Monday, December 5, 2287
Sanctuary Hills, The CommonwealthPreston Garvey looked up in surprise from his dinner of grilled mole rat and InstaMash to see Dan Hudson walking in the front door of Château Rosa, his old Army fatigues dusty from the road. With a nod for his fellow Minuteman, the Sole Survivor lowered himself into the chair opposite Preston's, then took off his green beret, stuck it under one of the shoulder straps of his combat armor's chestplate, and scrubbed his fingers vigorously through his iron-grey hair with a weary but satisfied groan.
"Evening, General," said Preston when Hudson had finished this customary homecoming ritual. "I wasn't expecting to see you back in town this evening."
"Well, I didn't figure on coming all the way back tonight myself," said Hudson with a smile, "but it's a nice night and I guess I just kept walking. Besides, I've got a present for you." Leaning casually back in his chair, he tossed a blood-spattered brown hat onto the table. "Look familiar?"
His brow furrowing in puzzlement, Preston picked the hat gingerly up, careful not to touch the blood. "It's... this is a Minuteman hat."
Hudson nodded, still smiling. "You want to guess where I got it?" At Preston's continued look of bafflement, he went on, "Maybe it would help if I grew a big stupid mustache and put on a pair of old state trooper sunglasses."
Preston blinked, considered the hat again for a few moments, then looked up to meet the General's eyes. "My God," he said. "This is... this is Clint's?"
"Was," Hudson replied.
"But... but how?" asked Preston. "How did you even know about him? I've never talked about... about Quincy. Never mentioned his name."
Hudson shrugged, tipping his chair back on its hind legs and balancing it there. "Just dumb luck," he said. "Nick and I had to check something out at the old Quincy PD. One of his old cases. We... weren't as subtle getting out as we were hoping to be."
"How..." Preston's voice caught in his throat; he paused, gathering himself, then asked, "How many of them did you end up taking out?"
"All of them," Hudson replied, no longer smiling. At the younger Minuteman's shocked look, he added, "They didn't give us much choice, Pres. Once we were spotted, it was them or us."
"Oh, believe me, I'm not sorry you did it," Preston hastened to note. "I just... wow. The way they ran us out of there... and you and Valentine just went in there and..." He shook his head, blank amazement on his face. "... cleaned them out."
"Hey," said Hudson, plunking his chair back down on all fours and looking Preston in the eye. "You were taken by surprise, betrayed from inside, had to look after 20 survivors in the middle of a running firefight. That's damn near impossible and you did it. You, Preston Garvey, are the reason anybody got out of Quincy alive. The only people Nick and I had to keep alive were ourselves." Sitting back again, he gestured to the hat and said, "Anyway, I didn't bring you that to brag. I just thought you'd like to know that Clint... doesn't have anything to keep under it any more."
"I appreciate that. And I... thanks." Sitting straighter in his chair, Preston gave a snappy salute and said, "Once again you've redeemed the Minutemen's honor, General."
"Happy to help, Colonel Garvey," said Hudson with a tired smile, returning the salute as he rose to his feet. "Welp, I think I'm gonna hit the sack. I'm 265, I'm gettin' too old for this shit. Good night, Pres."