Crossfire - Fallout 4 - [R J MacCready x Sole Survivor]

Chapter 12

There was a loud knock on the door, each thud reverberating through the scrap metal walls then echoing into MacCready's skull. The tinny sounds roused him from his sleep, and he rose – groggy and tired as hell – before he shifted his legs over the sides of the bed and stretched with a yawn.

MacCready pushed a palm into his eye as he rubbed the sleep away, then leaned forward on the bed to peer around the corner. Dawn was already dressed, and she tittered as she walked up to the door and swung it open without grace.

"A letter," a voice called from outside, and MacCready saw a hand reach out with a sealed package gripped between gloved fingers. "Fifteen cap delivery fee."

Dawn quickly pulled out the caps needed from her pocket and exchanged it for the package. She closed the door, a puzzled expression on her face, and she turned to face the waking sniper.

"It's for you," she announced as she read the writing scrawled across the envelope. "What does the R. J. stand for?"

Heart suddenly pounding in his ears, he leapt out of bed and strode over to her, taking the package from Dawn's outstretched hands with more force than necessary. "My initials," he rushed in one breath and swiftly stuffed the envelope into his pocket. Dawn stared at him with wide eyes as he shoved on his boots, his laces were tied sloppily in his haste, then he placed his hat in his mouth to free his hands to shirk on his duster.

She held up her hands in an attempt to slow him down. "Whoa, what's the hurry?" Dawn was still staring at him with a mix of uncertainty and curiosity, but MacCready was already at the door before she could figure out what was happening. "W-where are you going?"

"Boss, there are some things I like to keep private," he called out over his shoulder, tone clipped and low.

"Y-yeah, I get that, but when are you coming back-"

"Give me an hour." MacCready shut the door with a loud clang before she could say any more. The market was quiet in the early morning, bar his heavy footsteps as he marched over to the upper stands, and he avoided eye contact with a patrolling guard in sunglasses as the sniper manoeuvred his way to a secluded spot at the top row of the grandstands.

It was much quieter here, away from prying eyes, and he quickly scanned his immediate vicinity to check that he was truly alone before he pulled out the envelope from his pocket. With quick and precise hands, he tore open the thick envelope, discarding the brown paper to the floor as he unfolded the crinkled letter.

It took him three attempts to read the first line before it began to sink in.

Hello Robert,

Emile didn't make it.

He's been fighting the illness for nearly a year, but I guess I'm too late now. As soon as I got the codes we needed, I got a letter from his wife saying that his body finally gave up. He died peacefully in his sleep.

He was like a brother to me.

I tried to find you in Goodneighbor, but Daisy told me you're busy with new work at the moment. She said she can pass these along to you.

Take the codes. I don't need them anymore.

I wish you all the best for your son.

And remember, santé passe richesse.

-Sinclair

He read it again.

One more time, just to make sure.

Then he was certain. The disease can kill. Emile was a grown man, healthy and strong. And Duncan...just a little boy.