the pier.

[doubletap]

Let him just say it now--the kid had a lot of problems.

I mean, not really a surprise or anything--Alex had found him dried out in a desert, for crying out loud--but god damn.

Let’s recap.

Alex Seattle Geer found himself in love with a Vault brat from the Capital Wasteland with a daddy complex the size of Hoover Dam. Said kid loves him back--sometimes. Said kid would probably rather put another bullet between Alex’s eyes rather than spend time with him, and didn’t this just go to show it. Neil leaves to check up a rumor, said he’d be back shortly--shortly became two days and by then Dogmeat was back, meaning Neil took off somewhere he was worried the dog would get hurt at. Two days turn into two weeks and counting, and by then, Alex has tracked Neil’s steps, found the fucking pier, the fucking tool of a woman looking for her child, and all of the pieces are too easily placed.

Neil left for Point Lookout. And Alex, ED-E, and Dogmeat are left hanging in the wind.

Alex has been fucking camping on the dirty sand and shit next to that pier, waiting for that stupid kid to come back on that stupid ferry the woman told him about. Tobar the fucking Ferryman, and Alex feels like shooting the asshole just for submitting to Neil’s request. Probably not the guy’s fault, but-- Hell. Yeah. He didn’t traipse all over the goddamn country just to be left in the dust. Is the kid even coming back? Who fucking knows.

Alex will just.

Wait here.

Until Neil comes back.

Yeah, that’s not pathetic at all.

Comments

[goodfight]

There's a corpse in the engine room. It's been there for two weeks, across from where he used to sleep--a paste of gore, meat, and bones mashed finely into the wood boards and metal grating, pieces and parts of other people watching.

His head hurts. He hasn't slept in two weeks, hopped up on Med-X and Buffout, drinking enough moonshine to stave off the sensation of skull fragments, of the splintered pain along the hidden scar on his forehead. Even had Nadine hollering at him every hour, keeping his nerves awake and his consciousness at full alert.

There's a corpse across the way, and Neil Park does not, cannot, will not find out what might happen if he went back to sleep.

Somewhere in that, Nadine yells, something about a wasteland and the Capitol and her ma, and Neil pulls himself from the cot. He walks out of the cabin, his steps steadier than expected, and leans against the railing of the vessel. He watches the deep dark water of the Potomac, until they reach that pier.

That same rickety pier he had crossed five weeks prior.

At the new captain's confirmation, Neil hops onto pier, taking care not to drop himself or his pack into the water. Which is possible, where it wasn't before. Catherine seems overjoyed and rushes toward her long-lost daughter, and for a brief, agonizing minute, Neil watches them.

Unaware that steps away there were people waiting for him.

[doubletap]

Five weeks, three days and counting. The dog has been eating the dead mirelurks laying around, rotting and stinking up the air. ED-E had squealed a series of nursemaiding beeps and whistles, insisting on at least frying it first. Alex stopped paying attention after that point. The dog would find food. The robot would be all right. And if Alex starting feeling faint, well--he had a bad Stimpack habit to go back to for nutrition. No fucking point in breaking that now.

ED-E had tread near to Alex at first, but closer than any other creature in any Wasteland, the eyebot understood where others would not. ED-E kept to recon after that, flying an invisible wall around the zone of the pier.

Alex spent much of the day staring at the dying water. And most of the time, the dog was beside him. They did not interact, and Alex didn't touch him, but they watched the water move sluggishly together. Silence was the language given, and if Alex thought about it, he had never heard the dog be this silent.

It was a lack, he supposed. Inside of both of them. The product of abandonment.

When the ferry returns, it's almost anti-climatic. Neither of the two at the base of the pier move from their normal positions as they watch the mother and child reunite. Dogmeat rises from his sitting position, tail moving hesitantly. For the first time since they'd gotten there, Alex drops a hand onto the back of the dog's neck.

The mutt shivers, then stills.

ED-E is the first to give them away, true to form. From one of his rounds, he races forward, whistling a loud welcome-- Only to stop at Alex and Dogmeat, beeping in confusion at their stillness. He doesn't understand, as much as he knows Alex. But Alex and Dogmeat know Neil.

And the kid is fucked up. In a way not just born of simple wounds and exhaustion.

