Sorry this took so long to get out! Currently have family staying with me at my house so it's been pretty hectic, lots of little kids running around and getting underfoot. Been hard to get a moment's peace to sit down and write. But I finally managed to get some time today! Woo hoo!


Chapter 26 - Unsteady

Marilyn looked up from where she was seated by the dwindling fireplace at the sound of the kitchen door slamming. She turned to look over her shoulder, seeing Billy muttering angry curses under his breath as he moved to stomp up the stairs. Marilyn's hand moved to nudge Dick's knee and she felt him flinch in response before quickly standing up.

"Hey, wait a minute!" Dick approached the foot of the stairs, "Dontcha think you owe us some answers?!"

Marilyn stood up herself as she heard Billy's footsteps stop short.

"Owe you what?" He spat, his scratchy voice practically dripping with venom.

"Answers," Dick huffed, undeterred, "About your Vault."

Marilyn bit her lip anxiously as a tense moment of silence passed. But then, to her and Dick's mutual surprise, Billy just laughed. It didn't sound pleasant.

"I don't owe you a thing, kid," Billy finally said after his laughter died down.

"We've been waiting over an hour!" Dick scowled, "You can't just tell us your whole Vault is dead and then expect us to ignore it!"

"I didn't tell you anything," Billy snorted, "And it's none of your business."

"Uhh, yeah, it is if you're gonna be traveling with us!" Dick pointed out, "For all we know, you could've killed everyone in your Vault! Like, I dunno, some kinda mass murderer!"

Billy was quiet for another moment. Then he slowly approached Dick at the foot of the stairs, stopping just a few steps above him.

"Yeah? And what if I did?" Billy sniffed, leaning on the railing, "What would you do about it, pretty boy?"

Dick went to respond before furrowing his brow, looking a bit confused.

"I… I dunno…?" He admitted quietly.

"Would you kill me?" Billy tilted his head to the side, his slouch hat shifting back a bit with the gesture.

"I, um…" Dick hesitated, clearly unsure what to say, "I don't… I was just…"

Marilyn went to speak, to interject on this tense scene, but stopped when she noticed Gracie quietly emerge from the kitchen. But then her eyes were drawn back to the stairwell by the sound of a gun cocking. Billy held out the revolver that he always kept holstered at his hip. Only, the barrel was facing towards himself and the grip was pointed at Dick.

"Go ahead then, killer," Billy said mockingly, waggling the gun a bit, "You can even use my gun."

Dick took a step away, eyes flicking between Billy and the gun.

"I don't wanna kill you…" He frowned.

"No? You're sure?" Billy sneered before he holstered the gun, "Well, then don't ask about my Vault."

Dick's brow furrowed. He only looked even more confused. The poor guy.

"...Because it… kills you?" He asked hesitantly, "To talk about it?"

A flash of something like surprise crossed Billy's face at Dick's words. But only for a moment. Blink and you would miss it. Then it was back to his usual unhappy scowl. And then Billy swiftly turned and ascended the stairs, saying nothing further.

"That man's temper will be his undoing one day, mark my words," Gracie piped up after a moment.

"Mrs. DeLaney," Dick looked over, still frowning, "Can't you just tell us? You know, right?"

"Well, I really shouldn't," Gracie glanced aside, "It's not my place to say, and I did just get a whole lecture about not mentioning anything to you two."

"But–" Dick began, but Gracie continued over him.

"Besides, Will hasn't told me much all too much more than you already know, I'm afraid," She added quickly.

"Oh…" Dick sighed, glancing down.

"Sorry, dearie," Gracie gave a sad smile, "But you're more than welcome to ask me about my own life, if you wish!"

"Actually, I was sort of wondering about something," Marilyn finally spoke up, "How exactly do you and Billy know each other? You don't seem to have very much in common. Well, besides… you know…"

"Besides being ghouls, you mean?" Gracie chuckled, "Oh, Will and I have known each other for so long. We've been dear friends since before the bombs fell!"

"Wait, what?" Dick blinked, "But then you should be, like, over a hundred!"

"Oh, hasn't Will told you?" Gracie looked over to Dick, "We ghouls don't quite age. Not all of us are from back then, of course, but both Will and I certainly are."

"Sheesh, that guy is just full of surprises, huh," Dick grumbled, glancing towards the stairs.

