Pocketing a now half-empty vial of med-x, Mozzy sighs as chemical relief floods into his right knee, drowning out a multitude of physical protests which finally let him think without distraction.
He'd known something had happened with John weeks ago, but he hadn't been able to pry anything out of him at the time. The Mayor could be a stubborn ghoul on his best day, and the things he should most definitely share and get off his chest were routinely kept to himself, bottled tightly and hidden in a dark corner where none could find them.
It'd been the same before they took Vic down.
John was always quiet about his problems. It took a lot of trust on his part to finally open up. Too much, some would say. It'd taken six months of helping the kid survive on the streets of Goodneighbor, for him to finally count Mozzy as a friend; another four helping him become the leader Mozzy knew John could be, while they were all out in the ruins preparing, to finally become a trusted ally.
For John to go down the gutter like this, as quickly as he has... something big... something bad had happened.
He's going to find out what it was.
The latest gossip on the General's whereabouts pins her as holding up in the Memory Den, with Nicky and her oversized shadow, Charon; so, he goes there first.
He tips his bowler to Irma, politely inquiring after the General as he does so. "Miss Irma. Know where the General might be hiding? I need to retrieve her, there's been a... situation. Need the Doc too."
Irma frowns in obvious concern, tapping her cigarette ash into the tray on the arm of her lounge. "Oh, my! Well, they're all downstairs deary, though I do believe they're in the middle of a session. Can it wait?"
He solemnly shakes his head. "No ma'am, afraid it can't. Thanks for the info, you're a peach."
She waves him off, her worry—and likely a large portion of ravenous curiosity—creating a thin line in the middle of her brow. "Of course, dear. You'd best hurry if it's as important as you say."
He nods, tipping his hat again. "Yes, ma'am."
He steps past her little stage—one he'd actually seen used as it was originally meant to be many times before the world—and his skin—went to shit—and double-times it down the steps, turning the corner to enter the room, only to be halted dead in his tracks by a massive arm that just about clotheslines him.
"You will wait." Charon doesn't even bother looking at him, his eyes instead stuck on the woman who appears somehow smaller than her usual self as she lays tensely in the lounger to the left, hands clawed in a tight grip over the lounger's armrests.
Mozzy pries his eyes away from the unchanging sight, peering over to Nicky's relatively calm state in his own lounger, then to the good Doctor's disquieted form, where she hovers in front of the main terminal. He knows that stance of hers, he's seen it too many times not to recognize it. Trying to get information from her right now would prove impossible, and possibly even disastrous to her patients, so he doesn't dare try. Instead, with a slight grimace, he turns to the giant, who is still rudely blocking his way. "Alright, fine, I'll wait. Any idea how long it'll be? There's an emergency we need the Doc for. The General too, if she's in a fit state."
Charon turns his head and just about glares Mozzy's eyes right out of his skull. "You will wait."
Mozzy tosses his hands up in surrender. "Alright, fine! Christ. I'll wait, I promise."
Charon humphs softly, then quickly returns his gaze to the General, watching over her like some stone golem from the old fairy tales. Apparently satisfied with Mozzy's answer, he deigns to lower his arm, only to cross it with the other over his chest, cutting an even more imposing figure against the wall.
Mozzy slides into the room, resting his back against the wall on the other side of the door and settling in to wait, occasionally side-eying the creepy giant warily.
It doesn't take long for shit to start happening.
Nicky wakes from the memory trance first, dazedly staggering from the egg-shaped lounger and bracing a hand against the wall he stumbles over to. He doesn't seem in any state to converse intelligibly with, so Mozzy sweats it out with everyone else for the General to wake.
She does, a few long moments later, hurdling out of the lounger Dr. Amari had thankfully already lifted the lid to, moments before the General woke; the woman who leads most of the Commonwealth searching the room with frantic eyes, almost feral in her desperation. Her voice is soft, quiet, merely a choked whisper that only those with keen hearing—most of the room's occupants, really—would pick up on when she finally gives voice to the subject of her distress...
"John?"
Mozzy grimaces, disassociating himself from the wall and speaking up, "He can't answer ya, General. John's overdosed himself. That's why I'm here." He looks over at Amari, as she tries to help the General orient and calm herself. "We need your services, Doc. He needs fluids and... he didn't wake up after the kit. He's breathin', but that's about it."
To her credit, Amari's laser focus snaps to him and stays there. "He didn't eat or drink? Nothing to mitigate—"
Mozzy shakes his head sharply. "Nothing, far as I'm aware. Just like his old wild tears, all over again. Don't know what triggered it this time, he wouldn't talk to anyone. Started about three weeks back, but we figured he'd come down on his own. He didn't."
The General crosses the room to him with steps that seem longer than her legs are capable of. "I know what triggered it. It's my fault."