Alex's hand drops from the dog and he moves in front of him, taking long-legged strides forward. He stops in front of Neil, expression shadowed. "...You look like shit, Wanderer."

[doubletap]

The answer given was enough. Enough for him to leave the woman and girl. A need pressed further by the kid going unconscious against him--so much for pride. "He was a crate of dynamite this entire trip and now look at him. All content and out like a light." Neil relaxed when he got here, wasn't on edge or on the defense. So he does trust Alex enough--to protect him at least.

It's sorta sick the way that makes Alex feel slightly better.

Not willing to sling him over a shoulder, Alex scoops the kid up, arm under his knees and around his shoulders. Alex's guns are in their holsters--his pack, Neil's pack, and the sack of fruit are hanging from his shoulders, and damned if he isn't going slow. But it's fucking fine at the moment. The kids would be enough to make any enemy pause while he put down Neil to take a gun out--but also fuck life if he isn't going to find a place to hole up and check everything out, because Alex thinks he's starting to go a little crazy now, because there's this prevalent feeling of calm and focus, and he wonders if caring and killing can have the same lethal edge.

There's buildings around, but none he can fortify. Rivet City is close, but Alex isn't comfortable inside of there--maybe the robots, maybe the ship, maybe the way it feels like a tomb. There's a place Neil showed him when they first came that's closer--Jefferson Memorial, and he sorta feels like this is the wrong choice, but he remembers the abandoned basement that Neil waved over, and he thinks that might work out perfectly.

For a moment, ED-E buzzes nearer to him, but Alex doesn't look away from the road in front of him.

[goodfight]

Somewhere in the dark of sleep, Neil moves. Reaches clumsily with a hand for something solid and settles on Alex's chest, five fingers spanning out against the cloth. He murmurs words, random phrases without a connection, before finally speaking one clear thing.

"Alex."

[goodfight]

There once was darkness, and now--

There is movement, jolting and sudden, and the dreams Neil held shatter into glass and sand. He grimaces at the light touching his vision, burning holes into his nerves.

"Dammit," he says clumsily. "Did I...fall asleep? Wasn't supposed to..."

[doubletap]

He figured the stairs might wake him. Alex keeps walking into the main room, eyes glancing for things to use to block or get his attention if anyone--Rivet City or Brotherhood bastards--decide to bother them. A couple of cabinets, a couch... Yeah, it'll be enough, once he has Neil settled down.

Alex glances back down to Neil, tone entirely gentle without his knowing. "...It's fine, kid. I've been watching out for you."

[doubletap]

The tools have been boiling for a while. Alex cleans his hands in a similar way, after peeling off his gloves and rolling his sleeves all the way past his elbows. If it was just him, he could care less. With Neil, it's different.

It's very different when it comes to Neil.

The kid's questions echo now, and Alex considers the fact that he stood on a dirty sand belt day in and day out for over a month, waiting for someone who might not come back. What Alex said was right, in the end, that day in Novac soon before they started heading for the Capital: Alex had it bad. As bad as you could want. This dumbass kid with his daddy issues was starting to own him, body and soul.

It's too much of a distraction, and Alex breathes out, closes his eyes and opens them again. He shifts the items all onto the table stand, in their proper places, and while he does so, starts a running dialogue. "You probably know this shit better than me, but just so we're clear, I'm starting off by opening everything back up. You've got a shitty infection up there--" He points with an elbow, keeping his hands on the tools. "--And it all needs to be cleaned and sealed up right. As for how we're doing that, it depends on how much needs to be fixed."

He pauses, looks down to Neil, not unkindly. "That all sound okay to you?"

[goodfight]

Neil once heard that a positive attitude is a surgeon's best ally. As he can't possibly conceive of switching moods at the moment, he settles for encouraging words instead. It might be appreciated here, in the midst of all this pain and shit.

It may also come out as bland sarcasm. He hopes Alex will be able to tell the difference.

"Sounds good," Neil gives, tone forcibly neutral. "Feel free to ask me if you see anything weird. Will try to help." Provide his expertise if the medication does not addle his senses.

