grunt or slide of his foot through the dirt to alert her to his conscious state.

Whatever business she wished to keep private was her own; he simply didn't care.

He saw the journal being untucked from the very bottom of her bag, and when she opened its pages and held it close to the dwindling flames as the only source of light, he had assumed she was simply reading. At the time, when their days would pass and he grew more familiar with this sporadic ritual, he had come to accept it as an 'Evelyn' quirk. With only what he knew now, that was not simply any book. It was not her journal. He only now made the connection it was her mother's, the woman who had indirectly sent her on this inane quest to begin with. Those were her words she read, her words she sometimes wept over, her words that infested and plagued her into thinking she couldn't walk this world alone…

Ironically, it was Darcy that had led her to him. If Evelyn had said goodbye to her home and returned to the Mojave without so much as a single tether keeping her here, he would perhaps still be in that shit-crumbling town, half-feral from Moira's crazy requests and the growing burden of loneliness. Cross would be wandering the wasteland, ever likely being in his drunken stupor and insatiable demand for bedside company. The three of them would have never crossed paths; not one of them would have cared for the other, ignorant of their existence.

"Would you have went for her?" Charon rasped, his own rumbling voice surprising himself as much as the merc.

They were nearing Goodneighbor's gates. He could practically feel the unease burdening the ghoul's shoulders, no matter how indifferent he appeared to be.

Cross snapped a glare over his shoulder, his feet still moving. "What?"

"Evelyn. If she had not come for you, would you have gone for her?"

The merc, for once in their partnership, was entirely unreadable. He slammed the gate open to swing on its hinges, ignoring the receiving stares and whispered comments slung around as they passed.

"Well lookie who's in town."

"Heard he was dead."

"Surprised he isn't feral…"

They stepped by the drunken and jet-addled heaps of drifter flesh lying on their cardboard spaces, ignored the alluring sounds of clinking glasses and melodic tunes as they passed The Third Rail. The building of their choice was directly ahead, and before the merc could slow his steps and hesitate in his decision, Charon braced a hand against his back to discreetly keep him forward. Evelyn was more than likely inside, and that outweighed anything else. They stepped through the small entryway, instantly greeted by the proprietor.

"My, my, look what the cat dragged in. Haven't had the pleasure of seeing you here in some time, Cross…like the new look." Irma winked from her lounge, dispelling ash from her cigarette holder into a tray. "I would say business as usual, honey, but it seems you're wanted elsewhere."

Shisk

The Commonwealth's synth detective flipped his lighter shut, taking a deep drag on his smoke as he raised his lustrous yellow eyes to the ghoul in question.

"Guess I should say thanks for making my job easier," he mused, a calculative rove of his optics assessing the merc from across the room. "These old gears don't quite get around like they used to."

Cross removed the folder from inside his jacket, brandishing it like an accusation. "Fuck you lookin' for my wife for? Where's the fuckin' woman that spoke to you?"

"Your wife?" Valentine rolled the cigarette to the other end of his mouth. "Any chance I can get a word in with her, then?"

"Answer my fuckin' question," Cross snarled, taking a few menacing steps forward.

The synth just eyed him with a thoughtful expression as Irma rose from her seat.

"Now, let's play nice," she chided, sauntering around the detective to face the merc's wrath. "You know Mister Valentine doesn't ask around without reason, Cross. Perhaps if you were to…settle down, we can all get the answers to the questions we're looking for."

She skirted around the towering ghouls and proceeded to lock the entrance. With a sultry flair, she motioned for them to continue towards the back.

"You gentleman care for a drink?"

Jericho slumped against the wall from the 'VIP' section of The Third Rail. The half-empty bottle in his hand was the last memento to his dwindling caps- he didn't even have enough to cover for a room at the Hotel Rexford, leaving him to shiver on a pissed-stained mattress in the open air for another night. He tipped the bottle to his mouth, the alcohol streamlining down his chin as he forgot to take a drink.

That fucking kid was here, guiding some attractive face up the stairs and back out into the streets. Can didn't notice him…not that he really cared-

No. On second thought, he did care.

What kind of bastards did they think they were, thinking they were too good for him? The dull throb of his tailbone was a spit-in-the-face reminder that that red fucking shuffler had come away clean after laying his hands on him. Without much reasonable thought, Jericho soon ambled up the stairs after them, sneering at their backs as they made their way towards the Memory Den.

"You motherfucker."

He unclipped his gun, wavered it for a moment as he tried to take aim, and let off a shot before a neighborhood watchman took notice. The bullet lodged in Can's lower back, instantly dropping him.

"Can!" Evelyn fell to her knees beside him, slowly rolling him over and assessing the damage. Her head whipped up to identify the threat, and when Jericho merely held his hands up in surrender with a cheeky grin on his face, she got to her feet.

"Woops." Jericho lazily shrugged, his index finger looping through the trigger guard. "Give him a stim, doll. He'll be fine."

She instantly pounced, surprising him as he flopped to the pavement like his weight was nothing. He must be really fucking old to have a woman drop him so easily. His gun clattered out of his hand, becoming hostage under the shoe of a gun-toting goonie.

"You want us to take care of it, sister?" a voice drawled down at her.

