It was one of those nights that kept you awake. Only this time, it wasn't your past actions haunting you - impeccable timing as always - when you wanted nothing more but to drift away into a peaceful sleep. Nor the classic mental replays of conversations, pinpointing the exact moment where you fucked up and made a fool of yourself. No, not this particular evening. A whole different type of struggle kept everyone up later than usual, crowding the streets and making the city appear to be more lively and safe than it truly was.

A heat wave struck Boston and it had zero intention of leaving. The past days were hot, long and exhausting. Today wasn't an exception. It made travel and commerce increasingly difficult, the people easily agitated. As I made my way to the bar I passed people flocking together on makeshift terraces in front their rotten shacks, hoping to catch that one cool breeze on their sunburned faces.

In the distance, a red neon light flickered wildly in the darkness. I couldn't make out what it said. But according to her vague directions, I was on the right track. And almost on time.

'No funny business.' One of the staunch doormen warned me before I stopped in front of the entrance. I shook my head. Keeping an eye on other incoming visitors, he held the door open for me. I didn't knew what to expect of this place. Then again, if the liquor was as good as she led me to believe earlier today, I didn't care.

When I entered the bar, it was hot and unpleasantly crowded. A thick cloud of cigarette smoke twirled through the air. A couple of girls were dancing by themselves, lost in the rush of the jet they had inhaled. I looked around and immediately realized how this bar wasn't like the others I've been to. Not in the slightest. This one was themed. Horribly ironically themed, at least for someone like me. On the right wall, posters of long forgotten musicians were hung up. Chuck Berry, Elvis to name a few. I wondered if anyone aside from me - and maybe the owners - actually knew the music playing from the big jukebox to my left.

'Sophie! Over here!' She waved a tiny notebook up and down towards her face.

'You actually made it!' Her smile was broad and honest, as usual.

'I can't say no to you, Piper. You know I can't.' I charmingly replied and took the seat in front of her. I placed my leather bag down at my feet and made myself comfortable in the red chair. She was a close friend, one of the few people I could trust. And those people, well I could count them on one hand.

'You alone, Blue?' She asked curiously, her eyes peeking behind my shoulders.

'Yeah, just me.' I wondered who she'd expect.

I couldn't help but be fascinated by the interior. Aside from posters, the owners had displayed three guitars in glass cases - a little bit damaged, but seemingly in working order. Being surrounded by relics of my past, I couldn't help but feel nostalgic and a little saddened. I wondered if I could still play the guitar once I got the chance to hold one. My thoughts and feelings were badly camouflaged, because Piper picked up on them instantly.

'You don't like the bar? My friend from the upper stands told me about this place. What, don't tell me you don't like this place.' She winked at me playfully. You see, there was another reason she scored high on the list of people I held dear. If someone would ask where I was from - truly from - only Piper could answer that question correctly.

'It's ah- a bit comical. Yeah, I like it.' I eventually decided on.

'So... see anything you like?' She grinned, raising one eyebrow as she sipped from her drink. Her eyes flickered wildly, like the candle placed on our low table.

'I'm not sure.' I hesitantly replied, after I took a quick glance over the men seated around us. There were two type of men present at this bar. Mercenaries, devoid of emotion as they discussed their latest dealings with their clients. And rugged, unwashed farmhands and caravan workers, coming here of all places to spend their precious caps. I could pick 'em out the crowd just as easily as the unknowing targets through the scope of my rifle.

'Blue, c'mon. I don't mean to sound insensitive but it's been two years.' She bowed over towards me, placed her hand on mine. 'You need to let him go. It's time. Be happy.' The words flowed softly over her cherry red lips. She had a point. I'd be lying if I said she didn't. But her words, no matter how caring and emphatic... they remained easier said than done.

'Don't you miss having a special someone around? Sharing little secrets, whispering sweet nothings in each other's ears...' She continued in a dreamy voice, staring into the distance as if said scenes came to life before her eyes.

Ever since I emerged from the Vault, only to find out my husband could not, you could say my view on romance has become pessimistic to say the least. Time heals all wounds they say, but this one never closed up properly. Some days it would fester, other days it felt as if I made peace with it, accepting its presence. But my views remained the same, even if two years had passed. Romance? In times like these? Only a fool would think it was a mere harmless dream to chase. So eventually, I stopped bothering.

