commonwealthoccurences

[commonwealthoccurences]

back to eden - ch 14

masterlist (includes warnings + ao3 link)

It’s far too early in the morning when Nick gets the call, but he wasn’t sleeping, anyway. The light over his stove cast shadows all throughout the living area. They stretched long and thin through the room around him, dancing as the bulb occasionally dimmed and re-brightened itself. He didn’t notice.

Nick Valentine sat at his dining room table, staring down at the photo in front of him, though he wasn’t seeing what was in the image. His eyes had long glazed over, his thumb tracing the edge of the photograph like it would give him the final piece of the puzzle. The only sound that disrupted the silence was the very occasional time that the heater would kick on. Otherwise, he sat in silence.

He was close to getting an answer, he knew, but there was only a week left before Halloween and he should’ve been closer. There was no way the BPD hadn’t seen him logging into the databases or leaving breadcrumb trails so they could pursue the same leads he was just in case. They were just as desperate for answers as he was, though for different motivations, and so they were letting it slide. He had no idea if there would be consequences for his actions afterwards. He had no idea what to picture when he thought of “afterwards.” 

In the time he had “afterwards,” he found himself back at that kitchen table in that same trance, wondering what could’ve been different.

But when the phone rang out into the silent house, Nick picked it up, though sluggishly. “Detective Valentine speaking.” He knew it had to be the department– no one else would call him at such an hour.

“We have a location.”

In a single breath he was whipping up his jacket from the back of his chair and out the door, fumbling with his car keys in the ignition. His gun had never left his holster, and his holster had never left his hip, so he didn’t have to bother worrying about that. An operator, an older woman who had grown quite sympathetic with the Detective after she’d seen the development of Sole and Nick’s partnership and the subsequent loss he was suffering, fed him the information he wasn’t supposed to have. His foot was on the gas and he peeled out of his driveway in the middle of the quiet, October night, and sped down the street.

Nick’s knuckles were white on the steering wheel, his jaw nearly vibrating from the force with which he was gritting his teeth. A bright, full moon lit up the sky overhead, creating that eerie glow that had also taken up residence in his kitchen. He kept his windows down, despite the mid-autumn chill– something about the cold had become a comfort to him. Maybe it was the way it kept him awake, or the way he constantly had images of Sole in a chilly basement invading his mind whenever he dared to close his eyes. Who was he to be warm when they were suffering?

He got second-by-second updates from the operator, who stayed on the phone as Nick sped down streets at a rate that would’ve frightened anyone who would’ve witnessed it. Luckily, the roads were deserted and he only had to worry about not accidentally killing himself before he could get to Sole. He was racing towards afterwards, and the prospect made it hard to breathe. Sure, everything he had been doing in the last two weeks had revolved around finding them, but what would he find? How do you keep breathing when your world revolves around an unlikely answer to a question you’ve been repeating like a prayer?

Nick slammed on his brakes outside an old warehouse– of course, why would Grayson be smart enough to change his MO?– among the flashing red and blue of police cars. The moon still glowed overhead, outshining the stars and staring down at the scene. Nick hated the way the police lights looked against the metal shell of the warehouse and he hated the way it made the shadows of the trees move and he hated that he was there wondering what was going to be left of Sole when he found them.

He hated the way his couch always looked empty since they had gone missing. He hated the mornings and the way he never got to wake them up for work and he hated the afternoons where they didn’t bicker over lunch and he hated the evenings when he went home alone. He hated the BPD, and his career in the department, and the way he was lying to himself saying that he’d leave the moment “afterwards” became “now.” Nick Valentine fooled no one as he double-checked his weapon was loaded, cocked it, and stepped out of his vehicle.

Nick’s boots crunched against the gravel, the rocks grinding under his heel as he took quick, determined steps towards the entrance of the warehouse. The shadow that he cast took up residence with the rest. There was a team ready to breach the doors, laying in wait for a cue from the new case lead. Nick rolled his eyes. He knew better than to send in a herd of antsy officers when someone important was being held hostage inside. He was going to take a page out of Sole’s book.

It took little time for him to dart to the side of the building, undetected or unconfronted by the police presence, and find a side entrance. He mumbled a prayer for the door to not squeak and slowly turned the handle before prying it open enough for him to squeeze through the doorway.

It was dark inside, musty, much like the other warehouse. A flashlight held in hand beside his gun, Nick kept the beam aimed low to the ground so as to not create too much of a presence. Each step he took was precise, every breath drawn in tandem with those steps. The police chatter was hardly muffled now, considering the broken windows and questionable structural integrity of the building, but it was muffled enough for him to filter it out as he hunted for any sound that might give away where Sole or Grayson were.

Nick Valentine, as always, was slow and methodical. This part of the hunt was where he could do what he did best; he would not fuck this up, for fear of losing everything. Each step he took crossed off another section of the warehouse where they were not. Every visual sweep he did meant running through a checklist of visual indicators to try to figure out where they were within milliseconds. He would find them. They would figure out “afterwards.”

His slow stalking led him to a staircase, the ticking of his watch barely audible even in the quiet of the warehouse. The metal stairs led down, something that cast a pit into his stomach. If he used the flashlight to assess what he was descending into, he could alert Grayson to his presence and Sole could be dead within seconds. If he didn’t, there was no telling what he was walking into. Against every instinct in his body, every crumb of knowledge that he had collected over his career, he switched his flashlight off. There was no worst-case worse than Sole dying. There was no risk he wouldn’t take.

With his descent swallowed in complete darkness, Nick clung to his other senses for a semblance of his bearings. Distinctly, among the distant and muffled police chatter and the various creekings of the warehouse, Nick heard a dripping. It wasn’t quite rhythmic, like it would be if the roof or a pipe were leaking. He tried not to let it distract him as he took whisper-quiet steps down the metal stairs, gun gripped tight in his hand. His flashlight remained close, ready to use within a moment's notice.

Every step was agony with the way the tension rose through his spine and through his shoulders. Every slight scuffing sound his boots made caused him to flinch. He had one chance to get this right; if he didn't, he would never forgive himself. Once he reached the bottom of the staircase, he simply stood there, breathing as quietly as he could. Nothing jumped out at him, nothing audibly changed to give him a sense of direction as to where to go. His thumb traced over the ridged grip of the flashlight, deliberating flicking it on to give him a sense of his bearings.

After a moment's pause, Nick gave in to the nagging feeling that he needed his sight. The cold, white beam of light flashed on and practically looked like a floodlight considering the pitch dark that had been there moments before. Goosebumps ran across the skin of his arms and down his body. One glance around and he knew he was in the right place.

The entire basement area was the cold, light-colored but dirty concrete that he had seen in the photos Grayson had sent to taunt him. It was far larger than Nick expected, large enough for him to not be able to see the end of it when he cast the beam to either side. Pipes ran up and down the ceiling, all rusted and dripping and some hardly hanging on. As any abandoned building would, there were various objects scattered around like old crates, cardboard boxes, shelving units, and more. There was no stealth element left for Nick; shattered glass, dirt and rubble, and other stuff Nick couldn’t suss out crunched under his boot every time he moved.

Nick stopped abruptly and his heart nearly followed suit when he heard… something in the distance. Not willing to risk the sound of his flashlight’s button, he quickly turned the beam into his jacket and muffled it. He held his breath. He heard it again a second later, but couldn’t place it– it just sounded like general movement, not anything in particular. Swallowing his hesitation, he began to follow the quiet noise, the grip on his gun tightening further.

His ears led him down the expanse of the basement, his steps short to avoid kicking anything but not a shuffle to avoid the noise. He kept the creeping pace until he felt he was within reasonable distance, he took a chance. He shifted his flashlight away from his jacket, casting a fraction of the light into the room. Just enough to catch flashes of what was around. There was a clearing on the other side of a pile of boxes and rubble. In the middle of that clearing was a scene he knew all too well, one that he had memorized, one that he’d welcomed in his worst nightmares for just a second of a glimpse of them. 

Unchanged other than position, Sole was tied to that metal chair in the middle of the clearing, blindfolded and gagged and perhaps unconscious. The dripping sound he had heard was the slow drop of blood from one of their fingertips. Nick lost all sense of himself or any regard for caution as he dashed past the debris scattered in his way and crashed to his knees in front of them. It would sting later, but he had no care for after. He was here, now, and so were they and that was all he would ever care about. The flashlight clattered against the concrete when it fell to the ground, casting its beam off vaguely into the space behind Nick as he fumbled with the bindings around Sole’s ankles.

Startled back to attention from the dissociated half-consciousness that Sole had become accustomed to, they shifted in the chair and lifted their head. The gag in their mouth prevented them from saying anything, but they let out an alarmed, “Mmf!”

With their ankles undone thanks to a knife Nick gathered himself long enough to remember was in his pocket, he reached up and tugged the blindfold down their face, whispering apologies as they flinched at the flashlight beam. Though pointed away from them, it had been God knows how long since they’d been confronted with any lightsource, and to them it was blinding. Next to go was the gag.

Nevermind the flashlight, the hope that Sole found in Nick’s face was far more blinding. The tears started somewhere between the first and second blink they managed after registering Nick’s face, the drops trailing down the grime on their face and soaking into the blindfold that now rested around their neck. “Nicky?” Their voice was raspy, almost beyond recognition. He would know it anywhere.

Despite their hands tied around the back of the chair, Sole leaned forward into Nick’s shoulder, slumped with relief and desperation. They were aware enough of the situation to keep their sobs muffled in his jacket, nose pressed right where his collar ended. A month ago, they never would’ve imagined that the stench of cigarettes and burnt coffee beans would be so comforting. He took on their bodyweight with open arms once he reached around and released them from the ties on their wrists.

It was a graceless fall forward, Sole tumbling out of the chair and Nick more than happy to land on his ass just to catch them. Their nails dug into the exposed skin on his arm, the other hand clutching a fistfull of his jacket. They weren’t sure whether they were trying to ground themself or make sure he never left their sight again. It didn’t matter. Nick practically crushed the oxygen out of their lungs as he gathered them up and pressed them into himself, desperate to shield them from anything more.

Luckily, Sole was still in survival mode. The paranoia and fear that had kept them on high-alert whenever Grayson appeared kicked into overdrive as the hairs on their arms stood up. One scuffing sound was all it took. Sole’s head shot up from his shoulder, eyes wide like a deer in the headlights as they stared behind Nick. Their grip on him never wavered. With a scream that sent chills down Nick’s spine, he was knocked to the ground with the momentum Sole launched forward at, their body falling overtop him once again.

A shot had rang out. With their shirt being a thin tank top, he could feel warmth seeping against his skin where his jacket had fallen away.

Sole had just been shot.

It was everything he had trained himself against all of those years that came to a culmination at once. It was the rage of feeling helpless when Sole went missing and when his previous partner died and all of the times he couldn’t help people when on the job. It was the animalistic fear that had put his brain into overdrive the moment he saw the way Sole had blood caked on their face and bruises littering their skin. It was life or death.

Sole shifted off of him easily, not deadweight but not moving of their own volition, and Nick was scrambling to his feet within an instant. He dashed forward the couple of feet that Grayson had put between them with no sense to take into account the gun in his land. Thankfully, the impact caught Grayson off guard, perhaps due to the reckless stupidity that the Detective was exhibiting, and the gun in his hand went flying. It followed suit after Nick’s flashlight and clattered to the ground somewhere out of sight. Nick didn’t much care. He had Grayson in his grasp, and he had two fists that were plenty of weapons in themselves.

Sole’s everything was hazy. There were too many factors to pinpoint one cause, between the inevitable dehydration and the fact that they were just fucking shot. The concrete felt cold against their clammy skin, but they felt somehow colder. With the beam of Nick’s flashlight, they could just barely see the ceiling, though the pipes cast suspicious shadows and the edges of their vision danced with black. They could hear blows landing. They could hear the grunts of both Nick and Grayson, fighting for their lives on the dingy basement floor as warmth seeped out and around Sole’s shoulder.

Nick was sure that he had broken at least a few knuckles, and Grayson had gotten a good shot in on his nose a couple of times. It too, was broken for sure. He wasn’t sure what blood belonged to who as it splattered against both of their skins. It was an all-out war. Police activity competed with the sound of it, the BPD lit abuzz with the sound of the gunshot. His hand was around Grayson’s throat, Grayson’s knee was lodged in his stomach. Skulls and elbows and ribs met concrete and every part of Nick felt bleeding raw from the way they grappled at each other.

Then, another shot rang out.

Sole wobbled. The world turned around them, their hands shaking so hard it was impossible for them to aim again. In one breath, they had taken their only chance.

Dead, on the floor, with a bullet through his skull, was Grayson. Nearly dry-heaving from the fight of his life, but alive, was Nick.

Adrenaline was a welcome companion when Sole began to drop. Nick stumbled forward and hooked his hands around their ribs, flinching at the way they were thin and the way there were already bruises painting his arms every color imaginable. Once he got them to the floor without any more damage, Sole half in his lap, legs sprawled at awkward angles in front of them, he pushed a hand into their shoulder. Their eyelids were droopy, a thin layer of sweat dancing in the dim light. “Not today, Sole, not now. Come on. You’re not fucking leaving me here. Not like this.” He could’ve been gentler, tapping his hand against their face to get them awake, but he needed efficiency.

Their eyes stayed open for now. They looked up at him like they were trying to map out every feature on his face from memory, to draw together that recognition that had come so readily to them at first. Nick shrugged off his jacket and wrapped them in it before he pressed his palm against the wound in their shoulder even harder. They groaned quietly. Tears in their eyes, gaze unfocused, they whispered, “I wanna go home, Nicky.” 

His heart broke at the way they could barely get the words out, hardly acknowledging his hand digging into their wound. Nick’s voice was a harsh rasp as he yelled out, “A little help down here! Officer down, for the love of God!”

Nick Valentine did not dream. That wasn’t something the Institute found necessary to equip their Generation One synths with. Hell, Detective Valentine didn’t even really sleep. But sometimes on the rare occasions he was knocked unconscious or voluntarily entered his rest-and-recovery mode, he saw things.

He saw a shape backlit by light streaming through grand windows in a detective’s office.

He saw documents placed on his desk by a hand that should’ve been familiar, though he had never seen it before in his long, synth-life. 

He saw a figure curled up on the couch in a home he felt he recognized, a blanket thrown over them. He had never seen it before, either, but he knew he had placed it there.

Sometimes, when the Detective traveled the Wasteland, first in search of a community to settle in, then on his cases to help out members of the Commonwealth, he would get such a painful longing for home that it knocked all other thoughts from him. He would brace himself against the nearest object and wait for it to subside and if Ellie were there she would give him a sympathetic grimace and be sure not to mention it, because Nick Valentine did not have a home. He had Diamond City, which was where he lived and worked. He had the Institute, which was where he was created. He had the Commonwealth at large, which he did his very best to protect. However, Nick Valentine moved through his daily life with the distinct, hollow, unexplainable knowledge that he could never go home. For a hundred years, too, Detective Nick Valentine of Diamond City carried with him a grief so raw he could not speak of it aloud. Especially because he did not know what he was grieving.

Nick Valentine did not dream, and he tried his very hardest to not get anywhere close to doing so.

Nick didn’t leave Sole’s side. 

They had slipped out of consciousness the moment paramedics had rushed down the stairs after Nick practically screamed for them. Maybe they had some sixth sense that let them know that it was okay. Nothing about it felt okay to Nick, who had the sense to let the paramedics work on Sole, but was never more than a step behind them as they loaded them into the ambulance.

Shock had kicked in, apparently, after Sole had been shot. Their body had already been stressed because of the way Grayson had been slowly torturing them, and the emotional shock from seeing Nick and the gunshot itself had just snapped something in them. Between them being carried out of the warehouse and just before they were loaded in the ambulance, another set of paramedics had tried to pry him away to treat his own wounds. Whether or not Nick had punched one of them, too, he couldn’t remember.

He sat, silent in the corner of the ambulance, with a tissue pressed to his nose. The bleeding had stopped but there was another fifteen minutes until they reached the hospital and he was frozen in time. He had spent weeks praying for an “afterwards” where Sole was still alive, but this somehow didn’t feel like afterwards. He felt as if they were in limbo, frozen in time, and he would stay there until they opened their eyes again.

When Sole did awake, they didn’t talk about the time they had been missing. The BPD wanted answers. Frankly, so did Nick, but he wasn’t about to push them on the issue. Every time the BPD tried to question them, they glared up at the person from their hospital bed. Something about the bed made them seem so small; their glare looked more like that of a cornered animal than anything threatening.

Nick stayed on leave for a short while, this time psychiatric, and wasn’t allowed to come back until his BPD-mandated psychologist approved him to. Unfortunately for them, he quickly figured out everything they wanted to hear and parroted it back. He was approved to return, and after sorting out the paperwork on the Halloween Killer case, was immediately directed to return to working on the Eddie Winters case.

He took Sole home, once they were cleared. They sat silent during the car ride back to his place, their arm cradled in a sling, a bandage layered over where they had been shot. They still didn’t speak much, and it shattered Nick into a million little pieces. Instead, they spent much of their time staring out the window.

There were incidents. Sole was quick to anger and even quicker to shut down when their medical team poked and prodded. A few days after they settled in Nick’s house the headaches started. Nothing could fix it and often, despite the fact that he so desperately wanted to comfort them, the only option was for Nick to leave the house so as to not make any unnecessary noise in fear of it sending splitting, lightning-strike pain through Sole’s skull.

There were maybe a handful of moments where they returned to their old self. The first time Sole laughed again it was short and hardly audible, but Nick nearly cried. Once or twice they willingly piped up without prompting to tease him about something. 

And then one day, Nick woke up and Sole had packed their things and left.

At first, he was frantic. He called them a dozen times, his mind going back to the moment he had discovered they were missing in that warehouse over and over again. Then they sent him a text that simply read, “Went back to the house. I’m fine.”

Nick didn’t really hear from them after that. Without them in his home, he didn’t want to stay there, either. He launched full-heartedly into the Eddie Winters investigation and stayed there no matter what, to avoid letting his mind wander. Sometimes he sent a text, something he never did before the two met, just to make sure they were still alive. They were. They just never called.

Until the brisk morning of October 23rd, 2077, when he was back in Boston touching base with the BPD. His phone rang and he answered it without thinking, “Detective Valentine, BPD.”

“Hey, Nick. Look, I was wondering– I mean, are you free later today?”

“Sole?”

“Yeah, it’s me.”

“Yeah, I’m free today. What’s going on?”

“If you’re not don’t worry about it, I know you’re busy–”

“I’m free today.” He repeated, firmer.

“I’d like to see you, if that’s okay?”

“When and where?”

“Uh, my house. I could make lunch or dinner or something.”

“I’ll be there.”

“Okay.”

Nick went to hang up, dizzy from the unexpected contact. Troubled, even, considering something must have changed for Sole to contact him. Though concerned, he was relieved to hear from them. “Oh, Nick?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“I’ll see you later.”

#fallout 4 fanfiction #nick valentine #gender neutral sole survivor #slow burn #friends to strangers to lovers #angst #hurt comfort #angst with a happy ending

[commonwealthoccurences]

back to eden - ch 13

masterlist (contains warnings + ao3 link)

Detective Nick Valentine was on the warpath. All semblance of caution had been thrown to the wind since he received those images. He’d practically terrorized the entire department trying to figure out who had delivered the letter to the department. Uselessly, the rookie couldn’t remember the face of whoever had handed him the envelope. There was no doubt in Nick’s mind that it was Grayson, though. The exchange had been made outside of the view of any cameras outside the station. No other members of the department had witnessed the interaction. It was a dead-end, but Nick knew the answer anyway.

Despite the way it tore him to pieces, Nick studied those images. He tried his best to put on that detective’s facade that he had grown so accustomed to and figure out where they were. Someone from the department was actually brave enough to argue that the pictures provided should be pinned to the victim board, which had been moved to the main conference room, but Nick was as unyielding as ever. 

Working with Sole had worn on him. As they had more discussions about what Sole did and the reasons they did it, Nick found himself mulling over every flaw that he had encountered with the BPD. He found the mannerisms and responses of the department more and more aggravating than when he used to be able to tolerate them in order to get his job done. Playing his part in the partnership he had with Sole as the detective everyone had come to know him as had kept him more willing to do the job he had always done. Now, with Sole on the line and the department standing in his way, his restraint and facade were crumbling.

Every dead end led him to become more agitated. There was no telling where Grayson was holding Sole– the only thing that could be seen beyond their figure in the chair was a dark, concrete room. There were no other descriptors, no other features. Nothing else was there.

Sole had felt Deacon’s stare digging knives into their back as they had turned and descended the staircase that had led them to the synth they were meant to rescue. Whether or not Deacon and the synth followed them out, they didn’t care. They needed out. Sole desperately needed to no longer be underground, even if that meant clawing through every layer of the Vault and the soil above it with their fingernails.

If there had been any semblance of protest to their actions, Sole hadn’t heard. Their ears were ringing too loudly for them to even hear their own footsteps echoing in the room. They stumbled on the last step; their vision was blurring around the edges, like the shitty vignette filter that had become so popular before the war. They shuddered at the hand that landed on their forearm, allowing them to brace as they were lowered to sit on the ground and catch their breath. It was then that they realized they were hyperventilating. “Really not a big fan of synths, eh?” Their rescuee asked.

Sole wanted to put their hands over their ears like a child. Like all of those drills they ran with the schoolkids in the last few years before the bombs dropped, as if crawling under their desks and covering their ears would save them from total nuclear annihilation. Luckily, it had been Deacon to get ahold of them and help them to the floor– they weren’t sure how they would’ve reacted if the detective had touched them. Deacon spoke up. “I thought you two hadn’t met?”

“Well, as far as I know, we haven’t.”

“Hm. It’s not the synth thing that’s bothering them. They’ve never had issues before.”

“Ah,” the synth’s tone was dry, “Just me then? Way to make me feel special. Look, if it’s the face, I know it can be unnerving–”

“It’s not your face.” Sole’s voice came out from between gritted teeth. 

They sucked in a deep breath, and though they made their best effort, they couldn’t bear to look up. “You sound like someone I know– used to know. Someone I really cared about.”

“Oh. What was their name?”

“Nick. His name was Nick.”

There was an audible pause, and Sole was sure if any sort of clock had survived within the Vault, they would’ve been able to hear the tick clear across the room. Deacon was still staring down at them. “Well, that’s a coincidence.”

“Why?”

The synth stuck out his hand– not the metal one, notably, the more human-looking one. “Detective Nick Valentine of Diamond City.”

Nick hadn’t bothered to wait for warrants. He hadn’t even bothered to notify his department of what he was doing. Officially, he was on leave. Someone higher up than him had determined that he was unfit for duty, particularly for working on the Grayson case due to his “personal involvement,” and had placed him on leave. He hadn’t protested. He’d been tempted to quit on the spot, but that could wait until after Sole was safe– despite his official leave of absence, he still had some power to levy, and that would come in handy with the solo investigation he was conducting. It felt more like a one-man war.

He’d made copies of every relevant file and the ones that weren’t quite relevant, too. Every suspect they’d had, every location they’d been, everything Sole had ever looked at or breathed near. His home, which had once been as tidy as Sole had seen it, was now covered in scattered papers, like a tornado had blown through his mental map of the case and scattered the construction of it through his living room. He worked at the kitchen table and never glanced at the couch. In the back of his mind, he was haunted by a countdown.

Perhaps it would’ve been more reasonable for Sole to explode. Maybe they should’ve screamed and lunged at the synth in front of them, maybe put a bullet through his head– if that would’ve even done anything. In another life, maybe they did.

In this one, however, they stood calmly and brushed past the outstretched hand that had loomed over them as they’d sat on the steps. They ignored the synth and the way Deacon stared and they simply started walking. All but the exact center of their vision blurred, tunnel-visioned as they made their way through the hallways and up the cursed staircases. They had few qualms about shooting their way out of the Vault now, their past hot on their tail as they drifted through the halls.

