Maggie was born with the most gorgeous head of autumn orange hair Ivy O'Hearn had ever seen. "Oh!" Betty Bennet from next door had said the first time she saw it, "Oh my goodness. She looks like she's going to grow up to be quite the little angel, hm?" she'd cooed, and then fussed over her and her hair for quite some time. In fact, the infant's full head of titian hair remained a hot topic among the mothers in Diamond City for a while, and Ivy knew it was true: that she had been blessed with the most beautiful baby girl anyone had ever seen. And so what a shame it was when Maggie's red hair began falling out and was promptly replaced by straight, black,boringhair.
2277. Maggie is 12, and she sits atop a building. Her eyes are heavy as she scribbles away in her journal. On most days, her mother has her up early so she can style her hair and fret over her face before school – after all, she must remain the most beautiful child in Diamond City. This is very, very important and Ivy is sure to let her know this. But today, Ivy had gotten her child up especially early. Because today was dye-day, and it always took several extra hours to colour, cut, dry, and style Maggie's hair on dye-day.
The smell of chemicals lingers in her artificial-orange locks, and every soft breeze forces the scent deeper and deeper into her nose. Maggie genuinely cannot tell whether the headache she feels is from the hair dye or her own exhaustion – and had it not been for the fact that her parents had spent the last several hours obnoxiously arguing, she would most certainly be in bed right now attempting to remedy at least one of those things.
But instead, she indulges in the silence of a warm, summer evening and works on a haiku.
Happy Hair-Dye Day
Dad spent our rent at the bar
Mom is mad again
Maggie frowns. The poem feels way too personal and it makes her skin crawl, and so she erases it and works instead on one about a radroach she'd seen in the slums today on her way home from school:
Radroach with your little legs
Laying lots of little eggs
If I took you home with me
I think that I would name you Greg
The child giggles as she reads and rereads her new poem. It's ridiculous and stupid and pointless but it feels so much better than the depressing drivel she'd jotted before.
Her laughter is cut short by the sound of a door opening beneath her. Of course, she isn't sitting atop her own roof, but rather one she'd picked at random, far away from the sound of her mother calling her father every foul name in the English language and her father beating her senselessly in return. "Yeah, yeah," says a lighthearted voice from below, and Maggie holds her breath. "I'll be quick."
The door shuts, and when she then hears the click of a lighter, Maggie leans forward and peers over the ledge. And there, she spots a tall, dark-haired young man. He has his back to her, but his shoulders are broad, and his long, curly black locks shine just right in the moonlight. As stealthily as she can, Maggie leans sideways to try and catch a sneaky glimpse of the man's face as he smokes his cigarette; however, her pen betrays her as it slips off of her lap, and she is helpless to stop it as it slides off the slanted roof and falls to the gravel below.
She leans back, eyes wide, and the man on the ground turns sharply and quickly spots the pen. He narrows his eyes in confusion and takes a careful step forward to pick it up, and then immediately, he peers upward and spots the underside of one of Maggie's shoes.
"Hello?"
Shit, Maggie thinks, I'm caught. Or... Maybe... She pulls her foot back in an effort to remain hidden, but there's a chuckle from the man below her as he then says, "Who's up there? Lana?"
Maggie clears her throat. "Uh," for some reason, she deepens her voice – a decision she immediately regrets but she commits to the bit anyway, "Yeah. Yeah, this is Lana."
There is a beat of silence and Maggie almost thinks she may be in the clear, but then the man on the ground says much more softly, "No, it's not." And so, Maggie sits up slowly in defeat and meets the eyes of whoever it is she'd been talking to.
Immediately, her heart skips a beat. He's a well-groomed man, with nice sideburns which accentuate his square jaw and a shapely black mustache. To Maggie, his brown eyes look deep and kind and like she wants to hide away inside of them. She can feel a blush cross her cheeks as she stares at him doe-eyed, but he does not seem nearly as receptive to her presence as she is to his.
"Who the hell are you?" he asks as he squints into the darkness. "What are you doing up there?"
Maggie swallows, but summons her courage and squares her shoulders. "Writing." she says as she feigns confidence. "What are you doing down there?"
The man is stunned for a moment, before he breathes a laugh and shakes his head. "Having a smoke." He lifts his cigarette. He scrutinizes her a moment, still unable to really see her beyond her pale skin and red tresses. "What's your name?"
"What's yours?"
He raises an eyebrow, then says, "Tim. Your turn."
