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purkinje-effect · 5 years

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The Anatomy of Melancholy, 29

Table of Contents. Go to previous. Go to next. Have some heavy dialogue. Pretty sure this is the longest chapter to date. Some things happened at work yesterday that precipitated a need for this conversation to go the way it did.

Using some of the Abraxo Powder which it believed in good faith that its owner would no longer need to craft Mentats, Angel had cleaned ‘Choly’s Pharm Corps coat the night before in the stream which surrounded Sanctuary Hills. Washing the coat had made the singe-marks around the tail hem stand out a bit more, but the coat had survived the mud and Molotov cocktail surprisingly well, and the fresh wash had returned it to the stunning white it was supposed to be. During the washing process, the Mister Handy had deposited the ribbon bars, the name placard, and the contents of his pockets in his vanity, and, mostly out of habituation, ‘Choly sat at Hawthorne’s desk re-affixing the effects of his cleaned military uniform.

The sink no longer had running water, but he still used the basin to brush his teeth and wash his face with a can of water from Angel. He wet his hair and slicked it back into a firm French twist, and put his orthotics back on. Once fully dressed, coat and all, he returned his various effects to his pockets, including his last ampuole of Jet. He shoved the thought to the back of his mind, for what he could broker with it, and he focused on lighter things, setting out with Angel to inspect the houses’ back yards for useful plants.

Only once the pair had begun their noontime stroll, did the thought cross his mind that the should compose another addendum to the Merrick Index, for identifying pharmaceutically relevant plant and fungal specimens in the post-nuclear landscape. He’d have to sit down and do so sometime. They did find several hubflower bushes, as well as a few young mutfruit trees. Angel picked the fruit, while ‘Choly picked the flowers. ‘Choly annotated in whose yards they found what, so they could return and transplant the bushes and saplings when they could. But first, ‘Choly wanted to talk to the others about it.

Angel and ‘Choly walked back to the house with their share of produce, following the culs de sac which ran the entirety of the suburb, to find the Quincy survivors had gathered in what had once been Miss Rosa’s carport to discuss things. The power armor stood nearby, unoccupied, in the power armor station at the back of the carport. The pair came up, and ‘Choly listened and smiled pleasantly as not to interrupt.

“Glad you could make it,” Sturges acknowledged from where he leaned against one of the many workbenches the grease monkey mother had left behind on her property. “You’re part of this settlement, too, Melancholy. Weigh in your own ideas.”

“First of all... Let’s start this again, shall we? I feel like we all had a horrible day yesterday.” ‘Choly steadied himself to stand as squarely as possible, to balance with both hands on his cane in front of him. He cleared his throat. “My name is Melancholy, and this is Angel. I’m sure Angel wants to help out at least as much as I do, if not more. I used to be a chemist, and I can still be your chemist, if you need it. I lived at 103 Old North Lane, at that house right down there.” He pointed at it across the way a few houses down. “I... I don’t expect anyone to forgive me for what happened before. But I hope I can at least make it up to you.”

“We spent the morning picking fruit!” Angel set down the bucket they’d taken with them in the middle of the group who’d sat on the driveway. “I’ve washed them in the stream. Everyone’s free to eat their fill.”

“These came from nearby?” Preston inquired from where he stood off to the side. He bent down the pick one up, and hefted it in one hand, impressed, then handed the first fruit to Mama Murphy, who sat in a wooden kitchen chair. “Means the ground’s good enough for farming, if you ask me. Thanks, ah, Melancholy. Angel.”

“Oh my, yes, thank you,” she agreed.

“So the dirt’s viable.” Marcy rolled her eyes, and grabbed a mutfruit and handed it to Jun. Her husband absently picked at it to free the flesh from the dark rind. “We can’t subsist on just a bunch of mutfruit.”

“I like mutfruit all right,” Jun mumbled softly.

“We can grow more than just mutfruit,” Sturges replied, picking up a fruit for himself to peel. “We shouldn’t eat all of them at once, though. If the land here can sustain plants, we can plant a few of these, and grow more. We can sell some of what grows, and trade for other things like corn, or razorgrain.”

“Angel told me it cooked for you all this morning.” ‘Choly smiled again. “I imagine it did so with my food reserves. I’m more than happy to donate all my reserves to the lot of you. Don’t worry about food for me. I have... a dietary issue, I guess. I’ve got something else that I’ve been subsisting on for a while now. It doesn’t cut into any of the food reserves I can provide.”

“It’s not drugged, is it.” Marcy eyed Angel as it enthusiastically demonstrated some of the variety of foodstuffs it had in its storage compartment.

“You’d think so, but it’s not.” ‘Choly couldn’t hide that the remark stung, but he powered through it. “I’m sorry I yelled at the two of you yesterday. Really, I am. It wasn’t right of me. I shouldn’t have behaved that way. Every one of you deserves someplace they can call home, and feel comfortable and safe.”

“We were all having a bad day,” Jun insisted softly, making eye contact. “We didn’t know the house was already taken. It’s okay.”

“We found a house with a double bed,” Marcy added quietly, not making eye contact. Implicitly, she’d intended gratitude, that his insistence that they not settle for the first thing they came across had found them an even better option.

“I’m glad,” the chemist said, grateful they’d not dashed his apology outright.

“Someplace to call home,” Sturges shepherded. “Back on the subject. We’ve been discussing what renovations to focus on first. There are a few mattresses left in the area, and a good number of the houses are still standing, so bedding and shelter aren’t a worry. Establishing sources of food and clean water is, though. Of course, I’ve got all kinds of improvements to this place on my mind, including getting the houses looking more like houses and less like piles of downtown Boston.”

“It’s very good gardening soil. At least, it was.” ‘Choly’s head began to swim for how long he’d already been on his feet, and decided to sit with the others, closer to Preston. “I had a nice, forgiving flowerbed in front of my house. I’m positive we can grow things here.”

“A flowerbed, huh?” Sturges stroked his chin. “I’ve heard how people used to grow things for decoration, not just for food. Once we can get more settled in here, maybe we can start working on little upgrades here and there to go beyond sheer utility. Having something nice to look at doesn’t seem half bad.”

“Oh, it’s wonderfully therapeutic. I'll gladly help you all with whatever you decide to plant in your gardens, but after my walk this morning, I’ve already got plans for mine.”

“It’ll suit you, ‘Choly.” Mama still held the fruit in her lap.

“But I haven’t--”

“No trick of the Sight this time. I could see you in the backyard of the house I picked for myself,” she smiled. “I saw how those flowers perked up your eyes. We all deserve something that makes us get that look in our eyes.”

“I think we should plant the first mutfruit in a central location,” Preston commented, having thought on it as everyone else conversed. “Maybe around the tree growing in the middle of the court. The weeds don’t seem so bad around it, and it seems about the same distance from the houses each of us has picked.”

“Jun, Marcy, I’m gonna let you two sort out that,” Sturges said. “I’m very interested in seeing what kind of rain-catching apparatus I can rig from the steel and aluminum scrap of the collapsed houses. Maybe I’ll even find some pieces that I can just swap out one-for-one with the damaged equivalent in our houses. These things look like they’re all made out of the same assortment of pieces, just in slightly different combinations. Seems like it’d be easy enough first-stage repairs. Maybe I can even find a few doors in tact.”

