39. A Domestic Kerfuffle
Beth POV
Queen of Peace by Florence + the Machine
I still can't believe I was made the General of the Commonwealth Minutemen. I mean, why me? I'm just your everyday mother and housewife. Yes, I did help the Brotherhood destroy the Institute, but I wasn't alone—plus, my familial connection helped, I'm so sure. So, to be the leader of one of the biggest militias in Massachusetts… there are no words for how it makes me feel.
"Hey, Beth?" Robert comes into what he calls the library, where I glance over the rows of books, trying to find something to read.
"Hm?" Harry Potter, The Hunger Games, The Twilight Saga—all series at least forty to fifty years older than me. Hard to believe they were so popular back then.
"I was wondering if you could do me a favour." I look up at him, to his hat being held in his hands. "My hair's been getting pretty long, and I hate the thought of having to go all the way to a barber and spend money just to have it cut. Do you think you can do it for me?" He almost seems embarrassed to ask.
"Sure. I mean, I'm not a cosmetologist or anything, but I can try." I open the desk drawer next to me and grab the pair of scissors we scantly use. Moving our way into the kitchen, he throws his hat onto the table as he grabs a chair, taking a seat. He faces backwards to leave the back of his head fully exposed to me. "So, how short do you want it?" I ask him.
"Doesn't really matter to me. Maybe about the length it was when we met?" He glances back at me, curious if I remember, challenging me to.
"Okay," I simply agree. "Can do." He just smiles and turns back around.
I look at his hair for a couple moments before going to the cabinet opposite the cooking stove. I get out a bottle of water and take it over to him, splashing him in the back of the head with some of it. He gasps at both how cold it is, and at the surprise of getting wet suddenly.
"Hey! What was that for? I'm not a misbehaving cat." He feels the back of his head.
I slap his hand away. "Hair's easier to cut when wet. And it could use a washing anyway." I take my own hand and rub the water in better, although it wasn't much to begin with. So, I splash him again.
"Hey! Beth, knock it off. That makes me feel weird."
I giggle. "Oh, hush, you," I tell him as I rub the latest amount of water in. "There. That's better." I go around him, surveying the length, envisioning what it will look like.
"Beth, it doesn't need to be perfect. I know that face—you're going all OCD on me here." I shrug. "Ugh. Well, I might as well get comfortable, since I'm going to be sitting here for a few hours."
I playfully smack him in the back of the head. "No, you will not. You may not see your uneven hair, but I will—and I guarantee you, it will drive me nuts. So, you won't hear the end of. Now, be still."
"There." I set the scissors down on the kitchen island and step back. "All done."
He stands and tiptoes around the hair on the floor, heading to get the broom. "Thanks for doing that," he tells me. "It feels better already. How does it look?"
"I don't know," I chuckle. "You haven't let me see it—you've been moving too much." He sighs, and stops his sweeping to let me see. Such a kid, I think, laughing internally.
He looks just like he did when I met him, just like he asked. "Well?" he asks, impatient.
"You look just as handsome as when I met you." Hard to believe it's been ten months since I hired him—and eleven months since meeting. Like we've needed that contract since then. I smile at him. "Guapo."
"Oh, no. Not again with the Spanish. You know I can't understand a word you say. You just called me 'balding guinea pig' or something, didn't you?" I shake my head as I slowly walk toward him, a small grin on my face. "Then, you must have said some other offensive word—that way the boys can't understand it. Just in case they're listening." I shake my head again, closing in on him. He knows what I'm doing—we've played this cat and mouse game numerous times. He grins back at me as he backs up with a speed matching my own. "Oh, yeah? Then what did you say?"
"You can't guess?"
"I literally have been." He bumps into the dining table, stopping his retreat.
"Well, you're wrong." I catch up to him and put my hands on either side of him on the table. "You know what happens when you're wrong?" I look at him from under my lashes—a look that causes a small hitch in his breathing.
"No. What happens?"
I take a deep breath—needing to, since the baby decided my lungs was suddenly a nice spot for elbows—and look down from his face.
"You get corrected," I say, leaning away from the table. "I said 'handsome' in Spanish. You might want to learn it, since I use ever so often on you." I collect the scissors and the half-full bottle of water and place them in their respective spots.
I can hear him in the kitchen still as I sit down in the living room. He scoffs and comes into the room with me. "Well, that was anticlimactic." He sits across from me in his own armchair. "Couldn't have keep going with that? I was having fun." He sticks his bottom lip out, pouting.
"I know," I laugh. "That's why I stopped. That made it fun for me." I pick up the book I ultimately decided to read back in the office. But when I look back up, he's staring down at the floor, still pouting. I laugh again.
"We could've had fun," he says, a childish edge to his voice, like when children don't get their way.
I shake my head. "The boys are awake right now. Maybe later." I wink at him, turning his pouty mouth into a smile real quick.
