After the Vault: Chapter 14
    
    Disclaimer: I do not claim ownership of Fallout or anything that 
comprises it. This is a non-profit story written solely for my own 
enjoyment and that of anyone who wishes to read it. The story and all 
original characters are mine. Please don't use them without permission.
    
***
    
    After the Vault
    
    -A Fallout Fan-Fiction by Nutzoide-
    
    
    Chapter 14
    
    Lives of Omission
    
    
    "Make up your mind, hon. We don't want to be standing around here 
all night."
    
    Chopper was right. They had been standing in the slavers' yard for 
Abigail didn't know how long. Ten minutes? Twenty? An hour? Rathley had 
long since sat down on the tarmac to take the weight off his inflamed 
leg, and the longer they waited the larger the creeping bloodstain on 
Sharn's bandaged thigh became. Abigail's heady air of triumph had 
wavered after the first few minutes of staring at the line-up in front 
of her, and the annoyed or cautious slavers at their backs now wore 
boredom and amusement on their faces.
    
    But when it came down to the wire, how could she choose only one of 
these thirty two men and women to save?
    
    Who deserved their freedom most? Who had suffered most? Who *would* 
suffer most if she didn't choose them?
    
    Abigail had never had to make a more agonising decision in her life, 
and she'd talked herself up so much that she could not rely on her 
friends to make up her mind for her.
    
    "If you want *my* advice," drawled Rathley, "the brunette up that 
end. You seen her with the ball? That one has *stamina*."
    
    "Shut up, Rathley," Abigail whispered, but whether he would be able 
to hear her was a moot point. She only said it to clear her head. She 
should have thought this part through better when she had insisted on 
trading Cable for a slave.
    
    The damage was done though, and Rathley had put another candidate 
into her head. The woman he'd pointed to was rugged and fit, despite the 
trace of malnutrition that showed in most of the slaves' faces. She was 
also pretty, almost. That could only bode poorly for her when she was 
bought, Abigail thought.
    
    But then there were men and women younger than her, obviously newer 
to the place and still with the eager eyes that said, 'not her, pick 
me!'  They had long lives ahead of them, hopefully, and they could still 
be spared the resignation that had sunk into so many of their fellow 
inmates.
    
    Then there were the older ones. At fifty or sixty years they did not 
look bad for their ages as far as surfacers went, but did they need to 
spend the last of their lives there? Or trying to live with their new 
'owners', who would surely expect more from them than they could 
deliver?
    
    Heroes in the movies never had this problem, Abigail growled 
internally. But then they would have wound up assaulting the slavers and 
wading out victorious over a mountain of corpses. Abigail couldn't do 
that. Hell, the slavers were the town police as well! That she had 
thought about, at length, since she had arrived. It was a wonderful 
town, built on kidnapping and the trading of these slaves. How the hell 
did that work?
    
    Then there were the fifteen or more slaves that watched her 
indecision from the school building. They were the ones worth even more 
than the return of Cable. She couldn't help them, no matter how much she 
wanted to. 
    
    So focus on those you can help, she chastised herself. Get *someone* 
out.
    
    With a deep breath she pointed to a man in the middle of the line. 
He stood favouring one leg, and beneath a battered pair of shoes his 
right foot was heavily bandaged. Abigail had wrapped the dressing 
herself. "Him. I want Alan."
    
    "... Very well. He is yours." The surprise in the Dean's voice was 
plain, and he wasn't the only one. Rathley, Sharn and Casey all looked 
shocked by the decision. Only Kyle seemed to accept her decision without 
question, and by that point Chopper had stopped caring. "You'll find him 
a competent one, despite his recent accident," the Dean added, as if he 
was validating her choice. "And steadfast, if somewhat headstrong with 
it. But then you know that well enough."
    
    Casey came over to Abigail's side as the line was shepherded back 
into the school building, leaving Alan standing bemused as fellow slaves 
either wished him luck or cursed his good fortune. 
    
    "So... why'd you pick him?" Casey asked, and Alan came to his senses 
as he heard her question Abigail's choice.
    
    "Yes, why me? At... At least take one of the girls!"
    
    Abigail felt the guilt set in immediately, but she had made her 
decision. She would have felt the same no matter who she had chosen, of 
that she was sure. "You've been here long enough already, haven't you? 
And with that foot... Chopper says you'll probably always have a limp. 
If I don't choose you, you might never get out of here." She pointed to 
the women who were guided back inside. "At least they'll be taken care 
of while there's here, right? They'll try and sell them on their looks, 
not just how fit they are, right?"
    
    Abigail doubted what she was saying, but she had been told it by 
Alan himself. "Like you said, they don't get mistreated or anything 
here, do they?"
    
    Alan looked down to the cracked tarmac, and his wounded foot. "No. 
No, I guess they don't."

***
    
    It was past the time for food when they got back to the hotel. 
Somewhere between getting back to town and finishing up at the school it 
had started to get dark, but the 3rd Rafter's cook was more than happy 
to heat up his griddle again for their sake. Word had already spread all 
over town about their deeds, so not only was the welcome warm, but the 
food was free as well. Apparently it was worth his while giving them a 
free meal as thanks, in order to have them eating there where people 
could see them.
    
    "Where's David and Katina?" Abigail asked Casey as they all ate. 
"Aren't they going to welcome you back, at least?"
    
    "Eh heh, I doubt it." Casey shrugged, looking rather sheepish. 
"We're supposed to be keeping a low profile, kinda. That why we came 
*here*, to Willets." She nodded to the few bystanders who watched them 
eat. Every now one of them would come over to congratulate or thank 
them. "I don't think this is low enough for David's taste, never mind 
Kat." 
    
