A/N: Recommended listening: Various Storms and Saints by Florence + the Machine.
The air itself weighs her down. It presses on her chest, her shoulders, her eyes, until she can't breathe. The pressure imprints it own footprint into her skull. It's too much.
And yet, sensations. Mouth filled with sand. Eyes replaced with lead marbles. Eyelids soldered shut.
Wrists bound to the table.
Realization jolts along her aching nerves, piercing the sharp-tanged fog. As she twists, she discovers the restraints are padded.
Something rests on her brow. Sounds swim in the distance, slow and lazy, like whales in the deep. "Shh. Fear not. This won't hurt."
Instead of soothing, it sends another jolt through her. That lukewarm hand is wrong, somehow. It should be steel, not plastic.
"Are you sure... risks are high enough..."
The air swims and she drifts through it, carried on the eddies that seek to drown her. Little noises prick her ears: soft footsteps, plinking water, and the whine of a terminal.
"—ready to begin the procedure."
What's left of the world swirls into a deep blue that swallows her whole.
Her slide into awareness is like a tide washing to shore, then receding into the ocean's depths. Sounds come and go, flying above her on soft wings. Bubbles of thought rise to the surface and burst before they can make sense.
Pain nestles in the base of her skull. Her head splits at the seams, peeling along her hairline, down her nape. Her mouth isn't dry. No, dry would be better than the swampy monstrosity that glues her tongue to her palate. The air she drags through her nose is too sharp and clear, as if her nose has been burned.
Nearby there's a rustle and a soft, "Oh."
Opening her eyes yields only pain. Her second attempt fares better: she glimpses a blur to her left, and her eyes focus on a squirming figure with an unruly mop of white hair.
Kaelyn squints up at him, and not just because harsh light reflects off his hair. "I know you..."
He swallows, nods. "I— I'm Derrick. You rescued me from those—"
Ah. Now she remembers. She gives him a more thorough once-over, pleased to note his clean hair and fresh clothes. There are hollows under his eyes that will be there for some time, she suspects, but his face doesn't look quite so gaunt.
Reaching out, Kaelyn manages to pat his wrist despite her hand's unwillingness to cooperate. "It's okay. You don't have to say anything more. Where are we?"
Derrick latches onto the topic change with too much enthusiasm. "Acadia, ma'am!" Kaelyn winces at the volume and he whispers, chastened, "Sorry."
Letting her eyes fall closed, she shifts on the gurney. The mattress is hot at her back, long since warmed by her body heat.
"Do you want some water?"
With the reminder, Kaelyn's mouth feels worse than ever. Her throat burns. "Yes, thank you."
She has to swirl and spit out her first sip; her mouth tastes revolting, beyond the sticky tang of mere dehydration. Then she drains the glass in three seconds and accepts the queasiness in her stomach as a fair price. Rubbing her stiff neck, she traces the spots of pain behind her ears. An unusual place for a headache, but she isn't usually this dehydrated, either.
"What happened, Derrick?"
"I didn't see it, but they said you ran out of Acadia and got lost. DiMA sent out search parties to help your partner find you. Good thing he did or you might be..." His chin quavers. "There's all kinds of dangers out there. As you—probably already know."
Closing her eyes, Kaelyn wills the memories to come back. She and Valentine came to speak to DiMA. About his contingencies hidden on the island. Avery. And his terrible plan. The anger rises quickly, flavored with indignation.
And then she remembers Shaun.
A pang of grief tightens her chest and she feels the ghostly feel of bark under palm. Kaelyn lifts her hand, turning it this way and that under the lights, bending it at the wrist. Not a single mark. She doesn't remember how she got here, or who found her. Most likely she owes Valentine yet another packet of cigarettes; he's caught her several times recently. But underneath her internal bravado lies a nauseous twist in her gut. No matter how she wracks her brain, it only conjures gray.
The kind of gray she's grown a little too well-acquainted with since arriving in Far Harbor.
Blind to her worry, Derrick asks, "When you were in the Fog, did you ever see shapes?"
Weaseling an elbow beneath her does not, in fact, enable Kaelyn to lift herself up. "I'm sorry?"
