Chapter Two:
Another's Sorrow

Disclaimer: I don't own anything of the Fallout franchise. That is all © to Bethesda. I just (barely) own the slightly fleshed out humdrum backstory and writing contents of this story. Any vague mentioning to any shows/ books/ video games/ songs that are mentioned in this story are all © to their respective owners, I do not own them either.

Note: Let's keep the momentum going! Which is rich, coming from me. Sorry for the delay between chapters!

Alliance: None

Companion: Dogmeat

Can I see another's woe,
And not be in sorrow too?
Can I see another's grief,
And not seek for kind relief.

Can I see a falling tear.
And not feel my sorrows share,
Can a father see his child,
Weep, nor be with sorrow fill'd.

Can a mother sit and hear.
An infant groan an infant fear-
No, no never can it be,
Never, never can it be.
— Excerpt of "On Another's Sorrow" by William Blake

It took Quinn all but a couple hours to make the quivers she needed; cut from the hide of the buck she'd shot. She made more arrows, and even felled a few birds for fletching material and meat. They ate roasted bird for lunch after she cleaned and gutted them. Codsworth was marginally disturbed at both Quinn's sharpshooting and at the dirty work it involved to make the food.

"I've seen quite a few things these past couple of centuries, but this is something new entirely!"

"You've never seen someone hunt their food and then eat it? Seems kind of normal for us." Quinn remarked, spying Dogmeat out the corner of her eye, who was sniffing one of the Deathclaw eggs curiously. He licked the surface of the egg, before laying his head back down with a huff. In spite of her earlier suspicions toward the dog, she was beginning to warm up to him.

"Uh, Queenie? You forget, we grew up in rural Montana. We learned to do this kind of stuff as kids. We think it's normal because it was for us. Codsworth is…sheltered."

"I beg your pardon?!" Codsworth remarked offendedly. Quill winced and offered a placating grin to the Mr. Handy as he hurriedly backpedaled.

"Maybe that's the wrong word for it. But you weren't programed for that kind of stuff, and neither were the people who coded and built you. So, by default, you wouldn't see this stuff as 'normal'. Different life experiences, and all that."

"I…suppose that makes a modicum of sense, Mr. King." Codsworth said as he calmed.

"You can call me Quill, Codsworth. It's not that big of a deal."

"Quill. Of course. And is it Queenie or Quinn for our little huntress over here?"

"Either is fine with me," Quinn responded with a yawn. She had returned her focus to shearing the feathers she'd acquired into usable fletching. The duct tape for most of her arrows would serve for the time being, but she always found it to be a poor second compared to actual feathers. Duct tape was for quick pinches. Feathers would be for the real kills that mattered.

"Hmmm…" Codsworth dithered only for a moment, watching the intense focus the woman was putting into her task. He turned to Quill after he had his fill of observing her. "What do you plan to do now, Quill? Are you going to stay here, or will you be…leaving?"

There was a note of melancholy that touched his voice. Quill felt for the Mr. Handy's loneliness.

"We do plan on venturing out. Do you have any suggestions? Maybe we can get more people to come here. It seems pretty safe and secluded where we're at right now, so…yeah."

"I…I would suggest Concord. It's been years since I've bothered heading out that way, what with all the people throwing rocks and shooting guns at me…but perhaps they'll be more receptive to you two than they were to me?"

Quill's grin grew and he glanced at Quinn, who was not as enthusiastic as he was about the news. He gently tapped her on the shoulder, and she grunted back at him.

"You hear that, Queenie? We got a lead. Maybe we'll find people out in Concord."

"Eh, people are overrated. Point me to the closest reptile zoo, I'm more interested in hanging out with venomous snakes than people. They're pretty much the same, but at least I know the snake's venomous and doesn't bother to hide its nature."

A flash of annoyance struck Quill in that moment of dismissiveness, hot as sparks and just as brief. He smacked her on the arm, hard enough to leave his hand stinging. She hissed at him, glowering, before she saw his face. Her ire immediately sizzled out and she shot a glance at Codsworth, then back to him. The pieces clicked in place, and she sighed, putting her tools down for the time being.

"Fine. Concord it is. How far is it, Codsworth?"

"Ah, well…the last I measured…about ten or so miles from here. A nice little jaunt through an idyllic countryside and then you're there! I…I'm…I was purchased there…by the family I served, the Harlows."

"The…Harlows?"

