Back upstairs the Deathclaw head lay half buried in wet sand inside a long case. John stayed back as Matt and Rosie worked, edging the head free and filling the cavity with molten metal.
Rosie took a break from whatever they had in mind and sat with him and Brandon on the curved couches. She looked at home.
“Look at this.” Rosie handed him a folder. Inside John saw an old and faded pre-war magazine. On the cover stood a broad and tall man in a sharp suit, a blonde woman in an elaborate white dress on his arm. Rosie flipped it open to a marked page, more photographs outside a building he’d seen before, and a headline that read ‘Wedding of the Decade’. John wondered if Rosie had found the rings and note, but she looked stern.
“His name was Burton Blake.” Rosie flipped another page, showing a close up of the man that shared his name. “Look at his eyes John, your eyes, your name.” Rosie slid closer to him, holding out a magnifying lens. “Look at his arm.” John did, and peeking out from a cuff, running down the sleeve, he saw the signs of a pipboy like theirs. Again and again Rosie pointed out glimpses in other pictures, till John had no doubt. “He wrote the code in here John.”
“Blake was a scientist and designer.” Brandon took over as John shut the magazine. “We know he had a company, a level of fame, then he simply vanishes from the records. As you’d expect for someone involved in covert operations.”
“You think he was involved with Vault X?” John asked, hoping to see a path to true freedom.
“I think he built for....” Brandon trailed off. Rosie took his hand, trying to get him to understand something.
“He built it for people like us.” She put her pipboy next to his. John pulled his hand away.
“This was his place, one of them anyway.” Brandon tried to cover the awkward moment. “We found the aircraft at The Grand.”
“And it’s given you a search area the Brotherhood doesn’t have.” John saw the value in that, the edge it gave them.
“In the morning Rosie will update her map with your data and we’ll have a list of probables. Sara can buy us time and room to operate. We need to get the Brotherhood back to first principles.” Brandon’s term resonated in the room, but John couldn’t place it. “I’m told you’ve seen the Abomination, up close?”
“Yes.” John remembered the term, and the horror.
“They are beasts, driven by hunger and rage, easily led to slaughter.” Brandon fixed his eyes on John’s. “You understand what they were?”
“People, like anyone else.” John reached for and found Rosie’s hand, she seemed unnerved, and that wasn’t like her.
“The mutation drives them mad, makes them forget. Most of the time.” John felt like the last in the room to know. “Sometimes they remember, and that’s when they get dangerous. Make no mistake John, out in the wastes, the Abomination stirs. We must be united to purge it before it awakens.” Brandon gave John one last, stern look then sat back.
John felt he’d shown Brandon what he needed to see, and with Rosie at his side the horror seemed more bearable, while all the more crucial to eradicate.
“Stood ready sir.” John felt confident in his new ally, and everyone in the room, yet he found a surprising strength in himself.
“I would expect no less from my daughter’s aspirant.” Brandon raised a glass to Sara, as did John.
Rosie all but jumped from her seat next to him as she heard Paul coming up the stairs. John watched her race over to the open kitchen, playfully blocking Paul from the oven. “It’s not ready, it needs to caramelise.”
“I say when things are ready.” Paul lifted her from the ground and Rosie laughed. John thought she would have hated that, yet Rosie beamed. She and Paul bickered over something, with the robot settling the argument by siding with Paul and opening the tin can he held out.
John began to understand that despite being on the outside of the Brotherhood, Rosie had forged strong bonds here in a way he hadn’t. Rosie had never been friendly with people, and didn’t really have friends at all, yet here she’d found so much more than a team. She’d found family. She caught him staring and smiled, then went back to her affectionate argument.
John opened the pre-war magazine and carefully flipped through the pages. “I must say I didn’t see the resemblance.” Brandon looked at him, as if he’d memorised the magazine John would have used as kindling. “But now I can tell she was right.”
“Don’t let her hear you say that.” John joked and leant in closer. He hadn’t just been looking at the man, he’d been looking at the pictures of smiling faces. “Is this how they do weddings now?” John didn’t think he’d been that transparent, Brandon’s warm expression said different.
“Pretty much, of course you’d have to ask her first. Do you know how to do that?”
“I’ve got rings. Sara gave me them from a bank…” John didn’t say Vault out loud.
“Is Rosie’s father still with us?” The question threw John, he shook his head. “Well, it was an old and outdated tradition anyway.” Brandon said before realising who he was talking to. “You would ask permission first, have to prove your worth.” John liked to observe tradition, it gave him a feeling of connection to the world he’d entered as an adult.
“Can I ask your permission then sir?” John wondered if he should have stood first.
“John, I didn’t mean...you don’t need my permission, I’m not…” Brandon trailed off, not embarrassed, but concerned his talk of tradition had been misunderstood.
“I’ve never seen her like this.” John stared at Rosie, stirring a warm pan while complaining about it to Paul, him laughing as his wife Charlie took Rosie’s side. Every so often she’d lean over Matt as he drew, making suggestions, and then she'd glance at him. John would see his look of momentary surprise, followed by relief and joy, reflected in her eyes. “If not you sir, then who?”
“You do me a great honour. Yes, of course.” Brandon poured them both a drink as John saw Rosie make her way over. “Two things. First, we’d all like to be at the ceremony.” John nodded and saw Sentinel Cross emerge from the warm and gracious Brandon. “If you break her heart I’ll fucking kill you.”
“Kill who?” Rosie asked, having not quite heard, her tone alarmingly open to the idea.
