Three full magazines in her left pocket, twenty more rounds in her backpack. That’s enough ammo for two, maybe three fights. They would have to be easy fights, fighting with her combat knife would be necessary for anything that would be prolonged. The weight on her back would slow her down, making a knife fight dangerous. Marian liked Faenus, it was almost like a physical part of her, but 5.56 mm ammo was hard to find. She already bought all of KL-E-O’s stock. Bunker Hill would have more, especially if Cricket was passing through, but she didn’t have an expense account to help pay for the rounds like Mr. Valentine did. Not that it mattered, expense accounts required having caps to be reimbursed.
Marian forced her attention back to her surroundings. Letting her mind wander was a recipe to getting killed. She may be living on borrowed time, but that time has become over a decade for a reason.
“I think you’ve made you’re point, Doll,” Mr. Valentine said.
Why does that man have to call her a doll all the time?
“What’s that?” she asked.
“You’re backpack, let me carry it before you break your spine,” Mr. Valentine scolded.
Marian wanted to fight Mr. Valentine. She wanted to argue that the weight wasn’t too much. The truth was, it was too much. If she was at her peak, where she was well fed and well rested, she could hump the weight with minimum strain. She wasn’t well fed; the past twenty-four hours was the best she had dinned since she entered the Commonwealth. She wasn’t well rested either, she could barely find a bed that didn’t set off her allergies and leave her a bloody mess by her own nails. The area around Goodneighbor was the worst when it came to a safe bed that she slept in more than passed out on. Maybe fingerless gloves weren’t the best investment she ever made.
She sighed; she didn’t want Mr. Valentine to know that she was struggling. He wasn’t going to see her weak if she could help it. But she had no real choices. Either hump the weight and get killed in a fight, or let that self-righteous rube take her backpack for her. “Fine, if it’ll make you happy. Help me out of this thing, but then we need to be quiet.”
Mr. Valentine held the backpack in place as Marian slipped one arm out and then the other, making sure to have positive control of Faenus at all times. It actually felt good to have that weight off her shoulders. Marian felt herself standing straighter, and she even allowed herself the luxury of rolling her shoulders in front of Mr. Valentine.
“Do you need help putting that on?” she asked as she turned around to face the detective.
“I’m good,” he said as he slung it on his shoulders.
Bastard.
Marian turned back to facing the direction they were heading.
“There are some things I want to talk to you about before we reach Bunker Hill.” Mr. Valentine said.
“I know the score,” Marian replied. “While you talk to Kessler, I’ll see if I can get Joe Savoldi to give me something to eat on someone else’s tab.”
“I was thinking the opposite,” Mr. Valentine said, “I wanted you to ….” Nick went silent for a moment. Marian could have kicked herself. A private joke that most people miss wasn’t going to fly by this man. “Are you saying…Marian…” Mr. Valentine was getting mad. The implications of her one sentence was settling in his mind. As self-righteous as he was, he would never respect someone who survives off begging like she did.
Marian steeled herself for the onslaught. She knew Mr. Valentine was getting ready to yell at her again. He was going to tell her how she should only eat if she could pay for it. How worthless she was because she didn’t have anything to prove her worth. She tried to keep her face neutral, but it was hard to when she could already hear the words that went through her mind when she counted caps to see if she could afford to eat more than iguana on a stick that day. She still wasn’t sure where the iguana came from.
Mr. Valentine stopped talking. He took in a breath and sighed it out. Marian always wondered if he needed to breath.
“Marian, when was the last time you ate,” Mr. Valentine asked slowly.
Her eyes locked onto his. This was a question she could answer safely. “This morning,” she answered, she couldn’t keep that note of pride out of her voice. Mr. Valentine will accept that she won’t die from starvation today and they will continue the job.
Instead, Mr. Valentine seemed to get angrier. It was like she gave him the wrong answer to an important test. She felt her shoulders tensing again. He was going to yell, again.
“Why haven’t you eaten since?” Mr. Valentine asked.
Marian was realizing how late the day was getting. “I was waiting for you to.”
Once again, Mr. Valentine seemed to swallow his anger. What was the right answer already? He may not be yelling, but she didn’t want to go on guessing when he would start.
