Chapter Text
Commonwealth gets hotter'n hell in the summer, and the last few weeks have been awful. I'm not quite staggering when I cross the bridge, but I might be shambling. The spotlight blinds me like it always does, and I wave so they know I'm not a Feral. As I get closer, I hear, "Oh, General! Welcome home!"
I give a weary nod to the guards, taking off a half-dozen equipment satchels. The clink of several bags full of good junk is very gratifying. One of the men on duty whistles, an admirable imitation of a red-tailed hawk, and I see a few sturdy types come running over. "That crate is for Katherine; the rest ... uh. Sturges will tell you."
"Indeed I will," he says smoothly, having just walked up.
"Mister Mayor," I say. We clasp hands, pull back, bump fists.
"Great news; there's functioning showers. Hot water isn't coming for a while yet, but I figure that's not so bad on a day like today."
My shoulders slump at the word shower, and I sag in relief. "Oh, that's just the best news ever," I add when he's done.
"Also, we got the bar up and running."
I straighten up so quickly it tweaks something in my shoulder, and I wince despite myself. His face is sympathetic, but he kindly doesn't mention it.
"How's Buddy working out?"
"Well, it's the part he was born to play," Sturges says with a grin.
I leave my armor in a pile in my room, ignoring the drill sergeant in my head. The shower is wonderful beyond measure. The water isn't exactly cold, but it's not as bad as the air, and it carries the sweat away admirably. I luxuriate in the sensation in what is almost certainly a wasteful fashion. It should probably inspire regret, but I just don't seem to care.
When I'm done, I dry off. It took a long time to find a weaver who was willing to let us move their loom, but it's been wonderful having towels that aren't patched to hell and back. Clothes that aren't cobbled-together polyester monstrosities, too--I throw on an outfit of simple cotton, loose shirt and a pair of shorts, and I wander out barefoot. I can't shake the feeling that it's giving cult leader, but nobody's said it to my face yet.
I wave to people as I pass, but I make a beeline for the bar. It's full dark now, but the lights are merry. There are nearly a dozen people crowded under this carport, and it's just so absurdly incongruous with my memories of Sanctuary Hills that I'm feeling a little punchy. Drinkin' Buddy greets me with a joke of dubious taste, then slides me a bottle. The condensation is nice, trickling down my fingers, as I pop the top. It's a Pilsner this week, apparently--Sturges has been experimenting.
The cold liquid races down my throat, and I picture it coating my interior, cooling everything down. It's a visual I got from an advertisement I saw as a child, probably; just another sensation that I can't possibly explain to anyone, and for an instant I feel alone in the crowd. I tip my head back, finishing the bottle.
It's not that I'm that in to alcohol. It's that I actually hate people. The fact that I'm in charge of so goddamn many of them some how is a real pain in my ass. Now we finally have a bar, a place where I can drink socially, let it lubricate my interpersonal interactions, I feel some tension leaving my shoulders that's been there since I defrosted. The Dugout is nice and all, but this feels like home.
I signal for another bottle; Buddy obliges.
From behind, I hear, "Um ... excuse me?"
A bit of tension slips back into my shoulders, but I'm determined to shrug it off. The voice is high-pitched, a little uncertain. I turn around to assess the speaker and nearly drop my drink.
The woman standing in front of me is dressed for the weather. Military-style jeans, cut off at mid-thigh, topped with just a harness. The bra peeking out from underneath it somehow makes it hotter. I take in the details--red hair, pigtails, glasses, and absolutely covered in scars. If this woman were any more attractive my knees would buckle.
It takes me a minute to realize she's said something else. I shake my head to clear it. "Sorry, could you ... repeat that?"
"Hi, I'm Gremlin!" She sticks her hand out this time, and I take it automatically. Her grip is strong, and the sensation of patchwork scarring on her palm has me thinking very inappropriate thoughts.
"Nate," I tell her, because I can't think of anything else to say.
"Yeah, I know!" She smiles. "I'm new around here. I know you're in charge, so I'm hoping you'll let me stay. I know a lot about electrical engineering, especially lasers, but I'll do whatever you want!"
Fighting off the urge to offer some "joking" suggestions, I clear my throat. "Sure, that's ... I'm sure Sturges would be delighted to have a dedicated sparky around."
She bounces delightedly, and I can barely maintain eye contact. "I promise I won't disappoint you!"
I'm starting to wonder if she's doing this on purpose. "Cool."
"Well, thanks! I'm really happy I found this place. I haven't slept this well since I left the Fort!"
"Fort ... Independence?"
She grins. She has dimples. Dimples.
"No, different fort. Way out west in New Vegas."
I rock back on my heels, and take a swig of my beer to give myself a moment to think. "I'd heard there were some travelers from way out, but I haven't met one before. I'd love to hear all about it."
"Really? Okay! Well, it's a big fort just north of the Strip. A bunch of Followers live there, and ..."