~(:(Chapter Ten):)~

"Come on over, baby

Whole lotta kickin' in the barn

Come on over, baby

We got the bull by the horns—"

I stood at my workbench, swaying to the beat of the song blaring from my pip-boy and humming along. My latest project was in pieces on the countertop, my eyes going over the schematics as I meticulously put it back together. I was in a good mood, still riding the exhilaration from three days ago.

The barge had been a goldmine. Most of the shipping containers were filled with MREs and military equipment—armor, clothing, tactical vests and packs—but one had the ammo and weapons the ex-Gunners were hoping for. They had filled as many of the newly acquired packs as they could carry while Cal stripped the power armor down to the frame, repairing it enough to get it mobile.

"What do you mean, leave the rest?!" I had blurted in response to Red's order. It was completely unacceptable, the scaver in me rebelling at the idea of leaving all those goodies behind. "There's only so much we can carry," he'd shrugged, smirking at me as I sputtered. "You're welcome to it, if it bothers you so much."

"C'mon, seriously?" Cal had scoffed. "It'll take you forever to move all this shit." The lieutenant's attitude towards me had softened a bit—saving his life making up for busting his nose, which was now a little crooked—but he was still pissed at me for disabling the mech suit. "I have a boat," I had snapped back. "I'll go back and forth all night if I have to."

And that's exactly what I did. It really did take all night, the sky just starting to lighten on my last trip back to the dam. I was glad I had decided to bring my boat, the straight shot from the barge to the dam's dock making it manageable. There was no way I could've done it if I had to walk.

"Shakin', we shakin', we shakin' the place

Come on over, baby, come on—"

My eyes slid to the mountain of boxes, bags and crates stacked against the wall, a smile stretching my lips. The effort was definitely worth it. I had enough supplies for Goodneighbor, now. Too much, actually, but that was a good problem to have. I was still lacking some necessities but I could use the military gear to trade for them.

Maybe I should make a trip to Diamond City? I thought grudgingly to myself. I had a general dislike for the "great green jewel" and its residents after what they did to the ghouls. Except for a small few, most of the residents were a bit stuck-up, as if living behind the walls made them better than the average wastelander. But they did have the biggest market in the whole Commonwealth and almost all of the trade caravans made a stop there—

A flare of red blinked across my vision and I jerked my head up, looking towards the stairs. The security light was going off above the stairwell, the rotating mirror inside making the red beam flash around the workshop.

"Holliday!" I shouted, switching off the radio. Anxiety made my heart pound as I dashed for the wall terminal.

I typed in the command, bringing up the camera feed. It was the only form of security I had besides the coded lock on the entry hatch. If the light was flashing, that meant the office door on the surface had opened.

Someone was here.

"Your Gunner friends again, miss Sammy?" the bot drawled, coming to hover next to me.

"Ex-Gunners," I corrected automatically, my eyes squinting at the grainy picture.

There was one person inside the office, a man, leaning against the door. He pushed off roughly and stumbled around the desk, his head turning as he looked around. He appeared to be injured, bracing a hand on the desktop, his other hand pressed to his side. Suddenly, he collapsed to his knees, heaving as he coughed.

My chest grew tight, eyes widening as I realized I recognized him. The shape of his body, the cut of his hair and the pip-boy—

"Nate."

The name gasped out and then I was flying up the stairs. The thought of Nate being injured, possibly dying, had every frantic beat of my heart thudding painfully. I cleared the top of the stairs, sprinted down the short hallway and jumped onto the ladder leading to the office. There was banging on the metal hatch, slow and muted. I wrenched on the handle and shoved the heavy door up.

"Nate!" I cried upon seeing him. He was kneeling in front of the hatch, a forearm braced on the concrete. His eyes were unfocused and bloodshot, the yellow tint to his skin and the rapid noise from his pip-boy telling me he was badly irradiated.

I dropped from the ladder to give him room, the general coming down with stiff movements and muffled groans. Grabbing onto his clothes to steady him, the pip-boy on my wrist went off, echoing his in a chorus of clicks. He slipped on a rung, falling the last couple feet with a grunt of pain and I braced against him. His weight almost took us to the floor but I managed to push him upright with a grunt of my own.

Nate's arm was heavy across my shoulders, my front plastered to his side as I tried to support him. I could feel a warm wetness soaking into my shirt and I looked down. There was red marking his white undershirt, the top half of the hazmat suit he was wearing pulled down and tied tightly around his middle. The orange of the suit there was dark with blood—his blood—that was now darkening my clothes.

"Shit!" I cursed, the fear rising. He needed Stims, Rad-Away, probably several of each, and he needed them fast.

"Hey…chicken," Nate panted, his voice hoarse. He tried to give me a smile but it shifted into a pained grimace as a cough racked his body.

I cursed again, struggling to keep him on his feet. My mind was scattered from the panic but I forced myself to focus. If I couldn't keep it together, he was going to die.

"Showers, now!" I ordered, my tone shrill as I pulled him to the stairs.

If he was bleeding this much his injury must be deep. I needed to close the wounds but with the radiation poisoning his body, Stimpaks wouldn't be as effective. The radiation needed to be neutralized but that would be difficult if he kept catching rads from his clothes, so I needed to decontaminate him first. No, I needed to do all of it, all at once.

Nate groaned as he followed my lead, his fingers digging into my shoulder. He braced his other hand against the wall as we took to the stairs, leaving a red smear behind.

"Wasn't sure if… you'd be here," he rasped.

"It's okay," I shushed him, saying it more for myself than him. "Just keep moving."

Holliday was waiting at the bottom of the staircase and I called out to him. "Grab the med-kit!"

