Chapter Ten:
Only Human

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: Taking stock of the world takes time, patience, and quite a bit of luck.

Alliance: None

Companion: Dogmeat

Take a look in the mirror
And what do you see
Do you see it clearer
Or are you deceived
In what you believe

'Cause I'm only human after all
You're only human after all
Don't put the blame on me
Don't put your blame on me
—"Human" by Rag'n'Bone Man

"They're…creepy here."

"Yep."

"I mean, super creepy. Twilight Zone creepy."

Quill sighed and shook his head and shot a passing glance at his sister. She had her legs extended out before her, crossed at the ankle while she leaned back in the lawn chair across the patio table from him. Her fingers drummed along the tabletop, head tilted just so, like she was trying to figure out a puzzle and needed a fresh perspective to do so. Quill was momentarily distracted as Deezer, the Covenant-local Mr. Handy, came floating over to them.

"Lemonade! Fresh lemonade! Would either of you care for some today?"

Quinn politely waved him away and dropped her hand to pat Dogmeat on the head. Quill declined as well, waving the Mr. Handy away as well. Deezer went off, undeterred at hoisting his beverage off onto someone. Quill watched for only a moment longer before glancing back at his sister.

"I don't think we should linger here for much longer. The more time we spend here, the weirder it'll get," Quill warned, to which Quinn arched a brow upwards without looking at him. Instead, she had her eyes on the portly gentleman wearing a grubby tan suit and matching fedora. He strolled leisurely across the way to check on a young woman slaving away at a workbench, giving her a smile and pat on the shoulder. He then moved into the house that had been converted into the general store for the small settlement, laughing as a pair came out at the same time. He gave them leeway to step outside, and disappeared inside once they had passed.

"This settlement's a lot bigger than…" Quill trailed off, peering at Quinn from the corner of his eye.

"Mm-hmm. It's a nice spot. I don't like the lake, though. If it was a puddle, I'd find this place a lot nicer."

"Still hate deep waters, huh?"

"If I can't see my feet or touch the bottom, then it is not the body of water for me."

"Sooo…basically a pool or tub," Quill said flatly. His sister snapped her fingers enthusiastically at him, nodding. Dogmeat, who was snoozing at her feet, twitched his ears and lifted his head, head canting to the side as he stared at the pair quizzically.

"Winner-winner, chicken dinner. Wait…ugh. Now I want chicken for dinner. Are there still chickens? Don't lie to me, Quill. Tell me. Tell me that chickens are still a thing!"

Quill snorted and shrugged at her.

Covenant was a much larger settlement than he had realized. There were backyards roughly the size of those back in Sanctuary. Some of those backyards were repurposed for growing crops, and a rotating roster of residents took care of them. There was a whole house dedicated to the medical ward, instead of just a few chairs and a desk inside the general store. One of the homes was a dining hall and kitchen to serve both travelers and residents.

There were several homes that served the same purposes as those from the game, of course—the mayor's home was also his office for official settlement purposes; the general store carried goods for both residents and travelers alike; a guest house was kept in prime and proper standing for traveling folk needing a place to rest, relax, recover. Another house was stocked up for storage and trading goods that went beyond the confined and turret-laden walls of Covenant.

It felt more like a community than that of the game's original specs. Covenant had always felt underwhelming to Quill, so small, so…confined and unimportant. Why would anyone stop at such a place that only had four houses, no room to move about or improve upon, and hardly any wares worthy of being an actual trading post? A place that couldn't possibly grow enough crops to feed its population or to trade away non-existent surplus?

But this place as he saw it now, this was…more complete. Quill could almost feel himself being lulled by the blasé air of the place. It was just that charming. He could see the appeal in a place such as this, how safe it appeared and felt—high walls, defense turrets churring vigilantly along at their posts, an armed guard at the only entry point, people armed in the case of an attack…

Quill was jerked from his speculative thoughts by a swift kick to his foot. Quinn sat up straighter in her seat and nodded toward what had gained her attention. Quill slowly followed suite, drawn to the front gate, where a full-blown ruckus was playing out. An armoured man was arguing with one of the Covenant residents, a rifle slung over his shoulder. His long hair was greasy from days of not washing it, his face streaked with a light sheen of sweat and grime.

The mayor was hurrying out of his house, drawn to the hubbub. The newcomer stabbed one of the residents in the chest viciously with his index finger, snarling at them to get out of his way. A crowd was gathering around the man, the mayor finally being among them. Others that weren't joining the throng, were poking out of doorways or looking through the general story window at the sight. Quill shot to his feet, squinting at the stranger. He looked familiar.