"When I ran, I saw—things. Shadows looming from all sides."
After another moment, Kaelyn abandons her attempt to remember. "There's more than trees in the Fog. Decrepit houses, improvised dwellings, that sort of thing. If you don't know what you're looking at, it can take on a life of its own."
A rational explanation, but she wonders.
Derrick is likewise subdued, his delicate mouth tipping into a frown, and he almost jumps out of his skin when the clinic door scrapes open to admit Valentine.
"Hey, kid could you clear the floor? I need to have a chat with our friend here."
Derrick is out the door in a flash of white, throwing a quick goodbye over his shoulder.
It isn't until Valentine is planted in Derrick's seat, drumming his fingers on his knee, that he tilts his head up and Kaelyn's breath catches. His eyes blaze with anger. Voice dangerously soft, he asks, "Just what on earth were you thinking, running off like that? Haven't you learned a damn thing?"
Under his anger is disappointment. Somehow, that's worse.
Curling in a ball and shutting out the world has never looked more tempting than it does in this moment. Or flicking on a stealth boy to hide from his consternation. "After what DiMA said— I had to get out. Walk it off."
"If that was it, you could have run laps up around Acadia." Drawing in a sharp breath through his nose, Valentine massages the spot between his non-existent eyebrows. "Just tell me why."
Kaelyn presses two fingers to the base of her skull, in the center of the ache. "I... don't remember."
"Yeah, that's what the Fog does to you. Turns you upside down; makes you not yourself. Dammit, Kaelyn. You told me you weren't going to let it get to you anymore."
She wracks her brain for something, anything, that can explain what happened. "I didn't go out there to forget my problems, I— I know that much. I was angry, and it all—reminded me of Shaun."
Valentine tips his head up to count the cracks in the ceiling. "What can I possibly say that will convince you to use your common sense? Nothing I've said so far has stuck. So tell me, what can I do to convince you?"
"You don't believe me." Her words spill in a breathy rush.
A slanted look. "Based on what I've seen so far, the evidence ain't stacked in your favor." Then Valentine's on his feet, striding to the door. "Rest up."
He doesn't believe her.
Dragging her knees up to her chest, Kaelyn calls to his back, "Nick, I'm sorry."
On the threshold, he pauses. But doesn't turn around. "Sorry ain't going to cut it for much longer. You're going to kill yourself. Can't you see that?"
As it turns out, her knees make a poor shield against Valentine's words.
Since Faraday evidently feels Kaelyn doesn't need his attention, she deems herself fit to leave once she can sit up without being overwhelmed by stars. Or tears. Untaping the IV, she slides the needle out of her hand with a grimace and hangs up the tube on the pole. Stretching as thoroughly as she can earns several painful cracks in her joints, but eases some of the stiffness in her neck. Her headache is a dull, persistent companion.
Someone stripped her down to her shirt and underwear, so Kaelyn embarks on a quest to find pants. Thankfully, her belongings sit on a shelf across the room, and digging through her satchel yields success. Praying Valentine is talking to DiMA or somesuch, she collects her gear and leaves the clinic with minimal wobbling.
Chase leans on her usual spot against a wall in the common area, perking up when she spies Kaelyn. "It's good to see you're finally awake."
"Finally?"
Chase inspects her from the crown of her head to her sockless boots. "DiMA requested I find you before you came to harm in the Fog. But you were in the clinic for much longer than I expected. How are you?"
"Tired."
Chase nods. "It's to be expected. Humans can be surprisingly hardy, as I've learned, but the Fog is your greatest enemy here. I must apologize for being so rough with you."
Kaelyn tilts her head. There isn't any point trying to recall it herself. "Rough? How were you rough with me? I… don't remember."
Her eyebrows shoot to her hairline. "I see. I interrogated you on your connection to the Institute, even when it was clear you were... distraught. And then I incapacitated you to bring you back as swiftly as possible."
That explains a thing or two. "Oh. Well. Thanks for the rescue, I guess."