The bot quickly hovered away and I focused all my energy on not falling. We made it down, stumbling across the workshop as fast as Nate could manage. The stairs to the commons were on the other side of the room and the general cursed as he saw them.

"Come on," I urged, tightening my grip on him. "Just one more."

We descended, both of us huffing and grunting with the effort. After the last step Nate's leg buckled, taking us to our knees. He fell forwards, catching himself with a hand and I surged to my feet, arms wrapping around his bicep.

"Get up!" I yelled frantically, tugging on him. He was too heavy. If he went down I wasn't sure I could drag him.

"It's right there," I tried again. "Just a little farther."

The general coughed, a terrible wet sound, his body sagging towards the ground and my eyes welled with tears.

"I need you up!" my voice cracked as I shrieked. "On your feet, soldier!"

The command seemed to trigger something and he jolted with a gasp. He pushed off the ground, clambering to stand and I rushed to get under his arm. We staggered into the locker room, Nate's forearm nearly strangling me with how tightly he held on. There was a metal chair sitting against one wall and I kicked at it, nudging it into the open shower stall. I dumped him gracelessly into the chair and he fell on it with another groan of pain.

"Holliday—"

"Right behind you, little lady," the bot responded, holding the med-kit by the handle in his pincher. I took it and knelt on the tiled floor, opening the case.

"More," I stressed, quickly shuffling through the supplies. "I need more Rad-Away."

Holliday's thruster flared as he left and I turned back to Nate. I started untying the sleeves of the suit, needing to see the wound. The fabric was so heavily soaked with blood it peeled away from his skin and I choked back a sob. There were three deep gashes in his left side, the wide spread of the claw marks going from ribs to hip. There was only one thing that could've made such a wound.

Deathclaw.

I snatched up a Stimpak and jabbed it in his side. It would at least stem the bleeding and begin the healing process. The general didn't react to the needle. In fact, his body was too still, his head slumping forwards and eyes fluttering closed.

"No!" I yelled, lurching up to smack at his face. "You need to stay awake. Nate, stay awake!"

He muttered incoherently, his chin dropping to his chest. I jumped to turn on the shower, aiming the spray of freezing water directly on him. It drenched the back of his neck and shoulders, making him spasm as he snapped awake. The man let out a string of curses, almost tipping out of the chair and I yanked him straight.

"Stay awake!" I ordered. "You're not dying today, you hear me?"

I meant for the words to come out strong but the warble in my voice turned them desperate. Nate blinked tiredly at me, training his glazed eyes on my face.

"Loud and… clear," he wheezed, another cough causing him to jerk forward.

I knelt again and grabbed the one bag of Rad-Away in the kit. He was going to need at least two, maybe three by the end of it. The clicking from our pip-boys was slowing down, the purified water washing away some of the rads as I carefully fixed the I.V. in his arm. It took a minute with my hands shaking from nerves and his body shaking from being cold and wet but I got it, squeezing the bag to make the flow faster.

Hanging the Rad-Away from the towel hook on the wall I hurriedly continued to the next task, getting him decontaminated. I cursed silently to myself as I immediately noted a problem. His ruined shirt needed to come off but it was waterlogged and stuck to him. It would be difficult to wrestle with it and now the I.V. was in the way.

Rushing back to the med-kit, my boots slid on the wet floor as I retrieved the scissors, ignoring the way water swirled the drain in rivulets of pink. Standing between Nate's knees I began cutting his shirt.

If I wasn't on the verge of a total breakdown I would probably blush at seeing him half-naked, but the only thing on my mind right now was keeping him alive. My heart twisted painfully at the thought and I bit my lip hard.

He couldn't die. He just couldn't.

"Thought you s-said…you had h-hot w-water," Nate joked, his teeth chattering.

I made the last cut, moving around him to strip the remnants off. The spray from the shower soaking my side was warm—not steaming but not cold, either.

"It is hot," I said, putting a hand to his forehead. He was burning up, like he had a fever. "You're just overheated from the rads."

"C-cold," he complained.

"Good, it'll help keep you awake," I snapped. "Just deal with it."

The anger was better, easier, and I let it wrap around me like a comforting blanket. The general gave a strained chuckle, hissing through his teeth as it tugged on his wound.

"You're bed s-side manner s-sucks."

A bit of his usual humor lifted his tone, trying to lighten the mood. His joking was ridiculous, considering the circumstances, and it pulled a laugh from me. It wasn't a good sound, grating and broken, too much like a sob. I turned away abruptly, reaching for the rag and bar of soap on the shower shelf.

"Chicken," Nate called but I ignored him. The anger had abandoned me and I clenched my jaw, concentrating on my hands. If I started crying now I wouldn't be able to stop.

I set to scrubbing his skin, washing away the rads like Dr. Amari had done for me. I thought about trying to get the rest of his clothes off but decided against it. It would take too long and the pip-boys were barely clicking now, anyway. He could finish the rest himself when he got some strength back.

"Sam," he tried again as I went to check on his wound.

"It's okay," I mumbled, carefully washing the blood from around the gashes. "Keep talking. Tell me what happened."

The man tipped his head back with a soft groan, letting the water run down his face and wiping it away with his hand. I only half-listened as he talked, examining the wound. It looked better already, the torn edges starting to come together. Stims were great but they weren't a miracle cure. They couldn't regenerate lost limbs—or in this case, lost skin—they could only increase your body's natural ability to heal. Nate was going to have some pretty impressive scars when—

"What?!" My head snapped up as I caught a word that made my blood run cold. "Why the hell would you go there?"

