It felt like a personal holy blessing when Drummer Boy finally pushed his way through the old North Church doors.

He had never been a religious person but it was nothing short of a miracle that he had managed to make it this far.

That he had managed to make it back home.

He gave out a heavy breath that turned cold the moment it left his lips and let himself rest as he stood inside of the once holy shell. The smart thing would be to head down into the catacombs as quick as he could before he passed out, but he could barely feel anything of his extremities; nothing other than the sharp pull of stressed tendons in his legs. Nothing other than the hot pain of his back that was making it increasingly difficult to keep straight.

His body was wrecked from blood loss, exhaustion, and what felt like two different phases of shock. He shifted uncomfortably between being stark cold and feeling the misleading sense of false heat; hell, he had even broken out into a sweat once or twice already, which only made him more uncomfortable as the sweat froze to his skin almost immediately.

The below freezing temperatures and the constant wind chill only reminded him of the growing wax-coating on his face and neck.

Catching his breath, cold and hard in his lungs, Drummer Boy forced himself to move towards the half-broken stairway.

At the very least, the sharp pain in his legs kept him mostly focused.

But as he stood at the top of the stairway looking down, counting although already knowing how many steps it would take to descend into the catacombs, he questioned if the focus would be worth it. He could collapse here but there was no telling when someone would come back along and find him up here; he could freeze to death before then. And in this kind of weather, falling asleep wasn't exactly the greatest idea.

Drummer Boy gritted his teeth and pressed his right shoulder against the stone wall before he took the first step and slowly descended.

He had his left arm pressed tight against his chest, half-tucked underneath his jacket, hoping to save it from any unnecessary movement. His fingertips had gone from feeling like frostbite to feeling like fire as they remained half-curled against his chest; he couldn't uncurl, let alone move them- he could barely feel them at all any more. It might've been a saving grace sort of thing considering how swollen and gray his knuckles were now.

Each step sent fresh pain across his chest, tugging from the crippling wound in his shoulder.

Running around the Commonwealth with a through-and-through bullet wound was not something he should've done, especially in below freezing temperatures, but it had been necessary. It was either keep running or die, and right now Drummer Boy had escaped enough life or death situations to figure he could pull through this one too.

At the very least he knew for certain that he had lost the Courser.

Hell, he had lost the damn thing nearly a full day ago but had continued to backtrack and such just to make sure.

His certainty of that was the only reason he had returned to HQ to begin with.

Of course, his injury didn't leave him any room for any other options, which was why it was so important that he lose the Courser.

The only thing that remained in question now was whether or not he'd get to the catacombs before his sense of consciousness kicked out.

Breathing through gritted teeth, Drummer Boy hit the bottom of the first stairway and had to convince himself not to puke when he did. He knew it wouldn't be anything more than stomach acid and he had already burnt his throat and mouth by puking that up the day before; his abdominal muscles were still aching from that abuse. He continued to drag himself along the wall as he moved further down the narrow corridor.

The catacombs didn't offer much in terms of heat but it kept the wind chill off of his back and it was still a hellva lot warmer in here than it was outside.

Making it further and further down the winding stones, he made it to the locked catacombs and heard himself wheezing now as he squeezed past the door; he still stopped long enough to pull it firmly closed behind him. He was practically dragging his feet by this point as he trudged across the small platform and made his way towards the hidden HQ- shouldering aside one last door before he came face to face with the final stairwell.

It was quiet down below.

A little too quiet.

Drummer Boy wondered if it was his own shitty luck that had the HQ empty, that had everyone stepping out at the same time, leaving the catacombs abandoned.

Well everyone except for PAM anyways.

(But PAM couldn't leave, so PAM didn't count.)

That was a rarity though.

Leaning against the wall still, Drummer Boy tried to hold on to his balance as best he could. Just a little longer, he could push himself for just a little longer.

"Whoever's standing at the top of the stairs either come down or state your name."

Thank God.

Someone was here then.

"Dez?" Drummer Boy called back, forcing himself from the wall and back on to his feet. He reached out and gripped the nearby stair railing with his semi-good hand and willed himself to go down the last set of stairs. He wished he could take more than just one step at a time but he couldn't risk running the heavy threat of passing out; he couldn't pass out before he got the chance to say something, to tell someone what he had witnessed.

"Drummer Boy?" the Railroad Alpha questioned in return. "Thank God- where the hell have you been? I made that call two days ago and you never showed. Charmer made it back to the Castle yesterday and I was almost convinced that you had gone with him, but he reported in saying that you had left Ticonderoga the day before."

