I think there's a flaw in my code...

“... Just, be careful, okay? She hates people like me.”

Deacon rolled his eyes, slurping up another gobful of noodles. She’d been lucky to catch him, as he was about to approach the engineer - something about getting repairs done on an actual geiger counter for cover.

“C’mon, you think I’d hire her if I didn’t know the stakes? Besides, everyone’s like that out here, kiddo. Well, most. It’s not fair, but it’s true.”

“Not like her.”

“I’ve never heard her do anything especially awful. I mean, hell, that one poor bastard was ready to shoot his brother...”

“It’s not - “ She threw up her hands with a catlike growl of frustration before darting her gaze around them again. It was as quiet as ever under the stands, but still. “I don’t mean like that. I mean she’s dangerous. She’s got all those bots working for her, protecting her, and she’s got a big old base down in Cambridge, with running water, and she - she - she knows things! She’s not just the usual hater-with-a-bat or whatever, y’know?”

“Jeez, Darla, last I heard you were popping off ghoul heads with that nasty fist of yours, left and right. What’s got you so spooked about an egghead in a jumpsuit?”

An uncomfortable quiver moved through her, not just a cold tingle but a gurgle, an ugly, sick feeling in her stomach as she hugged herself tight. Despite the engineer being long out of sight, she couldn’t stop her gaze from drifting back towards the main paths of the city.

“... And that’s when I knew how bad it had got.”

What are you sniffling about? was the first thought that came into his head, looking over to see her hide her face by turning away. He didn’t say it, though. Even he would have to admit it was a thought that came from his prickly demeanor more than anything she’d done, and that he wouldn’t have thought anything so uncharitable had he been in a better mood.

“Just ‘cause you’re about the last person I’d want to take out on a night of drinking right now, doesn’t mean you don’t deserve help.”

With a flick of his fingers, the remains of his second cigarette described an arch through the air, across the railing, plummeting to the water below.

“Anyway, moping’s not gonna make the world right. The time for that has passed, and you know that too, otherwise you wouldn’t have come all the way over here making a fucking racket with your cart full of bottles. You’ve decided on what to do next, so now you’re gonna do it. And when you’ve accomplished that, you’re gonna decide on the next thing and complete that, on and on and on, and if you keep it up long enough, at some point you’ll find you can’t even remember why it used to be so hard.”

You deserve help. That was what came through, a rush like the swell of tears hod and freeing. She bit her lip to hold it back, though a smile still broke out. Before she could thank him again he finished and she straightened, sucking it up and doing her best to stand tall. 

“I h-hope you’re right.” She took a deep breath of the briny air, cracking her neck and looking back out on the street. “I - I’m gonna get on it, get my stuff and supplies together. Y’know, before I left, I’d, I’d thought about adding a little extension to the shack. A side with a canvas roof so I could bring some of my experiments up for more sunlight and keep off the rain.” 

The more she kept repeating he had no reason to help or humor her, the more it began to feel like she was droning up a rehearsed platitude. Like she didn’t really know why, just that it was what he wanted to hear–

He fixed a hard stare on the buildings across the water. Don’t go down that route. Don’t think about it. Think about that stupid Halloween scarecrow costume she donned once. Or those winged words of hers, ‘pants off! Birthday blowjob!’

Jesus. What a time, that was. Those were the days, huh? When she wasn’t trying to do anything but learn the customs of a world she knew nothing about. He didn’t laugh, but at least those memories prevented him from scowling.  

“Sure. I’ll be there.”

There was a few moments of hot, spiking anxiety as he looked away, eyes hard, seeming to see something else entirely. Would he change his mind? Would he dismiss her, after all? Relief, gratitude and guilt flooded in all at once at his simple confirmation. Her head dipped and she nodded, sniffling.

“Mmhmm.” DC accepted the affection and gave Darla’s shoulder a soft squeeze. “Did you want to go now? Or set a time for it? I can open up my schedule for you, sweetest.”