The Glowing Sea, he'd said. The area took up the southwestern part of the Commonwealth, a vast deadland covered in a toxic cloud of irradiation so thick it could kill you in minutes. It was the source of the radstorms, the wind blowing them across the Wastes from the nuke's impact site. The only things that could survive there were creatures not affected by radiation, like ferals, radscorpions, deathclaws. It was hell on earth. You'd have to be crazy to go anywhere near it…

"Shawn," Nate answered, no longer shivering.

Or desperate, I thought. I wasn't sure what the Glowing Sea had to do with finding his son, but I sure hoped he got what he needed. And that he wouldn't have to go back any time soon.

I blinked, taking him in. His skin was starting to get its normal color back, his breathing even and eyes still tired but more alert. Some of the panic leeched from me and I let out a shuddering sigh.

It was working. He was going to be okay.

Those steel-grey eyes gazed at me with concern. "I'm sorry—"

"Don't," I cut him off, looking away. He almost died but was worried about upsetting me? It was too much. "I'm not done, yet."

The Rad-Away was doing what it was supposed to, his body should be able to take another Stim, now. I reached for the kit but paused as I saw the two new bags of Rad-Away sitting on top. Holliday must have come and gone without me noticing. Guess I was a bit distracted.

I injected a Stim into his side and replaced the now empty bag of Rad-Away with a new one. Turning off the shower, I monitored his wound as the Stimpak did its thing, poking and prodding and using my hands to help the claw marks close properly. Sometimes injuries like this could heal crooked, making the skin pull uncomfortably when you moved. The only way to fix it at that point would be to cut it open and try again, and there was no way I was going to do that.

After ten minutes, Nate's wound was completely healed, the scars a soft, shiny pink that would harden with time. I took hold of the pip-boy still latched to his wrist, flicking to the Stats tab. It showed his radiation levels to be low, barely even registering on the device's sensors.

The urgency of the situation was fading along with my ability to keep my composure and I suddenly realized how quiet it was. Too quiet. My sight clouded with tears again.

"Hey," Nate murmured, putting a comforting hand over mine. I jerked away, not wanting to break down in front of him.

"No, I—" Shaking my head, I focused on taking the I.V. out of his arm. "You need to finish cleaning up, take a real shower."

I gathered up the empty bags and syringes, stuffing everything back in the med-kit. I'll fix it later.

"Can you stand?" I asked, my eyes to the ground. His gaze was on me but I refused to look at him.

"Mm-hmm," the general hummed and I could see him leaning forward to brace his arms on his knees out of the corner of my vision.

"Good. I'm—I'll find you some clothes," I stammered, practically running from the room.

I stalked down the short hallway, heading for the spare room where I had various items stored. There was a decent amount of clothes sorted into piles, too many to take to Goodneighbor in one trip. I should have something that would fit the bulky man.

Pausing in the doorway, I noticed how my wet shirt and jeans clung to me, the coldness against my skin unpleasant. I was still covered in Nate's blood and trailing pink-tinted water behind me. Cursing, I turned around and slipped into my room, stripping off my sodden clothes and boots right at the door. I really should take a shower but that would have to wait.

Changing quickly, I didn't allow myself time to rest and went back to the spare room across the hall. I wasn't sure what size Nate wore but he was pretty close to Jack in appearance, maybe a bit thicker around the waist. Selecting a couple differently sized pants and the largest shirts I could find, I made my way back to the locker room.

The shower was on again and I stared intently at the floor as I entered.

"Clothes," I announced, placing the bundle on the metal bench that sat in front of the line of lockers. I didn't wait for a reply and dashed out of the room again.

Standing in the hall, I floundered, trying to think of something to do. I had to keep busy or I would think about it, and if I thought about it I would start crying. I could feel it coming, like it was just waiting in the back of my throat for the right moment to pour out.

My eyes glanced over the floor to the boot-shaped puddles and my body jerked into motion. Striding to the kitchen, I snagged a couple of dish towels and hurried back to the hallway. Mopping up the pink water, I followed the trail to my room and the soiled clothes still crumpled in a heap. The boots were fine, just wet, but the jeans and t-shirt definitely needed a good soak. I wrapped them up in the towels and took them back to the kitchen. Dumping all of it into the sink, I filled it with water from the tap and sprinkled in a decent amount of Abraxo.

With that task done I headed out of the kitchen, fresh towels clutched in my hands. We probably left a bloody mess all through the dam and if it sat too long it could stain the concrete. I stopped short as Holliday came down the stairs.

The bot had a rag in his pincher as he scrubbed at a every other step, the pungent scent of turpentine wafting to my nose. He finished the stairs and continued with the floor, rubbing a spot here and there and my shoulders sagged.

"You already cleaned up?" I asked, my voice sounding small.

"Yes, ma'am," Holliday drawled, one of his visual sensors focused on me. "Figured I could, since you were busy fixin' up your partner. But don't you be expectin' this every time, now. I ain't no maid."

"Oh."

My body fell back against the wall, all the energy draining from me. I was exhausted, crashing now that the adrenaline was gone and the first tear fell quick and hot down my cheek.

Seeing Nate like that was horrible. Witnessing someone that was so strong and capable being so hurt and weak they could barely stand—it felt… wrong. Like something that shouldn't ever happen.

I pitched forward, bracing my hands on my knees as I cried, the towels lost somewhere on the floor. It was a quiet kind of crying, the sobs sounding more like gasps as I tried to stifle them.

"Miss Sammy?" came Holliday's gruff voice but I couldn't respond. He moved in front of me, the glow from his thruster a bright, blurry smear in my watery vision. The bot hovered silently for a moment as my body shook then he left down the hall, muttering something about not having the right tools.

The tears fell as I thought about how close it had been. What if I hadn't been here? What if Nate had passed out from blood loss before he made it to the dam? The thought of him dying scared me but I was also angry. Angry at Nate for getting hurt and angry at myself for crying about it. It felt childish and weak and I hated it.

