One of Nick’s least favorite things in the world was getting his hair messed up. He was born ( cursed ) with a full head of curly hair that seemed to poof up no matter what he did. It followed him until he discovered the usefulness of all that grease his father had. At age five, he didn’t have that luxury. He shoved the front door open and managed to kick off one show before getting distracted and running into the kitchen to see his mother pouring coffee. With frantic, excited eyes, he found just the man he was looking for. “Uncle Donny!” A high pitched bout of joy struck his voice and he nearly jumped into his lap before he was scooped up onto his knee. He stayed there for hours, listening to the adults talk about their work — namely while on duty.
Soon the hours came with the sunset and a sleepy yawn rose from his mouth, triggering his mother to mention his bedtime. “Come on, Nicky, it’s getting late.” She cooed, slipping over and gently brushing her fingers through his hair. He grunted childishly, not wanting to move and possibly miss a story. “Give Uncle Donny a kiss and go find Lottie.” She said as she kissed him on the forehead. Nick looked up at Donny and pouted though he only received a hearty laugh in response as a much bigger hand knotted itself in his curls and made them tangle together. He stood on the man’s knees, pressing a quick kiss to his forehead before going to jump off. Caught just as he was about to leap, he was swooped up into the air as he squealed in fear before realizing Donny had lifted him up in the air and lowered him just enough to press a kiss to his cheek. “Good night, Nicky.”
Sixteen and all caution was thrown to the wind as soon as Nick had gotten a few drinks in him. It’d taken some convincing to get him to actually get something in him, but with an empty stomach — and a bottle of what he thought was whiskey at the time — it took little to get him to the point where he was laughing up a storm and getting awfully touchy. Nick had never been one to get close and affectionate with people, but he warmed up quick with the blush on his cheeks that gave color to his complexion. It was his birthday and he was going to make the most of it — said his drunken mind along with the chorus of guys he was with. There were a few boys from school who’d put him up to this, the five of them meeting on the floor of an old restaurant that’d closed down months ago they’d managed to bust into. With his mom being a cop and Conny’s brother being her partner, they had a good grasp of the areas that were checked and went unchecked around here.
Nick was dressed up from the party his family had thrown for him — black pants getting ruined with the mess that the floor was in, his jacket tossed over the back of an old booth with his loosened tie around his neck. They’d been laughing over something one of their buddies said when Nick leaned over with most of his weight shifting onto the one next to him. He wasn’t sure who it was, but the moment he took another look was when a big smile spread across his face. “How do you do, Conny?” He chuckled, giving a bad attempt at a joke as he watched Conny down the rest of his drink. His smile was constant though his tongue pressed to the back of his teeth the moment he felt a hand playing with the back of his hair idly. “Doing fine, Nick — doing just fine.” The bottle of whiskey was long gone and so it seemed was everyone’s morals. Nick’s head fell onto his shoulder and he hummed as he relaxed.
He frowned after a moment, exhaling a sigh through his nose. The fingers at the back of his head stopped and he looked up at Conny with a face of immature disapproval. He got a look in return back at him with pursed lips and confused brows, “What?” After staring at him for a few seconds, a bit of a giggle rose from Nick and Conall stared with even more question arising. “What’s so funny, birthday boy?” That might have been a flustered blush crossing his cheeks. “If you look a ginger in the eyes for ten second, you either fall in love or burst into flames.” Nick couldn’t contain his giggles, “And I’m not on fire yet.” His hand placed on Conall’s cheek, he guided him down into a kiss.
A box on his desk, Nick looked at the papers piled high with the little things that once cluttered his office sticking out the sides. He strode over to the chair pushed over by the window and grabbed his jacket. His heart felt heavy with the thought of leaving, but it was time. He pushed his arms through the sleeves and adjusted it as he fastened the buttons in the front. Taking up his hat from the corner of his desk, he put it on just as he heard someone walking into his office behind him.
“They finally firing you?” Nick’s heart sank when Donald’s voice carried across the room. With a bittersweet smile, he turned around with his hat now in his hands. He nodded, “Yep, they’re downgrading me to the juvenile delinquent we always knew I was.” He saw the smile that brought to the older man’s face, stepping over to him with his eyes to the ground for a moment. He felt a hand clap onto his shoulder, giving him a shake. “You’re gonna do great in Chicago, Nicky.” The nickname made Nick smile though he shook his head, “And you’re never going to drop that, huh?” He looked up at him, raising a brow curiously. “Never.” Donald pulled him into a hug that Nick accepted gladly. “Best partner I could’ve ever asked for.” Nick mumbled into his shoulder, squeezing his arms around him. He only heard the little laugh that came as a response, about to pull away just as a kiss was pressed to the top of his head.
There was something familiar about Mallory from the moment he met her. There were many things in life he found familiar, but didn’t know where the memories came from. Yet, he knew exactly where they came from. Nick the Human. The poor bastard who died before the War ever happened. The sorry soul whose memories went into the head of some synth. It wasn’t until after he learned her last name that everything started to click though he was still left without a beginning and an end. There was a strange force drawing him ever closer to her — ever since that cave in the radiation storm.