"Yes. Nate and Nora Harlow, and their son Shaun. He…he wasn't even a year old when the bombs fell. When they went into the Vault and never came out." Codsworth paused, hesitating as he swiveled his eyestalks towards the twins. "Are you sure that Shaun wasn't with his parents?"

Quinn and Quill exchanged looks with one another.

"We're sure. We didn't find an infant when we went looking for survivors in the Vault. Just adults or empty cryo-pods that I assume were meant for others that never made it to the Vault in time."

"I see…so that means, he might still be alive? Is it possible?"

Quill mulled very carefully on his words. Quinn noticed how he fussed with his hands. He always did that when he was thinking on how to formulate his responses. It was an endearing little quirk.

Quill, on the other hand, was screaming on the inside. He couldn't reveal anything to the Mr. Handy, nothing! He couldn't tell Codsworth that Shaun wasn't an infant, or even a young child, but was in fact a dying old man who headed the Commonwealth's resident boogeyman facility, the Institute.

And Shaun released the player character out of curiosity and long-lost emotional sentiment. He didn't do it out of the kindness of his heart, if he even has one! Fuck me running, so why did Queenie and I get out when everyone else died? What's the point in this? Why didn't he release his parent?

He had so many more questions buzzing about inside his skull, and no answers whatsoever. It was as infuriating as it was disheartening to know he and Queenie were alive instead of that parent, whoever had survived Kellogg.

Kellogg…Kellogg, he was there. He shot one of them in the game, but...what if things are different in this version of this universe? They're both dead now, either shot in the face or suffocated to death, so why us? Why me and Queenie? What's the catch, what am I missing here…? Kellogg, he…he might be our only lead. He might be the one who can provide us with any sort of answers.

It was a grim thought to consider. Even with Queenie by his side, he feared the possibility of an encounter with the man. He was a cold-blooded killer, and while his older sister had killed before…it was never for money. It was never for fun or sport. It was because war was hell, and it forced the hands of those involved to take up violence to produce results.

She had killed in the service of the government, under the banner of the military. It had been done because it was a necessary evil she had had to conduct to survive.

She may have killed people, but she wasn't a killer. Not really.

"It's possible someone came and took him, that…that they wanted him for something."

"But why? What could they possibly want with a defenseless babe?"

Quill sucked on his teeth, reluctant to answer that at first. There was a tremor in Codsworth's voice that gave him pause, a genuine thrall of melancholy that strangled the Mr. Handy. Quill hadn't given much chance to having Codsworth as a companion in the games. He'd outright overlooked the Mr. Handy entirely for other companions instead.

The raw emotion in Codsworth's voice just now impacted Quill more than he realized. The Mr. Handy was in mourning. He loved his family, and he just learned that they had either died or been kidnapped. It was hard not to feel for Codsworth.

"I…wouldn't even begin to know how to answer that," he began slowly. He caught Quinn's eye, and she gave a curt little nod his way, encouraging him to continue. Quill did so. "But if he was taken, it had to be for a good enough reason for whoever they were to bust into the Vault and get through all those security measures to boot."

"I suppose that's true. Perhaps a trip to Concord could prove fruitful in the long run. Perhaps you can find out more, get a lead on things. If young Shaun is still out there, I…I would be grateful to know he's alive, more than anything. For the Harlows."

There was a moment of silence that passed between the three of them. Then, Quinn reached into an inner pocket of her coat and pulled out her personalized flask. She waited for Quill to get the hint, and he went for his, still buried in his pack. He unscrewed the lid and tapped it gently with Quinn's.

"To the Harlows. May they rest in peace," Quinn intoned softly, and took a long swallow. Quill did the same. The whisky inside burned as it slid languidly down his throat, pooling warmly in his belly as it settled. Codsworth made a soft noise.

"May they rest in peace," he said tenderly.

The ride down into the Vault was a pain in the ass, Quinn decided with finality. Just as she predicted.

They needed to restock on fresh water, if they wanted to, well…keep living. And there wasn't any way to taste or sense radiation in the waters that surrounded Sanctuary Hills. The only sensor she had on hand was the Pip-Boy. And it went crazy when she got near it, or even in it.

Quinn doubted there were any radiation testing kits inside the Vault facility, either. If there had been any, they were most likely pillaged or destroyed or redundant by now. And judging by the state of things inside the Vault, the last days of the remaining crew had been anything but pleasant.

