Aurora and MacCready went around the Commonwealth for news about Clive's whereabouts. She had done this before, so she knew to pick up rumors at bars, roadside diners, or displaced settlers heading to a new settlement. The directions pointed out either led her and MacCready to a Raider or a Gunner camp and more hints. In one of the Gunner camps they just wiped out, Aurora found a terminal with an entry mentioning that the dead leader had a meeting with Clive at The Slate Gate.

Even though she hadn't visited that bar before, Aurora was extremely relieved to get an actual lead; she told MacCready where they were headed next.

He didn't look pleased. "The Slate Gate near Goodneighbor? That place is crawling with Gunners; we don't want to go there."

"We have to; Clive will be there, so that's where I need to be."

MacCready began to argue, but she interrupted him. "You're an ex-Gunner; you can tell me what to expect and how to act. I'm going there, with or without you."

His mouth thinned in irritation. "You're going to need me if you want to get out of there alive."

"Alright; now tell me what I need to know."

"Why are you so hell-bent on killing this guy?"

Now Aurora grew irritated at his deflecting. "It's none of your damn business! Are you going to help or not?"

MacCready took in a frustrated breath, glared at her like he wanted to reprimand her, but relented.

***

On their walk to The Slate Gate, MacCready told her how to act if she wanted to get information from anyone. She listened long enough to hear him stress that she needed to appear strong and in command of herself—she couldn't seem confused or she'd be seen as a pushover, and they'd pounce. They would enter separately too; if he was seen at her shoulder, she'd be viewed as weak from needing a bodyguard.

With it being a bar and from her experiences, Aurora knew most would be drunken men and she would just have to flirt. She had done this many times before; he was just being too cautious.

Gunners had laid claim to this block; with the multiple barricades marked by the Gunners' skull, they greatly defended this place too. Aurora wound around the barricades and passed many Gunners exuding a supercilious aura, warning others that it'd be a mistake in approaching her. The men eyed her but never approached. The Slate Gate used to be a warehouse pre-war. Now it had been turned into a bar controlled by the most dangerous and organized mercenary group in the Commonwealth.

She walked in to find only four men seated at tables or lounging in dingy sofas with beer bottles in hands—their glazed eyes and red faces meant they were already inebriated. This was going to be easy. The air wasn't hazy with cigarette smoke, so she easily spotted the male bartender and headed over to take a seat at the bar. The counter had many chips and damage from past bar fights, and was sticky—Whitechapel Charlie kept his clean.

"What will it be, sweetheart?" he asked.

"Whiskey," she said.

His eyebrows shot up as he reached under the counter for a shot glass and turned to get her a bottle.

"What? Expected me to ask for weak beer?"

He shrugged as he poured her a shot. "Most women don't go for something so hard."

"I'm not like most women," she said as she knocked back the drink—the liquid burned on its way down her throat. She didn't prefer the taste of whiskey, but she knew it gave her a tough impression. Aurora gestured at her empty glass for it to be refilled.

"I've never seen you before, honey. What you come down here for?"

Aurora took her glass. "You expect an answer?"

He chuckled. "You have quite a prickly skin, don't you?"

"No; it's quite smooth when a man touches it."

Her response impressed him; he told her he'd be back as he moved off to fulfill another order—it sounded like MacCready asked for a beer. She didn't react to his voice but saw him accept the bottle, then move off. The bartender returned; he looked at her with a different look in his eyes.

"So, what's the name of this beauty who waltzed into my bar?"

"Aurora."

"Au-ro-ra," he repeated slowly, like he tasted each syllable of her name. "Hmm, rolls right off the tongue. I'm Evan, by the way."

She reached for his hand. "It's nice to meet you, Evan."

He gently took it. "It's a pleasure meeting you." His thumb rubbed her fingers. "Your skin is really soft."

She smiled as she took her hand back. "That's what I've been told."

Evan shared her smile as he propped his elbows on the counter and leaned toward her. "So, you were telling me why you came down here..."

"Was I?" She gave him a smile before taking another drink. She needed to slow it down; the alcohol was fogging her mind.

"You were," he encouraged.

Aurora put the glass down. She hoped to make him feel intimidated by mentioning Clive's name and get him to back off on flirting with her—Clive made it clear his women weren't to be touched. "I'm here to meet someone."

"You are? Who?"

"Clive."

It worked. "Clive? He's already here."

"He is? I didn't see him when I came in..." She looked behind her like she searched.

"He's not out here; he's in the back. I can take you to him."

Warnings rang off in her head, but she couldn't let hesitation be seen—she might lose her chance. "Oh, perfect! Thank you."

