#kid!sole

Deacon always observed before engaging with a potential synth.

Intel gathering was part of his job as a spy for the Railroad. First, he needed to confirm the person of interest is, in fact, a synth. He had been doing this long enough that he's gotten pretty good at guessing. After he got actual confirmation outside of his gut feeling, he had to collect information on if they knew they were a synth, who would be affected if they were found out, if they were reporting back to the Institute, etc. etc. It was a long, and quite frankly, mostly boring process that could take weeks before he could send in any significant report.

So he was pretty confident in his assessment that the kid who randomly emerged from a previously thought empty Vault and proceeded to involve herself into every known problem in issue in the Commonwealth was not a synth. Which made his job infinitely harder.

Synths with Institute code were programmed with where they needed to go, what they had to do, a schedule of sorts. Sunny Roberts had no set path. She would be at the Castle one day, then in Gray Garden the next, then she would be visiting Vault 81 for a week before heading out to the Glowing Sea. It was a nightmare trying to keep up with her and keep hidden amongst the locals. He did it, of course, but if the rest of the Commonwealth wasn't as equally invested in the Sole Survivor, he would have lost track of her months ago.

Which was why it was such a relief when the kid finally collected all the clues on the Trail of Freedom and joined their ranks as an honorary agent and liaison between the Minutemen and Railroad. While Deacon had listed her multiple achievements when he had vouched for her(many of which sounded stranger than most lies he's told. He wouldn't have believed half of them if he hadn't seen them happen with own eyes.), Desdemona had refused to clear her for any official missions. She claimed that fighting ghouls and Raiders was somehow less dangerous than fighting synths, despite the kid having taken out a courier.

“If her pre-war DNA didn't already make her a likely person of interest for the Institute, then being involved with almost every major event and faction in the last couple of months surely will,” Glory had reasoned with him later. “It's safer for her and everyone else involved if she only delivers messages between us and the Minuteman. We don't know what they would do to her, but there are fates far worse than the death that raiders would grant.”

Yes, Deacon understood. Putting the 12 year old in even more combat situations is bad. But his counterpoint: Sunny was doing that anyway. She wasn't supposed to be doing the Minuteman missions and she was never cleared for anything with the Brotherhood. She just showed up. She eavesdropped, snooped, and barged her way into dangerous missions for the Minuteman and the Brotherhood (previously). In his humble opinion, the mission ban they put on her only put her in more danger. Better to direct all her toward the less dangerous missions and keep an eye on her than let her get eaten by a super mutant.

Which is why when he was told to gather intel on a settlement called “Covenant”, he decided to take the scenic route and stop at Sanctuary. Deacon thought the assignment would be perfect to start the kid off on. Just some intel gathering in a fixed area. Low risk of her getting captured by synths and wasn't supposed to last as long as some other assignments he's had. She could even use some of those sleuthing skills she picked up from Valentine.

Sanctuary has changed a bit since it first started out. All of the debris had been removed from the street and creek and the long destroyed houses had been cleared for new ones. What houses that were still structurally sound had additions built on to accommodate everyone. Where there had once been a little playground held together by rust and termites, there was now a pretty decent field of wheat, corn, tatos, melons and other crops.

Overall, the settlement had decently grown in the past couple of months.

Deacon didn't really need a disguise around here. While no one here knew him (outside of the few companions that were allowed to accompany Sunny when she was at the Railroad base), the diverse range of settlers allowed really anyone to blend in. He was able to walk down the street and not a single person batted an eye (Except for the old lady, Mama Murphy, who gave him a knowing smile from her seat)

Sunny was easy to find with the cobalt blue of her suit that stood out like a sore thumb no matter where she was, especially with her combat armor off. She was on the side porch of her old home, scrubbing soap and water into Dogmeat's fur in an old, patched up tin tub.

“Dogmeat! No! No kisses! It's bathtime! You smell like Brahmin crap!”

“Hey, don't scold the pup,” Deacon teased. “He just wants you to join him.”

“AH!” Sunny nearly tumbled into the tub as she jumped away from him, exciting Dogmeat even further. He launched himself up on her, placing his paws on her shoulders and pushing her backwards as he licked all over her face.

“Woah!” Deacon grabbed Sunny's shoulders to keep her and Dogmeat from falling backwards. “Just wanted to drop by and say hi. Didn't mean to startle you.”

He did. He totally did.

Sunny gently pushed Dogmeat back into the water, her suit now wet from the bathwater and her face from dog slobber. Deacon could see her barely contained frustration and he wondered how long she had been fighting to get the German Shepard properly clean.

“It's fine, Mr. Deacon,” She sighed. “He would have done it on his own eventually.” She picked up an old metal can and filled it with water, pouring it over Dogmeat. Silence stretched between them as she attempted to get all the soap and remaining dirt in his surprisingly thick fur.

“Soooooo…still giving Garvey heart palpations from going on Minuteman calls?”

More water was poured. “If he doesn't want me to go on missions, he should start having them use a code on Radio Freedom.”

“Uh-huh. And when you were with the Brotherhood?”

“Both their security and morals are crap. Not my fault they make their passwords so easy, even I can break into them! And I'm terrible at breaking into them!”

“Surprised you haven't snuck your way into any Railroad mission yet,” Deacon teased. “What, does the Great Sole Survivor not feel like lending a hand to some poor synths?”

Sunny shot him glare as icy as a winter night. “First of all, you call me that again and I push you into this tub.”

Dogmeat barked in agreement.

“Second of all,” She continued. “Of course I want to help, but you guys are actually good at keeping your secret missions…well, secret! You use codes, secret messages and hidden caches! I'm not even sure if you write down anything until it's already done.”

“We don't.”

“I knew it!” She dropped the can in with as much finality and exasperation a 12 year old with braids could muster and spun around, gaze full of suspension. “Why are you here, Mr. Deacon? I know it's not to say hi. I don't think I've ever seen you outside of the Railroad base.”

She had seen him, she just didn't know it. While Sunny was aware that Deacon spied on her travels through the Commonwealth, she never recognized him in his disguises. Deacon wasn't even sure if she knew about the disguises. She had asked questions about what everyone did and who they were and everything like that but Deacon had avoided providing details like the plague so Sunny only knew what everyone else in the Railroad did: that he was a spy and a damned good one.

“I got an assignment to do some recon at this settlement a bit south from here.” Deacon said. “Covenant. For a new settlement, it's looking pretty good. I've been meaning to pay a visit. You heard of it?”

“Uuuuuhhhhhhh,” Sunny droned in thought. “I think so. It's ,like, a gated community with turrets, right? I've passed it a couple of times but I've never had a reason to go there.”

“Well, now you're gonna get up close and personal with it,” Deacon slapped a hand on her shoulder and gave a grin. “You're coming with me to investigate it.”

Sunny gave him a confused stare.

“What? I thought you guys didn't want me to go on missions.”

“Correction: Desdemona doesn't want you on missions,” he said. “Which is why we aren't gonna tell her. Better for me to supervise you on my missions than you trying to fight another courier.”

“I mean I may-”

“But first we need to find you some new clothes.”

“What?”

“You know, when you said I needed to change my clothes, I didn't think you would mean in a style that's over 200 years out of date, Mr. Deacon. I thought I would have to wear spy clothes.”

At that moment, Dogmeat decided he was done with waiting for Sunny to fully rinse him out and jumped out of the tub. Shaking his fur, he sprayed water everywhere. Now they both needed a change of clothes.

—---------------------------------

Sunny’s typical vault suit and boots had been switched out with a pink, frilly dress and black flats with knee high socks. Her duffel bag, Pip-boy and sniper rifle had been hidden in a nearby cache, along with the purple ribbon that was normally tied in a neat bow on the top of her head. Her hair had been freed from the twin braids and was left hanging loose past her shoulders. Dogmeat trotted alongside her, a worn pink collar replacing his armor, goggles and armor. Deacon wondered if she chose the collar to match her dress.