Two days without communication was... not exactly a good sign.

Especially not for them.

But it was good to hear that Charmer was safe and on his feet again.

Drummer Boy hit the bottom of the stairs about the same time Desdemona had stepped around her desk- no doubt coming to get some answers from him. Which he couldn't blame her for. "Yeah, sorry about that, Dez, I uh ran into some obstacles on the way home," he offered, as he pushed away from the stairs and looked for something to support himself with- eventually settling with leaning against the closest desk he could reach.

"Jesus-" Desdemona started, the word, the name, a half-whisper on her lips as she easily cleared the space between them now. A hand reached out for him at first before the woman seemed to think better of it- no doubt seeing the bloodied mess of his shoulder in clarity now. "Are you alright? What on Earth happened to you? You got blood halfway down your jacket-" the woman paused mid-sentence and it was too easy to see the look of realization hitting her now. "Laser rifle."

Yeah.

The smell of burnt flesh just kicked in.

And anyone here knew exactly what could cause it.

"Courser shot," Drummer Boy answered, "and a lucky one too- for him anyways."

Desdemona stiffened at the response; despite her restrained expression, the color from her face fell a shade or two.

"Where? And when?"

"Just outside of Ticonderoga, probably an hour or two after you called," he answered once more, shifting his weight as he leaned more against the desk now; he could feel his right leg ready to give out. "If you uh... I need a map. I can show you where it was and where I lost it. I don't know if it got recalled or if it's still out there."

The woman was always on the forefront of getting information, of getting intel, but she didn't seem to so much as budge at his offer. Her eyes focused on his for a few seconds longer before they looked to the bloodied mess of his shoulder, which was mostly concealed by the torn remains of his jacket. "I called-" Desdemona started before the thought clicked, "you've had this injury for two days?"

Drummer Boy would've matched her sharp tone with anger if he didn't know better.

"Yeah," he nodded, "and I'll be surprised if it doesn't kill me."

For a moment, the Railroad Alph seemed torn before she started back to where her collection of maps were stacked on top of each other. Drummer Boy made sure to follow after her- as best he could anyways as he used the desk and coffins along the way to help him keep balance. He made it to the circular table before Desdemona thrusted one of the maps in front of him.

It took him a few seconds to make sense of the lines and markings.

"Here," Drummer Boy started, pointing at the road leading out from Ticonderoga, just on the other side of the bridge. He watched as Desdemona picked up a nearby pen and made a mark where he indicated.

"Just tell me what you remember," Desdemona replied when he made a motion to take the pen- only to have her pull it back.

He probably wouldn't have been able to use it anyways.

"Alright, uh, the Courser showed up here to begin with and I managed to loop him through these houses along the coast," Drummer Boy continued, running his finger along the pathway. "He shot me through one of the windows here but I distracted him with a nesting Mirelurk. After that I took the tunnels here and managed to escape out by Haymarket Mall." He continued to drag his finger across the map before he tapped at the escape door- to which Desdemon placed another mark. "I... I blacked out somewhere here but I know I lost him on the Super Mutants here. I used shortcuts and secret trails from there on, backtracking a few times just in case, making sure I covered my steps. I lost the Courser yesterday and haven't seen him since- and by now he would've killed me so... I can only assume that it's safe to say he's gone."

"It's odd that there would be one so far out," Desdemona mused out loud, "and out there of all places."

"It was moving away from Ticonderoga so I don't think it had any suspicions but it's hard to say."

"Right... well regardless, I'll give High-Rise a heads up and tell him to keep a look out. Maybe get him to move his people around and vacate for a few days if I can." The woman sighed before she moved a hand to his back. "Come on, Carrington stepped out about an hour ago but he'll be back soon- and he's going to be pissed if he finds you still like this after two days."

"That's one way of putting it," Drummer Boy remarked.

The Railroad Alpha moved him to a nearby chair and set him down onto it with a helpful, but forceful push. And Drummer Boy had to admit that being off of his feet after two days of running didn't make him feel all that much better, not how he expected it too. It made him feel more like he was going to pass out. Sitting still made him focus on the churning feeling in his stomach and made him deal with the thoughts of vomiting again

"You're alright," Desdemona assured, her voice a stir-mix of soothing and firmness; it was more of a command than a comfort. She moved a hand to his cheek and then his forehead and even Drummer Boy had to wince at the uncomfortable difference between their skin. "Christ, you're burning up."