Mr. Valentine visually calmed himself down. He looked down at her, she couldn’t help but feel pulled in by his intense yellow eyes. “Look, Doll,” Mr. Valentine sighed, “Marian, I don’t need to eat or sleep. It’s part of being a synth. But I understand you do, so if you need to, just tell me.”
Marian let her eyes shift away from Mr. Valentine’s. How would he understand how she could search for an hour to find a safe bed? How would she explain to him that he was carrying all the food she was guaranteed to have for the foreseeable future?
“We don’t have time to slow down,” she said. “I’ll eat when you're too busy to need me.”
Mr. Valentine’s eyes shut for several seconds. “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.” His eyes opened. “I want you talking to Kessler with me.”
“I don’t understand,” Marian responded. Wasn’t that why he yelled at her earlier? "I thought you were just saying that earlier to make Hancock happy and didn't mean it."
“We’re partners, I have to accept that. You have been helpful with this case. Very helpful in fact. I want you to continue helping me with this case.”
Marian was speechless. Nick Valentine wanted her to help him on the case. Marian thought about what he said. She reviewed every nuance of his words. She scrutinized over the tone of his voice. She tried finding a trap but wasn’t sure where it would be. Mr. Valentine didn’t seem like the type to let people die over a vendetta to his pride. She tried finding arguments against his offer and found herself spiraling down that rabbit hole.
Her image of self-assurance was fracturing. She’d been around people too long to keep it up anymore. She had to break in front of this man of all people.
“What if I screw up,” she found herself sputtering. “People could die if I don’t get it right. People could die if I’m not fast enough. I…I don’t want anyone to get hurt, I…”
“Marian!” Mr. Valentine barked placing his right hand on her left shoulder.
His shout wasn’t angry. Conversely, she found his hand comforting. She looked up into his face. A face that showed genuine concern.
“I’m not asking you to do this alone,” Mr. Valentine explained. “I’m going to do the heavy lifting. I have the experience. But I do want your help on this. You can catch things that I may miss. If anyone dies because it took me too long to solve this case, it’s my fault. But I do think that you can help me solve it faster.”
Marian was quiet for a moment as she thought about what Mr. Valentine said. She could do this. She could help, and maybe help find RJ’s friends. She would make sure other people don’t get hurt. That hand on her shoulder really seemed to keep her calm.
“Ok,” Marian answered, nodding her head slightly. “I’ll help, but I can’t promise I’ll be any good.”
“I wouldn’t worry too much about that,” Mr. Valentine smiled. Why did he have to get through her personal defenses with that smile?
Mr. Valentine took his hand back from her shoulder. “Come on, Doll, we need to get to Bunker Hill so we can get some food in you.”
Marian began walking towards Bunker Hill again, this time Nick Valentine was walking next to her. She was worried that being she’s supposed to be his partner and “trainee” he would be even less likely to listen to her orders when she tried to protect him. People didn’t tend to like someone who looked like her to be their bodyguard. They wanted someone big and scary looking. Someone who looks like they can push their client out of the way of danger. Marian was about a foot shorter than Mr. Valentine, and the thought of her being able to push someone made of metal more than a few inches was a joke.
Mr. Valentine wasn’t her usual client. Mr. Valentine could handle himself. Marian normally got scared, desperate farmers who may or may not be able to afford a pipe pistol. She normally got paid in promises and good feelings, she felt rich with her network of well-wishers in the Capital Wasteland, now she was poor again, trying to earn promises that could take years to show results.
They made their way to Bunker Hill while there was still light out. Marian was starting to feel anxious; she was used to looking for a bed by this time of day, but she had a client to look after, and she would stay with him as long as he needed her to. She waved at Kay while Mr. Valentine walked around the obelisk that adorned the city. Marian followed until she saw that he was moving into the market area.
“I thought Kessler was normally…” Marian started saying pointing in the direction she expected the mayor to be in.
“She can wait,” Mr. Valentine said dismissively.
He continued to the Savoldi booth where father and son were arguing politics again.
“Who says they don’t still exist?” Tony asked. “A group like that exists because of an idea, not because of people.”
“They were destroyed last year, and I haven’t heard of them doing anything since,” Joe pointed out. “The Institute isn’t what it was before the Vault Dweller took over. There’s no point in joining a group like that.”
“I haven’t seen the release of synths from their servitude yet, that’s why they are still needed.”
Mr. Valentine caught Joe’s attention.
