MacCready knew the way to Med-Tek as well as the veins that stood out on the back of his hand. Each route throbbed and pulsed each time he travelled this way and when he passed the building for the 100th time, he finally entered and almost never came out.

Today their pace on one of those routes was slow; there had been one too many raiders and one too many mutants on the faster routes and the bugs on the one he travelled most frequently were huge this time of year. It was this way or risk having little ammo by the time they arrived. They stayed close to buildings, scrambled over rubble, hid and slinked behind thick clumps of bush that scratched their skin and ripped their clothes. In-between the scrambling, the hiding and slinking, there was little time to chat or to ruminate on the recent events that occurred between him and Molly. That was a good thing, he didn't like the inevitable downer that came with too much talk or too much reflection.

He had to admit it though, if only to himself, that he was falling for her. At first he thought his feelings had played to his sensibilities of wanting to protect; she exuded that same air of gullibility and vulnerability he'd seen in many Little Lamplighters. He knew she was smart but she could barely handle a gun and physically she was soft. Any age gap between them melted into the mire of her inexperience in death and constant danger.

Then he stopped and listened to her, and what he heard was full of the experience he lacked. Intellect her weapon, she fired conversation, words, not bullets, her ammo. The Gunners were never good at that, and he began to question his motives towards her. He knew he was falling when he found he liked the way she whispered in his ear how filthy he was, then kissed him like she didn't care. When he liked how she ran her hands through his hair when his face was buried between her legs. When he liked how she moaned when she came, like a whimper between pleasure and pain. But most of all when he liked the way his name sounded on her lips and he wanted to hear it again and again.

However, any admission like that, filled his head with hissing noises, as if he was listening to a radio broadcast not in tune with the station. So he held the thoughts close and despite the outpouring to her about Duncan, he thought it better to go back the way it was where he'd been here just for the caps, get rid of that white noise that clouded this job. She needed his gun and his eyes, this thing with Med-Tek? Just a favour, right? He didn't want this to get any more complicated, knowing the anger he unleashed on her was due in part to watching her cling to the past, one that didn't involve him. So best push that away, and if that meant no longer sharing her bed, so be it.

It was late afternoon and the sun formed long shadows on the road. They found a promising spot to bunk for the night, an attic in a derelict house. Molly pointed to the covered entrance and when MacCready poked his head through the hole into the room he could see that one side had a gaping hole ripped into the side. You could see right across the river. However, there was section of the room still protected they could huddle there and they wouldn't get wet if it rained. "This place," he said, "should be alright for the night."

She nodded in agreement and climbed up after him.

After dragging a chair across the access in the floor, he dug in his pack for some cram and offered it to her when he'd opened it. She shook her head and brought out a can of pork and beans.

He sat and watched her slowly put each mouthful in and chew like there was no flavour. She looked exhausted and her eyes closed a little too long between blinks. He put the cram down, the gritty canned meat tasted drier than usual. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, just, you know, tired." Her voice was quiet and she slumped as she continued to eat listlessly.

He picked up the cram and began eating again. "General, are we good?" He asked between mouthfuls. This job would go easier if he knew they remained on good terms.

Her brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"

He had wanted a simple answer, a yes preferably and now it was as if he loaded a gun and fired without thinking, he was good at that. That white noise returned and he put the cram down again, scratched the back of his neck with one finger and sighed. "After the other day, I mean. I just wanted to say- I don't normally- I just - I didn't mean to scare you."

"Ahh, okay that's what you mean. Yes, we're good MacCready." She dug her fork back into the can and took another mouthful without looking at him.

He wasn't convinced, and pressed the point. "Cos you'd tell me, right?" He looked at her wanting her to meet his eyes, wanting her to tell him his concern was unfounded, that she wasn't scared of him and theirs was nothing but a business transaction. wantin

She sighed and put the can down in front of her. "Not necessarily. I'd probably send you back to one of the settlements and not even talk about it later. Why, are you worried about that?"

"Nah." He waved his hand and shook his head no. "But, you know, I see you flinching from me, and I don't want that, I don't- I don't want to be like every other asshole merc in this goddamn place, be someone scary that is." He wanted to add 'not to you or anyone I care about', if she could be scared of him, could Duncan also? However, that would be too many tells than he was comfortable with and he clenched his jaw in frustration. He rubbed his brow and looked away then cracked his neck to one side hoping that she wouldn't notice the sad puppy act he had just thrown her way.

"Oh, I see." She picked up a small lantern that sat on its side in the corner and lit it without saying anything else.

"But you know, it's okay. Maybe if we go back to being-" He coughed. "More professional in our relationship." He didn't look at her. He'd made his mind up this how it should be and knowing her reaction would risk that white noise become a thundering rumble. He shrugged and dug into his bag for cigarettes before heading to the hole in the wall and looking out across the river. He didn't need her to like him, he was here for caps remember, and she needn't be here to help him, that was purely her choice; however grateful he might be. He blew smoke and it drifted with the light breeze coming up from below.