They had long left Sanctuary and were now on their way to Covenant. Deacon could see it just a little ways off, its walls sticking out awkwardly in the landscape.

“These are spy clothes, kiddo,” Deacon said. He had changed into a plaid shirt and jeans with his black wig and sunglasses set firmly in place. “Them being over two centuries old just means they match you.”

“Oh, haha,” She deadpanned. “But, seriously, why do I need to wear this? What if I get in a fight?”

“We're gathering information, eavesdropping, snooping, spying, not fighting,” He explained. “Can't really do that if everyone recognizes you as the Sole Survivor of Vault 111. If anything is going on, they'll be on guard. But if they think we're just normal settlers, they'll be less suspicious.”

“How do you know they'll recognize me?”

“Everyone will recognize you,” he said. “You have been in almost every single news story from Diamond City Radio for months and the Vaultsuit isn’t exactly conspicuous.”

“Oh.”

“And if things go south, there’s a pistol in the hidden pocket of your skirt.”

Sunny stopped and started feeling around the layers of her dress as Deacon kept walking. She let out a surprised noise when she pulled out a 5mm and 2 magazines out of an almost invisible seam on her side.

“This place is weird.”

“How did I not feel this when putting this on? How did you do that? Where did you get a dress with pockets?”

—---------------------------------

“What gave it away? The fact that everyone looks like they came from one of those old dentistry ads or the freaky questionnaire we were forced to take?

“They have lemonade, Deacon,” Sunny hissed. “Where did they get the lemons?!”

“Hush before someone hears you,” Deacon placed a hand over her mouth. Looking around, there wasn't anyone close enough to hear Sunny's harsh whispers. Most of the Covent's residents had long since gone to bed, but they had the excuse of Dogmeat to be out so late. Only one guard had stopped to question them and had accepted the explanation easily. Dogmeat had actually needed to do his business and had no problem marking the whole settlement as his territory, so that was probably why.

“You're supposed to be my kid, remember? Call me dad, or papa, or father or something like that.”

“No one is around to hear me, so I'm calling you Deacon,” Sunny said. “How did they believe you are my dad? You look way too young.”

“Thanks for the compliment, I moisturize.” Deacon joked. “And what happened to Mr. Deacon?”

“You lost that privilege that moment you called me ‘Sunshine’ to the guards,” she said seriously.

“Well, I can't exactly call you by your actual name, so I went with a nickname,” he shrugged. “Now seriously, did you find out anything?”

Sunny dug through her pocket and pulled out a note, passing it to him.

“I talked to a guy named Honest Dan. Apparently, he's investigating a missing caravan from Bunker Hill. A girl from a really important family was with them and her family hired him to find her. He thinks the people here have something to do with it and asked for help.”

Deacon glanced over the note himself, before raising an eyebrow.

“He asked you for help? Does he know who you are?”

“No, he said since me and you arrived after him, we are the only ones he knows for sure aren't involved. He just got to me first.”

Deacon nodded, stuffed the note in his pocket and pulled out a cigarette. As he lit it, Dogmeat trotted over and started sniffing along the bottom of the wall, looking for a spot he hadn't claimed as his territory.

“Trusting guy.”

“I have a trustworthy face,” Sunny said. “What can I say?”

Deacon stayed silent for a moment. While it was a good lead and need to be followed, he wasn't sure if he trusted it. No one who unironically called themselves “Honest Dan” was truly honest.

Sunny dug further into her pocket and pulled out another piece of paper.

“Also I got this.”

Deacon took it more incredulously. The paper had a random word scrawled across it with nothing else. He chewed on his cigarette and raised his eyebrow again, but with more judgment.

“Aaaannnndd what are these?”

Sunny smiled. “That's the pass code to the terminal inside that building with the cell over there. I took it from the shopkeeper.”

Deacon held back a laugh as he stuffed the note and key in his pocket with the other one.

“Damn. Now I see why Valentine hired you.”

Deacon woke up the next morning to Sunny already gone. A note had been stuck to his face that said, “helping Dan with that favor. Go on ahead.”

“Thanks. Hancock and Mac have been teaching me how to pickpocket…. Don't tell Codsworth.”

—---------------------------------

A bit too obvious for his liking but it was vague enough where no one would question it to much if they saw it. He wasn't sure what else Sunny was investigating, but she had done a good job on her own yesterday. She would be fine on her own for a bit.

He was further along one day into this investigation than he normally was in one week. Guess having an extra set of eyes and ears helps more than he thought. Deacon had seen how fast Sunny worked, but he didn't think it would apply to espionage. It was like the universe forgot to give her an off switch. She was constantly going, constantly doing, only stopping if she had to sleep or wait for something else. Maybe two centuries of sleep in an ice box just gave her an endless reserve of energy.

It took until roughly midday for an opening for him to get into the building. Until then, he had to make polite small talk with the settlers (They now thought Sunny’s name was Jessie, she was born when Deacon was a teenager and her mother had ran off with a guard from Goodneighbor) and drink a few cans of lemonade (Getting something non-irradiated to drink was a rare treat, he was taking advantage of it, mystery lemons be damned). It only took a minute of everyone else going to get their lunch and the guards looking the right way for him to slip inside. It was nicely decorated, with a bookshelf, couches and even a rug. If it wasn’t for the cell to the side, he would have thought it was just an office.

Deacon didn’t know how much time he had in here, so the terminal took priority. Punching in the password, the neon green letters sparked to life across the screen. The first thing available were personnel files on the settlers here. The details on what the settlement was doing was vague, but almost all of them mentioned a mission and a Compound of some sort. The second file was the important one. It was a draft of a message that he guessed was supposed to be sent soon and deleted off the terminal completely, but had been left unfinished for unknown reasons. It said that Mr.Huntley had to abort runs to the Compound at the Mystic Pines’ Pond. Whatever was going on here was centered around there.

“Deacon!”

“Fucking sh-!” Deacon jumped up and away in surprise as his foot caught on the rug and he landed with a rather harsh thud.

“What the fuck kid?” he whispered harshly. “Where did you even come from? I haven’t seen you anywhere all day.”

Sunny held up a stealthboy with an apologetic smile.

“Sorry,” she said. “I snuck out the front gate super early so no one could see me. I was trying to track where that caravan Honest Dan mentioned went. I didn’t wake you because I figured you wanted to stay and check out the terminal, but I had to grab my stealthboy on my way back to sneak back in. It only wore off just now. I’ve been reading over your shoulder for almost five minutes.”

Deacon sighed and pushed himself up, rubbing his bruised tailbone. “I kinda deserve that, I guess. Did you find the caravan?”

“Only what’s left of them,” Sunny pulled an empty can of Deezer’s lemonade out of her dress pocket. “I found them all dead just northeast of here. Looks like they were ambushed or something. I found this in their cooler so they were definitely here, but Amelia Stockton, the girl Honest Dan is looking for and was supposed to be with them, her body wasn’t there. So either someone moved her corpse within a very short timeframe for no reason or she’s still alive.”

“And I bet that she’s being held at whatever compound these creeps have at Mystic Pines’ Pond,” Deacon said.

“Should we tell Honest Dan or go in on our own?” she asked.

Deacon hesitated. Technically, he wasn’t supposed to engage right now. He was doing recon, gathering information. He had the information now, so he should report back to the Railroad and have another agent sent in that was equipped to handle whatever the problem was. Maybe even inform the Minutemen since he hadn’t found any confirmation that synths were being targeted here. He was already likely to get in trouble if someone (likely Glory) found out he had brought Sunny with him on a mission. He could only imagine how much trouble he would get in if he brought her into an actual fight, despite her being able to handle it.

