Chapter Seven:
Time in a Bottle

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.

Alliance: None

Companion: Dogmeat

If I could save time in a bottle
The first thing that I'd like to do
Is to save every day 'til eternity passes away
Just to spend them with you

If I could make days last forever
If words could make wishes come true
I'd save every day like a treasure, and then
Again, I would spend them with you
—"Time in a Bottle" by Jim Croce

Sanctuary became livelier in the next few days, busier and louder.

The broken-down house Quill and Quinn had eked out their time in was no longer a whistling half-measure of a shelter. The twins had done what they could with what they had, in the time that they had allotted for their brief stay. With more hands, the work became manageable. The scraps of metal from other homes were salvaged to reinforce the one everyone seemed to have collectively moved into.

Codsworth kept his distance at first, only allowing himself to interact with either Quinn or Quill. After about a day or so, however, he began to integrate himself and mingle with the others. It was around the third day that the matter of their food supply came up, and their soon-to-be lacking of it.

"We can't plant anything this close to winter. We'd never yield anything in the soil," Preston started off.

"Except maybe some carrots. Can't live off of carrots alone, though." Jun said with a sigh, rubbing the heels of his hands against his eyelids. "And we don't have any carrots."

They were gathered around a scuffed dining table. It looked like it would seat two people comfortably, but with eight people crowded around, it was cramped. There were a few tins and jars of pre-made food; a couple loaves of bread and chunks of cheese; dried grains and beans and bits of dried meats all bundled together. Perhaps enough for another day or two, maybe three, if rations were cut down.

Quinn eyed the meager supplies, her lips pressed into a thin, concerned line.

"What about radishes? Kale, salad greens, onions, cabbage? And there're some mushrooms that you can harvest during the winter months, too. There are plenty of plants you could plant in the coming winter months."

Quill made a noise, and nudged Quinn in the ribs, shaking his head. "Stop it. You're not helping."

She shot him a warning look, eyes narrowing. He shook his head again.

"Great ideas, but we don't have any seeds, fertilizer, none of that. Only thing we have are some gardening tools that we collected from around the neighborhood. Growing our own food is a step in the right direction. Foraging is another, but once we pick the immediate area clean of everything, we'll be back at square one. And as far as I know there aren't any established trade routes around here." Preston said, leaning on the table with one hand as he carefully arranged the jarred goods into a neat row. He needed to do something with his hands, anything, to keep himself busy.

"What about that farming family up the road?" Marcy interjected, looking between all the faces around her. "What? We can't ask for anything from them? You two did them some kind of favour, didn't you? They should do something back for us."

"That isn't how it works. I was returning something stolen by raiders that hit them about a week before we got there. Chances are they're hurting enough as it is with keeping their own supplies from dipping below the red line. And I traded them some weapons for the one they let me borrow and then some for their troubles." Quinn pointed out, crossing her arms over her chest.

"And yet, you still have that rifle. Fat lot of good it's doing anyone." Marcy grouched back, jaw clenching.

"It turned into a gift instead of just something borrowed," Quinn concluded sharply. Quill frowned, recognizing the frosty tone his sister was now adopting. He pressed a hand to her shoulder, giving it a light squeeze. A fair warning to play nice. She flicked her eyes to meet his gaze for a few seconds. "Quill and I can ask if they have any surplus supplies, anything they'd be willing to trade for, or know of some places in the surrounding area that might yield something, like a nursery, gardening store, or another farm. In the meantime, do any of you know how to hunt or set up snares?"

The silence that met her inquiry was telling. Quinn sighed, trying to catch someone's eye, but they all carefully averted their gazes, looking partly abashed and squeamish. She exchanged a look with Quill again.

"Your crop stores are next to nothing right now. The least you can do is start up with preserving your own meats. Animal fats, tallow, tendon, bones. Everything can be used to make something else that isn't food. Supplies, consumables, clothing."

"We know how it works; you don't need to explain it to us like we're little children." Marcy groused back with a sneer. Quinn smacked a fist into the table, making everyone jump. Marcy froze, eyes widening a little, but the grimace remained on her face. Quinn glowered back, even when a small smile slipped across her face.

Tight, thin, humourless.