Warm, steady hands tugged me up gently and then my face was pressed to a solid chest, those brawny arms encircling me. A strained sound grated low in my throat as I resisted, not wanting the comfort, but his hold was unwavering, strong, safe. I gave in embarrassingly fast, curling my arms against his firm stomach and letting him cradle me.

Nate rested his chin atop my head as I cried on him, rubbing soothing patterns on my back and quietly mumbling praises and reassurances. It felt nice but also odd. Jack wasn't the hugging, comforting type—more the 'pat you on the back and tell you to walk it off' type. The two men shared a lot of things in common but this wasn't one of them. Honestly, I couldn't even remember the last time I was held like this—probably back when I was still living at The Slog.

I don't know if it was because I wasn't used to it or what, but being consoled in Nate's arms was making my heart flutter in my chest. The panic over him being hurt, the anxiety of trying to keep him from dying, the relief of knowing he was going to be okay, and now this. It was all too much to process and my earlier attachment to him was quickly turning into something else.

I slowly pushed away, sniffling as I wiped at my face.

"You alright?" Nate asked and I barked out a strangled laugh.

"You almost died and you're asking if I'm alright?" I sniffed one last time and looked him over. "Are you alright?"

His appearance was much better now that he was freshly washed and free of blood, his skin healthy and muscles relaxed. He'd picked a pair of grey sweatpants and a light-colored shirt with a black and white graphic of Grognak the Barbarian.

The general gave me a soft look mixed with gratitude and fondness. "I am now."

I glanced away shyly, my mouth flattening as I fidgeted with my pip-boy. The clock read 11:46 p.m.

"You should rest, I—" Pausing, I realized there weren't many options in terms of places to sleep. I had two spare rooms, apart from mine, but neither of them had extra beds. "There's the bed or the couch, which do you want?"

"The couch is fine." Nate offered me a smirk, as if amused I was giving him the choice.

I glanced at the faded red couch with a frown. It wasn't the most comfortable. "You sure? I don't mind if—"

"I haven't slept for three days," he said dryly. "Pretty sure I could lay on a pile of broken glass and fall asleep."

The corner of my mouth curled in a half-smile then flattened again. I'd never had someone sleep over before, nor a proper guest. Wasn't I supposed to offer him something? He at least needed a blanket and pillow.

"Oh, okay, uh, let me—I'll get you some…stuff."

I walked away down the hall before he could respond, cursing in my head. Why did I have to be so damn awkward? When it came to tinkering I could talk shop all day but talking to a guy I maybe, possibly, have a thing for and suddenly my vocabulary is reduced to that of a five-year-old.

Groaning quietly, I dashed into my room, grabbing a blanket off the top of the shelving unit and an extra pillow from my bed. When I returned, I found Nate sitting on the couch with his head resting back and eyes closed.

"Here," I cleared my throat, holding out the items. "It gets kinda cold at night."

His eyes blinked open slowly and he sat straight, taking the blanket and pillow with a small smile. He parted his mouth to say something but a thought popped into my head.

"Oh, and—" I cut myself off, turning on my heel towards the kitchen. With all the blood he'd lost, he probably needed to rehydrate. I took two canisters of purified water from the fridge, the metal cold against my hands.

Going back, I stopped abruptly and swiveled to the thermostat on the wall next to the kitchen entryway. I usually liked the temperature a little on the cool side but Nate might like it warmer. Adjusting the heat up a couple degrees, I returned to the couch. The central heating kicked on with a quiet hum and the general looked up, staring almost in astonishment at the air vents.

"Water," I stated, putting one on the low table in front of the couch. "You should probably drink, it'll help with the, uh, healing."

I handed the other one to him. He made to say something again but stopped when he noticed the can chilling his skin, his eyebrow raised.

Another thought came to me. If he hadn't slept in three days then when was the last time he ate? He was probably starving and his body would need food to recover.

"Are you hungry?" I asked, already turning back to the kitchen. "I can—"

I jerked to a stop, Nate's hand catching mine.

"It's alright," he said with a tired chuckle. "You did a great job taking care of me, Sam. Thank you."

The sincerity in his voice brought that feeling back to my chest and I decided I'd made a fool of myself enough for one day. The man looked like he was three seconds from passing out, anyway.

"Anytime." I tugged my hand from his grasp, backing away towards the hall. "I'll just, uh…If you get hungry, help yourself to the kitchen."

"Goodnight, chicken," he said, giving me a lopsided smirk.

"Night."

I retreated to my room, my footsteps heavy with fatigue. There were other things I should probably do before hitting the sack but my bed was calling me. It could wait until morning.

I sighed deeply, relieved the whole ordeal was over, and pain shot through my chest. It came out of nowhere and I doubled over, the coughing fit almost taking me to the floor. I hacked into my arm, trying to smother the noise. There was the faintest hint of copper at the back of my throat and I checked the Stats on my pip-boy.

Shit, I thought, looking at the sensor readings. The amount of rads I picked up from Nate wasn't considered a lot by today's standards, but for someone like me…

Resisting the urge to cough, I snatched another set of clean clothes from my shelves and hurried back to the locker room. I set them on the bench next to the pile Nate had left and stripped down for a second time, tossing the barely worn clothes into the washing machine. The med-kit was still on the floor and I picked it up, taking out the last bag of Rad-Away and placing it beside my new clothes.