A few hours after going to bed, we're woken up by a ruckus across the water. Not sure what it is, Robert and I stand on the back patio, staring to the mainland, where we see laser weapons being fired rapidly—accompanied by some kind of loud roaring. Neither of us know what the noise is coming from, but know it doesn't sound friendly, whatever is causing it. After several minutes of what seems to be a battle between invisible forces, all noises cease, and the night is still again. I become very curious as to what exactly that was as I climb back into bed. We'll find out eventually.
Or sooner than eventually.
"Well, I'm gonna go over there and see what that was last night," Robert tells me in the morning as he loads a few magazines of ammo into his bag. "I'll be back soon, okay?"
"No, you won't," I tell him. "If you're going over there, so am I." I head toward the office, where we keep our weapons, and just supplies in general for our excursions.
"Nope—not a chance. You're staying here. Did you hear that last night? No way I'm letting you go over there with me. I'm just going to quietly slip in and out—nothing will even know I'm there, so it'll be fine."
"Exactly," I argue. "I've gotten just as good as you when it comes to sneaking around." His face tells me he's not going to let me win this one. "C'mon. I'm curious, too." He shakes his head—final answer. And just like he was last night, it's my turn to pout. "You never let me go anywhere anymore." I put my rifle back in its place—where it's been for far too long.
"You know if it were just you and I, I'd have no problem with it. It's her I'm worried about." He comes up to me, placing his hand under my belly. "I'm sorry, but you won't even know that I left, I'll be back so quick." He gives me a kiss as he reaches around me and picks up his gun. "Be right back, dear." Uh-huh, I think sarcastically.
I find it exceptionally hard to not be giggling right now.
It took a bit of time for Robert to refuel the boat, so I had time to hide behind some of the cargo we'd accumulated on board over the months. As I sit here, I check the magazines I'd brought with me, and am pleased to see they're full. Just in case… Boy, I'm glad I had so much time on my hands. With my staying at home for so long, I was able to load up all of our available clips with ammo—for both mine and Robert's rifles—since I'd pretty much ran out of things to do.
As he goes into the cabin and starts up the engine, I wonder if I'll have motion sickness. Of course, it'd be just like me to ruin this with something so trivial. Keep it together, I coax myself. You've been on this boat countless times.
A few minutes later, the boat is pulling up next to a dock not too far from Fort Independence—or at least what's left of it. Some of the walls have since been crushed in, revealing what so many civilians had missed out on before the War. Luckily, I'd been in it before due to Nate's service to our country.
Once the engine is shut off, and Robert is wielding his rifle, he steps off the boat and quietly starts heading toward the giant granite walls. Coming out from behind my cover, I follow him—with my own rifle drawn—from about ten feet back or so. He stops a couple dozen yards away, assessing the situation before proceeding. I take this time to move up closer to him. "What do you think happened?" I ask. He gasps and whips around pointing his gun in my direction. "Chill, it's just me."
"How did you get here?" he asks, flabbergasted.
"I told you I'm good at sneaking." I smile triumphantly at him, much to his chagrin.
"You need to be home. We don't know who or what is in there." He frowns at me.
"Exactly. I want to know, too. So, here I am." My grin beams on.
He sighs and continues to look at me, disappointment clearly in his eyes. I still can't help my grin. Taking a deep breath, he says, "Fine. But… stay behind me the whole time. And for God's sake, don't do anything stupid."
"Me? Stupid? Pssh. Let's get this show on the road," I tell him, quoting him from many of our adventures when I was taking too long doing whatever. He glares at me before turning toward the star-shaped fort and slowly advancing toward it.
Once inside, we see a giant… thing. I don't even know how to describe it. However, Robert knows exactly what it is as he says, "So, that's what all the noise was last night. That's a Mirelurk Queen."
"A what?" I stare at the dead carcass of what seems to have been satan reincarnate.
"They're like Mirelurks, but bigger and a lot meaner. I'm glad we weren't here when that thing went down." He points to some steaming acid-looking stuff, and continues. "They spit that at you, and it burns like hell. Not to even mention how powerful their claws are." He hears my audible gulp. "Yeah."
"Well, I didn't realize my General beacon was turned on," I hear from a familiar voice.
"Preston?" I glance around until I see the Colonel. "What are you doing here?"
"This used to be the Minutemen's base until it got overran by these things." He points around him—not only to the Mirelurk Queen—but to a whole litter of Mirelurk adults and spawns alike. "We decided to take the Castle back."
"The 'Castle?' Isn't this Fort Independence?"
"Back before the War, that was its name. Now, we call it the Castle. Easier, you know?" He chuckles, only to stop and look seriously at me. "How'd you know the name of it? Been here before?"
"Yeah," I reply. "Back in its glory days."