"You know…I can understand being frustrated and angry. I've been there. I get it. I have my days, too. But this negative, bitchy 'fuck-the-world' attitude you've had going on for the past few days, without giving actual input, has been getting tiresome. So, either you come up with actual solutions and stop shooting down everything else when it doesn't come straight from your mouth or just straight up shut your mouth. Can you do that?"

The chilling silence that settled over the group was telling. Quinn held Marcy's gaze, still holding onto that cold and thin smile. Jun shifted uncomfortably beside his wife, the words building up in his throat, if the continuous bobbing of his Adam's apple was any indication.

"M-Marcy, please…" He said gently, placing a hand on her shoulder. She flinched away from his touch, and broke eye contact first. She stepped away from the table, flashing her hands up in a show of surrender and strode off. Jun hesitated, shooting a nervous look over everyone else before going after her. Quill watched the pair leave before shaking his head and shooting Quinn a disapproving stare.

"Queenie, seriously. Chill out."

"I'll chill out when this food shortage is resolved, and not a minute before. And since nobody is willing to own up to knowing how to hunt, I can take some volunteers, show you the ropes."

"I'll take you up on that little hunting venture. Might be an educational little jaunt through the woods." Sturges said as he crossed his arms over his chest and gave a nod to Quinn. "Plus, we got a few things to discuss, if you don't mind."

Quill perked at that, eyes darting back and forth between the two of them. A spark of curiousity and worry began to mingle and twist inside his chest. He didn't like Sturges' tone, the way he'd phrased his words. There was some underlying thread that didn't bode well in them. He shot Quinn another warning look, but she didn't pay him any attention.

She merely nodded in Sturges' direction and glanced over at Preston. "You up for a hunt?"

"I'm sorry, I can't. After everything's that has happened over the last few weeks, I can't leave everyone here unprotected."

Quill cleared his throat, cutting off whatever retort Quinn might have had lined up. "He's right. Marcy and Jun aren't fighters, it looks like. Mama Murphy's fighting days are probably behind her and Frank's still pretty out of commission. Preston's the only one who can put up a fight—and me, too, I guess. I can hang back and help hold things down with him."

"If I had a bit more fight in me, I'd gladly put myself out there, but the kid's right. I'm not exactly in the kind of fighting condition that I used to be," Mama Murphy sighed. She was the only one seated at the table. Dogmeat lay at her feet and whined softly at her. She reached down and gently scrubbed a hand over his ears.

Quinn pursed her lips together, chewing over that before giving him a nod. "Not ideal, but…better than taking everyone capable out. It'd actually be easier. The fewer there are, the less attention we'll draw."

"Right. Hunting party should be small. Just the way we were taught. Got it." Quill said with a sigh.

She gave him a curt nod in return and pushed away from the table. "We've got some daylight yet, so we should probably try to head out now, see if we can't track something down. Quill, where's that other bow I made? I'm gonna teach Buff Boy here how to shoot with it."

"Whoa, now, young lady! I don't need to be using somethin' like that—"

"What, you afraid of a little challenge? Does this a little wood scare you that much?" Quinn said with a chuckle and a wink aimed at the man. "Trust me, it's not as flimsy as it looks. You look like you'll be a pro at it in no time."

"You said you wanted to talk, and I can feel your eyes burning the back of my head. So, talk."

Quinn knelt on the ground, scraping her fingers across the ground, tracing the shallow depression of cloven hoofed tracks. She counted at least four separate tracks to follow, all going in the same direction. She stood, brushing the dirt and debris from her pant legs.

"Do you just not have a filter for that mouth of yours or do you just not care about what comes out of it?"

Quinn hummed back at first, pausing to examine a tangle of brambly bushes. She took note of a score of twigs, broken or bent, with a few fluttering tufts of fur stuck in their edges.

"I know you and your brother are both new to the Commonwealth, but I can only assume you ain't new to something called human decency. Or have you never heard of it before?"

"I sense a point to all this critical browbeating and criticism. Please make it soon, I'm dying from the suspense," Quinn shot back over her shoulder. She motioned for them to keep moving forward, her eyes scanning for every shred of evidence of their quarry.

"Look, I get that we have some rather pressin' matters that we need to cut to the chase on. But back there, with Marcy? That was uncalled for."

"And her shit attitude isn't uncalled for? I know I've only known her a few days, but she's kept the same sour negative attitude the entire time, lashing out at everyone for even the smallest thing. It's getting old."