As I jumped into the damp shower stall to scrub myself raw, a gloomy sense of hopelessness settled on the edge of my mind. For two years, the cancer in my lungs remained unchanged, something I was only reminded of every time I had a check-up with Dr. Amari. But now, it was suddenly affecting everything, limiting the things I could do—training, traveling, playing nurse to a pre-war vault-dweller who thought it was a good idea to march into the Glowing Sea in nothing but a hazmat suit. I didn't even think about the rads, not like it would have stopped me from helping him if I had.

It was getting worse and there was not much I could do about it, but I refused to just give up. I need to get stronger so Amari has more time to find some Re-Gen and there were only two things I could think of that might help.

Red had said working as a team made you stronger, but I wasn't sure it was the kind of strength I needed. I still didn't feel guilty about the raiders, even though I thought I should. MacCready would probably approve, maybe even be proud of what I did at the barge. Too bad I was never going to tell him about it. As for the other thing… it didn't work out too well with Hancock and there was no way I'd try asking him again.

My thoughts drifted to Nate as I lathered up my hair and once the idea popped into my mind it wouldn't leave. He actually listened when I talked, even if it was rambling nonsense, and cared enough to comfort me when I was crying instead of telling me to suck it up. He was kind and funny and treated ghouls like people—definitely one of the "good ones." Maybe… maybe I could—

I vigorously rinsed the soap out, nails scraping my scalp as if I could claw out the rest of that sentence. He was the general of the Minutemen—he probably wasn't interested in some awkward scaver from Goodneighbor. Just because he came to me when he needed help didn't mean he liked me in that way. It was a stupid idea, anyway, and I learned my lesson the first time.

I wasn't going to make the same mistake twice.

~0~

It was around 10 a.m. when I finally managed to drag myself out of bed. My sleep was restless, tossing and turning and getting up several times just to reassure myself Nate was still breathing. I knew he was going to be okay now but I couldn't get that image out of my head, of him slumped in the chair, skin a sickly yellow from radiation poisoning and the bloody gashes in his side. It's not like I haven't seen worse but it was different when it was someone I cared about.

Stifling a yawn, I changed into a pair of snug jeans and my green hoodie, slipping the arm coverings up over my biceps. My boots were dry enough and I shoved them on, my fingers moving sluggishly as I sat on the edge of my bed to tie them. I wanted nothing more than to sleep for another hour or two but there were things I needed to do. Nate was probably still passed out after everything he went through but I bet he would be hungry when he woke—I should make something to eat so it was ready for him. And the locker room was most likely a disaster. Between the blood and rads, it would need a good cleaning.

With that plan decided, I latched on my pip-boy and secured Meg to my hip. It was doubtful I would need a gun while inside the dam but it was a good habit to keep a weapon strapped on at all times. Walking out of my room and down the hallway, I expected the general to be sprawled on the couch like he was the last time I checked on him, so I was startled to see him in the opposite corner.

Nate was making use of my exercise equipment, his back to me as he pulled himself up on the corner bar. He kept a steady pace, his legs crossed at the ankles and knees bent so he didn't touch the floor. That he was working out so soon after almost dying was impressive but it wasn't what had me staring. The man wasn't wearing a shirt.

His burly arms bunched with each rep, the muscles in his broad back tensing underneath tanned skin that glistened lightly with perspiration. His middle tapered slightly down to a thick waist, the sweatpants riding low enough to show off two prominent dimples just above the curve of his butt.

I had been too worried about him last night to really notice but now that he wasn't dying it was hard not to. The sight of all that solid muscle flexing brought a wave of heat rolling through my body and clenched something low in my stomach. It was a new feeling, more than just the friendly affection I had for him or the giddy shyness whenever he complimented me. It left me charged and twitchy and—why was it so hot in here?

I shook myself, a hand coming up to cover half of my burning face with a smack. How long had I been standing here like an idiot just ogling the guy? Stomping to the thermostat, I turned it down a couple notches, trying to will the heat flash away.

"Morning," Nate said behind me.

"M-morning," I mumbled as I turned to face him, hoping my blush wasn't too noticeable.

He was bending to pick up a towel thrown over the bench, using it to wipe the sweat from his neck. The general's front was even more impressive than his back with a well-developed chest and defined abs that were softened a bit by that healthy thickness. There were a few scars that must be from his time in the army and even one that looked like a bullet wound in his right shoulder, but none of them were as prominent as the claw marks he now had.

The scars didn't bother me—in fact, they only enhanced his appeal and my skin started to heat again. I tore my eyes away and they landed on the red couch. The blanket had been folded neatly with the pillow resting on top.

"Sorry about the couch," I said to fill the silence. "I'm, uh, not used to guests. Actually, you're the first one."

Nate lifted his brow in surprise. "Am I?"

"Well, Jack came by once, but the dam wasn't livable at the time, so…" My rambling trailed off and I glanced over him again. "So, uh, you're feeling better?"

He grabbed his shirt that was also tossed on the bench, gathering it in his hands to pull over his head. He tugged the shirt down, hiding all that tanned skin from my view and I felt both relieved and disappointed.

"Still a little sore, but yeah, much better." He gave a stretch and I couldn't help but think that Grognak shirt was aptly appropriate. "You did good work, like an army field medic. I owe you one."

"Sure," I shrugged dismissively. I didn't help him because I expected something in return.

"I mean it, Sam," Nate said, his tone going serious. "I wouldn't have made it back to the city. You saved my life. If there's anything you need, just let me know."

Anything? I thought, rolling the idea around in my head. Did he really mean anything? If I asked him, would he actually agree to—I pushed the thought away, an uncomfortable feeling settling over me. No, I wouldn't want him to agree just because he felt he owed me, that didn't seem right.

"How about you promise to never do that again and we'll call it even?"

Those steel-grey eyes blinked at me then crinkled, a soft smile curving his mouth. "I'll see what I can do."