"Never the twain," she said quietly from behind him.

He turned to see her writing in a small diary something he'd seen her do from time to time and he scratched his chin curious as to what it might be. "Sorry, what?"

"I was only thinking the other day, If you'd been in my time, you'd be off doing fun things with people your own age, and I'd be stuck in my suburban working Mom lifestyle. Never the two shall meet."

"Oh, I guess. But we could have." What sort of life would have it have been for him? Would he have been smarter, drink and smoke less? Would Lucy be alive? Would Duncan be happy and well? What kind of father would he have been had they not had to fight for their very existence? Or would he and Lucy have never met, where he was the mouthy kid that her parents would try to keep her away from?

"Even if the circumstances contrived it so, I doubt I would be worth a second look." She gave a quiet laugh.

She was wrong, he couldn't let that pass even if she had done it in an effort of self deprecating humour. "What are you talking about, General? You are so worth a second look. In any century." He blew smoke rings in her direction and put a smug smile on his face.

She gave another quiet laugh. "Flatterer."

He winked, turned back and gazed over the river. With no wind and a dull light from a nearby campfire he could see reflections of light on its black, glassy surface. "You think I'd be a shallow person, living that lifestyle?"

There was silence and his eyes darted back to her thinking that she'd say yes, but not wanting to hear it. If he could only stop his brain from loading questions into his mouth he might not once again be clenching his jaw

"I don't think so. From what you've told me you took up the mantle of responsibility when you were what, ten? You saw injustice at the hands of others and you tried to make it easier for the other children. That's not the personality of someone who's shallow or vain. I just think-" She stood and walked over to where he was standing. "If our roles were reversed, if you were a man out of time and an older one at that, I doubt you would have done half the dumb things I have."

He tossed the cigarette through the hole and turned to gently touch her arm. He breathed a sigh of relief that she didn't flinch, she merely closed her eyes and leaned into him. His jaw relaxed and the white noise dissipated. "You don't give yourself enough credit, General. You do just fine. Even when you're collecting all that junk. Besides I'm pretty sure my fu- my stuff ups outweigh yours." He took his hand away and was surprised to recognise disappointment sitting next to fatigue in her eyes. He could hear a click register amongst the quiet; his brain loading another question to fire. "You, go sleep. We got a long day ahead tomorrow," he said.

She didn't argue, simply nodded and returned to the other side of the room laid her pack out and a placed her head down.

He took out another cigarette and lit it, once again blowing rings into the air. He could hear her shallow breaths against the still night air.

When she had first approached him in the Third Rail he'd been halfway to inebriation and halfway to hell. He'd just run off the two biggest assholes in the Gunners and he wasn't looking for more shit. He remembered the smell that drifted in after her; he expected just another Wastelander smelling of sweat against the backdrop of stale cigarettes, caps, gun smoke, sex or alcohol, the usual stink in the back room, but instead it was a light floral scent and it caught him off guard.

Through a faint haze of alcohol he thought she looked unreal. Like the cover of a comic he read when he was fourteen. "Astoundingly Awesome tales." Or something like it. He'd stared at that cover - a woman in a red revealing dress, long flowing dark auburn hair, for a long time, over a year he reckoned. This woman though, she wasn't wearing a dress, her face was pointed and freckled and her hair bright ginger and barely down to her shoulders. Despite the armor she wore, it was the curve of the jumpsuit that stood out, bright blue fabric under rusting metal. At the side of the chest piece he could see generous hips falling into a pinched waist and if she had been wearing that red dress instead of armour covering her breasts, there would have been much more to ogle. Then he remembered hearing rumours about a woman who walked out of a vault and out of time itself and he realised this was her.

She'd asked a lot of questions, never heard of the Gunners, and wanted to know the men who were speaking to him with raised voices. He'd been abrupt with her, pay with caps and he'd be her hired gun and answer any of her questions, within reason. She had smiled and bargained him down like a pro. She looked soft though, not like the other vault dweller he met back during his time in Little Lamplight. That one had been scary - not enough to scare him of course, but compared with this vault dweller, a whole different kettle of fish. She'd told him her name was Molly Gould and they'd be travelling to a place called Sanctuary Hills. He'd taken the two hundred she offered, his bluff worked, he would have done it for less than that amount.

Their first night on the road had them had holed up somewhere similar to where they were now. An attic of a house that sat on the edge of a small lake. She'd disappeared just before sunset into the bush - he assumed to go pee, only to have her run screaming half-dressed scrabbling up the attic ladder ten minutes later.

"What the hell are those things? Are they crabs? Are they mutant crabs?"

"You mean the mirelurks?"

"I don't know what they are, but they-"

There had been a hole in the wall in that place too and MacCready remembered looking towards the lake and seeing a cluster of juveniles, easily dispensed with a large stick or a steel capped boot. And he had started laughing, loud whooping snorts that rang out through the house and down to the lake itself.

"They're just the babies, they wouldn't harm you." He had dismissed her fear with a wave.

