There were those ambitious 'bend them until they break' types in Molly's old law firm who had names for other lawyers they thought weak. The most common was 'bug', easily scattering the moment they faced tough opposition or they flailed and failed under pressure like a moth that gets too close to a flame. Today she felt like a bug. The term was no longer relevant and her profession and her colleagues long dead, but it rested at the back of her mind. She was the bug, and this life, was the heel waiting to squash her, so she'd better run, and keep on running.

When she woke, every bit of her ached and still with the headache she had from the night before. Last night it didn't matter that this little house and the bed inside were less indulgent than the one she set up for her and MacCready, but in the cool of the morning, she felt every bump in the mattress. The only solution to the problem would be a stimpak, or a half crate of whiskey, but considering what she had to do it would have to be the former.

From her bag, she took out a small creased photo, the only picture she had recovered from her former home. She found it buried in the pages of an old worn book during her clean up of Sanctuary, amazed that the pages had protected it for so long. The photo, of Nate holding Shaun, snapped while they slept on the couch, showed how it had been for the three of them. Shaun, only 5 months old at the time snuggled in the crook of Nate's folded arms was a painful reminder, but one she held close. She ran her thumb over the faded image. You're deluding yourself if you think you can make it through. You'll never find Shaun, you'll never see your son again. You're a bug. Fresh tears threatened and she shook her head. She stood and found some clean clothes in her pack and dressed without care.

She thought to head back to Sanctuary Hills today, before daybreak if possible, leaving MacCready a note telling him he could leave. He had already stayed well beyond the terms of his contract, especially after she helped him deal with those Gunners. But, it was now almost ten in the morning, she'd have to tell MacCready in person and maybe if she had it in her, apologise for keeping him away from his business too long. She counted the caps in her bag, there would be enough to give him a five hundred and send him on his way.

She had just finished dressing and there was a knock at the door. "Are you decent?"

No, far from it. she thought. If she had a mirror she'd see her face was still puffy from crying and that her eyes were dotted with red. She smoothed her hair and ran two fingers under her eyes to catch any stray tears that might have fallen that she hadn't noticed. She shoved the photo and remaining clothes back in the bag. "Come in."

MacCready had a cup of tea in his hand and he passed it to her without asking if she wanted it first. He then leaned back on the wall.

"Thank you." She gave him a weak smile and remained seated on the bed.

"Where to today, Gould?" He rubbed his beard as he spoke, his face expressionless.

Molly's heart sank, she had hoped there was more to the mercenary than a hard and flippant response. Whatever she glimpsed in his eyes when she fled the room last night was all but gone from his tone and manner today. Another indicator of what a fool she had been to think- think- what had she been thinking?

She took a mouthful of hot liquid. It burnt her tongue and she shut her eyes before blinking them open again. "I think, you should head back to the boathouse." She put the cup down on a table and brought out the pouch with the caps she had counted and put aside. "Or take these and go back to Goodneighbor. Job done." She threw the pouch to him.

He caught it and turned the pouch over in his hands, his eyes narrowing as he examined it. "Caps?"

"There's five hundred there, like we agreed. Oh and one more thing-" She reached back into the bag and brought out a packet of cigarettes that she also threw to him. MacCready did not smile or say thank you. He remained quiet, his face turned down to the floor as he dropped the cigarettes to the ground.

"What, not your brand?" She gave a nervous laugh.

Molly watched in silence as he dug his heel into a small gap in the floorboard. He was biting his lip, arms folded across his chest. He didn't look up when he spoke. "I thought you were different. That you wanted to help people. That's why I've been sticking around."

Molly sat on the bed and scratched her cheek "I don't know about different, but I do. I- I have," she stuttered. She felt her chest tighten.

MacCready threw the caps at her feet and they clinked against the wooden floor. When he looked up, a snarl had formed across his lips. "Keep your caps. I don't need them." He looked away and she could hear his breath as he inhaled deeply.

Molly picked the pouch off floor, it felt heavier than before. "I don't understand, we had a deal. These caps are for the services you've provided to me. In fact you've done more than I asked. If you want more - I should give you more." She reached into the bag and brought out another pouch.