My insides squirmed and I fiddled with my pip-boy, staring at the screen without really seeing it. Dammit, I thought, irritated by how flustered he got me. It would be a whole lot easier to ignore if he stopped looking at me like that. He was just being nice, that's all it was… unless it wasn't. I hadn't noticed Nate looking at anyone else with that tender expression in the time I've spent with him. He didn't call anyone by a "cute" nickname, either. Maybe he did like me?

"Did you eat yet?" I asked, the words coming out quickly. The thought of Nate actually liking me back made my heart pound.

"Was waiting for you."

I nodded mutely and turned on my heel, walking into the kitchen. It was fairly large, larger than a kitchen you might find in a house, with the counters going along two walls in an "L" shape and hanging cabinets above. They were all metal, the countertops a smooth, stainless steel. There was a matching island block with three barstools set on the far side and a foldable table with four chairs that were currently holding a random assortment of junk I had yet to sort through.

The general followed behind, taking a seat on one of the barstools as I puttered around the kitchen. Opening the fridge, I saw the pot of leftover radstag stew Mary Jo had given me yesterday. She lived at Oberland station with her friend Valerie—callsigns Mayfly and Valkyrie respectively—and the two women had become good friends of mine. They had let me stay with them when I was digging out the dam, which I repaid by building them a generator. I still visit on a weekly basis, dropping off supplies when needed, and they usually give me produce from their small crop field or, in this case, homecooked meals. I didn't mind one bit—M.J.'s cooking was fantastic.

I hefted the pot out, nudging the fridge door shut with my hip, and placed it on the stove. Turning the burner on medium, I got the coffee out from the top cabinet, filling the percolating coffee pot and flicking on the hot plate it sat on.

"I take back what I said before about the dam," Nate stated with amusement. "Running water, electricity, heating, a working fridge… this place is pretty amazing. Did you fix all of it yourself?"

"It took me a while, but yeah." I smiled at his compliment, stirring the stew with a wooden spoon. "I mean, most of the systems weren't that bad, just some faulty wiring and fried circuits. Between the concrete and the river, everything inside stayed fairly protected."

"Kind of reminds me of how things used to be." The man's tone lost its humor, going quiet. "Like I can almost pretend the world above isn't blown to shit."

I glanced at him and he had a faraway look to his eyes, his thumb absently rubbing the edge of his pip-boy. It was the same look Jack sometimes got when he was thinking about pre-war times.

The old ghouls didn't talk about it much, at least not outside their own company. Most people weren't interested in how the world "used to be" and it was hard to imagine without seeing it for yourself. Even small things, like being able to swim in a lake without worrying about radiation—or mirelurks—or the trees having leaves that would change color with the seasons.

"Well, you're welcome to stop by anytime you want," I offered.

Nate's eyes focused as he pulled away from his memories, that amused smirk reappearing.

"Don't tell me that," he teased with a soft chuckle. "I might never leave."

I turned back to the stove, the blush heating my cheeks again. I knew he was just joking but it was still an interesting thought—me, Nate and Holliday living together at the dam. I had lived with other people before but it wasn't the same. At The Slog, we were all so close together the concept of privacy was almost foreign, and at Goodneighbor, there were dozens of people constantly going in and out of the Old State House. Living alone had been hard enough getting used to and I was glad Holliday had decided to stay with me, but living with just one other actual person… that seemed too intimate.

The stew was steaming so I grabbed two slightly chipped bowls from the cabinet and filled them with the meaty soup. I went back and forth, placing everything on the island counter—the bowls of stew with spoons, the coffee pot with two mugs, and a half loaf of dense, razorgrain bread from the breadbox, also curtesy of Mary Jo.

"It's not steak and eggs," I chirped. "But at least it's better than boxed food."

"You made this?" Nate asked, taking in the homecooked provisions. I snorted derisively. Following instructions off the back of a box was one thing, but I had never been able to cook from scratch. Nothing good, anyway.

"Uh, no, my cooking is terrible," I admitted, pouring us the coffee. "M.J. made it."

He accepted the mug, taking a careful sip. "M.J.?"

"Mary Jo," I explained. "She lives at Oberland Station with Valerie, about a mile or so northeast of here. They're part of our radio network."

Nate gave a nod, stirring his spoon into the bowl. His movements were slow and deliberate as he tasted it, chewing and swallowing completely before speaking.

"It's good," he declared.

I hummed in agreement, digging into my own bowl. He was a polite eater—a far cry from the way most wastelanders eat, hurriedly shoveling food with loud slurping and mashing. Pre-war table manners, just like Daisy had taught me.

We ate in silence and I gathered up the bowls when we were done, taking them to the sink. I paused as I noticed my clothes still soaking in the murky looking water. Right. I would have to deal with those first.

Placing the dishes on the counter to be washed later, I turned back to Nate.

"You going to head out?" I asked, wondering what his plan was. I wouldn't mind if he wanted to stay a bit longer. Maybe I could show him the Lone Wanderer?

"Left most of my things in Diamond City with a friend," he nodded, his hands held loosely around his cup. "I'll need to go pick it up."

I was suddenly anxious about him leaving, my teeth absently worrying my bottom lip. He was an adult and a soldier—he was clearly capable enough—but his quest to find his son was taking him to dangerous places. We hadn't spent that much time together and he already turned up on my doorstep half dead. What if something happened to him again?

I thought about Hancock and how it took me two years to finally tell him how I felt, just to get turned down. Even so, I didn't regret it. At least I knew how the mayor felt about me and I didn't have to worry about it anymore. I really did like Nate, a lot, but what if I didn't have two years to wait? What if I never got the chance to tell him?

