A/N: I own nothing except the laptop I wrote this story on.
He'd been sitting at the desk for who knows how long at this point. That was the thing about running the systems comms for the Minutemen: everyone liked him and appreciated him for being mission control, but the truth was that it was an exhaustingly boring job most of the time. Jonathan knew and accepted this, and it was probably why he was still there and hadn't burned out. Or been forced out. Though, to be fair, that wasn't fully accurate. He wasn't being forced anywhere. The General had offered him promotions plenty of times. He'd been asked if he'd like a cushier, less stressful job with better sleeping hours (as opposed to his current set-up, which was zero hours), better pay, and a chance to train for the future.
Every time that he thought about that, though, there'd usually be a frenetic night of calls that he had to direct. And he had to be in the center of communications for hundreds, if not thousands, of frantic moments all patched together across the Commonwealth. And in those moments, Jonathan knew there was something about himself that he knew but dared not admit.
He wasn't traumatized by the job. He would miss it.
He was so lost in his musings that he almost didn't see the light. Made sense, considering the switchboard was full of them. A single pinprick of light on a table that looked like Christmas lights (that was what the General called them, right?) when he was active was easy to miss. But he'd been waiting for this light to turn on for some time now. A gnawing feeling in the back of his mind was that it never would again, but here and now…there was light.
Almost immediately, he turned on the communication line.
"Baseplate, go ahead." He said.
"Ah, ya fuckin' know who this is, Jonathan. Talk to me like a regular person!"
In spite of himself, the head communications officer of the Minutemen smiled.
"Cait…been a while since I've heard from you."
"Aye, well I've been fuckin' busy! Tends to happen when you're assigned a big mission like this one."
"Easy, we need some degree of communication integrity." Jonathan resisted the urge to facepalm. He forgot how…forthright the pugilistic spitfire Cait could be. "Well, what do you have to report?"
"We completed the bloody mission, that's what! Got the geo-tracker-whatsit-thingy up and running. Christ, do ya need an itemized list of our tasks?"
Upon hearing this, Jonathan looked over at another set-up that had recently been installed into his motherboard. It was some Old World tech that had been fashioned shortly before the bombs fell, at least according to the General, and it was a wonder (if it worked). Something called digital mapping? It didn't look much different from a typical terminal, but there was a giant, buzzing machine that looked like the bottom half of a sentry bot with little needles flying over…graph paper.
Yeah, Jonathan knew that he needed to start paying a bit more attention in the briefing meetings. Or at least let that cute science lady with the funny voice explain things to him more frequently. What was her name again? Katie? No, that wasn't it.
"Oy! Jonathan! Or Baseplate if ya wanna be a fancy-pants. Can ya confirm that the stupid thing is working or not?"
"I'm…not sure." Jonathan admitted. "It's beeping and buzzing, which is different from before when it was doing…nothing. Which is in fact an improvement, I guess? I dunno. Maybe I should get the Major."
"Aye, that'd be great. Go have a bloody party while we wait here to get skewered by fuckin' Quincy boys. Don't mind us, it's a fucking party over here!"
She was a bit more salty than normal. The mission must have been getting to her. Putting her on hold, Jonathan flipped a switch elsewhere on the switchboard.
"Major Danse? We've got something from the recon unit."
"I'll be right there." The reply was terse and almost emotionless. Exactly as expected.
Jonathan heard the footsteps coming from behind. Major Danse always walked a little bit more deliberately, almost robotically, than the rest of the Minutemen on duty at the Castle. Those jangling spurs on his boots added to the effect. Jonathan swiveled around in his chair, and took a look at (one of) his commanding officer(s). This war with the Quincy Boys had been going on for who knows how long, and yet the Major still looked impeccably well-kept. The hair and beard was trimmed, his uniform stayed ironed…somehow the man didn't even have wrinkles around his eyes.
But the way those dark eyes seemed to be burning a hole in Jonathan's soul, the latter dared not poke fun at him.
"Are they alright?" Danse asked. Jonathan shrugged.
"Relatively speaking, sir. Cait is as foul-mouthed as ever."
"Oye! I heard that, you gobshite! Put Fusspot on the line!"