Maggie purses her lips into a pout and sits silently for a moment. She is reluctant to answer at first, but finally, she warms up to the idea of this handsome stranger knowing who she is. "Maggie."
"Maggie, huh?" Tim chuckles and steps back. "Why don't you come down from there, Maggie?"
The girl seems to consider it, but her eyes narrow. "Why should I?"
Once again, Tim laughs. "Well, first of all, you don't really belong up there." he notes. Maggie can't exactly argue that so she allows him to continue. "And second of all," he lifts his other hand and waves her pen lightly in the air, "I got your pen."
"Keep it." she shrugs. "I got lots just like it."
"Oh, come on. Don't make me beg."
At this, Maggie's lips quirk into a small smile, and finally she concedes and tucks her journal back into her bag then carefully slips off of the rooftop. Tim steps back and watches as she lands gracefully in the gravel, and as she stands, his eyes rake over her body.
He admires her healthy, wavy red hair and the way it caresses her soft cheeks. Maggie is tall for her age, and her face is meticulously painted in such a way that she looks both mature and youthful all at once, thus Tim can't quite gauge how old she is. He does note that her body is almost boyish but then, she is also quite thin and so perhaps she is just not as well-endowed as some other women.
It is her beautiful, pale green eyes which do him in though, and for a moment, he is rendered speechless as he stares into them. Maggie smiles as she watches him silently struggle to form a sentence, and then she giggles and the sound is like music to Tim's ears.
"Cat got your tongue?" she coos, and Tim blows air from his nose.
"I don't know, are you a cat?" he replies suavely, then tilts his head toward her at the flirt. Maggie's blush deepens – she's never really been courted before and the feeling is nothing short of exhilarating. Boys at school would be sweet on her, sure, but not like this. He is mature, she thinks, he must have lots of experience with this sort of thing. He would know how to treat a girl right. And if there is one thing Maggie needs, it is for someone to do just that.
Still, she knows she can't just put it all out on the table for him right away, so she laughs alluringly, leans in, and purrs, "I could be."
And then, she snatches her pen back and turns to walk away, leaving Tim bewildered in the street. She makes sure to sway her hips as she goes, just as her mother had shown her, and before she gets too far she stops and turns her head to look at Tim over her shoulder. "See you around, Tim." she says, and Tim grins.
"Yeah, see you around." he replies. And he would.
Ivy puts Maggie to bed every night. She insists on it because she doesn't trust the girl to wash her face thoroughly enough or braid her own hair correctly. She has been this way for as long as Maggie can remember, and she reckons she will be this way until the day she dies or Maggie moves away or another swath of nuclear bombs rain down on the world once more and finish wiping out humanity once and for all.
There are some nights, though, in which Ivy does not come into her daughter's room with facial cream and hair elastics, but rather a make-up palette and a little white pill. Maggie loathes these nights. The pill hurts her stomach, and she always wakes up the next morning feeling sore all over and disoriented. Sometimes, she even finds blood in her underwear – but, as her mother tells her, this irregular routine is just a vital part of being a woman and staying beautiful.
Maggie is 11 the first time she only pretends to swallow the little white pill. She plays the game and feigns drowsiness as her mother inexplicably touches up her make-up, and as she finishes with her face and moves on to brush out her hair, she pretends to fall asleep just as she usually does at this point. "David!" Ivy calls out then, and Maggie can hear the distinct sound of her father's heavy footsteps as he comes into her room and scoops her into his arms.
It feels nice, actually – to be in her dad's arms like that. He's usually cold and unreceptive when he is sober, and belligerent when he is drunk. So this fleeting moment of affection is something Maggie finds herself revelling in; although it doesn't last long. She fights back the urge to open her eyes as he then carefully props her up atop her bed – but not beneath the covers, and not laying down, either. She listens as her mother hems and haws, and then feels the cool night air on her chest as she unbuttons her nightshirt down to her stomach. "Yes?" Ivy asks David, who grunts in response.
"Yep." he says, and then there is a faint knock on the front door and both Ivy and David leave Maggie alone in the room to answer it. Half an hour later and Maggie is almost asleep – that is, until she hears her bedroom door opening and closing, followed by the sound of big boots across her floor and the feeling of her bed dipping heavily. And when she finally opens her eyes, she meets the gaze of a man with a tattooed, bald head who immediately thrusts his hand over her mouth and smiles grimily.
This happens a lot. Many nights, Maggie forgoes the pill and many nights, she lays powerlessly as strange men treat her body as if there weren't a soul within it. Eventually, she learns that fighting back is futile – she is small, waifish and lacking in self-defence training and so there is nothing she can do but close her eyes and pretend it is Tim on top of her instead.
