Fallout 4: AR

11. Conversation

I was left in the center of the street with a still silent MacCready watching me, face still impassive.

Nettled, I snapped at him, sarcastically, "Yeah, that's not creepy at all, MacCready." When he didn't respond, I stalked back to the hotel room. Flinging open the door, I stomped over to the couch and flopped down on one end. There was nothing to distract me from the thought that I was an idiot for letting people I barely knew poke around in my memories. Yes, I was desperate to get home, leave this violent, irradiated world, but was it worth the cost of my privacy? My very memories? I didn't even know what to think now, and stared at the wood grain of the low table in front of the couch.

The door closed with a quiet click. I looked up to see MacCready. He unslung his rifle, placing it on the table then, digging through his own pack for a moment, produced an unopened bottle of vodka and two small glasses, setting them down with a clink. He took a seat at the opposite end of the couch, opening the bottle and pouring two very generous shots, sliding one of the glasses over towards me. All of this was done in silence, the only sounds the scrape of glass and light gurgle of the strong spirits. I watched him, waiting for him to say something. He downed his glass, throwing the mouthful back with a grimace, the first expression that crossed his face since I woke up from the memory pod, and poured a second measure. I didn't touch my glass, not caring for straight liquor. My tolerance for alcohol was low, anyway.

Neither of us spoke. I didn't know what to say, and I was still waiting to hear from my grudging companion. After a moment, MacCready leaned over and placed the glass in my hand. He watched me impassively, obviously waiting for me to drink.

Fine, then. Fuck it all. I knocked back the shot in one reckless motion.

The post-apocalyptic vodka was strong. It burned like fire down my throat into my belly, rendering me speechless and almost breathless. My eyes watered and my cheeks flamed. I gasped for breath, nearly throwing the glass back on the table. Through the unbidden tears, I saw the splash of vodka refilling my glass, readying another shot. I shook my head to refuse, wiping my eyes clean. When I looked down, the glass was cradled in my left hand. How did it get there? This time, I sipped the fiery liquid, more for something to occupy me than for the taste, which had disappeared with the first draught. In a very short time, I felt my head floating.

MacCready had already finished his second shot and had poured a third, cradling it in his hand like I was. He sat there for a few more moments, swirling the glass absently before meeting my eyes. It may have just been the alcohol, but he actually looked... unsure? His deep blue eyes were shadowed under the brim of his cap, so it was hard to tell. Taking a deliberate breath, he spoke.

"I... I'm sorry."

This was not what I was expecting to hear. I stared at him, searching his face for some sign of disdain, a hint of deception, but found none. When I met his eyes again, he continued, ruefully.

"I thought this was some elaborate prank of Hancock's. You know, 'save the damsel in distress' kind of thing? He knew I was looking for work. Since he actually paid up with caps up front, I decided to play along, but I couldn't take you, or your story, seriously. I thought it was some kind of Psycho dream of his that you were in on...figured he was going to fuc—errr, mess with my head for a couple of days until he got bored." He sipped his vodka, and I mirrored the gesture.

"You were a bit condescending at times..."

"I know. I was harsher than I should have been, taking out my annoyance with Hancock on you." He looked around the dingy room, as if seeing it from a new perspective. "When Dr. Amari pulled your memories up on the terminal..." He dropped his head ruefully, wonder coloring his melodic voice. "Well, watching your life parade across the screen, I realized just how different your world is from ours. It's a beautiful world," he said with a wistful sigh, "but it was also glaringly obvious you were completely unprepared to be here. I mean, Fahrenheit and I? Even Hancock. We're used to doing what needs to be done to stay alive, and shedding blood is a big part of it." He shrugged, and continued, a note of admiration creeping into his tone. "You really hadn't killed anyone before, and you were trying so hard to do the job right, to keep it together until the mission was over...

"All I can say is I'm sorry, and I'll do my best to not make this any harder on you. I'm guessing as a musician, you're a bit more on the sensitive side, am I right?" I couldn't help but stare at him, tears springing to my eyes.

"Don't worry about it. Try to hold on to that compassion, though. Don't let this world make you bitter before you return to yours. Being a bitter assh- err jerk is my job." He drained his glass, refilling it one more time and setting the bottle aside.

"Th-thank you." I was completely stunned. Here was this professional mercenary, this heartless paid killer, and he was apologizing for being hard on me? He was showing me a depth of understanding, of emotional awareness that I found surprising, and a little touching. Who is this guy, anyway?

Then the realization of what he had said filtered through the haze of vodka. "Wait a minute... 'watching my life parade across the screen'... how much did you see?!"

"More than we needed to. Definitely more than we should have." he admitted, apologetically. "Dr. Amari was having difficulty controlling the memories once your Pip-Boy interface kicked in. She said the flood of information nearly blew out the computer...and that would have been very, very bad."

I drained my glass at that.

"I tried to say something, but Hancock was absolutely fascinated and Dr. Amari had her hands full trying to control the equipment." By this time, the strong spirits had definitely kicked in, and provided a buffer from the emotional impact of this brutal, if unintentional, invasion of my privacy. MacCready sighed, setting his empty glass on the low table and lacing his fingers together over his knee. "Until the connection was stabilized, there wasn't much else we could do but watch. And watch... and watch..."

"Oh my goddd," I moaned, head spinning from the alcohol.

"I know this probably won't help, but none of us will say anything," he coaxed. "Hancock may be a drug-addled Ghoul, but he has a good heart underneath all those scars. Fahrenheit is too professional to gossip..."

"Annd you?" I asked, when he trailed off. It was difficult to form the words.

"Like I told you before, no one has the right to know your secrets unless you tell them." He met my eyes with a somber, yet compassionate expression. "We all have secrets, things we don't want people to know. You were the victim of an unfortunate accident that revealed more of your life than you wanted. The good thing is it happened among people who respect the idea of privacy." He leaned back against the cushions. "I have to admit, though, it's nice to know you've been telling me the truth. I'm not used to that."

"Okayy." My voice was slurred. "Hey... M'Creee... Deeuu... Muhhh... Mac?"

"Yeah, Boss?"

"Whydywe get... drunk?" Whee!

A quiet chuckle. "Wow, that hit you hard. I'm just buzzed. In your case, it was to soften the blow when you found out about your memories."

"Kayyy." I leaned my head back, closing my eyes.

"And in my case, liquid courage." At my inquiring grunt, he elaborated, "I didn't want to be the one to tell you, but as your hired guard, the task fell to me. I hope the alcohol helps."

"Mmmmyah." The room was spinning, and I slumped across the couch, getting my head down and stretching out across the length of the couch. As soon as I started to sprawl, MacCready hastily got up to make room. I wiggled into the worn cushions, finding a comfortable position to let the vodka swirl around in my head.

"Guess I'll sleep in the bed tonight," was MacCready's amused comment, the last thing that was said between us until morning.