[doubletap]

There's two pools in the back of the basement, one with a fucking convenient slant of stairs going in and out. That one is dubbed as the bathing pool, and by the time Alex finishes rinsing off the dust and grime and blood and filth off of Neil, the kid is more than a little into sleep. It doesn't really matter at this point. Everything's done that can be done. The only thing left is waiting and making sure the fever doesn't get too bad.

Alex doesn't bother with clothes for the kid, only brings him to the only room that looks comfortable in the whole basement, and drapes a light sheet over him. Alex changes from his dirty clothes into something cleaner and more basic--traveling gear is the kind of shit that makes you unnoticed, and from the state of both of their packs, he's going to have to go for food pretty damn soon. Serves him right, he supposes. He should be keeping extra, making sure that there's enough in case something happens.

Dogmeat, assertive for the first time since Neil returned, hops up to the foot of the bed, curling atop Neil's legs. Alex shrugs at this, and begins to take the shit out of the room, crap that's unnecessary when he could be doing inventory. This includes a worthless terminal, and that creepy fucking passage that Neil quoted from his parents. The junk he adds to the pile on the floor of the medical room--the framed words to the table the packs had been on. Crouching, he starts collecting the stuff that had fallen out, noticing two holotapes that had slipped between the wall and table. "Huh." Were these Neil's or had they been here? Seems weird that the kid would carry the tapes around if he had already downloaded them. He slips the two into a back pocket and stands, carrying the two and a half packs back to the small bedroom. The fruit he had been given--punga--were pungent. It was something of a hilarious pun. And spoke of Alex's exhaustion that he thought so.

ED-E beeps quietly, and Alex nods in turn. "Yeah, I know. Just lemme get settled."

The pair return to the room, the dog watching them as they come in.

[goodfight]

Somewhere along the way, probably when he'd gotten used to the water temperature, he had fallen asleep.

And somewhere, in that pitch black of sleep, Neil sees that winding path to the Jefferson Memorial from the dark sands of the river, against the backdrop of D.C.'s ruined landscape. He watches that mirrored world, that second Capital Wasteland, and wonders. Considers that he's here by an old, rickety pier and not there. Not in the Memorial, where he should be.

It's a problem with a simple solution, but as he goes to lift his legs, they do not move. The limbs are firmly rooted to the ground, and no matter the amount of superhuman strength he utilizes, Neil cannot take a single step forward.

In the dream and in the world, the man growls in frustration. Vents out his anger in a single, low noise. It pisses him off to near tears because he wants to go there. He wants that solidity, the five fingers spanning out against another's chest, and that name.

That man who is in another place, who had once carried him away from an old, rickety pier.

[vacuus]

Five men dressed in five sets of steel arrive at the Jefferson Memorial, led by a particularly shiny steel man known only as Paladin Tanks. He's recently earned his rank, thanks to a particularly generous moment from the Elder. A generous moment Tanks tries to keep clear in his mind as leading four knights on a minor inspection of Project Purity ain't his idea of what a paladin actually does.

Fortunately, it's only a side objective. Once they're done here, they're moving on to join a contingent progressing north. A contingent that happens to be headed by none other than Maxson himself.

Why? That's under wraps, of course.

Tanks leads his men down the well-lit corridor, their steeled feet echoing throughout the building. "Who's the one in charge?" he muses aloud.

"Mike Washington, sir," responds one of the knights. Tanks isn't sure which one; they all start to sound the same under those helmets after a while.

"Alright." They turn right and approach the main lobby, stopping past the threshold for the paladin to call out, "Where's Washington?"

[vacuus]

Yeah, this was going to go poorly. He knows it, Drew knows it, hell if anyone knows if Cooper cares. Washington scrubs a hand against his face at the sound of the door opening and heavy, heavy boots, and resigns himself to some kind of death.

"You," he hisses at Drew before the men in metal round the corner. "You say two words, and I'm sending you back to work for your father."

In the non-glamourous job of janitorial duties. His dad got him this job, did a favor for Washington in order for the opportunity, and if he fucked it up....

Drew pales under his tan, know the threat from the man who was basically an uncle was genuine. Cooper never looked up through the small exchange. The Brotherhood group entered, and Washington hefts himself off the desk he was leaning on--tired only from the bullshit he knows is coming. There's only three legit officers in charge of this location from Rivet City. Fucking Steelboys could at least learn who he is.