A vault couldn’t contain Sole, and neither could their own skin. Floating far above their own body as they moved, their weapon clumsy in their hand, Skinny Malone’s crew were merely hazy figures that fell around them. Some of their shots landed, sure, but it was Deacon and the synth close behind that had the practice and the careful aim to prevent them from being killed. Any protests from them about Sole’s actions landed on deaf ears and a deaf heart. If they didn’t keep moving, they would sink low beneath the concrete of the vault and have to live with their grief, the very same grief that seemed to be trapped in the glowing eyes of the not-quite-man with a stolen name.

By the time Sole had made it to the top of the Vault, they were some form of jaded. The haze hadn’t faded from their vision, but they were shutting down. They had no idea what was happening, but of course it was happening. 

The conversation Skinny Malone tried to start by taunting the false detective, but Sole was ready to go home. They weren’t sure where that was, but they wanted it, and they knew it wasn’t here. The shootout started the moment Sole reached for their weapon with a roll of their eyes. Deacon, as always, was quick to adapt like a cat landing on its feet. The synth was right behind him, ducking behind nearby objects and popping out to fire shots that always hit their mark. Sole wanted to see Nick in him. They didn’t.

When the fight ended, Deacon was confrontational. Surrounded by the scattered bodies of Skinny Malone’s crew and the two leaders themselves, he grabbed Sole’s shoulders and muttered out, “What the hell was that?”

“I need to go home.” Sole breathed out, staring at the floor.

“You could’ve gotten us killed.”

“I need to– I have to go home.”

“Let them go, Deacon.” The synth popped up.

So Deacon released their shoulder and Sole turned and shuffled their way through the tunnel to the escape ladder that they and Deacon had discovered while scanning the place on the way in. They left Deacon and the synth standing amidst the rubble of a crumbled vault, an old pre-war subway system, and a post-war gang that had no purpose other than fear. They watched Sole go.

#fallout 4 #nick valentine #deacon #preston garvey #fanfiction #slow burn #friends to strangers to lovers

[commonwealthoccurences]

back to eden - ch 12

Masterlist - Includes content warnings, summary, and ao3 link.

Sole had never been one for busting down doors; they had always let Nick do that whenever it needed doing. Though, they didn’t get the opportunity often, and for that they were grateful. The rough-and-tumble side of police work was never for them, despite the fact that they could hold their own.

Instead, they eased the door to Park Street Station. Miraculously, the doors barely squeaked as they were pulled out of place– maybe WD40 really could last through the apocalypse. Pebbles and debris scraped against the pavement as they gained entry, creating an unpleasant chorus to welcome the pair into the damp staircase. Deacon pulled the doors shut behind them and let the darkness swallow them whole. Sole’s breath caught in their throat.

It’s hard to tell how much time has passed when you’re trapped in the dark with no way to get your bearings. Sole was sure that at least a day had passed, but they couldn’t get more grounded than that. Grayson never talked to them– he was around, sure, but never said anything. Instead, he simply walked around.

The sound of his footsteps was never predictable. Sole had no idea how he was getting near them without making a sound, but they never heard a door or anything else to give them warning. Occasionally, he would redo the bindings on them and the chair; rearranging their limbs and retying them. He always made sure to keep them in awkward positions that made it impossible for them to lash out or overpower him. Sole supposed they should’ve been grateful, at least, that he wasn’t making them sit in the same position all day every day for however many days. They would’ve much preferred to break his nose, instead.

Eager to escape the suffocating mugginess of the dark stairwell, Sole descended the steps in a rather clumsy manner. Not their best idea considering the need for stealth in this situation. Their own request for stealth, even. But they figured a panic attack would be much more disruptive than some anxious footsteps. With this logic, they hauled ass down the stairs unapologetically.

Deacon was right behind them in an instant, but in a much more graceful, practiced, and nearly cat-like way. Sole paused to the side of the doorway that led into the subway station and listened. After a few seconds of silence ticked by, they heard footsteps, and the murmuring of approaching chatter. They chanced a look behind them in the dim light of the tunnel to read Deacon’s reaction. He had none; instead, he nodded to Sole calmly, reminding them that it was their move.

Something in the damp stirred and they swore they could feel Nick standing over their shoulder. His voice echoed in their head, as it so often did. Get low to the ground so no one sees you when you’re trying to assess your surroundings. Hand on your gun, but keep your finger off the trigger. The thing he always said to follow up his advice never came, though. It’d been roughly 200 years since they’d heard, I’ve got your back.

The deep breath Sole took didn’t quite get far with how tight their lungs felt. Slowly, they crouched low and peered around the corner. Lights flickered in the next room, but it was impossible to miss the two figures that stood chatting just inside. Sole paused to listen to the raspiness of their voices. It was starkly different than the raspiness they knew of Nick’s voice– since Sanctuary had begun to expand they had a few ghouls join the settlement, and their rasp was almost like its own accent. These were definitely ghouls.

Sole mulled over their options as quickly as they could. They knew what Deacon preferred to do– he had told them as much. In the wasteland, killing someone over matters like these was nothing. He didn’t blink at the idea of leaving a trail of bodies behind them in order to get the detective out of his predicament. Sole had protested rather loudly, astonished by his calm attitude. “We can’t just kill them!”

“Why not? If we don’t, they’ll come after us. That’s how things work around here now.”

Sure, Sole could see the logic, but that didn’t mean they liked it. Considering Deacon had estimated that there were at least a good twenty members of Skinny Malone’s crew inside the subway tunnels, their skin crawled at the idea of murdering even a fraction of those ghouls. Bad guys or not, Sole had only killed one person before, and the aftermath had been hellfire.

So, the pair settled on an agreement. First, they would subdue the members of Malone’s crew. Then, when Sole had turned their back, Deacon could take care of them. Simply put, they weren’t ready to face the idea that the next however many years of their life would be spent killing people without second thought. The disapproval had been blatant on Deacon’s face, but they didn’t care if he was judging them. The blood that was already on their hands had seeped into their skin like poison and left them reeling. If he was used to it, fine, but that didn’t change the fact that they weren't.

With a glance at Deacon and a slight gesture, both of them rushed into the room where the ghouls had their backs turned and lunged for them. In theory, they were supposed to get a firm arm around the throat and restrain their arms with a solid grip. Sole took a mere millisecond’s hesitation and nearly fumbled. Luckily, they recovered just as quickly and managed to wrestle the gun from the ghoul’s grip, a firm arm wrapped around his throat as they eased him to the floor.

Despite the thrashing retaliation attempts he went down, albeit painfully slow, and Sole finally felt his frame go limp in their grasp. Almost apologetically, Sole released him to rest on the floor and didn’t spare a look to Deacon before they stepped away. Instead, they busied themself by moving to the subway counter to scrounge for anything that may be useful to Sanctuary. Deacon had even given them some tips on items best to barter with, which Sole had started keeping in the back of their mind for situations like this. Slowly, as they spent more time in the Wasteland, a priority list was forming in their brain of what could take up the precious space in their pack. One muffled shot rang out behind them, courtesy of Deacon’s silencer. Then, another.

A week had gone by since Sole had gone missing and something had washed over the lead Detective. The caffeine and cigarette fueled nonstop wandering had ceased and it seemed he was nearly back to his usual self, other than a few caveats. First, no one mentioned any personal relation that he had to Sole. The icy expression that washed over his face every time was enough to send anyone darting out of the room. On the other hand, no one was allowed to refer to Sole as simply another victim. The BPD wasn’t allowed to distance themselves from their disappearance. In a world first, Detective Valentine had gone straight to the press to make sure that didn’t happen.

Their picture never made it to the board that Sole and he had set up during their investigation. Instead, it sat on Nick’s desk atop their case file. The idea of looking at their face next to Grayson’s previous victims with their fate hanging in the air as it was sent bile rushing up his throat.

He knew that if Sole were still here they would be reminding him that it’s not healthy to shut down. That he was allowed to be upset and emotional. He’d spent several days being upset and extremely emotional, which every other person regularly in the BPD building could attest to, and he was sick of it. If he couldn’t solve this, if he couldn’t bring Sole home safe, his career would mean nothing. What would years of experience and training mean if he let them down. If he had to bury them. So, he shoved every sickeningly thick emotion down to the hollow pit of his stomach and was set on doing his damn job. And the other officers knew damn well to stay out of his way.\

Moving through the Vault in the way that they were began to instill some level of understanding in Sole of the way Deacon lived. They had to admit it was appealing. After the first couple of movements and Sole growing used to the idea that Nick’s shadow would loom over them in their mind until they were safely outside the Vault and the subway station again, the two fell into a quick and quiet methodology. Preston’s unwavering insistence that they must practice every instance of combat they could possibly run into did them good. It seemed Sole and Deacon were setting new records every time they had to subdue and execute one of Malone’s crew. Sole wondered briefly if Nick would’ve ever been able to picture them this way– so unfortunately efficient at something he never wanted them to get any closer to.

Eventually, the pair reached one of the deepest parts of the Vault. Sole thanked everything good left in the Commonwealth that they hadn’t had any major fuck-ups along the way. This wasn’t like before the war, where they could stumble and know that Nick was behind them fully prepared to catch them if they fell, metaphorically and literally. One wrong move and Sole knew they would be lit up like pre-war Sanctuary during Christmas, which was not a pretty sight considering their neighbors got competitive about it.

When Sole scanned the final room, they grimly noted a set of stairs. After stumbling out of cryo, something about stairs had turned into kryptonite for them. If anyone were waiting at the top of the steps, they were a goner. With a deep breath to soothe the adrenaline, Sole paused at the doorway. Deacon swiveled to the other side and allowed them to catch their breath. While waiting, Sole listened. Another ghoul was chatting inside the other room, clearly taunting. “What’s the matter, Nicky? Feeling cooped up? Shouldn’t’ve gone sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong.”

Just hearing Nicky sent a rush of cold down Sole’s body, like someone had suddenly thrown a bucket of ice-water over the top of their head and it was dripping down. There was no way in hell there happened to be a detective after the bombs named Nick or Nicky. The detective they were rescuing had to be stuck in there with someone else. Deacon hadn’t mentioned it, but it wasn’t like Deacon knew everything and considering how shady this group was, Sole had no doubt that they’d have several prisoners. Hell, two even seemed like too low of a number for them.

They gritted their teeth and forced themself to breathe. They noticed the ghost of Nick that their brain so helpfully liked to dream up was missing from the outskirts of their peripheral vision. All they saw was Deacon, who was watching them carefully, as he always did. “Alright?” He risked asking, his voice low enough to prevent detection.

Nope. Absolutely not, they weren’t okay at all. But Sole nodded and readjusted their grip on their weapon. There was no doubt in their mind that this last fight would be one they couldn’t exactly choose to sit out on the violence part. Their body was practically trembling from how much they had stiffened, but they couldn’t wait any longer. It was now or never, before the circumstances changed. Deacon registered the moment their body shifted and jumped into action behind them.

Sole let him take the charge up the stairs. Knowing their weaknesses, they stayed at the foot of the steps and lined up a shot once they got a good view of the ghoul standing in front of the high-tech prison cell. Their hands were shaking. They weren’t allowed to shake. They had to have Deacon’s back. Did Deacon even have their back? It didn’t matter. Deacon was at the top of the steps and the ghoul knew he was there. Within an instant, the ghoul had drawn his gun, but it was too late. Two shots rang out at the same time. Sole and Deacon had fired at once, and the ghoul dropped to the floor with a pair of bullet holes in his skull.

The fight was over. For now, at least. Sole holstered their gun and braced themself against the stair railing, heaving a large sigh and trying to convince their lungs to work again. Distantly, they could hear Deacon’s voice and another, though their speech was too quiet for them to make out any conversation. That tone seemed vaguely familiar, but considering the amount of ghosts following Sole around and the way that their reality often bled into… something else, they paid it no mind.

Instead, they took their time climbing the stairs and groaned at the strain. The makeshift prison was now open and Deacon had apparently stepped inside to continue the discussion. As they approached, Sole heard him say, “Don’t worry, I brought backup. I know when I’m outnumbered. I totally could’ve taken on the entire crew, though. But, y’know, it’s nice to give the rookies some training. My backup needed to get some practice in.”

Preoccupied by their exhaustion, Sole paid no mind to the window as they passed it to the doorway. They rounded the corner into the doorway and swiped a hand over their sweaty forehead before meeting familiar eyes. Eyes that had occasionally haunted them every since Sole had first seen them in Diamond City. The synth was D.C.’s detective? They supposed that made sense, considering all the comments Preston made about him not getting the treatment he deserved in return for all of the work he did for the city. Sole gave him a polite nod. “Good to see you’re in one piece.”

The synth cracked a smile, crooked in nature, and spoke, “Gotta love the irony of the reverse damsel-in-distress scenario. Question is, why did our hero risk life and limb to help rescue an old private eye they’ve never met before?”

Sole froze in place. They stared. That voice was so hauntingly familiar. They weren’t breathing. They could feel the room closing in around them. It was unmistakable. That was Detective Nick Valentine’s voice, as raspy and warm as they remembered it. Every system in their body had ceased function; the blood froze in their veins, their heart stopped beating, but somehow the pulse at the base of their throat was thrumming a mile a minute. The world was spinning. Everything was still. Sole’s voice was hardly a breathy whisper and it crumbled like the ruined city around them as they choked out, “Nicky?”

The Detective blinked. Slowly, contemplatively, like he had back on that day in the alley in Diamond City. “I’m sorry.” he drawled, fake skin creased where his eyebrows should’ve been, in concern “Have we met before?”

A very unlucky grunt at the BPD had been chosen to deliver Detective Valentine’s mail. They did so with a hesitant knock to his office door and nearly jumped out of their skin when the Detective snapped out, “What?”

“Your mail, Detective.”

A thick envelope was placed on Detective Valentine’s desk before the deliverer scrambled out of the room and softly shut the door behind them, for fear of being reprimanded for slamming it. Once their footsteps had disappeared down the hall, Nick turned away from the window and picked up the envelope, turning it over. There was no return address, but that wasn’t too unusual. Sometimes, people sent in tips and wanted to remain anonymous. Sometimes, he got gross fanmail and people simply wanted to be a “secret admirer.” Usually, though, those were just letters. Nick could feel that there was more in there, though.

With jerky movements, he broke the seal on the mailer and reached in. He pulled the contents out with what care he could muster. Something clattered onto his desk, but Nick didn’t even notice at first. The first thing that met his eyes as he revealed the envelope's contents was the picture on top of a stack of pictures. Sole. Tied to a chair. Blood splattered across their face, across their torso, across the floor beneath them. Discoloration painted their face and neck in all the places blood didn’t– bruises in every color, in every stage of healing. As the photos continued, it grew more evident that this was a documentation of a timeline of torture. There was no other way to put it. The last photo contained the most blood, as well as the most healing wounds. Scabs. Yellow bruises amongst the dark purple. Nick couldn’t bear to look at the collection of horrors anymore; he’d seen some rough shit in his work, but nothing compared to anything happening to someone you knew. Someone you cared about.

As he tossed the photos onto his desk they scattered. When he slammed his fist onto the wooden surface, that thing clacked against his desk again. This time, despite the fury racing through him and the fact that he felt faint, it caught his attention.

On his desk, glinting in the light of his lamp against the deep mahogany surface, were teeth. Three, to be exact. Their roots were perfectly intact and attached, dried blood clinging to the surfaces. The way Nick’s hands shook began rattling the back of his chair against the desk. Those were Sole’s teeth. The bastard was taunting him– there was no room for Nick to question whether or not he had Sole. He could send those teeth off to forensics and get confirmation, just like he did for every other victim of Grayson’s.

Sole was still alive, but they were running out of time.

#fallout 4 #fo4 #nick valentine #fanfiction #preston garvey #deacon #slow burn #angst with a happy ending #mutual pining #friends to strangers to lovers

[commonwealthoccurences]

im aro (who just has a weakness for your fics which is peculiar for me bc reader inserts don't normally interest me but yours oof hits just the right spot) and i have an intense discomfort for valentine's day so i have almost every varient of it blacklisted. unfortunately, that means tumblr hides your nick valentine fics which i find both funny and annoying lmaoo however it does somewhat help me bc when i actually catch the 'post hidden bc blacklist' im like !!!!! oh shit!!! time to catch up and i binge read including going back to some of my faves ahahah

anyways this ask was just to say hi keep being amazing i love your work and i hope that life treats you as kindly as you treat your readers!!!!! 💛

Ohhhh this is so lovely!! I'm glad that you enjoy my writing and I'll definitely make a note to put out more platonic stuff in the future for all of my aro followers (: It's too bad about the tag thing I didn't even think of that! Unfortunately, I'm not sure there's any way for me to work around it otherwise I definitely would. But I'm glad you find your way back here when you can and enjoy what I write (which, I will fully admit other than BTE, is few and far between nowadays). This blog and anons like you have been invaluable as writing for fo4 and getting feedback on my writing has helped me build my writing skills for my original works and I hold my original project very close to my heart. In a roundabout way, y'all have helped me out with it, and I try to give as much love back to everyone who reads my fanfic in return (: I hope you have a lovely rest of your day!! (And don't worry about your other ask, no offense was taken and I definitely agree on the way that games like fo4 can function as character or player inserts (: )

#Anon friends #zero talks #sometimes i worry that when im gone for long stretches of time #people will see themselves out when they realize they still follow me #which is totally understandable and i hold no grudge or negative feelings #just glad they/y'all were here in the first place #but seeing people still enjoying my writing even when i can't be around often cause of life stuff means a lot #i've debated doing life updates occasionally so y'all know I'm still thinking of this blog but don't have time to be here and that i haven' #shut things down #but thankfully with BTE being semi-frequent i haven't felt the need to in a good minute #im going to try my hardest to make time especially for this blog during university bc i don't want to lose all of my hobbies #but my education is very important to me and i have high standards for myself so we'll see lol

[commonwealthoccurences]

back to eden - ch 11

Masterlist

Awakening came with a thick, suffocating breath of air that hardly did anything to appease Sole’s lungs and a sharp, unrelenting migraine. The smell of must sat heavy in the air and turned every attempt to catch their breath into short little gasps. This did nothing to quell their steadily rising panic as they quickly realized they were not safe.

Something blunt and heavy had slammed against their skull as they were searching through that damned warehouse. They had heard some scuffing and were about to call out to Valentine when the slam had knocked them to the floor. There was something to be said about the way his name still left their mouth in a desperate gasp when they realized what was happening. It was the quietest prayer on a dripping concrete floor as they locked eyes with an all too familiar face through the blackout daze of their head trauma. And then the lights went out.

Blood had created a thin coat across their mouth and teeth– the distinct sting as they swiped their tongue around to try to clear the taste let them know that they had likely bitten their cheek when they had gone down. Pain ebbed and flowed in a thick ocean that crashed to shore with every breath they took. Bindings dug into their skin at every joint; their wrists, ankles, knees and elbows all ached with what seemed to be the chafing of fibrous rope binding them to the metal chair beneath them.

The first thing Sole did was sit stock-still and listen to their surroundings. Nothing registered other than the hollow echo of dripping water in the distance. From what they could gather they were alone. Sole wasn’t sure if that was what they preferred or not, as the water continued dripping.

Deacon had appeared as suddenly as he’d disappeared a month after their first discussion. He’d asked for their help, said a friend was in urgent trouble and all of his other “allies” were indisposed. Fierce loyalty was something that Deacon had surprised Sole with; considering his usual mannerisms, they didn’t put much weight in the idea that he’d be the kind to stick his own neck out for another. Then again, how well did they really know them?

Sole was grateful that Sanctuary was in a place where they could be missed– winter preparations hadn’t quite begun as the days were still comfortably warm, but all of the set-up they’d needed had been completed a week or so ago. While Sturges was always tinkering away at improvements in the workshop they’d set up for him, that was simply something Sturges always did. The rest of the settlement had lulled to a rare, lazy stroll when it came to daily life.

Sole had a brief conversation with Preston about being needed outside the settlement and he had sent them off with an overstuffed pack (which they quickly made more reasonable once they were out of his sight) and a promise from them to stay safe. Deacon had made a joke about wrapping them in a dozen blankets just so he could return them unscathed, and then they were off.

As they walked, Deacon gave them a handful of more details in regard to what they were doing. Sole kept themself entertained trying to kick a rock down the crumbled pavement as he spoke. “He’s one of those that always gets himself into bad situations trying to do the right thing. We’ve got a group around here, similar to the raiders but they think they’re better. Fancier or something. Anyway, it’ll be fast enough. I could probably get through on my own, but I’d feel better with a little backup. Just gotta grab him and get out in one piece.”

Sole sighed. “Let’s not blow through like we’ve brought the cavalry. I don’t do well with getting shot.”

“Sounds like there’s a story there.”

“There is.”

Sole lost track of their rock as it bounced against a particularly rough piece of pavement and skipped off into the dry overgrowth. They mourned the loss of their distraction for a mere second before they turned to the sun as it sunk low on the horizon– Sole wasn’t surprised when Deacon had announced his preference to strike at night, and considering how rocky their ability to sleep was, it made no difference to them. 

Every minute they spent out in the Commonwealth put them more at ease in the environment. This didn’t mean they weren’t paranoid about their surroundings, but they felt much less like they were waiting for the eventuality of being attacked. More idle time at the settlement meant they’d built up their muscle and reflexes more and more. Curie had given them the lucky, but realistic, outlook that they would never fully heal from the effects of cryofreeze, but they’d take the occasional episodes over the way they’d felt that first day anytime. Now they felt like they could hold their own.

It was unexpected that even staying in Sanctuary had prepared Sole for the brutal reality of leaving it. Sure, it was a bubble compared to the wasteland outside, but they grew used to hearing of the horrors of the wasteland from other settlement members. They’d begun helping Curie soothe the wounds of new members from their time outside, and listened quietly as they vented stories of the brutality they’d experienced before arriving. After breaking up fights between settlers and having experienced a few false flags of potential attacks, Sole felt they were growing jaded.

As the late evening gave into night they watched a different kind of confidence in Deacon grow. He had that chameleon-esque air about him during the day, where he could get along with anyone. If he couldn’t, he could convince them that a fight wasn’t worth it. But in the starlit dead of night, where he was mostly alone, there was an ease about him that was different. An absence of being seen, perhaps. The freedom of no longer needing to pick out a box and climb into it so as to best please his audience. A performer resting backstage.

It was somewhat unnerving that Sole could confidently say that the only reason they were getting the tiniest peek behind this curtain is that Deacon didn’t see them as enough of a threat to keep his guard sky high. “So,” Sole started, unable to take the silence any longer “tell me more.”

“Eh, not much more to it. His assistant came to me for help as soon as she realized he wasn’t coming back home on his own. She knows we’re… friendly.” Sole noted his hesitancy to use the word friends. “Anyway, he’s a rare one out here and we need people like him around, so I don’t mind sticking my neck out a bit here. Not like we have a lot of detectives around here.”

The heaviness that had been sitting in Sole’s heart since they woke up dropped into their stomach. It felt as if a blackhole had started in their very core and they were waiting to be sucked in. “Ah. The detective.” They responded, hoping the emptiness that echoed in their voice didn’t register with Deacon.

The casualness in his tone didn’t match the way he was staring them down. “Not surprised you’ve heard of him. He’s one of the few with a good reputation around here.”

“Mhm.”

More staring. Sole pretended to not see it, and Deacon, thankfully, chose not to press the matter. Instead, he switched to another topic. Another, much worse topic. “So, I heard you’ve got an empty grave in Sanctuary. Got a hit list in mind or something?”

“Deacon, I’ll kill you.”

“I love that you’re confident in your abilities enough to think you can manage that.”

“Deacon, I will attempt to maim you.”

“See? It’s good to have realistic expectations.”

The sunglasses staying on even in the dead of night really threw Sole for a loop, considering it seemed like a tactical disadvantage, but Deacon said nothing of it and neither did they. If he wanted to get blindsided by a mole rat hauling ass down a hill at him because he couldn’t see properly, that was his business. 

The company they kept for the rest of the journey was their own thoughts. Deacon didn’t seem to have the energy for small talk and Sole wasn’t interested, so they didn’t bother trying to keep it up. Instead, they sat and stewed on the idea that they were meeting this detective of Diamond City. The ache returned full force and took their breath away, and they were grateful to the sun for setting so they didn’t glance to their side for a shadow without its figure.