He didn’t want to question her motives, but trying to fight their way through a Super Mutant stronghold with only a handful of ammo and baseball bats seemed foolish. Yet, he still woke up to find himself still kicking. “Nick?” It was her voice, but it sounded muffled. Suddenly she popped into his view after a moment. She must have been waiting nearby if she was that quick to jump at a slight movement. His processors were working overtime and he felt a wicked shortage in his circuits as he pushed himself off the cot on the floor to sit up. “What happened?” He asked as he tested the range of motion in his hands. At least everything seemed to be in place right now. No missing legs, no broken optics. “Mutant Suicider. I heard it coming, but I thought it was still inside the building before I heard it explode behin— what’s that look for?” Mal was kneeling next to him at this point explaining as he looked him over. He sat there with a smirk on his face, “Oh, is that all?” He questioned with a indignant look on her face. “I carried you back here. You were—”
“Where’s here?” Ever the investigator. He could see the patience running thin on her features. “A house far away from that stronghold, now be quiet for a moment.” She yanked up the bottom of his pants where they were cuffed and pointed. “Move your foot.” Nick finally shut his mouth, complying with her demands. “When you were knocked out, I couldn’t test this on my own.” She explained, watching how he moved and producing a screwdriver from her pocket. “Hey, watch what you’re doing down there——”
The look he got from here made him quiet immediately. Something of the expression of a small child being scolded crossed his face and he bowed his head forward. “It was gone a few hours ago.” She warned, drawing his attention right back again. “Trust me yet?” He went to speak before setting for just a nod. If she managed to get something back on him without a problem, maybe he ought to let her follow through on trying to fix up an old synth like him. Lord knew he needed someone to look after him in times like that.
Mal went through all the motions of checking to see if he was still in good shape and Nick played the perfect patient — aka keeping his mouth shut as she told him to move different parts of him. She was no synthmaker, but it didn’t take a bioengineer to see how hinge A fit into socket B and make sure the wires weren’t busted. As she made him tilt his head forward to check out the back of where his head connected, he fiddled with his fingers to see each one working without a problem.
He heard a sigh of what seemed like relief come from her mouth. “I think you’re fine from what I can see. Anything else feel out of place?” She settled to sit back on the ground. Nick was still quiet without a word to say, perking a brow. Mal stared at him with their eyes locked for a few seconds, “Smartass.” She huffed and Nick couldn’t hold back a laugh. She jabbed him in the chest with the end of her screwdriver. “Listen, you could have died out there.” There was a hiss in her tone, but Nick still had a smile. “Sorry, I was just thinking of an old joke.” He shook his head, watching the confusion rise in the woman. He paused, looking up at her just as he reached out and took her cheek in his hand.Guiding her closer, he pressed a kiss to the corner of her lips. “Something about gingers and lighting on fire, but really — thank you for fixing me up.”
His head was spinning. There was a dull ache reminiscent of a headache he didn’t think he was capable of having. He buried his face into his hands with the thin metallic phalanges pressing into what little synthetic skin was still left on his face. He groaned, spinning on Conall and pointing at him with full accusation. “I’m NOT your Nick Valentine! He’s dead! He died over two hundred years ago when you should have!” His voice barked out through the silence as he took a step forward and jabbed the ghoul in the chest as he backed him against the wall of the old grocery store.
“I don’t remember little Johnny from down the street. I don’t remember your first grade crush. I don’t remember ANYTHING.” He growled, yellow eyes burning threateningly as they pierced through the darkness around them. “Stop thinking I’m your buddy. I’m not. I’m… I’m not.” His tone began to die down as he watched the man’s heart breaking in his chest. A synth like him wasn’t capable of crying. He wasn’t able to cry or bleed. He couldn’t show such intense emotion or show how much pain he was in. He wasn’t the Nick that this man wanted and he couldn’t be.
But did he want to? The harsh glare softened within seconds and he stumbled back as he fell onto his knees with the same pain plaguing his damned circuitry. There was something of a sobbing noise that rose from his throat though no tears fell — no tears COULD fall. No. He couldn’t be doing this. He didn’t just run into another blast to the past — not after Winters was dead. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. He suddenly felt arms around him down on the ground, suddenly gripping onto the front of his shirt. He wanted to forget it all and be his own person. He wanted to live his own life, but every little piece of Nick Valentine tried to claw its way back up every time he thought he shoved the demons back down again.
“Conny…” He mumbled through the strange noises he just couldn’t seem to stifle. He was a synth. He was completely synthetic. He… had the memories and emotions of a human As he felt a kiss being pressed to his forehead, he knew that those memories of before the war had not completely left him. Deep inside him, he was still human. As much as he didn’t want to be, he was. He was still Nick Valentine. He reluctantly glanced up at the ghoul who used to be his friend. His best friend. He paused, watching him carefully before grabbing him on either side of his face and pulling him into a proper kiss. After pulling back, pushed himself away and curled his hand into a fist as he stared to the ground.