The long-forgotten bones of the personnel staff had lain scattered all over the place. She and Quill had very nearly tripped over every set they'd come across in their search for a way out days ago.

Dogmeat whined beside her as the platform came to a final grinding halt and the cage barrier lifted to admit them into the Vault proper. He looked to her for direction, as if waiting for her permission to move. She stared back, raising a brow.

"Yep, you are definitely trained. I don't even know who trained you, but…they did a decent job. I'll give them props for that."

A previous owner, perhaps? Chances were high on that mark.

She snapped her finger by her thigh and nodded to the dog. "Let's go, boy. We got supplies to forage for."

Step one, assess the situation. Step two, figure out what you have. Step three, gather up additional materials, tools, and supplies you might need, or things you can use to make what you need.

That's what both her dads would say. It was a drill they'd repeated to her and Quill for years. Quill had always struggled with the hunting part of things, the scavenging, the foraging. But he certainly excelled at the technical survival skills. He could build the crap out of little devices, like homemade water filters and purifiers. He could craft up rainwater collection systems, map out how to set up a communal garden, and see the potential of fixing up old buildings for new purposes. He could build little machines out of junk like a pro.

He could take apart anything, figure out what's wrong with it, fix it, and put it back together perfectly. In the years they had actually gone to school, however brief those periods were, he would win science fairs left and right with his ingenious little projects that involved electronic doodads he'd programmed himself. She wished she'd had that ingenuity, instead of just…being good with guns and shooting at stuff.

He was the whiz kid when it came to all that. Quinn was simply useless. She often had to call him to help her troubleshoot things like her computer or her game systems, because she trusted no one else to help her but her twin brother. He knew just how to explain it to her in a way she'd understand it. Everyone else just irritated and frustrated her when they tried.

But this? Finding what they needed and salvaging it? She could do this. This was something simple and easy.

She gripped the rim of the bucket she'd found in one of the more intact houses. It had some refuse and detritus in it, but she'd clean it and fill it up here. Dogmeat sniffed along the ground, pausing to wait for Quinn every few steps. His tail wagged in delight when she appeared to still be in pursuit. An idea struck her as she watched the German Shepherd trotting along.

Quinn gave a sharp, short whistle to the dog. He paused and stopped to look back at her, again wagging his tail. She set the bucket down and tested the waters, running through a few basic commands with him.

He seemed to know most of them, but she knew she could lock on to the rest with Dogmeat later. She picked up the bucket again, satisfied with the test run and already forming a training plan in her head.

If this dog was going to be around with them for the long-haul, she needed him up to speed and up to her standards.

"Are you sure you don't want to come with us, Codsworth? We don't mind you tagging along."

Codsworth dithered on the spot, eyestalks tucking in close to his round body. Quinn and Quill had repurposed both their backpacks with needed gear such as canteens and deer jerky, a change of clothes, a pair of extra shoes. For Quinn, she had her tool kit for her leg and extra gear, and the Deathclaw eggs were nestled in her pack, all wrapped up in her clothes. Quinn had stashed the hides she'd collected into the duffel bag, along with the extra bow and quiver she'd made. They were ready to go.

"I…I'm sure. It wasn't a welcoming committee that greeted me the last I ventured into the city. I'd rather not try my luck just yet. But thank you for the kind offer, Quill. I appreciate the sentiment."

The Mr. Handy gave a jaunty little wave with one of his pincer-like appendages as Quinn and Quill took off down the road. They waved back until they rounded the last bend around the neighborhood just before the bridge leading out of Sanctuary. Dogmeat took point, walking ahead of them as they crossed the bridge, occasionally pausing to glance back at them to make sure they were still following.

"Codsworth said Concord is ten miles away? That doesn't seem right…it should just be down the road."

"Okay, am I going to have to explain how distance actually works to you? Again?" Quinn teased gently, looking up at him with squinty eyes. Quill pulled a face at her.

"No, you don't. I just…I guess it's just that the game world travel distance is going to be different than the actual, physical distance of the real world. I'm already translating it in my head, I know that to actually translate physical distance into a video game setting is—"

Quinn held up a hand, her head already dizzy with unseen and unknown equations she would never, in a million years, be able to understand. That was Quill's specialty. That was all him.

"Don't. Just don't. I don't want to know. Just…please trust me, I've been out here on the East Coast longer than you, and I can tell you, even though it seems all compact, it's still quite a distance between places. So just…maybe cool it with the 'it's closer in the games' commentary, please?"