“You’re just the man to figure out that kind of contraption,” Marcy agreed, helping her husband stand. “Jun, let’s go see what we can do with that median.”

Sturges walked off to the nearest pile of housing rubble, and began to scrutinize its remainder.

“I’m going to go back to keeping watch,” Preston said, returning to making the rounds of the suburb, armed with his laser musket. “Are you going to be all right, Mama Murphy?”

“I’m fine. You go on.” Standing with some difficulty, Mama asked ‘Choly, “Would you escort an old woman back home?”

“Certainly.” He offered his cane, but she waved it off. “Are you sure?”

“Positive. You know, I asked Sturges this morning at breakfast if he could help a girl out and set me up with a chair built just for these bones. He was confident about fixing me up with a wheelchair in particular. A motor powered one. The Commonwealth would be right back to bein’ unable to keep up with me.”

“Angel has doubled as my wheelchair often in the past few months,” ‘Choly commented thoughtfully, very much liking Sturges’s idea. “If I were to hazard a guess, I’d say your Sunday stroll yesterday inspired him.”

“I can give you rides whenever you like, Madam,” Angel offered. “It would be my pleasure.”

“You’re too kind. Both of you.”

‘Choly froze at the street as Angel and Mama made her way up the sidewalk to the front door of the house she’d picked. She realized once she’d passed the threshold of the faded blue house that he no longer followed her, and she turned to look back at him.

“You’re invited inside,” she ushered. “I’d like to talk to you, if that’s all right.”

“Why... why this house,” was all ‘Choly could say.

“It called to me. Angel, why don’t you go help Sturges? The two of us are fine here.”

“Are you sure?” The Handy looked between the two of them.

“It’s fine,” ‘Choly relented, shoulders drooping more than he’d intended. “He needs your help more than either of us does at the moment.”

“I’ll come check on you shortly. And Madam, don’t forget what we talked about this morning!”

“I haven’t forgotten,” she smiled, waving it off as Angel swayed down the street to find the handyman. “Come, ‘Choly. Sit with me.”

The chemist complied, taking to the dark navy canvas couch and sitting his cane across his thighs. Mama sat beside him, set down the fruit on the other side of her, and folded her hands in her lap. He’d never stepped foot inside Jahani’s house, and he didn’t like not knowing whether Jahani would have allowed it, had he been present to object.

“It’s good you stuck around. I’m glad to see you’re still here.”

“I’m glad you’re here, too. I... I wanted to talk to you.” He bit his lip and stared out the front window at the Longs, already hard at work at the circular median. “Forgive me, but do we have to talk... here...?”

“It’s the best place for us to talk, I think.”

“I really hope you’re not saying that, knowing who lived here-- I guess I should just be grateful that you asked me for Jet, and not for--”

“--don’t be like that. Even Psycho has its purpose. You know, I’ve been talking with Angel this morning. It offered me an Addictol. To at least ease the aches from my history with chems. It tried to convince me to swear off chems completely, and it’s mighty persuasive, boy, let me tell you. It cares a lot about humanity. That’s rare in a robot. But... whether I go clean isn’t up to me. If you’ll recall, I made a promise.”

He swallowed, unable to look away from the couple weeding.

“...To me?”

“To a man who’s lost, and had no path before the Sight started him in the right direction. Angel gave me that medicine, and swore up and down to me that it and you and everybody here in Sanctuary here... You all care more about tryin’ to add a few years to my life. But I haven’t taken it yet. I know how desperate you are for answers. I wouldn’t do wrong by you, if you want me to help you one last time.”

“I...” His shoulders locked in rigor, unable to unstick himself to provide the chem she’d requested the day before. “I have the Jet.”

“Ahh, I knew you were one to like a little kick. I know the Jet jitters when I see ‘em. You haven’t got ‘em today, though.”

“I feel like a hypocrite, coming to you like this. I made a promise this morning, myself. Also to Angel. That I’d go as clean as I could for my Mister Handy. That I owed it to take care of myself, for how much it takes care of me. But... as chem-free as I can be... I know from how I am, and who I am as a person, that that can’t ever be one-hundred percent... And...”

“It got you to take the Addictol, too, then. It’s a good robot, Angel is. The Agency did right, naming it that. You’re right. ‘As chem-free as possible’ ain’t always ‘completely.’ The only person that can say what good a chem is, is the person takin’ it. I know it ain’t always purely recreational, either. Sometimes... it’s a matter of life and death.”

“Mama, I...” His voice broke, and he shut his eyes.

“It’s your choice whether you pursue the request. And it’s my choice whether I honor your request. All I want in life is to do my best to make people safe and happy. And this group, it’s been too long since I felt as safe as I do here. I owe you for what you did for us in Concord. I’ll ride the Sight one last time, if you’ll let me. It’s the one real contribution I can make to this group these days.”

“You’re making it very hard for me to request it, by talking to me here. It may not be an intravenous chem, but I’m still... asking you to... take a chem on my behalf...”

“This house has very strong energies. I can tell even without the chems that the man who lived here last was... very troubled...”

“I know, Mama. I’m the reason he was so ill. He was a private. I was his captain.”

“Your conscience is the only thing stronger than what I feel in this house. You blame yourself for what became of that man. Your guilt motivates you more than you realize.”

“I couldn’t live with myself if I let you die, just so I could have direction again for five more minutes.”

“You can’t bring yourself to be the one makin’ the choice that I take the Jet. Is that it? I’ve experienced a lot of restless energy since we arrived in Sanctuary. A lot of information, even without the chems fueling the Sight. But it’s like a pile of photographs. I can tell you what I’ve picked up here, and you can see if you can make sense of it all. If that’s not enough, I’ll know you still need me to take the Jet to piece it all together.”

“What in Sanctuary Hills could possibly tell you what I need to go to Lowell for? Or how to even do that? The vault security incinerated everything I had on me that day, including my dog tags.”

“I touched your mailbox on the way in. Before I knew it was your mailbox. I know you got a summons back to active duty. But you never got there.”

“You... you know about my roommate then. And why I was so distressed in front of the Red Rocket.”

“And I know why your smile’s uneven. But... your issue’s not with what I know. It’s... with what someone else couldn’t have possibly known. Isn’t it?”

‘Choly trembled, eyes again fixated on Jun and Marcy at work outside.

“Please. Please don’t make me ask you for this. Not here.”

“It’s the only place I can make this kind of a connection, and the only way I can give you a connected understanding. Even with this strong a tie to a place, though, I have to warn you. The Sight’s sometimes real foggy. The things I tell you might only make sense once it’s time to make use of what I tell you.”

“Do you believe in free will, Mama Murphy?”

“I believe everybody can decide what actions she takes.”

“Free will, like...” He took off his glasses and screwed up his face in one hand before finally looking Mama’s direction. “How to put it... Is everything predetermined in life? Are my actions and choices my own decision? Are they uniquely meaningful? Or is the inevitability that I act and choose already decided for me before I even get to where I will act... and choose...?”

“You’re afraid that if you start relying on what you’ve learned from the Sight, then you won’t trust any choices you make without it later.” She put a hand on his knee, and looked upon him warmly. “You gotta have better faith in yourself, kid.”

“I... I can’t trust myself with self-agency. I’ve spent so much of my life fulfilling others’ will and desire. The government. Major Ernest Johnston. Gretchen Nordstern. Jacob Hawthorne. I don’t have the practice to know how to act for myself.”

