A/N: Thank you so much to everyone who has commented and to everyone who is still reading this silly story of mine! I can't tell you how much this means to me and I'm excited to continue this, we're more than half way done with the Madre. Suggestions, comments, concerns, and critiques are always welcome!
"I've got heartaches by the number." She sang softly to herself. "Troubles by the score." With a grunt, she jumped, long muscular legs propelling her just high enough so she could grasp the edge of the hole in the ceiling above her. "Every day you love me less, each day I love you more."
The song soothed her and she hoisted herself up on to the roof. Without her spear, it's easier, and without her spear, she's practically defenseless again. Granted, she had taken precautions her whole life to make sure she was never fully without a weapon. She was strong, strong enough to break bones, snap necks, and best every person who attempted to arm wrestle with her. It was more than just raw strength too, she was skilled, a violent scrapper with a point to prove and there was nothing more dangerous.
She was still singing as she found the medical district. Mouthing words as she crouched down on a roof and scouted the area like a predator. The clinic looked promising, if nothing else it was the best place to find medical supplies.
"Yes I've got heartaches by the number." She dropped to the ground. Her knees bent from the impact and she rolled forward. The action was practiced and she ended up on her feet, couched low to the ground with her shoulders rolling, shifting like waves. "A love that I can't win, but the day that I stop counting-," she stood up and hustled to the door of the clinic, "-that's the day my world will end."
The door shut behind her as she finished her song and, luckily, she was greeted with silence. She hated it, as a general rule, but she was slowly beginning to appreciate the lack of sound, the lack of beeping or shuffling footsteps.
The way she made her way through the clinic was strangely methodical for someone typically so wild. She took her time in each room, going through every drawer and cupboard she could find. She grabbed cups and forks, stimpaks and bandages. However, when she stumbled upon a set of armor, she stopped.
Setting her pack down, she picked up the folded suit and looked at it. It came in multiple pieces that, from what she could see, consisted of a chest piece and other bits that would actually protect her in contrast to the grizzled jumpsuit that was currently glued to her skin with blood and sweat.
Shooting one last look around the room, she shut the door not so much for privacy, but for protection, and stripped down.
The pants reminded her of her cargos she had lost somewhere in her journey here. God it was nice to have pockets again. It was a bit of a struggle, but she managed to pull the long sleeved shirt in to place and wrestle with the collar so it fit under the bomb on her throat. It clung to her skin, but unlike the jumpsuit that was stiff with age and smog, it actually moved, had room to stretch and breathe. She flexed her arms, testing it out, and was fairly happy with the tight clothes.
Lifting the chest piece, she pulled it over her head and strapped it in to place on the sides. It was light weight, sleek, and she rather felt like an assassin. Beatrice clipped the belt of pouches around her waist, strapped the knife holders to her thighs, and pulled on the fingerless gloves before she tucked her pants in to the laced up black boots.
It fit her like a glove. Though she was wearing more equipment, by all technicalities, she felt lighter, her footsteps falling nearly silent as she moved to open the door once more. Shoving her knives into the holders, she mused that she finally looked like the force she was, an entity to be reckoned with. That, and she couldn't help but feel like La Fantoma at the same time. Though she doubted it was part of the design, the assassin suit actually made her look good with the form fitting material.
Whistling, she was about to make her way out of the clinic when something caught her attention. Pounding, like someone beating on something metal, the sound was muffled by distance and a few walls she was sure, but she heard it.
With near silent steps, she eased her way back down the dim hall, dark shadows curling along the walls.
There it was again, louder this time and accompanied with the sound of…wurring? Her brows furrowed, creasing her forehead.
She moved until she ended up in front of a door. Her hesitation was palpable, wondering what beast could be inside when she realized something rather horrifying. The banging wasn't a sound of anger, it was one of desperation, one that came from a human.
There was a beeping sound that made Beatrice's confidence drain out of her. She whipped around, searching the hall for the radio that was buzzing in her ears, broken words and half sounds fuzzing from it almost demonically. The tempo of the beeping around her throat was increasing with her heart rate and she saw it. On the wall, a speaker hummed, broken signal filling the air.
Skidding slightly on the ground as she broke in to a dead sprint, she threw herself back out of the hall and around the corner.
Sweat beaded on her flesh and she shut her eyes tightly. Beatrice was aware of the collar tight on her throat, the way it dug in to her skin- raw flesh. She was aware of the wall behind her back, the way her legs shook and the fact that she was wondering what it would be like. What if she just gave up? What if she just stood there and waited?
Would death really be so bad?
The worst part would be the anticipation, right? Hearing the beeping go faster- faster- and finally-.
Just as the thought came in to her mind, she clenched her jaw. No, fuck that. She had seen worse, this wasn't going to be the god damned thing that killed her, and if it did, she'd go out fighting tooth and nail. Gathering herself, the ex-raider peered back around the corner.