"That'd be me," he says in a slight drawl, nothing noticeable enough to be disrespectful. "Can't say I know the reason for this visit, though. Things have been going pretty smoothly."

As smooth as it goes, he adds in his mind. A mess and a half, and no wonder the BOS gave up the responsibility. But not the ownership. Assholes.

[doubletap]

The echoing sound of metal on metal is a ring to his ears, a sound his subconscious mind had been listening for while he slept. Alex doesn't know how long he's been asleep, but from the crick in his neck, it's probably been a couple of hours. Enough; it's enough. His brain's reset in the darkness of sleep, and his thoughts are back up to the quick running speed he's used to.

Going on the assumption they are coming down here is the safe one. Taking ED-E's advice is also the path he committed to. Thus, there are only a few things to do.

He stands, stretching out the kinks in his spine, then pushes the chair against the wall, out of the way. He crouches down, points at Dogmeat, then points at Neil. "Stay," he says with aplomb. Whether the dog would listen or not is up in the air, but hopefully he'll prioritize his master. Alex then looks at ED-E, who is vibrating in a way Alex knows is rebellion. After everything that happened today, let alone the past month, Alex knows ED-E isn't willing to leave his side.

However, Alex also knows how the BOS out here treats eyebots. In the West, ED-E was revered for his tech, wanted by them just to look and touch. In the East... Each and every eyebot they had seen was shot down, except for the two surviving (if you could call it that) ones they had comes across. Eyebots were Enclave, and this Brotherhood was decidedly adept at destroying them. Even when the kids weren't even able to do anything of a threat anymore.

Alex swallows. Points again, this time at ED-E. "You stay in this damn room, or so help me, I will never bring you with me anywhere again."

The eyebot stills, so much so that Alex thinks he'll just drop from the air. After a moment, he makes a high trill that sounds like mourning, and rushes to the back corner, facing away.

Alex will make it up to him later. Honestly, he will. This whole past day ED-E has been nothing but fucking perfect in every way and Alex has just been using what ED-E offers. This whole situation makes him feel like crap--the past month, as well as the fact that Alex knows ED-E has been having it rough since seeing those moving husks of eyebots. This is shit, and he knows it, but he's not going to lose his kid. Not even the risk of it.

Despite the pain in his chest, he crosses the room to his packs, rummaging through the one with the extra armor and clothes. His assassin suit is shook out, and he slips into it like an old skin; still the best fucking armor to him. Doesn't hurt that Christine had it for a time.

Underneath the clothes are pieces and parts. Ones he had, before they left for the Capital, packed with a show of excitement. It was a favorite item of his, one he did not use casually. The ammunition wasn't easy to come by--it included a trip to a place he loved and loathed, a new dose of radiation, and a few skirmishes with the Marked Men. There was no shortage of it there, but here-- Here he only had brought around one-hundred.

Crouched on the floor, Alex starts rebuilding the missile launcher, thinks of the irony of using a weapon made for the glory of the US against the descendants of men who had put their lives on the line to defend that self-same country. Thinks that that country, after all he's learned, might not have been worth protecting. It's ironic, he thinks further--both Ulysses and he respects the old world, but where one idolizes it, the other demonizes it. He wonders which is right, wonders if it's always, always a matter of perception, in how you look at things.

The casing snaps into place, and Alex hears the sound of something being moved. He continues putting the weapon together, and Dogmeat continues to watch the sleeping Neil. ED-E continues to wonder if Alex doesn't care for him anymore. The sound continues.

[vacuus]

There are exchanges between the two knights, muffled by metal helmets and walls. Larry Christensen and Scott Johannson are having a bit of a moment regarding the items on the stairwell. More specifically, the damnable couch.

Their power armor combined with the spacing isn't allowing much mobility, and Larry, frankly, is quite tired of it. "Let's try tilting it toward the left side," he tells the other. "Might fit through that way."

Johannson scoffs as he assesses the spacing. "No," he responds, pointing. "Then that corner's going to get stuck there. Might be better to just leave it. Say it's stuck or something."