“Deacon?” Sunny whispered, lips turning down in confusion. “We are going, right? She needs help, we can’t just leave her.”

Deacon looked into Sunny’s wide eyes. The kid was so trusting, but she didn’t know him. No one at the Railroad knew him outside of the work he did. Her stare felt like she couldn’t believe he was hesitating, like she knew he was supposed to help. Maybe she only trusted him because he was part of the Railroad, but something in him nagged to show that she was right. Deacon wasn’t sure if anyone had ever just… assumed he was a good guy. Even other agents were weary of his secretive ways and lying tongue. It took years for most to understand that even if he held his cards close to his chest, he was trying to do the right thing.

Sunny seemed to immediately get that and he was grateful for it.

Deacon had formed an idea in his head on what the Compound looked like. Guards, obviously. Probably a bunch of chems and booze everywhere. None of the files had stated what its "mission" exactly was, but if they were attacking caravans and kidnapping girls, he guessed some type of slaver operation, so some cages or cells were expected. While slaves weren't as common in the Commonwealth as they were in ,say, the Capital Wasteland, but there were more than a couple individuals that had the power to buy one, and there was enough demand to make a profit from transporting slaves out of the Commonwealth.

“Tell Dan,” he sighed. “I’m gonna need back up and you are staying hidden with that Stealthboy, got it?”

—---------------------------------

He wasn’t expecting the twisting mess of tunnels and pipes that twisted and turned at every step. When the head guard escorted him and Honest Dan through the Compound, (He could only assume Sunny was either following nearby or had snuck in further. There was no way for him to keep track of her with her Stealthboy.) he had seen evidence of some sort of experiments going on, with people as the test subjects. Whatever it was looked way more complicated than a slaver operation.

Dr. Chambers was the nutcase behind it all. She had made the weird entrance questionnaire they were made to answer in an effort to create a perfect way to identify synths and kill them off. She would use the questions to form a “baseline” and then torture her victims to get the results she wanted. She claimed that Amelia Stockton was a synth, and that even if she wasn’t, she knew too much about the operation to be released.

“I’ll make you a deal. If you let me dispose of Stockton’s synth and continue our work, I’ll match whatever reward you were offered.”

“I’ve had my fill of crazy on this contract,” Dan said with a sneer. “No deal.”

“Fortunately for me, I wasn’t talking to you.” Chamber replied coldly.

Dan opened his mouth to bark another insult, but was cut off by the sound of a gunshot cracking through the air. Chambers stumbled forward as the bullet went through her left shoulder, blood gushing out and staining her white lab coat. Sunny appeared up above her on the ledge, rage painting her face as her body shook. If it was from the anger or the force of the 5mm, Deacon couldn’t tell.

“FUCK YOU, ASSHOLE!” Sunny yelled, pulling the trigger again.

This shot was less steady, only grazing Chamber’s arm. Deacon and Dan pulled their own weapons out as quickly as they could, but the head guard had retaliated at the same time, shooting up at Sunny as Chambers swung with her gun at the two men. Sunny cried out in pain as it went through her right shoulder higher and farther from her chest than Chamber’s wound. She crumbled to the ground, dropping her gun as she tried to both hold the rail in front of her and press down on the wound.

The guard went down in only a few shots and Chambers even less.

“Get the kid.” Honest Dan said as soon as the fight was over. He reached into his pocket and tossed a stimpak to Deacon. “I’ll get Stockton and we can get out of this creepshow.”

Deacon took two steps at a time to get to Sunny. The kid was tough, she had taken hits before, but before she had either thick leather or hard combat armor over her vault suit to protect her from significant injuries. Her preference for sniping and stealth and her ever rotating sets of body guards had been even more protection. She had snapped bones, been horribly bruised from bullets and probably permanently messed up her shoulder from her rifle, but Deacon wasn’t sure if she ever had a bullet wound.

His first priority was getting the bullet out. Sunny had gotten herself into a sitting position, but was curled in on herself with both hands pressing against the wound. Snot and tears were dripping down her face as she tried to bite back whimpers and hiccups of pain. The pink dress had a blooming flower of red covering its top, ruining it forever. Deacon pushed on her uninjured shoulder as gently as he could to force her to sit up straight and give him access to the injury.

“Hold on a sec, kid.” Deacon assured her. “I’ll get you sorted as soon as I get the bullet out.”

“With what?!” Sunny cried in a mix of pain and anger.

“Pair of pliers.” he answered, digging through his pockets. The pliers were mostly used to pick locks on the rare occasion he needed to, but they should work.

“Is it gonna hurt?”

Deacon looked into Sunny’s eyes, hoping to invoke the same trust from earlier through his sunglasses.

“Yeah, it’s gonna hurt, but I can’t give you a stimpak until we get it out. Can’t exactly return you to the Minutemen with an extra pound of metal in ya.”

“Not the time for jo-AAHHK!” Deacon had brought the old pliers into Sunny’s wound, touching raw nerves as he tried to find the bullet embedded in her flesh.

The hardest part was getting a grip on the bullet because it was so slippery from blood and Sunny kept squirming in pain. Once Deacon had pulled the hunk of metal out of the pre-teen, it was easy to inject her with a stimpak and watch as the flesh and skin knitted itself back together. Sunny had stayed in the same spot as Deacon gathered files from the nearby terminal, only forcing herself up once he was finished. Deacon wasn’t sure why no more guards had come in following the gunshots, but he didn’t intend to stick around and find out.

“Sorry,” he said, “Had to distract you to get these in. It’s still gonna hurt so brace yourself.”

—---------------------------------

Sunny stayed close to Deacon, Honest Dan and Amelia as they exited. Once back in the open air, Dan had dropped a sizable number of caps in his hand, telling the pair to stay safe before leaving to escort Amelia back to Bunker Hill. Sunny stayed silent and near even once they were left alone and walking back to get their supplies from the cache. She let out an occasional groan or whimper of pain from the residual pain from the now closed wound and stimpak shot.

They were about halfway to the cache when she finally spoke.

“Are you mad?”

Deacon wasn’t mad. He was thinking. Covenant was a much bigger issue than anyone thought it was going to be and he would have to report that the whole town was an operation to capture synths. Considering how many settlers had likely become victims to Chamber’s crazy operation, it was an issue for both the Minutemen and the Railroad. While he could easily omit that Sunny was there when sending intel to just the Railroad, he couldn’t as easily avoid it in a report that mobilized action against a whole settlement.

He wasn’t mad though. He appreciated the passion and drive for action. The Railroad needed that. Sunny just needed to learn to control her impulses, to keep that passion under wraps when the situation called for it. She wouldn’t be the first agent to be shot on a mission and she wouldn’t be the last. She had back up when she was down and, overall, everything went as well as he could have hoped for.

“Nope,” Deacon said. “Just surprised how angry you got.”

“Yeah, it’s just….its seems like so many people are treating other people like they don’t matter. Like only people just like them are people and the rest are just…expendable. VaultTec did it, the Brotherhood does it, the Institute does it, I guess all my anger just came out at once.”

Deacon laughed. “Happens to the best of us, Sunny. Just means you have a heart. You did good, we just need to work on keeping a cool head for next time.”

“Really?” she brightened. “Does that mean you won’t tell Codsworth and Mr. Preston I got myself shot?”

“Oh, no. I’m definitely telling them.”

Sunny’s face immediately fell in fear. “Come on!”

“No dice, kid. You got to face the consequences of your actions.”

Robert Joseph MacCready fully believed he would have died if he hadn’t had Little Lamplight as a kid. He had learned and perfected how to shoot there, he learned to lead and work with others, and he could keep his cool in dangerous situations that left others crapping their pants. He treasured the home he could never go back to in his heart, though he would never say that out loud.