Aurora got up and headed to the end of the bar as Evan walked to meet her; she caught MacCready's eyes as he lounged on a sofa, watching her. She smugly looked at him as if to say I-told-you-so before reaching the end and turned to greet Evan with a smile. He smiled back as he gestured to an open doorway.

Evan led her down a lit hallway to turn into a much dimmer one. Or was it down two hallways and two right turns? She would have trouble finding her way out again. He stopped at a closed door and knocked.

"Clive, someone's here for you."

"Alright; come in." The voice didn't sound like it belonged to Clive, but the door muffled it. Evan opened the door for her, and she walked in, eager to blow Clive's head off.

Aurora's hand itching to draw her gun stopped when she didn't recognize either of the two men as Clive. Neither had his dark hair or attractiveness, or a sun tattoo on the back of their left hand. They looked at her in bewilderment, too.

"Who's this?" one of the men asked—sounding like the wrong Clive.

"Aurora; she said she was meeting you," Evan explained.

"She's not the one I'm supposed to meet."

"I don't know her either, but I'd like to," the other said as he looked her up and down hungrily.

Aurora froze—she didn't know what to do. The whiskey had drugged her senses; she couldn't think up of a lie to get out of there.

The door slammed shut and Evan grabbed her. "Who are you? What are you really doing here?" The wrong Clive and the other got up, eyeing her like predators smelling sex.

Aurora's defenses kicked in; she drove an elbow into Evan's stomach and kicked back into his crotch. He released his hold on her as he doubled over in pain. The other two lunged at her; she fought them off, but their double-team and strength quickly overpowered her. The nameless one got behind her and pinned her arms; she bucked wildly, even slamming her head back to break his nose.

She heard it crunch, and he cried out in pain; his hold loosened. Even with the back of her head hurting and her vision blurry, Aurora fought out of his arms—she had to put some distance between them so she could draw her gun. But he grabbed her hair and slung her into the concrete wall. The left side of her head struck the wall and her body shut down; she crumpled down to the floor, unable to do anything but feel the severe pain in her head.

"Who the hell is she?" the wrong Clive asked.

"I don't give a fuck; she broke my fucking nose! That bitch is mine!" the other one yelled.

The door banged open; there were a couple of quieted shots from a silencer, dying cries, and thuds as bodies hit the floor. Aurora couldn't open her eyes from the light hurting too much. More thuds and grunts sounded behind her as blows were exchanged, followed by the quieted shot; another thud shook the ground.

Someone knelt down beside her and a hand touched her back. "Aurora?"

She never thought she would be relieved to hear MacCready's voice. "Thank God, you're here."

"What happened?"

"That was the wrong Clive, and they slammed me into the damn wall."

"So, that's where that crack in the wall came from..."

"Shut up."

He chuckled. "Think you can get up?"

With his help, Aurora got up to her feet; she had to lean heavily on him from not being able to stand straight. She saw that the wrong Clive, the nameless man, and Evan lay dead—she didn't feel any pity for the men who tried to rape her. And besides, they were Gunners, so they needed to die.

MacCready held onto her as they stumbled out of The Slate Gate; the patrons were too drunk to notice that three people went to the back and only two returned. He told her to act flirty toward him so they could bypass the sober Gunners outside—she needed to look drunk instead of hurt and he'd pretend he was fixing to get lucky as to not raise suspicions. Aurora did as he instructed, and they got past—she could've sworn she saw a grinning Gunner give MacCready a wink.

He was lucky she couldn't stand on her own or she would've shot him.

***

Even though technically on her feet, MacCready pretty much carried her back to Goodneighbor and down to The Third Rail. The bar/lounge had nearly cleared out and Magnolia was done for the night when they got there. Good thing too; Aurora's pounding head couldn't take the noise.

MacCready sat her down on a couch and went to ask Whitechapel Charlie for something cold to put on her head. Aurora curled up on her right side, almost passing out.

"What happened here?" Hancock asked.

She wasn't up for talking, but the Ghoulish mayor—self-deemed King of the Zombies—wouldn't leave without an explanation. "Just had my skull crushed in, that's all."

"Is that all?" he asked sarcastically. "It wasn't your fists on my girl, was it?"

"No, fists aren't strong enough to break this skull—a wall did," MacCready replied.

"I bet I can break yours," she retorted, but sighed in relief as a cool rag was placed on the sore spot.

He chuckled.

"MacCready, you take care of my girl, you hear?" Hancock said.

"I'll try, but don't blame me if she inserts herself into danger."

She smiled at both of their responses. "I like being your girl, Hancock; don't replace me."

"Never, doll; now sleep."

He didn't have to order her.