“Melancholy. You know this ‘self-agency’ business better than you think. Look at yourself. You’re you. You’ve always been you. You may have let people tell you what to do, but you’re done letting anybody tell you who to be.” Hunched over toward him, she smiled up at him. “Tell me, kid. Who told you to stay here, and make sure we’d be fine? Who told you to make sure this group has enough food for weeks?”

“...My conscience,” he replied at last, brow knit.

“You did. You have a conscience. That means you’ve got morals. You know what’s right. You know what you should be doin’. We’ll be fine here. And I can guarantee you that you’ll have a place here if you ever decide to come back.”

“...A weak conscience is still a conscience, I suppose.” His features softened in guilt. “You really think I need to go to Lowell?”

“Even if you don’t go now, you’re going to end up there one day.” She dropped the humor a moment. “You owe it to the man who lived here.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Psycho wasn’t the only chem he was forced to take.”

He stared at her in abject disbelief, a ringing developing in both ears.

“He... No.” He shut his eyes and put his glasses back on, shaking the notion from his head. “The Jet is mine, but so’s the Addictol. I want you to have the Addictol. You can’t have the Jet. You’re more valuable than what you can provide any of us. You. You’ve made so many sacrifices in your life, just to protect the people who matter most to you. I can’t ask you to make even one more. The man who lived here, the military called people who endured all he did a veteran. And he came home, decorated. Celebrated for his sacrifices. He came home to his well-earned peace, and didn’t have to make another sacrifice for as long as he lived. He... only lived another ten months, because of the war, but he lived it free. Nate and Nora. The couple I asked about yesterday? They were veterans, too. Celebrated. I imagine you’ve done more in your lifetime than anyone I know.”

Mama Murphy sat back slowly, and nodded solemnly.

“And you were the fourth ‘veteran’ of this place. You should be celebrated, too. If it gives the lot of you peace of mind, for me to retire. I can respect that.”

“I can’t make you use the Addictol any more than I can make you take any chem, but I still want you to have it. I don’t know what chems you’ve used to fuel the Sight, but it will help with everything but a Psycho addiction. You’re worth protecting, Mama Murphy. You’re more than just your Sight. You give everyone something worth protecting.”

‘Choly leaned into a fierce hug, and didn’t let go for the longest, relenting only to push off with his cane to stand.

“Thank you, Mama. Thank you for everything.”

“I told you this was the right place to talk. Now go on, before you make me cry.”

“Do you need anything before I leave?”

“You could ask Angel if it has any more of those wonderful hard candies left.”

“Tochno.” He patted her on the shoulder, and caught himself. “Without question.”

He rounded to her backyard and stood there staring out to where the stream came from the river to the Northeast, to clear his head. After some time, he threw the Jet into the water as hard and far as he could. With a huff, he turned about face, regretting only that the motion of the gesture had popped out his weight-bearing shoulder, and that he couldn’t use his cane for the walk home.

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purkinje-effect · 5 years

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The Anatomy of Melancholy, 28

Table of Contents. Go to previous. Go to next.

A knock at the front door frame roused ‘Choly from where he slept on his couch. He sat up to find Sturges backlit by the moonlight. Rubbing at his eyes with a yawn, he motioned for him to come in.

“You’re the only one of us I don’t think’s eaten yet today. You want a can of pork n’ beans?” Sturges sat in the armchair and offered him a can and a fork. “I’ve got a can opener.”

“Food does not agree with me. Not now, and not for a long time.”

“Sorry to hear that. That’s only one of the things I came over here to talk to you about, at any rate.” Sturges held the can and utensil in his lap. Once ‘Choly put on his glasses, the handyman continued. “Preston says you lived here before. That right?”

“It… it wasn’t just my house. I had a roommate. And of course Angel. I’m so grateful Angel’s still here.”

“I didn’t mean to get you on a sorry topic,” Sturges apologized. “Came by to check on you, and to scout out what kinds of repairs I might be able to offer. I tinker and repair and improve constantly, even in my sleep. Helps me knock out faster, to deconstruct and reconstruct stuff in my head. I’m pretty handy when I put myself to it. And seeing as this was… is… literally your house, I figured you might like to see a few of the walls back up.” He winked at the chemist.

‘Choly did his best to ignore that the Med-X had worn off, and give his attention to his guest. His leg was definitely wrecked from the fighting earlier.

“For how much of an outburst I had over keeping possession of the house, I’m struggling to make peace with actually living here,” he admitted. “Nothing against you, but… everything is so different. Sometimes, things don’t get any better, and that’s okay. It’s not like they can ever go back to the way they used to be.”

“Things can and will get better,” Sturges objected with a stern, pleasant wagging of his finger. “I had my suspicions you were prewar, from how you talk about things, but Preston did everything in his power to skirt that description when he was apologizing about how you got mad at the Longs before. Everything’s gonna even out, once we establish ourselves here. Promise. I’m optimistic about this place. Surely we can do something about all the ghosts and cobwebs for you. Make it someplace the lot of us can call home. Including you.”

As Sturges got lost in thought, ‘Choly couldn’t tell if the warm distant smile fell on his face or just past him. Sturges realized he was staring and stopped.

“It’s certainly better here than Concord,” ‘Choly admitted. “You really want me around after the way I acted earlier? After knowing that I helped those raiders be as formidable as they were?”

“They had you fooled into thinking you were getting something good from the arrangement. None of us wholly faults you. Besides, you helped us get rid of them. And what kind of neighbors would we be, if we didn’t help you get your house back in order at the same time we settle in ourselves?” Sturges leaned in, steadying himself with a hand on his own knee. “Can I ask you a stupid question?”

“I’ve been asking most of the questions today,” ‘Choly allowed, stunned to have verbal confirmation that yet another of the group accepted him in some way. “It’s only fair.”

“Alan… It’s really Elaine, isn’t it? Rather, it used to be.”

The chemist bit his lip and sank back on the couch, stiffening.

“Close enough. I’ve been Alan since I stepped foot on the continent. I’m from Russia. What of it?”

Sturges mirrored him and sat back to defuse the stress a bit.

“Psh, it’s nothing. If you’re Alan, you’re Alan. Really, it’s a lot like how I’m Sturges.”

‘Choly squinted at him, and sat back up slowly.

“I really hadn’t met anybody else like me. Like this. Not in the motherland, not before the war, and certainly not here now. Really?”

“It’s more normal than you were led to think. People… change names in the Commonwealth all the time. And no matter the reason, that’s your business. Am I right?”

“Quite right.” ‘Choly didn’t remember the last time he really genuinely smiled. “To be honest, I don’t even feel like an ‘Alan’ anymore. I’ve been going by ‘Melancholy’ since I really started establishing myself again. I’m starting to think I might have gotten as lucky meeting you all, as you did meeting me.”

“Maybe so. I just wanted to make sure you heard it from my mouth, that we’ve got a gob of respect for ya, and not to sweat the little stuff. Listen, I know you said you weren’t hungry, but I’m gonna leave this in case you get peckish.” The can went to the floor beside the couch. “Keep your strength up. Get some rest. I’ll look the house over better in the daylight tomorrow. And we’ll discuss getting this place in order once everybody’s had a chance to recover from the Museum. Sound good?”