"And risk Tanks' rage?" Larry says incredulously. "No, thank you. Do you even know why we're here? Because of Tanks. Because he can't keep his frickin' temper and they needed him out of the way of the negotiations."

There's a sound like agreement. "Maybe if we cut it to pieces and bring those up?" Johannson suggests. "He can't yell at us if we're technically following orders."

"Hm." Larry glances down at the upholstery before pulling out his laser pistol. "Maybe. See if there's an axe, a Ripper, or whatever in the other rooms. I'm going to work on wearing this down."

Johannson steps away from the couch, and with one solid push, he topples over the filing cabinet that's in the way. It slams down with a crash, allowing the way to be mostly clear.

And for Larry to groan. "Seriously?"

The other knight grunts in response and moves his way to the hallway, his footsteps echoing throughout the basement. He pokes his head briefly into the first room, a medical examination room, filled with parts and pieces appropriate for such place. It is, however, lacking the tools sought for, and he isn't willing to look further thanks to the dim lighting. Because no one, especially him, has time for that.

He passes another hallway to a larger room filled with bunks and lockers, shelving space for miscellaneous items. Nothing useful there so Johannson steps further in, until the corridor splits into three directions. It is the left he starts with, the closed door; he hopes it's a sign that something useful might be lurking behind it.

[doubletap]

On the way out, Alex picks up Red Glare, slipping it into the strap at his back. ED-E is hovering over the dead BOS members, silent except for his mechanical buzzing. "I didn't want to," Alex says, without meaning to.

He doesn't need to justify himself, and there's no need to say anything. But he does anyway.

"I wanted them to leave. I wanted them to go back upstairs."

That's not what they did, ED-E replies.

"It's not. They didn't." Alex looks at the dead bodies, and ED-E rotates until he faces Alex.

You were alone. You shouldn't have been.

"You couldn't be here. They aren't like the ones we know. They--"

There's a complicated series of sound, one that Alex struggles to understand. ED-E shakes, frustrated at the inability to communicate correctly, and tries something else. Men in metal know the ones that are only metal. Only enemies. I'm an enemy.

"You're you," Alex replies, before a heartbeat has the time to pass. "You're my best friend, and I would never let anyone do anything to hurt you."

You hurt me.

Alex swallows, fiddles with the LAER+ over his shoulder. Wonders how this kid learned to be so blunt. Doesn't really wonder that long. "I was trying..."

To protect.

Alex lifts his gaze to look at ED-E. "Yeah. I was."

I'm treasured by you?

So he heard that. "Of course you are. Why else would I piss you off to keep you in that room?"

Stupid.

Alex grins, starts to walk toward the entry room. ED-E, buzzing, begins to follow slowly. "No doubt. I'm habitual like that."

The eyebot butts against Alex's shoulder as he catches up, and Alex lifts a hand to tap two fingers on the shiny metal.

[vacuus]

It's quiet. Far too quiet for comfort. Even with his helmet firmly in place, Knight Larry Ellis gives off the air of raw nerves. He's been silent as matters transpired down below. Remained much the same when things seemingly came to an end.

Which end, he couldn't rightly say. It doesn't matter, however, as someone's coming up the stairs.

Finger firmly on the trigger of his tri-beam laser, he spares a glance at the Rivet City guards.

[doubletap]

On the stairwell, Cooper is pushing at the couch. Alex, catching up, hops over it to the other side to tug down over the filing cabinet. The two guards follow.

"I got to say--" Washington starts, and Alex looks back to him. "You're Brotherhood? After all that you sai--"

Alex spins, turning on his heels to place a gloved hand over the man's mouth. "Didn't I say," he starts, smiling sweetly. "Not to mention that again? Especially this close."

Washington backs a step, sputtering at the taste. "I just thought it was strange."

"It's not," Cooper replies, pausing to glance into the mussed medical room. "People who disagree with a group's tenets usually become their biggest opponents."

Alex peers over at the man. "...You said your parents came from Cali? Why come out here, when that land is largely settled? A difference of agreements?"

Cooper smiles tightly. "Who can say? I wasn't even born. Why is there blood in this room? I don't remember seeing him bleeding out."

"Had to cut him open," Alex replies, without missing a beat. "Had to reset some mistakes that were made."