Desdemona worked to get the front of his jacket loosened and pulled open and Drummer Boy flinched in anticipation- knowing full and well that he wasn't going to like what she had to do next. Still he went with her coaxing and leaned forward as she helped to get his right arm out of the sleeve, which was enough of a struggle on its own. And once that was done he braced himself for the inevitable.

The woman was at least quick with the process as she yanked the jacket off of his left arm in one clean go.

Ripping the torn fabric right out of the burnt injury.

And it felt like the wound itself had been ripped open all over again.

Drummer Boy felt himself choke back something as he resisted the urge to grab at the wound. It shot pain all the way down to his fingertips- assuring him that at least he could still feel something in them, so they weren't completely gone. The pain pulled straight across his chest and he felt his body curl in slightly in response; he heard himself wheezing through sharp gasps as the pain was quick to settle in.

It only reminded him of just how bad of shape he was in.

"Sorry," Desdemona whispered, tossing his jacket aside before she cupped a hand on his good shoulder. "Sit back for me when you can."

He knew she was giving him time to recover but Drummer Boy took a few deep breaths and forced himself to sit back anyways. His back was throbbing something righteous and it was hard to sit still, but the anchoring hand on his shoulder offered some support. He looked away as she examined the wound, trying to breathe through his nose as the breaths came in in heavy jolts.

"He got you good, Drummer," she started, as she touched lightly at the nape of his neck. "The weather got you worse though."

"Yeah, it's uh- I don't know if you've been outside, Desdemona, but it's cold as fuck," Drummer Boy replied.

Desdemona offered a brief chuckle at his expense.

"I know it hurts but we've got one more to go."

Drummer Boy really didn't think he could manage but he gave her a nod to continue.

The Railroad Alpha grabbed the knife that was sticking halfway out of the book she used as weight for the maps and ripped it out. Keeping a firm grip on it, she carefully brought the knife to the collar of his undershirt and began to cut through the thin fabric. Starting at the collar, she cut down along the top seam of his left shoulder, cutting through the soaked material that had frozen over the day before.

It was hard to not notice the concentrated look on her face, the same one that broke into a slight grimace now and again.

Splitting the sleeve from the top in one go, she grabbed the cut material and yanked it down and away from the injury once more.

Drummer Boy felt himself gag this time.

Not so much from the pain but from the smell.

It was just burnt skin with burnt blood caked all over.

And he swore he caught the hint of something rotting.

He couldn't even bring himself to look at the injury in its raw state.

But he made a mistake of looking at Desdemona's expression instead.

Her lips were pressed tight and it seemed to be taking a lot of force for her to not say or show anything. Not outright at least. But the woman blindly set the knife aside on the desk next to them and moved a hand to his left bicep- careful with how she gripped it. And in all honestly, Drummer Boy could barely feel the woman's hand to begin with. But she squeezed gently and it was enough to give him a hint.

"I won't lie to you, this wound is not promising," Desdemona started, speaking in a low voice. "It's badly burnt and untreated; there's a mess of necrotic skin and tissue- not to mention frostbite. Carrington..." there was hesitation before the woman continued, "I believe he can fix it though; he's fixed you up from a Courser shot before."

"Barely," Drummer Boy replied as he brought his hand to cover his mouth and nose. "Jesus- fuck, I can't do this..."

"You're alright, you'll be alright."


Drummer Boy felt himself come to.

And it was one of those odd, surreal kinds of moments where he could feel himself waking up and yet had no recollection of having passed out in the first place. The last thing he remembered was talking to Desdemona and the smell of burnt flesh; he must've passed out some time after that- in which case he wouldn't be surprised. It wouldn't be the first time he had passed out in front of the Alpha.

Or just passed out in general.

It wasn't a good feeling but it usually meant he got to miss out on a few hours of agony.

His body felt heavy, weighed almost, and Drummer Boy made the mistake of moving the first chance the thought of doing so crossed his mind.

And almost immediately, it felt like a heat wave rushed through his body; he felt the heat start from his left shoulder and move throughout him, burning him from the inside, and locking his body in a painful constriction. His chest and neck felt tight, near paralyzed almost, making it feel as though he was trying to breathe with someone's hand around his throat.

It reminded him of being shot all over again.

The first few wheezes drew in nothing but dust which clotted the inside of his lungs before he finally managed to pull in air.

The deep-seated pain remained in his shoulder, turning his fingertips numb and making them unbearable to move- although he wasn't confident that he could still move them to begin with. But he could feel hot pain throbbing from each fingertip, winding itself tight down his palm and into his wrist.

"Careful with the arm, I just set it so don't move it."