"I don't want your fu- oh fuck it. I don't want your fucking caps. I don't want them and I don't need them. Put them back in your fucking bag." His nostrils flared as he spoke. His voice harsh and abrupt.

"What have I done to offend you? These are caps for a job you've done." She looked down at her hands, she didn't want to do this, now he was swearing and that wasn't a good sign for what little she knew of him. If only she could have fled before dawn, she could have avoided this. "Is this because of last night? Because I didn't want to fuck you? Is that what this is about?" She bared her teeth and glared at him.

"You think it's about that? You honestly think it's about that?" The veins in his neck rose and stood out straining against his collar.

Molly felt the heat rush to her cheeks. "What else is it about if not that, my caps not good enough?"

MacCready began to pace the room. "You are so caught up in what you had before." He stopped and pointed a finger at her. "I see you. I see what you're doing."

Molly couldn't sit down any longer, her anger making her body tense and her heart pound. She stood, her eyes narrowed and focused. "You see what exactly? You're a fucking mercenary, you kill for cash. You got lucky, you got your cash cow as well as quick fuck from someone who should know better. But, there's one thing you're not, MacCready."

"And what the hell is that, Gould?"

"You're not a psychologist, you don't know me from the ass end of the Commonwealth."

MacCready tilted his head up then went to the corner of the room and picked up the ornate vase sitting on the sideboard. "I see this, I see you scouring through fallen down houses and factories looking for your bits of junk. I've watched you fawn over a fucking painting whilst there are super mutants just around the corner. And you know what? This piece of junk doesn't mean shit." He threw it violently on the floor and it shattered across the room to Molly's feet.

Molly stood back as the vase hurtled to the ground. She whimpered then swallowed hard. Her flight response began to kick in and her eyes darted around the room, but there was only one way out.

He went to the small table in the corner, one inlaid with what appeared to be delicate shell. "This too, this-" He pushed it over and with a stomp of his boot it splintered into pieces. He picked up broken part of the leg and cracked it in two over his knee tossing each splinter to opposite sides of the room. "It's all bullshit."

She had seen MacCready angry before, but he never directed it at her. The veins on his neck continued to pulse and he flexed his fingers as he marched from one side of the room to the other. He was shaking his head and muttering.

A tingling sense rose in her fingers and toes and if MacCready hadn't been standing directly in front of the door she might have fled then and there and not looked back. Her voice rose an octave higher and quivered in response to MacCready's palpable anger. Nate would never have shouted at her like this. "I'm just trying to provide-"

He strode over to her and she took another step back and began to tremble. He tilted his head. "What, what are you trying to provide, Gould? Tell me, General."

Molly licked her trembling lips and sniffed before crossing her arms over her chest. "I-I don't know." Her mind was racing. She turned her face away unable to reason or give him semblance of an answer.

"Little luxuries, tapestries, nice carpets, vases and shit? These people need fresh water. They need food that doesn't rot their gut, or worse, turn them to ghouls. They need a simple roof over their head that's what they need and a safe space for their families. They don't need this other shit."

"They have all of that, fresh water, food, that's what I've built." She pushed the palms of her hands towards him, affronted at the suggestion that the necessities didn't come first she wanted him to see the callouses and blisters after three days of hard work. "And this-" She picked up a small photo frame, in it, a sailboat on an open sea with a blue sky and a gull in the foreground. "This means something, it- it can mean something."

"It means something to you, Gould, it means jack shit to everyone else. That's not the life we live now. What fucking good is a fucking vase or a fucking ornate table, or a picture of boat when you're worried about being murdered in your fucking sleep? Huh? Answer me that, General? It means fucking nothing - it's gone." He was pushing for an answer she couldn't give, his voice still angry. "Your world-", he made a levelling motion with both hands. "Is gone. You will never have what you had, Molly Gould, and if you are trying to give it to these settlers, unless they can eat it, drink it or it fires a bullet, they don't fucking need it."

Molly placed a hand over mouth, she was on the verge of angry tears. Her voice low and rumbling. "Get out. Get the fuck out."