Quill sucked in a breath between clenched teeth, but he nodded at his sister's request.

"I'm sorry, I just…guess I'm still…adjusting."

"Adjust faster."

"That's easy for you to say. If this was the Last of Us, you'd be 'in the game' this and 'in the game' that, and you know it."

"That is a blatant and scandalous lie, and you know it."

Quill laughed but said nothing more on the matter. They were coming on the last bend before the Red Rocket station. Dogmeat picked up his pace from a brisk walk to an excited trot.

"Hey, slow down, boy! Don't go heading off too far ahead of us, now!"

Dogmeat paused in his trek, slowing to a stop, and looking back at Quinn with a curious head tilt. Something inside Quinn wrenched at the sight and her breath stuttered in her chest, sharp and quick. Quill noticed her telling silence. It felt different in that moment, compared to other times. There was weight in the things she wasn't saying.

"Is everything okay?"

"I just…Tigress used to look at me like, whenever I called her. Nero didn't, he didn't do that head tilt thing, but he'd get all perky. Let me know he was listening. And with Tigress, it was the head tilt."

Quill reached out and placed his hand on his twin's shoulder, giving her a squeeze.

"Hey, I'm sorry. I didn't mean—"

"It's…it's fine." She sniffed pointedly and shook him off. "We've still got miles to go, let's get—hey. Hey, hey! Where is he going? Get back here!"

Dogmeat took off once they came into view of the Red Rocket, veering toward the right of the place. He cut through the brush and between trees, shooting toward the powerlines in the distance. Quinn ran after him.

"He's headed toward the Abernathy place!" Quill shouted as he followed after his sister. Even though Quinn wasn't wearing her proper running leg, she was still swift enough to outpace him. She was always fast. He usually admired her for that, but right now, he was struggling to keep pace with her. It wasn't long before he began wheezing as he stumbled along behind Quinn and Dogmeat.

Sometimes, he wished she was slower.

Almost as though she was reading his mind—and sometimes, it felt like that, between the two of them—Quinn slowed down, allowing him to catch up.

"You said Abernathy back there. What is it?"

"It's a farm, run by the Abernathy family. A dad, mom, and daughter. Wait, or was there four…?"

Quinn made an ugly noise and shot him a half-hearted glare.

"I thought you said that you knew this place."

Quill blanched, avoiding her gaze. "It's…it's been a while. Okay, no. I remember now. There used to be four, but…"

He stumbled on a loose rock jutting out of the ground at an odd angle. Quinn whipped back and caught him, helping to steady him. He shot her a grateful smile and managed to set himself back on track. Dogmeat disappeared from sight into the low brush, the tangled limbs swallowing him up. Quinn tilted her head, letting her good ear catch the sounds of him bustling through as she and Quill tried to keep up.

"But…?" Quinn pressed as they fought their way through the same brush as Dogmeat had disappeared through.

"But…the family recently lost a daughter. She was killed by raiders. They're thieves, murderers. Um…think about the guys from Mad Max. Kind of like that, but without the cars and I honestly wouldn't be surprised if they're rapists too, either but it wasn't explicitly stated in the game…"

Quinn shot him a warning look and he swallowed against the nervous thick lodging in his throat.

"We can stock up on provisions there, maybe. Oh, and one more thing, Queenie."

He slung his backpack around and dug into one of the pockets until he found what he was looking for: a beat-up tin full of dents, scratches, rust. He brought it out and rattled it, its contents sounding like beads in a rainmaker.

"The currency in this world is bottlecaps, so if you find any, pick them up."

Quinn stared at him as though he'd grown a second head. He hoped he wasn't, not in this place. That would be a kind of irony he didn't want to be traumatized by.

"I'm sorry, but…bottlecaps? As in, caps from…bottles. The thing you get from old school drinking glass bottles?"

"Well, beers still do it back in our place—look, Queenie. Just, please do as I say. Please? Trust me?"

She eyed him dubiously for only a moment longer, but slowly, he saw the lines in her face relax into nothingness. She nodded when her face was blank, and he knew that that was that. She wouldn't argue any longer with him.

"Okay. If I find any bottlecaps, I'll pick them up."

"That's close enough, stranger! Keep your distance!"

Quinn shot her brother a side eyed glance, showing her hands in the face of the shotgun pointed at her and Quill. She was already breaking down how quick she'd have to be if she wanted to disarm the guy to make sure they walked away alive.