Now, she is 13 years old, and every time she asks Tim, he assures her that her age doesn't bother him. She's mature, he tells her – different from other girls in her grade and even more grown than some of the women his age. Maggie doesn't quite understand his reluctance to bring her around his friends, but he always has sugar-sweet excuses as to why he can't. They won't get you like I do, or, I want to spend time with justyou, is that okay? And she falls for it every time. After all, Tim is the only real reprieve she has from the hellscape of a home she comes from, and so she is happy to keep wearing her rose-coloured glasses.
When she pounds on his window late one winter evening, Tim startles and then hurries to pull it open. "Maggie?!" he narrows his eyes. It's late, yet he'd been awake anyway listening to the radio and reading.
"Can I come in?" the child's teeth chatter, and he's never seen her look quite so distraught. Quickly, he moves to pull her through the window all while wondering to himself why she didn't just go through the front door. After all, he lives alone – he is an adult with a job which covers the bills and thus allows him to do so.
"Of course you can." he says gently as he pulls the window closed and hurries to grab the blanket from off his bed. He throws it around her shoulders and rubs her arms, and gradually her teeth stop chattering but she still sniffles and her lip quivers as she fights back tears. "Hey, shh." Tim soothes her as he guides her to his bed and sits her down on the edge. He kneels in front of her yet keeps his hold on her arms, "You're alright. I've got you."
Maggie blubbers incoherently – Tim can tell she is trying to say words yet he's not so sure what exactly it is she is trying to say and so all he can really do is continue to soothe her and hold her and let her know she is safe here. Finally she begins to calm, and Tim is able to understand most of what she is saying.
"I'm... Sorry, I..." she punctuates each word with a heave, "didn't... tell you sooner..."
Tim's brow furrows. "Tell me what sooner?" he asks softly.
Maggie looks almost frustrated – it had been difficult enough to say the first time and she hadn't realized that she was crying so hard that she'd been impossible to understand. She takes an extra moment to catch her breath, then repeats herself:
"My... Mom and dad, they've... For caps, they... They like, rent me out. And, I... I'm sorry, I know it's like I'm... cheating on you but I can't... They won't let me... If I..." she fumbles and stumbles through her thoughts, and Tim's brow creases even further as he freezes.
"They what?!" He can't quite believe what he's hearing.
"I... Mom and dad's friends come into my room, and... They..." her voice falls to a whisper, "have...sexwith me, and then they pay my mom and dad and leave."
Tim's mouth falls open as he settles somewhere between shock and horror, and he gasps. "Are... I..." Now it is his turn to struggle with his words. "You serious?!"
Maggie nods in response, and whimpers as she wipes tears from her face.
"Oh my God..." Tim shakes his head frantically as he talks. "They can't do that, Maggie. You... You have to tell someone. The-the-the guards, or something, I just... They can't..." He draws in a deep breath, then tacks on in a whisper, "Holy shit..."
Maggie's leg bounces restlessly, and she pulls Tim's blanket tighter over her shoulders. "I can't, Tim. I can't tell anyone."
"Then I will—"
"No!"
Tim's eyes widen at the sudden outburst, and Maggie looks like a deer in headlights as she sits before him, trembling like a leaf and breathing heavily. She whines in her throat and swallows thickly. "You... You can't. They'll kill you. They're real bad people."
"Kill me?! No, Maggie – they can't get away with this—"
Maggie once again cuts him off as her desperate hands grab at his face. "I can't lose you, Tim!" she sputters, and Tim quiets. The two are silent, and as Maggie holds Tim's face in her hands, she can't tell if it is her who is trembling, or him, or both of them. Finally, she sniffles and frowns. "Please," she pulls his face closer and he leans in until their foreheads are touching, "promise me you won't say anything."
Tim's thoughts are turbulent as he oscillates between wanting to play it safe and wanting to do what is right. But for now, he simply nods. "Okay."
The answer placates Maggie, whose fingers curl into his cheeks. "Thank you." she replies, then draws in another shaky breath. "Can I just... stay here for a while?"
She has to get home before her mother can notice she's missing of course, but for now, all she wants is to remain in Tim's embrace. And he grants her that wish, as he pulls himself from her hold only to scoop her into his arms and sit with her on the bed. "Of course." he says softly to her, and Maggie heaves a long sigh of relief.