“Sounds amazing. Goodnight, Sturges.”

“Goodnight, ah. Melancholy.”

‘Choly resumed getting comfortable on the couch as Sturges left, only for Angel to come in a few minutes later.

“Ah, Sir. You’re awake! I was just tending to the others so that they might bed down for the night. Do tell me if you need anything of me?”

“I… really should eat something,” he resigned, sitting back up with a pained grunt. “Could I… have a Melancholia, please?”

“Certainly, though mind we’ve only got the six left.” It almost tacked on a since you gave the one to Mister Jared, but it knew better, and simply handed over the cherry-sweet refreshment without another word.

As ‘Choly nursed at the drink, he got focused on his leg, and distant on everything else.

“My chem lab survived mostly in tact, and I’ve got plenty of Melancholy’s salt left over. We’ll talk about replenishing my stock in the morning. Right now, I think I underestimated how badly I was injured earlier. Could I have a Stimpak as well, Angel? To the back of my left leg?”

As it administered the requested medication to the gestured-to body part, Angel halted in awareness.

“The Melancholia contains cyclomorphine, Sir?”

“–Just morphine. I swear it.” ‘Choly took another swig off the meal replacement to hide his sweating. He did his best to keep the leg straight while the Stimpak worked its magic on the torn musculature. “I’ve always meant it when I’ve said it’s the only way I got through Deenwood. Meal substitute… and nepenthe.”

Angel was quiet for some time, wringing its tendril-appendages together.

“I haven’t offered it before now, because I haven’t thought it my place to, but Sir… You do have three ampuoles of Addictol in my stores. I am remiss, to have let your penchants get this far out of hand… Did you really mean it, that it’s the only sustenance your constitution’s allowed since you returned from the vault? Or was that the addiction talking?”

“Your cooking is exceptional,” he replied, falling drowsy already. “It’s no knock against your cuisine. You’re handier than any Handy in the kitchen. I’ve done well to keep any food down, fresh or otherwise. The only thing that hasn’t given me trouble is what I have in my hand right now.”

“I understand. And I can’t persuade you to make future batches of Melancholia without its… key ingredient?”

“For you, I would give it a shot… but I can’t promise I’ll continue leaving it out.” This was too heavy a conversation for him, but he couldn’t very well just tell his closest companion to simply shut up. Not when it was expressing a very real concern for his sustained health. “We can take it one day at a time.”

“…If I help you make more Melancholia, can you promise me that you’ll make it the only chem you touch from now on?”

‘Choly swallowed hard on the last bit of the lead-heavy sweet drink, and barely managed to hand the bottle back to the damaged Handy without dropping it.

“I… I owe you that much, after everything that’s happened. I can agree with you that the constant sampling has had… long term adverse effects.”

“You were struggling, but I did not know the extent. I know now to voice my concerns as I encounter them, and that you respect me enough not to dismiss me. I just… I want nothing more than to see you alive and thriving again, Mister Carey. It gives me meaning to have you back in my life again. And I want you here for as long as time allows it.”

“I wouldn’t have lasted a day out here without you. You’re… my guardian angel.”

He would have sworn he saw a sweet smile cross the Handy’s chrome front as he closed his eyes and laid back on the couch.

“Keeping watch over you as you get your beauty sleep, Sir. Rest well.”

He awoke the next morning to find Angel had set out an inhaler on the arm of the couch beside his glasses. Once he had his eyes on again, he looked it over, though he knew what it was without reading it. The Addictol. He realized that while he slept, Angel had covered him up with a hospital blanket and tucked a pillow under his head, and he smiled to himself. He pocketed the inhaler and folded up the blanket into a tidy pile with the pillow, and turned to find Angel come back into the living room.

“Good morning, Sir! I’ve got a fresh pot of coffee brewed for you, and you’ll find a bottle of your Melancholia at the kitchen table as well.”

“Good morning, Angel.” He smiled tiredly, rubbing at his bed head as he shuffled over to the now-rickety aluminum chair. He sat at the peeling linoleum table, and Angel rushed over to open the bottle for him. “Thank you.”

The Handy poured him a cup of coffee and brought it also.

“Do tell me you slept well.”

“Besides the nightmares, I can’t complain.” He alternated between caffeine and morphine, somehow comfortable despite it all. Jokingly, he looked to his Pip-Boy. “Did the Sunday paper come yet?”

“Late as always, Sir.”

“Two hundred years late,” he laughed, nearly crying out of nowhere.

“Oh, dear. Sprung a leak, and I’ve only got a… shop rag to offer you?” It handed him the wadded-up, rust-colored, low thread count square of cloth apologetically. “Was it something I said?”

“No, no.” He sniffed. “I thought I could make light of my situation, but it’s still too soon.”

“If it makes you feel any better, I’ve spent the morning cooking breakfast for the others. Even in the short time we’ve known this group, I’ve grown quite attached. They’ll make fine neighbors, if I do say so.”

“Take care of them all you like. They deserve a little of your brand of affection, after all they’ve been through. And I know it’s a comfort for you to look after them as well. It’s always been your nature.” All the while, ‘Choly ignored that he clutched the Addictol in his pocket. He knew it was an elephant in the room, and he cleared his throat and took another sip of coffee. “No, I haven’t taken it yet. I’m… not ready yet.”

“Not ready?” Angel looked on in confusion. “Addictol isn’t painful, Mister Carey.”

“Not ready… to be addiction-free,” he sighed, setting down both the beverages and the inhaler on the table. “I’m sure you haven’t been able to process why I haven’t taken Addictol before now. I can’t handle just being me again. The withdrawals have been a part of how I see myself for so long, that I don’t know if I’m going to like what I see. It’s been long enough that I’ve forgotten how much of my condition is the withdrawals, and how much of it’s whatever happened to me from the cryogenics. I deserve to be as sick as possible, don’t I? There has to be a cost to me functioning normally. I can’t blame it on the chems, after I take the Addictol. I can’t blame it on something fixable, if I’m still sick. But… I’m done being scared of myself. Of how bad off I am.” He picked up the inhaler again and stared at it in his hands.

“You know I’m still here with you, every step. Even if dispatching your addictions doesn’t solve every health issue that ails you, I promise you that we will find something that will help you. We might even find something that cures you. There has to be something out there that can make it better, easier, for you, Sir. There must be.”

“Just having you here with me is a start,” he smiled. “The fact that despite everything I’ve done, you continue to have confidence that I can do better… You’ve been my everything, Angel. I mean that.”

“You can do it. I know you can.”

‘Choly exhaled his full breath, and, pinching his nose shut with one hand, he held the inhaler to his lips with the other. Depressing the ampuole into the actuator, he took its entire contents in one breath, and he set down the inhaler so he could clamp that hand over his mouth, to hold the aerosol medication in his lungs. He counted to ten, then another five for good measure, since it had so much damage to undo at once. When he finally exhaled, his head swam, and the humidity of the salty substance fogged up his glasses. After a minute, he looked at his hands, and then burst into laughter.

“Just what I was afraid of. I’m still me. Damn it!”

Angel unfroze once it realized he was kidding.

“–Oh, Sir. Thank you. This is the first step on you truly taking care of yourself. I’m so glad you have your humor about you. It’s a sign of good things. I could cry of happiness right now, had I the hardware for it.”