Charon tries to object, "Mistress, it was not—"
The General slashes her hand through the air between them, looking up to her guardian with eyes darkened by grim determination. "No, Charon. Maybe it's not my fault I forgot, but it is my fault I wasn't more sensitive to what he was going through. Yes, so he fucked us over once, but fuck, he had to've been going through so much shit..." She looks to be on the verge of tears. "Fuck, Charon, what have I done?"
The giant shakes his head. "Nothing more or less than any other might've, in the same circumstances. You cannot blame yourself for his actions. It will not help you, or anyone else. Including him."
General Stewart seems to ponder his answer for a moment, then slowly rests a hand on her golem's cheek, a grateful smile tugging at her lips. "What would I do without you?"
Charon shrugs, answering dryly, "Likely be stabbed in your sleep, or at the very least deeply scarred by mirelurk acid."
She chuckles softly, nodding as she gently lowers her hand. "Probably." She turns to look back at Amari. "Are you ready to go, Doctor?"
The doctor nods. "Nearly. I just need to grab some more supplies." She pauses, holding a hand up to the General. "I know you will want to help, but please stay out of the way unless your help is requested, Gen... Shana. It is critical that I have unimpeded access to my patient, no matter who he is to you."
After a moment of hesitation, General Stewart nods. "Of course, Doctor. But don't hesitate to put me to work. I'll do anything to help."
The doctor merely dips her head in acknowledgment before continuing to pack whatever items she deems necessary into a large bag. "I'm well aware, General. Believe me, I'm not one to ignore a helping hand," Amari looks over, pinning the General with a pointed look, "so long as it listens and follows instructions."
The General bows her head. "As you say, Doctor." She directs her attention to Nicky, who's taken to leaning against the wall more easily, now that he's ostensibly recovered from whatever ordeal they'd endured in the lounger.
She lifts her hands and starts... oh. She's signing to him. How... quaint. The detective replies in kind, the interaction apparently a common one for them, as neither Amari nor Charon seem the least bit surprised to see it. Mozzy hadn't seen such an exchange in... well, since before the war, really. Not many deaf people survive long these days, even in places like Goodneighbor and Diamond City.
He'd heard some things about the General bein' a woman out of time, but to see such blatant evidence of it is a bit jarring. What a strange bird John's shacked up with.
He only hopes she doesn't break his old friend's heart if he survives.
Ahh, the joys of a pack of pristine, freshly opened smokes. Is there anything quite like it?
Well, he supposes, as he draws the slightly stale smoke into his thirsty lungs, there's sex, but he's not exactly having a terribly copious amount of that nowadays.
Holding up the wall between Kill or be Killed and Daisy's Discounts, Deacon does a very good job of appearing like he's not keenly watching as the Mayor's second steps out onto the stoop of the State House, looking far worse for wear than he's seen her in some time. She immediately strikes a match, lighting up her own smoke, which she holds with a hand that trembles for only a moment before she forcibly stills it, taking a slow, careful, smoke-filled breath.
Ahh, the good old steadying effects of nicotine. Odd that she came outside to experience them, though. It's rare he sees her exit the administrative offices of Goodneighbor's Mayoral building unless she's actually on a Mayoral mission of some sort. He could be wrong, but that doesn't seem to be the case, here.
That thought is confirmed when Fahrenheit's attention snaps to something down the alley that's beyond of his field of view, the alley soon vomiting out a veritable cornucopia of high profile people.
"Where the fuck does she," Fahrenheit jabs her smoke at General Stewart, even as she stares at her second, Mozzy, "think she's going? You let her come along, Mossman? The fuck were you thinking?" Fahrenheit nods at Doc Amari, stepping politely aside to let the doctor slide on by, then returns her attention to the rest of the small crowd. "Nicky can go up, but this bitch stays, unless you," she again pins her gaze on Mozzy, "can give me a damn good reason to let her in."
"The fuck did all this animosity come from all of a sudden, Fahr?" Mozzy asks, his confusion obvious. "I get you're pissed, but John would want her here every bit as much as he'd want Nicky, for fuck's sake. Why you givin' him a free pass, and not her?"
Fahrenheit again jabs her smoke at someone, a rather fresh-looking Nick valentine, this time. "Nicky didn't fucking forget him, Mozzy."
Mozzy frowns, taken aback. "Forget him? What?" he looks back at General Stewart and Mr. Valentine, seeking confirmation.
It comes from a surprisingly unlikely source, someone Deacon wasn't even sure could speak.
"She is not to blame for her lapse in memory, and has suffered as much as anyone in this situation for her injury." The huge ghoul's voice is grave with guilt and resolve. "If you wish to lay fault at the feet of anyone present, let it be me, for not protecting her adequately. She would never have forgotten him, had I performed my function properly."