Major Danse smirked ever so slightly, and stood next to Jonathan to speak into the microphone.
"Lieutenant, this is Baseplate Two. What do you have to report?"
"Christ, am I havin' deja vu? We set up the stupid reader! Can we please go the fuck home?"
Danse glanced over at the readout, which was currently sketching out a reading of what he assumed was the geography and topography of Quincy at large. He walked over to it, and looked down at the needles scraping graphite papes across the surface. He barely understood the technology. Nate had told him that it was some hare-brained idea to combine something called a "polygraph" and a "richter scale" in order to make images on paper. Danse felt that just drawing a map was probably more accurate, but as he watched the machine make startlingly accurate readings, he wondered if perhaps he was too quick to judge.
Still…it was giving a general reading of Quincy, but the map wasn't getting as detailed as possible. It looked like outlines of city blocks, but no clarity on the number of buildings in a block. Ergo, he knew that he had to tell Cait something she didn't like.
He told her. She didn't like it.
"What do you MEAN we have to set up more? We barely managed to scrape into the edge of this city. We're low on ammo, food, water, and now we've picked up the clockwork dick!"
Danse blinked in surprise.
"Say again, Cait, you have Nick Valentine with you?"
There was a brief pause, and then he heard the voice on the other end of the line.
"And a good hello to you too, Major. Tell me, how is the Castle this time of year? I heard it's cloudy with a steady chance of bombardment."
"Nick…" Danse growled.
"I kid, I kid. But yes, I'm back in the Commonwealth. I took care of some personal things, and heard on my way back that Quincy was the place to be. And look: I found Cait, a Minuteman who's still wet behind the ears, and two…whoever the heck these jokers are."
There were some indignant noises on the line that Danse assumed were aggrieved responses. He pinched the bridge of his nose. Why did it always feel like he was the only adult in any situation?
"...Great. The more, the merrier. I assume you heard what I said to Cait?"
"Surely I did, your most military mastery. But as someone who doesn't actually have to take orders from your merry men, I have to take Cait's side. We're in bad shape here. Cait's in bad shape." The way he lowered his voice, it was clear that he didn't want anyone else to hear. Danse felt his heart skip a beat.
"Cait's hurt?"
"Not the word I'd use. In 'pain', if you will. Craving."
Ice shards seemed to strike Danse's heart. Was Cait using again? Had this mission triggered a relapse? A wave of fear, frustration and…was that guilt? Clouded Danse's mind. And then, just as soon as it had happened, it was gone. Professionalism took its place.
"Standby for further orders."
"Not to be pushy, but I'm with Cait. I'd rather not be sitting around with our thumbs up our you-know-whats if the Quincy boys come knocking."
Danse turned to Jonathan.
"Get the General."
…..
"Standby? Standby? What kind of schmucks do they take us for? We aren't fuckin' grocery boys and girls!" Cait growled. She kicked one of the cafe tables over, and then immediately regretted that decision, judging by the somewhat comical hops of pain she was currently doing. Nick rolled his eyes, and felt the clockwork mechanics of his ocular region stress to near-breaking. It might have been a minute, but Cait hadn't changed much.
"I agree with the frustration, Cait, but consider it from the boss's perspective. They're just figuring out their next move on the chessboard. And seeing as how we're the pieces…"
"...We gotta be fine just takin' it up the arse." Cait finished, a depressed tone in her voice. She slumped down, sitting amongst the wreckage and corpses from the previous fight. She didn't really care. "Nick…why the fuck did we sign up for this? Why continue to keep going?"
"Well, seeing as how I chose to be a part of this, I imagine you did too. And, frankly, do you really want Quincy to be the name of the game moving forward?"
"...Fuck no." Cait finished after a moment's introspection. She sighed, and stood back up. "I don't want those gobshites to think that they've won. They don't get to win. We get to win."
"That's the spirit, kiddo." Nick said, a small smile gracing his robotic lips. "We'll hear from the boss and…" He trailed off. "Wait, did you hear that?"
Cait tensed up. She looked in the direction that Nick had glanced. It was coming from outside the cafe, past the window.
…Where Private Rivia was standing unaware.