'You're a hopeless romantic. How can you live with yourself?' I jokingly asked her, throwing my hands desperately in the air. But I knew the answer to my own question already. She didn't let her mind wander over the consequences, the risks. She lived in the moment. Unlike me.

'Fine, I'll drop it.' She said, slightly annoyed by my cynical behavior.

'Besides, I have far more important news!' She exclaimed, raising her voice.

'Oh?'

'I hereby pronounce a toast! To our latest top story!'

She positively glowed when she announced her latest success, dangling her nearly empty whiskey glass in front of my eyes. Top story she called it. More like my life being portrayed as that of a true heroine of this time, with the sole purpose of stitching the Commonwealth back together. She had been nagging me for weeks to cover a story about my line of work, but I hesitated. I was proud of my work as General of the Minute Men - never liked the name - but I disliked the idea of a story about it, blown out of proportion. I knew it was her style, but I didn't want unnecessary attention. If there's one rule to live by in the wastes, it's keep your head down and mind your own damn business. A motive to kill is cheap nowadays and didn't always have to make sense.

'I'll get us another round.' I announced, since I didn't yet have a drink to toast to her latest article.

'I'll check out the jukebox in the meantime. It's got all the classics, Blue. I love it.' She told me, right before handing me some caps for the drinks.

I shook my head. 'My treat.'

I made my way towards the bar, unable to avoid contact with wayward limbs of strangers, their clothing damp and reeking of sweat. When I finally made my way through the sea of people, I found a lucky empty seat and waited for the bartender to notice me. There was only one and he clearly couldn't handle the considerable crowd he had to serve this night. The look on his face varied from panicked to concentrated while sweat poured down his temples. I decided to wait patiently, unlike other costumers shouting at him to win his attention.

A familiar guitar riff blasted through the bar. A classic. One to set the mood and if you asked me, it fitted the theme of the bar pretty nicely. Good old Pre-War classics, how I've missed you.

'Deep down in Louisiana close to New Orleans...'

The barstool next to me opened up. Didn't stay empty for long. A man, dressed in a washed out white t-shirt and jeans claimed the seat as his own. His hair was wavy and thick, dark as coal. He stared into his whiskey, nonchalantly stirring it around. For a moment it looked like he was contemplating his whole life. But then again, I couldn't be sure as his eyes were covered by a pair of dark sunglasses which made him significantly harder to read. I found it odd. I wondered why he wore them. You know, during the nighttime and in a bar with dimmed lights. It made little sense.

Suddenly, I heard three guys approach me from behind. Took a brief look over my shoulder and I could tell they were bad news. I could smell it from miles away. Two of them were clearly egging the broadest of the group on. The smallest one of the bunch, was stifling a laugh and staring me down.

The broad one approached me, his two friends standing behind him as if the show was about to start, eagerly watching his every move.

'Well, well. Look what strolled into the bar tonight.' He put his arm around me, where it didn't stay for long. I pulled away, harshly, without hiding my disgust for the way he came on to me without warning.

'Fuck off.' I replied, short and disinterested. I turned my head back to focus on the bartender in front of me. Cut them off short, it's the best chance to avoid discussion.

'Watch out, this kitty has claws.' I heard one of his friends say, amusement in his voice. I rolled my eyes.

'Bad mouth, hm? Just how I like 'em.' I felt him close in on me. He placed his arm on the bar next to me, preventing me from leaving.

'I don't think you understand.' I hissed, staring into his eyes, 'I said fuck off. Do you want me to spell it out for you?' I smirked, confident he'd leave me alone after I made myself clear. He seemed young. Younger than me, and clearly drunk.

At that point he reached for my wrist, clenching it tightly. When I tried to escape from his grasp, I couldn't. I'd made him mad. Dealing with humiliation in front of his friends clearly didn't sit well with him. Hoping he wouldn't notice I pulled up my right leg so I could reach for the knife I always carried with me, strapped safely around my ankle. Just in case.

'Fellas, fellas.' The man who sat next to me spoke up, out of nowhere. His voice was a little hoarse but deep, like one of a wintered ex soldier down on his luck, drinking away the memories by himself in a bar. A bar just like this one.

'Now there's no need to treat a lady like this.' He continued, his words focused, confident and unwavering. He told them off as if he laid out the simplest truth in life. Didn't even see a point to turn around and face them. Instead, he continued to savor his whiskey undisturbed after he was done talking.

'What's it to you, freak? You her lover?' He snapped, still holding my wrists.