There were a lot of places he loved that he couldn’t go back to. Little Lamplight, the farm, anywhere Duncan was right now. It sucked being away from that last one, but it was for the best. Until he could get in Med-Tek, RJ had to keep sending money for his continued care.

There wouldn't be any money to send if he didn't get a job soon. Wintlock and Barlow were making that pretty difficult though. They scared off any potential jobs with threats of violence and bodily harm. If that didn't work, actual violence seemed to do the trick.

The two were here right now, yacking up a storm and being a giant headache for the gun for hire. He had heard their threats a hundred times and he had heard them a thousand times from others before them. Maybe if they threated him with something new, like, tying him up to a dock so birds can peck his eyes out or something. Then he would pay attention. But no, it was all gunfire and them hunting him down and stabbing him in the back and all that sort of stuff. He came up with more creative threats when he was going through puberty.

The two knuckleheads finally seemed to exhaust themselves and leave him alone for today. RJ leaned his head back against his seat, tired of his situation.

As cliche as their threats were, they weren't idle ones. Eventually they would get fed up with scaring off his clientele and decide to just off him. While he could outshoot any of them, he was sure, RJ knew he didn't have the bullets or armor needed to take on the whole group in an ambush.

And that's what gunners did best. Ambushes.

“Ruff!”

RJ opened his eyes and looked down, frowning.

There was a dog in here. Why was a dog in here?

It had to belong to someone. The doorman wouldn't just let any random stray in. Besides, the pooch looked way too well cared for. His fur was all brushed and clean. There was a neat little red bandana tied around his neck with a pair of goggles for his eyes. He even had a set of dog armor painted a Minuteman blue.

Oh, and the teddy bear he held in his mouth. RJ had seen fistfights break out between toddlers over those things, so whichever kid gave him that really loved this dog.

“Uuuuuhhhh, hi?”

The dog set the bear on RJ's lap. Guess he wanted to play. The Lone Wanderer had brought her dog a few times when RJ was still the Mayor of Little Lamplight. She was one of the few mungos allowed in the town, though she could only stay overnight on a special occasion. When she did, the mutt would be showered in pets, jugs, cuddles, and playtime by all of the less reserved Lamplighters. He even snuck in a pet and a hug on occasion whenever no one was looking. He hoped her and her dog were doing good, wherever they are.

Anyone who could put up with foul-mouthed, preteen MacCready deserved a good ending.

This dog was more impatient than Lone's dog, shoving the plush further up his lap using its snout. Rj guessed he wasn't getting out of this one. He picked up the slightly damp bear and tossed it across the room. The dog's feet nearly slipped out from under himself as the canine spun around to chase after the teddy.

He threw the bear back and forth a few times, watching the dog nearly trip over himself running after it. It was a nice activity to forget about how royally screwed he was if he didn’t find a job soon. He changed directions slightly, throwing the plush at the door. It bounced off the door into the hallway and disappeared out of sight, the dog disappearing along with it.

A solid thud echoed down into the room, followed by a high pitched voice shouting, “OW! DOGMEAT!”

Whoops. Looks like he did have an owner.

The dog came trotting back, teddy in mouth, seemingly uncaring of whomever he just knocked down. A kid followed close behind, an annoyed expression on her face as she rubbed her tailbone in pain. RJ lifted his eyebrows in surprise as he took a sip of beer, while he didn’t think a dog would be allowed in, he knew a kid would normally never be let in.

He took note of the important features of the kid. Vault suit and too big combat armor, sniper rifle, two twin braids, and an impressive height for her age. RJ would bet good money this was the “Sole Survivor” kid he has been hearing so much about over the radio. Only reason he could think of why any child would come to the Third Rail.

“I’m guessing you were the one to throw that?” she asked, sounding more annoyed than angry.

“Yep,” he answered, popping the p. “And I guess you’re his owner?”

“Yep,” she mimicked, “Sorry if he was bothering you Mr. MacCready. He normally doesn’t wander that far from me.”

“Nah, it’s alright, kid, he didn’t do anything. I’m just surprised either of you were allowed in.”

The girl smiled sheepishly as she kneeled down to pet Dogmeat, who decided he had enough of fetch and was now just lying down lazily at her feet. “Ham warned me that he better not see me take even a sniff of booze, or he would throw me out and never let me back in,” she shrugged. “Since I normally come here for business, it hasn’t been a problem yet.” 

What business could the Sole Survivor have in the Third Rail? According to the Radio, she worked all over the place. Minutemen, Brotherhood of Steel, Detective Valentine in Diamond City, kid was seen everywhere with everyone, but Goodneighbor held its own pretty well. There wasn’t a need for Minutemen patrols, and everyone would rather shoot their own foot than live under the Brotherhood’s rules. Maybe a lead for Valentine? He dealt with missing person’s all the time, and if he wanted to disappear, RJ would stop by Goodneighbor.

“What kind of business? You sellin’ girl scout cookies?” He joked. No need to poke his nose where it doesn’t belong if he’s not getting paid, but some light teasing on the kid couldn’t hurt.

Her smile turned into an annoyed frown again. “No, but I’ll have you know I was a Junior Scout.” RJ had no idea what that was. She stood up and pulled her duffle bag around to her front. “I am here on Minuteman business.” Unzipping her bag, she dug around in it a bit before pulling out a large tin and setting it on the table between them. It rattled from what sounded like a large amount of caps.

Now RJ had to poke his nose where he didn’t belong. Sitting up closer, he narrowed his eyes at the Sole survivor and slowly pulled the tin closer. Popping the lid off, his suspicions were confirmed.

“Didn’t know that the Minutemen were hiring mercenaries now.”

“Typically, we don’t.” she replied. “But we need another sniper for this next mission. A good one. I can’t cover the area on my own, and from what I heard; you’re the best.”

“Can’t argue with that,” he smugly agreed. “What’s the job?”

“Technically, I’m hiring you for two jobs,” she clarified. “The first one is at the Castle. The Minutemen want to reclaim it, and your job is to help. The second one is a job for me. I can’t be traveling as the only sniper in my group all the time, so I need you to do that. You will get a wage for that job, since it's long-term.”

RJ was conflicted. On one hand, a steady wage was infinitely better than a one and done job. A steady stream of caps and the Minutemen at his back sounded like a perfect deal to him. On the other hand, he wasn’t sure he felt comfortable following this kid around. While Mayor Mac would have thought she was the coolest and wanted her as a guard for Little Lamplight, RJ was a father now and even if she was much older than Duncan, it didn’t seem right for her to be walking into an active battle.

“Seems a little strange for the Minutemen to be letting their little mascot run into the direct line of fire. I don’t think it would reflect well on them if something happened.”

She grinned happily, “Technically, I’m not supposed to be on any missions not involving my brother, but I show up anyway. Mr. Preston doesn’t like it, but he can’t exactly stop me.”

RJ laughed. Whoever “Preston” was, guess his presence was going to be a surprise to him.

“Alright, Boss. Robert Joseph Macready, at your service.”

“Great to have you, Mr. MacCready. I’m Sunny Roberts.”

______________________________________________________________

“When you said ‘reclaim’, I thought you meant, like, raiders or something!”

“That’s what I thought when Mr.Preston talked about it!”

Preston Garvey had a remarkably calm reaction when Sunny had shown up, despite the fact she wasn’t supposed to know about the mission at all. RJ had assumed he would have been at least concerned she had brought along a complete stranger, but that was an apparently common occurrence.

“Sunny has a way with people. You’ll see the more you hang around. Besides, I can’t exactly complain about her having supervision if she insists on running around the Commonwealth.”