"Back when the Minutemen used it?" His eyebrows knit together as I shake my head. He looks so confused, I can't help but to laugh. "What does she mean?" he asks Robert.
"Well, if you take into consideration when Boston's glory days as a whole were, you might guess correctly." He grins smugly.
Preston just stares at me, his brows still knitted, yet with his eyes wide open. It's such a comical combination, I giggle at him. "You can't possibly… be serious," he manages.
I nod my head, a smile on my face. "Beth MacCready, Pre-War vault dweller, at your service." He just can't believe it, so he looks back to my husband, who shrugs, his grin still present.
"Okay," Preston says for the fourth time consecutively. "So, the General of the Minutemen just so happens to have been born in 2051, frozen in time, and woken up in 2287. Alright. Seems normal to me." He's been sitting in the armoury—a hidden place he and a woman named Ronnie had cleared out—for a solid ten minutes, trying to come to terms with my situation. He looks up at me, sitting on the table in the middle of the room—a table used for papers with combat strategies—Robert leaning on it next to me. "Your friend—that man that left the Commonwealth when the Institute blew up… he was trying to protect you back at Concord, huh? He wouldn't let you say anything about your being Pre-War. I remember you saying something, and then he'd cut you off, finishing your story. Was that what he was doing?"
I nod. "Yeah. Of course, he knew. He actually knew more about my situation than I did for a long time." He shakes his head, astonished at all of this.
"What about today? How'd you guys get here so quickly? Like I said, I didn't know my General beacon was on." He chuckles, although it sounds strained due to his shock.
"Oh, we live over there," I say nonchalantly, pointing my thumb west of us. "All your commotion woke us up last night."
"You live where?" He looks toward the direction I pointed, although there's nothing but wall to stare at from in here.
"On Spectacle Island," Robert answers. "We moved in several months back."
"On Mirelurk Island?" His brows raise.
"Yup. Took care of them and called it our own. We had a house built and everything—the Atom Cats helped us a lot. And even one of our friends in the Brotherhood," I tell him. Well, that used to be in the Brotherhood, I think.
Preston looks down at the ground. "Well, if only we'd known that, we would have gotten you to lead this attack. The battle would have been over so much sooner—and with fewer casualties…"
"Nuh-uh," Robert says. "We couldn't have anyway. Well, at least not her. If you haven't already noticed, she's expecting. And we can't afford to put her in danger at the moment." He leans away from the table suddenly and makes for the door. "I'm headed home," he tells me. "So, if you want a ride…"
I look to Preston. "I'm sorry about that. Like you said in Sanctuary: he's protective. I'll see you later." I carefully climb off the table and follow Robert. Once I catch up to him—already on the other side of the Castle's main doors—I ask him, "What was that all about?"
"It's not obvious?" He keeps walking, not even turning to look at me as he talks. "He wanted you to put your life—our baby's life—in danger just so they can expand their militia. I won't have it."
I latch onto his arm, stopping his gait. "It was just wishful thinking. He knows I couldn't have, and it's over anyway. I can't do anything about it now."
"Good thing, too." He glances toward home, refusing to meet my gaze. His attitude is completely different from the one he had just a few minutes ago.
"Robert, look at me." Unwilling, he turns his face down toward me. "There's nothing to worry about. Everything here is fine—the baby is fine. I don't see why you're being so mad about it."
"I don't see why you're okay with it." He shakes his arm free and again heads toward the boat.
Ever since our small fight just outside the Castle, Robert's been keeping his distance. Why was he being like that? I've never seen him like that before… When we docked in the boathouse, he silently handed me his rifle and went toward Danse's house. He's still there—although I don't know what he's doing.
"Hey, Mom. Where's Dad? Didn't he come home with you?" Duncan has been searching all over kingdom come in search of his father.
"He went to Danse's house," I tell the boy as I put the rifles' ammo clips back into their places.
"Oh." He moves to the front door—which is always kept open anymore—and stares out north, toward the house I mentioned. "What's he doing?"
"Lord knows what." I hand him the last three clips. "Put these up, and I'll go find out?" He nods as I take off.
As I walk to my former colleague's home, I not only see that his door is open as well, but I hear him speaking, as if he's instructing someone. "That's it. Keep your feet flat, and continue to breathe. I can't stress that enough. Breathe." I walk up the steps to his house and knock on the opened door. Looking toward me, "Hey, Beth. Come in." I can now see exactly what he's doing.
Robert is on his bench press, currently holding up the barbell, and Danse is standing not three feet from his head, spotting for him. "What's going on here?" I realize my tone is super confused sounding.
"He wanted some help lifting, so I'm helping him." Danse only spares a moment to look at me as he says this, again focusing on his trainee.
"I see that. Just… why?"
"Said he was upset—wanted to get stronger. Those two can go really well together when it's safe. So, that's why he asked me to help him. One more," he tells him.