Out of sight wasn’t out of mind and they still felt Valentine’s ghost following them. It slipped through the alleys of their mind, dipped in and out of shadow, staying visible just long enough for them to second guess themself. A lump sat sharp as a knife in the base of their throat and they swallowed, glaring up at the sky as they walked. Not even the stars had stuck around and waited for them– there is no way to comprehend how disorienting it is to come back to life and realize that the sky has changed until you’re there.

Sole found themself wishing for a quick death. For Nick, not themself. They begged for the idea of it being instant, groveled at the feet of those changed stars to entertain the idea that he didn’t think of them before he died. There was no way Sole would survive if they were the cause of any doubts or hesitance in the moments before. They hoped he didn’t think of them at all.

Their musings kept them lost long enough that Deacon had to give them a light tap to their shoulder with the back of his hand to draw them out and let them know they were where they needed to be. Something washed over them that wasn’t wholly unfamiliar. In fact, amongst the roughness of their weeks before the bombs and soon after, it had made its home in the folds of their brain. A sudden rush, running cool through their veins, filled them with a matter-of-fact resolve. They knew the job. It was time to get in, get the detective, and get out. They were focused. There was no time for the ghost that trailed after them. “Ready?” Deacon asked, his pistol readied in front of him, one hand on the door.

“Ready.” Sole said, firmly, drawing their weapon and squaring their shoulders.

No one had seen Detective Nick Valentine like this. No one in the department could be sure when the last time he slept was, but it couldn’t have been any sooner than the day Sole went missing– three days prior. At this point, his bloodstream had to be more black coffee than anything else, and it showed in the way he never stopped moving. Everyone else was on their best behavior for once, considering the way he snapped at every movement– a newer department member got yelled at for breathing too loudly.

There had been no word from Sole since that night. Grayson had gone missing, as well. The conclusion was obvious. Detective Nick Valentine was without a partner and the department was scrambling to explain to the press why one of their consultants had gone missing after they released their prime suspect. 

Despite the chaos that was the Detective himself, his office was meticulously clean– far more so than before Sole had vanished. Every piece of paper, every note, document, and file folder remained firmly in its place. It was as if he was convinced that if he moved anything the key to Sole’s return would go missing and all hope would go with it. 

Sleep wasn’t an option. He wouldn’t rest until they were found. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the reassuring grin they gave him before they took off into the rest of the warehouse. Sometimes, he saw his previous partner right behind them wearing a knowing look. Sometimes, he saw Grayson.

#fallout 4 fanfiction #nick valentine #fo4 #preston garvey #slow burn #mutual pining #friends to strangers to friends to lovers #all the other good stuff im too tired to think of tags

[commonwealthoccurences]

back to eden - Ch 10

BTE Masterlist

The return to Sanctuary was uneventful as far as Commonwealth travel could be. To his credit, Deacon did his best to teach them the instincts that came so easily to him, turning almost every encounter and detail of the landscape into a little lesson or telling them obviously embellished tales of his time traveling. Sole wanted to pry more out of him– something unrelated to survival skills, something related to himself as a person. Of course, he didn't let anything slip. Sole still wasn't sure if this was a Deacon thing or a Commonwealth thing. Sure, most of the settlers were pretty open with them, but Sole could already tell they were a rare bunch. 

Sole watched Deacon leave, the sun setting dramatically in the background as he crossed the bridge exiting Sanctuary, and thought about the final words they had exchanged. They’d offered him a place, if he needed one. He said he didn’t do well with “having a place,” and Sole wasn’t really surprised, but they’d meant the offer anyway. He’d mentioned the idea of coming to them in the future if he needed help with any super secret missions and Sole had laughed a little at his antics but had promised they’d do their best to help him out, something they wished they could take back. There was an inkling that ran down their spine whenever they thought of those words, one that told them that there would be regret.

Nonetheless, the words had been said and Sole had mostly forgotten about their first trip to Diamond City as the days and weeks trickled into months as surely as the Sanctuary river ran. They fumbled around with themself less. There was too much work to be done to be unsure; winter would arrive in a short while, and they didn’t recall Boston winters as being kind, even before the war. The shells of their old neighbors' houses turned into patched homes of new neighbors and new friends. A couple of new settlers had stumbled in during those trickling months, worn and weary from evading raiders, and Preston and Sole had always been suckers for a good reason to lend a hand.

It had been more of a relief than they’d predicted it would be to be out and away from their old house. Sole had moved to the very back of the court, into an old home of a neighbor they had never met and had little recollection of. In fact, much of their recollection was getting a little fuzzy. The realities of now and then layered over each other onto the same landscape the way colors did on 3d glasses. Sometimes Sole glanced out their window while they were tying their work boots and saw a woman in a pristine dress carrying a suit walking down the crumbled sidewalk. Sometimes they saw the world on fire. Mostly, it was just Sanctuary.

Building up their new home had been a welcome distraction. They patched the shell themself, repaired or built the new furniture, and while they didn’t have their own running water system yet, they were mildly hopeful for the next summer. Sturges had commented one day on their ability to fix things up, somehow knowing that that wasn’t an average skill “back in the day.” Sole explained they’d gotten a fixer-upper on the outskirts of Boston a long time ago that they’d repaired themself as a distraction from some of the heavier stuff they worked on. Sturges didn’t ask questions, but he appreciated their ability.

Two ghosts now followed Sole as they power-walked through Sanctuary, organizing jobs for settlers and making patrols and repairing what was left of the neighborhood and themself. One, that familiar shadow that never left their peripheral vision. Infuriatingly elusive. Always out of reach, pulling at their heart strings. Whenever they found themself chasing glimpses, they’d eventually look up, and catch a glance of the memory of those eyes instead. The ones in the shadow of Diamond City market that they couldn’t escape from.

Sometimes, Sole wondered if that was all they were meant to do. To be haunted. But, sometimes the shadows were just shadows and the alleys were just alleys. Sometimes, Sole was just a tired leader of a settlement in the remains of nuclear warfare. And that was alright.

Preston had joined them one evening on the creaky, strung-together porch of their new home. Sole had kicked up their boots and slumped back on the log bench they had constructed, a purified water at their side as they basked in the declining daylight that lit a fire over the skyline. He took off his hat and sat next to them, careful to avoid stepping on Dogmeat, who had lounged out under Sole’s legs. They’d been inseparable since that day from Red Rocket to Diamond City- Sole wondered if Dogmeat was a little haunted, too.

Preston had made them a proposition. An offer to work on rebuilding the Minutemen. There were a lot of bad people out there, he reminded them, and they could do a lot of good. Preston had always seen something in them that Sole couldn’t dig up for themself no matter how hard they tried. He wanted them at the helm, and Sole hemmed and hawed as they rubbed at their aching legs. “Don’t you think you’re the one to do the job?” Sole asked.

“Me? No. I acted as General to try and keep what we had together, but I’m no leader.”

“Preston, you’ve been leading.”

“That doesn’t make me a leader. I just– the Minutemen was the last thing I had. I couldn’t see it fall apart, not in my lifetime. But I think you could really do something out there, and I’d be real glad to help.”

Eventually, they settled on Sole leading Sanctuary. They weren’t ready to take on even the concept of a fallen army that was meant to protect the Commonwealth. Sure, they had experience with the so-called “bad guys,” but Sole was tired. Preston would continue to monitor Minutemen activities with Sole chiming in when they had the time, and there was a vague idea in the air that Sole would eventually take over once everything was steady in Sanctuary. More than anything, Preston knew Sole had his back.

“Keep an eye out.”

“Don’t worry, Nick. I’ve got your back.”

Sole was less than pleased at the situation they had gotten themselves in. The BPD had received a call about suspicious activity in a warehouse. Dispatch had said the caller was suspicious themself, but the pair had been waved forward to “do their jobs for once” (a sentence that had garnered several snickers from other officers in the room) and investigate. God forbid it had something to do with the Halloween killer case and they weren’t there to see it.

So they’d ended up in said abandoned warehouse, creeping around corners hoping they weren’t about to run face first into anything or anyone. Sole could tell from the look on the Detective’s face that he found this endeavor pointless– probably just some bored kids messing around, as he’d commented under his breath in the car. Sole couldn’t tell if they disagreed or if the feeling they had was part of the paranoia they’d been experiencing for weeks.

The ceiling high above them was caving in. Disrepair had rendered much of the building useless, if not downright dangerous. After a quick but thorough scan of the immediate, safest area, Sole straightened up and sighed. “We should split up, cover more ground. I think you’re right, it’s just kids fucking around, if anything at all.”

Hesitancy made itself known in the tension that lit up Nick’s posture. “I don’t know. I don’t think we have anything to worry about, but I don’t like the idea of splitting up.”

Sole glanced at their watch. It was one in the morning. They’d probably end up leaving around two, get back to the station around half past, plus doing paperwork and filing the report would put them leaving the station at around four A.M. They had to report back in at seven. Sole shook their head. “Let’s not drag this out any longer than we have to, Nicky.”

“Alright… but be careful.”

“Always am.”

Nick knew that his protectiveness of Sole wasn’t just unproductive, it was downright dangerous. Between the potential for him to be enabling them to let their guard down too often, to the idea that he’d consider catching a bullet at any cost for them, it would only spell out disaster. He knew they were in danger. He knew that the Halloween killer had some sort of fascination with them. But at the end of the day, he had to let them be their own person. They had to protect themself– he wouldn’t always be able to.

So, instead of kicking up the fuss he so wanted to, Nick let them walk away. It was only once they had disappeared into the depths of the warehouse that he turned and started his own search. Too little sleep or too much time on the case, or both, was getting to him. It felt like every shadow was ready to jump out at him, every creak in the old, metal structure was a threat. It wasn’t reasonable, he knew. And he was glad that Sole hadn’t caught on to his paranoia; the last thing he wanted to add to their worries.

As surely as the moon hung overhead, the hour that they’d agreed upon to search the warehouse ticked by. Valentine returned to their meeting spot at the entrance and leaned against the metal siding, considering tipping his hat down over his head and catching a micronap as he often did in the station. No matter how desperate he was for even an ounce of sleep, though, he knew it was unsafe. Instead, he tilted his head back and listened for the sound of Sole’s footsteps.

As he stood there he heard… nothing. In fact, he realized that he hadn’t heard anything the entire time he was searching. It was a big warehouse, sure, but their sections to search overlapped a bit and he hadn’t heard any noise in the building from another person at all. He turned and glanced out the rolltop door they had left open on their way in; not a figure in sight.

Alarm started in the way his legs tensed, ready to spring into action, and spread up his body until it was choking at his throat. “Sole?” He called out, pushing himself off the wall. 

Nothing except his own echo answered him, a mocking Sole? Nick so badly wanted to ignore the gut feeling he had, but his gut had always been accurate in the past. Sole was gone. They had gone God knows how long ago, and he had no idea where they were.

Sole awoke with a start, panting loudly enough that it echoed in their sparsely decorated little shack. A headache pulsed at their temples, forcing a wince onto their face. They’d forgotten how badly those headaches hurt; even the ones that came as a side effect of cryofreeze didn’t hurt nearly as bad. Before the war, after the case concluded, they couldn’t escape them. It always felt like someone was trying to split their head in two with an axe. Their doctor had called them psychosomatic. Sole had lept across the room and tried to throttle him. They’d done a lot of things in those few weeks before the bombs dropped that they weren’t proud of.

They tried not to dwell on it, swallowing the acid tang of regret and bitter memories as they rolled out of bed. The sun hadn’t risen yet, but work started the minute Sole awoke from a bad dream. Dogmeat stumbled his way off the other side of their bed, still half asleep but accustomed to Sole’s abrupt awakenings. He sat patiently at their feet, his tail brushing back and forth across the floor as they tied their boots.

Sole pat him on the head. “You can go back to sleep, cutie.”

Dogmeat gave them a look, as if to say are you kidding me? Wherever Sole went, Dogmeat followed; everyone in Sanctuary knew that. Sole put both boots to the floor and braced themself to stand when a knock sounded at their door. They paused and stared at Dogmeat, who’d stood and was watching the door with suspicion, braced for a fight. Doubtful that any stranger had made it into Sanctuary without sounding an alarm, Sole muttered a soothing word to Dogmeat and moved to answer the door. When they yanked it open (the hinges stuck no matter what they did) Deacon stood on the other side.

Their eyebrows shot up. “Deacon?”

“Hey, Sole. Mind if I come in?”

Sole simply stepped aside and gestured inwards. Dogmeat trotted up to get a pat on the head from Deacon, his tongue lolling out of his mouth in pure adoration. Sole wanted to roll their eyes. Instead, they sat at their makeshift dining table and propped their feet up. “Wasn’t expecting you on my doorstep.”

“Wasn’t expecting you to have a doorstep.” He shot back as he settled in on the other side of the table.

Dogmeat wedged himself between them underneath the table. “Look, I’ll be straightforward. I don’t do casual visits. I wanted to talk to you about something.”

Sole smiled. “I figured. Shoot.”

“The work I do…” Deacon brushed a thumb against the arms of his sunglasses, thinking. “Well, it’s not easy to say the least. And I know you’ve got a lot on your plate, but I could use some help.”

“What kind of help?”

“Nothing intense. I just need extra muscle that I can trust not to shoot me when I turn my back. We’d clear a few spots of ghouls, drop something off in a risky part of the Commonwealth, things like that. Honestly, you won’t get much warning when jobs pop up, but I’d like to think I’m fair. You’ll get paid for it. Most of the time.”

Sole snorted. “And the rest of the time?”

“You’ll be my hero.” Deacon flashed a disarmingly wide grin.

“Oh, why didn’t you say so sooner?”

“If the little jobs work out, we can talk about doing more. I might be able to bring you in on what I do.”

In the name of being foolishly candid, Sole sat back and looked him up and down. “Y’know, there’s something off about you. Beside the whole… post-apocalyptic spy routine you’ve got going on.”

Deacon didn’t bother to give that grin again, to take the edge off his words. Instead, he simply looked at them and said, “You’ve got good instincts.”

“That didn’t help.”

This time, he did grin and Sole watched his body language morph into… something else. “Awww, I’m only being honest cause I like ya.”

Sole pulled their feet off the table and stood, Dogmeat scrambling to follow suit. “Alright, well, unless you wanna stick around and help me assemble a brahmin feeder, I’d get moving. If you need to stay overnight you’re welcome to a bedroll.”

Deacon shook his head. “Sole, Sole, Sole. How would I keep up my reputation if I stick around for an entire day?”

“Ah yes, your reputation for being mysterious, which is easily cultivated when you talk about vanishing the moment you’ve become recognizable.”

“I haven’t disappeared yet, have I?”

“Nope. I’m counting down the seconds until I can officially get you working on the feeder. You’re not the only one who could use an extra set of hands.”

“Aaand I’m gone.”

True to his words, though Sole left their home just moments after Deacon, they never saw him after he shut the door behind him. Commonwealth citizens did a little too much disappearing into the shadows for their liking. Brahmin didn’t disappear into the shadows, though, and they weren’t lying when they said that feeder needed to be built. Sole hopped off their porch and began walking to the back field of Sanctuary.

#fallout 4 #fo4 #fanfiction #nick valentine #gender neutral sole survivor #hurt comfort #slowburn #friends to strangers to lovers

[commonwealthoccurences]

Back to Eden - ch9

Stephen awoke Sole rather kindly with a low call of their name once the rain had stopped. They weren’t sure how long it had been, maybe a couple of hours at most, but Dogmeat remained in the same position he had been in before they had fallen asleep; propped up like a sphinx, his ears were straight forward on high alert. Sole dragged their hand out of his fur and pulled themself upright, groaning at the aches that had formed in their shoulders and hips from laying amidst the rubble.

The rain outside had given way to light sun, the rays filtering in through the same hole they’d watched the rain fall through. Drips still sounded through the crumbled building as the water filtered down from the higher levels. Outside, crows called out and the shifting of building supports echoed through the empty streets. As Sole got to their feet and attempted to soothe their muscles with a hearty stretch, Stephen packed the blanket they had used back into his bag.

Sole still felt soggy, both in mind and body, but they were no longer soaked through, nor was it nearly as cold as it had been. Grogginess danced at the edge of their vision, though they had no time for it as Dogmeat stood and shook himself and Stephen moved to duck and weave his way out of the ruins. At the opening, he paused and lifted his hand, carefully examining their surroundings to make sure they weren’t about to be ambushed or step out in front of a group of Mutants.

Luckily, he gave the all clear, and Sole joined him on the other side of the crumbled building, Dogmeat bounding out behind them with his tail wagging. After a moment of pause, so they could gather themselves and adjust to the sunlight beating down, the group began to walk again. “I know there’s a group of mutants that lurks around here, and there might be some raiders still trying to get the drop on people headed to Diamond City, but last time I checked this path is still clear. Just keep quiet.” Stephen warned.

It was astounding to Sole that the streets they used to walk if they decided to take the bus home were now infested with creatures with supernatural strength and people driven to brutal violence just to feel a semblance of power in a world that left them so powerless. It felt like they had stepped into an alternate reality, one where the rubble of all of their favorite locations across Boston shifted heavily underneath their boots.

The distant pop pop pop of gunfire rang out in the distance and caused Sole to stiffen and slow their steps, though Stephen showed no change in posture or pace. The conflicting pull of wanting to keep up and wanting to duck away and hide behind the rubble until the shots, no matter how far, died down, was dragging them in opposite directions. Stephen’s eyes flickered back and at first, it seemed he was simply going to urge them onwards, but he paused, and sympathy overcame his expression. “It’s alright, they’re pretty far away, and we’d hear them coming. Sounds like it’s closer to Goodneighbor than anything. We’d be in D.C. before they even made it halfway here.”

There was something about the way Stephen was framed against the streets they were so distantly familiar with that made the scene feel like a dream. Light danced through the collapsed structures onto the rocky streets below, advertisements that had once lit up their way to and from the office in the wee hours of the morning were now shredded and hardly recognizable. It was all so silent; there was no traffic, no pedestrians, no dogs being walked and no hustle and bustle. There was no shadow with a familiar hat next to their own. Among it all, Stephen stood surefooted and calm, one foot poised to step over a chunk of concrete. Sole swallowed the bitter taste of homesickness and pushed themself forward, through the city streets.

Dogmeat darted back and forth across the street, investigating the various sights and smells. His ears were always perked, always on the lookout for anything that may be lurking. When Stephen stopped and raised his hand once again, Sole quietly snapped their finger and Dogmeat immediately trotted back to Sole’s side, his tail having gone still with his eyes locked on the split in the street ahead of them. Sole buried their hand in the fur on his shoulders and watched Stephen creep forward to peek around the corner.

With the way that he moved, Sole could tell he was used to disappearing into the shadows, both literally and figuratively. Not only did he have the ability to blend in, he showed confidence in that ability; the inherent knowing that he would blend in. That familiar prickle at Sole’s skin reminded them to stay uncomfortable. There was something about the man that just wasn’t right– he may not be their enemy, but he was definitely dangerous in a way that Preston hadn’t forewarned them about.

Stephen was completely still as he gazed down the street at whatever had caught his attention, and so were Sole and Dogmeat in the background. With the slow movement of one hand, he reached back and gestured. He was pointing at an alley that would take them out of sight. Potentially foolishly, Sole trusted that either he or Dogmeat would warn them if something were coming, and payed careful attention to where their feet were stepping as they crept towards the alley. 

Every crunch of gravel under their feet, every twist of their heel against shards of glass, and the slip of metal shards against the ground made them cringe. They were a few feet from the mouth of the alley when they heard, a whisper quiet behind them, “Stay low, stay quiet, but move fast.” With barely a murmur, Stephen had already caught up with them.

As soon as they made it into the alley, Stephen pulled them behind an old dumpster and took a deep breathe. Large, heavy impacts could be heard booming through the streets as Sole’s eyes went wide. They pressed themself into the brick building behind them, the rough patches of the aged clay scratching at their skin. Something possessed them in that moment, despite the pulse of fear and adrenaline thumping against their neck, to lean out of their hiding place and look out into the street.

Standing in the middle of the crumpled scenery was a bulky, towering green creature covered in what could’ve been scraps of car parts for all Sole could tell. It was swinging it’s head back and forth in an attempt to figure out if anyone was around. As it turned to look towards the alley, Sole rocketed backwards and hit the wall with a muffled, “Oof!” 

“What was that?” The creature grumbled.

Sole met Stephen’s stare with wide eyes, their hand pressed over their mouth. Shuffling could be heard at the end of the alley, though it was relatively aimless and no one appeared at the front of the dumpster. They could hear their heartbeat in their ears, muffling the sounds of any movement, and then a gruff, “Agh, I’m hearin’ stuff.”

The pair waited for what felt like an eternity, listening to the super mutant shuffle around in the street outside the alley. Eventually, Stephen tapped them on the shoulder to get their attention and gestured towards the other end of the alley. He waved his hand to tell them to go forward. With careful attention to their steps once again, Sole eased themself off of where they had landed and crept forward. Dogmeat overtook them and took on the job of lookout without being asked, sweeping the street ahead with a piercing stare. 

The rest of the trip to Diamond City looked much the same, with the same careful creeping and silent gestures instead of even whispering. Once they reached a certain point, however, Stephen nudged them to stand up and relax. “We’re almost there, there’s a Diamond City post right around the corner. They can take care of anything that pops up from here on out, this is practically protected territory.”

Sole felt winded, as if they had been holding their breath and running a marathon at the exact same time. Stephen clapped them on the back gently as they rounded the  corner and were confronted with a couple of guards in baseball uniforms. It took everything in Sole not to raise an eyebrow, so instead they nodded to the guards and hurried past, ready to be inside the large walls of Fenway Park, or apparently, Diamond City.

Guards milled about the front, presumably to keep out the raiders and super mutants that were frequenting the area nearby– something Sole knew all too well now. They followed Stephen inside as he pressed through the narrow gate that served as an underwhelming second entrance into the main settlement. The chainlink gate rattled as Sole shut it behind them and stepped out the other side of the narrow walkway that led into the stands.

The first thing Sole noticed was the child yelling about a newspaper and synths on her little soapbox. That was the exact moment that Sole realized they hadn’t seen a child anywhere else so far, and they had to wonder if keeping children alive was nearly impossible nowadays outside the walls of Diamond City, with the state the world was in. Stephen leaned over to them and muttered, “Try not to look so astonished. Not everyone treats vault dwellers kindly, you guys tend to be a bit naive.”

Every alarm went off in Sole’s brain as they turned on him, “How the hell did you know I came out of a vault.”

He paused. “It was written on your face the moment we met.”

The conversation went no further as someone came out of the market circle and greeted Stephen with a punch to the shoulder and a hearty laugh. “Deacon! Long time no see, man.”

Sole pursed their lips and raised an eyebrow, giving Deacon an unimpressed look. He had the decency to look a little sheepish, but responded to the settler in turn and Sole took that moment to slip away and investigate the area themself. They were sure Deacon would find them again if he wanted to.

The most important thing was to get the supplies Preston and Sturges had requested. Considering there were only two stops for goods and the weapons supply wouldn’t be helpful, Sole glanced over the sign for Myrna’s and walked up. “Uh, hello.” It was incredible that they could still manage awkwardness after the world had ended.

The woman, who Sole assumed was the Myrna in question (they couldn’t see impersonal chain businesses being an option anymore), looked up from her newspaper and squinted at them. “You’re not a synth, are ya?”

“Uh, no. Just as human as you are.”

“Hmph. Well, you don’t look like a synth, I guess. What do you want?”

It was hard to get through their supply list with the way she was studying their every move like she wanted to pull out a magnifying glass and examine every inch of them to make sure they weren’t lying. Eventually, though, they got it done and handed over the correct amount of caps– an amount that had made Preston cringe when he’d provided them for Sole to purchase what they needed, along with the goods they’d been given to trade. 

Enticed by the idea of people watching and absorbing the settlement in a passive manner, Sole plopped their backpack down next to them as they sat to the side of the market. Mannequins towered above them as they looked out and Dogmeat flopped over at their feet, clearly happy to get a break to bask in the sun. Deacon dropped by sometime later to hand them a cup of noodles with a half-joke that they shouldn’t get used to freebies before he disappeared into the cycling crowd once more. 

