Fallout 4: Sam

by Casilcas1990

"My eyes widened as I stared at him, an odd feeling coming over me. His coat waved behind him, standing there in that pose… he looked like one of those superheroes from the comics or maybe a knight from the old books Daisy would read to me. The ones who defeat the bad guys and rescue the princesses. A knight in bloody armor." (OC/Hancock)

10. Chapter Nine

Edit 7/24: word choice error

~(:(Chapter Nine):)~

I grunted with effort, a line of sweat trickling down my back as I wheeled my prize along the side of the train tracks. My calves were burning, my hands aching from their tight grip on the bars, but the stupid grin refused to leave my face.

I still couldn't believe I had found it.

After Nate had left for Diamond City, I spent the next two days exploring Concord. The town was bigger than I thought. Not as big as Lexington, but big enough that I only managed to clear a quarter of it. The neighborhood on the west side is where I struck gold.

The main part of the house was trashed—the front door busted off the hinges, windows blown out, parts of the ceiling collapsed—but the garage looked completely intact. There were no windows, no holes in the roof and the roll-up door was sealed tight, the metal rusted shut. A fridge had fallen across the entrance from inside the house and the door was secured with a master quality lock.

I spent more time getting in than I should have, broke more than a handful of bobby pins, but I just couldn't pass up such a promising location. The prospect of being the first inside, to see what goodies had been stowed away untouched by time or greedy hands—I'd saw through the damn wall if I had to. And, oh boy, were my efforts rewarded.

Not one, not two, but four fusion cores. One of them was half empty but the other three were still packed in their leaded storage canisters. It was as close to 'brand new' as you could get. There was a myriad of other useful salvage but the one that had my jaw dropping was the absolute gem hidden under a beige tarp. A nearly pristine C-4 Hardy-David Lone Wanderer with an 8000 DC motor, cherry red, and barely any rust on the polished chrome. Even the gloss finish was still shiny. Whoever owned it had taken excellent care of the motorcycle, draining the coolant to preserve the integrity of the lines.

There was no way I was leaving it behind.

I carefully rolled it down the narrow dirt path through the small crop of trees, the one that led to the dam. I had cut my scavenging short, knowing that getting the beautiful beast back to my safehouse was going to take time. I wasn't complaining, though. My pack and several other bags I had found were stuffed full, strapped down to the back of the bike. The amount of supplies almost made up for the week I had wasted. Almost.

Using the handbrake, I eased onto the smooth concrete of the dam's walkway, breathing a sigh of relief at finally having even terrain. I was sure I could fill a bucket with how much sweat I lost but it was definitely worth the trouble. I knew just where to put it, too.

My grin was still going strong as I pushed the bike down the walkway, heading towards the shed on the west side—until I spotted a familiar figure waiting for me.

Red leaned against the side of the dam's office, arms crossed over his chest. Another person was perched on the parapet next to him but it wasn't Cal. They were smaller, shorter. It must be that woman from before, Leah.

I grumbled a curse as I walked the bike, my smile fading the closer I got to the ex-Gunners. It wasn't exactly unexpected to see them again—Red did say he would be back—but the timing was a bit suspect. I'd been away for the last few days and if I hadn't found the motorcycle it would have been longer. Did they somehow know I was coming back today, or had they camped out the whole time, waiting?

Red pushed off the concrete wall as I came to a stop a couple yards away. It had been easier to ignore how imposing he was when it was night but seeing him in the light of day was almost jarring. He looked more like a Gunner today, the military combat armor replacing the rusted scrap metal he had been wearing. The hard shell was painted a dull tannish-brown, fitted over desert camo fatigues; a tactical outfit that blended with the dried landscape of the Wastes. It was something Jack might wear if he were to travel out of the city.

The man had a light olive complexion, eyes a rich brown that matched his hair, which was short on the sides with a longer wave on top, a few strands curving over his forehead. And the scar that cut a deep line down the side of his face—it didn't detract from his appeal.

My mouth flattened in mild irritation. Of course, he had to be good-looking. Not that I put much value on a person's physical appearance but I wasn't blind, either.

"Sam," he said in greeting, the corner of his mouth curling in a smirk as he took in the motorcycle.

"Red," I returned, leaning the bike on its kickstand. I still didn't trust him completely and I wanted my hands free, just in case. He was a Gunner, or ex-Gunner, and they weren't exactly known for their friendliness. He had been true to his word so far but that could change.

"This is Leah." Red gestured to his companion.

The woman hopped off the short wall, taking slow, casual steps towards me. She was dressed similarly to Red but had on snug leather pants with a messenger-style bag strapped to her left hip and a laser pistol to her right. Her skin was darker than the commander's, her nearly black hair cut short like mine but with more curl to it. She had pretty, delicate features but something told me she was anything but delicate. Even though she only stood a few inches taller than me, she gave off the same presence as Fahrenheit.

"Hey," she said, looking me over with eyes that were a brown so light they seemed amber in color. They brightened even more when she gazed at the Lone Wanderer in appreciation. "Nice bike. I don't think I've ever seen one so… shiny."

"I know, right?!" I blurted, the excitement from earlier bubbling to the surface. "Look at it, it's practically mint! Even the tires are still holding air. It's—"

I stopped myself, rubbing the back of my damp neck awkwardly. "Uh, I mean, yeah, it's nice."

The woman blinked at my outburst before her posture relaxed, an easy smile curving her full lips. It was a genial kind of look and I felt some of the tension in my shoulders ease.

"Not worth much, though," she pointed out, glancing over the bike again.

"Well, not now," I agreed. "But it will be when I get it running."