General Stewart turns and sharply shakes her head at her strangely protective and subservient ghoul gargantuan, laying a hand on his arm. "No, Charon." Interesting name. Oddly familiar, actually, though he's having trouble pinning down why. Must be old info. "There was no way in hell you could've changed what happened. You tried, John tried. It's not your fault. It's not anyone's fault." She lets her hand drop to her side and wheels to face Fahrenheit. "Yes, I forgot him. The fact that you know that tells me he's awake, and that he told you exactly what set him off. Yes, it's in part my fault, and I aim to fix it if you'll let me. In the meantime, I'd like to be there to take care of my man, if you please."
Fahrenheit narrows her eyes to slits, peering out from between her lids at every individual in the small huddle, evaluating them with a steely glare. She draws from her cancer stick and blows smoke in the General's face, then jerks her head towards the door. "Fine. But if you break his heart, I'll actually break yours. In half."
"It would be wise to avoid attempting that," provides the overly large ferryman.
Fahrenheit directs her flinty glare up at him, not an ounce of fear in her face. "It would be wise to avoid pissing me off."
The General again rests a hand on her ghoul's—and he's definitely hers; every ounce of their current body language screams out a strange form of symbiosis that Deacon can't quite wrap his head around—arm, squeezing gently. "Enough. I'm here to make peace, not start new wars."
When she faces Fahrenheit again, both women square off in a mutual evaluation.
After a few long seconds, Fahrenheit finally nods, flinging her mostly finished smoke into a nearby puddle before turning and opening the door, leading the way into the Old State House.
What he wouldn't give to be a fly on one of those dingy walls, just to watch all that delicious drama pan out.
The large wet spot on the rug where I'd scrubbed his vomit out of it as best I could—with what little Abraxo was on-hand at the time—is now nearly dry, all these hours later. Wasn't in time to keep the blood from staining, though.
John's sleeping fitfully; has been since I arrived. Apparently, his moment of lucid wakefulness ended before Fahr went out for her smoke.
Amari occasionally pops in to check on him, but she has other patients to attend to, and she's done all she possibly can, at this point. John's on a slow drip of fluids and nutrients, according to the doctor, and it's the most anyone can do until he properly wakes up.
There's a row of addictol inhalers sitting on his side of the now otherwise mostly cleared table; the few packs of cigarettes and two ashtrays the only other interruptions to the unusually empty space.
It's all I can do to sit still, as I stare down at one of the men I love.
The one I abandoned.
Oh, I know, it's not entirely realistic or even appropriate for me to beat myself up for it all. But it's still there, tugging at the edges of my soul, like a bad bout of survivor's guilt.
So, I sit on the table at his side, holding his hand, waiting.
Nicky had stood watch for a while, but even he eventually settled onto the tan couch on the opposite end from where Fahr had taken up residence. Even she has since left, to take care of some Mayoral business she couldn't put off any longer. Mozzy's keeping watch, just inside the door, Charon mirroring him on the other side.
It's been tensely quiet for hours, so when a voice which does not belong to any actual occupants of the room pierces that silence, all of our heads whip 'round to stare at its source.
"You keep strangely powerful company, oh General Stewart. I really doubt Shaun would approve." Nicky's eyes glint with a bitterly jocular light that does not belong to him, and never has. "Do hope you got what you were lookin' for inside my head. Hehe. I was right; I should've killed you when you were on ice."
I scramble off the table, as the wretched talons of angered fear rip their way into my chest, turning hastily to face the other man I love, who is apparently possessed by the one person besides Bart whom I've ever really hated.
Charon is at my side much more quickly than I would've thought possible for a man of his size, though he seems uncertain how to protect me from a threat none of us saw coming.
It seems impossible, but the expression on Nick's face has changed from something mocking to something extremely confused as he takes us in. "The hell you all starin' at all of a sudden? There someone' behind me?" He glances behind him skeptically, then turns that look on us, peering worriedly up at both of us. "Say, what's the big idea?"
I look to Charon, still beyond stunned and more than a little bit in shock. "Ch-Charon, t-tell me I'm n-not crazy. D-did he j-just—"
He nods sharply, his eyes wide and searching Nick's, still clearly on uncertain footing here. "Yes."
I swallow, the motion dry and a bit painful, as I shift my stare back to Nick. "N-Nicky?"
He's frowning now, eyes switching between Charon and me rapidly as he tries to suss out what's going on. "Care to fill me in? Anyone?" he tacks on, after a few seconds of silence from both of us.
I let my jaw loose in preparation to speak, finding the strength to do so in the solid, comforting support of Charon at my side. "Nicky s-something's wrong. Y-you just sp-poke like... like K-Kellogg was s-speaking through you."
He blinks at me, shocked, then recovers and scowls down at the table. "Damn. Amari said there might be some mnemonic impressions left over from diggin' around in the old merc's head, but I didn't think it'd come out like this." He looks back up at me, remorse and hesitation in his gaze. "Are you... d'you want me to leave, go talk to Amari, see if I can get this looked at?"