Content to fold their legs underneath them and pick at their noodles, Sole let their eyes roam over the sights. After the dozenth pass, something caught their attention– a glow in the growing dark of an alley. Not quite unnerved, but definitely paying attention, Sole stared until their eyes adjusted.

A man– almost a man– was looking out at them. They saw the glow of the embers of his cigarette first, then the glow of his inhuman eyes. For a moment, they both stared at each other, taking in unfamiliar faces. Then, the man flicked out his cigarette, the glow of his eyes cut short as he blinked decisively, and he disappeared down the alley.

They continued staring at the space he had left behind in the dark, an afterimage of his form burned into their eyelids. Something bumped them. When they looked up, Deacon was standing above them, looking mildly concerned. “Hey, you about ready to go?”

“Huh?”

“Did you get everything you need?”

“Oh, uh. Yeah. Yeah, I did.”

“Alright. I’ll walk you back to your settlement, since I’m feeling extra generous today. Plus, I don’t know if those mutants are still lurking around.”

Sole snorted. “Awww, would you feel bad if I got pummeled to death?”

“It’d be a damn shame if all my hard work getting you here went to waste.”

They rolled their eyes and stood, brushing the dirt off of their pants and gathering their pack. They couldn’t help the way their eyes drifted back to the alley. “You alright?” Deacon asked.

“Think so. Just got a weird feeling, that’s all. Let’s head out.”

#fallout 4 fanfiction #sole survivor #nick valentine #deacon #hurt comfort #slowburn #friends to strangers to lovers

[commonwealthoccurences]

I’m so obsessed with Back to Eden that it officially managed to enter my dreams lmao, last night I dreamt that ch10 (for some reason?) came out and I was so excited. Keep up the good work, I guess!

What can I say, the BTE marketing has simply evolved! All jokes aside, it's incredible that you're enjoying BTE so much. It's been so fun to write and has definitely played a huge part in bringing back my joy for writing, so I'm very glad that it's getting love (: Ch9 should be out soon-- I'm really hoping to get it done tonight (so you would see it sometime tomorrow via Tumblr scheduling) as my partner and I's anniversary is tomorrow and otherwise it'll have to wait till the end of the week. I'll do my best to get it out ASAP so as to not plague your dreams!!! Thank you so much for your ask I hope you have a wonderful rest of your day (:

#zero talks #anon friends #this means a lot actually #all of the comments on BTE have whether here or AO3 #wont get too far into it but the first chunk of this fic got me through some really rough PTSD days #where it was the only thing that would distract me #so seeing people not only pay attention to but thoroughly enjoy something that has a lot of sentimental value to me is amazing #missed this blog!!! #glad to be back and writing somewhat consistently

[commonwealthoccurences]

Back to Eden - ch8

Preparing for the trip to Diamond City was quiet chaos. Sturges and Preston flit around Sole. They were used to Sturges being the calmer, more laidback one, but he apparently had his own concerns. When Sole asked if he wanted to discuss them, he merely shrugged and said, “Not my job to hold you back here. You’ve gotta figure it out at some point, and as much as I’d like to hover, Preston’s got that covered. Just be careful out there.”

Like overprotective older brothers, they shoved supplies into a pack until it looked like it was going to burst, then lightened the load out of concern for Sole having to carry the weight, then packed it again. Sole didn’t complain. The fussing, the concern covered by the discussing of logistics, the endless questions and “remember, if…”s reminded them of another time. In another life, they were pre-war citizens worried for their younger sibling as they packed for a big life change.

As they turned the straps of their pack over in their hand, a mindless fidget, they noticed Sturges had put extra padding on one side where the strap would sit just below their collarbone. He noticed them looking and when he caught their eye, he glanced at their shoulder– their injury had been acting up but they thought they’d been rubbing at it when no one was looking –and smiled. He didn’t speak a word, but plenty was said.

“I don’t like it.” Preston stood to the side, looking lost.

“I know you don’t like it, Preston.” Sole said in a soothing tone.

“Yeah. You’ve said about a thousand times.” Sturges piped up, though the comment was playful.

There was a beat of silence as Sole arranged the pistol Sturges had provided in their belt. They had given them new clothes so Sole wasn’t wandering the wasteland in a vault suit and it had triggered an abrupt realization in them of how much they missed normal clothing– and most of all, plenty of pockets.

“I just…” Preston started.

“Don’t like it?” Sturges and Sole finished together.

“Yeah.”

Sole knew there was nothing they could say that would ease his worries. Instead, they tried their best to give a reassuring smile. What they hadn’t told Sturges and Preston was that they were also nervous. While they had full confidence that they would survive the trip to Diamond City and back, they were terrified to see what had become of Boston– especially what had happened to its creatures.

Despite Preston and Curie doing a thorough job of updating Sole on everything that was now common in the wasteland, they knew no words could prepare them for seeing everything for the first time. After witnessing what had happened to their neighborhood, they knew there was worse out there. 

Sturges and Preston insisted on walking Sole to the bridge to Sanctuary, and in return, Sole insisted that they wouldn’t follow them any further. This was their test to see if they would survive in the modern world. They wouldn’t be able to depend on the pair forever.

It was still early morning when Sole departed, somewhere between the hours of 4 A.M. and 6 A.M. to their best guess. The wood planks that formed the bridge creaked as they stepped across carefully. While it would align with their luck so far, they definitely did not want to start out their journey by immediately falling into the river below right in front of Sturges and Preston. Luckily, after hopping the gap in planking, they made it to the other side safely. They didn’t look back as they waved to the pair behind them and continued on.

Three officers and Valentine himself escorted Sole back to their home for them to pack up their life into one duffle bag. They made it a speedy affair by digging through their most recent clean laundry and shoving it in the bag along with the main storage component to their personal terminal. Valentine and Sole had agreed that it was likely that Grayson would attempt to break in if he went long enough without seeing Sole at their residence, and there was too much information stored on their terminal that they simply couldn’t afford him access to.

Sole ducked into the passenger seat of Valentine’s car, settling their duffle bag at their feet. Before Valentine could move to get into the driver’s seat, though, he was stopped by another one of the officers. Sole could tell that they were discussing something via the low murmuring sounds that made it into the car, but they were unable to make out the specific sounds and unfortunately the windows were shut tight. The conversation lasted about a minute or so before the officer shook his head and walked away and Valentine finally opened his door and dropped into his seat. “What was that all about?” Sole asked.

Valentine shoved his key into the ignition and turned it. Sole sat back comfortably as the engine began to purr and kept their eyes on Valentine, inquisitive. “Don’t worry about it. What do you want for dinner?” He asked.

Much more interested in their rumbling stomach, Sole perked up. However, they didn’t miss the chance to tease him. “Detective Valentine. Are you offering to buy me dinner?” They gasped.

Valentine glanced at them in alarm, his hands firmly on the steering wheel as he struggled to keep his eye on the road and keep up with Sole’s antics. “Wh- uh, no- yes, I am, but not- Jesus Christ.”

Sole’s head hit the headrest as they threw their head back and laughed, their shoulders shaking. “Okay, take a deep breath. I promise I’m just teasing, Nick. I would never accuse you of such a thing.”

Valentine continued to sputter, but no words escaped and he fell silent. His knuckles were nearly white from how tense he was in gripping the steering wheel before he reached over and switched on the radio to fill the silence. Sole’s amusement blocked out any potential awkwardness and they began to lounge, something that Valentine had started letting them get away with. There was a bit of a distance between their house and his, and Sole was fully ready to take advantage of the seats for one of their many car-ride naps. They yawned. “If you’re serious about dinner, I don’t mind if you pick. You always let me pick, you should get whatever you feel like.”

Valentine glanced at them and let his tension melt away. “Alright, will do. I’ll wake you up when we get there.”

There was something much more eerie about being in the post-war world without anyone else around. Sole had taken for granted just how much Preston and the rest of the settlers always being around put them at ease. Their footsteps were the only sounds around other than the passing summer winds and the bushes they rustled. Preston had recommended they check out the Red Rocket stop before continuing through Concord, just in case there were any supplies the group had missed the last time they’d passed through.

Apparently Concord had been entirely picked through, so there wasn’t too much worry about danger there unless raiders had set up shop. Luckily, Sole knew that the swift and silent route was best and had planned to stick to the outskirts on high alert. First, though, Red Rocket.

They remembered the old gas station from before the war; oftentimes they would stop there on the way home just to grab something quick to eat lest they forget while processing notes or some other business. During the week before the bombs dropped, Sole hadn’t stopped there at all. They didn’t even leave their house. 

Sole stopped in the middle of the cracked and crumbling road to simply stare at the old station, their head tilted slightly. It was somewhat less damaged than they’d expected. For some reason, when they’d pictured it before they left Sanctuary, they imagined the roof caved in. Something crumbled, like a poorly constructed gingerbread house. They stepped forward to get a good look inside before they entered, examining the damaged walls, the stools that had been knocked sideways, and the seemingly untouched display shelf. As they rocked back on their heels to open the door, their boots crunched in shattered glass.

Sole froze when they heard shuffling coming from behind the counter. Internally, they flicked through the rolodex of creatures they’d been told about. Maybe it was a ghoul; Preston had said they spent much time laying in various abandoned locations if they weren’t wandering aimlessly. Or maybe it was a survivor, a raider, who’d set up shop for the night on the way to Sanctuary. Was this as far as they would get?

They braced themself as the shuffling grew a bit louder, but no one emerged from behind the desk. Something caught the corner of their vision. Sole looked down at the base of the desk.

A furry little face peered out from behind the metal, big brown eyes creased with worry. Sole inhaled deeply and let out a quiet, “Ohhhmygod!”

The dog crept forward, tail between his legs as he stayed low to the ground, trying to appear as non threatening as possible. Sole reached for the handle to slide the door open slowly and obviously, not wanting to scare him off. They eased the door open with a haunting screeeeech that made both them and the dog recoil. “Sorry.” They whispered, putting one foot in the door before lowering themself to a crouch.

The dog stopped. They stopped. Sole made quiet kissing sounds, rubbing their fingertips together. “C’mere buddy, it’s alright. I know, it’s scary out here, huh? You in this big world by yourself, you poor thing?” They spoke quietly, soothingly, until the dog crept forward again.

With quiet whimpers, the dog pressed his muzzle into Sole’s gloved hand and slowly, his tail crept out from between his legs to begin thumping against the floor. He licked at their palms. Sole smoothed their hand over his forehead, using the pads of their thumbs to try and rub out that worried expression on his face. “You’re alright now, bud. You wanna come with me? Huh? You wanna go on a little adventure?”

The dog let out an abrupt yelp and jumped at Sole, covering their face in eager licks, his tail now going a mile a minute. With the unexpected lunge, Sole tumbled backwards onto the ground and laughed as the dog jumped backwards into a bow, his tail wagging playfully as watched them, eager. “Alright, alright. We’ll stick together, then, buddy.” They conceded, dusting themself off as they got to their feet again.

A quick sweep of the Red Rocket left them unimpressed. There was nothing they could use immediately, and while Sturges might be able to scavenge little bits and pieces from the things that were left laying around, they had little hope for anything being extraordinarily useful. So, they continued on, the dog following close behind.

Sole startled awake when a hand landed on their shoulder, scrambling back away from the passenger side door. With the door ajar, Valentine was leaning in, one hand on their shoulder and the other on the buckle for their seatbelt. The rush of adrenaline that had properly awoken them like a rushing tide receded nearly instantly. They were fine. It was just Nick. “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.” 

His voice matched the setting twilight, backed up by a chorus of crickets and the cool evening air that brushed across their cheeks as it blew past Valentine and into the car. “S’alright.” Their words slurred slightly from their grogginess. 

Valentine clicked their buckle to undo their seatbelt and untangled them from it carefully. Sole began easing their sluggish form out of the seat, Nick’s hand on their back to make sure they were awake enough to not stumble. When they stepped out, their eyes fell on the exterior of his house. It was… not what they were expecting even though they weren’t sure what they were expecting.

The lawn and flowerbeds were meticulously groomed, that much added up, but they were humble in expanse. The walkway to the front door was paved with stones, the porch equipped with a porch swing. Nothing about it was particularly grand, but it was cozy. They took their time walking up the path, eyes roaming lazily over the view in front of them. Valentine was close behind, his hand no longer on their back, but hovering just in case they stumbled on the pathway. 

The porch steps creaked as they stepped up, tucking their coat around them tighter. Bugs danced around the glowing porch lights, the stars glimmering above. They turned back to Valentine and realized he was carrying a bag of food. “What’d we get?” They asked.

“Chinese takeout.”

Sole smiled. “We should eat out here.”

“What?”

“How often do you use that porch swing?”

“Uhh…” Valentine thought for a moment, but could scrounge up no answer.

“Exactly. I’m not letting you let a damn good porch swing rot while you’re busy being a hotshot detective.”

Valentine followed them up the steps and watched as they arranged themself carefully on the swing. There had been something growing in the pit of his stomach each hour that ticked by after he’d realized Grayson was a genuine threat to Sole. He’d seen too many bright lights get put out by the business he was in; cops and those caught in the crossfire alike. As they arranged themself and looked up at him expectantly, he spoke up, “We’re exposed out here.”

“Half an hour, Nick. And then I’ll be as discreet and tucked away as you’d like.”

They ended up sitting on the porch for more than two hours. At first, they ate in silence, as they often did. It seemed they spent so much time talking about cases that they both needed a break whenever they were eating. When the takeout cartons were pushed to the side in a neat pile and Sole had stretched out to take up the space Nick had left, they began talking.

The conversation rambled. The pair had never really done personal conversation before. Everything they talked about was work and the little bits of their personal lives they divulged were only where it was relevant; where they had gathered knowledge, why they may have shown up late, the reason they had to step out of the room for a phone call. Now, with the late hour and the sleepy evening air and the dancing constellations above, they spoke about themselves as people, not as detectives.

Somewhere along the line, Nick commented, “Your parents must be proud.”

Sole laughed and adjusted the pillow behind their head. “Oh, Nicky. My parents and I hardly talk. I think being proud is a bit of a stretch.”

“What?”

“Ugh,” Sole sat up better so they could speak to him face to face instead of staring up at the roof above them. “They really don’t approve of the whole independent investigator journalist thing. They think I undermine the hard work of the police and I’m going to get myself killed one day.”

They knew the “undermining police work” bit would cause a bit of a struggle in Valentine, and they were right. Sole wasn’t so naive to think that because they were partners now, Valentine had changed his mind about their work and the way it clashed with the police. This didn’t mean they were ashamed of their work, though. They’d fought hard to hold onto their pride in independent investigating despite the negativity of being surrounded by the BPD constantly. Nick’s face flitted through many different expressions before it settled on something they couldn’t define. “Well… I’m proud of you. And your work.”

And Sole looked at him and could tell he was being genuine. With a soft smile, they nudged his thigh with their foot. “Thanks, Nicky. I really do appreciate that. You’re not so shabby yourself.”

He rolled his eyes, but took a sip of his drink to try to hide his growing smile. He failed. “Hey, if you ever get tired of being a big bad detective and working for the BPD, you should come join me. We can open our own independent investigators agency.”

Nick laughed and draped his arm over the back of the swing. “Who knows. Maybe I’ll take you up on that offer one day.”

“Oh? Really? I always figured I’d see a newspaper headline when we’re both ninety about how you finally retired with a mile long list of accomplishments. Solving crimes while the war rages on. Maybe transcend the current BPD hierarchy and keep getting promotions for your entire career.”

He hummed and looked them over. Something about the conversation had brought that light back to his eyes and washed away some of the exhaustion that usually left him looking so stern. He no longer looked like the head detective of the BPD, Detective Nick Valentine of Boston fame. He just looked like Nick. And despite themself, Sole liked just Nick. “I don’t know how much longer the force is going to be for me.” He confessed. The last couple of crickets that were still out and about chirped quietly. “I don’t know if it ever was for me.”

Concern thrummed through Sole’s veins, but they had nothing to say to reassure him. He didn’t give them the chance. “But… uh, I wanted to let you know that I see what you do. And I think you do good things, especially when we can’t.”

The crickets quieted. “We should head inside.” Nick announced abruptly, moving to stand.

Sole followed without protest, not looking back into the night as they shut the front door behind them. The warm air of his home welcomed them in and they shuddered at the temperature change. Everything about the interior was warm. 

The living room was cozy, not overly spacious, but not cramped either. A TV stood in the corner, but Sole knew it hadn’t been used more than a handful of times since he’d bought it years ago. The coffee table held no stains or discoloration, but a thin layer of dust sat proudly on top. The couch was a deep, chocolate brown, and overstuffed in the comfiest looking way– that may have been their exhaustion projecting itself, though.

Bookshelves lined the walls, packed tight with fiction and nonfiction. There were crime books, history books, and on occasion Sole would spot a stray comic book. Near the kitchen was his desk, scattered with case files, notes, office supplies, and a lone terminal, also with a thin layer of dust. “It was BPD issued, but I don’t use it.” Valentine commented quietly.

He’d been watching them observe his home with an air of nervousness that was quite unlike himself. They turned at his comment and the brightness behind their gaze nearly knocked the wind out of him. “Your home is so lovely.”

The walk to bypass Concord was easy, but tense. Sole kept low to the ground and watched their feet. Apparently they had stumbled across the smartest dog on the planet, because he picked up on their posture and started creeping alongside them. He sniffed at the air and swiveled his head often, but never sounded the alarm to let Sole know that they were in danger or had any sort of company, so they tried not to let it make them too paranoid. It seemed Preston was right about Concord being quiet.

Preston had given them quite a few landmarks that would indicate the safest and most beelined route to Diamond City. Drumlin Diner was next on that list. The dog trotted alongside them as they straightened up and examined the building from a distance. They knew it was supposed to be a safe-ish place, considering it was a trading outpost, but the people outside sure as hell didn’t look safe, and Sole wasn’t quite sure what they were about to walk into.

They were advised to pick up extra water before they started the bulk of their journey to Diamond City, just in case, so they sucked in a deep breath and muttered, “On high alert, boy. I don’t like this one bit.”

The dog’s whimper in reply made their uneasiness grow, but they continued down the crackling road toward the pair outside the diner. Even from a distance Sole could hear the shouting, though they couldn’t understand it, and before they could get close enough to understand, they were spotted. “Whoa, whoa. Keep your distance! We’ve got some business to attend to here, don’t need you interfering.” The man yelled.

Sole had seen his type before. There was no amount of charisma that could hide the grime that practically oozed off of him. They raised an eyebrow and chanced a glance inside the diner. One look at the woman inside, holding strong in whatever resolution she had, and her frightened looking teenage son and Sole had made up their mind. “Yeah, I don’t think so buddy. What’s going on here?” They asked, continuing to approach.

He sighed and rolled his eyes, gesturing for his companion to keep an eye on the diner, much like Soel gesturing for the dog to keep an eye on his companion. “We’re just here to sort out some business and then we’ll be on our way. The lady’s just being stubborn.”

“What business?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” His companion sneered.

“Yeah, that’s why I asked.”

Obviously, snark was the wrong response in her eyes, and she turned to Sole with her gun raised. “Hey, watch your fucking mouth– hey! You tryna get your buddy to sneak up on us?”

With the dog right where he needed to be, growling from beside them, Sole whipped around in confusion to get a look at where both raiders were now pointing their guns. Some guy in a white t-shirt with quaffed black hair leaned against the corner of the diner, smoking a cigarette and looking on with what seemed to be mild disinterest. Sole couldn’t quite tell with the sunglasses on his face. He flicked out the cigarette and dropped it before he casually made his way over. “Don’t mind my friend here, guys. They tend to get themself into situations without thinking.” 

First, Sole was offended. It wasn’t untrue, but they didn’t know this guy and they’d already heard that enough from Preston. Second, they didn’t know this guy. Why the hell was he sauntering around, claiming he knew them? Hands raised and no air of discomfort despite the two weapons trained on him (it would’ve been three if Sole hadn’t caught on fast enough), he continued. “There’s really no need for all of this. We’re just here to grab some supplies. Surely this can be sorted out quickly so we can get our goods and be on our way.”

The raiders glanced at each other and Sole resisted the urge to make a thousand faces that all translated into what the fuck are you doing at him. Instead, they rested a hand on the dog and let the situation play out. After a brief minute of conferring, the raider man spoke up with newfound confidence that made Sole’s skin crawl, “You’re right. How about this: you help us sort the situation out, and we can all walk away happy? We’ll pass you a few caps and nothin’ has to get violent.”

The post-apocalyptic greaser impersonator glanced at Sole. “What kind of help are we talking?”

“Well, the kid in there owes us caps. Been doin’ business with him for a good minute and it’s time he pays up. That or his old lady does, I really don’t care. As long as we get our money, no one needs to get hurt.”

Sole was ready to punch this guy's teeth out and they were sure it was obvious. “Let me go talk to her.” The greaser said.

The newcomers' charm was something in the same vein as the raider across from them, though it flowed a lot more naturally, and if Sole hadn’t been so good at their job before the war, they might have fallen for it. Absolutely everything about the situation was off and they had barely made it out of Sanctuary. The dog bumped his nose against their hand and looked back to the diner, dragging Sole’s attention back to the greaser, as well. He had leaned against the opening where windows used to be and was speaking casually with the woman inside who was making grand, angry gestures as they spoke with each other. After the conversation ended, the greaser crossed the small patio and walked straight up to the raider man, conveniently keeping him between himself and the other raider. He patted the guy on the shoulder, “Alright, I think we’ve got things all sorted out.”

“Wait, really?” The raider asked.

In the brief moment that the woman redirected her attention back to the diner out of confusion and curiosity, the greaser acted. His gun was in his hand and the shot rang out so quickly Sole hardly even saw it happen. When the man dropped to the ground, dead, his partner didn’t move fast enough to get her gun out before she followed suit. Sole simply stood there. “What the fuck.”

The greaser holstered his weapon and shot them a grin before he walked inside the diner and began speaking with the woman and her son again. Sole stayed stock still for several minutes afterward, simply whispering what the fuck to themself while the dog wagged his tail. Eventually, they gathered themself and followed the greaser inside the old diner.

The woman introduced herself and her son as Trudy and Patrick, and gave Sole the explanation that she had previously given the greaser right before he’d acted; that the raider, Wolfgang, had been peddling drugs to Patrick and was threatening caps out of them. All at once, Sole didn’t feel so concerned, though the overwhelming confusion stuck around.

Trudy gave them a discount on the water they picked up. When they realized they now had more than themself to account for on the trip thanks to their unexpected furry companion, they were grateful Preston had told them to pick up extra water. The dog would need it, and they made sure to pick up some jerky to keep him satiated on the trip to Diamond City– once they were there they’d try to find something better. When they stepped outside to continue their journey, they were immediately on edge when the greaser followed them. So they turned and asked, “What the hell was that?”

“What? Me saving your life?” He responded, just as nonchalant as he had been earlier.

“Sure. We’ll go with that. But why? I don’t know you.”

“Awh, c’mon. Does everything have to have some hidden reason.” Sole narrowed their eyes. “Yeah, I realized how stupid that sounded as soon as I said it. But there really was no hidden reason. Just saw you were in some trouble and thought I’d lend a hand. Call it good karma or something.”

Sole thought for a moment. “Yeah, I’m really not buying that, but thanks anyway. I’m not gonna claim you didn’t help.”

“See! That’s the spirit.”

Sole shook their head, but they couldn’t help laughing. While they knew this guy was up to something, he was certainly a character and Sole had to appreciate that. “Anyway, thanks, but I’m gonna be heading out, so…” They awkwardly raised their hand in a short wave.

“Oh, where are you headed?”

“Okay I know we did the thing where I thanked you even though we both know your behavior is odd, but that wasn’t me indicating that you can keep pushing.”

He shrugged. “I mean, I’m not gonna make you tell me, I’m just curious. Who knows, we might be headed to the same place.”

Sole knew they shouldn’t say anything, but the words left their mouth before they could stop themself, with a sigh. “Diamond City.”

“Nice! Me too.”

“Uh huh. Right. Sure. I guess we’ll see each other there, then.”