Not close enough. He'd blow a hole in either me or Quill before I got that thing away from him.

Quinn knew she was fast, but she wasn't that fast. An itchy trigger-happy finger already begging to be used and caressing that trigger, and a shotgun shell would be faster than her.

The man holding the shotgun certainly wasn't taking any chances. Two women stood behind him, both of them bearing pistols of their own. The older woman pursed her lips tightly together, brows drawn together in a tightknit little bundle of worry. The younger girl wore her worry on her sleeve, but there was a grim determination set along the line of her jaw.

That is, until she saw the dog. The younger girl glanced between Dogmeat and the twins, and Quinn could see her trying to puzzle out a connection between the three of them.

Dogmeat was sitting on the sidelines, looking as happy as a stray dog could get, panting away with a doggy smile on his face. Quinn shook her head at him, even when a smile wormed its way on her face as she watched him. You little shit.

Quinn turned her attentions back to the man.

"Easy there. We're just traveling through; we don't mean you or your family any harm. Promise."

The man narrowed his eyes, looking the two of them up and down. He dithered, but finally relented and lowered his weapon. Quill heaved a sigh of relief beside her.

"I'm sorry about that. You can't be too careful these days, you know? I just thought you were part of that raider group that hit us not too long ago, back for more of our crops."

He waved to the row of garden trellis behind their property fence line, where plants twined around the stakes that were planted firmly in the ground.

"We got more out back behind our house," the younger girl offered. The older woman hushed her.

"Don't be telling them any more about us, Lucy."

"We're sorry to come up on you like we did. We're just here to find our dog."

"Oh, that sweet old mutt? He's a darling, isn't he? He's been hanging around here a few days now." Lucy said, stepping away from her grasping mother. She moved toward Dogmeat, who whined and thumped his tail happily, ears peeling back against his head as he stood and greeted the young woman. She looked back to the twins. "He's yours?"

"Yes," Quill answered before Quinn could. He shot her a look from the corner of his eye. "He likes to wander. He's a bit of a free spirit like that."

"That's good to know. There's been an increase in ghouls and mole rats in the area lately, so I was worried when I didn't see him the last day or two." Lucy continued, smiling disarmingly. She shot her father a look, something akin to an apology written on her face.

"Thanks for the info," Quill said, once more getting to the punch before Quinn could. She shot him scowl, one he pointedly ignored. "We're a bit new to the area, so knowing what's around will help us out."

"New to the Commonwealth?" The man piped up. He stepped closer, his shotgun lax at his side now. Seeing the man relaxed allowed Quinn to do the same, just enough to give them the impression she wasn't a threat. "Sorry again about our greeting. Like I mentioned before, we were hit pretty recently by raiders. Oh, I'm Blake Abernathy, by the way."

He switched the shotgun to his left hand and held out his right. Quill shook first, and then Quinn.

"Quill King, and this is my sister Quinn King."

"Bit of a mouthful, don't you think?" Blake laughed, and Quinn saw the younger girl laughing too. The older woman let a hint of a smile quirk her lips.

"Yeah, we didn't exactly get a say and pick the names out."

Quill and Blake shared a laugh. "Oh, trust me, I understand the feeling."

"Blake…" The woman called, and Blake looked over his shoulder.

"Ah, this is my wife Connie, and our daughter Lucy. This is our farm. I know it's not much, but it keeps us afloat well enough when we're not hit by raiders or have wild animals mucking about."

"How long ago were those raiders in the area?" Quinn finally piped up.

"A few days ago. They…they killed our oldest daughter, Mary. Just shot her in the face when she tried to tell 'em off. She wasn't armed. She was hoping to resolve things peacefully and they…they just…" Blake turned away, running a hand over his face, his shoulders shaking. Connie was there at his side in a few strides, wrapping him in her arms. Lucy found the ground more interesting in that moment, her eyes shining and wet. Connie said something too quiet to make out to Blake and he sniffled, nodding.

"They took something off her body, the only thing worth anything besides our crops. It was a family heirloom of mine. I gave it to Mary when she turned eighteen." Connie said, her lips drawn into a thin line. She gripped her husband a little harder. "I'm sorry. I know it's not your problem, it's just…it's been hard on us for the last few days."

"I'm so sorry to hear that. It's…never easy losing someone you love." Quill said gently and glanced at his sister. Her face was guarded, but he could easily guess the tumultuous thoughts running through her head. It wasn't long before she began to get antsy, shifting impatiently from one leg to the other. She whistled to Dogmeat, and he came trotting back to her side and sat down, leaning on her.