“Once I’ve finished my breakfast, and gotten myself presentable for the day, we should scout the immediate area for hubflower, now that I know what use it is. I’m certain with how many grew in the outskirts of Lexington, that there’s surely some around here. I’ll make a batch of fresh Melancholia this afternoon. I told you I’d make the first batch without it, and I will. But the flowers are just so beautiful. It wasn’t the chems talking, what made me gravitate toward them and start growing them. ”

“Just imagine. I know how you loved your gardening before the war, and I know how absolutely enthralled you were with the hubflowers. They are quite fetching a perennial, I must say. Imagine that we could get the garden thriving here again. Your flowerbeds! You could hedge the yard in hubflower, if you so desired it! And if you do see fit to continue including it in the ingredients of your meal replacement, you wouldn’t have to stray at all to collect it! And… you’d be surrounded by something you consider beautiful.”

“I gardened at the pharmacy because of how badly I missed it here,” ‘Choly admitted, starry-eyed. “Bozhemoy, Angel– I could have that here. We could. I know you loved the garden as much as I did. Between you and Sturges and the others, we just might have a real shot at making Sanctuary habitable again.”

“Most importantly, you haven’t mentioned yet.” It hovered nearer, its ocular lenses clustering near his face. “How are you feeling? Now that you’ve taken your medicine?”

He grinned, heavy-lidded, and caressed two of its three lenses as though to cradle its face in his hands.

“Like the lot of us can achieve just about anything.”

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#fallout 4 fanfic #fallout 4 #fo4 #sturges #sole survivor #the anatomy of melancholy #automatron mister handy #melancholy

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purkinje-effect · 5 years

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The Anatomy of Melancholy, 27

Table of Contents. Go to previous. Go to next.

‘Choly lagged behind the rest of the group on their walk to Sanctuary. As they passed what remained of the Walden Drugs, he sighed, half-inclined to stay behind where he belonged. But he shoved down that flagellation and instead focused on how the bombs had blown out the Fallon’s Department Store at the Northwest of town, and weather had done the rest. There couldn’t be anything left of value in there, beyond a few articles of gold and silver--and even that speculation was suspect, considering how thoroughly looted Concord was. After what had transpired with Jared’s outfit, he didn’t trust anything to have the same kind of value it once possessed. He hated having to continue wearing his service uniform as daily attire, but he had no other choice until he located something more dressed down. He loosened his necktie and unbuttoned the first button of his dress shirt, and sighed.

The chemist got lost in thought on his way out of town, a path he had once walked no fewer than twice a day, six days a week, for nearly a year. He was so glad the work day was finally over. This shift had taken so much out of him. He couldn’t wait to slip into the bathroom ahead of Hawthorne and take a long, hot shower, then unwind with bourbon and whatever sci-fi movie his favorite channel was broadcasting for the evening. He nearly asked Angel aloud what it had planned for dinner tonight, but he caught himself short of stuttering on the first part, only to cover up the rest with a sputtering cough. He kicked at a small hunk of rubbled concrete with a sneer.

Hawthorne wouldn’t be there when ‘Choly got home. He wouldn’t be there later, either, he imagined. ‘Choly tangled up inside himself with grief. Of all the people he’d failed since emerging from the vault, he’d failed Jacob Hawthorne. Immediately. He could have told him the insects had been dealt with. Could have told him it was safe to go home now... But he left Jacob at the Red Rocket with that furiously territorial dog... Was there enough for him and the dog both to eat? What had the ghoul even been eating all this time? There couldn’t reasonably have been much food left in Sanctuary or the recoolant station...

“Would you look at that,” Sturges awed. “I think I just found my new vacation home.”

The recoolant station. Still phased a bubble off reality, ‘Choly’s attention fell upon the building as they passed it. His chest tightened.

“Your idea of heaven, eh, Sturges?” Preston Garvey turned his head to grin at him, but continued moving. “Looks like there could be lots of salvage. Let’s get to Sanctuary first, though.”

The ghouls’ bodies. The ghouls’ bodies were gone. They’d either been moved, or had gotten up on their own. Surely the dog hadn’t--

“Y-- there’s already somebody living there,” the chemist blurted out. His poker face failed, between his withdrawals and episode fumes. “He’s got a dog that. Despises visitors. We should steer clear of him. Give him and his dog some space.”

“Ah yes. A German shepherd, as I recall,” Angel quipped absently, still carrying Mama Murphy. “Angry thing.”

“A reclusive neighbor.” Sturges paused thoughtfully a spell, to wipe his brow. “Suppose I’d pick the recoolant station, too, if I could live in any building in this blasted corner of the Commonwealth. No offense, Carey, if you’re from around here.”

“None taken. It is pretty ruined out here, isn’t it?” He let out a self-conscious chuckle. “Not much salvage anywhere. I’ve already been through most of Concord a few months ago...”

“We’ll just have our work cut out for us, fixing up Sanctuary,” Preston encouraged. “Making it our little slice of paradise.”

“Oh! to see it restored to its former glory!” Angel had to bestill its body language or risk tipping Mama off balance atop him. “My servos swell at the thought of it, Mister Garvey!”

With the verdigris-bronze statue in the near distance, Preston let out a low whistle.

“Well I’ll be damned. It’s the monument to the original Minutemen. I knew that was somewhere around Concord. That means... this right here... must be the Old North Bridge.” He pointed to the half-collapsed wooden bridge across the water which isolated the suburb of Sanctuary Hills from the surrounding area. “Where the first shots of the American Revolution were fired. I’d call that the best omen I’ve seen since we left Quincy.”

“I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about, Preston, but I’m glad you’re happy about it,” Sturges said.

“Never would have imagined I’d end up back here.” The words were out of ‘Choly’s mouth before he could even register he’d said them.

“Your energy’s tied to this place, isn’t it, Carey?” Mama Murphy inquired softly.

At Mama’s nudging, Angel had fallen back to where ‘Choly had loitered even further behind the rest of them. She wanted to talk. He didn’t.

“I used to live here... a long time ago.” ‘Choly felt like he could be vague with her, but that she could see through an outright lie.

“The distant past ain’t so distant for you. When we first met, I saw you leave that ice box. This whole world is like some bad dream you can’t wake up from, isn’t it?”

‘Choly flinched and squirmed, hating that here on this turn of the road of all places, was where she wanted to have this conversation.

“...Stop. Please, just stop. I don’t know how it is you do what you do, but I can’t handle reliving this. Not again. It’s bad enough to be coming home.”

“I’m... sorry.” Her brow raised as her eyes fell distant, and the rest of her face slacked into a vague frown. “The Sight doesn’t tell me what’s private and what’s not. I see it plain as day. You, waking up in a world that isn’t yours. Finding what’s become of everything, of... everyone. I... can feel the hurt and confusion you felt right here. On this street. You’ve been through so much, Carey. Angel, are you sure you don’t want to take him the rest of the way, dear?”

“--No, Angel. Don’t worry. We’re almost there.” The chemist gave Mama a thousand-yard stare, distraught with how horrific it must be to have whatever the Sight was. He struggled all the while to shove down any recollection what happened the week he emerged from Vault 111. “You can’t direct what kind of information the Sight gives you? You can’t... turn it off, either, can you?”

She shook her head.