“Good to see you, Nick,” Joe commented, breaking from his son’s attention. “One moment while I take care of this customer and I’ll be happy to give you any help you may need on a case. Would you like your usual, Marian?”
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She was quietly inspecting the caravan guards. She watched every facial expression. Synths were still seen as less than human by many people in the Commonwealth, Marian was ready to handle anyone who thought that meant that Mr. Valentine didn’t have a right to exist.
Marian shifted her attention to Joe; she was about to speak up. A favor for Doc Weathers meant he was paying her tab for a time. She normally went as cheap as she could, hoping that the less of an inconvenience to his profits she caused, the longer she could secure meals in Bunker Hill. Corn and dirty water sounded like a good strategy this night. She already had one nice meal earlier in the day, she just needed enough to keep away the pain.
“She’s on my tab tonight,” Mr. Valentine insisted. “Ribeye steak and Nuka-Cola.”
“Coming up,” Joe piped before turning around to retrieve the steak.
“Mister Valentine,” Marian forced herself to say, “it’s too much. I just need a squirrel on a stick.”
“Don’t worry about it, Sweetheart,” Mr. Valentine told her. “This is going on the expense report, and I thought we were driving that up to get back at Hancock for forcing us to work together.”
Mr. Valentine smiled at Marian so genuinely, she found herself smiling back at him. But she saw the trap. Run up the account, then when Hancock gets mad, Mr. Valentine can point out that the largest parts were for Marian. She wasn’t sure what his end game was, but she was sure it had something to do with the fact she wouldn’t be able to pay Hancock back if he felt her expenses were too extreme.
“What do I do if he gets upset about me having a steak dinner on his cap?” Marian asked.
“Let me worry about that,” Mr. Valentine told her. “Just enjoy your meal.”
Marian couldn’t find a way out of the problem Mr. Valentine was presenting while still saving face. Joe placed a plate on the counter with a bottle of Nuka-Cola. The steak was cooked, the bottle was opened, caps have changed hands, her mouth was salivating. If she did not follow through on her part, she would only cause the delicacies to go to waste. She sat down on a barstool and started cutting into the steak, walking into the trap that Mr. Valentine was setting for her.
The detective sat on the stool next to her. “Ellie tells me that you are partial to Takahashi’s Noodles,” he said.
This was a statement he was telling her, nothing she was telling him. If he was fishing for information, she would have to watch what she tells him.
“Diamond City has good food,” she told Mr. Valentine, “But this steak. Joe, you are a master with the grill.”
“Thanks, it’s a family recipe,” Joe told her as he cleaned a different part of the bar.
“Ellie also tells me that you like talking about books,” Mr. Valentine said, demanding her attention. He must want a moment to not think about the case. Talking to him was a sacrifice she could make if it meant it would help him with the case. Sometimes a battle had to be postponed for a more likely victory. She could talk about books with this man, books don’t get her in trouble anymore.
“I do,” she told him, allowing him some personal information.
“I read that book you gave me. I now understand that name you keep calling me.”
Marian’s eyes widened for half a second, she was used to her book recommendations to fall on deaf ears. At best she would get a head nod and an empty promise to read her recommendation. The best responses were from people like RJ, she knew he couldn’t read as well as she could, but he didn’t mind her telling him her interpretations of stories.
“You don’t seem unhappy about it, Mister Valentine,” she told him.
“Just Valentine, we are partners for now,” he insisted. “And quite the opposite. I’ve met so many people like Philo Gubb, I found his stories to be disturbingly realistic. The only problem is most people I’ve met like him would be dead by the end of the first story.”
“But then the stories wouldn’t be as funny,” she countered. “I guess everyone wants to be you.”
“In the sense of being a detective, yes. But on being a synth like me, not so much.”
“What do you do with people like ‘the correspondence detective’?”
“Normally, I blow them off. Most people don’t have the help of the Rising Sun Detective School to know where to start looking for clues, so I don’t have to worry about them getting themselves hurt doing my job.”
Doing his job? Is that why he was so upset earlier? Did he think that she was going to get herself injured asking questions? It didn’t make sense. He would be happy to get rid of her. Why would it matter if it was with her walking back to the Capital Wasteland or if it was a hypothetical person shooting her? She was afraid to ask. Personal information was normally tit-for-tat, and she wasn’t in the mood to make herself any more vulnerable to Valentine than she already was. She had to shift the subject.