Robert finishes the last rep and sets the barbell back in its cradle. He sits up and looks at me, but his expression is off—it doesn't look like he's happy to see me, but rather sort of annoyed at my presence.
"He did really good for never using weights before," Danse tells me. "Consider me impressed." He glances between us and connects the dots: Robert must've been upset because of me. They're fighting, his eyes say, reflecting his thoughts. "I'll just, uh… I need to go… do something. Be right back." He excuses himself as he leaves the house—giving Robert and I some privacy.
After a minute, he says, "He's not too bad of an instruct—"
"Enough with the small talk," I interrupt. "What is going on? You haven't been your usual self ever since this morning at the Castle. It's been four hours, and you still haven't told me why. So, I wanna know."
He grabs a rag I assume our friend had set aside for him, and wipes his neck and brow. "Why…" He stands and—for the first time since living in Home Plate, back before finding Duncan's cure—he starts to pace. This isn't good, I think.
"Because of this morning, it seemed to me that you don't care. That you couldn't give a crap about me. Me, I hear you ask. Not really me as much as what would wreck me.
"I wanted you to stay home—to stay safe, to keep our baby safe, just in case of something dangerous at the Castle. But you came along anyway, despite my trying to keep you out of harm's way. You put our unborn child in the line of danger—but more than that… you put you in the line of danger.
"Now, I know nothing ended up wanting to kill us, but it's the principle—that you didn't trust me enough to stay here. Do you know what would happen if I lost you, Beth? Have you any clue?"
He sighs. "Do you remember back when you first hired me—I think it was about a week after—that I got horrendously drunk and nearly committed suicide?" I nod, remembering how painful it was, especially as he grew to mean more to me. Yet, I stay silent as he continues. "I didn't want to live anymore, because I was so sure that Duncan was going to die. That, and with Lucy being gone, I battled depression for four long years. Until I met you.
"When you saved me that night, and I woke up the next morning, I swore I would never attempt to kill myself again. For Duncan, for you. But, can you imagine, if I lost you, how hard it would be to keep my promise? I wouldn't want Duncan without a father, but I honestly don't think I could handle it enough to stay alive. It was bad enough the first time—I couldn't this time. Not with you." Ever so slightly, I see his eyes glistening.
And as for my own, I feel my eyes threatening complete waterworks. "I'm… I'm so sorry, Robert." Annnd, there they go. I dab at my face with the sleeve of my shirt, trying to make it seem like I'm not crying, but he knows. He always knows.
"Beth…" He comes towards me slowly, not sure how he'll be received. Once he's close enough, he stops—but I don't. Not caring how sweaty he's gotten, I wrap my arms around him and let loose.
"I'm sorry. I didn't think. I really am stupid." He envelopes me in his embrace completely, shushing and kissing the top of my head.
MacCready POV
I didn't think she's be upset like that. If anything, I expected her to be mad at me—not come undone and break down a dam of tears. I didn't even tell her all of it. But why should I? I'd already come to the conclusion that I was wrong, so why make it worse?
Last night—before being woken up by that rude beast across the pond—I had a disturbing dream. I had a dream that our baby was born—and although I don't remember the gender of it—I was utterly shocked to find out it wasn't mine, at all. So, I'd woken up with that mentality for some reason. What if it is somebody else's? No, I'd told myself come morning. We haven't been apart long enough for her to blow her nose without me knowing about it. So, why would I go and say that to her—make her even more upset after our fight?
She's still crying in my arms, in the middle of Danse's house. Cause why would we do this kind of thing in our own, right?
I glance toward the door—still open—and see Danse standing outside, looking in. He looks worried. I smile at him and give him a thumbs up, letting him know we're better. He nods and walks off someplace.
Once Beth's finished ruining my shirt, we head home—giving Danse his house back finally. She says to me, "Well, I'd read this thing once. It's probably not important, but I just thought of it."
"Thought of what?" I ask.
"'Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.' So, even if I did die, you would have at least known me."
"No," I refute. "Lord Alfred Tennyson was wrong. I'd rather keep you around a while longer, if you don't mind." She just smiles at me.
A few minutes later, she asks, "So, Danse said you were upset—and I get that. But what was that about becoming stronger?"
I chuckle. "I thought maybe if I had more muscle, I could keep you at home easier—tie you to the bedpost or something."
She grins. "You don't need to try to keep me at home to tie me to the bedpost. All you gotta do is ask." She winks at me.
I take it in stride. "Yeah. Speaking of that—last night, you said later. It's later right now."
She looks to the clock and back at me. "Well. I guess it is later." Her devilish grin—which I love so much—appears.
Wow. I'm the stupid one for even thinking that she'd cheat on me, I think some time later as she passes out on top of me, her bare skin lining my own. I can feel the baby kick against me—our baby.