Quinn stood up beside him, glancing up at him from the corner of her eyes. Dogmeat sprung up, but Quinn motioned for him to stay. Reluctantly, the dog lowered his rump first and then his front paws, lying his head across them with a heavy sigh.

"Stranger danger?"

"No…I don't think so. I…I think I know who that is." He said and started toward the crowd. Quinn clipped along beside him, her rifle tight to her shoulder, hand gripping the sling. Some in the crowd were now calling to eject the stranger from Covenant, while the mayor tried quelling them. He managed to get things under control by the time the twins reached the fringes of the crowd.

He put a hand on the man's back and swept the other toward his home at the apex of Covenant's rows of homes. "Come along, let's discuss this in private and try to figure out what's ailing you. Please, this way."

The crowd parted like the Red Sea, allowing the pair to move forward. The stranger didn't appear mollified one bit, his face pinched in a scowl. He scanned the faces that surrounded him, eyes narrowed at the residents. But when his gaze swept over the twins, a hint of surprise coloured his expression. It was only for a moment, but it was noticeable to the pair. They exchanged a look and then watched the retreating backsides of the two men.

"You catch that, too?"

"Yep. I know who that is now. He's a caravan guard. Can't recall his name, but he's tracking a missing girl from a caravan that stopped here in Covenant. Probably a few days before we got here."

"And let me guess the rest: these fine people are all lying through their teeth about never having seen said caravan? It's the missing person you made mention of the other day?"

"You got it," Quill remarked, careful to keep his voice low, leading Quinn back to their seats. He scanned the faces of known residents, frowning. Quinn's expression was unreadable, but he knew a whole lot was churning about in her head. She was gnawing on her lip with a vengeance, so he gently nudged her with his elbow. It had the desired effect and she stopped. "What're you thinking?"

"This is the thing you were talking about before we got here. That girl that they have…is she human or a synth?"

"She…she's technically the latter, if I remember correctly."

Quinn seemed to mull on that for a minute. They sat down and Quinn pulled the rifle off her shoulder, leaning it against the armrest of her chair. Dogmeat lifted his head and thumped his wagging tail against the ground.

"That guard's looking for her," Quinn continued, nodding her head in the direction of the mayor's house. Quill nodded. "We should lend a hand."

Quill groaned softly. "Don't. We don't need to get involved. This has nothing to do with us. We shouldn't even be here."

They shouldn't have anything to do with this entire place. They should be moving on, putting as much distance between themselves and Covenant. He didn't want to end up in another altercation, not like back at the Museum of Freedom. That's what awaited them if they went down this path, if they got involved here at Covenant.

"We should grab some gear and leave before it gets dark. I don't want to stay here tonight."

'Stranger danger' didn't even begin to explain his discomfort in staying inside Covenant. All the things that he'd believed to be good, were nothing but an illusion. The creepy smiling residents, the drama that was about to come crashing down on their heads if they didn't leave, the possibility that they'd end up killing these people if they jumped in and interfered…

Quinn didn't answer him at first. She reached behind her and pulled up her guitar. In their travels, Quinn had raided a music store that hadn't been boarded up and looted and had restrung the guitar. Quill remembered how often she used to do this, turning to music to help her think. It helped her sort things out in her head, or so she told him. Their dad Mateo often made it a point to say that music was important to the Crow—to their history, their culture. Music connected people, and who was he to question that?

Quinn plucked at the strings absently, tuneless for a few minutes. She adjusted the tension on the strings, tilting her head so that her good ear could hear the minute details in the sound of the guitar's strumming.

The stranger emerged from the mayor's residence. He didn't appear pacified, but his temper seemed to have cooled somewhat. Deezer floated over to the man, offering him some of his "famous lemonade" with a cheerful wag of the beverage in question. The man shooed Deezer away with an impatient wave of the hand.

He spotted the twins and headed toward them. Quill smacked his sister lightly with the back of his hand. She glanced at him, then at the approaching stranger. Quinn raised a brow at Quill, her interest piqued. Quill stood, wincing at old aches. Despite having had his leg fixed up back at the Museum of Freedom weeks ago, he still had massive bruising that was present up and down his calf. It protested at having to move again, and so soon. It brought back a myriad of memories and mixed feelings.

"Queenie, c'mon. We should stock up on supplies and hit the road. We're burning daylight here."