They turned to walk away and the greaser fell into step beside them with ease, that same crooked grin never leaving his face. They could see their own exasperation in the reflection of his sunglasses. “I mean, you do seem a little lost. Since I’m already heading that way, I could show you the route. But, if you wanna risk getting lost…” He shrugged. “Be my guest.”

Sole wanted to throw something, but they weren’t sure if that was a general feeling or if they specifically wanted to throw something at him. They weren’t surprised that their disorientation read on their face; any resemblance of a poker-face that they had before the war had apparently died in cryofreeze. At least, that’s what they were telling themself– Curie said it was due to trauma, but they liked to politely ignore what Curie said about them sometimes. Considering the greaser’s performance at the diner, the advantage having an extra gun would bring, and the fact that they were already feeling a little lost, Sole reluctantly relented. “Fine.”

“Really?”

“What? You made that offer expecting me to say no?”

“Yeah, I mean. You really shouldn’t accept help from strangers. They could be unsafe. You don’t even know my name.”

Yeah, they definitely wanted to throw something at him, if only so they didn’t have to admit that they found him a little funny. It seemed they weren’t the only one who had kept their sense of humor after the war. “What’s your name?”

“...Stephen.”

“Alright, that was a fuckin’ lie.”

“Yeah, it was. You gonna tell me your name, now?”

“You literally just lied to my face and you want my name.”

“Yeah. I mean, you can make one up too. What am I gonna do, stop you?”

Sole groaned. “I don’t have the energy for that.” 

“Bummer. It’s a good habit to get into.”

“Lying?”

“If it keeps you safe.”

They stared at each other and Sole got a chill up their spine. There was just something about ‘Stephen’ that set off every investigator’s instinct, every survival instinct, every single type of instinct they had. Something was wrong, but they couldn’t figure out what. They kept walking and the greaser kept pace, with Dogmeat trailing close behind.

Valentine had gotten them a throw blanket, a mug of tea, and the TV remote (along with a change of batteries) to help them settle in for the night. It was quite late when the pair had finally made it inside, and it would only be wise for them both to head to bed, but it seemed they were both hesitating. 

Sole had draped the throw over their lap as they sat on the couch (they’d refused to take Nick’s bed and had finally won after a long back-and-forth), awkwardly blowing on the steaming mug of tea as Nick hovered in the doorway. While his concern for their safety was nice, and they were grateful to have actually made a partner out of Nick instead of them both feeling forced to work together, they couldn’t stand the awkwardness. “Alright, either come sit down or go to bed. You’re just staring.”

Nick didn’t move for a second, thinking over the options. Finally, he pushed himself away from the doorframe and crossed the living room to sit down next to Sole, folding his legs over one another. They set their tea down on the coffee table and turned to him, “You’re going to be asleep right down the hall.”

“Yes.”

“So if anything happens you’ll be here in about two seconds. Ten if you close the door.”

“I’m not closing the door.”

“Two seconds.”

Nick pressed his lips together. Sole, too tired to continue the conversation, reached out with the remote and flicked the TV on– while it would definitely be harder to hear if something was happening outside, they simply wouldn’t be able to sleep in silence without a distraction, and if they were going to get back on top of the case, they needed all of the rest they could get. Nick didn’t budge when the TV turned on, nor through Sole turning down to volume to a comfortable level where they could sleep, nor when they scooted to lay down and folded their legs up onto the couch. “Goodnight, Nick.” 

“Goodnight, Sole.”

Unfortunately for the Commonwealth’s latest dynamic duo, nature suddenly decided that they had gone too long without much rain, and an absolute monsoon had moved in shortly after they crossed a bridge into what Stephen had declared the outskirts of Diamond City. He declared it too unsafe to continue, considering they were soaked to the bone and couldn’t see more than foot in front of their face, and they seconded his reluctance to try to creep around super mutants in the storm.

Instead, he quickly found a little half-collapsed apartment block, one that Sole distantly recalled looking at when they were initially planning to move to Boston, and snuck them through the rubble a little deeper where it was dry. The space they ended up in was covered in a thick layer of dirt and dust, likely mostly untouched since the building had collapsed. It looked to once be a small bedroom if the half of a bed frame that stuck out from under the collapsed ceiling was anything to go by.

There was a small space in the walls where Sole could see through the crossing remnants of collapsed materials to the outside world, where a thick sheet of pouring rain obscured any actual view. They could hear dripping and dribbling water throughout the rubble and a brisk chill blew through the room, sending them shuddering at the cold from their soaked clothing. While they sent the dog to the furthest corner to shake off without spraying them, Stephen caught their attention. “Here.” He nudged their arm.

In his hand he held a thin blanket. “It’s not much, but it’s what fits in my pack. Can’t have you catching a cold and dying before we reach our destination.”

“What about you?” They asked, admittedly less out of concern and more out of suspicion of his generosity.

“Oh, I’m used to all this, don’t worry about it.”

Sole wished they were more selfless and had put up more of a fight, but they weren’t. The cold was making their hands shake, though it wasn’t from the actual temperature. When the dog had gotten the excess water loose from his fur, he trotted over to lean against them were they had sat in the corner. Sole made sure that he was actually only damp to the touch before pulling him under the blanket, as well, and redirected their attention to blowing warm air onto their cupped hands. Every time, they feared that the air would come out as icy as they remembered. “So.” Stephen started, “What’s the dog’s name?”

“What?”

“The…” He gestured to their dog pressed to their side. “Dog?” He questioned, his tone containing a hint of ‘obviously.’

“Oh. He doesn’t have a name.”

“How… you didn’t name your dog?”

“He’s not mine. I mean, he is now, but I just found him today.”

“Hm. We should name him, then.”

“Got any bright ideas?”

Stephen appeared to genuinely think for a moment before he said, deadpan, “Dogmeat.”

Sole rubbed their temples. “I’m not naming him Dogmeat.”

“It’s a good name.”

“Absolutely not.”

“He likes it, look! He’s wagging his tail.”

“He wags his tail at everything.”

“No, watch.” And Sole reluctantly looked at the dog while Stephen called out, “Dogmeat.”

The dog’s tongue lolled out of his mouth and his tail thumped against the ground even harder, giving the fur a good coating of dirt since it was still damp. “I hate it here.” Sole responded, shaking their head.

Stephen laughed. “Go ahead and get some rest, I’ll keep watch. Shouldn’t be any issue here unless radroaches decide they don’t like the rain anymore and decide to join us.”

Sole screwed up their face, but was agreeable enough to the idea of resting. They knew they would regret it in the morning, but they laid on the floor, blanket draped over them and Dogmeat as a pillow. It took mere seconds of listening to the dripping water echo through the building, the rain pounding the pavement outside, and feeling the exhaustion hit them like a truck, for them to fall asleep.

#fallout 4 fanfiction #nick valentine #gender neutral sole survivor #slow burn #angst with a happy ending #hurt comfort #deacon #preston garvey #sturges #curie

[commonwealthoccurences]

Back To Eden - ch7

I'm gonna be totally real I thought I uploaded this days ago and apparently never did and just assumed I did. Apologies lmao, I will drop the tidbit that ao3 gets chapters as soon as they're finished since there's no algorithm, so I upload them anywhere between 10pm to 3 am on there and then Tumblr gets the same chapter the next day any time after noon

Summary: Sole is a journalist and independent investigator who worked with the famous Detective Nick Valentine before the bombs dropped. They stumble out of Vault 111 with hazy memories of a case gone awry, a sense of desperate yearning, and the bitter experience of already having had to fight for their life to survive against the odds. What's a little nuclear wasteland to a (newly) seasoned investigator?

See masterlist for warnings.

Fic-long tags: Hurt comfort, angst, pining, flashback scenes, noir detective show meets post-apocalyptic chaos, Preston Garvey is a sweetheart, Sole is doing their best and living out of pure spite, slow burn (Nick/Sole), etc etc.

Sole opened the door to the clinic with a wide grin, stepping outside as Preston looked up at them from the bottom of the steps. “Well?” He asked.

“I’ve been cleared for light lifting and don’t have to use the crutches unless I get tired.” Sole practically sang.

The creases around Preston’s eyes deepened as he smiled and wrapped his arms around them, clapping Sole on the back heartily. “Congratulations.”

“Thanks, I’m so glad I can finally do stuff. Sturges has some ideas for making that water purification system, and I’m hoping we can have some sort of irrigation set up by the fall. Ooh, or maybe a shower! I’ve been dying for a shower.”

“Sounds like you’ve got big plans.”

“Yeah! I mean, I’m so glad I can do more. Spend less time sitting around twiddling my thumbs, y’know?”

“I distinctly recall you recovering from life-threatening injuries, not ‘twiddling your thumbs.’” 

“Same thing,” Sole grinned.

It seemed Sole was not the only one with plans for what had previously been free time. Occasionally, when Curie would demand they would rest and Preston would set them up in their chair so they’d at least have a scenic location to keep an eye on, someone would come around to talk about the Commonwealth with them. Curie, Preston, or Sturges would sit with them for some time and answer their questions or tell stories about their time traveling, just so Sole could get a grasp about what things were like now.

And after almost a month collectively above ground in the settlement, Sole wasn’t finding their tales as shocking anymore. Sure, it was still utterly horrifying at some points– Sole had nearly thrown up when Curie had described her encounters with patients with acute radiation poisoning and the different medications recommended for traveling now. Deathclaws, too, nearly had Sole falling out of their chair. They had been around before the war, but under strict containment by the military, and of course the damn things escaped and were still around. 

Synths, too, had been explained to them. It took a couple of different explanations and many asked questions, but Preston had been most surprised when their reaction was, “Huh. Okay, that’s cool.”

But now that they were cleared for a little more activity, Preston didn’t hesitate in insisting they practice self-defense. Sole still struggled with vertigo, and according to Curie, likely would for a while. However, Preston’s protective switch had flipped and while he made sure to ease them into it and protect them from overexertion, he wanted them capable of keeping their bearings about them even if they were having a vertigo episode in the middle of being attacked.

Along with brushing up on their self-defense came brushing up on their weapons training. Oftentimes, this had to be cut short and, thankfully, Preston didn’t ask any questions. Sometimes, when he was reminding them how to stand or to be wary of recoil, they heard Nick in him and it nearly tore them apart. Preston grew to recognize the look in their eyes when this was happening, though he never told them and he never knew what was behind that look.

All Preston knew was the way their eyes would cloud over and they’d stare off into the distance, seemingly listening but hearing something other than what he was saying. At this, he knew it was time to call it a day and let them recover in their own time. As much as he didn’t want to keep putting them in that position, them being as familiar with their weapon as they were with their own skin was essential in the wasteland. He would not bury Sole in that unoccupied grave.

While they didn’t gossip, Preston and Sturges often had quiet conversations about their concerns for Sole. Somewhere in the month they’d been in the settlement they’d both grown quite fond for them. It was rare to find genuine people in the Commonwealth and loyalties formed fast with how short life was in the wasteland. The two could see quite clearly that something was wrong, and while that was to be expected with what they had been through and all of the things they weren’t talking about, it still worried them every time reality seemed to escape them and their expression grew distant.

Still, Sole stubbornly pushed on. The turret at the back of Sanctuary was set up rather quickly, and a list of parts they needed for the water purifier was made for the next person to leave the settlement and go scavenging. Sole moved into the community house. Life stumbled on, and Sole followed close behind.

Sole and Valentine had propped themselves up in a diner booth, silent as they both sipped at cups of coffee. Sole had started taking theirs black just like Valentine not long after they had started working together; it didn’t taste any better, but the harsh, biting bitterness almost did more than the caffeine did to wake them up. Considering they had been awake for the last 36 hours, they certainly needed both the caffeine and the disgusting flavor.

Nick looked just as vacant as they did, his bleary eyes staring straight past them at nothing. Sole chose to look out the window, eyes scanning over everything but absorbing nothing. They’d had a long night, trying to collect evidence on their suspect, Jim. Unfortunately, while everyone on the case agreed that he was suspicious and they would be keeping an eye on him, there was no way they could keep him detained any longer.

Both Nick and Sole were feeling the mistake they’d made. In hindsight, they definitely should’ve trailed him for far longer and tried to catch him in a slip-up. The stress of the case had gotten to their heads and they’d just wanted to make progress. Unfortunately, that had cost them the upper hand. Now, Jim knew that he was being watched and the pair were losing steam. Sole sighed and sat back in the booth. Stars danced across the dark of their closed eyes as they pressed their fingertips to their eyelids, hoping that would somehow clear their bone-deep exhaustion.

With a jaw-splitting yawn, Sole shuddered in their seat and returned their gaze out the window. The early morning had greeted them with the chirping of birds and morning foot traffic as everyone went out for their coffee before starting work. You could feel the start of the seasonal shift as August crept forward; summer was reaching its fever pitch and waiting eagerly to tip into the beginning of fall. Time was running out, and Sole had no idea where they were going to start after their recent dead-end. 

A shape caught their eyes. Despite everyone rushing around on their morning trips to the office, there was a lone figure standing on the sidewalk across the street. Sole sat up slightly, the hairs on their arms standing up. The sixth sense they’d gained over their career was setting their spine rigid, a tingle crawling up their back and making them grit their teeth. Sole focused their eyes and took a sharp breath when they realized who they were looking at. The man of the morning, the freshly released Jim Grayson. And he was simply staring at them with that awful smile.

Their inhale snapped Nick’s eyes back to them and he immediately took in their body language. “Sole? What’s wrong?” He urged quietly.

“He’s here.”

But he wasn’t, not anymore. In the spare few moments when Nick had snapped back to attention and Sole had glanced away to reply, Grayson had disappeared. They swallowed, “Nick I swear to God he was just there. He was right there.”

“I believe you. That son of a bitch…”

The language took Sole by surprise; no matter how frustrated Nick had gotten in the past, he’d always maintained that specific detective image he had. Nick sat forward and rested his elbows on the tabletop, mug empty and shoved aside. He rubbed his hands over his face, scratching briefly at the stubble forming along his jaw before he jerked his fingers through his hair and shoved his hat back on his head. “You’re not going back home.”

“What? Nick!”

“Listen, I’m not trying to scare you, I’m trying to protect you. I wouldn’t be surprised if he already knows where you live, and with how little you’ve been sleeping sending you home would be a total disregard for your safety. We can send a patrol with you to pick up some things, but–”

“I’m not sleeping at the station. Nick, I already spend 99% of my time there, I’ll lose my mind.”

“Then you’ll stay with me.”

Sole blinked. They weren’t sure if they were more shocked by his willingness to avoid arguing or the offer he was making. They chuckled nervously, “I don’t know if that’s necessary.”

Nick sat forward. “I will not send you home to your death.”

His stare was the polar opposite of what it had been minutes later. The intensity reminded Sole of exactly why he had the reputation of being such a successful interrogator. Already broken down from lack of sleep and unwilling to pick a fight on 36 hours of sleep in a public diner with a creep potentially watching, Sole relented. “Alright, fine. You win. Better stay with you rather than the entire police department watching me sleep.”

Valentine sighed and his posture relaxed. “Thank you.”

Sole halfheartedly mock saluted. “Just following orders, boss.”

He screwed up his face. “Please never do that again.”

Sole put their hands on their hips. “I can do it.”

“Sole, it’s just not smart.”

“Well, I never said it was smart, but it needs to be done and you can’t spare anyone else.”

“I can’t spare you, either! What happens if you go out there and end up dead?”

Sole sighed and threw their hands up a little, somewhat exasperated. “Preston, think about it. You survived without me before, and you could do it again. You can’t send Sturges, because he’s too essential to putting this settlement back together. You can’t send Mama Murphy– I don’t even need to explain that one. Marcy can’t go because of Jun, and Jun can’t go because he’s got his own stuff to deal with. Curie is more indisposable than the rest of us put together. The only reason she went out last time was because no one else could. And you sure as hell can’t go. You’re the glue around here.”

Preston pressed his lips together and shook his head. “And you? You aren’t disposable here even though you seem to think you are.”

“Look, I don’t think I’m disposable, but I do think that this needs to get done and I’m the best person to do it.”

They’d been bickering on and off all day since Sturges brought up the urgency of the water purifier. They were running out of the purified water that the bunker had provided, and Sole had immediately volunteered to go scavenging for more. Sensing an argument and thinking better of sticking around, Sturges had announced that he’d let them figure it out and immediately left. 

Preston had made the mistake of indulging in theoreticals. First, he had ixnayed the idea of them scavenging at random. It was too dangerous for them to be running around at random, he’d said, and if they were going to be going anywhere it would be on the main roads to Diamond City. He considered that the safest route. Unfortunately for Preston, that was the exact moment he’d lost the argument, and he’d known it. Despite the fact that hours later they were still going back and forth about it, they both knew it was futile.

Luckily, Sole wasn’t reliant on their crutches anymore, and they had been getting their strength back to normal. Sometimes they still had bouts of muscle weakness, but it wasn’t so bad if they didn’t push themselves too hard, and they were starting to get antsy with the way everyone seemed to watch to make sure they weren’t doing too much. Preston especially. “Preston, we both know that we can’t go much longer without the parts for the water purifier. And I can get more supplies than just the parts while I’m there. We need more crop seeds. We both did inventory yesterday, you know this.”

Preston looked defeated. Thoroughly worn out, and wholeheartedly defeated. Sole knew he hadn’t been sleeping, they knew he hadn’t been eating properly so Jun and Mama Murphy could get extra, and he had been watching the water supply closer than he watched them. He needed sleep. He needed someone to step up on equal footing and take part of the burden, and unfortunately, that required pushing back and arguing, not just following every order he gave. Someone needed to take care of him the way he took care of everyone else, and Sole was there for the job.

They stepped forward and placed a hand on his shoulder, voice low. “I’m not doing this to be an ass or out of spite. I’m doing this because we both know it’s the only option. You’ve had me in bootcamp for a good minute here, and Curie thinks this is my new ‘top shape.’ Let me help, Preston. Let me do the right thing.”

Preston looked up and took a sharp breath before crushing them into his chest for a minute. After a tight squeeze, he pushed them away and didn’t meet their eyes. “Fine.” He didn’t seem pleased, the concern still carving lines between his brows. “I don’t like it.”

“I know, Pres’. But I’ll be alright. Always am.”

His chuckle was dry, though he nodded. “ Always defying the odds, yeah? Dammit. Let’s go talk to Sturges, then. Make sure he’s in the loop and can get you everything you need together before you go.”

Next chapter will be much longer (rough est. about 6k words) as a heads up!

#back to eden #fallout 4 fanfiction #nick valentine #gender neutral sole survivor #slow burn #angst with a happy ending

[commonwealthoccurences]

Back To Eden - Ch6

Summary: Sole is a journalist and independent investigator who worked with the famous Detective Nick Valentine before the bombs dropped. They stumble out of Vault 111 with hazy memories of a case gone awry, a sense of desperate yearning, and the bitter experience of already having had to fight for their life to survive against the odds. What's a little nuclear wasteland to a (newly) seasoned investigator?

See masterlist for warnings.

Fic-long tags: Hurt comfort, angst, pining, flashback scenes, noir detective show meets post-apocalyptic chaos, Preston Garvey is a sweetheart, Sole is doing their best and living out of pure spite, slow burn (Nick/Sole), etc etc.

For the next couple of weeks, Sole focused on settling in. Opening the bunker had made them a local hero, at least for the few days after, and had officially inducted them into the group of settlers. They had quickly formed a silent allyship with Jun, forming their own little post-apocalyptic grief group. While neither of them really wanted to talk about the events that were haunting them, there was an understanding between the two. Marcy was another story, but Sole knew everyone addressed grief in their own ways; hell, if Sole had any energy, they might have been just as angry at their own situation.

In the vein of grief, Sole had remained at ground level when the bunker had been opened. Preston had been the one to descend and check things out, just in case there had been some sort of trap awaiting whoever broke in– when he mentioned the possibility, Sole hadn’t dissuaded his caution. It wouldn’t have surprised them if their neighbor had done such a thing. It had surprised them, however, when he’d ascended moments later with a solemn look on his face and pulled them, quite literally as they’d remained seated in their chair, to the side. “Before we do anything about the supplies down there, I wanted to let you know…” Preston sighed, “There’s a body down there. Well, a skeleton. I thought you should know.”

Sole took a deep breath and glanced away. “Uh, wow. I mean, I didn’t even think about the possibility of him actually… making it long enough to get down there.”

“If you’d like– there was a hat. On the body. If you want, I can bring it up so you can confirm it was him. If that would help.”

“Yeah, I think I’d like that.”

Sole quickly confirmed that it was their neighbor who had died. There was a little bit of pride in their chest, trying its best to counteract the grief, at the fact that he had made it into his bunker. It hadn’t been a complete waste, after all. Whether or not the bunker was radiation-proof and he had survived longer than a second after the blast, they didn’t know. But he had died somewhere that meant something to him, and they were glad for that. 

That night Preston had helped them out of their house again. Sole was getting a little better about using the crutches, but with the uneven terrain, it was best that they had some help, and Preston was too good of a man to watch them struggle. He’d built a small fire and set up two chairs, one for him to keep watch overnight over the little community and the other for Sole to join him as long as they needed to. He threw a blanket over his shoulder as they made their way out into the little field and once they were settled in their chair, he tucked them in.

Curious, Sole asked, “Do you guys still do funerals?”

“Well, I guess it depends.”

Preston propped his gun up against the arm of his chair and sat back. His coat collar was turned up against the chill of the breeze, his arms crossed over his chest as he pondered. “Sometimes you end up banded together with people you don’t know very well, and if they die, then no, there’s not really a funeral. If you really respected them then you might bury them, or set them up in a more dignified way then sprawled out where they died, but other than that, not really. If you really knew the person and were close, like if one of the folks here died, you’d probably bury them and make a makeshift marker. But, I’ve heard pre-war you guys would do a whole,” Preston waved his hand in the air to gesture something grand, “thing. We don’t have the time, energy, or resources to do that now, though. And, uh, people dying now is common.”

“Yeah, that makes sense.” Sole acknowledged quietly.

“Why do you ask?”

“I think I have some people to bury.”

It took a couple of days for Preston to arrange for everyone to be free and help out, but he was true to the agreement they made that night. Sole offered to go back down into Vault 111 to help them figure out how to open the cryopods, but Preston had firmly asserted that that wasn’t necessary and it would be unnecessary stress on Sole when they should be focusing on recovering. Instead, they were set up in a chair to watch the procession of still-frozen bodies brought down the hill and to the graves that had been set up.

Marcy had her fair share of snide comments about wasting time and being stuck in the past, but it was easy to ignore them with Sturges keeping them company. He did his best to keep things lighthearted despite the awful imagery of their neighbors being filed into the neat row of graves that had emphatically been placed as far away from the main neighborhood while still being in Sanctuary as possible. Marcy stood nearby, hands on hips, watching critically. “You dug too many graves. What a waste of time.”

“What?” Sturges asked, mildly perturbed at her overseeing.

“There’s one more grave than there are people. There’s an extra grave.”

“No, I asked for that many graves specifically. It’s… reserved. For when I find the person. I want to bring him home and bury him, if I can find him.” Sole piped up, not looking at either of the settlers.

The stern look on Sturge’s face was enough to stop Marcy from asking any questions, and Sole simply looked on as the graves were filled in, ignoring the sharp pangs in their chest that were making them feel so hollow.

Once Sole was finally mobile and could reliably use the crutches, it was a fight to keep them from overworking themself. Preston began consulting them, figuring that their pre-war experiences would give them a different perspective on survival methods that may be helpful and to prevent them from doing physical labor. And the settlement began to grow.

A main house was patched up, the holes in the walls repaired with scraps taken from other collapsed houses. Makeshift beds were created for everyone in the settlement– Preston decided they wanted everyone sleeping in one area, though an uncomfortable squeeze, until proper defenses were set up and everyone had grown accustomed to the area. Sturges made Mama Murphy a designated chair that found its place on the porch of said community house to keep an eye on everything. Crops began sprouting behind the community house, the promise for a future.

All of the food and supplies from the bunker were moved into Sole’s house, something that Preston had insisted on principle despite Sole’s indifference. The plan was for Sole to move out of their old house once they were well and to join everyone else in the community house. Sole’s house would be repaired and turned into a medical building, somewhere for Curie to have a designated space to run her tests and experiments and heal the sick and wounded. Sole could think of no better legacy for their old home than something adjacent to a hospital or clinic.