The thought of it had me grinning like an idiot again. It was hard to find a vehicle in good enough condition to bother fixing up and most wouldn't do you any good even if you did. The once-maintained roads were so torn and broken they might as well not be there. You needed a rugged vehicle that could handle the rough terrain, or one that had good maneuverability. The bike was perfect.

Red gave a chuckle, his eyes crinkling with humor at my expression.

"A sniper, scaver and tinkerer, huh?" he mused. "Got any other talents?"

His smooth baritone was calm and it had a quiet pitch to it. Almost soft but not out of timidness. It was a quiet that came with confidence, of knowing you didn't need to boast or grandstand because that's how sure you were of your own abilities. I hadn't noticed before but it sounded… nice.

I turned away with a huff, my fingers working to untie the cords holding down the bags. There's nothing nice about him, I stubbornly told myself.

"How did you know I'd be here?" I grumbled, swinging my pack over a shoulder by one strap. I grabbed two of the three heavy bags, pulling them off the bike and letting them hang from my grasp. I stumbled slightly with the weight, then stumbled again as the bag in my left hand was lifted away.

"This is where you live, right?" Red said jokingly as he took the bag, reaching for the last one still on the motorcycle.

I narrowed my gaze, not liking how close he suddenly was but refusing to let it show by stepping back. Instead, I went around him, heading for the office. If he wanted to carry the bags that was fine by me. It was one less trip I would have to make.

"So, what," I huffed again as he followed. "You've just been waiting around for the last couple days?"

I set my load down next to the front door and moved away to give him space. The commander shot me an amused smirk as I crossed my arms. If he thought I was going to lead them into the dam, he could forget about it. The only person to see inside was Jack and that was a while ago.

"More like a couple hours," he stated, putting the bags next to the other ones. He straightened, his smirk widening. "Was going to wait inside for you, but Cowboy refused to let us in."

My body tensed and I grit my teeth. Cowboy. The only way he could know that name is if he was listening to my radio calls. He must have heard my conversation with Holliday earlier today when I told him I was coming back—which meant he knew the dam's frequency. But what about the other ones? Goodneighbor and Drumlin Diner? Was he listening when I checked in, when Jack and I were talking about setting up a radio at Sanctuary?

Thinking of the people there reminded me of something that had been running around my head for the last few days. The reason why Sturges had to leave all his manuals and projects behind, why the Long's grief was so strong, not even Marcy's snapping could completely cover it up. They had lost everything, and it was all the Gunners' fault.

Maybe taking them out wasn't such a bad idea.

"Now that you're here, I was wondering—"

"Were you at Quincy?" I cut Red off, my tone hard.

The smirk fell from the commander's face, his expression going blank as he studied me. I held his stare, fighting against the urge to look away from those calculating eyes. Hearing about Quincy was one thing, but getting to know the survivors and seeing the aftermath… that made it personal. I needed to know. I needed to know what kind of person he was before I made any decisions.

Red rubbed a finger over his scar in thought before letting out a sigh.

"Yes, we were," he stated.

I could feel my lips pulling away from my teeth as the anger rolled through me. It was an indignant rage on behalf of the people at Sanctuary, kind of like how I felt when people talked shit about ghouls. The man's brow furrowed in confusion at the intensity of my reaction.

"Did you know someone there?" Leah asked with a somber expression, coming to stand next to her companion.

Did, as in past tense. My arms dropped to my sides, my hand falling closer to the gun at my hip and both ex-Gunners visibly stiffened. No, I didn't know anyone who died in Quincy, but I do know someone who had.

"His name was Kyle," I hissed, fisting my hands so I wouldn't be tempted to reach for Meg. "He was eight years old."

Understanding flashed in Red's eyes then they hardened, his own rage blazing. He clenched his jaw and took a slow, controlled breath in and out through his nose.

"I don't kill kids, Sam," he said lowly, meeting my glare. "Never have, and neither has anyone on my team. I don't work with child murderers."

The heat in my veins cooled as I measured his words. Being accused of such a thing bothered him. It bothered him to the point of anger. To get so worked up at just the implication… I found myself believing him.

"It's one of the reasons we left," Leah added, her face pinched in something like disgust.

"Quincy was—" The commander ran a hand through his dark hair, the anger fading from his eyes. "It shouldn't have happened. The Gunners are supposed to be better than that, but with Captain Wes running the show they're no better than raiders. That's not what I signed up for when I joined."

I blew out a breath, the tension leaving my body as I glanced away, staring absently over the spillway. The character of these ex-Gunners was becoming clearer. What happened at Quincy was horrible enough for Red and his team to not only decide to leave the Gunners but also want to take them out.

They kind of reminded me of MacCready. Even though the merc could be an ass sometimes, he wasn't all bad. He had a soft spot for kids, too.

I turned back towards them, shifting into a less aggressive pose.

"Is that your goal?" I asked. "To take out Wes?"

"Ultimately, yeah," Red replied, his tone calm again. "But we're not equipped to mount an assault on the Plaza. Not yet anyway."

"And you want me," I stated. "On your team."

Remembering his words from before still brought a funny feeling to my chest. How determined and eager he seemed—it was the same way I had looked at the motorcycle when I took my torch to the rusted garage door, resolved to get it out.

The commander was giving me a similar look now, those intense eyes glancing over me as if searching for something. Then, his lips stretched slowly into a smirk, his gaze sparking.

"Yeah, Sam," he said, that grin turning roguish. "I want you."

My heart fluttered sharply and I shoved the feelings down, my mouth flattening. Not this crap again, I thought, turning away from his stupidly handsome face. Whether I joined them or not was a serious decision to make and I couldn't let myself get distracted by Red's charm.

