Chapter Text
Motherfucker.
Cocksucker.
Slimy little piece of shit-
"You're still taking jobs in the commonwealth." Winlock accused. "That isn't going to work for us."
Asshole.
He stepped up to the fuckhead. "I don't take orders from you... not anymore. So why don't you take your girlfriend and walk outta here while you can?" MacCready might have second guessed the threat if he hadn't been so completely over the whole situation already. As it was, his survival instincts were beginning to flounder with his rising frustration.
3 months. For 3 months he had been trapped in Boston, avoiding Gunner territory like the plague. The jobs he'd been able to take that kept him undercover in the dilapidated city had been few, far between, and paid like shit. If it hadn't been for Duncan, MacCready would have thought trying to take down two heavily armed dickweeds in a seedy underground tavern would be a pretty bitchin way to go.
Barnes, meathead that he is, took offense to his quip immediately, and of course whined to his daddy about it. "What?" he sputtered. Mac could practically smell his brain frying at the insinuation. "Winlock, tell me we don't have to listen to this?"
"Listen MacCready, the only reason we haven't filled your body with bullets is because we don't want a war with Goodneighbor. See, we respect people's boundaries… we know how to play the game. It's something you never learned."
As much as MacCready wanted to mouth off, he found it difficult to shake the memory of the last time he'd seen Winlock. They were razing an empty farmhouse on the outskirts of the city... or at least they thought it was empty. Everything was tidy and there weren't any campfires burning. Someone obviously lived there but there was no one to stop them from taking everything.
So they did.
Mac had been working on unlocking a med kit while Winlock did his own work across the dinky little shack. The Gunner was shoving some food in his sack to haul off when a woman had come out of nowhere with a pipe wrench and swung for Winlock's skull. Winlock had ducked and caught her arm with surprising dexterity, then pressed his 10mm to her gut and pulled the trigger.
The emptiness in his eyes as he dropped her body to the ground was chilling. He did so without ceremony, then went back to ransacking the woman's pantry.
It was the last straw on a haystack that was already wayyy too heavy. MacCready left their camp that night. Said nothing to no one, just left and headed east. Far east. Far enough he'd hoped to never see that look in his eye again.
A look like the one he was getting right now: empty, dead eyes delivering a heavy threat. The guilt of having run with these monsters kicked up in MacCready's gut.
"Glad to have disappointed you."
Winlock's unsettling expression didn't change. "You can play the tough guy all you want, but if we hear you're still operating in Gunner territory, all bets are off. You got that?"
"You finished?"
"Yeah, we're finished."
Mac turned to pick up his lukewarm beer, confident that the asshole Gunners wouldn't try anything in the third rail. He'd said they didn't want a war with Goodneighbor, right? So maybe he needed to work on getting in better with Hancock, make sure that he's got his back if they did try something. There had to be more work around there too, right? Fred Allen had wanted him to go check out Hallucigen for him. Maybe he -
"Where's Gunner territory?" somebody asked and MacCready about jumped out of his skin mid-match strike. The cigarette he was lighting fell to the ground, forgotten, as he spun towards the voice.
There was a woman striding up to him from the open door to the lounge, thumb hooked over her shoulder at the thugs that he'd just run off. Her scrawny figure was drowning in a comedic mishmash of bulky armor, and every inch of her exposed skin was fucking filthy. Junkie, he'd guess, her sallow features supporting that wager, except what kind of junkie still had all their teeth?
Her lips pulled back as she hissed in a breath. "Sorry…" she said, hands going to the pack at her hip. His eyes followed her gaze to his cigarette which had landed in a patch of something sticky at his feet.
"Look lady" he sighed, patting his pockets for another "if you're preaching about the atom or looking for a friend, you've got the wrong guy. Need a hired gun…" he paused as she found what she'd been looking for in her bag - a pristine pack of cigarettes - and began packing them awkwardly. The quiet slap slap slap of the pack hitting her hand was pathetic. He rolled his eyes and held out his hand, intending to take over for her. "Then maybe we can talk."