MacCready shook his head. "Oh no, I'm not running away, that's your specialty. You know what's a luxury? Do you? Really?" He began to pace again and Molly could only watch him, her eyes brimming with tears. "A true luxury in this place is having a safe space to sleep at night, where your family is safe. That's a fucking luxury in this world. And even when you think you've done the right thing by them this fucking life trips you up." He moved suddenly towards her, she flinched as he swept past her and picked up her bag from the bed, she tried to grab it from him but he managed to throw it hard across the room. Caps and clothes scattered and the photo of Nate and Shaun fluttered to the ground.

Molly could not stop the tears then; they were hot on her cheeks as she gulped back a sob.

He stood in the middle of the room and picked up the photo. He shook his head and laughed.

She was shaking violently by this stage. "Give it to me. Give it to me now." She begged and held out a trembling hand. "Give it to me."

He looked at her, then the photo again. "See this," he turned the photo to her but continued to move it as she tried to grab it. "Just look at it, Gould. Just fucking look." He batted away her hand.

"MacCready give me the fucking photo now. Please, please."

"No, not until you can see."

Molly stood back "Please, that photo is my only-'

"Look how serene they are, Molly, asleep. You took this right? While they were sleeping?"

She swallowed and didn't answer, instead she looked away. She didn't want to witness his anger taken out on the only picture she had left of Nate and Shaun.

"Damn it, Gould, Look at it." His tone softened. "Just look, please."

She knew what he wanted her to see, it wasn't just Nate and Shaun, it was something bigger, it was something she can never have again, and something that should be cherished for what it was, it should guide her not rule over her. She'd placed two hands over her mouth, but it wasn't enough to stifle the sobbing.

"Please. Just look." MacCready moved backwards until he hit the wall and he slid down until he was on the ground. His shoulders sagged his eyes downcast. He'd turned the photo back towards him. "They look safe. Were they safe?" His eyes turned up to hers pleading.

She looked up to see him defeated and limp. She wiped away tears and nodded.

"Good. Good. You were lucky to have that. Your loved ones, safe, able to sleep without fear." MacCready's bottom lip curled over the top and he was nodding. "You had that. You were lucky. Not my Lucy, not my Duncan. They never had that. I thought I could give it to them but I couldn't. I couldn't."

Molly moved back and slid on to the bed, she turned her head down and away. "Lucy, your wife- you told me about her. But who is Duncan?" She stopped shaking, but her voice remained choked. Whatever fight and anger that Molly had seen manifest in MacCready had dissipated and along with it, her own.

His voice was barely above a whisper. "Duncan is my son, Molly. And I stayed with you because I thought you could help us, and I'm here because I'm trying to be a better person for him."

Molly felt her throat close up and a tight ball forming in her gut. Tears streamed into her mouth as she spoke. "You never said. How old is he? What does he look like? Why did you leave him?" She spluttered out the words wanting to know more.

"I wasn't sure when or how to ask you. I've asked a lot of you already. He's old enough to know that his father can fail him. The other stuff-" He rubbed the bridge of his nose.

"And Lucy, you never said how Lucy died." She rubbed her mouth, trying to take in this information. That he wasn't just the lone mercenary trying to escape a previous life, a wife she understood, but a son? A whimper came out when she tried to stifle another sob. A son.

"Lucy died because- because I couldn't keep her safe." He pressed a forefinger and thumb into his closed eyes and remained silent.

Molly placed her face in her hands. She'd made a terrible mistake, assessed a man on barely a few words, on the fact because he was younger he had not lived some sort of rich life, she'd done something she accused others of doing far too often, she'd looked at the cover and not the pages inside. She thought there would be a book filled with naked pictures, innuendo, death and guns, whiskey and cigarettes, a callous youth only interested in caps and where he could next stick his dick. Instead what she found was man with a family like hers, with fears and emotions about what it meant to try and keep them safe, to live some sort of life in an unforgiving wasteland with death just around the corner.

MacCready was right, pining for the past was not making it easier for her, she was running and hiding from it behind the mask of General of the Minutemen. Luxuries were for her, to make her feel good, give her a sense of how she lived before. However, neither they nor the good deeds she performed could bring back the past, or help her find Shaun.