“I get... flashes all the time. The energies imprinted in things and places and people. I’m lucky when it makes sense immediately. The chems, though.” She smiled a little, her gaze still miles away. “The chems piece together the flashes into a... motion picture? Isn’t that what they were called? You used to see them all the time.”

“Is-- there a chance that I have the Sight, too?” He bordered on tears. “Because of the Jet, I saw what was going to happen to Jared, and I made it happen. For months before that, Jared thought I might have it, except backwards. Ever since I stepped out of the vault, I... I keep reliving things. Vividly. Lucidly. I thought it might be daydreams, but it’s too traumatic, too automatic, and too throttling. I come out of the episode, and I can’t remember what I was doing. I keep remembering exiting the vault. Things from my military work. Things that transpired between me and my roommate. The day the bombs fell, Missus Murphy. Surely, if anyone could understand what I’m going through, it would be you, with your Sight.” He nearly reached out for her in his desperation for her to understand what he was describing. His face slacked in recognition. “--Murphy. You couldn’t be related to a... Nate or Nora, could you?”

“I can’t trace my lineage back to before the war, kiddo. I don’t think anyone in my family’s from around here, though. Grew up in Quincy. It’s all I know. Didn’t gain the Sight, either. Was born with it.” Her face furrowed with warm concern for him, coming back to present day finally. “Surviving extreme pain can rewire the brain where it does really horrible things to us. It’s an organ, too, just as much as any part of us, and it can get ill all the same. The Sight sees forward, Carey. You’re describing a quintessential survivorship. You and Jun Long have a lot in common in that regard. He lost his son. Recently, to the ghouls in Lexington. Neither of you’s handling it so great, but it’s to be expected. The losses you’ve both experienced in such a short time, it’s bad enough to walk through it through the eyes of the Sight. I can’t even imagine what it must do to the two of you, to go through it firsthand.”

“It’s unimaginable, to know that you’re subjected to all this through your Sight. I hate to be callous, between your description and mine...” He swallowed, forming the words. “Are you absolutely certain that you don’t simply always have the Sight, and that you use the chems to dull the agony of seeing what you see?”

“Oh, kid. Kid. No.” She frowned, heartache evident on her face. “The chems only make it worse. More real. Clearer. If you think the chems make it easier for you to cope, what you’re experiencin’ is not in any way the Sight. I don’t know what to tell you about you knowin’ he’d be a monster, other than it inspired ya to do somethin’ horrible with a good outcome. The chems are a tool, and nothin’ more. There ain’t nothin’ in this world makes it easier to handle what I see an’ what I know, besides learnin’ that it made a difference to somebody.”

“You... you really think that the Sight can help me? You said something about having unfinished business. You can’t tell me anything about what you saw, can you? Did you see Lowell? Did you see the military base?”

“If I use chems to intensify the Sight, anything I see during it is that much hazier when it wears off. If you’ve got Jet, it’s the easiest on my system, but I suppose I can work with just about anything. I can sort it all out for you. Once we’ve gotten to Sanctuary. Once we’ve gotten a chance to rest. We all deserve some rest, Carey. Even you. Come on. The rest of the group’s already way ahead of us.”

“You’re right,” he relented.

So the chemist, his Mister Handy, and the seer pressed onward across the bridge.

Nothing makes it easier, besides learning that it made a difference to somebody... Making a difference to somebody. 'Choly marinated on what Mama’d had to say. He had to find some kind of value in these visions. Positive value. He’d convinced Jared of their value, and all it had done was hurt people, kill. Every action he’d taken since his reawakening was self-serving and an unbridled, capitalism-fueled survival instinct. Surely, through the episodes he could also heal, and heal others. And one person in particular was owed the distinction of his first extension of an attempt at bringing healing to the blighted suburb of Sanctuary Hills.

But Mama was right. He needed to rest, to collect his faculties, before he could even try. He’d start trying to do better tomorrow.

Not even paying attention to where Angel and Mama went off to, as he crossed the bridge into Sanctuary, 'Choly’s eyes followed his cautious, hobbling feet so the tip of his cane didn’t get stuck in the planks, and remained on the ground once back on the concrete. Second house on the left. He caught himself staring at the Chryslus coupe on its side. Though rust had eaten away the paint job, he knew that it had once been sky blue.

Jacob loved that car, he lamented to himself with a sardonic smile. It would kill him to see it like this. Maybe I could ask Preston to at least tip it back on its belly, with the strength of the power armor. He barely kept himself from thinking about how Jacob had thrown him into the car that day, and sped the two of them home so ‘Choly could run to the vault. I promised him they’d let him in. The military made me a liar...

“I wonder what else the military made me,” he mouthed in a haunted delirium, stepping through the blasted threshold of the house they once shared.

“Hey, we were here first,” Marcy snipped with her feet tucked up in the seat of the armchair with her. “There’s no beds in here, either. Jun and I are sharing the couch for right now.”

He glared at the married couple and came unhinged.

“--OUT!” ‘Choly bellowed. He pointed his cane at the doorless door. “OUT!! There’s no beds here! There’s beds in several of the other houses! If you have to have a bed! Take your pick!”

“Didn’t you hear me?”

“OUT!”

‘Choly threw down the coat rack and started throwing all the flush-mount shelves into the floor. Anything he could grab, he toppled, until they left in a panic.

He stood there heaving in the middle of the mess he’d made. The sound of heavy pneumatic steps of power armor approached, and he looked up to find Preston standing on his front step with a confused scowl.

“Woah. Woah woah woah. On what planet was that okay?” he started, flourishing his body language with his laser musket. “There’s a dozen houses here.”

“And this one’s mine.” When Preston didn’t understand, the chemist pointed at the mailbox label. The Minuteman humored him and glanced at it.

“But it says Hawthorne,” Preston started, befuddled as ever. “You said your name’s Carey--”

“Roommates,” he heaved. The loathing exhaustion of everything that day was finally crashing down on him, only compounded by the stress of being stared down by someone in power armor.

“What are you trying to say?” He squinted difficultly at ‘Choly.

“What do you think I’m trying to say?” Words failed ‘Choly.

“That you... lived here. Before the war.” Preston’s eyes widened, and he adjusted the brim of his hat as he thought on his wording. “Like one of those prewar ghouls... Certainly look a lot more together than any I’ve ever seen, but you’re nothing but surprises.”

“You... you think I’m a ghoul?” ‘Choly couldn’t tell if Preston was being serious, or mocking him, and it burned to be compared to something as beautiful as what his roommate had become. “I still don’t think I understand what a ghoul is.”

“Not exactly, no. They get all gnarly, from the radiation. Lose body parts and some flesh usually. Their voice gets all hoarse and raspy. I mean it when I said they’re people just like you and me. The normal ones, they’re good people. It’s the ones that got too much radiation that get violent and dangerous.”

“They really are just like other humans, right?” ‘Choly didn’t like asking it, but had to, after what he’d seen on the return trip in front of the recoolant station. “If they die, they can’t just... get up and walk away?”

Preston glared at him in fear.

“I don’t know what kind of stories you’ve been hearing, but I hope that never happens in my life.”

“There were things in fiction, before the war, that were dead things. But they weren’t really dead. People called them ‘zombies.’ I’d say life imitated art, but you just told me that ghouls stay dead.” Then, to comfort the horrified man, he lied, “I’m grateful that much is true. Of all the ways to violate nature, defying death is among the most upsetting to imagine.”