A part of me wanted to accept his offer, the part that still held the indignant rage and wanted some sort of justice. I have never felt so conflicted before but what could I really do? I wasn't strong like Jack or ruthless like Hancock or able to kill without hesitation like Mac. And the cancer…

Red had said working together as a team made you stronger, but what if I couldn't do it? I hadn't met his whole team yet but I had no doubt they were highly skilled, being ex-Gunners. I would be the weak link, a liability. What if I screwed it up and one of them got hurt? What if I got myself hurt, then how would I explain that to Jack—

Oh God, I thought, fear tingling down my spine. What if Jack found out?

My palms were suddenly clammy and I wiped them off on my jeans. "Listen, I—"

"That's not why we're here," Red interrupted. "We need supplies, munitions, preferably the military kind."

He crossed his arms and leaned a shoulder against the office wall, his grin mellowing to a small smile. "You wouldn't happen to know of a place that might have something like that, would you?"

I blinked, trying to switch gears in my thinking. Military supplies, huh? Lifting my pip-boy, I flicked to the map. There were several bunkers and military checkpoints nearby that might have what they were looking for but most of them were probably picked clean already. There was also a fort a couple miles west of the dam but I'd never been able to get past the—

A thought popped into my mind and my lips parted. I knew just the spot.

"You've thought of something," the commander observed.

"Maybe." How many times had I passed it, longing, itching to tear into it? "Military vehicles, shipping containers, all still sealed."

"Sounds promising." Leah tilted her head, giving me a frown. "Why haven't you hit it already?"

"Not for lack of wanting," I grumbled quietly, then louder, "There's, uh, a slight problem. It's already… occupied."

"By?" Red drawled.

"A gang of raiders."

"That doesn't sound like a problem," the woman chuckled darkly, patting the laser pistol at her hip.

I huffed, refraining from rolling my eyes. It may not be a problem for them, but it was for me. "They've got a suit of power armor."

"Where?" Red demanded, the mention of power armor catching his interest. His excitement was justified. The pre-war mech suits were not that common and even a damaged one was still worth quite a bit.

Frowning, I hesitated, not wanting to give up such a good location. But with the raiders guarding the boat… it's not like I was going to get the chance to scavenge it, anyway.

"Here," I sighed, pulling it up on the map. "There's a tugboat and barge stuck on the bridge."

Red pushed off the wall and I turned to the side so he could see. The man stood next to me, leaning his tall frame down to look at the screen. My shoulder bumped his chest plate and I forced myself to stand firm. He was so close I could feel the heat coming off him.

"I've seen it," he muttered, his voice a low thrumming in my ear. "You sure there's still anything worth taking?"

"I've gone by it enough times to get a good look," I said, lowering my arm. "Yeah, I'm sure."

Red straightened, his eyes cast to the ground in thought. "We'll go tonight, scope it out, see what the best plan of attack will be."

I sighed again and stepped around him, walking back to the bike. The scaver in me was crying, mourning the lost opportunity. It's fine, I told myself dejectedly, gripping the handlebars and nudging the kickstand up with my boot. I rolled the motorcycle, my mouth set in a hard line. The two ex-Gunners were talking quietly right where I'd left them and Red's gaze snapped to me as I went to pass.

"So," he said, those dark eyes determined once more. "How much time do you need?"

My stride faltered as I tried to process his question.

"What?" I squeaked, my hands loosening. The bike started to tilt away and I threw myself on the seat, clutching to the barely-cracked leather. The Lone Wanderer suddenly righted as Red's large hand held it steady by the bar. I braced my arms on the seat, letting out a relieved breath before glancing up at him.

"To get ready," he explained with a grin. "You are coming with us, right?"

"I, uh," I stuttered, not expecting this. He wanted me to go with them? I bit my lip nervously. Did that mean he wanted me to help in the assault, to take out the raiders? I couldn't do that… could I?

"We can wait," the man continued, his eyes trained on my face. "Or would you rather meet us there?"

I thought about my last lesson with MacCready, how my hands had shaken so badly that even if I took the shot I would have missed. What if I choked again?

"Look, I—"

"Same deal as before, you get first pick of the supplies."

A sliver of excitement cut through the nerves. The thought of finally breaking into those containers caused my heart to thump loudly in my ears, but…

Red bent towards me slightly, a devilish glint to his gaze. "Come on, don't you want to see what's onboard?"

Hell yes! the scaver yelled in my mind. My bottom lip scraped against my teeth as it pulled free, my face pinching in a grimace. Yeah, I wanted to see the goodies sealed away. I wanted it in the worst way, but the doubt paralyzed my vocal cords, trapping the words inside. I couldn't give him an answer.

The commander looked me over for a moment then let out a sigh. "Alright, I'll make it easy for you."

He stepped into my space and I jerked back, too worked up to hide my discomfort, but all he did was drop the kickstand so he could lean the bike. Red casually moved a pace away, giving me a friendly smile before glancing over the spillway.

"You see that train bridge?" he nodded off in the distance. "Meet us on the other side of the river under the bridge at 10 tonight."

Red looked me over again, his smile shifting into a teasing smirk. "If you don't show, we'll go without you."

With that, he turned, heading down the walkway. Leah followed after him, her mouth curled in a knowing grin.

"See you later," she said as she passed, sending me a wink.

I glared at their backs, a hand gripping my short hair in frustration. I knew a taunt when I heard one. The commander was playing dirty to get what he wanted, dangling the prospect of good loot in my face with charming smiles and heated eyes. Well, it wasn't going to work. I had my own problems to deal with—I didn't need to get mixed up with a bunch of ex-Gunners and their risky activities, no matter how tempting it was.