"KID, WATCH OUT!"
He never saw it.
The RPG slammed into the side of the cafe, probably hitting right at the base of the window. The window immediately spider-webbed inward, shards whistling through the air. Private Rivia was lifted off his feet, and launched from the concussive blast over the cafe's bar several feet away. He landed with a dull thud, and various china and cutlery crashed around him.
"QUINCY, MOTHERFUCCCKKEERRRRRSS!"
"Get down!" Nick tackled Cait, and the two took cover behind an overturned table. The door to the cafe flung open, and several Quincy boys, frothing at the mouth, came barreling through the door. For several seconds, the only sound was the barking of their pipe rifles. Bullets whistled through the air, ripping up the floor, the walls, and anything that wasn't nailed down or in cover. After a few minutes, there was another sound.
Giggling.
It made the skin on the back of Cait's neck stand up. This wasn't the kind of laughter you had after a few pints in Diamond City. It was hateful, mirthless laughter, the kind made by those who delighted in picking the wings off of butterflies. By the sound of it, there were several people laughing. She couldn't tell, but it had to be at least four. Maybe five.
And then, a voice cut through the silence.
"Alright, that's enough hiding." It was a rough male voice. "Why don't you come on out, like good little doggies, and we won't immediately kill ya?"
Cait wanted to tell this piece of shit to fuck off, but a mottled robotic hand covered her mouth. Nick looked at her, and fervently shook his head. He cleared his throat.
"Not exactly the greatest of offers, pal." He said. Cait didn't know how the Synth did it, but he sounded just as flippant as if he was working a case in Diamond City. How did he find the nerves? "How about a counter-offer? You and your trained pooches back off, and I don't blow you all sky-high?"
The hell was he talking about? There weren't any bombs in the building, and they hadn't had the time to set anything off-ohhhhhh. Cait was raging, but she wasn't a fool. Nick was bluffing them. Would they buy it?
There was a brief pause. And then the voice again.
"Come out slow like. We ain't gonna shoot you if you got a bomb. Show us the merchandise."
Nick slowly stood up.
At which point a hail of bullets struck him.
"NICK!" Cait shrieked. The Synth fell next to her: alive, somehow, but clearly in excruciating pain. Meanwhile, the laughter continued.
"God, they're so stupid! We tell 'im we believe their shit, and they just let us keep getting away with our shit! These Commonwealth turds are just so easy to bluff!" And then a pause. "Heyyyy, darling. I know there's a hottie behind that table. You got a name, sweetum?"
"Fuck off!" Cait managed to snarl. The man laughed.
"Not the sexiest name, but I can work with it. I'm Savoy. I'm kind of a big deal around these parts. Ever heard of me?"
"Fuck off!" Cait yelled again. This time, Savoy wasn't as jocular.
"Not too pretty of a mouth on you, lady. Maybe I should teach you a thing or two about respect. Who knows? Maybe you wanna dance? Come on, sexy voice, let's dance."
"HEY."
They were all interrupted by another voice. A series of steady, booming footsteps could be heard. Stepping out of the dark, fully-decked in his power armor, Olympus walked forward. With every deliberate step, he seemed to grow in size. And the mighty super sledge in his hand seemed to be crackling with energy on its own. In the dark of the night, the light coming from his helmet's eye slots looked positively demonic. He raised the hammer and pointed towards Savoy.
"I'll dance with you, freak."
Savoy stared at him, stunned, and then started to giggle. His giggle turned to a laugh, and then thunderous peals of hilarity. He laughed so hard he nearly coughed himself unconscious. And then he gathered himself and turned to his contingent.
"Waste 'im."
They began to fire.
For whatever reason, Cait was frozen. Some greater power than her own rage kept her rooted on the spot. All she could do was watch as these Quincy boys fired shot after shot at Olympus. She watched as the armor chipped, cracked, dented, and in some cases even began to break off, exposing the interior wirings. Olympus was knocked to his knee, and Cait fought the urge to scream.
Clickclickclickclickclick.
She saw the look on Savoy's face. She knew that look. Confusion, followed by disbelief, and then terror. She usually saw it on the receiving end of her own fights. But now the man was facing a battered, beaten-up, and bruised up man in power armor.
