Parting Gift

MacCready

Ten packages wrapped in scrapped paper sat upon the table, as nondescript as she could make them given the limited resources. The courier gulped as she turned back on him. "You have your instructions," she said, the power to crumble nations almost dragging him to his knees.

"Yes, yep, uh, ma'am," he bobbed his head; a shaking hand rattling the paper.

One of those fancy floating robots from before the war rolled towards her, tissues stuck in two of its three hands. "Oh mum, does it have to be now?"

She turned away from the courier as he began to stuff each of the packages into his bag. "Codsworth, I need you to be strong for me."

"Of course, mum!" its voice snapped, then the robot saluted with two of the hankies. "But I still wish that--"

"I know," she interrupted, her stone face softening for a moment at the robot's blubbering, "but you're needed here, now more than ever. There are more and more people moving through every day. People that need help, your help. It's your job to keep account of their needs."

The robot sniffled, drifting closer to her, "I shall shine their shoes and place a hearty breakfast on the table every morning for them."

"Er, good. That's good." Then she reached out and scooped the robot into a strange half hug. A rash of embarrassment clawed up the courier's cheeks and he turned away to watch the sky.

A cacophony shattered the air above Sanctuary Hills, and the courier ducked below the roof's overhang anticipating a fresh rad-storm. While the wind pressed down upon his body, dragging him towards the dirt, no lightning hissed against green clouds. The sky remained a cheerful blue blanketed only by a single black shadow zipping through the clouds. She released her hug on the robot and gripped her hat tighter to her head. Her eyes watched the flying monster, nodding softly to herself as it descended to land upon a stripped foundation.

"What is that?" the courier cried while pointing at the blades whipping across the top of the metal bird.

She smiled, a pang of regret and reluctance marring the beauty, "My ride."

* * *

Mags was on point tonight, her latest song riling up the increasing crowds in Goodneighbor. The town was getting so thick with dang near respectables, MacCready figured he'd be needing to hit the road soon. No one wanted to make room for a mercenary at their business table, unless they needed the competition to wake up with some new bullet holes. But for now at least the Third Rail had a roof, passable beer, and he was easy to find here should someone come calling again.

He leaned back in his seat, hands stretching behind his head, and watched the pair of wastelanders dive into a blotted argument with Charlie about the radroaches scuttling across the bar. Some people were just too picky.

"Excuse me, are you MacCready?"

"Who's asking?" MacCready twisted around to look up the stairs at the greenest kid he'd seen since Little Lamplight. Nah, even there six year olds had more gravitas than this guy. This one reminded him of that radio kid they helped toughen up; all elbows, no grease.

"I was asked to deliver this to you!" the kid's voice cracked as he thrust out a small box towards the mercenary. Its edges were worn down and frayed, dirt and Commonwealth branch muck spackling in the gaps. Someone took the time to cover the box in paper and wrapped that up with salvaged string.

"They did? Who did?" MacCready continued, eyeing up the box with suspicion and not about to accept anything. No one just gave something in this world without expecting equal or better in return.

"She, um, she said you'd know once you open it. Please," the kid continued, waving the box in his face.

MacCready rolled his eyes and lifted the package out of the courier's hands. It could be a bomb. Wouldn't put it past a few other Gunners to track him down. But the kid looked like he was about to piss his pants in terror just being in Goodneighbor - his eyes widening at the sight of a couple ghouls getting real neighborly in the back corner. Doubtful the Gunners would risk wasting more than a single bullet on this kid, much less all the tech for a bomb. MacCready ran his fingers across the box, surprised by how light it was. Seemed unlikely anyone could plant a mine that weightless and get any payload out of it. Reaching into his back pocket, he unearthed a blade. The courier yelped from the glint of the edge -- a crimson stain clinging to the knife -- but MacCready only put it to the string. Ripping away the paper, he folded the remains into his pocket for kindling later and opened the box.

"Oh, sh-..." the curse died in his throat while his fingers reached inside to bat away at wadded remains of old Boston Bugles. A teddy bear smiled up at him, the fur pristine -- as if someone took the time to wash and comb it. But what caught him and almost drew a sob to his throat was the book clutched in the bear's hands.

The words "You're Special" were emblazoned on the front cover, a baby giving the thumbs up out of a basinet. Even after 200 and some years, the colors were surprisingly crisp. No one got the chance to read the book to anyone, war and assholes robbing her of the opportunity. Dangling off the edge was a small strip of paper. MacCready found himself blinking through an unexpected fog to read the inscription written in a tight hand. "For Duncan."

"Sir," the courier spoke, "Are you all right?"

"What?" MacCready twisted his head around, but he couldn't shake the bittersweet smile. He knew what this gift meant. Everything had once again changed, the world never stayed stable long, but in his heart he knew what he needed to do. "Yeah, yeah, I'm good. Great even. For the first time in awhile. Thanks, kid."

He slipped the book back into the box and closed it up tight. Gathering up what little of the stuff he had left, MacCready moved to the bar. "Hey, Whitechapel."

"Oi, whatcha want?"

"Give me my tab."

The robot's eyestalks rolled towards the merc, "What? All of it? That'll take a few days to calculate. Are you leaving us again?"

"Yeah," MacCready dipped his head down, his tears of joy hidden by the brim of the cap, "I need to be getting back to DC."