There's never any shortage of work around Far Harbor to keep oneself busy. After clearing the MSS Azalea, Kaelyn accompanies the Mariner's salvage crew to the wreck, doubling as both guard and pack mule. After three and a half days of dragging sheet metal across a bogged island, her shoulders scream even through the power armor. Then when all the scrap has been dumped in the street, Kaelyn can't just leave all the work to the Mariner.

If she doesn't see much of Valentine in this time, well, it's just a coincidence. He would be entirely too distracting with his smooth voice and his golden eyes and his clever mouth. She can still feel the imprint of his lips against hers.

Realizing that she's staring at the wall, Kaelyn shakes herself out. It's fortunate the Mariner can't afford to waste tools, else she may have dropped a hammer on Kaelyn's head for spacing out. At first they work quietly side-by-side, speaking only to relay instructions or swear at the construction. Even so, their silent companionship something of a balm on Kaelyn's turbulent thoughts.

I kissed my best friend. Why on earth did I think that was a good idea? I shouldn't have started what I can't finish.

After several hours of work, Kaelyn and the Mariner stand at the gates, looking up at their handiwork. "Good. Let's get started on the upper reinforcements. Better get it done before..." The Mariner trails off, then hurriedly stuffs her tools in her belt. "Hauling all this scrap up the stairs is going to be a pain."

Kaelyn raises an eyebrow. "What's the time limit? You aren't part of the anti-Children of Atom lobby."

The Mariner shifts on her feet. Her gaze turns distant, inward, then she nods to herself. "Guess you've lent a hand more often than those louts who call themselves Harborfolk. I have a—condition. The terminal kind. No cure."

That would be a reason. Kaelyn hides her wince. You had to pry, didn't you? "I'm sorry. If there's anything I can do, let me know."

"Ah, I've shed my fill of tears on this. As for how you can help..." The Mariner gives a sharp exhale. "You're already doing it. The Hull needs to be as secure as possible. After I take the Long Walk, I don't know if anyone else around here will maintain it."

As the Mariner predicted, getting sheets of metal up the rickety staircases is an exercise in frustration. However, Kaelyn relishes the distraction even if her hands burn through their thick leather gloves. This time, between huffing and hammering, the two women share stories.

"—and my aunt was no fool. She steered us away from that horrible red glow. But plenty of other ships haven't been so lucky. The Red Glow has claimed dozens of ships over the years." The Mariner heaves out a breath, then another, and Kaelyn doesn't realize anything is wrong until she sways dangerously.

Kaelyn grabs her shoulder in case she tips over the battlements. "I think we've done enough for today. You should take it easy."

The Mariner shakes her off. Pressing her lips into a thin line can't hide her sudden paleness. "As long as I've got the strength, I can't waste it. On this side of the road, well, how can I sit back through what good time I have left? Three weeks from now, I might not be able to do this."

Kaelyn looks down at the screwdriver in her hands. Watches it turn over between her fingers without feeling herself direct her hands. "If there's one thing I've learned out here, it's that no time is guaranteed."

"So we'd better get to living, right? While we still can." After a beat, the Mariner starts packing away her tools. "Off with you, now. It's getting too dark to work by, and I'd rather be on the other side of the Hull this time of day."

Not ready for the heady pungency of The Last Plank, Kaelyn wanders to the end of the dock, past the nook Small Bertha has carved out for herself and her brother.

There's a creak of wooden planks and a small voice calls: "Ma'am, I have to talk to you." Bertha stands in the broken doorway, scuffing one foot on the ground. "I got fourteen and a half caps. I want to hire you."

Kaelyn needs a moment to process that, but Bertha's pinched mouth and hopeful eyes convince her this is legitimate. "I'm happy to help, Bertha, but you keep your caps." She looks the girl over, noticing how scrawny she is, barefoot and bedraggled, shivering in the cold. "How about we find somewhere to talk details?"

They sit on the pier with their legs dangling over the edge. Kaelyn takes moment to ensure the laces on her boots are tight. Bertha is a small, hunched bundle of rags beside her. The sight of her bony hands rubbing over her arms, trying to generate heat, twists something behind Kaelyn's breastbone. Digging through her bag, Kaelyn finds an unopened bottle of Vim! Captain's Brew. Breaking the seal, she takes a sip to prove it's safe before holding it out to Bertha.

The girl's naked shock, her eyes wide on the purple soda, hurts even more somehow. Needing both hands to grasp the bottle, she takes a large mouthful and splutters. "It's bubbly!"