The order was barely heard over the consistent throbbing of his head and part of him felt rebellious enough to move his arm- or at least attempt to. But the sheer pain from it kept him from going through with the thinly-veiled idea of rebellion.

Drummer Boy gave himself a few more seconds to breathe, to calm down, letting the setting stiffness of his arm ease off. He must've been in the back corridor with the beds, probably shoved into the back corner to reduce the chance of people disturbing him. A slight con of having so many people in one area who needed a bed and a couple hours of sleep every now and again- but he liked the security of it.

"How in hell are you going through so much Med-X?"

The words came out as a grumble this time, letting Drummer Boy know for certain who it was, which saved him the trouble of having to open his eyes.

"Carrington."

The man's prodding fingers against his numb arm came to a pause at his rough voice.

"Well at least you're finally conscious," the doctor replied in his usual stiff tone, although a hint of relief could potentially be plucked from it. "You've been out for two full days- going on three. It's been peaceful at least and it was a lot easier to scrap off the burnt skin this time around."

Of course.

Because the good doctor himself had been the one who suffered the most through that process.

"Good thing I was out then," Drummer Boy remarked, as he budged his good hand to move just enough to touch lightly at his face; his skin felt tight and itchy. "I take it Desdemona briefed you on what happened."

"Unfortunately yes- don't touch your face, you're going to irritate the frostbite," Carrington chided. The doctor touched lightly at the wound of his left shoulder, which had been heavily bandaged at this point, making it difficult to feel much else asides from weight and pressure. "You seem to have a horrible knack for attracting Coursers."

"You're telling me," Drummer Boy sighed as he dropped his hand before he tried to move just enough to take the weight off of his lower back; it was throbbing firm and constant, echoing where the first Courser shot had hit him a few months before. He could feel Carrington's hand press some on his shoulder before it moved across his chest and pressed lightly on the nape of his neck. Drummer Boy didn't know what the doctor was looking for or maybe feeling for, but he took the hint that the man probably didn't want him moving to begin with. "So what's your prognosis?"

"You're a fucking idiot."

"You should really work on your bedside manners."

The doctor gave, at best, a heavy sigh and pulled his hand away. "Yes well, bedside manners or not, you're not going out into the field any time soon; you'll be out for a lot longer than you might think," Carrington continued. "It's going to take a long time for that arm to heal, not to mention with the various stages of frostbite you have, you can't afford to be exposed to the cold until it's completely healed."

"How bad was it?" Drummer Boy pressed.

"Almost second degree frostbite, mainly on your face and neck- not to mention your right hand on the fingertips," Carrington answered, as he began cleaning up whatever supplies he had brought over with him. "It took awhile to get you warmed up and you were blue for about a day, but you're in a better spot now at least. Your skin is starting to heal thankfully, but unfortunately for you, the blistering is setting in with it. I drained the pockets on your face for the time being, so be reminded that the skin is raw and sensitive- not to mention highly exposed to infection, so again, don't touch it." The man seemed damned to bring that point across. "You've got lesser cases of frostbite down your left arm and across your chest, mostly from your soaked shirt, so try not to stress the skin there too much either. On the bright side, you're certainly not the worst case I've seen, but you easily could've been had you been out for another day."

That was a lot of information to take in.

But it wasn't the information that he was looking for.

"You know what I mean," Drummer Boy spoke.

"Just get some rest," the doctor replied instead, finished now with gathering his things. He got to his feet to leave. "I'll check up on you again in a few hours."

Carrington so very rarely avoided answering what might be his favorite question.

In fact, Carrington usually loved to tell people just what was wrong with them- medically or mentally. But right now, oddly, or perhaps scarily enough, Drummer Boy could hear the way that Carrington was avoiding the subject. The man was always straight and to the point; he hated wasting time and he hated dancing around questions or subjects. And yet, right now, the man seemed to be doing just that.

Sure, he was in shit condition and feeling about as good as he looked; he didn't figure that the prognosis was good.

But he deserved to know what it was regardless.

"You're killing me here, Carrington," Drummer Boy started, "just say it so we can both get this over with." There was a slim chance the doctor would actually listen to him; the man was as stubborn as a Brahmin sometimes. Carrington was already at the open doorway, ready to return to the main atrium of the catacombs. "If you leave this room, I will come after you."

"With the condition you're in, you can't even sit up," Carrington replied over his shoulder.

"Are you willing to chance it?"

The doctor stopped at the thin threat and gave a sigh, seemingly contemplating his choices over before he turned and retraced his steps.

It was a small victory.