Then and only then did he turn around to face the men, a giant confident smirk appearing slowly on his lips. He seemed to enjoy this.

'Well call me old fashioned but see, I have an issue with how you're treating this lady right here.'

'Oh you do, do you?' The idiot turned his attention towards the mysterious stranger. I was eager to see how this strained situation would resolve itself. I sat on the edge of my seat, simply observing this clash of testosterone like an outsider. It was most amusing, despite the fact I was still a captive.

'Yeah. I do.' He continued, stone cold. 'Now here's what will happen. One, you're letting the lady go. Two, you return to your drinks and enjoy the rest of the evening. This never happened. Sounds good, gentlemen?'

The three of them clearly didn't expected to be lectured this way. Not like that. It left them speechless, something I couldn't achieve. I saw the broad one hesitate, visibly breaking his brain improvising a comeback, a witty reply. Whatever his plan was, it stopped dead in its tracks once his eyes locked on two golden high polished, engraved ten millimeter guns that the stranger was carrying on the back of his waist. Those were some damn quality guns. I always appreciated professional craftsmanship.

The little one mumbled it wasn't worth it. Barely audible, but loud enough for him to hear, get the message. Aggressively he let go of my wrist. My skin was a bit red and sore, but this was nothing compared to other fights I had gotten into before. He raised a menacing finger at my savior. His eyes were disappointed and angry, as if he couldn't live with the idea of running from a fight he knew he couldn't win.

'If I see you here again, you're dead.' He threatened, already in the process of retreating, tail between his legs. What a joke. I watched them vanish in the crowd.

'You okay?' He caught me off guard by placing his hand on my shoulder to face me towards him.

'Yeah. Thanks. But you didn't need to.' I murmured, still blown away by the fuzzy, warm feeling this ordeal left me with. Been a while since I got help without asking, charging or begging for it. This man didn't need to get mixed up in my problem, yet he did. This act, it captivated me in the most unexpected way.

'My pleasure. Don't mention it.' He simply stated, shrugging it off like it was nothing. As if his daytime job consisted of nothing else but saving seemingly innocent and frail women such as myself from idiots with no concept of boundaries.

'I'm Sophie.'

I saw my own reflection in his sunglasses. My smile was crooked and confused. Then he stretched out his hand towards me. Not too many people did this anymore. This simple gesture, it had died out almost completely. Afraid of diseases, alienated from human contact.

'How pre-war of you.' I giggled, my mind debating if I should just straight out tell him how charming I found this gesture. How much it reminded me of my past. I placed my hand in his. His touch was warm and tight. He gave me a little squeeze before he let go.

'Hey, fits the theme.' He chuckled and pulled up his shoulders.

'What can I get you?' The bartender. I had forgotten about him.

I ordered two whiskeys. Couldn't help but thinking that saving a damsel in distress would make for a nice reason to spark up a conversation. But it didn't. Instead he continued to stare into his glass as before. The forlorn expression across his features returned and our short conversation retreated. Even though the bar was filled by loud old rock tunes, the uncomfortable silence was very noticeable for me. I wondered if he came here by himself. Somehow, I doubted it. I had met plenty of men his age before, but never this type. This one was different. Call it a hunch, call it listening to your guts.

'What's with the glasses?' I asked him eventually, for lack of better conversation material. I cringed at myself, wishing I'd come up with a more interesting question. Hell, I could've asked him if he came here often and still be more satisfied with the my conversation starter.

'Oh these?' He looked up instantly, wiggling his glasses up and down briefly without revealing his eyes. 'It's called style, sugar.'

Surprisingly, for the first time the crassness of these kind of words charmed me. I let out an uncomfortable giggle and nodded at him. Not knowing what to say, I took a swig from the drink that the bartender presented for me a few seconds ago. I noticed how my leg was bouncing up and down on the metal bars of the stool. A drop of sweat poured down my chest. I unbuttoned my flannel shirt a little, hoping it would make the heat more bearable.

He reached for his jacket that hung in front of his legs against the brick wall. As he lowered his face, I could feel his breath on my arm. It was only briefly, but I could clearly feel it. Such an intimate gesture, yet meaningless for us two strangers in the night. I didn't expect myself to notice it, let alone be startled by how this simple action affected me. The fact that I found him strangely attractive didn't help. I grew a little bit nervous as he came back up. He smelled of peppermint and whiskey. Something else too, something sweet. I couldn't place my finger on it.