I cursed out loud, seizing the handlebars of the motorcycle and kicking the stand up. A wave of stubborn defiance crashed over me at Red's attempted manipulation and I scoffed to myself.

There was no way I was going to fall for his tricks.

~0~

The wind rustled quietly through the dried grass as I huddled in my sweatshirt, the hood drawn over my head. My body was wedged in the small space between the rocky ground and the underside of the metal bridge, safely hidden in the dark shadows as I watched the road. Even though I remained as still as a statue, my mind was running a mile a minute.

I still didn't understand what happened.

The rest of the day had been spent puttering around the dam. I stowed the bike in the far shed and covered it back up with the tarp, unpacked all the salvage and arranged them neatly on the shelves, took a much needed shower and a short nap, made myself some Blamco Mac 'n Cheese—all with the intent of staying home and definitely not going to meet Red and his team.

I was tinkering with my latest project when I had casually glanced at my pip-boy, reading the time 9:17 p.m. Then, I was pulling on a black hoodie and cargo pants, gearing up and climbing into my boat. I had barely paused long enough to tell Holliday I was going out and would be back before sunrise.

Dammit. I guess I was doing this. Or, I was going to try.

A crunching of dirt and gravel reached my ears and I turned my head slowly to look. Five figures walked along the road in a loose formation, highlighted dimly by the moon's light. I peered from beneath my hood as they moved into the shadow under the bridge, coming to a stop. Red was easy to spot, being the tallest, and I made to call out but someone spoke first.

"What'd I tell you, a no-show," came Cal's smug voice. "Looks like you owe me a hundred caps."

"Well, shit," Leah cursed.

I scoffed silently to myself. Were they really betting on whether I would meet them or not? Shifting soundlessly, I moved just enough to reach the light on my pip-boy.

"There's still five minutes," Red grumbled, looking at something on his wrist.

Cal gave a snort, his arms crossing. "What, you think she's just gunna suddenly appear—"

I flicked the light on, illuminating my hiding spot. The five figures jumped, some reaching for guns but stopping when they saw me.

"Sam," Red exhaled in relief as an unfamiliar, boisterous laugh echoed in the quiet. Cal let out a string of curses.

"That's a good way to get shot, you fucking brat!" he snarled.

I shimmied out of the tight space, grabbing the tactical backpack resting next to me. It was smaller than my usual pack, black with several pouches on the front and sides.

"I'm not the one standing in the middle of the road like sniper bait," I said, trying to keep the smile out of my voice.

Using the light, I carefully made my way down the slope, sliding the last couple feet. I dusted the back of my pants, walking towards the group and dimming the pip-boy light so it wouldn't blind anyone. The ex-Gunners were all outfitted similarly to me—dark clothes, dulled armor, extra mags stuffed into pockets and weapons strapped on.

"Not bad," Red chuckled quietly as I stopped in front of them. He gave me a onceover, nodding approvingly.

"Yes, yes!" the owner of the boisterous laugh said with a Russian inflection. "Very sneaky, like mouse."

The man was huge. Not as tall as Red but definitely wider. His legs were like tree trunks, chest like a barrel and each arm thicker than my thigh. His head was shaved bald but the lower half of his face was covered with a dark, neatly trimmed beard, split by his cheerful grin. I don't know why but I instantly liked him.

"This is Pete," the commander gestured to the big man, then to the relatively smaller one next to him. "And Andy."

"Heya, dollface," Andy said, his Boston accent strong.

He was about the same size as Cal, average height and lean build. He had a lazy smirk, face pale and clean-shaven, and his hair was pulled back in a short ponytail. It was so red the color could be distinguished even in the low light.

"Small like mouse, too." Pete rumbled, his bear paw of a hand coming down on my head. "You didn't say she was so tiny."

The Russian's palm covered the entirety of my top skull and the weight of it bowed my neck.

"Maybe you're just freakishly big," I grunted lightly, pushing his arm up and away.

Andy's smirk widened, smacking the gum in his mouth. "Nah, yous' definitely a shorty."

"And what's wrong with being short?" Leah snarked with a hand on her hip but her lips curled up teasingly.

"Did I say short?" Andy joked back. "I meant… fun-sized."

Cal gave a snort as he grumbled under his breath and I found my mouth lifting in a grin. Their banter was funny and reminded me of Hancock, Fahr and Mac when they really got going. It calmed my nerves a bit and was almost enough to overlook the reason we were all out here.

"Now that introductions are over," Red said, a satisfied look on his face. "We should get moving. We're still a couple miles out."

I gripped the strap to my rifle, debating. I spent the last year going by the USS Riptide on my way to and from Goodneighbor and I knew the setup pretty well from what I've seen. There was only one way onboard, from the top of the bridge down a rickety, makeshift ladder that was completely exposed. Not the best plan of attack but there wasn't another option, unless…

"Sam?"

My eyes snapped up at Red's voice, his gaze questioning and I huffed a sigh.

"Do you want to bring the boat?" I asked hesitantly. I really didn't want to give up my boat—I wouldn't be able to make deliveries without it—but if it would make this whole thing go smoother I guess it was worth it. Even if it did get trashed, at least I would have an excuse to push back my visit to the city.

"What boat?" Andy frowned.

"My boat," I sighed again, walking towards the river. I had pulled it up the bank and I aimed my light on it.

"It won't fit all of us," I said as the commander came to stand next to me. "But it might be useful if you want to get on the barge without climbing down the bridge."