"Half an inch," Carrington finally spoke. "Half an inch and you would've lost your entire arm from the start."

Alright, that much he had already sort of figured- hell Drummer Boy had to admit he was surprised that his arm was still functional to begin with. Although functional was a bit of a play here.

"The laser round just barely clipped your collarbone, which thankfully didn't fracture it," Carrington continued, "but it did a mess of nerve damage to your arm. You'll keep mobility and such, abet to some restriction, but expect to run into nerve pain and issues later on down the road." There was a pause before the man seemed inclined to go even further with his prognosis. "That's the mediocre news because there's really nothing good that I can tell you. The bad news is that the wound is a mess of dead skin from both the laser round and the frostbite; there's extensive tissue damage inside of it too and right now there's no telling how much of it can be repaired until the swelling goes down. So, by all accounts, there's still a strong possibility that you will lose the arm."

Now that was the answer he was looking for.

Well, not that particularly but... he supposed he could see why Carrington was reluctant to speak to him about it.

"Thanks, Carrington," Drummer Boy spoke.

"You're alive, focus on that," Carrington offered as he turned to leave once more before he stopped himself. "And Peyton, please... just get some rest."


He took Carrington's words to heart and dozed in and out of sleep for two more days.

The frequent influx of Med-X in his system and his overall exhaustion kept him from focusing on the stiff pain that countered the sleep. Overexertion made it easy for him to overlook the slightest discomfort as his body near begged for sleep at any free given minute. Drummer Boy was usually only awake long enough to prove that he was still alive and that was about it. Desdemona actually woke him up a few times to make sure he got water- although most attempts to get him to eat were usually turned down or ignored when he passed out again.

But once he had recovered the bare minimum, just enough to be able to move a little on his own and stay conscious for longer than ten minutes, it got more difficult to ignore the small things.

The mattress felt too hard, too flat to lie on; it only seemed to make the swelling of his fingers worse.

The heavy weight and tenderness of his shoulder and arm only made sleeping more difficult to do from there; the painkillers did enough to keep the agony tolerable at best but sometimes tolerable wasn't enough to keep him asleep. It didn't help that he could only sleep on his back to reduce the risk of moving his shoulder incorrectly and doing that for an extended period of time only made his lower back hurt just as much.

Despite Carrington's warning that he didn't have the strength to sit up, Drummer Boy did it anyways- mostly out of desperation for his back.

The stone wall behind him provided enough support to stay upright, and while still uncomfortable to an extent, it helped out with both his back and shoulder. Carrington didn't approve at first but Desdemona got him to back off after Drummer Boy insisted that it was actually less painful this way. Not to mention the upright position would help keep the blood from pooling into his shoulder, which in turn would help the swelling go down faster.

It was the small things that he had to go for and right now this was it.

He could sleep fairly decent sitting up, although he ended up sleeping more leaned into the corner- which ended up becoming the better position.

It kept the weight off of his shoulder and it kept him from tossing and turning throughout the night, eliminating the risk of jerking his shoulder incorrectly. It kept the weight off of his back and although the former wound still occasionally twitched with pain from time to time, he could ignore it for the most part. Better than he did lying down. Sitting upright made it easier for him to drink too, which was another plus.

The only issue was that some agents saw him sitting up and assumed he was conscious or well enough to be disturbed. And while he appreciated people checking in on him from time to time, he didn't so much appreciate being woken up every half hour.

Carrington eventually had to pull the doctor card and order that if someone walked in and saw him passed out in the corner, they were to leave him alone. Hell, unless told otherwise, no one was to disturb him at all.

But such was not always the case.

Drummer Boy woke to the feeling of someone lightly tapping their hand on the side of his face- repeatedly. He groaned and tried to turn away from it, only to feel the hand continue to follow after him. Carrington had treated the frostbite on his face and neck for the most part, although it was still in need of dire healing. He had luckily slept through the rewarming stages that had his skin blue and blistered, but now he was dealing with the aftermath of it. It was itchy and stiff, making it uncomfortable to turn his head from time to time. Hell, even the slightest catch of a breeze coming through the stone could make his skin pull tight- reminding him of how badly he wanted to scratch at it.

Carrington had drained the resulting blisters twice now, which took some of the discomfort out of it, only to leave his face and neck covered in raw patches of skin.

So no, he wasn't exactly thrilled with someone tapping their hand on his face.

"Hey, I heard about what happened, you feeling alright?"