"Quill, we have to get to Concord. We still have a ways to go."

"Queenie, we should help them." The words were already tumbling out of his mouth before he could register them, could filter through, and edit them out in his head.

Quinn shot him a venomous look. She stepped up to him and he flinched, he actually fucking flinched.

She was over a foot shorter than him, but he was fucking terrified of his sister sometimes. Maybe it was because she was closer to hell than he was. Maybe it was because he knew just how easily she could turn him into a pretzel.

Quinn grabbed his upper arm in a death grip and over her shoulder to the Abernathy family, she said, "I need to talk to my idiot brother real quick. Excuse us."

And with that, she dragged him away from the farm. Dogmeat remained hot on her heels, following after the twins.

Quinn finally released her hold on Quill, and he yelped as she practically threw him. His arm throbbed with such sharp pain he tucked it close against himself and away from Quinn.

"What the hell was that back there? We're going to Concord, not going out of our way to-to what, go fight a bunch of…'raiders'? That's not on our agenda, that's not our objective."

"Jesus, were you purposely digging into the nerves or something?! That hurt!"

"Yes, I was. If I want big assholes like you to move where I want you to with the least amount of effort, I grab hard and I don't let go. You're lucky I didn't just grab you by the nuts and steer you like that."

He squeezed his thighs a little tighter and turned further away from Quinn. "You're a monster."

"Thank you. I will continue being a monster. Now, let's go. Concord."

"Queenie, c'mon. Wha—why should we turn away? Give me one good reason."

Quinn crossed her arms over her chest, legs akimbo as she leveled him with a glower.

"We don't know them. For all we know, they could be in cahoots with these… raider people. What is their deal, anyway? Is all that true?"

Quill hesitated. "It's…a questline in the game. And the Abernathy's are genuine about this. They lost their daughter. The raiders really stole this locket."

He could see the gears turning away in Quinn's head as she turned from him, mulling. He waited, but she didn't answer. She began pacing, and Quill frowned at the slight limp she took on. Anyone else, he would wager they'd miss it.

"How long has it been since you rested your leg?"

Quinn still didn't answer him. He reached out, gently hooking his hand around her arm and pulling her to a stop. Her nostrils flared, but she did nothing else.

"Hey. How long? You've been wearing your leg for too long."

"I'm fine. I'll be fine. I just…this place is giving me the heebie-jeebies, and I—"

She stopped speaking, coming to such a sharp stop. Her mouth clacked shut and she stared off toward the Abernathy's homestead, eyes trained on a very specific spot. Her gaze never wavered, and she didn't blink. She just kept staring, her mouth pulling into a grim line. Quill glanced over to where she was staring, seeing nothing but the three surviving members of the family. They were looking at Quinn and he could see their growing apprehension.

"She's still here," Quinn said, her voice devoid of emotion. "There's…there's blood all over her face."

Quill shivered as she turned her glassy eyes to him. Slowly, the warmth that usually filled her returned and she shuddered, hugging herself.

"Christ. Okay. Okay, fine. Fine. She wants me to go. She…she asked me to go."

"Mary?"

Quinn nodded, letting her arms drop. Quill hadn't realized, until he looked at his sister's arms, that she was covered in gooseflesh and he was too.

"Okay. Let's get a location on those raiders, then."

Quinn started back down the gently rolling hill they were on back down to the Abernathy family. Blake said something to his wife, patting her hands and stepped toward her and Quill.

"We're real sorry about all that earlier. We didn't mean to dump our problems like that out in the open—"

"We'll do it." Quinn interrupted Blake. His jaw snapped shut so quickly, she heard his teeth clack. He opened his mouth a few times to respond, but no noise came out, not at first. He blinked a few times, as if processing what she'd just said before he finally found his words.

"You…you'll do it? You'll get that locket back, for Connie?"

"For Mary. She wants it back for her mother."

Blake frowned at her, taken aback.

"For…Mary?" He repeated as he frowned. "I don't understand."

"It's better not to ask," Quill offered with a nervous laugh. "It's also just easier. But we do mean it. We'll find that locket for you guys. Could you give us a location where those raiders might be?"

"And do you have a rifle?" Quinn added in, glancing between Blake and Connie. Lucy stepped forward.

"We have one. It was Mary's. If you're really going to take care of those raiders, you can keep it."