She stood up and walked towards MacCready and sat down next to him, her shoulder leaning against his arm. He leaned against her in response. "Where is Duncan now?"

MacCready moved his hand from his face and drew one knee up and tapped a palm on his kneecap. "He's safe, with others. But he's ill and no one knows why."

Molly didn't look at him, instead she fiddled with the button on her shirt. "If Shaun were sick, if he was where your Duncan is, I would do anything, even leave him behind if I knew I could find a way to make him better." She laid her head on his shoulder. "Can I help?"

He let out a quiet laugh. "I knew you'd say that. It's the reason I didn't want to take the caps, I had another favour to ask."

"Then ask, and let's put the caps aside if and when we need them."

He held the photo out in front of her. "Here. I would never have destroyed it you know." He put his arm around her. "You would help me? Again?"

Molly nodded. She felt too raw to truly embrace him, his anger had scared her, but given her attitude and behaviour she wasn't sure she could blame him for that. She hoped she would not see that again, there was enough things to be scared of, to have that from someone close would be too much. There would be plenty of time to heal from that, for now they had settled and she understood. "I'm sorry. I made a mistake, I thought- I misjudged you, I thought you were just- just-" She sighed.

"Just another mercenary looking for easy caps and if he can get it, more?"

She nodded again and wiped her face of remnant tears with the sleeve of her shirt.

"I can hardly blame you. Trusting people here can be fuc- argh, can be dangerous. But I trust you, I think from the moment I laid eyes on you. And after Winlock and Barnes, I couldn't leave, not until-"

"Is that why you took the job?" She put a hand on his chest. She could feel his heartbeat as it slowed down, his breath easing with each furtive glance at one another.

"I took it for a number of reasons, but yeah."

"It seems we both have a lot of shitty things happening or have happened in our lives. Why not ask someone else, someone a little- more together than me?"

He looked down to her. "General, I don't think I've met anybody in this whole damn Commonwealth with their sh- with their stuff together and, despite what you think, you're more trustworthy than the whole of Diamond City and Goodneighbor put together."

"I'm sorry. For a lot of things it seems. What's your favour to ask? What can I do to help you and Duncan?"

He waved his hands and then reached for the packet of cigarettes. "You're forgiven." He lit the cigarette and waved the smoke away. "I know you hate this, but given the circumstances."

"It's okay," she said.

He sniffed loudly. "Duncan is sick, has been for a while but I think I know where there might be something to help him. But it's overrun. Last time I tried I almost died. If it wasn't for the few friends I have in Goodneighbor who helped me when I crawled back there, I doubt I would have lived."

Molly hugged him and he kissed the top of her head. She just wanted to get things right for the people she helped, she would double her efforts on the basics, cut back on the luxuries. People needed to feel safe first, that meant food, water, a place to sleep. Every other little thing would come second or not at all. "Thank you," she said.

"For what? Throwing your vase and breaking it?"

"For being right. It's junk, but I think I can admit now it was all for me, and not for anyone else. Baby steps." Her voice was clear, determined. Her hands began to tremble again, not out of fear or nervousness but exhilaration that she could leave something so negative behind.

"I'm still not going to lug that junk around for you."

She laughed, soft and low, with a warm undertone. "I know."

"What next?" he asked.

She sat silent for a moment. She knew what he asked, but she needed time to ponder that aspect, for now it would be action, other decisions could come later.

"We head to wherever this cure is, we get it and we make sure Duncan receives the treatment he needs. I won't send you away without my help."

"And then?"

"If I help you with Duncan, will you help me find Shaun?"

A small choir of voices could be heard through the window, new settlers were arriving, and Molly looked to MacCready, searching his face for an unspoken answer.

MacCready stood and offered Molly his hand. "Come on, General, there's work to be done."

A waft of gun oil and powder hit her nose and she felt a flutter in her chest. Molly could feel the callouses at his fingertips and the softness of his palm. For a man of smaller stature his hands were large by comparison, and she realised then that they embodied everything, he could hold up the world for her.