I consider his offer for a moment, nodding soon after. "I think that w-would be best. That b-bastard doesn't deserve the satisfaction of haunting us from beyond the f-fucking grave." I hesitate, but force myself to move around the coffee table, unsteady knees almost giving out twice on the way there, my terror still more than present in every nerve no matter how hard I'm trying to shove it away, tamp it down for this. I lean down and press my lips to Nick's because I don't want him to think I blame him for this, or something equally ridiculous. "I love you. Now g-go exorcise th-the bastard."
He presses a second kiss to my lips, then stands, nodding. "I will. I love you too." Another soft kiss he leaves on my brow, then swivels and heads from the room with all haste.
I return to Charon's side slowly, sinking onto the couch's edge and settling John's hand in my lap, one hand settling over his, the other reaching for Charon as I look up to him. "C-can you go with him, p-please? I'm safe here, I promise." I rub gentle circles into his inner wrist as I plead with him, watching as he debates with himself internally, then weighs his decision against the request in my eyes.
He glances over at Mozzy, then centers back on me and gently captures my soothing fingers in his own, giving them an oh-so-carefully metered squeeze. "As you wish, Mistress." Another squeeze follows before he releases me and rounds the table, leaving quickly to catch up with Nicky, only pausing once by the door to murmur something to Mozzy. The Watchghoul nods and Charon departs, closing the door quietly behind him.
I sigh, letting my shoulders sag with the weight of everything that rests on them in this moment, setting my fingers to the task of gingerly massaging John's hand; rubbing circles in his wrist now, and slowly making my way over his palm, to his fingers, their tips, then starting all over again.
"You inspire one hell of a strange kind of loyalty, doncha?"
I blink owlishly over at Mozzy, startled by his odd... is it a question, or an observation? "I... well, I suppose, in a way. It's not intentional."
Mozzy snorts. "Obviously. It's just the way you are. Same way John fell into your orbit so easy, even when nobody else could get him to settle down—not even the mother of his kid." Mozzy crosses his arms over his chest, almost hugging himself as he watches me with keen eyes. "But you're special somehow, ain'tcha? Doubt they even notice there's somethin' outta place there, they just know they wanna stay near it like you're their own personal sun or some shit."
I frown down at John's hand, still working at it gingerly. "...Maybe you're right. John calls me sunshine. Ham thinks there's somethin' wild in me, somethin' he doesn't trust. Wouldn't be more specific than that. Everyone else just..." I shrug. "I dunno. It's not like I try to get anyone to follow me or anything." I stare over at the now slightly disturbed row of addictol on the table. "Well, aside from Mac, I suppose. But he paid me back what I initially paid him ages ago."
Mozzy nods languidly. "I'd say Ham's got the right of it, though I dunno if I'd say it's necessarily an untrustworthy thing in ya, just..." he falls silent for several long seconds. "I dunno. You're ah... well, an anachronism covers some of it. Though, I don't think that covers all of it. I think even before the world went to hell, you'd've been somethin' t'see."
I smirk softly, returning my gaze to John's face. "The juries I used to convince seemed to think so."
"Ah, shit. You were a fuckin' lawyer?"
I chuckle and grin up at Mozzy, nodding once. "Sure was. Criminal defense attorney Shana Stewart, at your service. Though, my understanding of the current judicial system is: 'are they trying to kill me or my people? Or, am I being paid for this shit? Or, do these assholes really deserve to die? Yes? Then they die'. So, not so sure I could actually be of much service. There aren't exactly official courts or judges anymore."
Mozzy groans, a hand sliding down his face from where it'd cradled his brow at my confirmation of his query. "You're a fuckin' lawyer. No wonder Ham doesn't like you. He hates lawyers. Surprised he didn't realize that's what you were right off the bat."
I shrug, smirking unabashedly. "I'm not a lawyer here. Not anymore. What I am now is adaptable. I'm a General to some, a lover to two, someone who just gets shit done and protects the innocent, to most."
"She's just a badass, Mozzy, leave it at that," comes a voice so weak that the sound curls in my gut and sits there like a rotting wrongness that turns everything around it into its own personal kind of cancer. I snap my attention down to John, where he looks up at me through exhausted, slitted eyes, a soft smile tugging at his lips.
"John?" I curl one hand around his in my lap, the other reaching out to cup his face as delicately as I can.
His smile curves a little bigger as he lets his eyes drift fully closed, tiredly nuzzling into my hand. "M'here, sunshine." He peeks his eyes open just long enough to say, "S'good t'see ya." Within moments, he falls back into the warm embrace of slumber.
I don a fragile smile as I watch him sleep, slowly stroking his cheek. "You too, love."