He waived her thanks with a shake of his head.

“Two days from now,” he determined, setting it in stone. No way back, now. “Suits me fine. I’ll have to–” let Aniya know. He swallowed the rest of that sentence. But he did need to let Aniya know, in case she figured she’d pop by and find him gone. If he radioed her ahead of time, told her he had some business during the day but would come by her place in the evening… That would work. With a bit of finagling, he might just avoid putting himself in a position where he had to tell her what he’d be doing.

Great. Perfect. It was always a marvelous idea to lie to the people whose good opinion meant most to you. Even if it was a lie of ommission.

He’d have to tell her some time.

But not now.

“I got some good quality planks, and some corrugated metal panels leftover from when I winter-proofed my place. You can have them if you think you have a use for them.”

“That’d be great. I can pick up some oil for the lamp, some abraxo for cleaning, stuff like that.” A list was slowly forming, a faint image taking shape. Home. Back on the farm. It wasn’t the right time of year to really start up again, but she could at least grow a few things in her lab, buy some preserved food to get her through the next month or two. Just for now. 

What she’d do during those months - that was another question entirely. She couldn’t hide forever. And as much as she was trying to go cold-turkey, that couldn’t last, either. 

One thing at a time.

He’d expected her to ask him that, and he gazed at her, nodding slowly.

“If you want.”

Really, this was something she ought to do alone; to conquer the first in her long list of fears without another crutch to lean on. How would she feel if she found her farm just as she left it, all fine, not a cloud in the sky? Pretty stupid, probably. Guilty, maybe, that she dragged him along. That wouldn’t help. Then again, it might inspire her to be braver next time. And if they did find something, if she got in a mood, he might be able to talk her down from it.

“We should bring some supplies. Some tools and materials. The place might’ve been looted, and parts of the shack might have suffered from neglect.”

“Y-yeah.” Okay. That was something she could do - get supplies. Clear, concrete, easy enough. “I’ll make a list and load up my wagon before we go. I’m - god, it seems so big. Just to be going home sounds like too much, but maybe, maybe it’ll be that easy. I’m so sick of Goodneighbour. I wish I’d never moved there. It was just supposed to be for a winter but everything spiralled so fast, and...”

She trailed off, hands trembling. A deep breath and she clenched them tight, letting her eyes drift shut. So many nervous fears flittering about her head like bloatflies. God, it would be good to sear them all away right now. Push away every anxiety and... no, no, no, no, no.

Home. Think about home.

“If your relationship with her is in any way sincere, she’ll want what’s best for you. Of course she won’t be mad.”

His tone was dismissive and quite final, at that. Rick didn’t give a shit about DC, just like DC would never care about anything but her own best interests. Let her get mad. Let her show Darla what this ‘relationship’ was really about. It was getting real fucking tiring to be the only one who wasn’t blind.  

“So, first order of business: You’re going back to your farm. There’s no point sitting around, worrying about what you might or might not find. You’re going to see for yourself.”

She dearly wanted to believe that. She cared about her, right? She checked in with her, bought her pretty things, offered her support and security. That was everything a partner was supposed to do, right? So it added up that she was sincere. She wouldn’t be mad. So why did her guts twist up like this at the thought?

Still, she nodded at Rick’s proposal. He made it sound so easy. And maybe - maybe it would be. There was only one way to find out. If it turned out her farm was taken or gone, she’d have nowhere else to turn, anyway, so she wouldn’t even have to have that talk with DC and all this worrying would be for nothing. If it was, she’d at least have her home back. Somewhere to run.

While she had her revelation that his insight into the subject might have come from firsthand experience, Rick took the cigarette out of his mouth and stared at the smoldering end of it. If he was feeling charitable, this might have been where he told her of his own ordeals, maybe give her some hope, let her know she wasn’t alone–

But he wasn’t feeling charitable. Not when he’d just reminded himself of her irrational hatred of the one person in this life who was more important to him than anything else. And how she might have hurt or even killed her, if she’d cared any less about his opinion.