The speaker stood there, watching, taunting her. The urge to just barrel in and attack it with her spear until it was nothing more than scrap metal was appealing, it looked armored, protected for some reason, but she was sure she would have been able to handle it save for the fact that the beast had broken her weapon. While knives and fists could take care of the Ghost people, she wasn't sure it would be much help in killing the signal.
No, she'd have to use her brain.
That in mind, she turned and headed back to the first room.
Technology was never her strong point. That was where her brother Andrew succeeded. Mark had been good with guns, Andrew could fix anything you put in front of him, and Beatrice could punch shit. Through the years they traveled together after escaping their tribe, he had always tried to teach her how mechanics and technology worked. It was how he made his living when they finally settled in a small town, when they finally managed to piece together something of a life, it was his passion in life and something that made his eyes glimmer with joy.
She, of course, was never any good at it. Hacking was like learning another language and repairing things often lead to her getting shocked or otherwise harming something. She didn't have the steady hands Andrew did or the analytical, calm mind.
Still, a few things seemed to have stuck as Beatrice was not entirely helpless. She wasn't as fast as she would have liked to have been, she couldn't bang out a solution like her older brother, but in the end, it worked.
Back pressed against the same wall, she peered around the corner once more. Craning her head, trying to listen, she heard nothing.
The breath she let out expelled the shaking anxiety from her core. One more obstacle down.
Rounding the corner she headed down the same hallway as the banging continued and listened. Some part of her was expecting something to go wrong, as it always seemed to do, and in the back of her mind she could hear that devlish beeping. Cold. Empty. It left the fine hairs on the back of her neck to stand on end as she headed in to the room once more.
It was like something from a nightmare.
The room was pitch black save for a single flickering bulb that seemed to be on its last leg. In the center was a large mechanical structure she had seen only once before. The banging was coming from inside and the wurring suddenly got louder. The sounds became more frantic and Beatrice reached for the small command terminal attached to the Auto-Doc.
That was when her luck ran out. The terminal suddenly froze, glitches scattering across the screen before it simply displayed the word 'error' over and over again in repetitive lines.
Frantic and not knowing what else to do, she reached for the door and managed to get the first knuckles of her fingers inside. Then, she pulled. It didn't budge. Locking her jaws, shifting her stance, she pulled so hard she was sure her muscles were about to rip. Her face had gone red with strain and veins tensed in her neck so she could feel them pulsing against the bomb collar. Her heart beat was strong, pulse pushing against the collar.
She wished God was there. He would have been able to pry it open with no trouble at all.
The thought of him flared another round of irritation and guilt and that seemed to do the trick. She wouldn't rely on him. Not again. Just as her arms were about to burst from strain, the door inched open before the hydraulics finally gave out and the door sprung open in an instant.
Mechanical arms shot out, needles and scalpels reaching for the woman that stumbled out of the Auto-Doc. She had tried to brace herself on the doors but fell forward all too suddenly, stumbling until she hit Beatrice. Without thought, she grasped on to the redhead, shaking as the arms reached out for her. She was shocked more than anything, not having expected the door to open so suddenly.
Beatrice pulled her away, watching the doors malfunction and shut once more. A single 'hand' was still clasping.
The woman didn't move. Didn't speak. Beatrice tried to sooth her, rubbing her hands on her shoulders, staring at the mess of surgical scars on her bald head. "Woah, woah, easy there bonita. I got ya, I ain't gonna let ya get back in there."
The shaking of the woman's shoulders finally stopped and, quite suddenly, her head snapped up to look at Beatrice. Brown eyes glared at her and she yanked back from her touch. Her hands lifted to rub her bare arms, pale skin shockingly clean despite the blood on her wife beater. Everything about the bald woman screamed warning to get back or be attacked.
Beatrice just passively lifted her hands.
"Hey, relax, ain't no need for violence. I ain't gonna hurt you, see?" She stepped back, feeling the bald woman watch her too closely, brown eyes studying the collar.
She looked disoriented, pained. Blinking a few times she brought a hand to her head and swayed as if that alone caused her agony. Taking a breath, she opened her mouth to speak and looked shocked when nothing came out. Wincing once more, she frowned and looked down for just a moment before catching Beatrice's gaze again. She drew her finger across her throat, eyes more angry than hurt.
Bushy brows furrowed slightly at this, not quite understanding right away. That motion had meant something. When she spoke again, her words were slower. "That thing. That thing didn't give ya the scars on your face, just the one on your throat."
The woman looked almost surprised that Beatrice had understood and quickly nodded only to wince once more. She tenderly touched her neck with long, elegant fingers, making a mental note to try and keep her actions subdued.
"And now you can't talk."
Another nod, slower this time.
Beatrice's expression softened. "Lo siento." She wanted to offer some sort of comfort to the stranger, but she didn't know how and the pale girl didn't seem to want her pity. So, she opted to move on. "Do you know what's going on here?"