"That would be useful," Red agreed, glancing down at me with a pleased expression and giving my shoulder a gentle pat. "Good work, Sam."

His tone was almost proud, like how Jack would sound on the rare occasion I'd receive his praise. It brought that funny feeling to my chest again and I turned my head away, flicking the light off.

"Looks like you are good for something, after all—Ow, shit!"

Cal cursed as Leah punched his arm, sending her a sneer but backing down from the petite woman.

"Don't listen to Cal," she told me, her voice lilting. "He's just pissed he's out a hundred caps."

Red's posture shifted as he turned from the bank, facing his team. I was reminded again of Jack, whenever he would slip into "soldier mode." It was authoritative, commanding. The man might not be with the Gunners anymore but he still held his rank of commander.

"Leah, Andy, take the boat and recon the area," Red ordered. "We'll meet you there."

"Roger that, commander," Leah replied immediately, her and Andy heading down the bank.

My brows pinched in a frown but I kept my mouth shut. I didn't like being parted from my boat but I did offer it to them and it was clear Red was the one in charge. This was his team and if I was going to work with them I would have to fall in line. I knew how to take orders, but that didn't mean I had to like them.

Red moved to the road and I dutifully followed after him, fitting my night-vision goggles up over my eyes.

"Petey, bring up the rear," the commander said.

The Russian bear responded by swinging a minigun from behind his back. My lips parted as I took in the massive weapon. I hadn't seen it before, the man's broad form hiding it from sight. Pete grinned, noticing my stare.

"You like?" he asked, petting his meaty hand down the rotating gun barrels. "This is Veronika. It means 'bringer of victory.'"

I couldn't help but return his grin, pulling my rifle around. The .50cal sniper rifle was almost as long as I was tall, coming up to my chin if it were vertical to the ground.

"Mark," I proclaimed, displaying it in my arms. "Because he's always on target."

"Not another one," Cal groaned as Pete barked out a laugh.

"Alright, let's move," came Red's order.

The commander took point as we started down the road, Cal falling in behind him. That left me between Cal and the Russian. It was a protected position but I wasn't going to complain. Traveling by night was risky and the open road didn't really have much for cover.

Risky, I snorted silently to myself. Like attacking a gang of raiders in the middle of the night isn't?

"Staggered column," Red called quietly, indicating the formation he wanted. In front of me, Cal shifted to the left and I automatically moved to the right, remembering the positions from drill training. The commander turned slightly to look over his shoulder.

"That's—" he began to explain but stopped when he saw me already in place. The corner of his mouth quirked up and he faced forwards again.

The first half was spent in silence as we traveled the broken road that followed along the river. The openness made me twitchy and I kept watch through my goggles, scanning the surrounding area while trying not to trip at the quick pace. Well, the pace was quick for me, my shorter legs needing two steps for the men's one. It made me glad I had taken a nap earlier.

We were just entering Cambridge city limits when Red broke the quiet.

"L.T., take point," he murmured lowly.

"Roger," Cal responded, hustling to the front.

The commander hung back and fell into step beside me. I glanced at him, his eyes on the buildings to our left. I looked at them too, examining the windows and alleyways for movement, then sent my gaze to the right.

"So," he said softly. "What is this formation called?"

I blinked, turning back to him. Why was he asking that? Was it some sort of test to see if I knew or not? I gave a light scoff.

"One in front, two side-by-side in the middle, one in back. Column wedge," I mumbled, reciting what I had been taught. "Allows for optimal flexibility, security and control."

Red hummed in approval. "What about two in front, one in the middle and two in back?"

"Split Vee. Not as flexible but good for speed while still providing flank protection."

"And how do you know that?"

My jaw clenched and I glared behind my goggles. So, that's why, I thought. He was fishing for information. The commander breathed a short chuckle when I didn't reply.

"Callsigns, defensive fighting tactics, military formations," he listed quietly. "All things the Gunners are trained in…"

He trailed off, leaving the obvious question unspoken. The answer was Jack. I wasn't sure how much Red knew about me—he already figured out I scavenge for Goodneighbor—but he didn't know about the old soldier, otherwise he wouldn't be asking. I didn't want him to know. In fact, I would prefer if Red and Jack remained totally separate but… I guess I had to give him something.

"Makes sense," I conceded. "Considering my father is an ex-Gunner."

"No shit?" Cal shot a surprised look over his shoulder, then bared his teeth in a grin. "So, you're not just a brat, you're an army brat."

Pete snickered behind me, his gruff voice making it sound more like a barking growl. I scoffed, readjusting my backpack.

"What was his rank?" Red asked.

"Don't know." I pursed my lips, ready for a change of topic. "He doesn't talk about it."

"Yeah, I bet he doesn't," Cal muttered with a snort.

"Cal," the commander admonished lowly, a warning in his tone.

I went back to scanning the area, ignoring the implication. I tried not to think about it but I wasn't so naive to believe the pre-war ghoul had always been the Jack I know. He certainly wasn't the same person he was before the bombs—no one would be—and that was over two hundred years ago. It was a long time for anyone to go completely unchanged. Jack didn't talk about his time with the Gunners for a reason and it didn't matter anyway. He was who he was now. Who he was before wasn't important.

"Well, that makes this easier," Red smirked, those calculating eyes glinting confidently. "You're going to fit in just fine."

I bristled at his statement, as if it was already decided I would join them, but it wasn't his cocksure attitude that made my heart pound in my chest and brought heat to my cheeks. It was his satisfaction of getting what he wanted, like I was some kind of desirable prize. Valuable enough to put effort into winning—taunting, manipulating, bribing, just to sway my decision.