"Do you even know why she's like that?" Sturges huffed back. She could hear him plodding along behind her. He was certainly making no effort in keeping his footfalls quiet.

"She lost someone," Quinn simply stated. She glanced back at Sturges, seeing his mouth clacking shut, jaw tightening. He hadn't been expecting that, she surmised. He perhaps was expecting her to be dumb about it, to genuinely not know why she was being so insensitive to the other woman's plights. Quinn knelt back down on the ground, checking the tracks again. "I can understand and appreciate what she's going through, but she doesn't get to monopolize on grief and anger because of personal loss. And she's not exactly applying herself in a productive way."

"And you would know a thing or two about all of that, huh?" Sturges pressed, his voice taking on a more reserved tone. She didn't fault him for trying to ruffle her. Quinn inhaled slowly through her nostrils, sensing that this conversation could go one of two ways. She could continue being blunt and honest and an absolute ass or…she could be a bit more tactful.

"I've lost my own share of people. Men and women I trusted my life with, and they ended up losing their lives when it should have been me instead," Quinn started off slowly. It was a half-measure, for the time being, but it was true all the same. "And I've seen others lose their own fair share of people they cared for. So yes, I can understand how that kind of loss can fuck up a person."

She pulled herself to her feet, wincing at the creaking noise that her left shin made. She'd need to perform some maintenance she'd been putting off. Quinn tilted her head, giving her surroundings a cursory look and strained her good ear to listen as far as she could. When she was satisfied with moving forward, she nodded her head in approval to Sturges and they resumed their trek.

He sidled up closer to her, matching her pace as they moved through the undergrowth. Quinn was surprised at how much life there was. There was a rich carpet of red-gold fallen leaves on the ground, showing off just how vibrant that life had thrived—how it still was thriving. The cycle would renew once winter passed, and spring came along. She wondered just how vivacious in plant life it would become then. The fleeting idea that it would look something like the exuberance of the Far Cry New Dawn flora crossed her mind, but she highly doubted it would ever be that extravagant.

Quinn tucked back into her previous train of conversation with Sturges instead.

"There's an appropriate time to mourn, I hope you can agree. But when a group is trying to resolve a life-or-death issue such as a food or water shortage, or a security threat, or any number of things like what we're dealing with right now…" Quinn sighed and shook her head. "Marcy has every right to mourn her loss. I'm not going to deny her that. But doing what she did during meetings like that? No. She doesn't get to use that excuse. Lashing out isn't helping any of us, let alone herself."

Quinn again paused in her trek, holding up a hand to signal to Sturges to stop as well. He did so, and she knelt back down, creeping forward, and drawing her bow. She glanced over her shoulder and nodded to him to come closer. He did so, and thankfully this time he attempted at being quieter than he had before. She led the way toward a clearing, keeping the pair of them hidden. She paused their progress when she spotted their quarry.

She nodded ahead, toward a small group of radstag that were grazing along a little patch of clearing of still-thriving greenery. She drew an arrow from her quiver and motioned for Sturges to do the same. He gave her a doubtful, hesitant look. The borrowed bow he had looked awkward in his large hands. Quinn offered him an encouraging smile.

"Do as I do. We'll need two deer for all of us. Aim for the chest along their flanks, their lungs and heart will take the brunt of the damage. Draw back the way I showed you earlier. Use the same breath control method you would a pistol or a rifle. We have to do this at the same time. Okay?" Her voice was low, even, steady.

Quinn turned her attention back to the little herd. All was well, in their minds. Four healthy does, a pair of yearlings, and three large bucks. She slunk toward a tree with a sizably thick trunk and pressed herself flush to it. She saw Sturges moving in a similar manner as she had, taking the same cover, mimicking her as best he could. When she saw him nod to her, only then did she nock an arrow back. She fired first and struck her target.

The second arrow from Sturges—fired a sluggish several seconds after her first shot—went wide, missing the intended buck. The herd scattered and she cursed, already drawing back a second arrow and firing. It struck a fleeing doe's hind leg and she wailed, stumbling, tripping, pulling herself back to her feet at a limping gait.

The buck Quinn had shot barely made it ten feet before collapsing, whining from the ground. Sturges broke cover first, stepping out from his tree. Quinn stepped out after Sturges did, shooting him a quick glance before starting for the buck with purpose in her step. Sturges hung back, scuffling at a more sedate pace while Quinn circled around the buck. Both heads twitched, eyes rolling, bulging, to look at her as she knelt before it.