Just say it, the thought whispered through my mind. It can't be any worse than what happened with Hancock. My heart fluttered nervously and I swallowed, my mouth like cotton.

"So, Nate," I began, fingers tapping restlessly on the steel countertop. The general hummed in response, those steel-grey eyes giving me his full attention.

"I—" Sucking in a breath, my gaze darted away as I tried to say the words. "I was wondering, uh, maybe—I mean, if you, uh…"

He blinked at me in confusion and I groaned, running a frustrated hand through my hair. Why was this so difficult? For fuck's sake, I cursed to myself, just spit it out! Taking another breath, I clenched my hands into fists, meeting his eyes.

"You're really nice and I really like you a-and I, um, wanted to know, maybe if, uh, if y-you—"

"I'm sorry," Nate interrupted, his expression slack with surprise. "I'm sorry, Sam, I didn't mean to—"

He stopped, rubbing a hand over his face. When he looked back at me, his scarred lips were curled into a small, sad smile.

"You're a good person, something I'm starting to realize isn't all that common anymore, but… I finally got a real lead on Shawn and finding him is the only thing I can focus on right now." He paused, staring down into his coffee mug. "And I know it's technically been at least ten years, but it still feels like yesterday that Nora—"

Oh, god, I thought, my face paling with horror. I forgot. I forgot about his wife. The guilt crashed into me like a punch to the gut and I sorely wished I had kept my mouth shut. I was wrong. This felt just as bad as Hancock's offhanded rejection, maybe worse, and it was entirely my fault.

"I'm sorry," he continued. "But I'm not ready to—"

"N-no, I—" Stumbling away from the counter I grimaced, wanting to take it all back. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have—never mind, just forget I said anything."

"Sam," Nate called after me as I strode out of the kitchen but I didn't stop.

A horrible mix of guilt and embarrassment warred inside of me. How could I forget about Nora? It didn't matter if it happened ten years ago, Nate was frozen for those ten years and only recently escaped the vault. To him, it just happened, of course he was still grieving for his wife. What the hell was wrong with me? Didn't I tell myself last night I wasn't going to make the same mistake twice? Although, this wasn't exactly the same but still bad, just in a different way.

I started towards the hallway, intent on hiding in my room until the man left, and a large hand clasped mine.

"Hey, wait," Nate murmured soothingly, tugging me to a stop. Concern was pinching his face and he gazed between my eyes for a moment before letting out a sigh.

"Look, let's put this on hold for now. After I've found Shawn and had some time—"

"Don't," I pulled my hand away, the grimace contorting my face. "You don't have to do that, it's fine."

I may be inexperienced when it came to relationships, but I knew an empty promise when I heard one. He was trying to let me down gently, which was nice, but I didn't want the false hope. Besides, there was no telling how long it would take him to find his son—if he did at all—and I wasn't sure I had enough time to wait for him. The thought was depressing and I turned away.

"Let's just pretend this conversation never happened," I muttered, heading down the hall.

"Lauren."

My steps slowed then stopped and I turned back to face him with a bewildered frown. "What?"

"My name," he clarified, his mouth drawn tight in a wince. "Lauren Nathaniel Peters."

My storm of emotions calmed as I processed what he said. He was giving me his name, his real name, something he hadn't shared with anyone since the bombs fell. A small spark of warmth lit in my chest, quelling the guilt of sticking my foot in my mouth. Was he really so worried about upsetting me, even though it was my own fault?

"Lauren," I repeated, testing the sound of it. As I looked him over I found myself smiling. It was an unusual name but he was an unusual guy. I'm sure there wasn't anyone in the Commonwealth who'd gone through exactly what he had. "Yeah, that fits much better."

The general crossed his arms, narrowing his gaze in mock-displeasure. "You trying to say I'm girly?"

"It's your name and you're a man, so that makes it a man's name," I informed him, my smile widening. "I like it."

He studied me for a moment as if trying to decide if I was telling the truth, then his expression softened as he returned my smile.

"I'd still appreciate it if you kept it to yourself," he smirked.

"Whatever you say, Becky," I chimed, eliciting a laugh from the man.

"So, we're still friends?" he asked, a shadow of that concern still pinching his brow.

My smile waned in puzzlement. It seemed to really bother him, the idea I wouldn't want to be his friend anymore, and I wondered why. I'm the one who screwed up. Shouldn't he be mad at me?

"Well, yeah," I said, the fondness I felt for him not diminished in the slightest. "That's not going to change."

"Good," Nate grinned, relief shining from his eyes. "Because you're one hell of a friend, Sam."

That spark of warmth grew into a flame and I grinned back, the guilt fading away. I guess I didn't screw up too bad if he still wanted my friendship. Looking him over again, my smile shifted to a frown as I realized something.

"Where's your pack?" I asked, just remembering he didn't have it on him when he showed up last night. "And your rifle?"

"Torn to pieces somewhere in the Glowing Sea," he grumbled, obviously not happy about it.

"Well, you can't go to the city like that," I scoffed, taking in the t-shirt and sweatpants he was wearing. There was no way I would let him leave without the proper supplies, especially armor and a weapon. It was a good thing I had plenty of military gear he could pick through.

Walking past him towards the stairs to the workshop, I craned my neck to glance back at him. "Come on, Grognak, let's get you geared up."

Nate's laugh echoed around the space as he followed, the cheery sound of it stoking the flame of warmth in my chest. It was almost enough to make me forget the gloomy reason I tried propositioning him in the first place.

Almost.

~0~

Hancock lounged in his usual spot in the sitting room of the Old State House, the well-used couch barely more comfortable than the hardwood floor. His head was leaned back against the lumpy headrest, black eyes staring unseeingly at the cracked ceiling as his scarred face was drawn in a frown. The ghoul had the strangest feeling, like he was forgetting something important but couldn't put his finger on it. Of course, the jittery haze of Jet might have something to do with it.