Curie had made her return to the settlement just before Preston and Sole discussed burying those left in the Vault. She had been the one to check out their bodies, to confirm there was no hope in saving them like there had been with Sole, and Sole was sure she’d collected samples and other material to study what had happened, but Sole didn’t ask. They didn’t particularly want to think about it.

In fact, they spent every waking minute fighting thoughts about anything pre-war. Maybe they were settling into the denial stage of grief and making that their new home, but they tried not to think about that much, either. Somewhere along the way they had convinced themself that it would be easier to simply throw themself into this new way of life, after the bombs, and lingering on what they had left behind would only start a destructive spiral. Preston made his disapproval known, but didn’t push, and neither did Sturges, who was far more understanding. 

Rolling out of bed one morning, Sole grasped their crutches and began awkwardly shoving themself into a coat that Preston had scrounged up for them. None of their clothes had survived, of course, though Sole was a little disappointed about that. Jun had been kind enough to give their vault suit a little scrub in the river and returned it to them with his and Marcy’s regards. They knew Marcy had in fact not sent her regards, but it was a kind gesture, regardless. For now, the vault suit, the coat, and the black ballcap that had been pulled out of the bunker and also washed in the river were the entirety of Sole’s wardrobe.

Sole had gotten the hang of the little swing that got them momentum on their crutches, and once they had shut the door behind them, they began swinging towards the entrance to Sanctuary. They had started joining Preston on his patrols for the sake of having something to do without him checking on them every two minutes, worrying about if they were doing too much.

Preston spotted them as soon as they rounded the collapsed house that was on their way and greeted them with a raised hand and a smile that matched the rising sun. They gave a tiny wave in return, more focused on keeping their balance, and made their way over as quickly and reliably as they could. “Mornin’! Good to see you’re getting faster on those things.” 

Sole laughed. “Tell me about it. I can’t wait till I’m back on my feet and can actually help out properly around here.”

“Hey, don’t you worry about that, you’re helping out plenty. Speaking of, I thought about what you said, about setting up Sturge’s auto-turret by the bridge– it seems like the obvious choice, but I’m kind of worried about the hill coming down from the Vault, too. A smart tactician would scale the hill on the other side and approach from that way.”

Sole thought about this for a moment. “Well, no one really knows we’re up here yet, right? So the first time we get approached it’s gonna be from the front, from the main road leading up from Concord. As long as we keep an eye out and make sure no one’s looking in on us without approaching, we should be okay until word gets out that we’re here. That’s when we’ll have to worry about getting snuck up on.”

“Yeah, you’ve got a point. Man, what did you do before the war? How do you think of this stuff? I didn’t think you had to worry much about stuff like this before.”

Sole laughed again, though it was dry this time. “I was sort of an unofficial detective. Going after shitty people in any time period will make you paranoid enough to worry about these things.”

The pair began walking, starting their patrol by the riverbank. “Oh, damn. Sounds like an intense job if that wasn’t the norm back then. You catch anyone?”

Sole stared. They stared out at the river and watched it bubble and creep down its little path towards the other end of the neighborhood and then they closed their eyes and tried their best to focus on the feeling of the sun warming their skin, for fear of that biting cold coming back. “Yeah. My first big case, we ended up catching the guy. Got in the newspapers and everything.”

“Wow. Once a badass, always a badass, I guess.” Preston grinned.

“Hm. Not sure if I feel like a badass.”

“Are you kidding me? You caught the guy, got cryogenically frozen, survived a nuclear war and the plethora of crap the freeze gave you and crawled back home, and kicked frostbite and everything else’s ass, and then saved a group of people from starving. That’s pretty badass in my book.”

Sole rolled their eyes, but couldn’t fight the smile that rose to their face. “Alright. I guess I am pretty badass.”

“That’s the spirit.”

Preston let the garbling river fill the silence as they approached the makeshift graveyard; Sole was sure he made his patrols cut by it intentionally, so they couldn’t stay in denial forever. He was quite tactical in the way he cared, and Sole could appreciate that even if they didn’t appreciate being pulled back to everything that had happened. “Y’know, we still have detectives?”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah. I mean, one. We have one detective. I’ve mentioned Diamond City before, I think. Biggest settlement in the Commonwealth at the moment– you’ll go there eventually, at the very least once. His agency is there and he tries to help people out. He’s a good man, always trying to do the right thing. Even though people aren’t always kind enough to do the same for him.”

Sole looked down at the empty grave nearby and felt as if it were looking back at them. They swallowed. “It’s– uh,” They cleared their throat as their voice cracked, “good to know people like that are still around. The world needs people like… like him.”

“Yeah, we’re pretty lucky. You should talk to him at some point, I think you two would have a lot in common. Hell, you might even end up a detective again.” Preston laughed and Sole swallowed again, hard, averting their eyes from the grave and staring up at the sky.

“No, uh. I think those days are over for me. Had my fill of detectives.”

“Hey, are you alright?”

“Yeah, I’m alright Preston. Why don’t we go take a look at where you’re gonna want that turret? I can help Sturges set it up.”

#back to eden #fallout 4 fanfiction #gender neutral sole survivor #nick valentine #preston garvey #sturges #curie #mama murphy #jun long #marcy long #hurt comfort #slow burn #angst with a happy ending

[commonwealthoccurences]

Back To Eden - ch5

Summary: Sole is a journalist and independent investigator who worked with the famous Detective Nick Valentine before the bombs dropped. They stumble out of Vault 111 with hazy memories of a case gone awry, a sense of desperate yearning, and the bitter experience of already having had to fight for their life to survive against the odds. What's a little nuclear wasteland to a (newly) seasoned investigator?

See masterlist for warnings.

Fic-long tags: Hurt comfort, angst, pining, flashback scenes, noir detective show meets post-apocalyptic chaos, Preston Garvey is a sweetheart, Sole is doing their best and living out of pure spite, slow burn (Nick/Sole), etc etc.

Sole had a hard time talking for a few days after that. There was a certain numbness that overtook them rather quickly. They found themself avoiding glances at the outside world whenever the door opened and they often laid with their back to the rest of the room; they simply faced the dirty wall and started listlessly or slept.

Which, they supposed, was okay. Their body needed rest, especially after they dragged their way to the back of the house to get Preston that key. He hadn’t opened it yet, according to Sturges, who often gave little settlement updates to their back whenever he came in to check on them. Apparently, he wanted Sole to be there; he still felt they had some ownership over the food and it wouldn’t feel right otherwise. Sturges had expressed once, under his breath, that Preston was too good of a man to have come from the wasteland.

The word had slipped out and Sole knew he hadn’t meant for them to hear the comment at all, but they’d fixated on it. The wasteland. That’s what Boston was now, and the rest of the world, too. Just a wasteland. They weren’t sure if they considered themself lucky in the fact that most of their memory from stumbling home had vanished. All they remembered was those brambles, everything else was a blur of shapes, nausea, and cold. 

Sole thought about Nick Valentine a lot in those days they spent mentally isolating themself. They also thought about their parents a lot, about the fact that they hadn’t had much contact after college, but the loss still stung. They thought about the younger woman who managed the local Slocum Joe’s– she often gave Sole a free coffee when they worked on their articles in her shop. Their heart ached, far more than their muscles had. They’d lost everything. They’d never see that life again.

“No you– hold it like this. Move your thumb– not there. You’ve never held a gun before, have you?” Detective Valentine asked, hands on his hips.

Sole laughed and looked at the pistol in their hands. “Once, when I was six. My dad thought it would be a great idea to teach us, so he took us to the range. I fired it once and cried until we left and the entire car ride home.”

“Uh-huh. Explains why you’re an independent investigator and not a cop.” The last part was muttered under his breath, but didn’t go unheard.

“Watch it, Detective, that’s a can of worms you and I don’t want to open.”

“Of course. Now– what are you doing with your foot? I don’t think I’ve ever even seen someone stand like that before.”

Sole sighed and readjusted their stance until they got a half-pleased nod of assent from the Detective. They were watching him actively struggle with the urge to just jump in and adjust the way they were doing everything himself, but it was sort of an unspoken standoff. Sole wasn’t about to ask him to, and they didn’t think he would voice the request. “Okay. Place your finger on the trigger, but don’t squeeze yet.”

They complied, but felt a gross chill crackle its way down their spine. As he’d previously instructed, Sole took a deep breath and let it out slowly in an attempt to settle their nerves. “Good.” The Detective said quietly. “Now look where you’re aiming and when you’re ready, squeeze the trigger.”

For a few seconds, Sole simply stared forward at the target, eyes locked with the bullseye. Then, they squeezed, and the resulting BAM made them jump out of their skin. Quickly, they placed the gun down and raised their hands. “I hate it.” 

Detective Valentine was obviously suppressing a laugh, and if Sole wasn’t so uncomfortable from shooting, they would’ve felt a bit smug at being able to make him laugh. Instead, they gave him their best attempt at a withering look. “I’m trying!” 

“I know, I know, it was a… good attempt.” Sole could tell he was doing his best to be genuine, but noticed he swiftly turned away under the guise of pressing the button to push their target to the front.

Sole mimicked his earlier posture, putting their hands on their hips. “Am I blind, where’s the hole?”

The Detective leaned over to them. “I’m impressed, Sole.”

“What? Why?” 

“You completely missed.”

Sole groaned. “You’ll get the hang of it. Come on, I’ll help this time.” The Detective offered.

Sole assumed their best approximation of the stance they had before, but Detective Valentine shook his head. “Here,” he said quietly, moving into their space behind them, “You need to keep your arms like this and your knees like this. Make sure you’re prepared for the recoil this time. Okay, breathe.”

Considering how close he was, it was a bit difficult to follow up on that last instruction. Taking a deep breath was nearly a mistake; the smell of cigarettes overwhelmed them, and while they didn’t mind the scent– they had become very familiar with it over the last three weeks– it was more than distracting. “Alright. Fire.”

Sole complied easily, squeezing the trigger with less hesitation than they’d had before, though they still screwed up their face in discomfort. It definitely helped to have the Detective there to handle the recoil. When they released the breath they took, Detective Valentien patted them on the arm and moved away. “See, you hit the target this time. You’ll get the hang of it.”

While Sole wasn’t pleased to spend the next two hours practicing their aim, they knew it was important. The Detective was right, when he said it was their job to have his back. It was his job, too, to have their back, but they weren’t worried about that. It was unfair for the Detective to have such an uneven dynamic and if something happened to him because they couldn’t do their job, they would never forgive themself.

Sole remembered that day clearly– doing target practice and hand-to-hand with Valentine. It was one of the first solid days that they’d spent together outside of paperwork and the bullshit that the BPD was throwing at them. Suddenly, they felt ridiculous, especially as they remembered their last memory they had with the Detective. He’d taught them so much just to keep them both alive in the face of the danger they had willingly put themselves in. He was the reason they were still around and it almost felt that to give up was to spit in his face. So when Sturges came in to check on them that day, they asked, “Would you mind if I sat outside for a bit?”

“Oh! Yeah, ‘course. We got one of those chairs with wheels from next door just in case you asked. It won’t be the most comfortable, but it’ll have to do.” Sturges was clearly pleasantly surprised as he busied himself with medical supplies Sole had no clue about.

They’d had many salves and bandages pressed over blistered skin and injections– Stimpacks, he’d called them– and creams that tried to fix their damaged blood vessels, different parts of them warmed and cooled, the feeling restored in different limbs and then taken away and restored again. They’d honestly lost track of everything that’d been done to them as they slept away the days in an attempt to rest. Sturges had said that was their one job, that sleeping was their way to heal their body, but it hadn’t been something they tried for. The exhaustion often crept up on them when they least expected it and they were out like a light within minutes.

Sole hadn’t complained a bit about all of the medical antics, though. Slowly but surely their persistent pains eased off into muscle aches, the blisters healed, their eyesight went back to normal, and the antagonistic itching that followed their damaged blood vessels dissipated– for now. What they were left with was a ridiculous amount of muscle weakness that Sturges informed them would be resolved with use, some balance issues, and the occasional migraine. Sure, it sucked, but in the grand scheme of things, they were damn lucky.

They waited quietly, patiently, for Sturges to walk next door and drag the chair over. They could’ve sworn they had their own office chair, well, in their office before the bombs went off, but then again a lot could change in two hundred years. And change it had.

When Sturges made it back, which he did rather quickly, he had Preston in tow along with the discussed chair. Sole cocked their head to the side, confused as to why they needed Preston. “Oh, don’t look at me. He saw me and asked for an update and y’know. Wanted to supervise.” Sturges chuckled and set the chair down next to them before moving to help them sit up.

“Does he hover like a worried mother duck around everyone or am I just that special?” Sole’s teasing was lighthearted and they made sure to flash Preston a grin to show it.

“Oh, that’s his job. You get used to it.”

“I think it’s nice. I may not know much about the world anymore but good people are good people, and from what I heard we’re now in short supply.”

“Well, you’re right about that.”

Preston supervised from the corner as Sturges helped Sole ease from their bed into the chair, pausing every few movements to let them catch their breath and soothe their aches. On the biggest movement, when Sturges had to practically lift them to actually get them into the chair, they saw Preston take a half-step forward, ready to jump in if needed. Once they were sat back and breathing hard from the exertion, he relaxed. “Just, uh, give me a minute. Feels like I aged every one of those two hundred years.” Sole gasped.

“Take your time.” Sturges said quietly.

Sole gave themself a minute to catch their breath and get comfortable, or as comfortable as they could manage. Eventually, they put their feet on the base of the chair. “Alright, let’s go, now or never.”

When Sole had emerged from the vault, they had no sense of dread or apprehension. They had no idea what was waiting for them on the other side– hell, they were barely conscious and functioning. Now it felt like they were finally facing the cards they had been dealt. Reluctantly and bitterly, sure, but they were facing it as Preston grasped the doorknob and began swinging the door open as Sturges pushed them closer. The post-apocalyptic apprentice doctor and his… General? And Sole. The survivor of a nuclear apocalypse and a roughly 226 year old one at that.

“Oh, c’mon old man, is that the best you’ve got?” 

Sole was getting cocky and they knew it, but they didn’t care. At Detective Valentine’s insistence they were in the gym on a mat, finally going toe-to-toe in a little lighthearted practice fighting. Well, it had been lighthearted at first. Sole had always been a competitive person and the Detective was not taking kindly to being shown up for the first time ever by them, but they were exhilarated. Finally, they were good at something. Finally, they were actually better than him at something. Every duck and jab reaffirmed that they had a reason to be there, even though they felt like they were floundering in the field.

“Old man? Really? Am I even that much older than you?” The Detective rolled his eyes, but never fell out of his defensive stance.

Sole looked for an opening and saw none. They faked a punch and immediately went for the resulting weakness his defensive movement provided, but the Detective was quick on his feet despite being tired from their antics. They laughed, breathless. There was something about this that was unraveling all of the tension from the past handful of weeks. They were on even ground. Sole was holding their own.

The round of sparring lasted for several more creeping minutes until Sole finally got their chance and managed to sweep his feet out from under him. The Detective hit the mat with a soft oof and Sole didn’t hesitate to drop down next to him, exhausted but satisfied with the day’s events. Heavy breathing filled the silence of the room; it was nearly two in the morning and it had long been vacated, but apparently the Detective knew the owner. Sole hadn’t been surprised. “You did good today.” He said, between panting breaths.

“Thanks.”

Despite the comforting wear in their muscles and the sleepiness in their bones, the discomfort set back in the longer they were left unoccupied with catching their breath their only task. Sole squirmed a bit, unable to settle with the layer of sweat that had coated their skin. “Detective–”

“Nick. Or Valentine. Whichever.”

“Oh.”

A moment of silence.

“Uh, Nick…”

“Yeah?”

“I– this won’t sound rational, and I know that’s kind of what we’re supposed to do. Well, what you’re supposed to do– I’m new here, so I guess I get a pass. Anyway, I– I don’t know how to explain it but I just have a really bad feeling about Grayson.”

Dete– Nick shifted, too, from the sounds that Sole heard, but they didn’t look over at him. They waited, tense, to be ridiculed. They knew it was illogical. They didn’t have a reason, other than just not getting a good feeling from the guy and the weird thing he said to them in the elevator, but still. Something was up with him. Sole couldn’t say for sure that that was their guy, but there was definitely something wrong there.

“On the record I will tell you as your partner that we will follow the book and look for the evidence, but unfortunately we cannot keep a man detained due to a gut feeling, and that if nothing comes up we’ll simply release and keep an eye on him.”

“... and off the record?”

Valentine sighed. “Off the record, I would agree with you. Somethin’ isn’t right.”

Sole flinched away from the sudden influx of light as the door opened. Even though there were plenty of flaws in their house now, Sturges had made an attempt to seal it up to the point that they had forgotten it was summer. Something about that was so uncomfortable. Falling asleep when it was autumn, nearly winter, and waking up when it’s summer. Sole suppressed a gasp.

The neighborhood, as expected, was absolutely destroyed. No, that wasn’t true. They saw other settlers, the people from Preston and Sturge’s little clan that they hadn’t met yet, doing their absolute best to put it back together. Someone was hammering away at the house across the street, turning the rust and blue shell into a patchwork quilt of a shelter. Someone else was hard at work planting or harvesting some sort of gourd they had never seen before. 

It was hard to see the progress, the survival and determination, past what Sole could only absorb as the wreckage of everything they knew. They knew the people that had lived across from them. They knew what the wife cooked for breakfast every morning (omelets for the adults, pancakes for the kids) and what her husband’s engine sounded like when he left for work (loud, at 5 am no less)and what time their twin boys left for baseball practice (3:30 PM). And now they were gone and no one knew.

And Sole was left with a fierce battle going on between the two halves of their brain and heart. They couldn’t see the point in going on when everything had crumbled while they were away. The neighbors across the street and the man next door and every person they had ever met was gone and all they had left to grasp at were memories and grief. And the heartbreaking thing was, they didn’t even know these people all that well. It was just the little things that made them know them, the things they never thought important. But their old life had slipped out of their grasp and suddenly the sound of that engine was so unbelievably important and 3:30 in the afternoon would never be the same.

But the last thing Sole was was a quitter. They’d fought to get to where they were before the War and they fought to survive everything that had gone down after… and they almost had. They were working on surviving that. And then the bombs started dropping and they couldn’t reach Nick over the phone in time and they were underground and they never got the chance to say goodbye. To him or to anyone.

And then they were here. On their front porch on the other side of the end of the world. And Preston placed his hand on their shoulder and asked in that soft tone he liked to use with them, “Would you like to go back inside?” And they realized they were crying again.

“No. No I– I think I’d like to just sit a while, if that’s okay.”

So Preston leaned back against one of the supports of their awning, his ridiculous looking gun propped up over one shoulder and his hat tilted forward to keep the sun out of his eyes. Sturges sat at the stoop, by their feet. Some of the other people from their group greeted the pair as they walked past, and a few even occasionally said hello to Sole. They weren’t quite sure if they said hello back, but the intention was there.

The sun crept forward into the sky as the minutes ticked into hours. Preston left eventually; he had things to do and a settlement to run– well, try to set up. But Sturges simply shifted in place every now and then to stay comfortable, and didn’t say a word. That is, until Sole finally piped up. “Sturges?”

“Yeah?”

“Does, uh– there used to be a small river, where the bridge leads to Sanctuary, there was a river underneath. I just– is it still there? Does the river still run?”

“Yeah, Sole. The river still runs, it’s still there.”

“The river still runs. And I’m still here.”

Sturges reached up and patted them on the knee. His expression was one they’d grown familiar with, a sort of warm sadness. The river still ran. There were people there, right in front of them, and they were fighting for their lives. They were running out of food and Sole had the key tucked into their pocket. “Sturges?”

“Yeah, Sole?”

“Can you take me to the bunker? Please.”

He turned and looked at them. Not a quick glance, but a bit of a non-judgemental stare, like he was studying them. And the warm sadness turned into a soft grin and he nodded, “Yeah, alright. Let’s go crack that thing open, shall we?”

A/N: There may not be an update for a hot minute as I finish up finals week and work on other important things I have going on. It shouldn't be too long though and I'll try to get another chapter out before the end of the week!

#back to eden #fallout 4 fanfiction #nick valentine #preston garvey #sturges #gender neutral sole survivor #hurt comfort #slow burn

[commonwealthoccurences]

Back To Eden - ch 4

Summary: Sole is a journalist and independent investigator who worked with the famous Detective Nick Valentine before the bombs dropped. They stumble out of Vault 111 with hazy memories of a case gone awry, a sense of desperate yearning, and the bitter experience of already having had to fight for their life to survive against the odds. What's a little nuclear wasteland to a (newly) seasoned investigator?

See masterlist for warnings.

Fic-long tags: Hurt comfort, angst, pining, flashback scenes, noir detective show meets post-apocalyptic chaos, Preston Garvey is a sweetheart, Sole is doing their best and living out of pure spite, slow burn (Nick/Sole), etc etc.

Preston Garvey was suited to be a leader, Sole thought. They had been a good judge of character before the war, to the point that it was uncanny, and despite their ongoing migraine and the poking and prodding that Sturges was doing, they could just tell. There was something warm about his eyes and the way he simply treated them as if they were any other stranger that deserved respect, not the frozen person who had stumbled into his group’s shelter, half-deluded and nearly beyond help.

It was difficult to get formal introductions out of the way without feeling a little silly. Sole could confidently say that the existential dread was setting in about their situation; it’d gotten hold of them sometime between Sturges leaving the room and when he’d come back and had to explain what medicine was like for him and the group and everyone on the planet. There were no formal facilities, after all, now that it was “after the war.”

They swallowed their dread, though, and exchanged calm greetings with Preston before he propped himself up on the chair next to their bed and began speaking. “Well, I’m sure all of this is extremely confusing to say the least. Sturges let me know what’s been going on and… I’ve gotta say, we’ve seen a lot of stuff out here, but, uh– you’re definitely a first.”

Sole laughed, though it sounded a little off, even to them. “At least I’ve got that going for me.”

Preston let out a quiet, good-natured “Hah,” but looked troubled. 

“Don’t be afraid to lay out some depressing news. After everything that’s been going on, I can take it.”

“I’m simply concerned about how adjusting to the way things work now will turn out for you.”

“Oh, how bad could it be? It was just a little nuclear apocalypse, I’m sure I’ll be alright.”

This got a real laugh out of him. “Well, I’m glad you’ve kept your sense of humor. You’re gonna need it.”

Sole knew he was telling the truth. “Look, we’re perfectly happy for you to figure things out on your own time, so don’t worry too much about that. This place is relatively safe, not too much around, so you’re okay here. I’m sure you’ve realized the food situation is… a little delicate, but we’re doing our best.”

“I’d like to help.”

Preston’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Well, I appreciate the offer, but you really should be focusing on resting. I think jumping into the middle of things already would be against doctor’s orders.”

Sturges cut in, raising his hands in a defensive gesture from where he was rolling gauze in the corner of the room. “Hey, don’t throw me under the bus. I’m just doin’ what I was told until Curie gets back.”

“Curie…?” Sole looked between the two.

“Our resident doctor. She’s out looking for more supplies, won’t be back for a couple of days. Really bad timing of events– I woulda felt a lot better if she’d been here to take care of you.” Sturges sighed. “But, that’s the way things go ‘round here.”

“Hey. I think my doctor’s been doing pretty good, for what it’s worth.”

Sturges laughed. “Thanks. I’ll go ahead and get out of your guys' hair so y’all can figure things out.”

He stepped out of the room and Sole returned their gaze to Preston. They pressed their lips together, thinking. “Have you found the bunker?”

“What?”

“There’s a bunker behind the house to the left of us, have you found it?”

“Uh– found it, yes. It’s locked tight and unfortunately brute force hasn’t worked so far. Why, is there anything important in there?”

Sole rolled to their side to get their elbow underneath them and began struggling to sit up. “Oh, only a ridiculous amount of food and some weapons.” Their body was screaming at every movement; they weren’t exactly sure on the precise amount of time that had passed since they crawled out of the Vault, but it had been around a few days, and they’d spent 99% of it on bed rest.