Should I join them? No, probably not. Jack definitely wouldn't approve and would be more than a little angry if he found out. Would I join them? Well, that wasn't the most pertinent question, was it? It didn't matter if I wanted to or not, the real question was could I? I bet Red wouldn't think I was such a prize if I couldn't pull the trigger.

"I haven't agreed to anything," I grumbled, the thought of disappointing him sitting oddly with me.

The ex-Gunner gave an unconvinced hum before falling silent again.

The rest of the trip went by quickly, our pace eating up the distance, and before long the bascule bridge was in sight. There were two figures huddled by the guardrail to the left of the bridge and we made our way over, crouching low and stepping softly.

"Report," Red ordered as he kneeled next to Leah, his voice barely above a whisper.

I took a spot beside him, quietly resting a hip on the cold concrete and leaning my shoulder against the stone baluster. Yanking down my goggles and bringing Mark around, I took aim at the barge to look through the scope, the long barrel slotted between the rail posts.

The ex-Gunners were murmuring softly, going over strategies. I caught a couple words here and there but my attention was focused on the rifle's sight. There were two raiders on the main deck of the Riptide, a man and a woman, highlighted by firelight. The man was sitting in a chair drinking from a bottle and the woman was leaned against the gunwale as they talked. Her mouth opened wide in a soundless laugh, the faint echo of it drifting over the water a few seconds later. They were drinking, talking, laughing, completely unaware a team of trained soldiers was about to storm their base.

"This is how it is, kill or be killed."

I shifted my aim, the crosshairs lining up with the male raider's head that was just visible over the side of the boat. Taking a slow breath, I imagined squeezing the trigger, the kick of recoil and the resounding crack, his body disappearing from sight as it slumped over, dead. The crosshairs vibrated then bounced, the tremor working its way down my arms.

I cursed silently in my head, retracting the rifle carefully to not bang it against the stone. Slumping back on the guardrail I clutched Mark to my chest. The shaking was persistent and a cold sweat trickled down my neck.

Mac was wrong. It wasn't the same as killing an animal. It wasn't the same as killing someone in self-defense, either, or helping Jack and the Neighborhood Watch repel a raider attack on the city. This would be… intentional. Premeditated.

"Alright," Red began, laying out the plan. "Cal and Andy, you come down from above and clear the port side. We'll take the boat, board from the bow and clear starboard side, then meet up on the main deck."

He twisted slightly, placing his large hand on my shoulder. "Sam, I want you to—"

The commander paused, feeling the tremors still shaking through me and I huddled deeper into my hoodie.

"Post up on the bridge," he finished, turning his head to regard the others. "Go, into positions."

Their footsteps were light as they left, leaving me with Red. His grip tightened, a gentle squeeze as he shifted to face me.

"Have you ever killed someone before?" he murmured, his tone even.

"Yeah, but it—" My head shot up, eyes darting around as if just remembering we were out in the open. "This isn't the same. This isn't self-defense."

"No," he agreed. "No, it's not."

"I don't—" I stuttered, hand wringing around Mark's forestock. "I-I don't think I can—"

"It's alright, I had a feeling you wouldn't."

I turned to him in surprise, meeting his gaze. If he thought I wouldn't join them in the assault, then why did he try so hard convincing me to come?

Red gave me a neutral look, not disappointed, just understanding. "Kind of hard to shoot someone if you never take the safety off."

My eyes darted away, staring absently into the dark. The ex-Gunner commander was very perceptive. If he could find a sniper's location from just one shot, then of course he would notice a little detail like that.

"Stay here, keep watch," he said, squeezing my shoulder again before pulling away. My gaze snapped back to him.

"Keep watch?" I repeated, incredulous.

"Make sure no more raiders sneak up on us," he smirked, a challenge glinting in his dark eyes. "You can do that, right?"

With that, he turned to follow after his team, his footsteps nearly soundless.

I sputtered to myself, an odd mix of anxiety, offence, and confusion clashing inside me. Anxious because I was now alone in the dark, the feral-infested ruins of Cambridge looming before me. Offended because "keep watch," like some kind of guard dog? It was a bogus order and I knew it. But most of all I was confused.

Red put in all that effort to get me to go with them, then shrugged me off like it was no big deal. He didn't get mad or berate me for being incompetent or try to talk me into it. He just accepted I wasn't going to do it and then left me. And what was that last comment about? Was this another trick?

"Shit, shit, fucking shit," I scream-whispered, yanking on my hood in frustration. I didn't know what his problem was but I knew I couldn't just sit out in the open like this. The least I could do was find a spot on the bridge, like he originally ordered.

Before I talked myself out of it, I scrambled to my feet and shouldered Mark, making my way to the bridge. I stayed low, moving as fast as I could while keeping my steps quiet. The roadway inclined sharply and I used my hands to help find purchase, almost crawling towards the edge.

I crept to the rail, carefully peering through the grating. This point on the bridge was high, two, maybe three stories up from the tugboat's main deck. There were two spotlights set up, one on the barge and one on the top cab that was caught between the bridge arms. The two raiders I spotted earlier were still standing on the deck, the firelight coming from a small cooking pit.

A soft thud sounded from below and I looked through the air vent underneath me. There was a body lying on the narrow walkway to the lower cabin, a dark shadow moving away from it. The body wasn't wearing all black, so it must be a raider.

One down, how many more to go?

I examined my position on the bridge and realized it wasn't ideal. The angle was off and there wasn't a good place to fit the rifle's barrel, not without standing and aiming over the rail. My eyes drifted to the top cabin. It was small but big enough to lay down in, protected on all sides except the doorway and would give me a straight line-of-sight. The spotlight above was also a convenient feature—anyone looking in my direction would be blinded by the light, keeping the cab's inside obscured. It was perfect.