And all it had done was piss him off.
"My turn."
Olympus leaped forward, swinging his super sledge with the fury of the gods. When it connected with the first Quincy boy's head, the poor fool's head disappeared in a spray of red. Pirouetting whilst keeping his momentum going, Olympus swung the hammer and caught the second raider in the chest. Cait had never seen a man's chest cavity caved in, and after this moment she wished she hadn't looked. The third raider tried jumping on Olympus' back. He simply reached over his shoulder, grabbed the raider, and then judo slammed him to the ground. The hammer wasn't even needed; Olympus just stepped on him as hard as he could. The fourth raider just bum-rushed Olympus, shrieking like a banshee as she threw her rifle at him. He responded by punching her in the face with his power-armored fist. It made a sound that should not be made. She fell limp.
All that was left was Savoy. The Disciple lieutenant looked terrified. Olympus just pointed at him with the hammer, and took several menacing steps forward.
At that exact moment, his armor's damaged core finally gave out.
He slumped down to one knee, and then both knees gave out. From inside the armor, Olympus roared in pain. Going from total control to nothing had to do a number on the system. And now there was nothing stopping Savoy, who seemed to have recovered his nerve awfully quick.
"Aw, is the liddle power wanker out of juice?" He chuckled. He walked over, and with some effort yanked the helmet off of Olympus' armor. The young man underneath just glared at him, and then spat defiantly.
"Respect. At least you're dying with some honor. Not that it fucking matters."
BANG.
Cait blinked. Savoy seemed to be staring off into space. Or at the very least, staring up at his forehead, where there was now a gaping hole through.
He fell over, landing in a dull heap.
Olympus looked past the corpse from the direction of the shot.
"Christ, Leesh. Could you have picked a more dramatic-mmph!"
Alicia Crowley, his loyal companion, had closed the gap and tackled him in a bear hug of relief. And chosen that moment to kiss him about as hard and relieved as one possibly could. As soon as they came up for air, she spoke first.
"I should have done that ages ago." She admitted to the very dazed-looking (but not disappointed) man in her arms. And then she shook him in annoyance. "Don't you ever scare me like that again, John."
Like a spell broken, Cait could move again.
"Nick!" She raced over to the Synth, who was slowly picking himself up as well. He groggily helped her to her feet. "Are you okay?"
"I'm lucky." He said wearily. "Most of those shots went through the holes already in my system." He opened his coat to reveal the various wear and tear on his exoskeleton. If Cait believed in a higher power, she'd have thought that being had guided the bullets through the openings in Nick's chest cavity. It looked like he was…well, he wasn't bleeding, but he was leaking something. He saw her eyes, and waved it off.
"I can patch myself back together. It's fine, Cait." His countenance darkened. "But we got off easy-"
There was a coughing from behind the counter.
Cait got there first. She grabbed whatever debris that she could find, and threw it off to the side. There, buried under the counter, broken ceramics and porcelain, looking very, very badly wounded but still alive was Private Rivia.
"...I wanna go home, Lieutenant." He managed to whisper.
Cait felt something warm run down her cheek. She realized it was a tear. The kid in front of her didn't look like a soldier. He looked like a lost child.
Fuck this war.
And fuck Quincy.
"It's gonna be okay, Geralt." Cait said. She found herself speaking…gently? She'd never done that before. As the adrenaline of the battle wore off, it was like the dam was breaking. Now Rivia was crying. Whether from pain or something else, she didn't know. It ripped her heart.
"Nick, call in to the Castle. Ask 'im for an update, dammit." Cait said. Nick nodded, and staggered over to the radio kit. But then he felt a hand on his shoulder.
"Respectfully, sir, you're pretty fucked up." John Stewart, the man behind the moniker Olympus, said. "I can make the call. Let Leesh patch you up. She's pretty good at tech stuff." Nick rolled his eyes, but was appreciative.
Meanwhile, Cait had sidled up next to Rivia, who continued to silently weep. She sat next to him for a moment, unsure of what to do. The young man whispered again.
