The soft hiss of the stimpak sounds from behind me, the now-familiar pinch at the nape of my neck tensing the muscles there defensively, until I force them to relax.
I glance back at Charon after he removes the needle, the half-smile I slap onto my lips for him less strained than it has been all week.
My week of healing is finished, and I'm more appreciative than ever for that, despite the fact that we'll be leaving the hot showers behind.
Turns out, Charon has... well, a lot of technical schematics lasered into his skull. Not all of them actually have much military use, even. Beyond the ones obviously tailored for combat, he'd listed water heaters, complete air conditioning, and heating systems, leak-proof plumbing, sewage processing... on and on he'd gone, ticking off the things he knew how to build, given proper tools and materials.
Nick has developed a theory that Charon was either a handyman or an engineer of some sort, before his conditioning. Neither of us has tried to ask.
Regardless, Sanctuary, as lovely a community as it is becoming, is not home, nor will it ever be.
Not for me, at least. Not for Nick. I'll never be the one to put words in Charon's mouth—not anymore, at least—but I get the sense that he agrees.
We're joining Deirdre on her route back to the Slog, then cutting across to head back home, after I check in with Wiseman and Arlen. I've been toting that holotape from his daughter and those spare Giddyup Buttercup parts he wanted in my bag for so long, I've half accepted them as just a part of my backpack.
It's past time to make good on that delivery.
"That was a kind thing you did for Arlen. I really think he needed that, more than he realized."
Wiseman stands next to me, watching as Arlen Glass pieces the yellow toy pony together with something approaching reverence, tiny sprockets and gears slotting into place precisely under the guidance of his surprisingly nimble fingers.
"It was overdue, I think," I murmur softly, hugging myself against the chill of the evening air. "Nobody should be without the comfort of their family, or the solace that their work brings, especially not as long as he's gone without." I smile over at the aged ghoul, rubbing my eyes a bit as irritation from my earlier waterworks at watching Arlen react to the holotape's contents rears its head. "I'm glad to see him like this."
Wiseman smiles over at me and nods. "Yeah, it's nice to see, for once. So, you're headed to Goodneighbor, yeah? Any idea when you'll be heading back? We could use some extra medical supplies, and I sure wouldn't say no to a drink with the Mayor again. He's got good taste in whiskey."
I can feel my cheek twitch once, twice as I try to force the smile onto my face. "Yes, we'll be headed there now, unless you've got anything for us. As for a return, I couldn't say if it'd be from there, but I will be back around soon. We should set up some proper trade between us; I know I'd love to have an alternative to mutfruit jam, and if Holly's willing to send some jars of her tarberry preserves off, I imagine there will be more than a few chemists in Goodneighbor willing to give equal trade. Especially when they realize it's from the Slog."
His brows lift in intrigue. "Y'think? Hmm. I didn't think the Mayor's office was interested in trade. Last I heard it wasn't, anyway. But if you say it's good, then I'm certainly open to it. I'll talk to Holly, see what I can work out on my end; you talk to Mayor Hancock and work something out on your end?"
I swallow but nod. "Sure. Sounds like a plan. I'll let you know what happens when I swing back by. You guys need anything else while I'm here? Scrap, food, water, anything?"
Wiseman chuckles, shaking his head once. "We're fine, Miss Stewart. You've spent enough time on this place, people are gonna start to suspect you're pro-ghoul or something."
I blink owlishly at him. "I am pro-ghoul, Wiseman. Don't let anyone tell you different. I'm people, you're people," I gesture to Nicky, over where he's tinkering with a turret that's smoking more than it should be, "he's people, and anyone that says any single one of us isn't a person can fuck right off in my books."
His brows arch over surprised eyes and a wide grin. "Well damn, that's good to hear. Had a Brotherhood patrol come through not long ago, and we were lucky Candice," he flicks a finger toward the lone human working the tarberry bog, a blond woman in her mid-thirties, "was around to call 'em off and tell 'em we weren't feral. Then they had the audacity to demand a 'protection tax'. Left with half our crop."
I stare at him disbelievingly. "What."
He graces me with a single nod. "Yeah, if not for the shipment from Sanctuary we were gonna have a hell of a time keepin' everyone fed this winter. It's a shame we don't have the resources to fight those Steel bastards off."
I tilt my head, smiling brightly up at Wiseman. "I'll get you the resources, Wiseman." I turn to Charon. "Charon, do you know how to build a turret that will cause maximum damage to an individual, with as little collateral damage as possible? Something precise with a high damage output would be nice."
Charon considers my question for a few seconds, before nodding. "Heavy laser turrets. Unlikely to hit friendlies or property if properly programmed and calibrated. Exceptional damage. Expensive to produce."
I shake my head. "Cost or resources aren't an issue. There's a reason I pick up everything, after all. I'll get you whatever you need to make... oh, a dozen of them or so. That doable?"
Charon nods sharply. "They will require electricity to run. It may be prudent to set up a functional, preemptive network, in the meantime."
I return his nod. "Alright, sounds good. I'll set Nicky on that, so work with him on what should go where. Give me a list of what you need as soon as you can. I want these guys protected from the Brotherhood of Shitheads A.S.A.P."
"As you wish."
The two-week delay getting back to Goodneighbor was... well, it was nice, honestly.
I finally got Wiseman to just call me Shana, after he ended up repeating 'Miss Stewart' ad nauseam, whilst attempting to get my attention.
Now, everyone here calls me Shana; except Charon, who still insists upon 'Mistress', no matter how much it grates me.
Honestly, I think he does it to irritate me, now.
He gets this insufferable little smirk every time I don't manage to silence my groan when he addresses me as Mistress, and I've honestly never wanted to smack him more than the first time I saw that damned smirk.