Perfect for what? I thought sullenly. It's not like I'm going to do anything. Well, maybe not, but I could still—

A shot rang out in the quiet, making me jump, then a cry of alarm.

"Engage!" came Red's command and the air was filled with the sound of gunfire.

Adrenalin pumping, I darted for the cab, not needing to move stealthily anymore. Swinging into the open doorway, I dropped to the floor and positioned myself on my stomach with the backpack out in front of me, using it to rest Mark on.

The two raiders were down, the team of ex-Gunners swarming the main deck and taking cover behind the gunwale. There was another raider with an assault rifle on the barge across the way, shooting in a wide pattern. I barely got a look at him before he went down, too, though I couldn't say who shot him.

The air was silent again and Red took point, using the plank boardwalk to lead the way onto the barge. Next came Cal with Pete right behind him, Veronika in his hands. Andy and Leah brought up the rear.

From my vantage point I could see over most of the barge. The long, flat deck held shipping containers stacked on top of one another with a cramped pathway down the center. Some of the containers were already opened, metal crates and boxes spilling out of them. The military vehicles were further back and I could glimpse the front of one.

Red, Cal and Pete had just boarded the barge when the raider in power armor came around a hidden corner onto the pathway, wielding a minigun.

"Cover!" the commander yelled and the massive gun whirred up, moments away from firing.

Red and Cal dove to the left behind a container, Pete to the right. Andy and Leah were not so lucky. They were still on the boardwalk, completely exposed, and the woman gave a startled shout as she tackled her teammate. Both of them splashed down into the river right as the minigun started spraying.

My grip on Mark tightened as I gazed through the scope. The shots were rapid, all six barrels firing as bullets pinged and ricocheted around. They were pinned down, Andy and Leah lost in the water and the raider coming closer. I had to do something.

One shot wouldn't take him down, the plating of the mech suit too thick. The shaking was gone from my hands as I adjusted my aim, the barrels of the minigun starting to glow red hot. Lining up the target, I squeezed the trigger. The crack of the .50cal was loud, the boom echoing over the 5mm shots, and the barrel cluster of the minigun exploded in a display of glowing, twisted metal.

There was a beat of stillness as the men below processed what happened, then Pete broke cover, his own minigun whirring up. He fired on the raider, showering the power armor in a hail of sparks. The raider dropped the now useless gun, putting his arms up to protect against the rain of bullets before deciding to charge forwards.

He bull-rushed Pete, sparks and bits of plating falling from him, but it wasn't enough to slow him down. The Russian brought up Veronika at the last second, using it to soften the impact as the raider slammed an armored shoulder into him, throwing the man back. Pete hit the deck hard, sliding to the edge and almost going over into the water.

Red came from behind the container, taking a running jump and bringing the butt of his rifle down on the raider's helmet in a clang of metal. The front plate busted off but the man inside remained unscathed. Before Red could take a shot at his unprotected face, the raider swung a heavy arm in a backhanded strike. Unable to dodge, the commander went flying back, knocking into Cal and causing both ex-Gunners to tumble to the ground.

Without a weapon, the raider bent and gripped a metal crate, the mechanical suit giving him the strength to lift the weighty case. He hefted it, making to crush the two men while they were stunned and I took aim again. The shot thundered, hitting its target—the now exposed hydraulic joint of the frame's left leg.

The raider cried out, the .50cal not only hitting the joint but also ripping through his leg. With the hydraulics destroyed, the frame buckled, taking the raider to his knee in a groan of broken metal and the crate toppled to the side.

"Fire!" Red ordered as he and Cal scrambled for their guns.

He lifted his arms to try and fend off the barrage of bullets, but with the power armor effectively disabled the raider didn't last long. Soon enough, the mech suit slouched forwards and collapsed on the deck, its operator no longer alive to control it.

My heart pounded in my chest, the thumping competing with the low ringing in my ears from all the gunfire. I let out a stilted breath, taking a moment to scan the rest of the barge. One on the walkway below me, two on the main deck, one on the barge and the one in power armor. That was all five raiders I had noticed before.

Red was standing, a hand shielding his eyes against the spotlight as he stared in my direction, a fierce grin baring his teeth. His expression was pleased and a part of me felt a sense of pride at putting that look on his face. The other part was still kind of pissed.

The Russian was on his feet, a slight limp to his gait as he ambled over to the side of the barge, helping Andy from the water.

"Fucking bullet sponge," Cal grumbled, kicking at the mech suit in frustration. I was just about to put up my rifle to join them when a shadow moved in the crosshairs. What the hell was that?

Pete and Andy were hauling a dripping Leah onto the deck and she let out a chuckle at the lieutenant.

"Looks like that's two hundred caps you owe me—Cal!"

The woman's scream was filled with desperation and fear, the sound of it shooting to my core and stopping my heart. There was a sixth raider crouched atop a shipping container, just behind Cal. Leah was the only one facing that direction, the rest of the team turning towards the threat but they weren't fast enough. The raider took aim, his gun trained on the lieutenant—

The shot didn't register until Mark's recoil rammed my shoulder, the resounding crack almost muted as I watched the raider's head snap back through the scope. The gun fell harmlessly from his hands, his body crumpling to the side. It rolled off the edge of the container and onto the deck, landing with a harsh thud at Cal's feet.

I thought I would feel guilty, or I should feel guilty, but I didn't. There was only an overwhelming rush of relief that everyone on our team was still alive. The reaction sat oddly in the pit of my stomach and I didn't know… wait, our team?