Quinn hummed back at him, her attention returning to plucking at her guitar. He frowned at his sister, mouth popping open to encourage her to stop and to follow his lead. The stranger spoke first.

"You two weren't here the last time I came through. You new around here or are you just passing through?"

"Passing through," Quinn answered, ignoring the heated look Quill was shooting her. She began strumming in earnest now, having completed her tuning. It took Quill a moment or two to recognize the melody she was playing and softly humming. It was Redemption Day by Johnny Cash.

The man dipped a hand into his back pocket, pulling a carton of cigarettes out along with a lighter. He plucked a cigarette from the carton, popping it in his lips. Returning the carton to his pocket, he flicked the lighter once, twice, and a flame appeared. The end of the cigarette glowed cherry-red at first, then dimmed greatly. He puffed on it and blew out a stream of smoke from the other side of his mouth. He did all of this with deliberate slowness, watching the pair before he spoke next, keeping his voice low.

"Don't let these people fool you. They're hiding something. I can feel it. Getting out of here as soon as possible is probably the best idea you've got."

"What's your story? You caused quite the bruhaha at the front gate."

Quinn didn't bother looking up in spite of her inquiries. She just kept strumming the guitar, fingers expertly gliding along the neck, finger's plucking across the body, churning out the slow melody. It didn't long for Quill to hear the lyrics crooning away in Johnny Cash's low voice inside his head.

"I'm looking for someone. I know for a fact that a caravan came through here about a week ago—"

Quill stomped his foot, startling Dogmeat. He woofed, ears pressed forward and on alert. Quinn paused her playing and patted the dog on the head.

"Queenie. We're going. Let's get our shit and go. Now."

The stranger's eyes narrowed as he regarded Quill, his mouth set in a hard, thin line.

"You're pretty jumpy. You all right?"

"I don't want my sister and I to get involved with anything you got going on, and I don't want to get swept up in anything with these people. There's something not right with them."

The stranger regarded him with reproach, blue gaze now fully locked on Quill. The intensity caused a chill to sweep across his entire body. Quinn, in retrospect, went back to idly plucking at the guitar strings. This time, it sounded like A-ha's Take on Me, and from the deliberately slower pace she played it at, it was most likely a cover version of the song.

The man smiled suddenly, taking a long drag from his cigarette.

"You're right about that. There is something wrong with this place and these people. They're lying, I know they are, but I doubt I'm going to get a straight answer out of them."

"What kind of answers are you looking to get at?"

"Queenie."

Quill's voice was tight and strained, pleading. He didn't want to get caught up in the crossfire when shit hit the fan out here. In fact, he didn't want to have much else to do with anyone else. He wanted to figure out his sparse memories of Vault 113, and why he and his sister had been taken. Quill had a gut feeling deep down that Vault 113 held those answers. The only problem was, he had no idea where it was, nor where to start looking. Maybe another Vault had a map? Or perhaps Vault-Tec's headquarters in Boston had something? Surely, they had a log somewhere that kept track of all their Vaults, their locations, the purposes of their experiments. And going there was probably better than the alternative of hunting down Kellogg for answers.

His twin stopped playing the guitar. She set it aside and stared unflinchingly up at him. Quill bit the inside of his cheek at the glare she was giving him. It was like staring down a tiger and he knew he was going to be the first to look away. And he did just that, effectively freezing up and casting his eyes downward, words dying in his throat.

"We're not going anywhere, Quill."

The stranger looked between the two of them, brows raised, perplexed. He pulled the cigarette from his lips and motioned to the pair of them. "Look, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to cause any issues with you folks. I'm just…frustrated. There's a missing girl from that caravan I mentioned. Everyone else were killed—but that girl wasn't among them. My only lead is here, but the longer I take on this, the colder the trail gets."

"What's your name?" Quinn asked, making it a point to ignore her brother's disapproving stare.

"Honest Dan. I do my job and I do it with integrity. There's a reason my services are in high demand and why I'm called 'honest'." The stranger—Honest Dan—said. He reached up with his free hand and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Look, I'm not getting anywhere with these people. I've already been here at least twice and it's always the same song and dance with them and me."

"And who's the girl you're looking for?"

"She's old man Stockton's daughter, Amelia Stockton, from the Bunker Hill trading settlement. When he found out about the caravan and what happened to it, he had me come here first thing. I didn't find her body, so I think it's safe to assume she was taken. What for, I can't say, except it isn't for ransom. They would have reached out with a list of their demands by now."