Garvey had Sunny and RJ positioned on opposite sides on the castle walls before anyone else. In order to clear out the mirelurks on top, Sunny had taken the creative approach of throwing molotov cocktails into their nests, burning them and their eggs to explosive crisps. Once they were cleared, they helped with the mirelurks down below. Their shells were too tough and covered too much for them to take them out, so they had to pick off the eggs and little ones crawling around so the Minutemen down below could focus on the adults. Sunny had pretty good aim, not as good as his of course, but RJ could admit that she could handle a gun (or explosive) pretty well.

When the Mirelurk Queen had emerged from the waters, everyone still alive was forced to retreat inside the walls. Sniping from inside was impossible, as the windows were wide open, leaving anyone vulnerable to its disgusting acid spit.

RJ had tried anyway. The farthest possible window had enough distance from the Mirelurk Queen that she didn’t notice him, instead focusing on Garvey and Sunny. Sunny stayed within the walls of the structure, poking out to take a couple shots and disappearing again from the window, even moving a couple times when the Queen got too close to the wall. Garvey seemed to have a death wish, standing way too close and moving way too slow to properly dodge any acid. How he hadn’t gotten burned beyond recognition was beyond RJ. At least the two minutemen still living kept a more reasonable distance.

Sunny slid over to him from the next window. She had long ditched her duffel bag on one of the upper walls, and her sniper rifle was slung over her shoulder. Her hair had completely fallen out of her braids and she was gripping something in her hands.

“Can you shoot this?”

That was flamer fuel. She had found a whole canister.

“Does this look like a Flamer to you? Where did you even find that?!”

“We are in a fort. There is ammo everywhere! I'm surprised there isn’t more!” Sunny yelled back. The Queen turned around as Preston reloaded his musket. Now RJ could see the ugly, bug-like face as it split and sprayed acid at the Minutemen. “There is a flamer on the wall back there. I can’t move it.”

RJ checked out the window. The Mirelurk Queen hadn’t noticed them, being too focused on the Minutemen shooting right next to her. They would have to be a lot closer for them to set her on fire.

“Where is it?”

RJ hated shooting flamers. They were unwieldy, near impossible to aim, and could easily burn you as much as your enemy. If it got too hot, it could burn the skin off your hands. He had watched them blow up like bombs after shooting through them. It was like no thought outside of “fire” was used when making them. Squirrel had explained to him years ago how faulty the design is, but all that mattered right now was how much damage it could do.

The flamer had just been left on the wall, like a terrible reverse fire extinguisher. RJ grabbed it and headed toward the opposite side, Sunny on his heels. The Mirelurk Queen was in the perfect position, back toward a window and the Minutemen keeping her pinned there.

One of the Minutemen went down. The acid spit had hit his hands, causing him to drop his gun as he crumpled to the ground in pain. RJ attached the fuel to the flamer as fast as he could.

“Mr. Preston! MOVE!”

Garvey only gave a brief glance at Sunny, taking in both her and the flamer in RJ’s hands before taking another shot. He looked back to give her a serious nod then ordered the other two Minutemen to back up and cover him as he picked up the injured man in a trained fireman’s carry.

Free of any potential friendly fire, RJ pulled the trigger and immediately felt the wave of heat from the flames. The Mirelurk Queen let out a disgusting sounding screech as she was set ablaze, immediately turning toward the source of her pain. RJ dropped the flamer and grabbed Sunny’s arm, pulling her down and away from the quick stream of acid. 

The bright green liquid hit the back of his neck as he turned, trying to take cover.

Whatever he had said about flamers burning skin, this was one hundred times worse. It felt like it was trying to eat its way through his skin to get inside his throat and maybe come out the other side.

Just like the Minuteman before, RJ immediately lost his footing and fell in pain. He didn’t get the luxury of normal ground as his head collided with the edge of the windowsill then met the unforgiving hot metal of the flamer. His vision started to blur from the rapid pain. Just his luck for something like this to happen right in the middle of a fight.

“Mr. MacCready!”

______________________________________________________________

RJ first noticed how bright it was when he woke up. It had been night when he was knocked unconscious but the light now was too bright for his aching head. He squinted his eyes open, trying to adjust, before turning his head away from the light source completely and shutting his eyes again.

He could tell he was on a cot of some sort. Old, moldy, and smelt like the inside of his boot, but more comfortable than the ground ever could be. Where was he?

He slowly cracked open one eye and was met with the wonderful view of gray stone inches from his face. Well, better than the harsh sunlight. Most places in the Commonwealth weren’t made of solid stone. They were made from rotten wood, rusted sheet metal, or crumbling bricks, so RJ could guess he was still in the Castle.

He could hear the faint murmurs of other people talking and working. If he focused, he could make out Garvey giving orders to the others. 

Fully adjusting to the light, he attempted to roll over and hissed in regret as his skin burned in protest. The burned skin was protected under some banadaging, but it still felt like it would split and peel at any stretch or movement.

“Careful,” Sunny warned, stepping in from outside. “The stimpaks prevented any lasting damage but it's still going to burn for a while.”

She gently helped RJ sit up in the cot, giving him time to look around while she checked the bandages. They were in the hallway still, the spare cot being against the wall opposite of an doorway into the courtyard. Explained all the light, RJ guessed. He could see a recruitment beacon and radio tower being fussed over by the minutemen right in the middle of the Castle, though he personally would have been more worried about the missing wall in their fortress.

“Uhhh, kid? How long was I out?” he asked. “There's no way you guys built all that together in under an hour, so my guess is a while.”

Sunny paused her fussing over the bandages before restarting. “Just a few hours,” she answered truthfully. “You hit your head pretty hard. It probably did more damage than the acid or the heat from the Flamer, if I’m honest. The stimpaks should prevent any lasting damage, but Mr. Preston said to keep an eye on you just in case.”

Deciding that the bandages were fine, Sunny stepped away from the bed and gave RJ a tight smile. It was different from the bright ones she seemed to have back at the Third Rail. It was worried and shaken like she didn’t know what to do with herself now.

Her duffle bag was discarded in the opposite corner, the only other object in the room outside of the cot. Sunny made herself busy with it, undoing the zipper and searching for seemingly nothing at all.

“Sorry I got you hurt so badly,” she said, voice withdrawn. “I understand if you don’t want to take the other job. I’ll still pay you for this one, plus extra to make up for the injuries.”

RJ sat up straighter. No way was he passing up a good steady job over some light burns. Duncan needed those caps and he wasn’t about to let this girl withdraw her offer out of guilt or whatever she was beating herself up over.

“I’ve gotten worse injuries from falling down a hill, Boss.” he joked, trying to lighten the mood of the conversation. The life he lived was dangerous, but everyone’s life was dangerous. He had gotten himself in major danger for caps before, and he would likely do it again. At least with Sunny and the Minutemen, he wouldn’t get stabbed in the back or forced into fighting innocent civilians. He would never join the Minutemen, too tight laced for his tastes. Working for the Minutemen though? He could live with that. “Figured I was gonna take some heat when I agreed to storm the Castle. It’s part of being a gun for hire.”

Comforting your child boss about your own injuries wasn’t typically part of being a gun for hire, but it strangely wasn’t the weirdest thing he has had to do. Sunny finally stopped digging around in her duffle bag and pulled out a can of Iguana bits. Pulling a face, she pulled the tab to open the can and passed it to him. 

“Here,” she said. “Sorry we don’t have anything else, but food is limited here right now until we can get enough people for a good farm.”

“Ehh, not the first time I had to drink my meal.”

She watched as RJ ate the chunks of mystery meat and veggies, covered in cold bland gravy. Wiping his mouth with his sleeve, he started again. 

“Seriously Boss, as long as you're paying and not a psychopath, I’m willing to take a lot worse than this.” 

“That doesn’t mean I want you to,” Sunny answered. Her uneven shoulders drooped and she flopped on the bed, sitting right at his feet. “So many people are helping me get around the Commonwealth, teaching me how things work now, how to survive, following me on missions.”