The others were watching him like sharks with prey, circling around with sharp eyes at the smell of blood…Jericho just smiled that rotten grin he was so casual in presenting, catching the eyes of the cocksucking mayor silently watching from above. Evelyn just raised a fist, and Jericho laughed.

"Careful sweetheart, don't hurt yourself," he drunkenly cackled. He held up his forearms over his face as a mock defense.

The pain only registered for a split second. Her fist smashed through both arms and his skull, her knuckles kissing the pavement on the other side of blood and bone. A harmonious startle of voices chimed at the unexpected performance, but Evelyn didn't wait for any questions or comments as she hurried back to the wounded young merc shaking on all fours.

"Here, give me your arm," she breathed close, nestling herself under his shoulder and picking him up from the ground. She raised her head to the closest citizen still gaping at the mess of gore she left behind. "Is there a doctor?!"

A silent point of fingers to their original destination. The handle was locked- she put a boot in it.

"Where is-?!"

A clicking of guns met their dramatic entrance, and she beseechingly looked around the room full of glinting barrels as she half-carried Can inside. "I need a doctor!"

Cross set his gun aside as he rushed to her, his eyes growing wide at the bloody state she was in. "Is any of that yours?"

"No." She furiously shook her head and continued to limp Can forward. "Someone just shot him! He needs help, and I don't have any stims!"

Charon quickly relieved her of her burden, carrying Can to be set on a table as the merc grabbed her face and rotated her around.

"I'm fine," she repeated. "I took care of it."

The merc glanced out the double doors she had so kindly kicked in. A small crowd was gathered around a pulpy mess on the ground, and he reclosed the entrance before cornering her.

"Fuck were you thinkin'?!" he growled. "Ya tryin' to-"

The collar of his jacket was nabbed with her hands, and she shunted him down to meet her lips for a hasty kiss. She then threw him back a few steps before he could register what had just happened.

"I'm really, really angry right now," she said thickly. "Partly at you, partly at everything, but mostly at her. You know exactly who I'm talking about, I know you do. It's why you're fucking here, without me."

"I came lookin' for you," he rasped, eager to close the space between them again. "Baby, I came here to find you."

"Did you lie to me?" she asked, her voice breaking. "Did you lie to me about her?"

"No, I fuckin' swear to you I didn't." He got to his knees, holding her hands between his own and washing his breath over her bloodied palms. "I had no idea. I should've followed up on it. I'm sorry I didn't."

After staring into his eyes for what seemed like an eternity, she slowly nodded, sniffling her nose and hesitantly looking around the room. "Is she…?"

"No. She ain't. I honestly just got here myself, c'mere baby." She allowed him to pull her into his arms, the weight of them around her an instant comfort her body melted into. "Christ, you go anywhere not swingin'?"

"No," she muffled into his jacket, and he squeezed her with a rough chuckle.

"Goin' to make Charon lose the rest of his damn hair." He gently held her back, warily eyeing the gore she was dripping with. "You sure-?"

"Yes." She tugged at his hand to pull him along behind her, but she faltered for a moment at the sight of the memory loungers.

You're going to have to get into this thing.

She stumbled backward.

We're not going to make it to the exit.

The rocks were falling- they were everywhere. Everything was so dark, so black, so cold.

I'm right behind you.

"Heyhey, hey, what's wrong?"

She gasped, opening her eyes to the merc seated on the floor with her in the middle of the room. He was holding her close, keeping her steady as she threatened to capsize under the sheer weight of it all.

"Look at me, okay? Like before, just breathe baby, just take a breath," he rasped slowly, placing her hand over his chest to mimic his breathing.

"I'm sorry," she gasped. "I can't be in here. I can't-" She braved another look at the machine, so similar in design to her ten-year prison. The vault was rumbling beneath her feet, and she attempted to crawl for the door before the merc scooped her up and introduced the blue sky. She didn't feel her feet touch the ground until they were swept behind a back alleyway, away from prying eyes and eavesdropping listeners.

"Evelyn, you got to talk to me." He tilted her chin up, supporting her weight with his other arm snugged around her waist. "I need to know what's goin' on in that head of yours. Were you thinkin' of Darcy?"

"Penny," she panted, clutching her hands around his forearm tightly.

The merc narrowed his eyes for a moment. "Penny?"

She nodded, wiping her damp forehead over the sleeve of his jacket. "She was down there…she put me in the pod…she didn't make it." She began to cry, her eyes scrunching up and her mouth contorting into grief. "She died down there, because of me."

"No, you listen to me right now." He bent down close, his hand swaddling the side of her face firmly. "Penny did that to herself, you hear me? You don't go feelin' bad 'bout it. I sure as hell don't."

She heavily breathed over him for a minute. "…she was something to you, wasn't she?"

"She's dead," he said with finality. "And you don't see me cryin' over it."

Evelyn leaned her weight into him, closing her eyes against the world as he rubbed her back and kept her safe. Suddenly all the questions in the world seemed trivial; a hot bath and their bedsheets were the most inviting thing to have ever been dreamed of, but they were whisked away by the sound of footsteps approaching.

"Sorry, hope I'm not interruptin' too much, but-" The ghoul with the silly tricorn hat was jutting a thumb over his shoulder, a woman with burned scars over her face smoking a cigarette at his side. "You mind telling me who the fuck just walked into our town?"