Honest Dan shot an aggrieved look to all the residents of Covenant, lips peeled back in a seething snarl. Quinn seemed to be absorbing all this, chewing on the matter but kept silent for now. "These sons of bitches are hiding something and I'm willing to bet it's Amelia. I can't get a straight answer out of them, and short of shooting everyone here, I'm not getting closer to an answer."

Quill crossed his arms over his chest, openly glowering at his twin. She really did have a perverse sense of justice. She wasn't great with people, but she could pull through from time to time. First the Abernathy's, then Preston's group of Quincy survivors, and now this. Her streak of luck, however, was bound to run out and blow up in her face. He didn't want this place to be the thing that sets off that fuse.

"Queenie, please. This isn't our business. We don't need to get caught up with whatever he's got going on. Let him find his own way with this crap." He quietly hissed at her, his face burning with embarrassment.

"Quill, I love you, but I need you to shut the fuck up. We're staying." She turned back to Honest Dan and motioned to him politely. "Please, continue."

The man scanned them both, clearly hesitant to do so. He puffed away on his cigarette a few times before speaking again.

"I can make it worth your while. Three hundred caps. It's half of what Stockton's paying me. Not a cap more."

"Is that three hundred each or in total?"

"Total," Honest Dan answered stiffly, his expression darkening slightly. He returned his cigarette back to its place, pinched between his lips. Quinn seemed to consider this. She patted and hushed Dogmeat when he whined softly up at her, placating his sudden onset anxiety. Quill dithered on the spot, discomfort crawling across his skin, itching away at places he didn't even know existed. Knots tightened inside his chest, squeezing away at his heart and lungs, clumping along the base of his throat and making it harder to breath. This wasn't right. They couldn't go through with this. This entire place had nothing to do with him and his sister, beyond the mystery of how they had gotten here. Covenant was, by intents and purposes, only a pit stop. That's all it could be, had to be.

Quinn, on the other hand, was seemingly oblivious, perhaps even willfully so, to his internal plight. She had a playful smile slowly alighting her countenance. She drew up her right leg and propped it on her left knee, leaning back in her seat as she listened to Honest Dan while strumming away at her guitar. She was about as languid as a jungle cat after a good, hefty meal—relaxed, but still just tense enough to allude to the quietly simmering strength waiting to be unleashed at any moment. She wasn't being lazy; she was simply at rest.

"What, exactly, do you need from us, if you were to hire us on?" Quinn asked, eyebrows rising upwards in curiousity. Honest Dan considered her, his expression a little less guarded, encouraged by Quinn's openness and inquisitive probing.

"I can't get a straight answer out of these people. They know what I'm here for, and they they've clammed up tight." He said, pulling the cigarette from his lips once more, this time to shake off the ashes. He returned it to its place, blew a puff of smoke, and sighed. "Maybe you two can do what I haven't been able to. I need proof that the caravan came through here, for one. Anything would do, and maybe some new eyes on scene might find something I haven't. It'll be one step closer to finding Stockton's daughter. For another, I need to know where they took her and where so I can get her out."

Quinn mulled over this. Quill groaned quietly to himself and returned to his seat beside his sister, feeling the cold doldrums of defeat weighing him down. Once his twin set herself to something, it was nearly impossible to dissuade her from that path. Their dads learned that the hard way, and just about everyone else for that matter too, including himself.

"You mentioned finding the remains of the caravan. Where is it?"

Honest Dan's directions were less than stellar, but Quinn's tracking skills made up for that. Luckily, the weather had remained stagnant. That is to say, there had been no snow or rains to wash away the tracks—what little there had been, due to the compact and hardened trails of the caravan. The temperature seemed to go down, degree by degree, with every passing day. Quinn, thankfully, was a more gifted tracker than Quill. She managed to see the telltale scratches in the earth that Quill had always struggled to find. Dogmeat trailed after them, nose to the ground, as if he was sensing what they were doing and naturally had to join in.

They found the scattered remains of the caravan almost three miles northwest of Covenant after an hour of leaving Covenant. Quill lingered behind his sister, sullen in his silence as he trudged after her and Dogmeat.

His pouting was shoved to the wayside when he saw the carnage. Four bodies laid strewn about the cracked and broken street intersection he and Quinn found them in. It was clear that they'd been cut down with firearms. Two brahmin were downed as well and riddled with several bullet holes, their wares scattered where they had fallen off the proverbial pack mules. Nothing seemed to have been stolen; the ropes used to tie down supplies hadn't been cut or yanked or taken apart in any way whatsoever. All the bodies were stiff from both the cold weather and rigor mortis.