“Sounds like a good gig. You get a bunch of babysitters and you get to run around playing the Hero of the Commonwealth.”

“I’m not a hero, though.” Sunny stated, starting to sound annoyed. “I just wanna help, like Dad taught me. I don't want them to die for me. I already lost enough.”

There hadn’t been much mention of the Sole Survivor’s parents over the radio, only that she was from Vault 111. Judging from the nickname “Sole Survivor”, her constantly rotating companions, and no one else around wearing a Vault 111 suit, he had a pretty good guess on what happened to her dad.

RJ opened his mouth to reply but was interrupted by Garvey entering from the outside, a crate of supplies tucked under his arm.

“Good to see you awake, you took a nasty hit back there,” he said, seemingly not realizing his interruption. Sunny schooled her face into a more pleasant expression. “Honestly, getting knocked out may have saved your life. The burning you got was pretty minimal, so we think the Queen thought you were dead and turned her attacks to her ‘alive’ attackers before she could burn you to death.”

“Lucky me,” RJ deadpanned before remembering. “Hey, how did you not get burned? You got drenched in the stuff.”

Garvey gave a sheepish grin while tipping his hat back. “Apparently, Mirelurk acid isn’t really acid, it's a type of venom that reacts violently when in contact with anything living. No reaction at all on clothes. Since I’m mostly covered, it didn’t have as much of a target and I got lucky enough that it didn’t splatter on my face.”

RJ almost didn’t believe it, looking at Sunny for confirmation. She shrugged. “I don’t really get how that works either. Dr. Vergil explained it to me, but I never was a science person.”

Garvey ruffled Sunny’s hair briefly before turning his attention back to MacCready. He inwardly groaned as he saw a bright gleam in the Minuteman’s eye. He knows where this was going.

“You have a lot of talent the Minutemen could use, MacCready.” he started. “You ever think about joining the cause?”

MacCready waved him off good-naturedly. “Nah, man. You don’t want me in your ranks, trust me. I’m good just taking your caps for babysitting duty.”

“Hey!” Sunny interjected. “I’m the one paying you! Those are my caps buster!”

Preston's smile got wider. Guess reclaiming the Castle put him in a good mood. “Sunny’s right. She does earn her own caps. Can’t exactly tell her what she can and can’t do with them.”

“Somehow, I feel like she still pays better than you.”

Preston stayed for a little longer, telling Sunny that she received a message from the Brotherhood (which she didn’t look too thrilled about) and that they would be leaving for Sanctuary tomorrow after everything was set here.

After he left, Sunny had pulled out two Nuka Colas, handing one to him. They sat in silence for a bit before she spoke.

“So I guess you’re staying?”

“Yep,” he answered. “As long as you're still paying.”

“Yeah, I’m paying,” she chuckled. “But I’m adding to our agreement, MacCready.”

“What is it?” he immediately asked, then added. “And what happened to ‘mister’?”

“I’m paying you, so that means I’m in charge. You have to listen to what I say. And I say you are not allowed to get hurt anymore.”

Sunny had said it in a teasing tone, trying to make the situation light like he had earlier. But he could see it in her eyes. The fear. The desperation. That guilt that didn’t fit someone so young. He didn’t know exactly what made her so afraid of the people around her getting hurt, but he couldn’t add to that terrible shine.

“Alright, boss. No more getting hurt.”

She smiled and nodded, taking another sip of Nuka before leaning back contently. Silence came over them again, more comfortably this time.

Detective Nick Valentine always liked kids. When he first came to Diamond City, the kids were the only ones to talk to him, asking questions he didn’t have answers for and telling him what he didn’t know about the Commonwealth. Even now, the kids of Diamond City would randomly approach to ask questions about his latest case or news outside the city Piper didn’t deem necessary to write about. His status as a publicly-known, easily-seen, prototype synth ironically gave the parents of Diamond City a peace of mind when he was with the kids. He was already a synth, so there was no worry of him being replaced by one. Even if he was, he had so much wear and tear, there was no way it wouldn’t be noticeable. So no one was worried when the kids ducked into the agency to avoid a rainstorm. Well, except Myrna, who had a problem with Nick's general existence.

______________________________________________________________

Even the original Nick was good with kids, regularly being the one placed in charge of kids to ask gentle questions or provide a distraction until a parent or social worker could take over. Bubblegum and candy had taken permanent residence in his pockets so he could pass them out. His friends and fellow cops had told him he would make a great father. When he first started out, he would just laugh them off, saying he works too much to have a kid. After he met Jenny, the teasing jokes increased and he would have to ignore the pleasant images in his head and the warm, subtle blush on his stern face.

Then Jenny was shot, and the jokes stopped, and any idea of fatherhood had disappeared long ago.

Now, his dislike of gang leaders like Winters had not decreased from that terrible night. Skinny Malone had nowhere near the power of Winters, but he had the same ego. Nick wasn’t sure what exactly Darla saw in the gangster, but his best guess was his promise of caps and power that had blinded the young woman from his cigar breath and bad temper. Not that her’s was any better.

The no-name mobster that was guarding Nick was just as bad. He would yell out taunts or threats and get annoyed when Nick ignored him and get annoyed when Nick did respond. He was sure the guy was compensating for something, but the annoying bastard was sadly right. He didn’t have any way of getting out of this office, and rescue wasn’t likely coming. He was at the mercy of Skinny Malone’s twisted whims.

He picked up the very slightest scrape of a door. All the vaults had these fancy sliding doors that barely made any noise. Lot easier on the audio processor than the rusted, broken doors more commonly found in the rest of the Commonwealth. Nick expected the rough yells of another triggerman coming to tell his current guard it was time to switch off or that Skinny has finally decided to stop wasting time and off the detective.

Instead, he heard nothing. Just the poorly made threats echoing through the empty, wide open room. Nick slowly slid his eyes around what he could see from the window. White metal walls, white metal railings, and white metal railings. Same as it was when he was first locked in this office.

There. A flash of red, before disappearing on the stairs. Definitely not triggermen. They preferred to wear reclaimed suits from before the war in blacks and checkered patterns. Nick wasn’t sure who this person was, but they were the closest thing Nick has had a chance of getting out of here.

“Keep talking, meathead. It'll give Skinny Malone more time to think about how he's going to bump you off,” Nick insults back at the wannabe mobster. He was pulling words out of thin air, but he needed this guy out of here. As the triggerman sputtered out a retort, Nick added detail to his lie in his head.

“Really? I saw him writing your name down in that black book of his. Lousy cheating card shark I think were his exact words. Then he struck the name across three times.” That was how Skinny Malone kept track of everything. His men, money, people he killed, where he was wanted. Everything was kept in a little, black book that was dwarfed by Skinny’s large fingers, and everyone knew what those three strikes meant. Three strikes and you’re out.

The triggerman panicked at the suggestion and ran off. Good. That’s one obstacle out of the way. Now for the door.

“Hey, you. I don't know who you are, but we got three minutes before ole' muscles-for-brains comes back. Get this door open.” He yelled through the window. Running toward the terminal, He saw that there were actually three people.

He was relieved to see Piper. A few times he had asked her for assistance, and even more she had invited herself on a case. Nick remembered when she first came to Diamond City, little Nat in tow. A teenager who had a gleam of determination in her eyes that hasn’t gone away as an adult. While she was as subtle as an atom bomb sometimes, she had her heart in the right place.

A minuteman took watch at the door the triggerman had left through. Nick hadn’t seen one for awhile. When Nat had shown up at his door early one morning, personally delivering a copy of a certain story to each member of the city, Nick knew it was important. He dropped a few caps in the girl's hand, then sat in his chair reading about the death of Quincy over and over until Ellie had woken up. He had passed the paper to her solemnly and neither of them had spoken for the rest of the day. Nick didn’t know if this one was involved, but he didn’t trust him to watch his back.