"I was better until you woke me up," Drummer Boy muttered in return; he used his barely-good-anymore hand to rub the sleep from his eyes before he blinked to clear his vision and see who was speaking to him. Of course he already knew who it was by this point, and he wasn't surprised to see Glory leaning over in front of him. "Of course," he offered in an exhausted sigh.

The woman grinned at him in return. "Dez told me what happened and I got back as quick as I could- I needed to know how my favorite agent was doing."

Desdemona had made the decision to report the Courser in the area to any Heavy passing through and told them to spread the word; she made it clear however that his condition was not to be spoken about. Drummer Boy figured she didn't want fear to pass through the ranks and into the safe houses- although that point seemed moot considering that a Courser being reported in the Commonwealth was the bigger issue here.

Then again if it got back to the Institute that the Courser had shot someone and then the Institute found out that the person shot had been Railroad-related... than things would start getting complicated.

He didn't really care for whoever did or didn't know about his current condition; it just meant less visitors, which meant less distractions, which meant more sleep.

Drummer Boy chuckled lightly at Glory's remark before he gestured for her to sit with him, to which the woman accepted; she sat down on the edge of the mattress and made sure that she was facing him. "Horribly, if you're curious," Drummer Boy answered, as he tried to reposition himself to sit up straighter. It felt like the fingers on his left hand were permanently curled against his palm, like the tendons in his arm were pulled too tight and he couldn't release them.

"How's the shoulder?" Glory asked, and it was hard to deny the look of concern on her usual battle-hardened face. Glory hardly ever let her war face down, hardly ever let things get to her- well things not related to Synths anyways. She had her priorities in line and nothing could make her stray from that. But right now, she was straying just a little bit, for his sake at least.

And despite being in no mood to hold a conversation, or talk about what had happened, he hadn't seen the woman in almost a week's time it felt.

He couldn't let his favorite Heavy down.

"Hurts like a bitch and I can't move my arm or fingers all that much," Drummer Boy started. "Carrington said the nerves were basically fried from the laser round- said I was lucky it didn't blow the artery in half like it should've. There's an infection and some frostbite on it too which doesn't really help my case. It's not lethal by any means but..." his voice trailed after that and Drummer Boy wasn't entirely sure of where he wanted to go with it. He wasn't looking to spill all of what Carrington had said- after all, Glory had enough to worry about on her own. But the thought of it had yet to leave him. Sure, okay, so he loses the arm, it's not life-threatening; Meat lost her arm too and she was still kicking it in the Commonwealth with no issues.

He guessed in a way it felt like the former bullet wound in his back had crippled him enough and now there was this, which just felt like another nail in the coffin.

It was just exhaustion and pain talking though.

It was too early to throw in.

Glory moved a hand to his uninjured shoulder and squeezed it- a little too rough but that was just how Glory did things.

"You'll still be with us no matter what happens," she assured.

"Yeah, yeah, got too much information to be let go over," Drummer Boy humored, as if any one of them could just willingly leave the Railroad. Sure, it happened after Switchboard but... that was a different sort of running away/leaving things behind scenario.

"Well that and we can't afford to let go of that voice."

The sound of Glory's laugh at her own joke was enough to pull him in as well.

"Thanks for letting me know what your priorities are," he teased.

"Look, I'll keep an eye on things around here so don't you worry," Glory promised, as she patted him on the face once more. "Hell, between me and Charmer, I think we've got the Commonwealth down pretty pat."

"I have no doubts about that," Drummer Boy replied. Between Glory and her favorite minigun, there was hardly ever enough left over to stand up again. "Speaking about the Commonwealth though, what did Dez do about the Courser?"

The dark-skinned Synth gave a brief sigh in response. "I'm not surprised Dez didn't tell you," Glory remarked, which hinted that the answer was a bit of a long haul. "Long story short, a couple of us went out to investigate the matter, and as far as we can tell, the Courser was just in the area exploring. He must've got damaged or something in the crossfire with the Super Mutants and got called back in, or something to the likes. Dez called High-Rise and told him about the ordeal, so he's got his people out on high-alert. The weather's been pretty bad over there though and it's hindering them from going dark, so they're kind of stranded- but High-Rise is confident that they'll be fine. They've never had an issue before, as he likes to remind us. We called around to the other safe houses so they know and they're keeping their heads down for the time being."

Glory paused a moment and Drummer Boy felt her eyes settle on the bandaged portion of his shoulder, which was just barely covered by the loose jacket he had pulled over him. The corners of her lips twitched but she seemed to stave off saying something.

"It's not uncommon for the Institute to send Coursers out on errands though, so it's possible that it was just a fluke," she finished.