She handed the cigarettes over without argument. "Well, I came in here to hire you but I don't know where Gunner territory is."
So she'd heard of him. Was already sold on him, even. Made things a bit easier. Mac made quick work of packing the cigarettes before pulling off the cellophane "So?"
"Sooooo…" she gestured grandly towards the door to the VIP room "You can't work in their territory, right? Or else they'll kill you? So if my work overlaps with their territory…" she mimed slitting her throat with one bony finger. "Ya die, right?"
Mac narrowed his eyes at her flippant retelling of the summit that had just taken place. He lit his cigarette. "What's the job?"
"I need you to help keep me alive while I work."
"Work?" He eyed her pack. Drug dealer? Courier?
"I'm with the Minutemen. I coordinate their resources and help manage their settlements."
Oh. Damn. He handed her her cigarettes back. "Pass."
"Pass? Why!" She suddenly froze, eyes going wide. "Don't tell me those gunner guys are already in our territory?"
"The heck are you talking about, lady? Of course they are. Gunner territory is The Commonwealth. You live under a rock or something?" She blanched at his tone, gaze dropping to her feet. The kicked puppy look almost made him feel bad. Almost. He took a harsh drag off his cigarette. "Job's a hard pass because I'm not looking to join up."
Her shoulders remained slumped but she did level her gaze with his as she said, somewhat flatly, "I don't want you to join. That's the point. When I travel with Minutemen I have to keep…" she gestured her hand with a flourish "inspirin' them and... and calling upon their honor to keep them working. With you…" she patted a pocket on her bag, drawing out the familiar clinking of caps. "Nothin' like throwing money at a problem, right? Can't go wrong." He didn't miss the once over she gave him, scrutinizing eyes scanning to his feet and back up to land on his face. Whatever she found didn't deter her. "Seriously, all you have to do is watch my back. Kill assholes trying to kill me. No allegiance necessary."
Mac tried not to think too hard about the look on Winlock's face as he delivered his threat earlier. Kill assholes who try to kill her while she coordinates resources and manages settlements… sounded like an opportunity to swipe shit from Minutemen settlements while they were too busy saving the world to notice.
"Unless you're scared of the Gunners, a' course," she snarked quietly.
He blew smoke in her face. "300 caps."
She flinched back and fanned the smoke away from her face, flustered by his retaliation. "H-how about... 250 and..." she held the pack out to him again, squinting against the haze between them, "this pack of cigarettes."
MacCready blinked at her.
"...and an extra 25 caps every time we get to a settlement?"
He considered her demeanor again. She was goofy. Oblivious, if she really didn't know about the Gunners. Working for a sad, idealistic organization he hadn't even realized was still around. With any luck, he'd make an extra 100 caps or so before she bit the dust. With a little more luck, he'd swipe enough extra to pay his way into MedTek.
He plucked the pack from her hand. "Fine."
The girl seemed surprised at him accepting her offer, not immediately withdrawing her hand when he took the pack. "Oh! Oh good. That's uh…" she grabbed at the pocket with the caps, fumbling with a few loose ones before finally withdrawing 250 in neat stacks secured with some sort of wiring. She removed the wires before handing them over.
Mac drained his beer and set the empty bottle on the table behind him. He pressed his cigarette between his lips so he could pick up his rifle and sling it over his shoulder. "Lead the way," he said.
When he turned back to the woman her eyes were trained behind him. It took him a moment to realize she was looking at the empty bottle. She hesitated as she seemed to appraise the thing, biting her lip. When she realized he was waiting on her she pointed meekly at the piece of trash and drawled, "D'you think I could have that?"
He eyed her, adding up her weird accent and her disheveled appearance and her apparent affinity for garbage and balancing it all against the caps in his pack.
Whatever.
Mac retrieved the bottle and handed it over. She took it gratefully with a peppy "thank ya very much" and secured it in her pack. The bag made a clinking sound as she did which sounded suspiciously like more bottles. "OK." She patted her bag as if to secure it, then turned on her heel towards the door. "First stop is Hangman's Alley"