Whoever the third person was, they ran to the terminal too fast for a good look on who they were. He just caught their shorter stature and a bright blue. His guess was a vault dweller. They were the only ones who wore such a vibrant color. This vault had never been completed, so he guessed they were from vault 81, since it was the only operational vault to his knowledge.

“Hey, Valentine,” Piper greeted through the thick glass. “You got Ellie all worked up thinking you’re dead.”

“I’ll give her a day off once you and your friends get me out of here,” He promised. His gaze flicked to the minuteman. “Do I know these guys?”

Piper followed his eyes, “No, met them earlier. Don’t worry, he was with Colonel Holis when Quincy fell.”

Good enough for him.

The sound of the terminal going off and the click of the lock interrupted any further conversation. “I got it, Miss Piper!” the third person spoke. The voice sounded young. They rushed in quickly, Piper coming in after the previously unseen third member of the party.

Looks like he was right. The kid couldn’t have been more than a few years older than Nat. She was all awkward limbs and too-big armor. The yellow-gold lettering on her suit said 111 instead of 81, so he was wrong about that. He had never heard of Vault 111, but it may have opened up in the time he was locked up in here. That didn’t explain what the kid was doing or what the hell Piper was thinking bringing her here.

Nor did it explain the laser rifle in her hands, or the sniper rifle slung haphazardly to her back.

The kid seemed surprised by his appearance, probably not stopping to register it when she was hacking the terminal. Her eyes widened in shock at his appearance and her nostrils flared as she attempted to school her face into a polite neutral expression. He appreciated the attempt at least. Most people would either freak out or spit insults in shock.

Deciding to wait and see what explanation she had, Nick lit a cigarette. He couldn’t actually breathe in the smoke or feel the effects of the nicotine, but it was a habit from the original Nick that he had never been able to properly shake. Guess addictions ran deeper than just physical.

“Gotta love the irony of the reverse damsel-in-distress scenario,” he said, “Question is, why did our heroine risk life and limb for an old private eye?”

“My brother was kidnapped,” the vault girl answered, “You’re my only lead on finding him, so here I am. How did you get in here?” She said it with such ease that Nick wondered if she realized how strange this scenario was. Not that he had any room to comment.

“A missing kid, huh? Well, you came to the right man. If not the right place.” Missing people were sadly a dime a dozen in his line of work. Kidnapped kids, sneaking spouses, and turbulent teenagers would disappear and their loved ones would come to Nick Valentine, the Synth Detective. The cases didn’t always end the same way. Sometimes he simply brought back a runaway who overestimated their skills and underestimated the Commonwealth, dragging them to their crying mothers or upset fathers. Other times, he revealed an affair that had been ongoing for months or years, until the immoral lovers decided to run from their problems instead of releasing their poor, betrayed spouses. He normally alerted the guards and kept an eye on the cheated party, due to how prone they were to the whispers of revenge. Kidnappings were the worst. They normally involved sneaking, fighting, and sweet-talking his way to the victim’s freedom. Sometimes he saw a reuniting of families. Other times he brought back a limp body. Still there are others, where there was nothing at all.

“I thought you were looking for a kidnapped woman, Nick. How did you end up being kidnapped?,” Piper questioned.

“I've been cooped up in here for weeks. Turns out the runaway daughter I came here to find wasn't kidnapped. She's Skinny Malo's new flame, and she's got a mean streak,” Nick explained. The vault girl made a grossed out face, guess she hadn’t gotten out of the ‘boys are icky’ phase. “Anyway, you got troubles, and I'm glad to help. But now ain't the time. Let's blow this joint. Then we'll talk.”

The girl nodded, “Got it. I’m Sunny, and the man with us is Mr. Preston. We met Miss Piper when we went to Diamond City looking for you.” As she spoke, she grabbed a bobblehead off the desk, pivoted on her heel, and followed them out of the office.

The minuteman, Preston, took his gaze off the door. While Sunny had tried to hide her reaction to Nick’s robotic appearance, he gave none at all. “It’s an honor to meet you, Detective Valentine. Sorry it couldn’t be under better circumstances.”

“Likewise. We’ll save the pleasantries. Hope you know how to use that musket.” Nick took the point of the group, rushing down the steps toward the exit. He explained quietly the situation regarding the vault, Skinny Malone, and how he got hired then subsequently thrown in the office. Two weeks of being guarded by these meatheads had made Nick more than a little stir crazy.

They came up to the entrance of what looked like the vault cafeteria. Triggermen were scattered around, playing cards and drinking what little provisions they had away. It's a wonder they were able to stay here this long the way they blew through food and liquor.

“How do you want to do this?” he whispered. There was a tell-tale sign of a Stealth-boy being activated and Sunny had disappeared. Good. There was a plan for her.

Piper had taken the first shot, and then chaos erupted. The gunshots echoed loudly off the metal walls of the vault. Preston's laser musket was probably the quietest of all of them, though Nick had seen a laser come from nowhere a few times.

The rest of the Vault went the same way. Run through the stairwell, shoot the triggermen, rinse and repeat until annoyed. “Who built this damn vault? A fitness instructor?,” Nick complained.

Whenever the fighting would stop, Sunny would reappear, then set to rifling through the dead men's pockets for ammo and stimpaks. She stayed quiet for the most part. She mostly made occasional noises of agreement in response to commands. There was a brief excited squeal of excitement when finding an in-tact comic book before she remembered herself. Nick was glad she seemed to understand the situation, he didn't have the patience to keep an eye on an unruly teen.

They finally came up to the room where Skinny Malone mainly set up shop. Nick could hear heavy footsteps

The door click and angry swearing through the door. He tried to open it, but it held fast. “Another locked door. Shouldn't be too hard…”

As he messed with the lock, he gave a warning. “I hear big, fat footsteps on the other side, so Skinny Malone and the rest of his boys are waiting for us in there. The name's, uh, ironic, but don't let that fool you. He's dangerous. Once we step through this door, get ready for anything.”

The spare bobby pin he kept snapped. “Dammit,” he swore. He started fishing for another in his pockets. While he could pick a lock just fine, he was much better with terminals or any piece of tech. Old Nick didn’t bother with either, but he also didn’t need to. This skill belonged to the Synth.

Something tapped against his shoulder. “Here, I got some.” Sunny was holding out an old cigarette carton, stuffed full of bobby pins that rattled with each tap.

“Thanks,” he said, taking a pin and trying again. This time he found the sweet spot in the lock. It clicked open and he was met with the business end of multiple submachine guns.

“Nicky? What're you doin'? You come into my house. Shoot up my guys. You have any idea how much this is gonna set me back?,” Skinny Malone said in false hurt.

“I wouldn't be here if it weren't for your two-timing dame, Skinny. You ought to tell her to write home more often.”

“Awww… poor little, Valentine. Ashamed you got beat up by a girl? I'll just run back home to daddy, shall I?,” Darla mocked. Her grip around her bat tightened. Apparently, she liked to get up close and personal with her victims in a way that firearms didn't allow for. Nick had the unfortunate experience of learning that when he first came to the Vault.

“Should've left it alone, Nicky. This ain't the old neighborhood. In this Vault, I'm king of the castle, you hear me?,” Malone spat, “And I ain't lettin' some private dick shut us down now that I finally got a good thing goin'!”

Darla’s glare snapped to Skinny. Even he wasn’t free from her ire, “I told you we should've just killed him, but then you had to get all sentimental! All that stupid crap about the ‘old times’."

“Darla, I'm handling this! Skinny Malone's always got things under control!”

As the killer couple bickered, Nick thought that they could sneak past the two if it weren’t for the two bodyguards aiming at them.

“Oh yeah, then what's a kid doing here, huh? A pipsqueak helped rub us all out of here!,’ Darla pointed her bat too close to Sunny’s face, and leaned down to snarl in her face. “What are you doing here, you brat?”