“To be honest, my favorite story by the author is ‘Pigs is Pigs’,” she admitted.
Guinea pigs, that’s a safe subject. Something that won’t force her to give Valentine any damning information about herself.
“That’s the one with the guinea pigs?” Valentine confirmed with humor in his voice. “I will admit, I did feel sorry for the guy who had to deal with all those rodents.”
“He only started out with two,” Marian pointed out innocently. “He couldn’t have known he was going to get a Fibonacci Sequence of them.”
“Now how would a wastelander know what a Fibonacci Sequence is?” Valentine asked.
Damn, she lowered her guard again. Normally she could just explain what it was and move on. But it was obvious Valentine already knew what it was. She had to give him something, at least enough to satisfy him.
“My parents insisted I got an education focused on math and science,” she explained looking down at her half-eaten steak. “A book like stories by Ellis Parker Butler was scandalous in my family.”
He’s going to give her a follow up question. He would poke and prod to find out everything. He will learn what kind of monster she was, and she would find herself running out of the Commonwealth instead of walking out of it.
“You seem very well read for someone who had to find her own literature,” Valentine said.
No follow up questions? No trying to find out what she was? Marian was almost relieved.
“After I found myself on my own, I started finding people who made recommendations to me. Some even gave me books for payment. And I read everything I could between jobs.”
“What’s your favorite book?” Valentine asked.
“Woman in White,” Marian blurted out. As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she regretted it.
“What’s it about?”
She had to be honest, there was no undoing what she just said without coming off as suspicious. She would have to forge ahead and watch what she tells him.
“It’s about this girl who married a real thrasher. The guy made it seem like she was a woman who had escaped from an asylum and died of an aneurysm. So, the girl was legally dead, but physically sent to the asylum. This other guy who loved her had to find a way to prove she was who he said she was.”
There, safe explanation.
“I never heard of that story before. Who wrote it? I might read it between cases.”
Damn.
“Willkie Collins.”
“A true pioneer in the mystery genre,” Valentine said. “Though, I’m surprised I haven’t heard of that one before.”
The steak was finished, and Marian was reveling in the taste of the last of the Nuka-Cola. She felt like she just enjoyed her last meal.
“Looks like you’re finished eating,” Valentine observed. “Are you ready for our interview with Kessler now?”
“I don’t know what to say,” Marian admitted.
“Don’t worry. If you have any questions, feel free to ask but don’t tell her anything. Let me decide what she needs to know.”
“You make it sound like you’re trying to teach me how to do your job,” Marian pointed out.
“Maybe I will,” Valentine said as he stood up from his stool. “But don’t think that the life of a detective means steaks every night.”
Marian stood up from her own stool. Why did he feel the need to point that out? Did he think she would believe that, or was he teasing her? She almost wished he would go back to yelling at her, at least then she knew where they stood.
“I really don’t get you, Valentine,” she announced before following him to Kessler.
The mayor was on her way to the bar herself as they were walking away.
“Mayor Kessler,” Valentine called out. “May my associate and I have a moment of your time?”
Kessler looked at Valentine as if she was appraising him. Marian tensed slightly, she didn’t like Kessler, the woman trusted money more than anything else. It was the main reason Marian didn’t bother to tell her about the war in the Capital Wasteland.
“Of course, Mr. Valentine. Come into my office,” Kessler offered and lead Valentine and Marian to the back of a shack.
The office had two chairs next to a small table. Kessler sat at one chair, Valentine in another. Marian leaned up against a wall, watching them.
“How can I help you this time?” Kessler asked.
“My associate and I are investigating a caravan disappearance,” Valentine started off. “I was hoping you could give me some help with the case.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
“Firstly, Hancock tells me that you have reported to him about an uptick in raids. I’m wanting to know if that was true or if that is a misunderstanding.” Valentine explained.
The mayor, for her part, seemed to consider what she was asked. “There has been a slight increase,” she admitted. “It is enough for me to reach out to the other mayors about. Not enough to panic over yet. I’m hoping to avoid having it become anything more than what we already have.”
“How much worst has it gotten?”
“We still get the occasional raid here and there, mostly from raider groups that have been cut off since we allied ourselves to the Minutemen. I would have to check my records, but I think we have only had two this past month. Only one of them had a casualty.”