"I want to go home, Lieutenant. I'm not strong enough…"
"Bullshi-no." Cait said, checking her language. "You're stronger than any of us." She said. She gently grabbed him, and gently placed his head in his lap, facing upwards. She looked into the frightened eyes of this young man. "Geralt, you're a brave man, braver than most."
"I'm not-I'm not a soldier, Cait." He managed to get out in between gasping sobs of pain and grief. "I just…I wanted to be a painter." He started to cry more.
"Shh…listen to me." Cait said. He stopped crying. She looked at him, and spoke gently. "You're still gonna be a great painter. I'm gonna getcha home. And you can paint to your heart's content. Just take some deep breaths. I'm here with you. Close your eyes, and breathe…"
She watched as he closed his eyes, the tears faded, and his breathing slowed to a comfortable level.
"Do we have any Stimpaks?" She asked quietly. Alicia tossed one her way. As Cait administered the medicine, she felt a sense of relief. Geralt was gonna be okay. He was fucked up, but he would live.
Assuming that they could get out of here in one piece.
…
Danse turned off the radio. He didn't know who this "John Stewart" was, not really, but if Cait trusted him then he supposed he could not complain. The young man had called in with a status report. The geocache appeared to still work, but the party had taken heavy casualties. They had to pull out of Quincy. And considering the emptiness of the readouts coming from the machine, Danse didn't want to admit it…but this mission was a failure. They hadn't been able to deploy all of the geocaching equipment that was necessary for a full readout of the city. They didn't have anything better than what they'd had before the mission.
And I nearly got Cait killed.
He shook off that last thought, and walked up the steps to the second floor of the Castle. It was night, and he was due a daily report, after all. He wasn't sure what to feel. Would the General be disappointed in what he had to say? Would he be mad? Or would he just not care anymore? It was hard to tell with the General these days. Sometimes, Danse wondered what was keeping the man from coming apart at the seams. Because there were definitely some tough nights.
"Hi, Uncle Danse!"
Danse blinked. He almost didn't notice the young boy sitting on the steps right in front of the General's office. But as soon as he did, the switch flipped and he offered up a smile.
"Hello, Shaun."
"Do you have something to tell my dad?" Shaun asked. He was sitting next to Isabel Cruz, who looked up at the Major with a mix of fear and terror. Despite what others might think, Danse was good at sussing out the difference between the two. He slightly raised an eyebrow.
"I do, actually. Just the night's report, that's all." He looked at the two kids sitting next to each other in front of him.
Sitting awfully close together…
"What are you two doing?" He asked, keeping the suspicious tone but doing his best not to smile. They both immediately avoided eye contact, and he thought he saw Shaun turn the color of Piper's favorite red jacket.
"We were, uh, just talking about stuff." Shaun said. Danse didn't bother to hide the smile.
"Stuff?"
"Yeah. Stuff." Shaun replied. If Danse didn't know any better, he'd say that the young boy was getting sassy with him.
He did the mental math. Shaun was "eleven" when they found him, and depending on when he had been "born," he was either close to or had actually passed twelve years of age. Which meant that he was now…
…Oh dear god.
He was an adolescent.
And he was talking to a girl.
Danse decided that maybe there were some terrors that the General didn't need to know about at this moment in time.
"You two have fun, then." He said. He smiled, and returned the wave from Shaun and Isabel. But his look lingered on Isabel. And the look from his eyes was as clear as day.
Watch it, missy.
Judging by the fearful look in her eyes, the message had been received. Loud and clear.
He opened the door, and then entered the General's quarters.
The General was sitting at his desk, reading something. Danse couldn't tell, but it didn't look like it was about military strategy. For once, he seemed to be…relaxing.
Huh. That was different.
He cleared his throat.
And Nate looked up.
"Danse!" He said. "What has happened in the world since we last spoke?"
The Major shuffled in his feet.
"Well, sir…a lot."
The General's smile faded, but not entirely. He nodded.
"Have a seat." Danse sat across the desk from him. Nate took out a bottle of some sort of liquor and poured a glass for the both of them, which Danse gratefully took. The commanding officer of the mInutemen, and the leader of the free Commonwealth, looked him in the eye.
"Looks like we have some catching up to do."
A/N: …It's good to see you again.