Several months later, and the cold dark of winter has long since been replaced by lengthier days and bluer skies. Maggie is in good spirits when she awakens and feels the warmth of sunlight wash over her. Her mother brings her fresh mutfruit for breakfast – her favourite – and is gentle with her as she brushes her hair out and tells her just how pretty she is. She spends the morning outside with old Mrs. Bennet next door and helps her weed her windowsill flowers, then has lunch and does some journaling.
Mid-afternoon, Maggie emerges from her room and gives her mother a cheerful smile; one which she does not return. But the child thinks nothing of it – after all, she is used to this treatment. She isn't actively criticizing or berating her, and so to her, today is good.
And because today is so good, she decides there is no better time than now to ask, "Hey, mom, can I go out and meet with my friends?"
Ivy looks up from the dress she is ironing. One of Maggie's – it used to be her favourite at one point. But then it became Randall's favourite, and now, she hates it. She doesn't say this, though. She knows better.
"Friends?" her mother scoffs. "What friends?"
She returns to ironing, and Maggie can tell she is irritated – especially when her father enters the room and crosses his arms with a scowl. His presence gives Maggie pause, but the summer sun makes her feel brave and so she pushes on. "My friends from school. They said they wanted to hang out over the summer, so I was hoping..." her voice trails off as she feels her father's eyes boring into her, and she wonders if he can read her mind and tell that she's lying. Maggie doesn't have any friends at school – she keeps to herself. She's too mature for any of them, after all. What she really wants is to go out and see Tim, but her parents have yet to find out about him and she plans to keep it that way. She shudders at the thought of what they would do to him if they found out she is seeing him for free, and has been for over a year now.
Finally, with a grunt David turns his head toward Ivy – he never talks directly to Maggie. "Pigeon is coming tonight." he barks, and Ivy's hand tightens around the handle of the iron. "If she's not home..."
He doesn't finish the threat, but his eyes do flick to his daughter who shrinks away from his gaze. Ivy's lips purse, but then she sighs and shakes her head. "Be home no later than nine." she says sternly, and Maggie smiles.
"Okay, I promise!" she says excitedly, and hurries out just as her parents start arguing with each other.
As she steps onto the metal walkway of the upper stands, she slows to a stroll and simply enjoys the feeling of the sun on her skin, and the way the breeze blows her soft hair behind her. She feels like a Goddess – she knows she looks good, and she's damn proud of it, too. She stops at the top of stairs and wraps her hands carefully around the railing, then closes her eyes, inhales deeply, and hums lowly as she sighs.
When she opens her eyes again and peers down toward the shops, she spots a group of people standing about and chatting at the mouth of the marketplace. Easily, she picks out Tim's head of curly, black hair, and she smiles widely. He must be with his friends – whom he'd still had yet to introduce to Maggie. A wave of nervous excitement hits her at the prospect of finally getting to meet the people Tim talks about all the time, but as she watches the group loiter, something about the way Tim stands so closely to another girl makes her feel... possessive.
She hurries down the stairs, yet tries to seem casual as she reaches the bottom and comes up on the group. "Tim?" She acts as though she didn't know he was there, and the sound of her voice has Tim frozen for a moment before he turns.
"Oh... Uh." he swallows. "Hi..."
Maggie confidently pushes her way beside him, placing herself between Tim and the other woman. She looks the lady up and down from the side of her eye – she's beautiful. She's shapely, and her long, straight black hair falls so nicely down her back and over her shoulders. She has high cheekbones and thick black eyelashes, and Maggie almost feels sick with jealousy at the sight of her.
"Who is this?" asks a long-haired man with a Spanish accent, and Maggie then regards him and the woman who hangs off of him. She recognizes the man – she sees him from time to time when she goes to the doctor's with her mom. Attached to his arm is a girl with dark skin and big, curly hair who smiles warmly to Maggie.
"Oh." Tim clears his throat. "Um... This is, uh... Maggie." he gestures to her, and Maggie nods once but keeps her nose in the air. There is a beat of awkward silence, and so Tim nervously continues, "A-And, Maggie... This is, uh... This is Cass," he points to the Spanish man, "Lana," to the woman hanging off of Cass, "and Constance."
Constance. Maggie once again glances to the gorgeous woman beside her who seems to be watching her with distaste. The young girl smiles, though, and leans in toward Tim. "Well, it's nice to finally meet you all."
"Finally?" Cass says and looks suspiciously at Tim, while Lana bends slightly at the waist and grins to Maggie.
"Nice to meet you too, Maggie." she says. "I like your hair."