"You're kidding me?" she replied.

"It's the ma and pa's you got watch out for - they're nasty." He then had realised she was half-dressed. That had been the first time he'd seen her bare shoulders, dotted with hundreds of freckles set against a background of fair skin. Her chest too. He couldn't look away and had continued to stare even when her cheeks and flesh around her neck flushed crimson.

"You never told me not too-" she had said as she hastily pulled the arms up over her and zipped up the suit.

"Not too what? I thought you were going to pee, not wash yourself. Stay away from the river, the pond, the ocean. At dusk is the worst time to go down to any water source, Princess. Only bad things come out of the water that time of day. The worst thing is you can't see them coming." He sniffed and started laughing again.

The look on her face had been one that he would soon become familiar, a slight scowl, a warning that he was treading on thin ice. "Are you calling me precious? I was just wanting to wash-"

He had shaken his head. "You can't keep clean on the road, that's something you'll have to get used to, Princess." He'd continued to laugh and reached in his bag for some whiskey, he offered her some and she turned her back on him. "Suit yourself, but you'll sleep better." She hadn't known that 'Princess' would be the worst insult he could ever level at her. He'd stayed awake as she slept.

Throughout that next day he'd watch as she clumsily walked from one building to another. The entire time picking through cupboards, closets, boxes, and a whole pile of other shitty little containers. A wrench here, a spyglass there, an old book or a tube of glue, the only time he was interested was when she bent over something and he could see her ass or she picked up a horde of caps, ammo, cigarettes or a bottle of something. Junk for fuck knows what. He'd told her he wouldn't be lugging it around for her, that wasn't his job. She had made him do it anyway.

That night, in a basement, she'd offered to stay awake, as he had done the night before. He acquiesced to her request. However, he kept one eye open throughout the night. Caps could buy you his gun, his service, even a request to carry your junk, but it never brought you his trust.

i"What happened? James you little fucking shit, what happened?" MacCready felt blood in his mouth and his vision clouded. If that little shit had broken the elevator again he was gonna thump his hide. "James?"

The pain that shot through his leg made him cry out. He looked around to see rubble and rockfall and as the dust cleared several people came running towards him. "Motherfucker in a vault suit." He passed out before they reached him.

When he woke he realised he was now in the clinic - lying in the infirmary and when he looked down he could see his leg in a splint and covered with bandages. He felt dizzy and thirsty and when he tried to sit upright, nauseous too.

"He's awake!" It was Connor, covered in dust and a scratch on his head. "Oh you had us worried, MacCready."

"Don't try to sit up, dummy," Lucy pushed MacCready back down on the table.

"Where the motherlovingfuck is Red?" he replied and tried to sit up again.

"Red left ages ago, MacCready, she's in Big Town now. It's just me. Remember?"

"What happened?"

"Cave-in. Rocks hit your head and smashed your leg up real good. Good thing I was here otherwise you'd be hopping out of here minus a leg."

"What-"

Lucy shook her head. "I'll tell you when you're a little less- dazed. Just lie down."

"Whose fucking fault was it?"

"It was no one's fault, MacCready. We live in a cave, apparently these things happen."

"I knew that." He sniffed then winced.

"Uh-huh."

"My leg? Why has it got all those bandages?"

"It's smashed, good and proper. I had to set it while you were asleep. Skin around its pretty clean, you'll heal okay."

"Maybe someone should go get, Red."

"MacCready, you'll be okay and no, no one is leaving Little Lamplight to go get Red."

"I feel like I'm gonna puke."

Lucy motioned for Connor to bring a bucket over. She held his head as he vomited. "You'll be alright, MacCready."

He spat saliva into the bucket and then laid back on the gurney. "Will I?"

Lucy stroked his forehead. "Yeah. Dumb ass." /i

He woke with a start, an explosion from across the river had jolted him. Molly, too, had sat bolt upright.

"What the hell?" she exclaimed.

MacCready walked over to the hole in the wall. "Just a car exploding, probably raiders fighting-" his voice was suddenly drowned out by the appearance of a helicopter over the water. He picked up his gun and looked through the scope to see what was going on. "Gunners."

"Do they know we're here?" she asked.

"No, but, to be safe we'll just stay out of their way." He moved over and blew out the lantern. "They're opportunist scum, let's not give them a reason to come looking for us." His gut started churning. He knew they had no idea that it was him involved with Winlock and Barnes, but it still made him uneasy seeing them around.

They both sat down in the dark, close enough that a hint of her light floral scent wafted under his nose. As his eyes adjusted to the reduced light he saw her shadow scoot across the floor and press against him.

"You'll be alright, General," he said and put an arm around her.

"I know," she replied. "But, will you?"

He didn't answer. There were moments in time where he'd sought reassurance, where comfort was gained from reliance on others. He couldn't ask for it now no matter how tempting it was packaged. His mind had to be clear, for Duncan. Would he be alright? Given his thought processes over the last day, surrounded by white noise, hell if he knew.