There was a pause and the woman touched her neck, then pointed to Beatrice's.
"We're connected, yeah."
Considering her next action, the woman mouthed something. Beatrice frowned and she did it once more.
"El…Elvira? No, Elijah." There was that name again. "You know Elijah? The one behind this?"
Her expression darkened and she nodded.
"So you also know that we have to work together or be killed."
This time, she didn't nod and Beatrice knew that expression all too well. Distrust. The stranger didn't trust her and Beatrice really couldn't blame her. Why this woman was here, she didn't know, if she had come here for the treasure or by mistake, she had likely gone through the same hell Beatrice had. Creatures that didn't die, bombs that went off around radios, that was enough to put anyone on edge. If she could talk, things would be easier. Beatrice's charm came from playing off of other people's humor, getting them to relax and reading their social cues.
This stranger, the bald woman, didn't give her much to work off of.
"Hey, it's alright bonita, I don't like this any more than you do. This place is pretty shitty an' I don't really know what's goin' on, but I know that we both got these collars on us and we gotta work together if we wanna survive. I dunno 'bout you, but I ain't too keen on dying just yet."
The exasperation in her voice comes off as honesty and, slowly, the bald woman took a step towards her but did not look all too convinced. Caution was still in those brown eyes
"I know you ain't got no reason to trust me, but I'm gonna trust you, okay? I've been told by the ol' man to gather everyone at the fountain. We're gonna open the Madre and I need you to work with me. Will you come along?"
Maybe the woman had been expecting Beatrice to force her along, but the question took her off guard. It was a genuine offer, not something that she had to do against her will.
There were worse things she could do than trust the woman who looked like the Mojave. She had cared enough to break her out of the Auto-Doc, cared enough to give her a choice. The bald woman glanced around once more before leveling her gaze on Beatrice. Then, ever so slowly, she stepped forward.
Beatrice's shoulders relaxed. "Come on, let's go meet up with the others then. We're almost done."
Almost done.
She had gathered the team, and now they just had to get inside of the Madre. How difficult could that be?
She still looked hesitant and Beatrice smiled at her. It was crooked, warm, designed to put people at ease. The woman's shoulders relaxed slightly at the sight and she stepped through the door that Beatrice held open for her, mouthing a silent 'thank you' in the process.
Christine re-loaded the gun she had been given, looking it over as she half jogged behind the taller woman. The grogginess that stuck with her as she slept all but disappeared after that last fight. She held the gun with a practiced ease, to the side of her body as she watched Beatrice fiddle with the bear trap fist she had pulled on.
The red head adjusted the glove, tightened the straps, and looked very pleased with the violent looking weapon. It was a good trade in for her lost spear. She had more control over it, more power in her arm.
How she kept going, Christine wasn't sure. They had stopped for the night sometime after she was released from the Auto-Doc and Beatrice had made herself quite clear. Cleaning off a space for Christine to rest on a bed, making sure she was comfortable, she said she'd stand watch. When Christine tried to offer they take shifts as best she could without the use of her voice, the red-head just smiled and shook her head.
True to her word, she was still awake when Christine got up, eyes still bright and lively, sharp against the dark rings that were beginning to form. But she didn't seem to care.
She talked a lot. She hummed, made noise, and told every story and joke that came to mind without much of a filter that Christine could see. She filled the silence that was left behind after the Auto-Doc and Christine didn't mind. She was learning, understanding this strange woman that had appeared so suddenly, ready to take the Madre by storm.
Beatrice looked back to her. "We're almost there bonita." She seemed almost apprehensive about this. "Fountain should be right at the end of this path."
And, for once, she was right. Having not gotten lost this time, they made their way along the ghostly buildings and came upon the fountain. Dean had found another package of cigarettes, apparently, and was mulling one over almost absently as he stood in place, one hand in his pocket. God, on the other hand, was standing quite far away from the entertainer.
Beatrice turned fully to look at Christine, walking backwards. This was it, the final piece of the puzzle. The trials weren't over, she was smart enough to know that, but now she had a team. Maybe they didn't all get along, maybe it was a patchwork team held together by nothing more than the threat of having their heads blown off, but they were a team none the less They had to work together, no matter how begrudgingly.
She glanced to God and swallowed not only a breath, but her pride as well.
"See, told ya we'd get here in time for the fun." Beatrice was grinning once more and she saw Christine give her a flicker of a smile in response. Before she could continue, however, the holograph of the woman disappeared and Elijah's face lit up once more.
Everyone seemed to stop moving in that moment. Their eyes landed on the weathered image and Beatrice was aware of how tense Christine had become. Sucking in a breath through her teeth, feeling her lungs ache in response, she waited to hear what their next task would be and prayed to gods she didn't believe in that this would all be over soon.