Quinn looked over all the bodies carefully, probing for signs of struggle. No weapons had been drawn, it seemed, at least to Quill's eyes. They'd been ambushed, most likely. Cut down before they had a chance to even defend themselves. Quinn startled him when she made a noise of triumph, shooting up to her feet beside one of the corpses, holding a piece of paper up in the air. It was her eureka moment.

"Found something!" She crowed in victory. Quill, his annoyance nearly completely forgotten, hurried to her side. Quinn held the letter out for the both of them to read.

'Please take care of my precious daughter, Amelia. She is traveling for safety in numbers and wishes to visit family in the Capitol Wastelands. Make sure she arrives there safely. Regards, Stockton.'

Quinn cursed softly under her breath, scowling. "Not enough evidence to connect this to Covenant."

The letter only proved that Stockton's 'daughter' had been with this caravan. There was nothing to say that they had stopped in Covenant. The settlement didn't seem to produce their own branded goods, aside from their crops. They utilized the recycled goods of the pre-war lifetime, from questionably preserved meals to industrial-made textiles and goods. Nothing except…

That's when it hit Quill.

"Deezer's lemonade," he said quietly. Quinn glanced his way, brows furrowing.

"What? Did you say something?"

"Look for Deezer's lemonade! There should be a carton of it somewhere around here. Nobody sells it anywhere else except at Covenant!"

A light went off in Quinn's eyes immediately and she began prowling the site with renewed vigor and enthusiasm. She rolled over corpses, dug through fallen goods, fussed with the brahmin in case they had fallen on anything. Her cries of triumph gave Quill a soothing balm of relief as she thrust a carton of Deezer's lemonade into the air.

"Found it!"

The carton was only half-full, with signs that it had been drunk from, and not from an accidental spillage. Quill joined her and stared at the carton. Fortunately, the contents seemed to be slush inside from the cold weather.

"We should get back to Covenant, show Honest Dan this."

Quill found his hesitance returning with a vengeance. His reluctance and silence drew Quinn's attention to him.

"What?"

"I…I just…we shouldn't be out here, doing this. We should be moving on, not playing detective."

"You are really dead set on us moving on." She said, eyes narrowing. "In fact, you were dead set we avoid Covenant entirely."

"I told you why! We should just go back, get our shit, and tell Honest Dan we didn't find anything, and then leave."

Something in Quinn snapped. He wasn't sure if it was the look in her eyes, or something else on her face. It wasn't there one moment, and then suddenly in the next, it was. Quinn was up on her feet, and while she was much shorter than Quill—when she got right up in his face, he felt a twinge of terror, like she was ten feet tall. She always managed to do that, somehow. Make herself larger than life in split seconds, ever since they were kids. She was a force of nature when she got like this.

"What in the hell are you so afraid of? You've been telling me to avoid this, don't talk to that person, let's go around an entire city and keep to ourselves!"

"This isn't a game, Queenie—!"

"I thought this was a game," she snapped back, her words dripping with venomous sarcasm.

"You know what I mean!" Quill barked back, and he wouldn't be surprised if the terror was etched so clearly on his face. "We can't afford to make any mistakes, because this entire place is one giant deathtrap. One wrong move and it's over. We don't get to reset or go back to the last save file. If something happens to us…that's it. The Fat Lady's sung and we're done."

His breath stuttered inside of his chest, and he balled up his hands into fists at his side. Quinn, thankfully, seemed to back off and give him more space. Her expression softened and suddenly, she was back to being his big sister, his other half, and not the reckless wildcard she was moments ago.

"I don't…I don't want to die here, Queenie. I want to go home." Quill's voice wavered and cracked, just barely holding back the tears that were threatening to rise up and spill. He clutched at his shirt, digging his fingers into the fabric and twisting. "T-this is…real. It's all real and I'm fucking terrified, Queenie. I just—I don't—I can't—!"

His voice failed him. Pitted stones seemed to have climbed higher up in his throat, making it harder to speak, to swallow. He tried to speak, and yet couldn't get the words to form. He managed a gasp when Quinn pulled him into a tight embrace, her arms locking around him, her head pressed against his chest. The weight of Quinn pressed against him was steadying and he returned the embrace. Her hold didn't waver, and he was quietly grateful for that. She was keeping him anchored, even as he shuddered with sobs.

"As long as we're together, we can do anything. Right? It's the two of us against the world, just like old times."