Sunny’s eyes widened in a mix of emotions. Surprise at being addressed, fear at being threatened, and confusion at the question. She was quiet for half a second, before steeling her face like she did when she entered the office, and asked her own question.

“What are you doing here?”

Darla didn’t like that answer one bit, grabbing the girl’s arm and dragging her forward. “You fucking mocking me? Don’t test me, cause I ain’t got a problem with knockin’ a snot-nosed brat off the map!, “ she spat.

“You’ve got a family don’t you? With food, water, and safety? Who love and care enough for you to go all the way to Diamond City in the hopes of hiring someone who can find you? Why would you give that up?”

Darla still looked angry, but now that anger looked conflicted. Nick didn’t know much about her family and their homelife. When her father had come into his office on a late, chilly afternoon, he knew he wasn’t from the city. His skittishness at the crowds and purple stains on his clothes suggested he was a mutifruit farmer, but all the man spoke about was his poor daughter had been kidnapped by some gangster, and he had no idea where he had taken her. When the father had calmed down enough to describe the gangster in detail, Nick knew where to look for the girl.

“I had nothing in that dirt pile! No one understood I wanted to be more, not just work in the fields with the other girls and pop out babies for the first fucking guy that popped the question!”

Sunny grimaced as Darla tightened her grip, but kept pushing. “So you came here? An empty vault surrounded by gangsters with no caps? Ordered around by a gross old guy that could be your father?”

“He’s got power!” Darla argued, but she didn’t look like she believed herself. Most of Skinny Malone’s men were now corpses pumped full of lead. He had been muscled out of his previous territory by stronger, smarter, and better supplied gangs. It wouldn’t take much for them to come in here and kill off the gang for good.

“What good is that when you have no food or water? If the settlements don’t bow to your threats, and you can’t get caps, where are you going to get stimpaks or radaway? At least that dirt pile seemed to care about you, all he’s done is drag you underground and yell at you.”

There was a beat of stillness as Darla didn't respond, staring at Sunny. Then, she just…drops the kid’s arm. Sunny immediately scrambled back behind Preston. Darla stared for a bit longer, brow furrowed and angry, then turned and started walking toward the exit.

“Darla? Wh-where are you goin'?”

“Home, Skinny! Where I should have been all this time. This is goodbye for us,” she snapped. Her walk turned into a sprint as she took off toward the vault door, refusing to be stopped by Skinny’s yelling. Nick guessed he would get a message in a few days from her father, telling him Darla is home, safe and sound.

“Oh, come on, Nicky! You cost me my men, now you and your friend cost me my girl?, “ the gangster turned back to the detective. Well, the runaway girl got out. Now he had to get himself out.

“The kid here just did you a favor, Skinny. You always did have bad taste in women,” Nick quipped, “Now that she's not around to feed that temper of yours, maybe you'll see sense and let us walk? You still owe me for two weeks in the hole.”

Skinny turned multiple shades of red. “ You smug, overconfident ass… Agh! All right, you get to the count of ten! I still see your face after that, I'm gunning both of you down!,” he growled.

“Ah, look at that Commonwealth sky. Never thought anything so naturally ominous could end up looking so inviting…”

That was long enough for Nick.

_____________________________________________________________

The mad dash out the vault and into the open air hadn’t affected Nick, but the other three were kneeled over as they tried to catch their breath. Nick patted Sunny’s shoulder as she gulped down air, “Quick thinking in there, kid. You kept a cool head in there.”

“Oh, I didn’t,” Sunny disagreed, gasping between words. “I have no idea what I said, it was just word vomit. I think I actually threw up a little.”

The walk back to the city was filled with chatter. Piper caught Nick up on everything he missed while prisoner in the vault. Who had been accused as a synth, who did the accusing, who had been caught cheating, what asinine thing Mayor McDonough had most recently done, and everything in between. When she had exhausted all topics, she pressed Preston into talking about the Minutemen and his hopes for the currently broken faction.

Sunny added small comments to their anecdotes. She had added that the mayor had mistaken Preston for her father when Piper had told him about McDonough making the kid cry. When the Minuteman told about their incident at the Museum of Freedom, she had helpfully added about Preston getting thrown into a car when fighting the Deathclaw.

It naturally segwayed into Sunny coming from a vault.

Nick wasn’t surprised that Vault-Tec would do something so horrible as to freeze people alive, but he was surprised anyone survived. Guess they were in the same boat. The only reason either of them were here in the Commonwealth is because of the immoral actions of people wanting to play god with no consequences. Nick had no idea how the Institute had gotten the original Nick’s memory files, but he had definitely not signed up to have his memories shoved into a experimental robot. Even if some families would have willingly frozen themselves to wait out the nuclear apocalypse, Vault-Tec still decided to lie and trick innocent people for their sick experiment.

Now all that was left of those experiments was a Synth Detective and a two-hundred and twelve year old kid.

All of the stores were closed by the time they got into the city. Everyone was asleep by now, except it seems, Nat, who was still up waiting for her sister. Piper crashed onto her couch with a promise of a longer interview later, and a Mr.Handy replaced her. According to Preston, “Codsworth” was Sunny’s and had served her family before the bombs dropped.

Sunny hadn’t walked in their small group, instead choosing to flit back and forth on the street and between the three. She was filled with nervous energy, likely about the missing brother she mentioned earlier. There were a million ways someone could go missing in the Commonwealth, and going missing from a vault would make a case harder than the average runaway case. Nick just hoped the boy was alive, wherever he was. He wanted to go ahead and start asking questions, but they all probably needed rest before they were really ready for questions.

Anyway, he would prefer to ask questions in a more private place with a notepad and pen. He could borrow Piper’s but he didn’t want any private details mixed into the next edition of Publik Occurrences.

No wonder she was so attached to him.

When they got to the agency, Preston gladly took up Nick’s offer to take his bed. It’s not like he actually slept, he just used it for a more comfortable place to sit at night when his chair was too hard to sit on. Elle was fast asleep on her own sheets, still full dressed. She probably tired herself out in worry.

Sunny was still filled with nervous energy, hopping from one foot to another as Codsworth fretted over her. She clearly won’t be getting sleep soon.

Nick sighed. Best get some work done while she was still awake. He pulled off his coat and placed it on her shoulders, hoping the weight would settle her a little.

“Here, kid. At least sit down, I’m getting antsy just watching you.”

“Sorry,” she apologized, and flopped down on the offered chair while Codsworth checked her shoulder for bruising. Nick opened a cabinet drawer and flicked through his files, looking for anything involving Vault-Tec and their metal graves. There wasn’t much, barely enough to fill half a page, but it was something.

“You said your brother is missing, right? Any idea if he ran off on his own or if someone else did the dirty work?”

“Someone else,” Sunny answered immediately, trying to sound calm, “Shaun’s a baby, he can’t even walk yet.”

Nick nodded and switched to a drawer with files on cases with really young kids. Babies weren’t desirable in the slave trade, since it takes so long for them to grow up and be useful, they needed a lot of care, and can easily die from anything. Too much risk, not enough reward. He stacked what few files he had with his Vault-Tec file.

“Any motive that you can think of?, ” Nick continued, “Rogue scientist who couldn’t handle the guilt of freezing a newborn? Crazy neighbor hopped up on Buffout?”

“No. I saw the man who took him. After he killed Mom and Dad, he looked right at me,” she paused, blowing out a shaky breath. “ I’ve never seen him before, and he wasn’t dressed like a scientist. He was dressed like he was from the Commonwealth.”

Taking an empty file and mostly empty pen, he also grabbed a list of known, at-large criminals along with what pitiful information he found. He sat down at his desk. Sunny being a witness wasn’t a good thing, no matter how much easier it would make his job. No kid should see that.