Marian never felt so disappointed by raiders being quiet. It shouldn’t have surprised her; the caravan wouldn’t have passed through Bunker Hill. Then it hit her, how would Kessler have known the details about a caravan raid?
“Were the caravans coming or going?” She asked.
“I’m sorry,” Kessler excused herself. “I know I’ve seen you around before. You’re that freelancer.”
Marian looked away. She wasn’t going to get any answers from Kessler. Nothing she could use now.
“Ms Halcombe is my partner for this case,” Valentine corrected, coming to her defense. “The information she’s asking is important. Were those two caravans attacked before they came to Bunker Hill, or after?”
“Before, both of them,” Kessler told him. “I very rarely hear about what happens to caravans after they leave, that is, until they return. If they return.”
“So, it is possible that every caravan that leaves here gets attacked as soon as it’s out of sight of this city?” Marian asked again.
“It’s possible, I guess,” Kessler admitted.
“But not likely, I know,” Valentine finished for her. “The Minutemen wouldn’t let that happen, but I believe Marian is talking hypothetically. I think we have everything we need. Thank you, Ms. Mayor.”
Valentine stood up, shook hands with Kessler and walked out the door, Marian followed behind him.
“You did good, kid,” Valentine told her after they left the shack that doubled as an office and a house. “I didn’t think about the direction the caravans were going. So, what do you say we rent a room so you can sleep for a few hours?”
Marian’s heart sank. The though of sleeping in a bed that was filled with old cigarette smoke made her skin itch. “I don’t sleep in settlements,” she explained.
Valentine started at that admonition.
“It’s not too dark, we can probably find a safe place. I know a place nearby. It’s normally deserted.” Marian was rambling. She could see Valentine was getting mad again. She couldn’t bend on this one, she just couldn’t. She started scratching her arm through her jacket, terrified of being forced into a torture like that.
Valentine visibly calmed himself down. At least he wasn’t going to yell at her in front of a lot of strangers.
“Ellie told me you never slept in Diamond City,” he said. “Somehow it never occurred to me that you never slept in any city. If it’s about the caps, you don’t have to worry, I have enough of those…”
“It’s…it’s not about the caps,” Marian tried to reason. “Just please, let me do it this way. You’re almost mean.”
Valentine looked shocked by Marian’s argument. “What are you saying?”
“The good food, and the bed, and all that stuff,” Marian wasn’t sure where she was going with her argument, but Valentine needed to understand. “That’s for people who live in cities. Who can be comfortable. If I get used to sleeping in a nice bed, I will sleep tightly. And I will get used to sleeping tightly. And that will get me killed. If I get used to eating well, it will be that much harder next time I have to survive off of what I can forage. I want to believe you mean well, but you’re going to get me killed because of it. Please, just let me sleep my way.”
Valentine looked down at the bodyguard. She felt so small trying to beg for him to understand her. Maybe she will luck out and get outwitted in the next fight, then she won’t have to worry about Valentine’s scrutiny anymore.
“Ok,” Valentine finally said, “you win. We can stay out in the wasteland tonight. But we will come back here in the morning for you to have breakfast.”
Marian let out a sigh. She didn’t realize she was holding her breath, but she was glad Valentine was willing to reason with her. She unslung Faenus and started walking out of Bunker Hill’s main gates.
“Marian,” Valentine called from behind her. “Do me a favor, don’t tell Hancock.”
Marian smiled over her shoulder at Valentine. “The last thing I need is to be yelled at by him, too.”
She started making her way down the street, listening to Valentine’s footfalls behind her. She was glad he would let her sleep outside. She was preparing for the raiders who normally occupied the best bed in the area and strategizing how to dispatch them.
“Jenny, you will never believe this,” Marian heard Valentine’s voice say with more enthusiasm than she thought was possible for him to muster. “I got the promotion! Starting next month, you will be dating a detective!”
Marian turned around to see Valentine spinning in a circle. His arms were bent at the elbows and his hands were cupped around the air. He looked like he was holding up something with weight, but Marian couldn’t see anything between his hands.
“Valentine?” Marian asked.
“I can’t believe that I’m going to be able to do real good,” Valentine said, sounding enthusiastic and slightly naive. “I’m going to clean up this town; and soon, every scumbag in Boston is going to know my name.”