“This is apple pie.” Rosie handed him a bowl, steaming with sweetness. “Served with custard. I wanted condensed milk, but that bitch Janey overruled me.” Rosie sat down and took a huge spoonful from the bowl.
“Admin Rosie, the recipe clearly states custard. Perhaps you would prefer to have no pie at all.” Janey’s robotic tone didn’t shift, yet it became obvious by the reaction that the robot made a joke.
John spent the evening in the cellar of the lighthouse with Rosie at his side. He saw her happiness reflected in the faces around them, grateful that however hard Rosie’s path had been, it had brought her here and back to him.
John woke at six like always, a little groggy, but he’d avoided getting drunk. He’d slept on the couch and woke to see Rosie coming down from above. He couldn’t tell if she’d slept at all.
“How did I do?” John asked, eager to find out.
“Fine.” Rosie’s single word answer gave no real clue, but the smile hidden by a bitten lip told him enough. “We’ll spend the day here and fly back tonight.”
“I know you love it here, with the others,” John thought about how happy she looked here, even now. “If you wanted to stay a few days.” He held his breath, half regretting bringing it up already.
“No, I want to go home.” Rosie’s quick answer seemed to surprise herself. “To my other home, our home.” She picked on what he'd really meant. “I told you, I can love two places. We’ll figure it out, and you’re welcome here too. Brandon said so.” Rosie kissed him on the cheek as she walked by, Brandon’s approval obviously meant a great deal to her.
John spent the day being of use wherever he could. Matt wanted help with the cast steel Deathclaw head, joining the halves together. It surprised John how much detail the copy had, the lines in the hide, the texture of the horns, the pointed fangs.
Next Charlie put him through a rigorous workout. Using weights, a running machine, and a heavy bag she held while firing insults and overtly flirtatious compliments. She clicked through his pipboy after and scoffed the way Rosie did.
Brandon took him to their range. He saw Brandon miss the seemingly infinite ammo too, as he limited John to three magazines for each gun. The unearned knowledge, silent for a good while, whispered to him as he looked at the weapons.
A compact submachine gun, with a horizontal magazine, and a high fire rate. A sturdy sidearm, in the same calibre, that packed a surprising wallop. And lastly the integrally suppressed carbine of Rosie’s design.
John didn’t miss a single shot. As they walked back, he remembered one of the few compliments Grimm ever gave him. “Can’t carry a tune, can’t hold a note, but I can hit a target.” John didn’t really understand, like a good deal of what Grimm shouted at him, but it made Brandon laugh.
“How is my old friend Grimm?”
“Fed and fighting fit sir.” John gave the answer Sara would. “And mean as ever.”
“He’s actually mellowed.” Brandon looked sad for a moment, then something amused him. “Tell me, what was the first thing he said to you?” John remembered the moment well, and understood the affection Sara had for a man he’d hated at one point.
“I went to shake his hand,” Brandon sniggered at that. “Then he called me a pasty mole rat son of a bitch.” John tried not to laugh, just to see how long Brandon would keep a straight face. Not long.
“He always did know how to push the right buttons.” Brandon shook his head, deeply amused, and missing a dear friend.
“He stood for me when I took my oath.” It still made John proud to think of that moment, especially as it stopped Brandon walking. “Sara told me. A rare honour.” Brandon seemed impressed
“Yes sir.”
The most stressful part of the day came as John assisted Paul with making dinner, his every move tracked by Janey. John sliced tatos, peeled corn husks, and scored the stag leg, pushing herbs deep into the cuts.
“You’ll never keep a good woman if you can’t cook.” Paul clapped him on the back as he closed the oven “How’d he do Janey?”
“Inefficient.” Paul winced in an over the top fashion at John’s appraisal. “However John did follow instructions with a high degree of accuracy.”
“Then you’re halfway there.” Paul tried to boost his confidence.
“You and Charlie, you’re married right?” John asked, changing the subject, and only after making sure Rosie wasn’t around.
“Nearly ten years.” Paul smiled warmly, showing off his gold tooth, and reading John’s face.
“How did you ask her?”
John served the first food he’d ever cooked, trying to hide his stress and nerves, and watching for Paul’s subtle hints. Everyone enjoyed it, and John doubted they would offer false praise, least of all Rosie.
After dinner John set to carrying the crates Rosie had selected up top. “You know you can leave things here if you want.” John didn’t want Rosie to feel any kind of pressure, they’d both had enough of that.
“I am, this is stuff for you, mostly.” Rosie smiled. “And a few projects.” She tossed him a heavy backpack.
“What’s in here?” John asked.
“Caps.” Rosie said casually. John looked inside, and his face dropped.
“Rosie, there must be twenty thousand caps in here!” He couldn’t believe how indifferent Rosie seemed.
“Twenty five.” Rosie didn’t even stop packing. "I'm rich, or so they tell me."
They sat outside the lighthouse in the fallen night. Rosie seemed distracted, but she didn’t look upset. John heard it first, then saw the others hear it too. It brought a fond look, undercut with fear. A fear that John, an Outcast from the Brotherhood like the rest, began to understand.
The reason for Rosie’s distraction became clear as the Vertibird touched down, entirely empty. Rosie leapt to her feet, like she’d almost woken up. John and Rosie said a more casual goodbye to the others.
“We’ll be back in a week.” Rosie started to plan, but Brandon held up a hand to gently stop her.
“Depends on the weather. We’ll stay in touch.”
John strapped down the cargo and made for the pilot's seat. “Where you going?” Rosie pointed to the seat opposite her, in the cabin by the open door. John and Rosie alternated between staring out over darkened forests and looking at each other. Flying back to a home built just for them.