“That’s right.” He shot her a glare, a warning not to go there. “I’m smart.” He leaned himself back, turning his gaze to the horizon instead. “So, what’s the plan? Where do you want to begin?”

Darla winced at the glare, biting back a twist of sourness. Right, okay. They weren’t doing that, whatever it was she thought she’d seen. Maybe she was mistaken, anyway. Maybe he just knew. He was smart. . 

You’d think a person made specifically to work in sciences and be the perfect lab assistant would be, too. Hah. 

Where to begin? Several moments of silence dragged before she spoke, head bowed to rest on her folded hands. “... I want to go home. Back to the farm. I want to go back to how it was.” Before complexity, before big risks, before people. “But I don’t even know if it’s mine anymore. Maybe someone else has moved in, or it’s been broken into or robbed, or something. And then...”

A hat. That was all? DC could be insulted, if she chose. All these caps at Darla’s disposal via her girlfriend, and all she wanted was a hat. Well, she supposed if Darla had any ambition or avarice, she’d be more of a problem than she was now.

“We can get you your hat, sweetheart.” DC promised immediately, all smiles. “And anything else you happen to like when we go.”

“No furniture? Treats? A security system or some cute twinkling lights? A vacation?” DC mused, smiling benignly. “You know, the things for living, not just survival, dear heart.”

Darla blanked for a moment. It had been a while since she’d thought of other sources of pleasure, of comfort, though her doctor had advised her to try. What the hell did she like? Her plants, but that wasn’t happening. Nice food, sometimes. Sex. And...

Yeah, imagine that. Raised – or made, rather – specifically to do others’ bidding. Having won her freedom and then not knowing what to do with herself when not being used to others’ ends. Another thing she had in common with Aniya, but would she want to hear that? No, of course not. She could empathize with the lowliest motherfucker to cross her path, even a broken mutant hound, but not Aniya. Never Aniya.

“Yeah, well…”

He took a deep, long drag from his cigarette.

“One thing at a time, huh? You can’t expect to tackle every problem at once.”

“... Yeah.” And there were so many problems to tackle. How to approach going back to the farm, whether she even should. How to talk to DC about it, and again, the same question. How to get control of this fear and anger in her, making it so goddamn hard to think, and worst of all, of course...

Her gaze strayed down to her right hand. She dragged her thumb over the inside of her wrist, over the still-fading mark of the cannula she’d used for the auto-injector. Then, up to the trail of Rick’s smoke. She’d actually kind of missed the smell, even if she never understood why he used them. He was so careful about radiation and stuff - why suck down cancer? She’d heard they were addictive, but -

Something clicked. Slowly, she straightened.

"I want to be myself, but I can't." You have a secret interest or a personality trait that others wouldn't like about you. You may have shown it off once, but it was received badly, and now like hell you're gonna be vulnerable like that again. You dream of the day where someone you like will act this way too and you can finally release this lock in your chest, although that's extremely unlikely. You feel disconnected from others' reality of yourself. It's very uncomfortable.

He wiped the worst of the grime and dust off the top of the crate, and sat himself down. Little more than a stub remained of his cigarette, so he dropped it, and squashed it with his foot.

Judging by the significant number of other, older and mushier dog-ends strewn about, he’d been up here a lot lately.

“Right,” he said, and lit a new cigarette. “So, you can see, then, right? That the junk you’ve been using didn’t break the circle, unlike you were saying earlier. It reinforced it, instead. Taught you that you’re helpless without it. It didn’t take the fear away. Just gave it a different shape and made it worse. It’s a crutch and crutches don’t help. They’re not meant to be relied on long-term.”

He was right. Well, of course he was. Her gaze strayed along the soggy cigarette butts littering the floor, as though looking for some hidden answer in the smears of ash. Her fingers raked up and down her arms, tense and twitchy.