The legs spasmed, but she could see it was a losing fight. The arrow she'd struck it with was wedged deep between the ribs along its upper chest, right down almost to the fletching. No doubt the lungs were collapsed, judging by the struggling breath sounds. She ran a hand over flank, quietly—almost lovingly—hushing its cries.

"I know. I'm sorry. I know it hurts. It'll be over soon, I promise," she said softly, drawing her knife and carefully lining it up. Over her shoulder, she said to Sturges without looking at him, "It's here you should aim when taking the final blow, if it comes to this kind of a kill. It's quick and they won't suffer. You don't want the animal to suffer."

"Of course not," he replied back somberly. Quinn reached with her free hand, running it along the jaw of one of the radstag's heads. It whimpered, front legs weakly kicking. Quinn swallowed thickly, breath catching in her throat.

"Thank you, little one."

The light in its eyes dimmed and blackened as she drove the knife in, the animal wheezing out its last breath. She ran her hand along its neck, quietly whispering sweet nothings to the dying deer until it stilled at last.

"We missed the other one," Sturges rumbled behind her. "What's the plan?"

"I can track it. Why don't you take this one back to Sanctuary? I can get the doe."

"I'm not leaving you behind. Doesn't sit right with me, leaving you alone out here like that," Sturges said automatically, a stubborn set to his jaw. Quinn regarded him for longer than she probably should have. She busied herself with retrieving her knife and cleaning it, then pulling the arrow from the buck's chest. It was still in good condition. She could still use it. She cleaned that too and replaced it back in her quiver.

"She won't be far on that leg of hers. I can catch up."

Sturges looked ready to argue with her on the point. Quinn met his gaze with a steady one of her own, unwavering in resolve.

"I understand your concern, Sturges. But I want to assure you, I can hold my own out here. That doe won't be far from here, I guarantee it."

He seemed to genuinely weigh on that, mulling over the options at hand. After his quiet deliberation, he finally gave her a curt, decisive nod.

"All right. Fine. I'll get this here buck back to Sanctuary and then I'm coming back for you."

Quinn smiled at him and winked for good measure. "Sounds like a date. I'll see you soon."

"I really hate how smug you get sometimes. You know that, right?"

Quinn ignored her brother's grousing and continued humming under her breath. She could feel her brother's halfhearted glare aimed at her backside. Before long, however, she could just make out his humming matching in tune to hers.

"If I could save time in a bottle, the first thing that I'd like to do…"

Quill hummed the next lines, although his tone sounded forced, almost annoyed, as he settled beside her. He began working alongside Quinn in cleaning the deer carcasses. They moved in unison, as one. It was as familiar and easy as breathing. It had taken much too long to fall into place together like this. She missed this, just being near him. Near her family.

We've been away from one another for too long, Quinn thought sadly, and she felt a pang of regret echo deeply inside of her. She believed more than the lion's share of blame resided with her in that regard. She had been the one to join the military. She had been the one to break up the family, all those years ago. I'm the one that broke things like this. It's only right I try to bring it back together, even if it's just me and Quill.

This wasn't how she had wanted to come back together with her brother, but she had to make do with what she had. And while this entire nuclear apocalypse wasn't her ideal scenario in reuniting with her brother…it was better than not at all.

So, she quietly sung under her breath, while her brother hummed alongside her. They worked tirelessly, in unison, getting everything from the two deer carcasses prepped and sorted and set aside appropriately. It was such a small series of actions, but she could feel the thrum of love between the two of them. It would take time to rebuild things to the way they once were, but she was confident that it was already in motion.

She'd missed this. She'd missed being with her brother, in person, together. And even when Quill was pouting on his end of things, she could sense his good humour bleeding through it all. He was coming around. He always did, without fail. She could start singing something as stupid as the Hamster Dance, and he'd eventually end up joining in, stupid little sound effect noises and all.

It's what she loved the most about her twin brother. He had her back, even when he was not completely in sync with her—and the same could be said for her in return. She'd take a bullet for her brother. She'd die for him.

But for now…cleaning a pair of deer carcasses like when they were teenagers was a good start to building things back up. And they had a community to feed now.

"Just like the old days, huh?" Quinn said out of the blue. Quill hummed back.