Cooper nods and Washington looks concerned. Alex turns to continue, leading them into the room with the bunks and the bodies. ED-E zips ahead to the open door down the hall. Alex moves to do the same. "We need the weapons, power armor, and tags from these three. Start on that, and I'll be back in a second. --Er, wait a sec." Alex moves to each body, undoing the outside safety latches so the other men can start tugging it off. "Okay, just give me a minute."

Washington is frowning. "...I thought four came down here."

Alex pauses, eyes shadowed. He points to a pile of dust. "There's the fourth."

Washington looks ill.

[goodfight]

Neil's in deep, dreamless sleep, sweat and flush on his skin, his body caught in the worst parts of a bad fever. Surprisingly, his breathing proves even; his chest rises and falls in a steady rhythm. Other than his breaths, however, the man has been silent, motionless. Worrisome.

Dogmeat keeps vigilance from his spot beside the bed, his snout resting on the mattress, his two-toned eyes holding a kind of sadness. When ED-E enters, followed by the man, the creature only spares a brief glance before returning to watch his master.

[doubletap]

It seems like he keeps passing these steps. There was more to say upstairs, he knew, but he was really past the point of exhaustion. If Ellis wanted to turncloak, or if the guards wanted to turn them in, fine. Sure. Just let him sleep a little first.

He gives a tired whistle to ED-E when he comes in, then touches Neil's cheek for temperature. Still hot, but less than before. He shifts the kid around, getting him out of the coat, because as nice as it is, it'd be better for that to be when Neil isn't burning up by the dozens. The coat is drops over the chair nearby, and Alex starts peeling off his assassin suit.

That done, he shuts and relocks the door, waves the kids at the door--they know by now, get him up if there's trouble--and slips the Survivalist Rifle under the bed within reach.

Alex gives into a want, and slips into bed with Neil, snuggling on his side. It's small, cramped, and way too short, but it's home somehow. Yeah, that's it. The kid, burning and ill, smells like home regardless. Alex slips an arm around Neil, and nuzzles into his shoulder.

[goodfight]

It happens. Bit by bit, step by step. The fog of heat yields to allow the subconscious form. Form, freedom, and movement come alive behind the eyes, and Neil Park again dreams. He dreams--

(There's a man in the engine room when he enters. The jars lining the shelves against the walls almost seem to glow, the small lumps of grey and white matter within lit up like candlelight.)

--and jolts in Alex's arms, the disturbance enough for Neil to wake up with a cry.

[doubletap]

Alex kept the kid up for a while: It's no wonder that he crashes the moment he's clean and fed, Alex having shoved nutrition down his throat. He's sleeping better than Alex remembers--no fever and no tossing and turning, and with rest in him, it's high time that Alex finishes the stuff he set out to do at the beginning of this homemade med-camp. With an eye to Neil, Alex takes all of the stuff he's been inventorying out of the room. ED-E follows and it's fine. The dog can come get them if something goes wrong--which isn't as likely at this point.

He passes the room in which a pile of dust remains, and travels down to the water room. They were there an hour prior, and Alex felt something like fucked up mourning at Neil washing himself. It's great, epically so, that the kid is getting better.

Not so great that this period of closeness will abate.

He sits in the middle of the mess, sorting the items. In the middle of it, he comes across the jar Neil mentioned.

It's not too big; small. A little piece of his kid sealed in a dirty jar, and there's something of loneliness, of loss, when he looks at it. God, he hates that asshole--

There's a label pressed across the jar haphazardly, and if he squints, Alex thinks he can make out Neil Park, 24--. There's more scribbled below it, and Alex rolls to his feet, moves toward the water and the light the shines from above it. He turns it this way and that, trying to figure out the rest.

Numbers first: 3.9g. Then, in quick tight font-- daddy issues.

It hits him somewhere in the stomach, the realization. The light-hearted notation of Neil's issues. Whether Neil said it to the man or spoke something under sedation, there it is, in the open--the man knows (knew) about something that affected Neil, enough to fucking write it on the side of a jar.

The calmer pieces of his brain spoke for reason, wanting to know--what was the measurement? It wasn't the size of a brain, or even a piece. The human brain was roughly 1350 grams, even a piece like this would be at least 75 grams. No, that small amount... It was hard to picture something solid that could be measured as such.