He wears Mac's hat nigh-daily now; I think he might've actually become attached to it, despite it looking utterly silly on him.
He's also gotten slightly... well, cheeky is the only way I can really describe it. It's not overt—hell, I don't think anything about Charon but his size and the amount of violence he can dispense has ever been overt—by any means, but I've caught him teasing—actually teasing—me three times as we worked together on getting the Slog into a state fit to fight off a too-greedy Brotherhood of Tin Cans patrol, if necessary.
Frustrating as it is in the moment, looking back on his subtle teasing, it's... well, kind of adorably hilarious, really.
He's bending all the rules, lately.
Maybe he's just finally settling into his place in our pack? Be nice if that were the case, but I'm keeping an eye on things. No telling what could come of it.
Anyway, eventually, I'm going to have to speak to this... Elder Maxson character, who has apparently become the king of the Babies with Shitty Diapers, and also apparently holds court up in the massive floating turd in the sky over the airport.
I might even wear a hazmat suit, just to emphasize how very few bigotry germs I wish to pick up while I'm there.
Then burn said suit, when I leave.
I think I'll bring Charon and Nicky with me, just to spit in the Bitches of Aluminums' eye that much harder. Those two would rip the Babyhood a new one, if they tried to bully them with their bigotry, I have no doubt.
Point is, Maxson will learn not to fuck with my people by the end of it all.
That's really all I want.
It's with an exhausted shove that I push open the 'gate' of Goodneighbor, Charon striding in right after me, Nick after him.
Nick and I exchange a look and clasp hands quietly as we head back for The Memory Den.
We'd decided before we even left the Slog: no more delays.
This is it.
It's time to find my nephew.
It's time to hunt down the Institute.
"At least we've still got the backup."
I sneer down at the despicable creep whom I'd just witnessed killing my brother for the second time, and already, Amari's sounding nervous about leaving me in here.
But I persevere.
We reach the last memory from Kellogg's hippocampus—at least, that's what Amari'd called it —and we discover the Institute's dirty secrets.
I'm more than ready to get the fuck out of there, and I almost do, but I turn, and there's another memory I can see, in a room that looks... oddly familiar, at the end of a new connection.
It's...
It's my apartment.
"Is that...?" Amari asks, her omnipotent voice floating somewhere beside my left ear.
I nod somewhat absently. "Yeah. And that... Oh."
"Oh, my. I'll just turn off my visual feeds, then," she says, in a tone that tells me she's speaking to Nicky.
"Doctor, what is this? I don't remember this."
She replies, "I believe it is Nicholas' memory, though he seems to think it may be... something you need to see, General. I recommend you explore it. Simply call for me, when you're ready to leave."
Well, who am I to disobey my Doctor's orders?
I follow the path and watch from Nicky's perspective, as I emerge from the elevator into my apartment...
And my hand's entwined with John's.
I look... oh god, I look so nervous.
Despite my nerves, I step forward, returning Nick's greeting, and the scene slowly unfolds before me, just as it...
Just as it originally occurred.
Just as they both take care of me.
Just as Nick sits back and watches with an intensity that I can actually place now.
Just as I actually beg for John to...
Christ, how had I forgotten this?
I sit on the bed and look between John and I as he finishes, crying my name for all he's worth, and the adoration that radiates from him as he looks back down at me is too obvious to ignore, but it's not until I turn down to see it mirrored perfectly on my own face that it finally clicks.
Amari was right, to a point.
It is much easier to process the influx of memories from one person, in comparison to my entire life's worth.
But to say it's easy, well... that would just be a flat-out lie.
"John. John!"
"Shit, Mozzy, get the kit!"
"Are you fuckin' serious? She just got back and he's still—"
"Get the goddamn kit, Mozzy!"
"Fuck, alright! Hang on!"
He rushes to John's room, snagging one of the kits they keep around, just for instances like this, and quickly returns it to Fahrenheit, where she hovers worriedly over the passed out form of her father.
"Here. Shit, has he even eaten anything to counteract—"
"Don't think so." She doesn't say anything else as she quickly unrolls the kit and systematically jabs the Mayor with one needle after the other, trying to rouse him from his current state.
"Fuck. This ain't good, Jess."
"I fuckin' know it ain't, Mossman! Just help me roll him over, fuck!" She sets the now-empty kit on the table—which is littered with mostly empty syringes and inhalers that they both know were all full and brand new three weeks ago—and reaches for her father with careful, trembling hands.
He helps, rolling one of his oldest friends out of the puddle of bloody vomit underneath him, settling him into a shock recovery position, since CPR isn't needed. Yet. "Gotta get some fluids and food in him, Jess. He ain't gonna last long like this without it."
"Can't believe he's fucking done this shit again." She shakes her head, grinding her molars bitterly. "I thought he was happy. I thought... I should've fuckin' known he was fulla shit with all that love bullshit. Just another goddamn way to run away."
"I wouldn't rule it out so quick, Jess. He does love that woman, we can all see it. Dunno what the fuck happened, but somethin' went wrong for all this shit," he gestures to the prone John Hancock, "t'happen. Let's focus on gettin' him on his feet, then we'll worry about him n' the General." He claps a gentle hand on her arm, squeezing reassuringly. "One thing at a time, alright?"
She only has eyes for her father as she covers Mozzy's hand with her own and slowly, almost reluctantly, nods. "Yeah, yeah. One thing at a time."
Mozzy sighs and turns his attention down to John, eyes raking over his friend's sunken features with a grimace.
He gives Fahr's arm one last squeeze and stands, knowing she's got this handled for now.
He's got a General to find.