'So, Sophie. Enlighten me.' My name rolled of his tongue as if he had pronounced the name of a delicate, rare flower. He flipped open the metal lighter. With one short spark, he lit up his cigarette. 'What brings you to a place like this?'

'I'm here with my friend.' I replied, cursing myself for not coming up with a more exciting answer.

'Then why aren't you with your friend, hm?' He murmured, then shuffled a bit closer to me. I looked behind my shoulder, wondering how long I'd been sitting here and leaving Piper by herself. She was in deep discussion with a man, dressed in a black suit. Brown, short hair. Tall. Her type. And when I saw how she leaned in close when he spoke to her, I knew I could stay away a little longer. This pleased me greatly, because my curiosity wasn't sated at all. I didn't get to answer his question, for he had lined up a new one.

'You like the music?'

'It's my favorite. Can't beat the classics.'

'You know, I'm all for a little rock'n'roll now and then, but nothing beats jazz. I'm a big Sinatra fan myself.'

My eyes narrowed and I cocked my head. This man was smooth. Too wordy, too smart. Out of place here, in this gritty bar. He continued to discuss the musicians of my past as if he was there to witness their rise and their fall. I figured it was an act of some kind, to pick up easily impressed girls. Play the hero, score the girl. Throw in a little smooth talking. A dash of old knowledge. As if he could see inside my head. It almost seemed so plausible that I concluded he was playing a trick on me. But something about him intrigued me either way. I shook my head and denied the fact I'd been looking at him, more closely as I had looked at any other man in the last two years.

'What did you say your name was?' I asked, my voice trying its very best to sound casual, unaffected by his presence. As if I wasn't dying to know the identity of my personal hero of the day. I'd given him mine, after all. He took a puff of his cigarette and slowly blew the smoke through his nose. He looked up at me.

'I never told you.'

His voice was low and teasing, as if he relished in giving me this answer. The same smirk I saw when he was lecturing those men earlier returned. Only this time, he was closer than before. So close that I could smell him. My eyes wandered over his shoulders, hoping he wouldn't notice.

'Well, do you plan to?' I smirked, my voice flirty. When I realized what it must've looked like to the outsiders, merely observing us talk I panicked. I didn't want to give him the wrong impression. So I grabbed the two glasses of whiskey - that I had forgotten about, again - and made way to leave.

'I'm Deacon.' He hastily answered, but something in his voice was off. He sounded as if he just lost a game of poker, flinging his losing cards on the wooden table whilst accepting his loss with beautiful grace. Maybe he didn't like his name. Maybe he realized the whole mysterious stranger act was in vain. But at least I knew his name.

'Well in any case, Deacon... Thank you for saving me this lovely evening. I'd love to stay and chat but I need to rejoin my friend.' My words were lies, hastily created to get away from this feeling that was slowly but steadily creeping up on me. He made me nervous, made me self aware of my actions, my words. My thoughts. He wasn't keen on telling me his name. Yet he didn't want me to go. If anything, I thought he had a hard time deciding where he wanted to take this. Just like me.

Piper noticed us as the man with the suit took his leave. Right on cue. She waves her hand, mentioning me to come over with the drinks.

'I'll see you around.' I told him, trying to create a loose sense of a real chance to talk to him once more.

'I'm sure you will.' He spoke and turned around to face the bar again.

After a few hours, Piper and I decided to leave. It was four in the morning and the bar was running dry, both on liquor and costumers. Only the hardcore drunks were left to their own devices, while the bartender gave them shit for making such a mess of his fancy establishment. Now I understood why the guitars were kept in cases.

Finally outside, the air felt like a welcoming gift. I inhaled deeply, waving my shirt up and down to let the air flow against my heated skin.

'Oh yeah, I forgot to ask. Who was that handsome guy?'

'What handsome guy?' I answered innocently, aware of the fact she'd pose all sorts of questions about us.

'Sophie, please. I saw you with him. You know, it's like I've seen him around. Yeah. I think he's a DC guard.'

'He didn't seem like the guard type to me.' I replied, faking disinterest.

'I don't know, they accept all types. It's not like they can be picky.'

Then what kind of type did he look like? A man that raised more questions than answers. A man that, if someone ever asked us how me met, I'd have to say he chased away a bunch of idiots with so much style and grace, it was hard not to be curious about him.