The air had more bite to it as the sun dipped lower in the sky, ready to kiss the horizon. What little sunlight that still touched the water of the lake was a shining, burnished coin that blinded if one were to look directly at it. A series of clouds were brewing off in the east, dark as iron and looking cold as ice as they heralded closer. Quinn made mention of it, saying she could nearly taste the snow it promised to bring. The man at the front gate greeted Quinn and her brother, the same one who had conducted a strange test for them before allowing them entrance to the settlement.

The same man who, upon leaving, they had told him they were trying to hunt radstag for trading purposes. Quill had mentioned the strange test's origins during their tracking session, and so she had filed it away to further question when they had privacy again.

Quinn's boot caught on the crooked lip of asphalt just outside the barred gates of Covenant. The man at the desk, Brian Fitzgerald, perked up in his seat as Quinn went down with a grunt and a curse. Her elbow and lower arm and hand took the brunt of the fall. White lightning shot up her arm and she clutched at it. Quill was there in an instant, already hauling her up and checking her over. When she pushed up the layered sleeves on her right arm, she revealed a mess beneath. Blood was seeping through a flowing gash on her elbow. He eyed the ground and saw the jagged edge her arm had caught on, red painting the faded asphalt.

"You're bleeding!"

That garnered Brian's attention almost at once. He left his post and hurried over, looking concerned as can be.

"Everything all right over here?" He asked, brows furrowing together as he joined Quill in looking her over. Dogmeat came trotting in, whining at the pair of them. Quinn gently hushed him, telling Dogmeat that she was okay. He hardly settled, looking between the twins in distress.

Quinn gently pulled her arm away from her brother and turned it over enough to see the bright red painted against the canvas of her warm russet skin. A chortle broke past her lips, surprising the gate guard. "Oh, shit. Guess I took a harder tumble than I thought."

Quill sighed and gave her a pat between her shoulder blades. "We should get that cleaned up."

"You should go see Doc Monty for that before she closes up shop. Might need stitches that cut on your arm," Brian said, looking not at Quinn, but at Quill. He raised a brow, frowning. He turned to Quinn, who was still twisting her arm to try and see the source of the bleeding. Quill gave her a pat on the back.

"I'll get her there. Which building was it again?"

"Left of the mayor's when you walk right in. She should still have some time left to get that taken care of."

"Thanks. C'mon, Queenie. Let's get you patched up."

Quill helped Quinn through the gates, and she limped on, Dogmeat trailing behind them both. There were fewer people milling about, he noticed, once they entered Covenant's confines. He took note of the faces that were still milling around, chatting it up.

One or two of them seemed to take notice of the pair, and asked if they needed any help.

Quinn gave his sister's arm a firm squeeze and she took note of the meaning. She merely smiled at the residents of Covenant and waved them away.

"It's nothing really, just me having a clumsy moment. Happens to the best of us!"

From the corner of her eye, she could see the tension in Quill's shoulders releasing, if only by a fraction or two. They graciously stepped aside, but not before letting them know that food would be served in the communal kitchen, which the designated home in question was to the right of the Mayor's home. They parted ways, with Quill helping his sister toward the opposite sided home.

"You sure about this?"

"What else is there to do? I can take a hit or two, give you some time. They'll be more focused on me as a result."

Quill's sullen silence was all the answer she needed. She gave him a light jab in the side with her elbow.

"Hey, relax. Things will work out. I promise."

"You can't promise that. And what if something goes wrong? What I'm too la—"

"Don't do that. You're overthinking things. Just trust me."

Quill opened his mouth, intent on scratching at the itch that was this conversation—but they were outside the house that was the designated clinic.

"Wrap it up, Quill. You've got your orders."

Quinn reached for the doorknob and threw it open, effectively putting a stop to their conversation.

"Hey Doc! I'm bleeding! Think you can help me out?"

Doctor Montgomery looked up from a desk, a pair of glasses perched on the end of her nose. Quill offered a nervous smile, letting Quinn take the lead and let her plop into the first seat available. She splayed out her right leg, curling the left up and showed off her bleeding elbow. She hadn't bothered to covered it, and now her entire lower arm was stained red.

"Oh, my. That does look worrisome."

Doctor Montgomery took off her glasses and left them at her desk and moved towards a wooden medicine cabinet. She pulled open all the right drawers and gathered up materials.

"Is this your only injury or are there others?"

"Sprained my good ankle. All those broken bits of road outside are surprisingly hazardous. Doc, answer me this: what's the consensus on the mayor's agenda with getting the roads fixed? I'd like to vote on that issue. You feel me?"

