Spectacle Island: A Fallout Story

"MacGreedy"

For now, escaping Diamond City proved to be a small challenge, but our feet are weary from a long travel; our hands are calloused from wet hands rowing wooden oars; our souls, torn.
We didn't talk much over the 7 hours but I made sure everyone who was injured drank lots of water, ate enough and slept on the boats. I went a little hungry so the kids could eat, and to distract the them from their radiation poisoning, I told stories with great enthusiasm. I had so much I wanted to teach and tell my son, Cliff, so my storytelling was like an untapped well of teachings and adventures...
I know it wasn't just the Kids enjoying the stories too.
Folks listened intently, their traumas out of mind for that moment.
But... to my surprise, it was MacCready who listened with the greatest attentiveness...

~

As soon as my feet hit the pier, I race up the hill, my black trench coat whipping in the wind. The warm light of the campfire in the spooky, uncertain night calls out to me.
The bell.
I have to make sure everyone has been alright for the past couple days.
Ding - ding.
I whip my head around.
Nick, MacCready and the Diamond City survivors hobble up the hill; tired, sick and dirty.
"Spectacle Island! Time for a gathering!"
I wait for the folks to trickle in, my shoulders heavy; my hands blistered.
Damn boat.
"We were lucky," Nick places a soft hand on my shoulder. I look him in the eye; they're conflicted. "But... the Commonwealth never rolls the die without a death count."
"I'm so tired Nick," I rest my aching head on his shoulder. "I just have to make sure everyone is alright..."
He lays his hand on my neck, embracing me with a soft hand.
"I~ yeah."
I can't feel anything radiating from him; but I know he's destroyed inside. This is the only time I wish he was human; when I just want to feel him...
I throw myself into a cheap dirty chair around the campfire.
They kept the flame going strong like our hearts.
"B!"
"Bea!"
"Nick and Bea are back!"
Fresh, amicable faces emerge from all corners of the island; there's 20 of them excluding ourselves.
They talk amongst themselves, seating around the orange, wild fire:
"It's been a couple days, eh?"
"Yeah, yeah... shit."
"Well I hope nothing bad happened... B doesn't look so good."
I look up at the author of those words: Syd.
She doesn't need to hope, she already knows some bad shit happened.
Her young hazel eyes shift away from our sorry state.
They've spent so much time on the island they've forgotten the chaos ensuing in the rest of the commonwealth.
That's both beautiful and worrisome...
"Get everyone to the clinic!" I shout to those who are able and well.
I release a sigh that could almost tell the whole story.
"I have bad news for all of you."

I notice MacCready standing in my front doorway, his leg propped on the wall and his arms crossed. He straightens up when I enter the house.
Jesus, what does he want now? Our gathering is over, if he wanted to say something, he should've said it then.
"There you are. I was waiting for you!"
I ignore him and head to the stairs, aching for my soft bed.
"Hey!"
"What do you want?" I snap.
I toss my hat on the red sofa, slip out of my trench coat, and head up the stairs.
"God~ if you'd just listen to me... always jumping to aggression. For someone who's all nice and goodie-two-shoes you're a real fu~ errr. You're a sore to talk to," he chases after me.
"Oh, tell me about it." I soak my comment in sarcasm.
He yanks my wrist with a tight grip.
I yip; he caught me off guard.
I turn around and face him with a disgusted expression carved into my face.
"Look at me, Bea," he spits my name, "I wanted to talk to you because I think you've got the wrong idea about me."
I ironically raise my wrist shackled by his grip.
He quickly lets go.
"Fine, I'm listening, MacGreedy."
I laugh, and sit down on the concrete stairs with a weary body.
He just shakes his head and turns away.
"Not even worth my time."
"Ditto."
He heads toward my front door, defeated, but then, he turns on his heels.
He looks angry now.
"You know what?" He points a calloused finger at me. "You don't know a fucking thing about me, sweetheart. You don't know why I do the things I do. All I am is some greedy merc to you: you the moral angel," he says in a mocking tone, "here to save the commonwealth."
"I don't think I'm an angel... FYI," I retort; deadpan. "And yeah I am a dick to you... so what? You never respected me from the get go. It was just caps. Rubbed me the wrong fucking way."
"Didn't respect you? I was always looking out for you, giving you ammo, watching your back? Besides, I'm a hired shot; what did you expect?" he cries, exasperation immistakably written on his thin face.
I hear him.
Like, I finally hear him; as though I've been a brick wall to his emotions and concerns prior.
This has really been bothering him.
Even still, I continue to fight him; I'm not even sure why.
"Okay. That much is true. But I have a deep hatred for greed in the very fibres of my heart. You don't know the pre-war world like I do; greed was everywhere, listening was superficial, and people lived their comfortable lies rather than facing important, but inconvenient truth. You know~" my voice cracks, stale anger and sadness are sparked in my heart once again, "I was just waiting for the world to end. Greed, lies, apathy, and superficiality were striven for so altruism, truth, empathy and authenticity only came about when it was convenient. So, when I see those dirty traits that brought us this reality, as 'natural & human' as they may be, I see a lesson not learned. I see history blindly repeating itself and yeah, I'm fucking bitter about it. I guess you're my scapegoat then."
He goes silent for a moment; I can see him processing what I just said. Then he looks up at me; amused, as if I said something funny.
"Ha, no wonder this place is so vanilla and boring."
"You don't under~"
"I'm joking, B," he reaches out to me. This time his touch is soft, loving. A pink warm feeling shoots up my arm and it's at that moment I realize; MacCready actually cares for me.