"Not that different from the commune," he agreed with a hint of a smile. "Mouths to feed. Chores to complete. Supplies to make."

"Sounds like home."

Quill's hands stilled. Quinn's weren't long in stopping shortly after. She looked to her brother, feeling the itch of worry scratching along the back of her head.

"Home. I…guess that's here now, isn't it?"

His silence was telling. Deliberate. Quinn grabbed a rag, cleaned her hands and pulled Quill into her before the first heavy, violent shudder wracked his frame. He reacted instantly, clinging to her, arms wrapping tightly to engulf her smaller frame and squeezing as he buried his face into the crook of her neck. She held him firmly as the first sob broke.

"This isn't home. This isn't home, it isn't home, it's—it's…"

His voice broke and his grasp intensified on Quinn. She dug her fingers into his backside as she held on to him. His grip was hard enough to leave bruises, but she didn't dare let go of him, didn't dare make a fuss, even if it hurt.

His shaking turned to frame-wracking sobs as he clung to Quinn, his words lost completely. She held him up, even when his entire weight seemed to press down atop her. How could she be so stupid? How could she not recognize the hurt he'd been carrying, the weight of a world on his shoulders until now? This was a burden she would be glad to hold up. This was a burden she would carry on with a smile, because this was her fucking brother. He needed her.

He was only here because of her. He came to the east coast to see her, to visit and surprise her. If she hadn't been at the FBI Academy, if she had just come back home to Montana once she finished out her military contract…

He was stuck in this hellhole because of her, end of story.

She needed to take care of her baby brother. He was her top priority.

The bonfire was livelier tonight than it had been previous nights before. There was cause for celebration: fresh food.

Roasted flanks of radstag steak crackled over the fire, just enough to get the juices flowing before they were slapped onto salvaged plates for everyone.

Codsworth floated about between every person, checking on their status like any good host would, his voice prickling with delight. Preston, Sturges, and Mama Murphy took in his presence with grace and ease. Frank, Jun, and Marcy were more reserved, kept to themselves.

Quinn could understand Frank. He was injured, tired, less than at his best. He wanted his food, his rest, and nothing more. His leg was recovering at a miraculous pace, but he was still hopscotching around on his makeshift crutch.

For the married pair, they weren't all right; together or separate. Even Quinn could sense the fracturing moods between the two.

Codsworth, thankfully, seemed to pick up on all of this and adjusted his attentions when around them. He didn't avoid them entirely, but he did allow them a respectable berth. Preston made his own rounds, checking in with everyone as appropriate. Quinn took note of his patterns, ticking it away on an internal checklist of her own.

She waited for the lull to settle in the cracks, mending the frayed nerves with the celebration of a success for the group after a long and arduous hardship of failures. At several intervals throughout the evening, Quinn caught Sturges' eye, and the knowing glint in his gaze. She could practically feel him daring her to ignore his earlier remarks. With every swipe of his eyes, she felt it searing against her flesh, uncomfortable at best, unbearable at its worst.

It was only after a bit of liquid courage and a full stomach that Quinn finally found herself able to plant her feet under her. Marcy was the first who seemed ready to turn in for the night. Quinn followed after her, and after they were out of earshot she called for the other woman.

Marcy flinched, as if for her weapon, but she stilled herself long enough for Quinn to catch up. The other woman watched her with a hard glint in her eyes, her mouth set in a hard line as she regarded Quinn.

"What? What do you want? Shoot me down some more? Embarrass me worse than earlier?"

Quinn, admittedly, felt a flare of indignation roar up inside her. She took a moment to quell it back down, to bide her temper and stifle her tongue as much as she could before answering.

"If I wanted to throw down, I'd do it with an audience. Instead, I'm here, in private—so how about you cool it with the attitude?"

Marcy looked ready to argue, perhaps throw a nasty little barb at Quinn—but she stopped herself. Whatever control she had left, she clung to it, and swallowed back her barbed words. Instead, she quietly folded her arms over her chest, and jerked her head in a nod to Quinn to continue.

"I'm…sorry for today. It wasn't the most tactful ways to diffuse the situation. I can only appreciate how difficult things have been for your group since your exodus from Quincy. I've only heard scant bits and pieces of what happened, and…and it sounds like hell. I'm sorry if I wasn't more sensitive to the matter before."