"A damn good fluke," Drummer Boy admitted with a sigh; he moved to brush his fingers through his hair, disliking the greasy feel to it, "or just my shitty luck."

"Probably both," Glory offered.

Probably.

"Glory, for the last time, I said not to disturb him!" a voice suddenly called from the main atrium of the catacombs.

The synthetic woman jumped at the warning.

"How the hell did he know I was in here?"

"Carrington has eyes everywhere," Drummer Boy reminded. "Now go, I'm sure you have more important things to do."

"If I do than I don't know them," Glory replied as she started to get to her feet. "Just hang in there, Drummer, we still need you around here."


It was five days in total before Drummer Boy woke to the sound of Charmer's footsteps coming down the stairwell.

He counted the steps like they were sheep as they echoed in the tight corridor.

Part of him was glad to have Charmer back, to know that he was fine above all else.

And the other part was nervous.

(Charmer didn't know about the Courser.)

Drummer Boy heard the steps pause at the top of the stairs and counted the seconds before the footsteps continued- abet at a slower pace now. Charmer must've realized the relative silence of the HQ now, realizing now that he wasn't there to greet him. A stark contrast to how the two met, to how the two got to this sort of relationship with one another. Had the situation been any different, they probably would've been teasing each other about the events at Ticonderoga on the staircase.

"Charmer, you're back, I'm glad," Desdemona started, breaking the quiet of the catacombs for the time being. "I take it business with the Minutemen is going well?"

Desdemona was hardly one for small talk so perhaps she was trying to edge over the news of the Courser in some way. Or perhaps she was trying to get some form of news from the outside world that didn't revolve around Coursers and the Institute. Or didn't revolve around speaking with the caravans who were proving themselves to be untrustworthy- thanks to Old Man Stockton's warning and paranoia.

"Yeah, it's real hectic out there- way too many feral ghouls running around and way too much snow to be fighting in," Charmer answered. "Not to mention dealing with settlement rations and herding around Brahmin. Also I fell in some tangled barbed wire that had been hidden by the snow so that was fun; I had to get Preston to help cut me out of it. The local kids did show me how to make a snowman though, so it wasn't all bad." There was a pause, a sympathetic chuckle over the bad news from Desdemona, before Charmer continued. "Uh, where's Drummer Boy? Did he go back to Ticonderoga?"

"No, Drummer's in the back hallway resting," Desdemona replied. "You're free to visit but don't let Carrington catch you in there if he's asleep."

As Glory had proven the day before.

Drummer Boy was still in a bit of a daze, just now coming off of sleep and another wave of painkillers and Med-X- and whatever else Carrington had put into him. Two days of massive blood loss, shock, hypothermia, and such was a shitty combination- and five days later he was really feeling the side effects of it. He had slept through the symptoms the first two days and then had blatantly ignored everything else for the following days, but now he was definitely getting his ass kicked by it.

Sleeping upright had helped with his arm before but now the pain of his back and hips were kicking in.

He found himself having to balance between keeping his arm comfortable or keeping his back from agonizing pain. And so far there didn't seem to be a way of fixing both of them at the same time so he had to resort to picking just one every time.

His arm was still numb and his fingers were still hard to move.

The clipping hit to the cluster of nerves under his shoulder was really starting to kick in and he was starting to feel it for sure.

Still, Drummer Boy tried to make himself seem halfway decent when Charmer walked in. He tried to make it seem like he hadn't been mostly asleep, maybe half dead for five days, buried under a mess of blankets and coats because Carrington pushed that he couldn't risk getting cold again; and by proxy, everyone willingly tossed their spare jackets on top of him.

It was a nice gesture and he was grateful for it, but it wasn't exactly the kind of scene he wanted to think back on later when everything was fine and well again.

Drummer Boy barely got any words out before Charmer had already thrown his things aside, luckily onto another mattress, and had knelt down beside him.

"I'm fine, it's fine," Drummer Boy assured, feeling the man's hands at his jaw before they moved to cradle his healing but still raw cheeks. "It's nothing serious."

A lie but also a conversation started.

"What happened? I didn't hear anything about this," Charmer whispered; the man's eyes were stuck on his face, no doubt roaming over the patches of healing frostbite that made him look more or less like a patchwork piece. It was enough to convince the man to pull his hands away, at least away from direct contact with his skin. "Weren't you always the one warning me about the cold?"

