Spectacle Island: A Fallout Story

Forgetfulness

I slowly lick the edge of the rolling paper and seal the joint tightly within the comfort of my home.
"Oh, ho, ho~" I can feel the shit-eating smile on my face. "You're a pretty one."
I snatch my lighter and sink back in the red velvet loveseat.
Flick.
Flick.
Spark.
I take a hit, feeling the hot smoke bite my lips.
I just wanna forget...

"Bea!"
A cold hard hand wraps around my warm skin, waking me from my slumber.
"Wha~" I croak, my breath tastes like I've been macking on Mary Jane for too long.
My sleepy sights focus on Nick; he looks concerned. His hand is so cold on my warm, somnolent body, it stings.
"I know you like your... herbs... but 3 is a little early, don't you think?"
"Calm down. It's not like I'm not taking chems..." I swat him away, curling back into the comfort of my blanket like a sedated golden retriever. "It's just a little rad-weed," I exhale.
He pulls away from me, and I shut my eyes once more, drifting back into my purple gloom.
"What's... what's wrong? We haven't talked properly since... since Cliff."
My heart stiffens; I hold on to the present for dear life. If I don't, I'll be hurled back into that fateful day.
"Yeah, I'm fine," I meld into the loveseat now, wishing that he would just go away; he knows I get painfully morose every once and a while. "Did you come in here just to check on me... or was there a different reason?"
"Came to see you. Wanted to make sure every thing's okay."
He looks down at me with those yellow LED eyes; I'd be lying if I said my stoned ass didn't find them a little spooky.
"Like I said... I'm fine," my frown gives me away; I'm no good at lying with my emotions.
"You trying to fool me?" He crouches down and looks at me with betrayed eyes and a twisted face.
We tell each other everything; why would I leave him in the dark about this?
"No, I'm not, Nick. I'm just... okay~ I'm bent out of shape about...Cliff. You can imagine why?"
He looks down; his sunlit fedora casts a shadow on his white face.
"Yea... He reminds you of your son... Cliff, huh?"
"Hmph," I laugh half-heartedly, "I should've known Diamond City's favourite detective would figure that out without a hint."
"Your facial expression was the only hint I needed," he sits down beside me, resting his human-like hand on the balled mess that contains me. "It's really got you in a funk, huh?"
"I just can't stop imagining what my Cliff would be like... and it's quite similar to that boy. It's, it's~ My heart is so confused, Nick... it's telling me he's my son... but logically, that doesn't add up, does it?" I sort my words carefully and slowly; it takes far more energy to form cohesive sentences.
"Well," he looks off, clearly deep in thought like he's calculating any and all possibilities. "It's possible. The kid isn't sick, right? I find that awful strange. And... he did kinda look like you."
"Nick, please don't give me false hope." I bury my head underneath the blankets, only to peek my eyes out from the fort.
"No, no, really." He looks up with a determined gaze. "There is something about him."
I look up at him; I have no doubt my eyes will speak all the chaos ensuing within me.
"...even if he's not my son, I can't handle the thought of those people just... dying out there without proper care. It's... it's not right."
Nick toys with his metal hand, whipping out a screwdriver to tighten his joints. He stays silent, then he finally says in a small voice,
"We can't save everyone..."
"I know that," I bark, positioning myself so I can look him in the eyes. "But~ er~ whatever. At least you know why I'm upset." I curl away from him. "I didn't wanna talk to the others about this... it's too~ deep-rooted. Hell, I won't even try talking to the kid about it. He'll think I'm some crazy old witch."
"Well~" Nick's voice wavers and he shakes his head. "Maybe you should voice your concern about it...if it's biting at you this much..."
"No!" I squeal, covering my face with my hands. "No, because then, then I have to reiterate this back to everyone. It's too irrational," I rub my eyes, wiping a couple of unfallen tears. "I don't wanna talk about it; I want to forget it..." my voice trails off weakly.
"But you can't," Nick is starting to sound annoyed. "Who cares if it's irrational? It sounds like a good reason to me."
We both sit in silence; I'm having a hard time containing my foggy, purple grief.
Nick caresses my shoulder with a soft, caring hand, and my heart twists. It wants him, but it knows our love can never be; romantically his synth heart is still set on Jenny and sex is entirely off the table. Not to mention my confusing feelings regarding MacCready, or the hole in my heart that's been ever expanding since I lost Ed.
My heart is wrung out like an old dishcloth.
His hand slowly caressing me makes me feel a multitude of emotions that nearly wash me away. There's a lump in my throat, then all my grievances come crashing down at once.
"Nick," My voice cracks open and I burst out into tears, letting myself free and burying myself in his lap. "I'm so..." I sob, "...tired," I exhale.
Somehow, his smell of old cigarettes is comforting; warm, grounding. He stays compassionate under the weight of my being as I suck him into my twisted vortex.
With each tear, a blocked, thick emotion squeezes out of me; grief, longing, guilt. I feel the release knowing full well these feelings won't permanently go away... like a little snot escaping a clogged nose.
"It's okay, Beatrice. I'm here for you."

I wake to see a pinkish orange sunset, coincidentally enough, reminding me of the 'tequila sunsets' Simon mixes up at Bea's. I shift in my blanket and find that Nick is sitting on the ottoman now, intensely staring at something in his hands.
"What's up..?" I slowly awaken, the high of the rad-weed snoozed away.
He looks up with a startled look and quickly hides his asymmetrical hands.
"No!" he chuckles, "no, I don't want you to see it yet. Damn, I was almost done too."
I see a thread and needle in his metal hand.
"What?" I genuinely laugh, seeing the synth holding a needle like a 19th-century seamstress. "What do you have a thread and needle for?"
"Shh, stop, stop. I'm trying to focus," he turns his back to me, his arms trucking along like a sewing machine. "I just gotta~ oh... Perfect."
I crane my neck, trying to get a glimpse of his project; the curiosity nearly kills me.
He spins around, and with a huge, proud smile, he presents a toy fox. It looks a little crooked, patchworked and to be quite honest, a little ugly, but it's beady black eyes, curled smile and dumbo ears instantly charm me.
"Is that~ is that for me?" I coo; the thing nearly brings tears to my eyes.
It looks like it was made by a human, not a machine. It's imperfect and original.
"No, it's for Myrna," he says, deadpan.
I smile.
We both burst out laughing. Then, he gets up, pats the thing on the head, and hands it to me.
I feel like a child again; it's not a bad feeling.
"I just figured I'd give you something for moral support... Jenny taught me how to sew back in the day... and I know you like foxes. Luckily, I remember what they look like."
"Aw, Nick... this is so sweet." I jump up and hug him with a pink heart, compulsively landing a kiss on his cheek. "It means a lot."
"It was no problem," he rubs the back of his head with a bashful smile, "there's enough scrap fabric lying around the commonwealth."
I put the little guy on my shoulder and smile like an idiot.
"I'll name him Valentine; after you of course."
This time, he reaches out and initiates a hug himself; he's got a strong grip.
"...I'll always be looking out for you."