"Did you own this inn back then, too?" Marilyn asked.

"Oh, heavens no," Gracie shook her head, "I used to be a chef before the war. Oh, I was quite famous. Known the world over!"

"Ah cool," Dick perked up before approaching, "Y'know my dad's sorta like a chef. He cooks stuff in the diner back at the Vault."

"We've met a chef out here already, too," Marilyn pointed out with a frown, "Her cooking was… not very good. Though I question if radroach could ever taste good…"

"Well, there's your problem," Gracie folded her arms, "Subpar ingredients lead to subpar dishes. Of course, most wastelanders can't even tell the difference between good food and bad food."

Gracie went to add something further but then stopped herself, setting a finger upon her chin thoughtfully.

"But then, you dearies are from a Vault, aren't you?" She hummed, "You two must have more refined palates than the typical wasteland fare, hm?"

"Yeah, I guess," Dick shrugged, "Just don't ask me to cook anything."

"He tends to start fires," Marilyn explained quickly.

"Oh, no, that pleasure is all mine," Gracie said with a smile, "After all, it has been such a very long time since I've been able to cook for someone with the ability to appreciate my skill."

Gracie then practically pushed the two of them into a booth. It was a bit ratty, with worn creased leather and some stuffing coming out of the cracks. The table had a little bit of a wobble, too. But it reminded Marilyn in so many ways of the diner back in the Vault. It was clear Dick had the same thought, and the two shared wordless smiles across the table to express their mutual nostalgia. Meanwhile, Gracie clasped her hands together gleefully.

"Oh, look at you two!" She smiled, "You make such a pretty little pair! It's just like you're on a little lunch date!"

"Huh?" Dick looked up, startled, "Date?"

"Uhh," Marilyn blushed, "W-We're not–"

She wasn't even able to finish her sentence before Gracie had disappeared into the kitchen. Then there was silence, with only the quiet sound of the dying fireplace to crackle along. They remained like that for a moment, with Marilyn just helplessly staring at the kitchen door, before Dick cleared his throat.

"So, uh, so what's the deal with Billy, y'think?" Dick asked.

Marilyn hesitated before turning to look at him. He had that look on his face again. Hiding something, obvious as ever. And this time, she wanted to know what. Swallowing her trepidation, Marilyn leaned forward onto the table.

"Dick, what aren't you telling me?" She asked outright, watching his brows raise in response.

"Uhh," Dick leaned away a bit, "Is that… important right now?"

Marilyn frowned, leaning back in her own seat.

"You used to always tell me everything, back in the Vault," She sighed, playing with the salt shaker at the corner of the table.

"Well, we're not in the Vault anymore," Dick said quietly as he watched her fingers move.

"Why should that change anything?" Marilyn asked, eyes locked on the salt shaker.

"I dunno," Dick shrugged slightly, "It just does."

Marilyn gave an exasperated sigh and intentionally knocked over the salt shaker, watching the white granules spread across the tabletop.

"You're supposed to be the one person I can trust out here," She frowned, "You're supposed to be the one person I know will be honest with me."

When Dick didn't respond after a minute, Marilyn's gaze flicked up from the spilled salt to him. His brow was furrowed, expression conflicted. He looked almost nervous. His knee bounced under the table, and his fingers tapped against the unsteady surface. But he just stared at her, examining her. Just like before. Like a puzzle.

"Y'know," He began quietly, "You've never asked me what I'm thinkin' about before."

"I've never had to," Marilyn responded, just as quiet.

"Nah," Dick looked away, brow furrowing more, "That ain't it."

"Huh?" Marilyn blinked, cocking her head to the side.

"It's just… ugh…," Dick shook his head, knee bouncing even more, "Nevermind."

"Dick…" Marilyn frowned, reaching across the table for his hand.

As soon as her fingers brushed his, he quickly turned to look back at her. Their eyes met and Marilyn felt her heart skip a beat. But the warmth that bloomed in her chest felt bittersweet. He looked so sad, so anxious, so unsure of himself. For some reason. She could read it clearly on his face, though she couldn't fathom why it was there to begin with. It was so unlike him. Dick was always so carefree, always calm. Marilyn was the anxious one, the uncertain one. She relied on him to be her security blanket, always there to keep her steady.

So why was he the one who looked so unsteady this time?