However, his calmer brain interjected. It was not only solid that were measured in grams. Solids, gasses, liquids. You know this. So what would be measured and placed on the side of a jar that pieces of Neil's brain rested in?

It bothers him, and he's not sure which parts of him, to know that separation. More than a brain from a body, but missing pieces and parts. And there was no putting it back again. It was gone forever.

Something separate.

The thought sparks something, and Alex goes back to thinking about that man. All he knows is the tiny pieces that the girl and Neil allowed him, but Alex knows more, honestly. Knows more than they might. There was a man that had lived by bringing people to be drugged for a ritual, and that he took parts of their body as his own bounty. The guy didn't care about the ritual, that was obvious. No. He cared about claiming. And souvenirs.

Alex turns the jar in the light, watching what's inside. The man cuts a piece of brain off and keeps the piece of brain. Learns the name, age, and weakness of the person it belonged to-- For easy recall? When remembering later. Was there that many victims? No, keep focus. Pieces of brain from the "surgeries," facts and data from the person's soul, and from the rape--

He had been trying to not think about it until that moment, and all parts of himself knew it. Called focus back to this deadend task of learning the scribbled words of a dead man. Why? The point?

Logic was clear and focused on this issue. Because it was obvious. If it was something that could come back and hurt Neil, Alex needed to be ready. All right. All right. Grams. Three point nine grams. Or three point nine milliliters, if one wanted to put all the odds on the table. Which could be something like--

Oh. He knows. And he is going to be sick from it.

What would you keep from a rape? Nothing, really. Every product of sex dries up and evaporates over time, and even if you found a way to keep it, it's likely that even the guy's clients would frown upon a consistent rape. To keep something, it would have to be something that was different for each person. Let's face it, in that kind of thing, there's not much. For the female body, other than the external physical differences, the only difference would be depth--how far one could go. And that's already getting too fucking up for Alex Seattle Geer.

His mind pressed, shifting forward. Stay on target.

...But... But for males, depth isn't really a thing. If, uh, pushed to it, you could go on basically forever. A few dumb accidents Alex had heard of could basically attest to this. So what would be different for males? Erection size? Not by much, and even if physically stimulated, likely not completely accurate without being into it. No, something that was quantifiable was--

He has the urge to throw the jar against the wall. But he knows it isn't the remaining piece's fault. Neil's name, his age, his issues, and the amount he ejaculated stare up at Alex. It wasn't enough for the guy to rape him and tear him without a care. He stimulated Neil's body until he came, too. Just for kicks. Just to measure something for keeps.

Fuck. Fuck.

[goodfight]

The kid, as he's often called, sleeps like a brick, hardly moving. There are no dreams, no heat, no familiar men and places to haunt Neil, and it is perhaps this that has Dogmeat gingerly climbing up onto the bed. He quietly curls next to his master's legs, brown and blue eyes keeping watch over the slumbering form. This continues for some time, until Neil shifts to place a hand against the creature's back, a gesture of affection. Of a familiar comfort.

Something in Dogmeat responds to that, and he lowers his head to mattress. For once, exhaustion reaches the dog's mind, urging him to sleep. Prompting him to nap beside Neil as they used to do, during the long winter months in that dark city, black soot and pollutants clouding the air.

The brief memory and the touch at his back proves to be enough, and he closes his eyes. Dogmeat allows himself to have that rest, that moment of respite he couldn't take while waiting for Neil on that shore, by that rickety old pier.

[doubletap]

Alex leads them back, as Neil requests, and it's only in the hall outside that he thinks to comment. "...It's like I'm the bodyguard for a naked prince."

It's something stupid, something lighter, and Alex snorts at the thought before entering the room, leaning his rifle against the wall and moving to one of the (now highly organized) packs. He pulls out the well-worn, but clean, clothes, and walks to hand them to Neil.

[goodfight]

Neil cannot help the face he's making, the one that's caught between exasperation and amusement. "I think you mean for an emperor wearing his new clothes," he retorts.