"Let's take care of the bleeding first, and then I'll worry about your ankle," the doctor merely stated, her tone leaving little room for negotiation. She glanced at Quill as she drew up a chair besides Quinn's. "You'll need to leave. I'd rather keep things confidential, if you don't mind."

"He's my brother. I'm Quinn King, and he's Quill King." Quinn replied swiftly, matching the doctor's no-nonsense tone of voice. The carefree grin that had played out on her face moments ago was gone and was replaced by a hard stare. Doctor Montgomery was silent for only a few seconds before she sighed and relented with a nod.

"Fine. He can stay. Tell me, how did this happen?"

Quinn relaxed and the tension she'd built up released as she allowed the doctor to view her elbow's injury.

"I mentioned the roads, didn't I? Treacherous little cracks and tripping hazards all over the place."

"Mm-hm. I see. So, you basically tripped."

"Not my fault the road has more lines in it than a Picasso painting, I'll tell you what."

Quill sat down besides his sister, listening to her make small talk while Doctor Montgomery first gave Quinn a stimpak shot to close up the wound, and then began cleaning away at the blood and any lingering surface damage. Once she was satisfied that her wounds were mitigated, she motioned to Quinn's leg.

"And your ankle? Did you twist it when you went down? Did you feel or hear anything crack?"

"I mean, my left's been kind of funny, but I figure, I'll take a screwdriver to it when I get a chance and my right's the one that took the brunt of the fall."

That gave the doctor pause and she leaned away to sit up straighter in her chair. "I'm sorry, but what do you mean, 'take a screwdriver' to your leg?"

Quill tensed, his gut sinking lower inside of him. Moment of truth.

Quinn, seemingly oblivious, rolled up her right pantleg first, showing off her ankle. There was mild bruising there, but nothing worrisome. He recognized it as having come from her fight with the Deathclaw, and not from a simple trip over some broken asphalt. He still had his own cadre of bruising.

Then Quinn rolled up her left pantleg, showing off the metal limb that contrasted with her flesh-and-blood right leg. Doctor Montgomery gave a little gasp and sat upright in her chair, her hands suddenly set to trembling.

"Yeah, I lost my leg to an improvised explosive device. Couldn't save the leg, but my life was spared at least. It's been kinda hinky lately, I swear. I keep thinking I'm hearing some creaking or squeaking, but since I lost pretty much half my hearing in the same incident, it's hard to say."

At this junction of conversation, Quinn pulled back the red mane of her hair gathered along the left side of her face and revealed the scar tissue there. Her left ear was still manageably recognizable. The reconstructive surgeries had done well to preserve the integrity of her face, but she still hid the slick scars that crept along the edges of her jawbone and the immediate area around her ear that they couldn't completely hide. Unfortunately, the damage done to her hearing had been done, and that couldn't be recovered.

Quill hadn't suffered the physical markings that his sister had, but the day she'd lost her hearing, he had too. Almost as soon as he realized what was happening, he had known something was wrong with Quinn, long before the call had come in about what had happened to her. The agonizing wait he had had to endure before he and his dads had been contacted was hell. He had had no way of reaching her, and all he could do was wait.

Doctor Montgomery slowly returned, scooting her chair closer and she peered first at Quinn's head, taking his sister's face in her hands and turning it to view it better in the lighting.

"I assume you cannot hear me from this ear?"

"Just barely. You sound muffled, like I've got cotton stuffed up inside or something like that. I've had surgery to try and fix that, but it didn't work." Quinn answered back. The doctor turned to Quinn's leg with a frown.

"And the damage to this limb?"

"Just a little past the knee. Here, lemme show you."

Quinn then proceeded to pull her pantleg up and up, just enough along her thigh to reveal the sock that served as a barrier. She took pause when the doctor looked over the faceplate of her shin, interest shining in her eyes at the artwork staining the metal surface.

"Beautiful craftsmanship."

It took some time to maneuver the barrier that served to protect what little leg she had left, especially considering the length at which her remaining limb was at. Quinn continued through the motions of detaching her prosthetic limb, undoing the points of pressure where it connected, and gently setting it aside. She took the barrier sock off last, showing off another part of her that was covered in scar tissue. The stump that once held an entire limb was cut off just above the knee. Quill knew that the doctors who did her initial surgeries had tried to save more of the leg, in their attempts to make it easier for Quinn.