"Thanks." Maggie says proudly. "I like yours."
Lana laughs and leans back into Cass, who is muttering something in his mother tongue under his breath and pinching the bridge of his nose. Tim has fallen quiet, so Constance fills the silence and asks, "How, um... How do you two know each other?"
Maggie doesn't like her tone and she considers not answering. And, as she considers, Tim takes the initiative and speaks up before she can. "We're friends." he blurts, earning him a quirked brow from Maggie.
"Friends?" she says with a frown. Tim chuckles awkwardly and pats her back, but in a chummy way which is... unusual.
"You know what I mean." he says quickly, then turns back to Cass. "A-Anyway, you were saying? About the super mutant?"
Maggie looks up to Cass and sees him regarding her with what appears to be mild concern. Quickly, she breaks eye contact, and he watches her for a moment more before he shakes his head. "Er, yeah." He says, and then continues on with a story he'd been telling about a camp of super mutants he and Lana had recently gone out and cleared in the city ruins.
As Cass speaks, Maggie can't help but notice how physically affectionate he is with Lana, and her with him. How she rubs his chest and seems to hang off his every word, and how every time he turns and looks her way, a smile lights up his face. She observes how when neither of them are speaking, he kisses the side of her head and she squeezes him tightly. And she wants that. With Tim.
So, as the adults continue talking, she snakes her arm around Tim and is disappointed when he pushes her arm back as unnoticeably as he can. Maggie frowns and tries again, and receives the same treatment. On her third attempt, Tim turns his head sharply toward her.
"Stop." he whispers angrily, and Maggie freezes. He's never taken such a tone with her before, or scowled so deeply at her. Her eyes widen, and the conversation stops around them as she begins to feel tears forming. Suddenly, she becomes aware of how scorching the sun is.
Tim's eyes flit about the group, and he feels judgment rolling off his friends in waves. When he notices Maggie's tears, he rolls his eyes and then attempts to lightheartedly play it off to save the situation. "Oh, come on. Don't get all weepy on me." he chuckles.
Maggie swallows the lump in her throat, which only becomes more prominent when she hears a snicker from Constance behind her. "Weepy," the woman titters, and her approval seems to fuel Tim, who grins.
"Yeah, you keep that up, I'm gonna have to call you Weepy forever." he jeers, and he speaks in a way which makes it hard for Maggie to discern whether he is joking or not; but regardless, what she does know is that she doesn't like it. Yet she struggles to find the words to defend herself, and so she is left unarmed as usual as Constance laughs once more behind her.
"It's suiting." she agrees.
Lana and Cass share a look of disapproval. "That's not very nice." Lana says softly. Cass, meanwhile, scoffs and chuckles.
"Nah, fuck that. I think it is a badass name." he meets Maggie's eyes, and something about the way he smiles brings her comfort. "Like a, er..." he snaps his fingers, "a weeping willow. You know?"
Lana tilts her head. "What? The tree?"
"Yeah, man." Cass nods excitedly. "Yeah, those totally awesome trees – y'know, like the big one that grows beside the lake up by that old Vault! They look fucking cool, all spooky and shit... Come on, guys," he chuckles, "Were none of you paying attention in Biology class?"
"Oh, yeah!" Lana giggles. "I remember!" Maggie blinks the tears from her eyes as she watches Cass and Lana in bewilderment. "The ones with the flowers, right? The long, green ones? And the hanging leaves?"
"That's it!"
"Yeah," Lana beams, then gives Maggie a knowing look. "Then I guess it is a fitting name. Because weeping willows, from what I remember, are really pretty." she winks. "Just like you."
Maggie sniffles and quickly wipes her eyes, then smiles softly to Lana who holds her gaze as Cass nods.
"Yeah, don't worry, Maggie." he says, "You will probably learn about them in school soon. Because you are... How old?"
"Thirteen." Maggie replies sheepishly.
Cass nods once. "Thirteen." he says softly, and then looks pointedly to Constance and Tim with disappointment. "She is thirteen."
He sounds stern, like a father scolding his children, and Tim shrinks away. He shoots a glare down to Maggie who is preoccupied with Lana, and then he places a gentle hand on her shoulder and pulls her back away from the group.
"Come on." he says softly. "I'll walk you home."
Maggie frowns. "But I don't want to go—"
"Maggie." Tim snaps under his breath, and Maggie gulps.
"Okay." she says with a whisper, and turns to let Tim walk her away from his friends who watch him leave with uncertainty.