Fallout 4: AR

81. Coffee Talk

The next morning I woke with a gasp, the torn fragments of a nightmare fading away before I could remember them. All that was left was an impression of terrible loss and dread, and the vision of Scribe Haylen's deceased body. Next to me, MacCready lay deep in sleep, his arms cradling me. His only reaction to my sudden gasp was a deep sigh and the tightening of his embrace as he cuddled closer. He must've been hurting more than he let on, or he would have woken up. He's usually a light sleeper. It was a rare morning when I roused before he did, nightmare notwithstanding.

Letting my love sleep and heal, I extricated myself from the bed and slipped into the bathroom. After a hot shower, I dressed and padded quietly into the kitchen area to make a cup of coffee and think. Coffee was one of the few things from my former life that existed in this world, and I hoarded every half-used tin of the stuff I could find once we settled in Goodneighbor, to MacCready's grumbling befuddlement. My movements were automatic: filling the antique beat-up percolator, measuring out just enough of the precious grounds to make a single cup, stoking the wood stove. The kitchen area soon smelled homey and welcoming with the scent of brewing coffee and wood smoke. I doled out a tiny spoon of pre-war sugar and a splash of brahmin milk in my mug, stirring absently as I sat at the table.

The familiar dance of morning brew lulled my body even as my mind spun in anxious circles. My sense of dread increased as random thoughts swirled around my head like the coffee in my mug. Every battle, every fight I had been in flitted across my mind's eye in scattered fragments. I remembered the blood, the pain, the screaming fear of death that I held back sometimes only with sheer force of will and a faint, but deep determination to stay alive. A wave of grief as the memory of Haylen's kindness and welcoming smile brought tears to my eyes and I struggled to keep quiet. You know, the tiny ruthlessly honest corner of my mind whispered, if you go through with this plan to attack the Institute, more people, people you know, will die.

And this time, it will be your fault.

The coffee burned my tongue as I gulped down a mouthful to stop the hated voice from continuing. I fought back tears, grabbing a napkin to dry my eyes and muffle my sobs as I fought to control my emotions. Without even realizing it, I suddenly found myself crying into MacCready's bathrobe-clad shoulder.

"I'm here, angel. I've got you."

"RJ! I'm so sorry, love, I didn't mean to wake you." When I would have pulled away, he simply hooked a second chair with his foot and sat down, still holding me close.

"You didn't wake me, the smell of that dang coffee did." He wrinkled his nose at my mug. "I still don't understand how something that smells so good can taste so bad." He was trying to distract me, and I grasped at the emotional lifeline, dabbing at my eyes.

"Acquired taste, my dear. I'm going to hazard a guess that your children's settlement didn't exactly have a barista."

He chuckled at my riposte and placed a kiss on my forehead, standing up to grab a Nuka-cola from the fridge for his own wake-up beverage. "That's my girl. And no, we didn't. I don't even know what a 'barista' is."

I lifted my mug and took a careful sip. "Think of a bartender, but for coffee. There are almost as many varieties of coffee drinks as there are alcoholic ones."

MacCready snorted and gave me a long look. "I highly doubt that, angel."

"Okay, okay. I may have exaggerated a bit," I said with a wry smile. Suddenly, a wave of dread caught me unawares and I sobered quickly, staring down at my coffee. MacCready caught the shift in my mood instantly and sat down opposite me at the table, catching my eyes.

"If something's on your mind, I'd love to hear about it."

"I..." I faltered. "I'm scared, RJ." At his encouraging nod, I stumbled through my scattered thoughts. "This is it, isn't it? I'm going to bring everyone together, and we're going to try and take down the Institute." My hands clenched the warm mug. "How did we come to this? I don't know if I can do this... leading thing! I'm going to get people killed." A rush of fear clenched my guts and I practically wailed, "And it's all going to be my fault!"