"Drink too fast and it'll go up your nose." Kaelyn points a thumb over her shoulder, towards Bertha's shelter. "Would your brother like some too?"

Bertha eyes her, wariness flashing over her face, but then she coughs again and wipes her nose. Her gaze falls to the bottle of Vim!. "Wait here."

She leads Tony to the end of the pier, murmuring to him, and the three of them sit passing the soda between them. Kaelyn keeps her sips small while the kids, to her delight, guzzle as much as they can in one go. They don't, however, fight over it like Kaelyn and Martin would have. She doesn't know how to feel about Bertha keeping a hand on Tony's back, making sure that for her every gulp he gets two.

Bertha swings her legs back and forth in the empty air, watching the spindrift. "Harborfolk don't belong on this dock. If we keep clinging here, we'll bleed out and die. To get better, we need land. Echo Lake Lumber Mill has power lines that connect to the old wind farm. If you clear the land, Harborfolk can set up Fog condensers. Make it safe. From the Fog, at least."

This isn't the job Kaelyn imagined taking on for fourteen and a half caps. She had avoided Bertha after the first time the girl chased her away from Tony, and the other Harborfolk had warned her to keep her distance. But now Kaelyn realizes how badly they've all misjudged this girl.

"You have a lot of information about all this." As well as an uncannily accurate assessment of the situation. Despite their name, Harborfolk are not suited to dockside living.

Bertha fusses over Tony, tucking his blanket more tightly around his scrawny shoulders. "My father was a mechanic. A good one. Before the Fog took him."

"I'm sorry." If the children are here alone, it's the only logical end to their father's story. But then it occurs to her that 'taken by the Fog' may mean something other than death. She doesn't ask. Instead, she says, "You know, you're quite a remarkable girl."

Bertha shrugs. Her chin juts glumly. "If you say so. I just don't want this pier to kill what's left of my kin."

"Most people will talk about how bad it is without ever trying to fix it." Before the end of the world, before her son had been kidnapped, Kaelyn had counted among them. "But you've obviously put a lot of thought into this plan. If it works, it'll go a long way to helping around here. That's more than most people on this dock can say they've done. And you're doing this while looking after your brother."

Kaelyn can't imagine raising a child in the post-war world.

Bertha shrugs again. "Not much else to do around here but think. I know the money's a joke, but if my friends can resettle I'm sure they'd do anything for you. And owe you big. Please help."

"I will, Bertha." Kaelyn is also going to make sure the kids are properly fed and have a pair of shoes each. Maybe find some books or comics for them, too.

Even though she insists they take the rest of the bottle, Bertha doesn't quite believe it's okay until Kaelyn opens her satchel to reveal four more bottles clinking inside. The children retreat to their corner, heads together, their whispers lost in the rattling wind.

Rising to her feet, Kaelyn stretches and decides to stay out here for a few minutes longer. She leans against one of the pier poles and rests her chin on her hands. Her wedding ring is cold against her finger. The timber under her palms is bleached and cracked, yet it remains sturdy against the murky gray tide that rolls beneath the dock. Black rocks glimmer below, visible one moment and gone the next as the ocean rocks in its immutable rhythm. At least some things in this world haven't changed.

If Kaelyn presses her fingers to her mouth, she can still feel Valentine's kiss.

"There you are."

Kaelyn starts. Of all the times to... "Valentine."

He halts beside her, leaning on the railing in a fluid motion that pulls his coat tight across his shoulders. She doesn't miss that he stands downwind with the cigarette that's propped between two fingers. From this angle, she notices a new scar below his ear and the way his jaw works as he toys with the cigarette.

Kaelyn looks down at her hands. At the gold band that still graces her finger.

"So, is there any particular reason you've been avoiding me?"

Dammit.

"I haven't been." The moment the words leave her mouth, she realizes what a mistake her knee-jerk denial is.

Valentine plucks his cigarette from between his lips, giving her an arch look. "Sure, sure. Just like you didn't tense up the moment you heard me coming. Nice try, but no cigar."

The burn of embarrassment is deserved. Once again, she's thankful her face is too dark to show a blush. "I'm sorry. You're right. I just—needed space to think, but I shouldn't have left you hanging like that. Not my finest moment."

Valentine reaches out to her. She looks down to where he clutches her wrist, his pale fingers tight like a pearly bracelet, and he drops her arm. "Since we're here now, it would be real swell if you could put a synth outta his misery."

"'Out of his misery'?" she repeats. "What's that supposed to mean? You haven't done anything wrong, Nick."

"You sure about that? Because all I know is that you kissed me and haven't looked me in the eye since." He watches the sea as he says it.