There's no point putting it off any longer. Kaelyn climbs the stairs to the telescope room, but it's occupied only by DiMA and Faraday. They stand together, their whispers skittering across the floor like fearful mice. DiMA glances towards the door; Faraday follows his gaze and his eyes go so wide Kaelyn can see the whites from here.
DiMA turns to her with a smile of welcome while Faraday disappears behind a bay of terminals with hardly a wave. "Ah, I see you have awakened. I hope you are recovering."
Unease slithers in Kaelyn's gut like sea serpents in icy waters, navigating the treacherous currents with a flick of their ribboning fins. "Just a few bangs and dents. Nothing unusual at this point."
"Good." DiMA pauses. "Perhaps it is premature to ask, but have you reconsidered your stance on… tranquilizing the Children of Atom?"
A rush of anger takes away the ache in her head, and she welcomes the distraction. "No, I haven't given it any more thought. Firstly, I've been passed out in the clinic for who knows how long. Secondly, there's nothing to reconsider." Her words come out sharper than she intended. Pinching the bridge of her nose, she says, "Look. I'm sorry. I don't want to start an argument, especially given how well that worked out last time. I need to find Valentine."
"As you wish. But we still need a way to bring peace to the island, and soon." With a bow of his head, DiMA retreats to a slice of shadow across the room. But the terminals loom, rows upon rows of blue screens like so many eyes, curdling an inexplicable dread in her gut.
Kaelyn slumps in her room at The Last Plank, her cheek pressed against the slanted writing desk. With a flick of her fingers, she sends the nuclear launch key rolling up the desk until gravity drags it back down. Her memories of October 23, 2077, lurk behind her eyes. Of the grand mushroom cloud and the sky on fire. Of the Prydwen. Of the Institute. The pain and, more importantly, the guilt is necessary as she watches the key roll up and down.
She can do it again. Third time's the charm.
What is it Nate told her once? Violence is easy. At the time, she hadn't understood what he meant. And later, after the world ended, every life she took hung around her neck, dragging behind her on a heavy chain anchored to her heart. Sometimes she still freezes up when a gun is pointed in her direction or an explosion shakes the earth.
But singlehandedly staving off a war between Far Harbor and Acadia, between Far Harbor and the Nucleus is—exhausting.
She is so tired.
Now all she needs is Tektus to demand Acadia burn for their so-called heresy of radiation immunity. Just to make this a true three-way fight.
The door handle rattles, then the brass hinges creak. Just as effective as a warning knock. Valentine's hand brushes her hair—and retreats at her flinch with inhuman speed. "Have you eaten?"
"Yeah." The lie burns, a little, but right now the only thing worse than Valentine's anger is his concern. The launch key rolls up the table and back down to her hand.
The bedsprings groan then quieten to a sulky whimper as he settles, just visible in her peripheral vision. "We need to figure out a way forward. One that doesn't involve doing our best impression of the Institute."
The key reaches the top of the writing desk, teetering on the edge before physics win, as they must, and drive it into Kaelyn's waiting palm. Her fingers snap closed around it, feeling its contours, its weight. Its power should scare her. "You're right. Sitting here moping isn't going to solve anything."
"Let's puzzle this out, then: the Children of Atom are the biggest threat right now, to both Acadia and Far Harbor. DiMA," the briefest pause, "thinks Tektus is the lynch pin here. But any harm that comes to him only makes him a martyr. That's the last thing anyone needs."
"Tektus is the ultimate authority in there. People obey him out of fervor or fear." The chair drags across the rickety floorboards as she stands. A long, drawn out sound. "I'll go back to the Nucleus and think of something."
"We'llthink of something," Valentine corrects.
"I'm going alone, Nick. The Children of Atom won't permit you into the Nucleus." Whether he likes it or not, these are the facts of the case. Finding her boots, Kaelyn shoves her feet into them and drops a spare fusion core into her satchel.
"Still going to walk you as far as I can." Valentine is by no means pleased with this arrangement, but he knows that a synth walking into the Nucleus will ignite the very war they're trying to avert. "And just what are you planning?"
"To finish this." Kaelyn grabs her jacket, slings both rifles over her shoulder and steps out the door.