"Lucy, don't!" Connie barked at the girl, but Lucy was already doubling back toward the house. Connie made an exasperated noise, throwing her hands up in the air.

"Look, between the two of us, we have two bows and one pistol. We'll need the extra firepower when the shit hits the fan. We'll bring it back when we're done. Okay?"

Lucy was jogging back, the rifle slung over her shoulder and a box of rounds in hand. She handed both off to Quinn. She knelt, laying the rifle down on the ground and threw her duffel bag down as well, unzipping it. Carefully, she pulled out something from inside and laid it out.

"We've also got some of this Deathclaw hide. If you know how to work with it, you can make some decent leather armour out of it."

Lucy picked up the hide, hugging it against her chest and looking at Quinn in mild awe.

"You took down a Deathclaw?"

"Just one shot, right to the temple."

Quill resisted the urge to roll his eyes, biting his tongue to keep from telling them that it was already halfway dead to begin with…and pretty much vivisected it half too.

"If you can take down a Deathclaw, then those raiders won't stand a chance," Connie said. There was a flinty anger roiling in her eyes as she regarded the twins. "Get those sons of a bitches back for us."

"Why'd you change your mind?"

Quinn was already assessing the rifle they'd received from the Abernathy's. It was broken down, hanging on a hinge and slung over her shoulder as she swiped her pinky into the chamber. Her finger came out surprisingly clean, with only the faintest smudge. Dogmeat was doing his own thing, wandering in and around the trees off to the side of the road, but always staying within eyesight of the pair.

"They keep their weapons in good condition, I'll give them that. No signs of rust…and the firing pin isn't damaged, so that's good…" Quinn kept mumbling to herself as they trudged along. The asphalt beneath their boots crunched with every step they took. They were still heading south toward Concord, but they'd have to turn off into the wilds soon enough, if they were to find the satellite station. Blake had given them an estimate of the area where the raiders might be coming from. Quill could do the rest.

Or I hope I can, he thought. Quinn had been right earlier. The distances in video games did not equate to the actual distances of real life. Everything was condensed in a game and rightfully so. It just couldn't translate as well.

"Queenie, why'd you agree to help? You mentioned Mary."

"She asked me to go."

Quill's blood ran cold at that. "She…asked you? Talked to you? She was…?"

"She was there. Didn't exactly look her Sunday best, considering the bloodied mess she was…but yes. She was there. And she didn't so much ask as…I felt it, in my bones." Quinn's frame was wracked by another shudder, and she gasped. "She was in pain, Quill. I could feel that, too."

Quill grasped her shoulder and gave it hearty squeeze. "We'll get the locket back and give the Abernathy's some peace of mind. All of them."

She shook her head and came to a stop in the road. Quill slowed to a stop as well. "No. No, I'll go. She asked me. You…you go ahead to Concord, I'll catch up with you."

She snapped the rifle back together and slammed the pin in to lock the stock back into place with the front assembly. She shouldered it and turned to her brother.

"This isn't up for debate. Just wait for me in Concord. I'll get the locket because out of the two of us, I'm faster and we both know it. Hey, I'll be okay. Okay? We'll see each other again soon."

The idea of splitting up didn't sit well with him. He said so and Quinn laughed at him.

"Good thing this isn't a horror movie, or we'd both be so fucked. Not exactly off to a great start, are we?" She lightly poked him in the ribs with an elbow, still grinning up at him. "C'mon, Scooby-Doo. Stop being such a scaredy-cat. We'll get some Scooby Snacks after this, huh?"

"Ugh. Don't call me that," he said, and he hated how whiny he sounded, like a little brat. Ugh.

Quinn didn't stop smiling. She handed off the duffel bag to him. "The extra bow and quiver are in there, but you'll need to string it back up to use it. And here…"

She paused long enough to unstrap the pistol strapped to her leg off. She passed both the holster and pistol off to him.

"I can handle the rifle better than that thing, but make sure the sights are good to go. I think it might be off."

He made a discontent noise, openly wearing his sulking for her to see. She gave him a light smack on the chest. "Stop hitting me!"

"Stop being such a brat, and I'll stop." Her face softened. "Don't do anything stupid. Just get to Concord, set up camp, and I'll come find you. You know I always do."

"…don't come back to me a ghost. I don't think I could handle it." Quill whispered back, the clench of fear gripping his heart inn its sharp, barbed little claws. He had a bad feeling about this.