When put that way, he has a point. Kaelyn drops her head. What a mess. "I'm sorry, Nick. This whole time, right from when we first met, you've been nothing short of saintly in all the support you've given me. But right now I— you deserve better than babysitting me."

"So you're saying it was a mistake?" Valentine pulls back, just slightly, chagrined. "Guess I shouldn't have ever thought otherwise."

Kaelyn cocks her head. There's something about his manner that's—downcast. "Why? Are you disappointed?"

"I don't think it's a secret that I've grown fond of you after all the trouble we've gotten into together." A quick, rueful smile, scant shades lighter than the gray dusk around them. "But I'm a synth, and an old one at that. I shouldn't have presumed anything."

"What?" She blinks, trying to track his line of thought. When it clicks, she rushes to say, "No, that's not what I mean. I care for you, Valentine. As a friend, and more. It doesn't matter to me you're a synth." She shakes her head. "Of all the things to worry about, I haven't even gotten to that point on the list."

"Really?" Valentine casts over her with a skeptical eye. The last embers of his cigarette flare and die in the wind. "You never once stopped and considered that ours is the kind of relationship that would draw more than raised eyebrows? So if that's not it, what's twisting you in knots?"

She covers her wedding ring with her other hand. "Sometimes it feels like a lifetime has passed. Sometimes it feels like yesterday I was at home, playing housewife."

"Kaelyn—"

"My son," she says, louder, cutting him off. "You know what he called Nate? Collateral damage. I hate to think what he would have said about you. Shaun couldn't see synths as people, even though he proclaimed himself to be their father. But he's not even here to argue with because I—" Kaelyn stops, sniffles. Tilts her head back to hide the tears. "I miss him. I miss them both." She looks down. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't be talking to you about this."

"Might be a touch awkward." Despite everything, sympathy gentles his expression. "But you can't help what you feel."

Kaelyn swallows around the lump in her throat. "Does it bother you that I've been so… hung up over Shaun, Nate, everything?"

"You don't stop loving someone just because they're gone. I certainly don't have grounds to protest." Valentine bows his chin, just a fraction, tilting his fedora low over his eyes. This time there's no grimy street light to backlight him.

"Jenny?"

"Jenny."

Kaelyn's hand creeps out to cover his own. The steel one; it's wiry and cold and twitches at her touch. They stand together as the moon peeks out from behind its gauzy veil of cloud. The water ripples like a coat of crushed silk in time with the crash of water on the rocks. A shudder starts deep in Kaelyn's gut, and she wonders if Valentine can feel the cold.

She draws in a deep, shivering breath. "Here's how it is: I lost my family. I lost everything I had before the war. And I haven't recovered from that. It's not fair to make you play second fiddle to my various traumas." A glance down, and the glint of her wedding ring draws her attention. "Nate would— would want me to be happy. As I'd want if our roles were reversed. But I think happiness is still a long way off. If I— I even deserve it."

"Now look here." Valentine grips her chin with his steel hand, careful yet firm, and raises her eyes to his. "Anyone who would hold a grudge against your well-being is not someone you should be listening to. Doesn't matter who they are, even if it's your boy—or yourself."

That one hits a little too close to home. "He was my son and he's gone."

Valentine soldiers on, but there's a new tension in his frame. "I've a better idea of what you've lost than any other person alive. I see it on your face every day. But the Commonwealth is free of its bogeyman thanks to you. Don't give up on yourself just yet."

The dregs of her anger abandon her, tossing themselves into the sea. "Because you ask so nicely, Nick. And this is exactly what I mean by making you play second fiddle."

At least Valentine gives this some honest consideration. She remains quiet, giving him all the time he needs to think. Being a synth, his processing speed outstrips that of a human, and several second later, he says, "If you're holding back for my sake, you don't have to. Been with you every step of the way and I ain't scared off now."

He still wants her. In another moment she might be able to properly appreciate that sentiment. Right now, she closes her eyes and rubs circles into her temples. "I'm trying to be noble here, Nick."

He chuckles and her stomach, traitor that it is, flutters. "I'm not asking for nobility. As long as you try to cope, I think I'll manage."

Is there even any point fighting anymore? Kaelyn lets go of all her recalcitrance, every hesitation, and feels dangerously weightless. The grief's still there, lurking behind Shaun's face, but for now she can instead see Valentine's affectionate expression. "I can't give you any promises besides that one."

This thing between them is too new, too tender, for a name. Valentine covers her hand with his other hand—the flesh one—and she covers that to complete the hand sandwich.

"For now, doll, that's enough."