“Fiction needs to stay fiction.” Preston shook the thought from his mind, only to have a gap in ‘Choly’s logic sink in. “Wait. You mean to tell me you’ve been alive over two hundred years, but you still don’t know what a ghoul is?”

“I... only just woke up a few months ago.” The chemist gave him a self-conscious smile before breaking eye contact. He had to sit down, and rested against the back of the couch. “I was... frozen. In a vault. It’s what damaged my body. Either they didn’t do it right, or something malfunctioned. I made it out, but...”

“It’s all right.” Preston held up a hand, not wanting ‘Choly to continue. “You don’t have to relive that stuff if you don’t want. It’s not my business, unless you want it to be. This whole group has some painful baggage we’re hauling around with us, myself included. For what it’s worth, I’m glad you made it out alive, and I’m glad you came to help us in the museum. It was some good fate.”

“--Don’t go in the vault,” ‘Choly managed to say. “It’s up on the hill to the Northwest of the suburb. It might seem like it’s safe, but it’s been filling up with asphyxiating gases from the cryogenics pods for months now. You’ll suffocate without proper respiratory gear.”

“Looking out for us, in advance. I’ll get word around that it’s not safe yet.”

“Can I ask you one more thing before I ask you to let me get some sleep?” He half-joked, “All I want to do right now is sleep another two hundred years.”

“Shoot.”

“Why... do you believe that what Mama Murphy sees is always true, or going to be true? Isn’t it just chem fumes?”

“Well, it’s gotten us this far, hasn’t it?” Preston grinned at him. “I’ve gotta have faith in something. I’ll talk to the others and do my best to explain how this is your place, and to give you some space. We all deserve some boundaries.”

The Minuteman tipped his hat brim to leave and went to go check on the Longs.

Once he was alone, out of habit ‘Choly went to his room to remove his orthotics and take down his hair, leaving the braces and bobby pins in the chest of drawers. He returned to the couch, and collapsed in his untucked shirt and slacks, using his muddy pharm corps coat for a blanket. His glasses went on the armrest, and the instant his eyes shut, he was out cold.

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#fallout 4 fanfic #mama murphy #preston garvey #fallout 4 #fo4 fanfic #sole survivor #automatron mister handy #the anatomy of melancholy #sanctuary hills #red rocket truck stop #melancholy

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purkinje-effect · 7 years

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The Anatomy of Melancholy: Masterpost

You have been warned: This work in its entirety comes with an EXPLICIT label. Expect the exploration of incredibly heavy themes, including but not limited to acclimating to the onset of disability, grappling with identity and self-agency, sexually and violently graphic experiences, and extensive drug use. This is a horror fic with significant body horror. Each chapter is prefaced with a set of warning labels that for the most part ought to forewarn any difficult topics. (You’re free to suggest any TW’s I may have missed along the way.)

Alternately, Anatomy can be located on AO3 here.

First Instar: Lexington Concordance

Before the war, the army extended a military contract to the chemist Alan Carey which afforded him a place in Sanctuary Hills’s Vault 111. When he awakens from cryogenic stasis he hadn’t agreed to, he finds it’s been over two hundred years, and that he’s the only one who survived the freeze–if he can even call it surviving. With the end of the world already so far behind in civilization’s past, he struggles to find his place again. (Complete as of '19.05.11. Updated cover art '22.06.18.)

Second Instar: By the Waters of the Merrimack

Following the vague dread of one of Mama Murphy’s visions, Melancholy makes a trip to Lowell to investigate the fate of the Deenwood Compound: the military base where General Constantine Chase contracted the development and manufacture of Psycho, the potent narcotic which tipped the scales of the Battle of Anchorage so the States could finally drive the Chinese out of Alaska. But upon arriving, every calculation falls together… and apart. (Complete as of '21.05.19.)

Third Instar: Manchester Impasse

In pursuit of medical provisions, Melancholy pushes North into the Hinter, to Nashua, NH. Conditions sweep into a perfect storm of psychosis and local tensions, and only his chem-sutured partnership with Sticks can push either of them through the worst cabin fever of their lives. (Updated '24.02.06.)

One-shots:

Asking for Trouble: Cait gets a terrible first impression of Melancholy. (Added ‘21.06.30) *Potentially divergent from fic continuity.

Other fics in this continuity: The Purkinje Effect & Ours Is the Kingdom

#fallout 4 #fallout 4 fanfic #fo4 fanfic #sole survivor #mama murphy #trans sole survivor #disabled sole survivor #automatron mister handy #mister handy #melancholy #table of contents #questionable chemist #the anatomy of melancholy #pharmaceutical adventures #anatomy masterpost #ghoul oc #assaultron oc #mutant oc

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veshialles · 2 years

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The Rust Devils attack Sunshine Tidings Co-Op and promptly get their asses handed to them

#they're such a ridiculous faction but i love them #i like whatever that mister handy has going on. all buzzsaws and spikes. pierced eyebrows. very punk #fallout 4 #my screenshots #automatron #automatron dlc #rust devils #rust devil #assaultron #mister handy #mr handy #fo4edit #dailygaming #valerie chisholm #ruby's ocs

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purkinje-effect · 5 years

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The Anatomy of Melancholy, 35

Table of Contents. Second Instar, Chapter 2. Go to previous. Go to next. Do you believe in heaven above? *is shot*

So the chemist and his Mister Handy surveyed the junkyard for viable robotics specimens. Angel separated at times from its owner, to return and report back its findings, while ‘Choly annotated everything useful they located. Seven Mister Gutsies, five Mister Handies, and one Miss Nanny had been left here lacking well over half their parts. Dozens of heavily damaged Eyebots and Protectrons joined the General Atomics robotics scrap among the landscape of car shells which had hidden the true nature of the junkyard from street view. Though not G.A. in origin either, ‘Choly found an Assaultron head and flinched away from the skull-like cyclopean structure, only to stumble and nearly drop his coffee cup. Upon righting himself with his cane and catching his breath, he took a sip of his coffee, and his gaze absently drifted up to the wall of automotive carcasses. He’d located the prototype Sentry Bot, wedged among the rusted sheet steel stacked high to either side of it as though a child playing hide and seek in a stack of firewood.

He sputtered, choking on his drink. It had been two hundred years since he’d last seen one. Despite the base’s heavily classified security status, the Deenwood Compound relied heavily upon Mister Handy and Mister Gutsy accommodations, and only had three Sentries at their employ. True to his memory, the thing before him was, in essence, a sentient tank. A heavy tripod of mecanum limbs supported its hulking dark green body, its ocular sensor matrix was encased in a helmet-like dome recessed for the most part into its chest component, and its thick, broad arms terminated in a pair of miniguns. A mixture of relief and disappointment came when he recognized that it did not have mortar launchers in its shoulder components like those they had on base, and he found himself wondering which was the more advanced model. From the sound of the documentation on the terminal in the junkyard’s office, it had only been dumped here mere years before the nuclear exchange took place, so Deenwood’s Sentries in theory predated this one.

“Mister Carey, I believe we’ve identified the majority of resources on site, if you’d like to get started.” Angel paused beside its owner and looked where ‘Choly did. “I see!”

“From what I can tell, it’s a complete robot,” ‘Choly told it, vaguely nagged by his compulsions. “If it’s still got its Fusion Cores, it could be powered up...”