“Hey, hey. Where do you think you’re going? Didn’t we have that talk about staying in bed and doctor’s orders?”

“Uh-huh,” They gasped as they pulled one of their legs forward and a sharp, stinging pain shot down the muscles. “It was very nice. Unfortunately, this is more important.”

“Listen, I do appreciate the want to help, but I don’t think you’re gonna have any better luck forcing it open than we have– no offense.”

Sole swallowed a whimper at the needling pain crashing through their ill-used muscles. Now that they thought about it, they were on bed rest for a lot longer than however long they had been out of the Vault. They had been on “bed rest” since the bombs dropped, however long that had been. Sensing he was getting nowhere with them and picking his battles wisely, Preston began to reach out carefully, “Is it okay if I help you?” He asked, resigned.

“Please.”

Sole groaned as they were hauled as gently as possible to their feet. Makeshift crutches were propped up in the corner, something Sturges had created and set aside for a future date. Whenever they were actually supposed to be getting off of bed rest. Sole reached for them quickly, ignoring the aches and pains in their arms from being moved too fast, and Preston helped them settle the crutch pads underneath their armpits. They blew out a sigh of relief as the excess weight was taken off their already-weary legs.

Preston stayed close and watchful as they crept closer and closer to the hallway. “Where are you going?”

Sole groaned as they shifted their weight to the side and took a couple of deep breaths. “I’m not gonna brute force the bunker door. I have the key.”

“Look, considering you’re gonna be watching my back for the next month or so, I think I have the right to demand some combat training.”

“Detective, I appreciate the concern, but I’ve been alright without it. I know how to handle myself.”

Detective Valentine put his hand out to stop them from punching the elevator button. They were following a lead to a nearby office building and had to bring one of the workers in for questioning; some suspicious activity had cropped up between his credit cards and phone records, and frankly as Detective Valentine had put it, they needed to bring anybody in so the BPD would see some progress. They had appreciated his transparency and knew that there was some merit to the suspect being brought in, but they were quite surprised to hear him spell out his motivations so clearly. It was wearing on him, obviously. Balancing the fact that he had to answer to the department and actually making progress on the case. “We’re doing the training.” The Detective ripped them out of their thoughts.

Sole sighed, “Fine. Can we please take the elevator now? I would take the stairs just to be stubborn but I’m really not in the mood for it.”

The Detective removed his hand and Sole pressed the up arrow, but he hadn’t taken his eyes off them. They chanced an awkward glance at him, but the way he was studying their face made them shift and raise an eyebrow. “Maybe I should take the stairs anyway.” They meant it as a joke, but it came off harsher than intended.

Detective Valentine caught himself and stared forward at the brick walls while quiet dings signaled the descending elevator’s approach. He drew in a breath, paused, and then spoke, “I didn’t mean to insult you.”

Sole shook their head. “Don’t worry, Detective. I’m not insulted. I understand your concern. Besides, it might help us both blow off a little steam. I know things have been… tense around the office, and my presence doesn’t really help that.”

Uncharacteristically, the Detective made a sound somewhere between a scoff and a groan. “Ignore them. They want the department to handle the case without outside help, but don’t want to be on the case and receive any of the flack. They–” He cut himself off as the elevator arrived. “Anyway, don’t pay any mind to them.”

Sole spent the elevator ride fighting a smug smile. An endorsement from the Detective Valentine meant something. They took advantage of the elevator ride to twist side-to-side in an attempt to find some relief for their aching back. Spending uncountable hours into the night hunched over their desk at the station wasn’t doing their spine any favors. They were infinitely grateful for the lead they got; a chance to escape the department, to watch Detective Valentine work on something other than his notepad and packs of cigarettes, and finally and most importantly, some progress on the case.

The elevator made its easy climb to the 11th floor, the silence filled with a jaunty little tune that Sole had probably heard on the radio before somewhere. It came to a stop at their destination with a soft ding and Detective Valentien grabbed their arm as they moved to walk down the rows of cubicles, pulling them to the side. They made a bit of a face at being tugged along, but knew it must be for good reason; the Detective didn’t do things without good reason. “I’ll wait by the elevator. I don’t think this guy will react well if I show up, but you’re not part of the BPD. You think you can handle this one? You just need to get him to come back to the elevator, I can do the rest. We just want to get him out without making a scene.” He asked, tone hushed.

“Uh, yeah. I think so. If you don’t want me to advertise that I’m currently affiliated with the BPD, what do you want me to tell him?”

Detective Valentien opened his mouth to reply, then shut it. “Why don’t you wing this one.”

“What?”

“Part of this work is thinking on your feet. I can’t give you hints and tips forever– we’ll only be working together until the end of next month. That’s five weeks. You want to build your skills for pri- independent investigating, right?”

“Well, yeah, but–”

“Then figure it out.”

So Detective Valentine was the ‘throw the baby bird out of the nest, sink or swim’ sort of mentor. Great. Sole was hardly prepared, and wholly surprised that he was willing to let them wing something on such an important case. With a deep breath, they nodded, took a step back, and turned and walked down the hall.

Detective Valentine watched as they went, swallowing down the subtle taste of regret. Maybe it was too early to throw them out on their own, but he would be waiting right there, and things were escalating fast in the grand scheme of things. Their mystery killer had already claimed another victim, and that detective instinct in his gut was telling him they’d be hearing from him soon, either via a note or more nefarious means. There was no time to coddle Sole.

And though he’d never admit it aloud, he was getting used to this partner and mentor thing. He hadn’t really pictured himself partnering up again; his first and last partner had died in the line of duty years ago, and it was difficult for him to find someone that he trusted to have his back. The instinct ringing around in the back of his skull was screaming at him for not only taking on another partner, but them being an untrained rookie on top of that. There was something about Sole, though. So he bit back his own protests and watched them disappear from sight.

The suspect was a 33 year old man. Brunette, brown eyes, office worker; average in every way. Sole walked past people who looked, acted, talked, and walked like him every single day of their life and never blinked. Then again, they had also written article after article about men like him who had been discovered doing nefarious things. However, they had never interviewed men like him before they were confirmed one way or another.

Jim Grayson.

Sole repeated the name to themself in their head over and over again, trying to make sure they would get their introduction and cover story right. They resisted the urge to scrap their nails across the inside of their palm, a nervous habit Detective Valentine had been quick to call out just days after they met. They had a feeling he’d noticed even sooner, but had been being polite.

Putting on their best cheerful grin, they stopped at Jim Grayson’s cubicle and leaned against it casually. He had his back to them, one headphone in (as per company policy, most likely) typing away at his terminal. Sole chanced a quick glance at the screen, double-checking to make sure it was simply boring business stuff. Though, if their bad guy was really writing out serial killer letters to the BPD in the middle of his work day with his back to the cubicle entrance, they would seriously be questioning their own and the BPD’s skills.

Grayson shifted in his chair and tilted his head at his monitor. It was then that Sole realized that they were casting a very subtle reflection on the screen, and he turned to face them. “Hello.”

Confrontational. Okay, Sole could adapt. “Uhm– hi. My name is Sole. I work for the Boston Bugle and we’re doing an article on the effects of– well, we’re trying to put something together about the effects of political tension on office worker productivity. Y’know, cause of all the stress.” They faked a nervous laugh and watched him lean forward. That made them genuinely a little unnerved.

“Oh, interesting,” Yeah, this guy didn’t care at all. “How can I help?”

“Well, I know it isn’t great to interrupt your work day and everything, and my boss does, too, so we set aside a budget so I could take my interviewees out to lunch. To compensate for your time and stuff. So, I was hoping I could–”

Jim Grayson stood up to his full height, stepping into Sole’s space slightly with how small the cubicle was. They resisted the urge to back out of the box. “I can take my lunch right now. Let me grab my coat.”

Grayson leaned forward and pulled his coat off the hanger behind them, intentionally leaning even further into them. They grit their teeth with tension so great it felt like they may crack them just so they wouldn’t duck out of his way; they knew that’s what he wanted. “Great. Thank you so much for doing this.” Sole gushed, immediately dropping their expression into one of disdain once they turned and began walking towards the elevator.

Panic welled in their throat when they saw Detective Valentine was nowhere to be found as the elevators came into sight. He for sure said he was going to wait by the elevators, right? That was their one job, to get Grayson to the elevators. Maybe he meant downstairs, in the lobby? Maybe they were supposed to get into the elevator with their murder suspect by themself after he’d already taken a liking to trying to make them uncomfortable. God, they really should’ve gotten clarification.

They took a quiet, deep breath and came to a stop in front of the elevators, steadying their slightly shaky hand as they reached out to push the down button. The wait was just as uncomfortable as they thought it would be; he was staring directly at them. They could feel it. They gently clasped their hands in front of them and pushed to let themself show they were nervous. It only made sense for this makeshift persona they had built in less than a minute. But there was something more uncomfortable about allowing him to know they were nervous than there was about trying to stamp it down.

Unfortunately, the elevator doors opened and Sole realized they were going to have to step inside the space with Grayson. Alone. They put on a hesitant smile and began to take a step when they heard, “Just step into the elevator and say nothing.”

Thank God, it was that familiar gravelly voice. Sole could’ve screamed out of relief; they certainly wanted to scream and maybe shake the Detective up a bit, but instead, they settled for glancing at him. He had come around the corner, up behind Grayson with practiced, quiet footsteps, and had carefully placed a hand on Grayson’s bicep. Firm, unyielding. It was quite clear the situation Grayson was now in, but he simply kept his gaze on Sole and let a smile cross his face.

The trio stepped into the elevator together and the doors slid to a shut behind them, sealing them in. Sole had never really liked elevator music before, but they weren’t sure if the tune or utter silence would be worst in that moment. Once the elevator started moving, Detective Valentine began, “Jim Grayson you are under arrest under suspicion of murder. Everything you say can and will be held against you in a court of law. If…”

There was something so stupidly comforting about hearing Detective Valentine read out Grayson’s Miranda rights. Like the placing of a seal. There was finality. The potential bad guy was in custody and Detective Nick Valentine of the BPD had ahold of him. It was okay again. Later, they would be a little annoyed with themself for finding comfort in his arrest.

Grayson leaned over, paying no mind to Detective Valentine, who honestly looked a little annoyed by Grayson’s nonchalance. “You’re not as clever as you think.” He murmured, before straightening up.

The steps Sole took down the hall were excruciating. Something about the crutches readily reawoke their once resting shoulder injury, and the throbbing ache felt like something was pushing at their skin. They grunted with every step, but refused to stop. Though they’d passed the days on bed rest mostly asleep, there was something so relieving about the idea of finally being useful again.

Finally, they reached their old bedroom. “Preston, do you think I could get a bit of help? I need to get to the floor.”

Preston was kind enough to oblige and warned them softly before he pressed gentle hands to the underside of their forearms and allowed them to grip his in return. Carefully and slowly, they eased themself to the grimy floor, and breathed a soft sigh of relief. Sitting up was hardly more comfortable, but they were grateful to not have to worry about collapsing.

Carefully, their shaky hands felt along the rickety floor tiles. On the way through their old house, they’d worried that the years that’d gone by and however many bombs had dropped would’ve loosened or removed the panels completely, but they’d had a stroke of luck. They were loose, but they were in place. Finally, they found the little, minute notch they’d once pressed into one of the panels and with a small, triumphant sound, peeled it back. 

At first, they thought their luck had run out. The wood below the panels had rotted significantly through the years. They knew it wasn’t just wood though, it was some sort of plastic-wood amalgamation that Vault Tec had created for longevity's sake, and they were astonished to find themself grateful for it. In a small, carved nook of one of the supports, was a small key.

Fingertips protesting, Sole dug in and pried the key out. They shifted backwards, nearly tumbling as their center of balance shifted dramatically; Sturges said something in their ears was still a little messed up and their balance would be off for a week or more. Preston let out a quiet exclamation and was quick to prepare to catch them, but they let out a breathless laugh and looked up at him, eyes a little unfocused from the disorientation. They held up the key, “I hope this helps.”

“Damn. I– this means a lot, you have no idea. Was it your bunker? I know you’ve… been gone a while, but I wouldn’t feel right, taking your food.”

Sole shook their head and immediately regretted it as the room began to spin. They closed their eyes and pushed down the nausea. “Mm, no, not mine. A neighbor’s. He was an older man, didn’t have any kids or grandkids. No family at all, really, but we got along, and he didn’t believe in getting in on the vaults even though they offered him a place. But he was big on his bunker, and wanted me to have a spare key, just in case. Always said he knew something big was coming.” Sole paused and opened their eyes, staring at the floor. “If only he knew how right he was. I wonder what happened to him.”

Preston knelt down. “I’m sorry for your loss. And thank you. We owe you, big time.”

He offered a hand and Sole allowed him to haul them to their feet, forgoing the crutches that were causing them so much once-buried pain. They made it two steps out the door with Preston’s assistance before Sturges popped his head out of what was left of their guest room. “Hey! What happened to ‘doctor’s orders?’”

“Oh, just saving our lives a little,” Preston answered for them.

“Oh. Well, in that case.” Sturges made a sweeping gesture for them to continue down the hall, expression confused.

As they made their way back to their bed and were kindly assisted with settling in, Preston spoke. “I know adjusting is gonna be hard. But I want you to know you have a place with us, at least until you get on your feet and figure everything out, however long that may be. And if you decide you want to stick around after that, you’ll still have a place. I don’t know all the details about what you’ve been through, and I don’t need to, unless you wanna talk about it, but we’ve all got stuff like that. I think you’re gonna do just fine here. There’s a bit of a learning curve, that’s all.”

“Thanks, Preston. Really.”

“Anytime.” He gave a warm smile and began to get ready to leave.

“Uh, real quick. Could you- could you tell me how long it’s been. Since the bombs dropped.”

He paused, hand brushing the door frame. His hesitation unnerved them and they almost wanted to shrink back against their pillows. “I don’t know the exact time frame, not sure who does.”

“Well, can you give me your best estimate?”

“Uh. Yeah. We think it’s been about two hundred years.”

The shock that went through Sole’s system felt like it was killing them. There had been more than a few things over the time they’d been awake that made them feel as if they were dying, but Sole thought this was it. If they were older, they were sure they would’ve had a heart attack right there and died. Despite themself, they felt tears begin to slip down their cheeks. They didn’t feel grief or sorrow or even anger, it was just shock. There was no way, and yet they knew Preston was telling the truth. “Oh.” They said, voice wobbly with tears despite the small smile on their face. “Okay.”

#back to eden #fallout 4 fanfiction #gender neutral sole survivor #nick valentine #preston garvey #sturges #hurt comfort #angst with a happy ending #slow burn #friends to strangers to lovers

[commonwealthoccurences]

Back to Eden - Ch 3

Summary: Sole is a journalist and independent investigator who worked with the famous Detective Nick Valentine before the bombs dropped. They stumble out of Vault 111 with hazy memories of a case gone awry, a sense of desperate yearning, and the bitter experience of already having had to fight for their life to survive against the odds. What's a little nuclear wasteland to a (newly) seasoned investigator?

See masterlist for warnings.

Fic-long tags: Hurt comfort, angst, pining, flashback scenes, noir detective show meets post-apocalyptic chaos, Preston Garvey is a sweetheart, Sole is doing their best and living out of pure spite, slow burn (Nick/Sole), etc etc.

“They’re comin’ ‘round now.”

Sole, for the record, would’ve liked to disagree. They didn’t feel like they were coming around. In fact, they felt very much like they’d like to go back to sleep and not be conscious whatsoever. Of course, they didn’t get their way. Distantly, they heard the door open and close behind someone as they left.

They groaned, a little unsuccessfully due to the unexpected soreness of their throat, and attempted to turn away from the persistent itching and burning at the surface of their skin. It seemed their cocoon hadn’t melted away while they were asleep, and turning was impossible. Instead, they opened their eyes.

The bright light of the sun invaded, unwelcome, and Sole screwed their eyelids shut again, wincing away from the offense. “Ah, crap. Hold on, let me get you away from the window.”

The voice they heard held a drawl, something slow and easy that they remembered hearing somewhere. The light on the other side of the thin skin of their eyelids dimmed and they cracked an eye experimentally.

Now that they were away from the window and not being blinded by what seemed to be the rising sun, it was easier to take in their surroundings. Not much easier, but easier. There was still a disorienting blur to their vision, a melting of the shapes and soft edges of the room around them, but it was better than before. Distinctly, there was a man leaning up against a piece of furniture– an old dresser, it looked like, that had been thrown through the ringer and tossed down a dozen sets of stairs. Shit. That was their dresser. “Well, good mornin’. It’s nice to have you conscious again. We had quite the unfortunate meeting.”

Sole went to speak, to ask who this man was and what in the hell had happened, but a lightning-sharp pain lit up their throat and they began coughing, which only made it worse. The man in front of them blew out a small breath and waited for their racketing cough to quiet down a bit. “I wouldn’t put too much stock in speakin’ at the moment, you’re in rough shape. Which is a miracle, because you shouldn’t be in any sort of shape at all with the condition you showed up in. Kind of impressive that y’ managed to get hypothermia in the summer, but…” He trailed off, and gestured towards something beside them.

There was a sort of makeshift nightstand next to them, which held many assorted bottles and other containers, but also a distinctive blue piece of fabric. Right. Their Vault suit. The shades of blue and yellow stuck out like a sore thumb. Sole shifted their weary eyes back towards the man. “I’m Sturges, by the way. I’m… not quite sure what happened to ya, all I know is that the Vaults did some pretty interesting stuff back in the day. Whenever you can talk, I’ll get your story, but for right now we just need to focus on gettin’ you better.”

Getting better. Right. There was a distinctive throb in their right shoulder, something they had grown familiar with over the two weeks before they had taken shelter in the Vault. Before. It was obvious from what they had seen that they had experienced some sort of before and now this was after. And they were alone, and had apparently experienced hypothermia along with God knows what else since Vault Tech wasn’t able to bring them out of cryofreeze safely. 

They remembered the few moments when they realized what was happening to them. That they weren’t going to spend the rest of their life underground while the war waged overhead and bombs dropped. They would never become familiar with the vibrations and sound of nuclear war, they knew, as the freezing cold fog had flooded the tube they were in. A decontamination measure, their ass. They weren’t stupid. They had known the moment it had gotten cold. And they thought about what they were leaving behind, and then they were asleep.

Sole shuddered, remembering the way the sudden freeze had attacked their skin. There was no escape. They swallowed and looked around. The room felt smaller than it should’ve. They took a shaky, strangled breath and tried not to cough again. “Your lungs are still getting used to, well, not being frozen. Got a nasty cough and we’re trying to keep your airways open. Luckily for you, we’re no strangers to victims of extreme cold. Though, usually, most aren’t as lucky as you are and don’t survive.”

We. That stuck out. Sole had seen a small group huddled together before they so eloquently landed face-first on what remained of their tile floors. Sole raised a very sore arm to make a sort of circular motion with their pointer finger. We? They were asking.

“Ah, yeah. The rest of the group of settlers. It’s me and the boss, Preston, and a handful of others. We took refuge in Sanctuary after some typical Commonwealth strategy. We’re tryin’ to make things work– had cleared out the neighborhood, so you were a real surprise.”

Maybe the confusion was evident on their face, or maybe he just knew that they weren’t in the best condition to absorb the information he was throwing at them, so Sturges crossed the room and pulled up a chair. An old, rusted, withering chair. “You came from that Vault, yeah? You ever left it before?”

Sole gave a slow, careful shake of their head. There was a throbbing headache forming at the base of their skull, slowly creeping its way upward in a way that very much reminded them of the brambles they had seen earlier. They allowed their head to fall back onto the stiff pillows that had been used ease you into itp them up a little as they awoke. Sturges sighed at their response. “Wow. Alright, well… this world probably isn’t what you expected. Think that company wanted y’all to leave the Vaults whenever the world had recovered, but it hasn’t. Not in the way y’all probably thought it had. Either way, it’s a little rough out here. But we’ll try food.”

Every word he spoke seemed to shake the room with the volume of his voice, but he’d surely been soft spoken just moments before. The light was too bright again. Sole flinched. “You should get your rest.” Sturges spoke, voice softening further, “Next time you wake up we’ll try food.”

Sole gave a short nod and welcomed his leaving the room. Images of the surroundings they’d caught glimpses at as they stumbled their way down the hillside flashed back into their mind. It seemed the bombs had done their job and left nothing but the bare bones of the world behind. Their heart ached for the cafe they frequented and the car in their driveway and the little terrier their next door neighbor refused to train to stop barking. Their heart ached for the world that died and forgot to kill them too, and their heart ached for nothing at all.

There was a temptation to fuck with Detective Valentine, just a little. There was something about the way he never seemed to break his stern detective character that just tempted them. They knew it wasn’t smart, especially if they were to get on his bad side, but he had to have a sense of humor.

They’d learned rather quickly not to fiddle with the radio. To not show up even a minute late, and to always look tidy. To give credit where credit is due, however, Detective Valentine respected them enough despite the fact that the rest of the BPD didn’t and made it very clear. Maybe they got him to warm up because they brought him coffee in the morning, or maybe he was just like that. It was hard to tell.

But the Detective made sure that they were roped into conversations the rest of the BPD tried to shun them from in regards to the case, he listened to their concerns, and a week after the first interview, he started responding to their goodnights.

Oftentimes, Sole and the Detective were the last two in the station at night and the first there in the morning. It was wearing on Sole, but other than the growing dark circles under Detective Valentine’s eyes, he didn’t seem bothered. Of course, he was probably used to these long nights, and while Sole wasn’t a stranger to long nights, they had been getting maybe four hours of sleep and it was quickly wearing them down.

They yawned as often as they breathed. They took catnaps in the passenger seat when Detective Valentine drove them back to the station (they were never allowed to drive his car, and they didn’t complain), and sometimes, to their dismay, they fell asleep at their desk.

Regardless, the time was well-spent. The pair quickly completed their first round of interviews and set up their own little stereotypical police board where they pinned important information, suspects, and crime scene photos. Detective Valentine moved their desk into his office for the sake of being able to communicate faster, and Sole did their very best not to step on his toes. 

They were making okay progress. It was clear to Sole that none of the suspects they had already interviewed were part of the murders. There was no connection between the victims, which definitely made their jobs harder, and was driving the Detective up the wall; he was convinced there was some hidden clue that connected them, and so far he had come up with nothing. They were different ages, genders, races, social classes, and they didn’t go to the same places. There was no overlap.

Sole rubbed a weary palm over their face and sat back in their chair with a loud squeak. God, they needed to get that oiled. The Detective leaned against the front of his desk, staring down the board they had set up by the door. Maybe if he glared at it hard enough something would emerge that would give them a break in the case, but it wasn’t working so far. Sole huffed a breath. “I need to take a walk. I think if I keep staring at these papers I’m gonna end up killing someone.”

Detective Valentine gave an absentminded, “Mhm.”

Sole stood and gave their desk a quick tidying before they moved towards the door. “Wait, I’ll come with you.”

“Oh?”

Confused but not protesting, Sole paused and waited for the Detective to grab his hat from the coat rack. It was easy to fall into stride beside him; they had been doing it for two weeks and it had rather easily become muscle memory. When he wasn’t on his way to a case-relevant location, he had quite the easy pace. Sole allowed their shoulders to drop and relax once they were out of the station and headed down the street.

The first words that Sole spoke since they’d dragged themself out of that popsicle chamber were a calm, croaky, “I’m gonna throw up.”

True to their word, while Sturges scrambled around them, Sole rolled to their side and threw up. At some point while they were asleep, Sturges had untangled them from the thick blankets, which was quite lucky or all of those blankets would’ve been caught in the crossfire. Thanks to Sturges’ quick reflexes, the floor was saved by a bucket he had kept on hand. “Well, good morning to you, too, sunshine.”

Sole did their best to laugh, but was left with a rib-cracking coughing fit. Once they had settled again, their breathing raspy and uncomfortable, Sturges leaned a hip against their bed. “How’re you feelin’?”

“Better, I think.”