What an apt fairy tale to this damn scenario. Neil rolls his eyes at the thought before accepting the set of clothes held out for him. He shakes out each article before carefully slipping them on--undergarments first before moving onto the shirt and the pants.

Overall, they fit pretty well for something taken off of a merchant. "Not bad," Neil states, looking down at his new duds.

[doubletap]

It's only been a little over an hour since Alex Seattle Geer went upstairs. When he returns without warning, it makes Washington make a sound of impatience. "Up, down, pissed off, calm; are you going to make up your mind soon?"

Alex smiles, entirely without humor. "Probably not for a while. Good thing I don't live here, then, huh? You won't have to deal with me again after this."

The other man huffs and looks away. "I didn't mean it like that."

"He just wants to know if everything's okay," Cooper interjected, now working on a piece of machinery in the corner. Washington glares at his partner, but doesn't deny it.

[vacuus]

With Drew banned from work and the two more competent Rivet City guards on hand, Larry is past the halfway mark in the checklist. It's a breaking record for a personnel of three. The late Paladin Tanks would have still complained about the progress, of course. If the unfortunate individual hadn't met his premature end, that is.

Somehow, in all the nonstop work, he's been slowly regaining his sense of humor.

Thus, when Geer appears again, radiating more neutrality than before (and before raised quite a lot of questions in his head), Larry's looking less wound up. He even dryly adds to the conversation from his place in front of a terminal at one side of the room.

"You seemed pretty tense during your last update."

[doubletap]

And all is forgiven. Or something. Alex heads back downstairs, running into ED-E at the bottom. His friend beeps a concern, and Alex reaches to tap ED-E's chassis. "Getting better," Alex replies in reassurance.

Or getting worse. Who can say?

He rounds the corner to trod back into the small room. "Good news for you. Way's open and private."

[goodfight]

In the absence of Alex, ED-E speaks in his usual beeps and whistles, in such a manner that gives Neil pause. That reminds him of thinking aloud. The eyebot eventually wanders off, leaving the remaining human and the dog alone in the small room.

Wordless, silent, Neil watches Dogmeat for a long moment. Watches the creature look back with sorrowful eyes, until Neil's willpower breaks at the sight. Until his pride shatters like glass. He then reaches over and down toward the floor, to draw his best friend in the whole wide irradiated world into a tight embrace.

"You're too quiet," Neil mutters into fur. "I broke your heart that much, huh?"

Of course, Dogmeat doesn't answer. He doesn't change. The poor kid mourns, and despite the circumstances, Neil only wanted Dogmeat to be safe, to be away from unknown and potentially dangerous. Instead, good intentions aside, he abandoned his dog--almost permanently.

Boy, he sure did fuck that up royally.

Alex returns, bearing decent news. Neil stays on the floor, his arms still wrapped around a sad-looking pup. "Thanks," he says. "Sorry that I keep asking for favors."

[goodfight]

Neil walks the familiar path from the basement to the gift shop's exit, and Alex, as proclaimed, is beside him, dogging his steps. Invading Neil's personal space, actually, by staying that close, and if Neil hadn't gone through what he did, hadn't realized something that may very well change the course of matters, he might have yelled at the older man for nearly tripping him a thousand times.

He lets Alex be, taking comfort in his second shadow. ED-E leads the small charge, vacillating between zooming and waiting. Provoking Dogmeat to chase after the eyebot, his tongue stupidly hanging out of his mouth.

It's a sight so fucking wonderful that Neil nearly breaks down and cries in one of the corridors.

Fortunately they manage to make it to the outside without a single incident or another unexpected soul. Whatever agreement Alex struck with the Rivet City guards and Larry appears to have done its job. Neil leans against the brick wall and breathes in the muggy winter air, allowing the cold to creep in and settle.

"Ah. It's actually nice." Not crap.

[doubletap]

He's protective, too much so; he knows it and makes no move to change it. He follows Neil intensely close, then once outside, steps partially in front of him, watching the landscape defensively.

But the kids playing and Neil close by makes something in Alex breathe easier. This isn't the Mojave, but his family is back in their normal steps.

...And he'll pretend he didn't think that. Neil speaks, and Alex turns from watching, offering a quick smile before he looks back at the horizon line. "For you," he says teasingly. "Not my flavor-flave."