Pushing off the cab floor, I knelt as I habitually racked the rifle's bolt, clearing the spent casing and loading the next round before switching the safety on. I snatched up the backpack and lurched to my feet, shouldering Mark and the pack.

I haven't decided anything, I told myself firmly, making my way down the creaky ladder. This doesn't mean anything.

Jumping to the main deck, I kept my eyes on my feet to avoid looking at the bodies and carefully navigated the sketchy boardwalk to the barge. As I hopped on I was met with a cheerful whistle.

"That was some fancy shootin' there, dollface," Andy smirked as he swiped his wet hair from his face, the tie lost somewhere in the water.

"Yes, very good!" Pete boomed, his bear paw clapping me on the back hard enough to force a grunt out of me. "Mark lives up to his name, no?"

"He sure does," I wheezed with a short cough.

Leah was giving me a satisfied grin. She looked even smaller with her drenched clothes clinging to her, not much bigger than myself.

"Two hundred caps, huh?" I said, a brow raised. The woman's grin widened.

"Cal bet you wouldn't show, then bet if you did, you wouldn't fire a single shot," she explained. Her expression softened into something like gratitude. "Knew you could do it."

I nodded, shifting in place. "That makes one of us," I muttered.

Moving past them, I shuffled over to Red. He was standing next to Cal with his arms crossed over his chest, his dark gaze focused on me.

"Not bad," he praised as I stopped in front of him, that smug grin stretching his lips. "Not bad at all."

I squinted up at him, the irritation from before coming back.

"Anyone ever tell you you're kind of a jerk?" I asked, mimicking his pose. There was a chorus of chuckles and snickers from behind me and the commander's eyes glimmered with humor.

"Might have heard it a few times," he joked.

I scoffed and turned my head away, my eyes landing on the body of the raider I shot. The spotlight gave me a clear view of his face, or what was left of it. The .50 caliber bullets weren't small and they tended to blow sizable holes in whatever they hit. It made for a gruesome sight and I wanted to look away but I forced myself to take it in.

This was my fault. He was dead because of me. Sure, the raider would have shot Cal if I didn't shoot him first, but the ex-Gunners wouldn't have even been here if I hadn't suggested it. I waited for the guilt to come crashing down on me but it was still alarmingly absent. The only thing occupying my mind was the way Leah had screamed Cal's name.

"Animals, all of them," Red said quietly, stepping closer as he glanced at the body. "I wouldn't feel too bad about killing him."

"I don't," I murmured back, my mouth flattening. "That's the problem."

The commander paused for a moment then sighed, placing a large hand on my shoulder. "Sam—"

I shrugged his hand off, tearing my eyes away from the corpse to glare up at him. "Do you have any idea how pissed my dad would be if he found out about this?"

Just the thought of it sent unpleasant shivers down my spine. I had only seen Jack lose his temper once and, boy, was it spectacular. He never laid a hand on me or another person, but anything else was fair game, getting torn apart in his rage.

"I scavenge abandoned houses and trade scrap for supplies," I continued, a small bit of that missing guilt quelling my glare. "I don't kill people just to take their shit."

"You didn't," Cal grumbled. "You killed to save my ass."

His tone was muted from its usual cantankerous snapping, his head turned away with a grimace. I didn't know him that well, but I could guess this was probably the closest the lieutenant was going to get to thanking me.

"You had our backs," Red agreed. "That's what it means to be part of a team."

My eyes drifted back to the dead raider but Red's hands clamped over my upper arms and pulled me to stand in front of him, directing my gaze away from the corpse. My body went stiff, not liking how comfortable he was with touching me all of a sudden. He bent his tall frame, bringing his head down to mine.

"I made the decision to come here. I led the assault," he said softly, his warm breath on the shell of my ear. "Whatever fault there is, that's on me, not you."

My skin heated at his closeness and I struggled not to fidget. I was starting to see why the rest of his team followed him without question. He was a good leader, not just in name but in action, too. As the commander, he was taking responsibility, bearing the consequences of his orders. It seemed he was already including me in that, as part of his team.

"And, since we're already here…" Red's tone was mischievous as he spun me around, turning me to face the rest of the barge. "Might as well see what's inside, yeah?"

A bolt of excitement shot through me as I stared at the shipping containers, my palms beginning to itch. How many times had I thought about this, daydreamed about finally getting aboard to poke around and scavenge all the hidden goodies? The guilt retreated to the back of my mind as a giddiness rose like bubbles in my chest, the scaver in me jumping for joy.

I craned my neck to look at the commander with what I'm sure was a borderline crazed gleam to my eyes. He barked out a laugh, that roguish grin lifting his mouth sending butterflies to join the bubbles.

"Well, don't let me stop you," he said, shoving me forwards with a gentle push. It was all I needed.

I took off down the path, the light on my pip-boy guiding the way as a wild, uncontrolled chortle escaped me. I was already reaching for my backpack, yanking my handy blowtorch from the main pouch.

"Shit," came Cal's voice from behind. "If this is her full-on scaver, I don't want to know what she's like full-on sniper."

"She looks like you when you find a functioning Assaultron," Leah ribbed. "Cackling like a damn idiot."

"Fuck off, no I don't," Cal scoffed, his tone indignant.

Fixing my welding goggles, I set the torch to the metal siding of a sealed container, the door to the inside blocked by another. The manic grin was plastered to my face but I didn't care.

I could feel guilty later. Right now, it was all about the loot.

A/N: Hardy-David :P I was going to call it a Hardly-David but my husband vetoed that.

If you haven't noticed, Sam likes guys that remind her of Jack (daddy issues, lol).