“Oh, but we shan’t be doing that. It’s forbidden by military protocols, and it’s RobCo tech besides.”

“...You’re right.” ‘Choly stared at his dress shoes a moment before looking to his Handy in earnest. “I know that I’ve made a promise to you, and that’s why I’m asking and not... pretty literally... going behind your back. Can I have one Berry Mentat for this task? I understand the way that Gutsy and Nanny parts can interface with those of a Handy, but I want to make this more than just a parts swap-out. I want to optimize what each component can provide you.”

“I imagined that your sobriety wouldn’t last long,” it resigned, to which its owner winced sheepishly. “Can we at least come to an arrangement, then, Sir? I shall dispense as requested, but you must keep your entire chem stock in my storage. If it’s too much to ask, for you to put me in charge of monitoring your chem usage, then I’m afraid I’ll have to decline the request.”

‘Choly smiled and put a hand to Angel’s pale blue spherical body.

“You drive a very hard, but very far, bargain. Let’s go inside, so I can sit while I strategize how to approach the upgrade.”

“Thank you for being reasonable.”

Once inside, Angel dispensed a single lozenge to its owner. Popping it under his tongue, he got to work scrawling schematics concepts on the back and front of a manila folder, and adding all kinds of notes wherever they would fit. This included a mix of G.A.-exclusive combinations and combinations with RobCo inclusions, though he had every intention to respect Angel’s boundaries--even if the warranty no longer mattered for all manner of reasons, it provided a very black-and-white understanding of what Angel was comfortable with ‘Choly doing to its body and programming. He finished off the coffee from the day before while he worked. They agreed that one of each tendril would be the ideal: a standard Handy limb, outfitted with an interchangeable laser, a saw, and a pincer; a standard Nanny limb, with an interchangeable pincer, a saw, and an injection tool; and a standard Gutsy limb, with an interchangeable saw, a laser, and a minigun. Barring locating sufficient 5.56mm and MF cell ammunition to keep the Gutsy arm equipped, the real task was optimizing the motherboard’s ability to wield any combination of these three at a moment’s notice, without overloading the processing speed. A standard issue Handy, Gutsy, or Nanny came optimized with programming to handle three of any one of the limb sets, not one of each. But, as he skimmed the programming with his Pip-Boy key-prong plugged into Angel, the Berries found a solution to the limbs’ shared compatibility which also facilitated the other element of the upgrades--its hydraulics capacity via its thruster calibration.

‘Choly requested Angel retrieve the required parts from the junkyard, and once they were amassed inside, he had the Handy mount the curved forks of the robotics workbench and switch off its pilot light. Then, he got to work, motivated by the creative impulses of the Berry Mentats.

“I’m sorry that we didn’t find any paint,” he started, while he finished tightening the bolts underneath Angel on its thruster core comprised of pieces from each model of robot, onto which he would re-mount the new set of tendrils. “You’ll have mismatched shell colors for a while. But, for what it’s worth, white, sky blue, and army green isn’t an unattractive combination.”

“I’m simply grateful that you’re taking all this time and effort on my behalf, Sir. I’ll never get used to the sensation of being physically incapable of movement. I know it will only last a few more hours at most, but I worry my speech module is compensating for my inability to move anything else.”

“We’ve already refilled your fuel tank. And done all the cutting and welding, like armoring the top curve of the tendrils with pieces of van wheel well arches. Protecting the joints will help deter them from getting severed again. --But with the modified core, attaching and calibrating the tendrils will go very quickly. What I’m most grateful for, though, is that I could welt those car door handles and a pair of motorcycle foot pegs onto you, so I can stop worrying that the fabric harness is going to rip off through wear.”

“I quite like the choice of Chryslus Coupe handles. They’re sleek and angular, in contrast to the smooth curves of my design.”

“I figured you’d notice the model I picked them from,” he grinned, getting started loading the tendrils one at a time onto their cylindrical chassis. “They’re not the ones from his Coupe, but I feel like his ghost would come to haunt me if I so much as considered touching his car.”

“He really is gone... isn’t he?” Even Angel’s voice grew distant.

“He was gone two hundred years ago,” ‘Choly replied without missing a beat, too detached from emotions by the effects of the potent nootropics to get distracted from his task. “The moment your biometric scanners could no longer recognize him, he was gone. You put what was left of him to rest, in the Red Rocket this week.”

“Forgive my sentimentality. I don’t intend to upset you, Mister Carey. I just... I know I’m merely an artificial intelligence, but I really do miss Mister Hawthorne.”

The chemist plugged in his Pip-Boy key-prong and got to working on calibration and maintenance scans.

“That makes two of us.” After a pause, he added, “It’s better, this way.”

“Agreed.”

“I’m glad we still have each other, Angel.”

“And I you. I hope it stays that way for some time. Not having either of you... I nearly fell apart before you resurfaced from the vault.”

“I’m glad I can still be here for you.” He smiled up at its ocular lenses. “I’ve optimized the programming for your new ocular lens armatures and sensors, as well as for your new thruster hydraulics and new tendrils. You’ll still have your Handy software, but it’s largely running with Gutsy and Nanny hardware. I have to power you down in order to initiate the maintenance scans, and then reboot you so that the system will pick up the new hardware. Are you ready?”

“I cannot wait to reawaken and understand for myself what humans mean when they see everything with new eyes.”

While Angel powered down, and the Pip-Boy ran its diagnostics with the robot turned off, ‘Choly couldn’t move from his place in the office chair beside the workbench, and, for lack of anything better to do tethered in place, he fished his flip lighter and a half-pack of menthols from his coat pockets. He didn’t smoke much, less than a pack a month, but sometimes his restlessness got the best of him. It was more about the ritual and paraphernalia than it was about the nicotine, and he readily admitted this. The irony glossed over him, that the Handy would have considered it a contraband chem in his possession, had it been alert to the behavior. The cigarette was out before Angel’s boot sequence initiated. He retracted the key-prong and watched. Angel’s tendrils seemed to stretch, and its three eye-stalks emerged from their concealed cutout plates to either side and front of its body.

“General Atomics International Mister Handy, 2066 model, nickname ‘Angel.’ Custom order serialization 33313222123123.” Angel registered its company, relit its pilot light, and dismounted from the workbench forks. “Good evening, Mister Carey!”

“How do you feel?”

“Like a new robot.” It sped forward, then side to side, and it inspected its tendrils with a seeming thoughtfulness. “It’s peculiar. The programming for Mister Gutsy and Miss Nanny parts has always existed to some capacity within my own programming from the beginning, but to feel more of it being executed. Would it be strange of me to speculate that it... it feels right?”

“You’re allowed to feel things,” ‘Choly grinned, proud of his work. “Let’s go out into the yard and see if there’s any more fine tuning we need to do with your new parts. You’ve got enough ammunition to do a little target practice, and I want to test out the soundness of the harness mounts. ...I know my opinion matters far less than your own, but I think your new look is pretty fetching.”

“I quite agree! These new ocular lenses have heightened sensory arrays in them, so I can see and perceive even behind me. I’m fascinated with all the details filling into my readings. Including a heightened understanding of what I look like. Dare I say, you’ve made me quite a bit more self-aware, Sir.”

“As long as you’re aware of how wonderful you are, I think we’re working in the right direction.”

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