They had quite the croak going in their voice, but that was an improvement on not being able to speak at all. Their vision had cleared up a bit, too, and they finally absorbed their surroundings.

Sole was in their living room, wedged in the back corner and facing the door. The bed they were laying on was clearly makeshift, but whoever made it had done their best. Planks of wood had been layered as evenly as possible, and they were perched atop a couple of sleeping bags. The room was dirty, but it was obvious someone had tried to make a dent in the dirt. Surfaces were clean other than stains, and the windows and holes in the walls were covered by equally rough-looking clothing– winter coats, it looked like, strung up as a temporary solution.

The floors were relatively okay, but they were heavily cracked and dirt had packed itself into the crevices. Their front door had definitely seen better days– better days that felt just like yesterday. “Well… I can’t say I like what you’ve done with the place. It’s very holey.” Sole joked, finally making eye contact with Sturges.

He laughed good-naturedly. “Wasn’t us, promise. And speaking of, I, uh, wanted to get some clarification on what you said. Before.”

“Before?”

“When you first arrived here, you said ‘What are you doing in my house?’ but you said you’ve never left the Vault before. I understand it might’ve been the,” Sturges gestured generally to their condition, “talking, but I wanted to ask anyway to be sure.”

“Oh… I did live here. A long time ago, I guess.”

“What do you mean?”

“Before the bombs dropped. I, uh… well, this was my house,” Sole pointed to their now-pathetic dining table. “I bought that. Terrible investment, obviously.”

“Before… you lived here before the war?”

“Yes. I guess this is after the war, right? The wars over?”

“Yeah. Yeah, the wars over. I– I should go get someone, they’re gonna wanna hear about this.”

“So, what made you want to become a detective?”

There was a little square down the road from the police station surrounded by quaint little shops and vendors that often rowdily advertised whatever they were selling. It was later at night, and despite the summer light, the people seemed to be off enjoying their evening. Sole only envied them a little bit. Nick contemplated for a moment, a little thrown off by the abrupt question. “Seemed like the right thing to do.”

Sole let this sit with them and mulled it over. They weren’t sure at all about what the Detective’s childhood was like, where he had grown up and what made him decide that police work was the right thing to do. They had watched him, considering they’d spent two weeks glued to his side, attempt to go against the grain of the BPD. He protested some of their behaviors, some of the things they wanted to keep from the public. They watched him get shut down and be swiftly reminded that despite being Head Detective, he could be replaced. And maybe he had more standing before the Eddie Winters case and before their Halloween killer popped up, but it certainly wasn’t working for him now.

“Why did you decide to become a Private Investigator?”

“Independent. Independent Investigator.”

“Right.”

Sole mulled this over, too, and chose their words carefully. “There are… things that the police department can’t do. There are people that get lost in the system, there’s a lot of red tape. At the end of the day I work for myself. I don’t have to answer to anybody. Don’t have to meet any quotas, don’t feel the need to just get the job done and get home. I see the people that get left behind and even though I know I can’t fix everything, I want them to know I’m on their side.”

Their words were met with empty air, other than the chirping of birds chattering about the approaching dusk. Sole rubbed their thumb across their palm, a nervous habit. “I don’t mean to offend, but I won’t lie about why I chose to become an I.I.”

“I appreciate your honesty. And I appreciate the work you’ve done on this case so far.”

Sole was a bit stunned. “Oh. Thank you. And thank you for letting me join you. I understand it wasn’t your choice, and the BPD is in a tough spot, but you could’ve been… a lot worse about it. I appreciate that you gave me a chance.”

The corner of Detective Valentine’s mouth quirked, just for a second. “I know that I have a bit of a reputation, but I’m just here to get things done. You’re pulling your weight, and I respect that.”

It was Sole’s turn to suppress a smile and they turned their head away to face the red creeping across the sky as the sun sank lower on the horizon. “We should probably get back.”

“Yes, I agree. Let me drive you home.”

“What? We still have work to do.”

“I still have work to do, but you need to rest. I’ve seen you nodding off at your desk.”

It was hard not to be stubborn for the sake of being stubborn, but Sole was worn out and certainly not at the top of their game anymore. “Alright. Thank you.”

“Not a problem.”

#back to eden #fallout 4 fanfiction #gender neutral sole survivor #nick valentine #hurt comfort #angst with a happy ending #fluff #slow burn #friends to strangers to lovers #sturges #preston garvey

[commonwealthoccurences]

Back To Eden - Ch 2

Summary: Sole is a journalist and independent investigator who worked with the famous Detective Nick Valentine before the bombs dropped. They stumble out of Vault 111 with hazy memories of a case gone awry, a sense of desperate yearning, and the bitter experience of already having had to fight for their life to survive against the odds. What's a little nuclear wasteland to a (newly) seasoned investigator?

See masterlist for warnings.

Fic-long tags: Hurt comfort, angst, pining, flashback scenes, noir detective show meets post-apocalyptic chaos, Preston Garvey is a sweetheart, Sole is doing their best and living out of pure spite, slow burn (Nick/Sole), etc etc.

Back To Eden Masterlist

On the walk to the first victim’s family's house, Detective Valentine and Sole quietly went over their notes separately, other than an occasional murmur to confer about details. 

The serial killer they were tracking had an obsession with Halloween and had sent a series of notes to the BPD promising that he would be leading up to the big day and it would be “well worth the wait.” Unfortunately for the BPD, it was still the beginning of September, so that meant plenty of time for their mystery killer to go after people and they had made little progress since he had started killing in August, having already claimed four victims.

It was clear the guy loved attention, so they’d been asking the media to keep quiet about it, but when five different people drop dead in the same way in Boston and your head Detective has the reputation he has? Well, word gets out. Sole did feel a little bad for Detective Valentine; between Eddie Winter and their mystery killer, he was going through quite the media ringer. They didn’t acknowledge that they would’ve been part of that media ringer if they weren’t working with him.

The first interview was with Jess Hardy’s parents. She was the first victim. They trashed their disposable cups and quickly ascended the few stairs that led to the Hardy family home. Detective Valentine gave no pause before he knocked at the door. Usually, when they worked on their own, Sole gave themself a minute or two to catch their breath and go over the details of the case in their mind. What to say, what not to say, the questions that were off-limits and the little details that made the family feel cared for, things like that. However, it seemed that once one spent enough time building up their reputation like Detective Valentine had, there was no need to give pause. He was ready no matter what.

Sole took a deep breath and braced themself and Detective Valentine spared them no glance. Shoulders squared, and a soft but not overdone smile. They all knew what they were there for, this was not a smiling situation, but Sole hated the grimness of these interviews. They hated the way that everything about these people was turned into the way they died and not who they were and what they loved. They wished there was a way they could convey all of that in an expression, but there wasn’t, and so they opted for a warm, and hopefully reassuring, smile.

Detective Valentine didn’t seem to share the same concerns. His expression wasn’t flat, but it wasn’t whatever Sole was attempting. His eyes were warm, Sole noticed. Silently, they noted their approval, and squared their shoulders as they heard footsteps behind the door.

It opened a little at first, and then all the way when the woman locked eyes with Sole. The door swung open and, to both their surprise and the surprise of Detective Valentine, the woman flung her arms around Sole’s neck. “Thank God you’re here.”

Finally, Sole and Detective Valentine made eye contact over her shoulder. They couldn’t quite read the expression on his face, but they knew it wasn’t one of approval. Sole returned the hug with a gentle pat on the back. “Hello, Mrs. Hardy.”

The woman pulled away and gave a wry smile. “Oh, it’s Miss Hardy now.”

“Ah, I understand. Apologies.”

“Don’t worry about it.” She turned to give Detective Valentine a once over, though it seemed a bit dismissive. “Detective.”

“Miss Hardy. I’m sorry we have to meet again.”

“As am I. Come in.”

Miss Hardy’s house was a bit tidier than the last time Sole had visited; they had conducted an initial round of investigations after the first two victims had died in an attempt to get ahead of the killer before he could get the reputation he so strongly desired. The one advantage (or disadvantage, depending on the person) Sole had was when the police failed to do their jobs, families often saw Sole as a hopeful alternative. The backup plan.

The house had been a disaster when Sole first visited. It looked like a stranger had ransacked it, but it had been no stranger. Mr. Hardy had torn the house apart looking for some sort of answer. In what form, Sole wasn’t sure. Maybe some clue as to why Jess Hardy had died so unfortunately; she was a college student who had simply been at the wrong place at the wrong time around the wrong man. Unfortunately, with these cases, there was no explanation for why the parents had to lose their child so young, and this often created extra issues with the parents finding closure. However, it had only been a month since Jess Hardy was found, and this was no time to think about closure. There were answers to be found.

“They’re still cold, I’m not sure if we’re gonna be able to get their temperature up.”

“We have to try.”

“Don’t worry, I wasn’t plannin’ on givin’ up anytime soon.”

“You didn’t tell me you knew the victim’s family already.”

“You didn’t ask.”

Detective Valentine raised an eyebrow. Sole sighed. “I did some interviews of my own after the second victim.”

“Right.”

There was an unspoken acknowledgement of the frenzy that the second murder brought on; that was exactly when the media threw doubt onto the police department’s abilities. Sole really didn’t want to acknowledge the fact that they hadn’t exactly disagreed with the sentiment. Detective Valentine, to his credit, wasn’t stupid and probably knew already.

“Well, since we’ve only sorted one interview for today, I guess I should get going. I’ll review my notes and message you when I get home about what we’re doing moving forward. I’d like–”

“You’re not going home.”

“Pardon?” Sole’s mouth was agape. 

“We’re partners now. Temporarily. This needs to get solved as soon as possible so I can return to lead the Eddie Winters case. We eat, live, breathe this case until it’s over, and that means we join each other everywhere. You’re coming back to the station with me.”

Sole stared. They knew they weren’t exactly popular with the station, but there was no wiggle room in the firm look Detective Valentine had on his face. “Right.”

“Would you do me a favor and get them another blanket? Their body temp isn’t risin’ as fast as I’d like and we’re lookin’ at a few blisters that I need to treat.”

“Not a problem, Sturges. Do you think they’ll be awake anytime soon?”

Sole wanted to see what was going on, but their eyelids were so incredibly heavy. They weren’t as cold as they had been earlier, didn’t feel so shaky, but it seemed they had been wrapped up tight, their arms pinned to their sides. Everything felt cloudy. Foggy. They didn’t want to be cold anymore. They were home, but they wanted to go home. “Sturges, they’re waking up.”

Maybe this was another occasion for Sole to make their miserable little noises. Maybe this time the Vault Tech staff would help them– obviously something had gone wrong. They weren’t supposed to be awake yet. It wasn’t supposed to hurt this badly. Their fingers and toes felt like they were on the verge of falling off, and Sole wished they just would so maybe the pain would ease. Pins pressed themself into their skin at all sides. It was impossible to escape. They wanted to go home. Something sunk deep into their skin and they felt the cold rush of calm rushing through their bloodstream, and it all went quiet again.

Sole propped their chin on their elbow, leaned against the surface of one of the spare metal desks Detective Valentine had found them, as they wrote their notes out. By hand, he had insisted. If they hadn’t slept properly that night they probably would’ve made fun of him for hating the development of technology; everybody was converting to the terminals nowadays. It was so much faster than writing things out by hand. But the Detective had insisted, said he needed to be able to have everything in his hands, and Sole merely nodded and complied.

They wanted to save the potential for them to clash for something more important– if they argued with him all the time, he wouldn’t take them seriously if something more important came up that they disagreed with. Then again, maybe he wouldn’t take them seriously at all. They were, after all, just an independent investigator. They resisted the urge to roll their eyes.

The metal was digging into the bone of their elbow and Sole straightened up to rub at the sore skin. With an audible groan, they cast a glance at the clock that hung on the brick walls. It was nearly eight at night, and they had been writing out their interview notes, theories, and mindless ramblings for hours. 

Sole’s back protested at every movement as they hauled themself out of their chair to stand. The department was a ghost-town now, with only the sparse night staff milling around or sitting at their desks quietly. Sole laced their fingers together and stretched, suppressing a jaw-splitting yawn. They supposed they would turn their stack of papers in to Detective Valentine and then head home– he really couldn’t protest to that.

The clack of their boots was normally quiet, but interrupted the persisting silence as they click-clack click-clacked against the black and white checkered tile. While the Detective wasn’t far, is office space was tucked away in the corner, and with all of the walled cubicles Sole found themself a little lost. Eventually, they found their way back and peered through the window of his office.

Detective Valentine very much mirrored their earlier posture; slouched against his desk in an unguarded stance of exhaustion. The weak, yellow lighting of his office lamp emphasized the bags under his eyes and the harsh cut of his cheekbones. In fact, his eyes looked so heavy, they couldn’t tell if he was awake or not. Either way, the pencil in his hand had ceased its movement, and if he was awake, it was hardly willingly.

Sole averted their eyes to their shoes and tapped their knuckles against his door quietly. There was a beat of silence before the Detective cleared his throat and spoke, paper-shuffling accompanying the sounds. “Come in.”

Sole pushed the door open and stepped in. “My notes, Detective. I included some of the findings of my research prior to myself joining the official investigation. I understand that you have the police department’s budget, but I do have the advantage of being less… noticeable. I would, of course, understand and recommend you reading those notes after the first round of interviews so we both get the fresh start on the case we discussed.”

Detective Valentine blinked. “Yes, of course. I will put them away for when they are necessary. Are you headed home?”

“Yes, aren’t you?”

“No.”

There was no explanation, no further words spoken. Sole stood there for a moment before nodding. “Goodnight, Detective.”

No response, other than the pencil resuming its scratching against his notepad. Sole pressed their lips together and stepped out of his office and began their walk home.

#reblog to boost #nick valentine #slow burn #found family #angst with a happy ending

[commonwealthoccurences]

Back To Eden - Ch 2

Summary: Sole is a journalist and independent investigator who worked with the famous Detective Nick Valentine before the bombs dropped. They stumble out of Vault 111 with hazy memories of a case gone awry, a sense of desperate yearning, and the bitter experience of already having had to fight for their life to survive against the odds. What's a little nuclear wasteland to a (newly) seasoned investigator?

See masterlist for warnings.

Fic-long tags: Hurt comfort, angst, pining, flashback scenes, noir detective show meets post-apocalyptic chaos, Preston Garvey is a sweetheart, Sole is doing their best and living out of pure spite, slow burn (Nick/Sole), etc etc.

Back To Eden Masterlist

On the walk to the first victim’s family's house, Detective Valentine and Sole quietly went over their notes separately, other than an occasional murmur to confer about details. 

The serial killer they were tracking had an obsession with Halloween and had sent a series of notes to the BPD promising that he would be leading up to the big day and it would be “well worth the wait.” Unfortunately for the BPD, it was still the beginning of September, so that meant plenty of time for their mystery killer to go after people and they had made little progress since he had started killing in August, having already claimed four victims.

It was clear the guy loved attention, so they’d been asking the media to keep quiet about it, but when five different people drop dead in the same way in Boston and your head Detective has the reputation he has? Well, word gets out. Sole did feel a little bad for Detective Valentine; between Eddie Winter and their mystery killer, he was going through quite the media ringer. They didn’t acknowledge that they would’ve been part of that media ringer if they weren’t working with him.

The first interview was with Jess Hardy’s parents. She was the first victim. They trashed their disposable cups and quickly ascended the few stairs that led to the Hardy family home. Detective Valentine gave no pause before he knocked at the door. Usually, when they worked on their own, Sole gave themself a minute or two to catch their breath and go over the details of the case in their mind. What to say, what not to say, the questions that were off-limits and the little details that made the family feel cared for, things like that. However, it seemed that once one spent enough time building up their reputation like Detective Valentine had, there was no need to give pause. He was ready no matter what.

Sole took a deep breath and braced themself and Detective Valentine spared them no glance. Shoulders squared, and a soft but not overdone smile. They all knew what they were there for, this was not a smiling situation, but Sole hated the grimness of these interviews. They hated the way that everything about these people was turned into the way they died and not who they were and what they loved. They wished there was a way they could convey all of that in an expression, but there wasn’t, and so they opted for a warm, and hopefully reassuring, smile.

Detective Valentine didn’t seem to share the same concerns. His expression wasn’t flat, but it wasn’t whatever Sole was attempting. His eyes were warm, Sole noticed. Silently, they noted their approval, and squared their shoulders as they heard footsteps behind the door.

It opened a little at first, and then all the way when the woman locked eyes with Sole. The door swung open and, to both their surprise and the surprise of Detective Valentine, the woman flung her arms around Sole’s neck. “Thank God you’re here.”

Finally, Sole and Detective Valentine made eye contact over her shoulder. They couldn’t quite read the expression on his face, but they knew it wasn’t one of approval. Sole returned the hug with a gentle pat on the back. “Hello, Mrs. Hardy.”

The woman pulled away and gave a wry smile. “Oh, it’s Miss Hardy now.”

“Ah, I understand. Apologies.”

“Don’t worry about it.” She turned to give Detective Valentine a once over, though it seemed a bit dismissive. “Detective.”

“Miss Hardy. I’m sorry we have to meet again.”

“As am I. Come in.”

Miss Hardy’s house was a bit tidier than the last time Sole had visited; they had conducted an initial round of investigations after the first two victims had died in an attempt to get ahead of the killer before he could get the reputation he so strongly desired. The one advantage (or disadvantage, depending on the person) Sole had was when the police failed to do their jobs, families often saw Sole as a hopeful alternative. The backup plan.

The house had been a disaster when Sole first visited. It looked like a stranger had ransacked it, but it had been no stranger. Mr. Hardy had torn the house apart looking for some sort of answer. In what form, Sole wasn’t sure. Maybe some clue as to why Jess Hardy had died so unfortunately; she was a college student who had simply been at the wrong place at the wrong time around the wrong man. Unfortunately, with these cases, there was no explanation for why the parents had to lose their child so young, and this often created extra issues with the parents finding closure. However, it had only been a month since Jess Hardy was found, and this was no time to think about closure. There were answers to be found.

“They’re still cold, I’m not sure if we’re gonna be able to get their temperature up.”

“We have to try.”

“Don’t worry, I wasn’t plannin’ on givin’ up anytime soon.”

“You didn’t tell me you knew the victim’s family already.”

“You didn’t ask.”

Detective Valentine raised an eyebrow. Sole sighed. “I did some interviews of my own after the second victim.”

“Right.”

There was an unspoken acknowledgement of the frenzy that the second murder brought on; that was exactly when the media threw doubt onto the police department’s abilities. Sole really didn’t want to acknowledge the fact that they hadn’t exactly disagreed with the sentiment. Detective Valentine, to his credit, wasn’t stupid and probably knew already.

“Well, since we’ve only sorted one interview for today, I guess I should get going. I’ll review my notes and message you when I get home about what we’re doing moving forward. I’d like–”

“You’re not going home.”

“Pardon?” Sole’s mouth was agape. 

“We’re partners now. Temporarily. This needs to get solved as soon as possible so I can return to lead the Eddie Winters case. We eat, live, breathe this case until it’s over, and that means we join each other everywhere. You’re coming back to the station with me.”

Sole stared. They knew they weren’t exactly popular with the station, but there was no wiggle room in the firm look Detective Valentine had on his face. “Right.”

“Would you do me a favor and get them another blanket? Their body temp isn’t risin’ as fast as I’d like and we’re lookin’ at a few blisters that I need to treat.”

“Not a problem, Sturges. Do you think they’ll be awake anytime soon?”

Sole wanted to see what was going on, but their eyelids were so incredibly heavy. They weren’t as cold as they had been earlier, didn’t feel so shaky, but it seemed they had been wrapped up tight, their arms pinned to their sides. Everything felt cloudy. Foggy. They didn’t want to be cold anymore. They were home, but they wanted to go home. “Sturges, they’re waking up.”

Maybe this was another occasion for Sole to make their miserable little noises. Maybe this time the Vault Tech staff would help them– obviously something had gone wrong. They weren’t supposed to be awake yet. It wasn’t supposed to hurt this badly. Their fingers and toes felt like they were on the verge of falling off, and Sole wished they just would so maybe the pain would ease. Pins pressed themself into their skin at all sides. It was impossible to escape. They wanted to go home. Something sunk deep into their skin and they felt the cold rush of calm rushing through their bloodstream, and it all went quiet again.

Sole propped their chin on their elbow, leaned against the surface of one of the spare metal desks Detective Valentine had found them, as they wrote their notes out. By hand, he had insisted. If they hadn’t slept properly that night they probably would’ve made fun of him for hating the development of technology; everybody was converting to the terminals nowadays. It was so much faster than writing things out by hand. But the Detective had insisted, said he needed to be able to have everything in his hands, and Sole merely nodded and complied.

They wanted to save the potential for them to clash for something more important– if they argued with him all the time, he wouldn’t take them seriously if something more important came up that they disagreed with. Then again, maybe he wouldn’t take them seriously at all. They were, after all, just an independent investigator. They resisted the urge to roll their eyes.

The metal was digging into the bone of their elbow and Sole straightened up to rub at the sore skin. With an audible groan, they cast a glance at the clock that hung on the brick walls. It was nearly eight at night, and they had been writing out their interview notes, theories, and mindless ramblings for hours. 

Sole’s back protested at every movement as they hauled themself out of their chair to stand. The department was a ghost-town now, with only the sparse night staff milling around or sitting at their desks quietly. Sole laced their fingers together and stretched, suppressing a jaw-splitting yawn. They supposed they would turn their stack of papers in to Detective Valentine and then head home– he really couldn’t protest to that.

The clack of their boots was normally quiet, but interrupted the persisting silence as they click-clack click-clacked against the black and white checkered tile. While the Detective wasn’t far, is office space was tucked away in the corner, and with all of the walled cubicles Sole found themself a little lost. Eventually, they found their way back and peered through the window of his office.

Detective Valentine very much mirrored their earlier posture; slouched against his desk in an unguarded stance of exhaustion. The weak, yellow lighting of his office lamp emphasized the bags under his eyes and the harsh cut of his cheekbones. In fact, his eyes looked so heavy, they couldn’t tell if he was awake or not. Either way, the pencil in his hand had ceased its movement, and if he was awake, it was hardly willingly.

Sole averted their eyes to their shoes and tapped their knuckles against his door quietly. There was a beat of silence before the Detective cleared his throat and spoke, paper-shuffling accompanying the sounds. “Come in.”

Sole pushed the door open and stepped in. “My notes, Detective. I included some of the findings of my research prior to myself joining the official investigation. I understand that you have the police department’s budget, but I do have the advantage of being less… noticeable. I would, of course, understand and recommend you reading those notes after the first round of interviews so we both get the fresh start on the case we discussed.”

Detective Valentine blinked. “Yes, of course. I will put them away for when they are necessary. Are you headed home?”

“Yes, aren’t you?”

“No.”

There was no explanation, no further words spoken. Sole stood there for a moment before nodding. “Goodnight, Detective.”

No response, other than the pencil resuming its scratching against his notepad. Sole pressed their lips together and stepped out of his office and began their walk home.

#back to eden #fallout 4 fanfiction #gender neutral sole survivor #nick valentine #slow burn #angst with a happy ending #friends to strangers to lovers #found family #fluff #angst #hurt comfort

[commonwealthoccurences]

Back To Eden Masterlist

For your reference as to potential content of the fic, this is rated Mature on ao3. I am considering changing this to explicit.

Tags: Hurt/comfort, angst, fluff, found family, pining, flashback scenes, noir detective show meets post-apocalyptic chaos, Preston Garvey is a sweetheart, Sole is doing their best and living out of pure spite, slow burn (Nick/Sole), disabled Sole. Tags will expand when relevant.

Warnings: Semi-realistic depictions of illness from cryo-freeze, canon-typical violence, future drug and alcohol mentions (Hancock), anything you may associate with an episode of your average crime show like Criminal Minds (for the flashback part), vomiting mention, PTSD, dissociation, hallucinations, semi-graphic torture (descriptions of aftermath, NO descriptions of active torture). More to be added.

Ao3 Link

Chapters:

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

#back to eden #fallout 4 fanfiction #nick valentine #gender neutral sole survivor #slow burn #angst with a happy ending #friends to strangers to lovers #found family #fluff #angst #hurt comfort