He almost wanted to save Charmer from finding out the real reason he was back here, but he knew that finding it out from someone else would only hurt the man more. "Well, it's kind of hard to report things when your communications guy is out," Drummer Boy replied, feeling the way Charmer's thumbs lightly brushed across his cheeks; he could still feel the wax-coating of frostbite on his face and it only reminded him of how dry and cracked his skin felt.

"But what happened?" Charmer pressed once again. "I mean, Jesus, did someone hold your face in the snow for a whole day?"

Drummer Boy chuckled at the imagery. "I wish I could say that this is the worst of it," he remarked, as he reached up and brushed Charmer's hands away. When Charmer gave him a questioning look in response, Drummer Boy hesitated before he pulled down the jacket covering his left shoulder in answer. "Before you say anything," he started, catching words on Charmer's lips before he loosely covered the man's mouth with his semi-good hand, "it's fine. I can still move it and the pain's not too bad with it."

Another lie.

Although he could technically still move it, just not that much.

Charmer seemed too blindsided to say much, although he tried to stammer through a few unfinished sentences. "What did you- how did this- when? Who?"

This was the part he was dreading to answer to.

Drummer Boy dropped his hand and touched lightly at the bandaged wound. "When I left Ticonderoga the other day," he answered, simply enough at first- and yet it was still enough to get a reaction from Charmer. "I was following the same strip of road we had taken before and... happened to find a Courser in the same area. I hid in one of the houses and while I know it didn't see me, I think it still knew that I was out there somewhere. It fired off a warning shot and managed to clip me through a window." Hell, even just recounting the story seemed to make the twitching of damaged nerves hurt even more. "I spent nearly a day and a half running the Courser around and ended up spending two days packing snow on the wound to keep the heat down before I managed to get back here."

To say that Charmer was shocked or surprised was an understatement.

The man didn't say anything, or seemed unable to say anything, for several long seconds.

"Are you alright? Is there any pain? What can you feel?"

And then that combat medic part of him seemed to kick in.

"Charmer, it's alright; Carrington has it under control," Drummer Boy started.

"Can you just... humor me? Please?" Charmer spoke instead, almost pleading the request.

And it was the worried tone, the sense of concern...

He really couldn't resist Charmer.

"Yeah, there's a lot of pain with it and... I can sometimes move my hand but not all the time," Drummer Boy gave in, understanding that he was backpedaling over his opening statements. "There's a lot of nerve damage from what Carrington said but you know, I'm not out in the field a lot these days anyways- and it's not my dominant hand, so I'll be fine."

Charmer was hanging on to every word he said, even as his eyes dropped from time to time to the covered wound. "... Can I see it?"

Drummer Boy figured the question would come up and he told himself that he already had the answer mentally covered. "I'd rather you not-"

"I know my way around these kinds of things," Charmer insisted, "believe me, I've seen my fair share of bullet wounds."

"I know you do, Charmer, but... look Carrington has to change the bandages in a couple hours anyways, can you wait until then?" Drummer Boy offered instead. "It's not exactly the most pleasant experience and right now I'd rather not go through it more than I need to." It wasn't a lie. Getting the bandages cut off was the easy part, but the following examination and treatment usually made him sick, and then the re-bandaging wore him out. It felt like he was still getting his strength back from the same process from this morning.

The man looked dejected for only a split second before he covered it with a worried looking smile. "Yeah, of course I can wait," Charmer assured, reaching forward and brushing a few strands of hair from his face.

Despite Charmer's attempts at covering himself, it was all too easy to read the man's thoughts.

Or maybe Drummer Boy had just gotten too good at reading people's faces.

"Look, no one could've known that that Courser was going to be out there," Drummer Boy offered. "We had no reports, no warnings- although it's usually rare for us to get a heads up in most cases. PAM might've caught it but it would've been too late for anyone to make a call on it. It was a fluke."

"I know, but... I don't know," Charmer started and ended in frustration. The man cautiously moved a hand to his left bicep but wouldn't budge it further from there, choosing instead to let the touch linger.

Drummer Boy moved his good hand to cover Charmer's, gently squeezing it in his hold, before he watched as the man leaned in towards him. He felt Charmer's lips brush against his own, just enough to spare some warmth- just enough to make him realize how dry, chapped, and cracked his own lips were.

"You're freezing down here."

"It's the dead middle of winter," Drummer Boy reminded, "and we're stationed right under a graveyard. I don't know how much warmer we can be."

"It's January," Charmer argued.

"Yeah, well, the snow doesn't stop falling until March, sometimes April," he reminded.

Charmer gave out a groan and rolled his eyes.

Drummer Boy chuckled in response.

"I'm alright, Charmer. You don't have to worry."