"And what would you know about how difficult things have been? You didn't lose an entire settlement full of friends or kids or neighbors! You wouldn't know jack shit about losing anyone! You and your brother were frozen up underground like little pre-war popsicles! All preserved and snug and safe!"

Whatever good humour Quinn left dried up in that moment of outburst. A small part of her, admittedly, hurt for Marcy and for whatever she and the others had gone through. But this, this right here, right now? Quinn had little patience for. She could understand complaining. She had done it plenty of times. She would often joke about being a complainer, but never being a quitter.

She pressed in closer to the taller woman, flaring out her arms and shoulders, like she was bigger. Marcy stumbled back, and that was when Quinn knew it was working.

"I've lost my entire fucking life, Marcy. My parents, my family, my friends, all my buddies from the military, from FBI training. I lost out on a life I could have lived, but I was abducted and put on ice before I could even find out what that life could have been. So please, tell me more about how I know nothing about loss, because I'm curious about your thought process on that. I'm curious to know about how you think my brother and I are the lucky ones. I'm here now, trying to help you and yours solve this little food crises and all you can do is fucking complain and bitch about it."

Quinn never let her voice rise above a level speaking tone. She kept it balanced and even. Marcy avoided her gaze, jaw clenched, hands balled up at her sides and looking ready to throw a fist out. She never did. Quinn almost would have welcomed it. Marcy wasn't a threat. Marcy was angry—but she wasn't a threat. Not in the way Quinn would have deemed as such.

She was thrown off balance when Marcy flung her arms around Quinn's shoulders with a strangled wail, clutching at the smaller woman and gripping her tightly. At first, Quinn didn't know how to react. She stood there, holding herself as still and solid as a pillar as the taller woman clung to her. Marcy's fingers dug in like fishhooks, deep and sharp, while her face buried deeply into Quinn's shoulder.

Belatedly, after the shock wore off, Quinn carefully folded her arms over Marcy, holding the other woman. She was gentle, as if Marcy would break if she were to be held too tightly. Marcy's muffled sobs, on the hand, told a much different story.

For a time, they stood together like that—Marcy clinging desperately to Quinn like a lifeline, with Quinn holding the both of them up. Quinn told herself she could do that. She could hold them both upright like this, for as long as needed.

She didn't know when she graduated to simply holding Marcy to gently rubbing the other woman's back, and telling her softly to let it out, to not hold back, to simply let go. The soft sweet nothings of comfort.

When Marcy seemed to finally calm, Quinn began the gentle transition of leading the other woman away. Back into the designated safe house, they went. It was still empty and dark, save a lantern glowing dimly in the living area. Quinn snatched it up as they passed and walked with Marcy to the back rooms. The other woman stumbled inside and seemed more than happy to collapse into her sleeping bag.

Quinn set aside the lantern and helped Marcy kick back the flap and pulled off her shoes. The other woman's face was swollen and blotchy from crying, Quinn could see, in the dim lighting. Marcy didn't fight her as Quinn helped her.

"I lost my little boy," Marcy croaked, her voice low, barely a whisper. "In Quincy. To those fucking Gunners and those traitorous assholes who dared called themselves Minutemen."

"I…I'm sorry." What else was there to say to that? Quinn had lost a number of people in her life. A child hadn't ever been one of them. She could only imagine that kind of anguish. Marcy's lashing out made all the more sense now. Quinn felt like a proper ass.

"I want them dead. All of those bastards," Marcy continued before her voice cracked. Quinn pulled up the sleeping bag flap and tucked it in. Marcy's eyes slid shut and she shuddered.

"Consider it done," Quinn said without thinking. "How's that sound? We take back Quincy and stick it to those assholes. Maybe not tomorrow, or next week…but we'll take Quincy back."

Marcy was quiet for a time. Quinn was almost fooled into thinking the other woman had drifted off to sleep. Then she heard, "…I'll believe it when I see it."

Additional Notes: I don't think Marcy and Jun got the closure they deserved or needed in-game. They both peeled off in opposite sides of the spectrum as far as expressing their grief went—and yet no resolution came about their loss beyond verbally expressing their feelings in cyclical dialogue. I think it's a damn tragedy, especially when the pair lost their child. Some kind of resolution should have come about in the game, like a questline to take back Quincy, and I'm sad that it didn't because, again, MARCY AND JUN LOST THEIR CHILD.