"Somethin's missin'," Hancock grumbled.

Fahrenheit's gaze flicked up to her boss. The armored woman was sitting on the opposite couch, legs crossed at the knees and lazily scraping her nails clean with the tip of her blade. Her mouth twitched as she fought the smirk and set her attention back to her nails.

Hancock straightened with a frustrated grunt, rubbing a hand over his scalp, his tricorn hat resting beside him. The answer was right at the edge of his mind but every time he reached for it, the thought fluttered away like a bag in the wind.

Eyeing the Mentats on the coffee table, the ghoul snatched them up and popped open the tin, chewing two of the orange brain pills. As he waited for them to take effect he glanced around the room. The windows were dark, the State House quiet as it was sometime past midnight. Jack had already gone to bed, the door to his room across the hall shut tight. The door to sunshine's room was also closed, the—

No, not something, Hancock started, the thought finally catching. Someone. It had been two weeks since she left and it was the weekend. Shouldn't she be here?

"Where's Sammy?" he asked, head snapping to his companion.

"Called earlier saying she needed more time to gather supplies," Fahr responded without looking up from her hands. "Pushed her visit out a week. You'd know that if you weren't too busy getting shit-faced at the bar."

Hancock's brows pulled into a frown again. He had been spending more time than usual at The Rail, drinking until he could barely stumble back up the stairs. The way he'd left things with sunshine bothered him more than he thought it would and thinking about it made him feel a certain way. Anxious and something else he didn't want to name. It was better, easier, to cover up the uncomfortable feeling with a heavy dose of good, old-fashioned giggle juice.

"I might've overindulged a bit," the ghoul admitted casually.

"People are taking notice, Mr. Mayor," Fahrenheit said, giving her boss a hard look. "I wouldn't mention it, otherwise. Charlie complained about you drinking through his stock faster than the caravans can replenish it. Told Sam to double up on booze."

Hancock snorted, leaning back with his hands clasped behind his head. Of course, Charlie would complain, the surly Mr. Handy model that served as The Third Rail's bartender. It's not like Hancock's excessive drinking was costing the bar money. He'd paid for all of it, anyway.

"Needed more time, huh?" the ghoul repeated, his frown deepening. Being short on supplies never stopped Sam before. In fact, this was the first time she missed a visit that he could recall.

"That's what she said," the armored woman drawled, a smirk slowly stretching her lips. "Or maybe, she's just avoiding a certain ghoul."

Hancock's anxiety jacked up a notch, his body going tense. He knew she was just giving him shit, but it did sound more like the truth, didn't it? What if Fahr was right? What if this was just the beginning of Sam spending less and less time in Goodneighbor until she stopped coming at all?

Shit, he cursed silently. He should have tried harder to explain himself when she was still in town. He needed to fix this. Now.

"That's it, I'm going over," the mayor declared, jumping to his feet.

Fahrenheit kicked a heavy boot at the edge of the table between them, knocking off empty cola bottles and causing it to smash into Hancock's shins. He cursed out loud, the force of it sending a shooting pain up his legs and he fell back down to sit on the couch.

"The fuck was that for?!" he snarled, glaring at the woman.

"Sit your ass down, you're not going anywhere," she ordered, her tone dry.

Hancock growled, shoving the table back with his own foot. "Fahr—"

"I know you, John." Fahrenheit pointed her blade at him in emphasis before sliding it down the side of her boot still braced against the table. "And I know Sam. You're both stubborn and mouthy. You go over there all worked up and one of you will end up saying or doing something you'll regret."

He glared for a moment then scoffed, settling back against the cushions. It's not like she was wrong.

"Thought you were the one sayin' I needed to talk to her," Hancock grumbled.

"Yeah, before she left town. That was two weeks ago," Fahr sighed, crossing her arms over her chest. "Look, she's young and has all those raging hormones to contend with. She needs time to think and get her head on straight, and so do you."

The ghoul scoffed again, pulling a cigarette from his pack and lighting up.

"What's there to think about, my head's fine," he denied with a huff, smoke trailing from his nasal cavities.

Thinking was exactly what Hancock had been avoiding but the Mentats were in full effect, granting him an awful clarity. Did he love Sam? Of course, he did, it wasn't even a question. Sunshine, Jack, Fahr, even Mac—they were more like family to him than his own brother. But was that all it was, just a familial type of love? Even if it wasn't, could he really risk destroying the relationship they had when he inevitably screwed up?

That was the main reason he always kept those kinds of intimate affairs all casual-like with no strings attached—it left no hurt feelings or ruined friendships the next time he decided to run. With Sam, it would be different. She mattered too much for it to be just a casual dalliance. He wouldn't be able to walk away, not without doing serious damage to the both of them.

No, Hancock thought. That would be much worse than sunshine being pissed at him for the next couple of weeks. She'd get over it, eventually, and maybe even set her sights on someone else. Then things could return to the way they were.

Taking a drag off his cig, the mayor went back to staring at the ceiling. Now that he was decided, that unidentified feeling came creeping back, which the chem-fueled clarity readily supplied the name of.

Regret. It was regret.

A/N: I went over my self-imposed two week goal but it's finally done. For some reason I thought this chapter was going to be short but it's my longest one :P

Poor Sam. So angsty, I was cringing just writing it. The dialogue between Sam and Nate is strange to write. Sam is not exactly a self-insert OC but her perspective is written in 1st POV and Nate is the player character of the game, so it kind of feels like I'm talking to myself in a weird, abstract way.

I have 6 followers now! Thanks so much for taking an interest in my story :D