But the damage had been too great, her knee had been absolutely obliterated beyond saving, which had taken several surgeries to figure out. Other complications had shortly arose after that revelation. It had left Quinn essentially immobile for nearly a year in constant states of recovery before the decision she made for herself came to be: take the damned part that wasn't healing off. She didn't want to be discharged from the military. She didn't want to spend years being treated with 'possible fixes' and 'hopeful increases in quality of life'. Living a life in pain and rendered immobile wasn't what she wanted.

If a prosthetic could offer her more than a lifetime spent in and out of surgeries and attending to untried treatments that might give her a decent life, Quinn had chosen the fake leg over what was left of her real one. Extreme, but effective, and it had ultimately—thankfully—worked out in her favour. It had also helped that asides from having suffered from being blown up, Quinn hadn't had many other existing health issues (the ear damage not withstanding).

The only thing that Quill knew that his sister complained about from time to time was the phantom pain that would hit her, very often coming out of nowhere and with little to no warning.

There was little irritation along the stump of Quinn's leg. Quill had made it a point to make sure she took off her prosthetic when they took shelter at night and when she wasn't on watch. Otherwise, she'd overlook her own discomfort and focus on everyone else's.

She always tried to do that, even when they were children. She tried her best to take the brunt of any burden all their lives, so that he wasn't encumbered by the weight of it all. He already had enough on his plate. It was the least she could do for Quill, to ease the burden he already bore.

"Sorry that it's all so ugly. Docs did their best, and all that," Quinn joked lightly as Doctor Montgomery examined her stump. When the other woman finally seemed to acknowledge Quinn, she motioned to her other ankle. "That's the leg that needs some attending to, by the way. Just thought I'd do my due diligence and update my patient file with you beforehand."

She winked at the older woman, and flashed Quill a smile. He looked appropriately squeamish.

He could handle the dismembering and gutting and preparing of animals for food and other materials—it was a necessity where they had grown up. People were something he couldn't handle, not really. Not like this, not all cut up and vulnerable and raw. He could understand Quinn in that respect. She was often better in understanding an animal than a person.

The doctor's soft hum drew her attention from her brother. "I'm not seeing much bruising here. Some rest for the night, and you should be good by morning. It looks like the only lasting injury you have is the one on your elbow."

They weren't much longer in the clinic. The good doctor administered a stimpak for Quinn to her, and she replaced her prosthetic back to its rightful place. Once settled, the doctor directed them to the same place for food.

When they left the clinic, Quinn quietly asked of her brother, "What do you think?"

"I…we…know what's supposed to play out…hypothetically."

"What should we expect?"

"Anything, really."

That didn't sit well with Quinn, but she kept her mouth shut. They ate and chatted with the locals. Well, Quill chatted with them, mostly. Honest Dan grudgingly made an appearance and Quinn, under the pretense of concern, approached and quietly relayed what they'd found, but also made it a point that a half-full slushy carton of Deezer's lemonade wasn't as big a "gotcha" moment as he believed. It wasn't enough to go throwing accusations left and right, not without a whole town committed to the secret. One gun against almost two dozen? The odds weren't in Honest Dan's favour.

"We have one more trick up our sleeve," Quinn said to him, hoping to quell Honest Dan, even if only temporarily. "Quill and I have a plan. We can get things progressing, just try not to fuck it up. Trust us."

The man gave her a dour look, but eventually nodded and waved her away. "Might wanna walk away now, before anyone gets any ideas that we're in cahoots."

She gave him a small salute and returned to her brother's side. He was busy chatting it up with some of the locals and was quick to reintegrate her into the conversation. The night carried on, as if nothing was amiss. Quinn laughed when Quill brought up her stumble earlier that evening, and she sighed heavily for effect at the listening crowd.

"Honestly, I'd rather be out there still foraging, hunting for some fresh meat. But things just didn't go my way today," she answered, and that seemed to earn enough laughs from their collective table.

The smiles stayed the same. Quinn resisted the urge to shudder when she took notice of it, in all its collective glory. Too many teeth. It felt more like a threat to her than smiling at a chimpanzee. And smiling at a chimp was a rather horrid idea all on its own.

At least the chimp would mutilate and tear her limb from limb on sight. Smiling at these people was like an invitation for something worse later on down the line. That was the impression she was picking up, at least.

Maybe I'm not as bad at picking up signals from people as I thought, Quinn mused, nearly hopeful on the matter.

She almost believed that, going to bed in the guest home, in the bed right beside her brother.

Come morning, however, her deep-seated doubts proved her right. She really had misread everything.