    "Shouldn't you be thinkin' about what you're gonna do with your new 
slave," Rathley rasped from the other end of the stall table. "Though I 
gotta say, tradin' a cripple for a cripple... Cute, but you ain't got as 
good taste as I gave you credit for."
    
    Next to him Chopper shrugged, still chewing. "Well, it has symmetry, 
at least."
    
    Abigail scowled at the both of them. They knew the score, and they 
were just trying to wind up both her and the poor man who sat to her 
right. Alan had remained quiet on the way back to the hotel, still in 
something of a daze, and he had sat looking at his food for over a 
minute before he had thought to start eating it. 
    
    "That is a point," said Alan, not looking up from his ant burger. "I 
don't know how much I can do for you. Especially with this foot."
    
    Evidently he was having trouble accepting his new freedom. "That's 
not why you're here," said Abigail. "I told you, I don't want a slave. 
What you can do is start doing whatever you want. Start living your life 
again."
    
    Alan still looked doubtful as he looked at her with confused eyes. 
"I've been in there for... almost ten years, I think. My wife is gone, I 
buried my babies so long ago. How do I start over from here?"
    
    "I don't know," Abigail said honestly. "But I hope you'll try."
    
    On her other side Casey left her to her thoughts, and scratched at 
the red line on her stomach again. "Man, after today, I *really* need a 
bath! Maybe that'll help."
    
    "Maybe," said Chopper, "but it'll wash off what's left of the anti-
venom." 
    
    When Casey gave her a worried look Chopper smirked. "You won't keel 
over or anything, just don't expect it to stop stinging until tomorrow 
if you go to bed clean."
    
    "Ugh. That's not a nice option."
    
    Kyle didn't think it sounded so bad. "I could be worse. You could 
have been stupid enough to let a swarm of 'scorplings have a proper go 
at your legs."
    
    Rathley stared at him. "Screw you, boy. I won't need any fancy 
medicine to sleep tonight."
    
    "No, but that bottle of Rotgut won't last long, will it?"
    
***
    
    After they had eaten and Abigail had bid Casey farewell for the 
night Abigail did not send Alan on his way. Instead she led him to the 
room she shared with Chopper, and unlocked the metal trunk that held 
their travelling packs. After a moment she came over with a bulky 
looking bag.
    
    "Here," she said, loosening the drawstring and pouring a slow stream 
of bottle caps onto the bed. "This should pay for a place to stay, and 
food. At least until you find a paying job."
    
    Alan looked on in shock as she began to count them. "I... I can't 
take that. You've already..."
    
    "You can, and you will, Mr Pearcing. I'd rather they were used for 
something worthwhile than sitting here in my bag. And what's the point 
of money if you can't spend it on what you want?"
    
    After she'd done some quick counting she closed the bag again and 
gave it a shake. "It won't be missed."
    
    "Aren't you afraid someone will break in here and steal that?"   
    
    Abigail gave him a knowing look. "I checked. This hotel has a good 
reputation, the room is locked, and so is the locker." She patted it and 
it replied with a few solid sounding 'thunks'. "But I do have it on good 
authority that three hundred caps is an amount worth taking."
    
    She scooped them up and into another smaller bag. "So please, put it 
to good use. There's just one thing."
    
    "W-what?"
    
    "I'd be happier knowing that you're alive and well because of this. 
Okay?"
    
    "Yes, I know. Thank you."

*** 
    
    Abigail was already getting ready for bed by the time Chopper 
appeared. That was no surprise. Both Sharn and Rathley had injuries that 
needed tending to, whether they wanted the attention or not, and before 
that they'd all had their turns fighting over who got to use the hotel's 
single bathtub first.
    
    Not that it could have been called fighting, really. Kyle was the 
only one whose opinions of hygiene even came close to Abigail's own, and 
Rathley might not have bothered at all if it hadn't been for the thin 
streaks of blood drying over his leg.
    
    Abigail had finally taken the time to wash her hair again, and it 
hung loose over her shoulder instead of in her usual metre long plait. 
She stood in front of the dresser mirror brushing it through as best she 
could now that it was clean again, but even back home - or back in Vault 
42 anyway - it had still been a labour of love.
    
    "So how did the good Samaritan thing work out for you?" Chopper 
asked when she did finally appear through the door, damp from her late, 
lukewarm bath.
    
    "It was fine, Chopper. It's my money."
    
    Chopper shrugged. "Better keep an eye on it. It might turn into a 
bad habit." Evidently she hadn't taken the time to come out of her 
prickly shell while in the tub.  
    
    Abigail turned to frown at her. "I would have called it a good 
habit!"
    
    Abigail's mild ire evaporated when she saw the amused smile on 
Chopper's face though. Chopper just wanted to bait her, and the older 
woman sauntered over after having thrown her towel over one of the 
room's chairs. "You know," she said, hanging her arms over Abigail's 
shoulders, "I think little Miss Hero might be tired."
    
    Abigail could only sigh in exasperation. "You can stop now. Yes, I'm 
tired. My feet are sore, my hand hurts, and you're mocking be for doing 
something good for someone in need."
    
    Chopper's impish smile didn't change, but she did raise an eyebrow. 
"Then why don't you stop fussing with your hair and come to bed." She 
pulled Abigail's hair back over the girl's shoulder before running her 
fingers through it. At least they didn't catch, to Abigail's 
gratification. "I can fuss over you just as well."
    
    "Chopper, please. I really am tired, okay?"
    
    Her lover didn't seem the slightest bit perturbed. "You think I'm 
not? A Radscorpion nest, dying slavers, and that lot getting cut up 
during the fight? I damned well earned my bodyguards today. But," she 
leaned down to kiss Abigail's right cheek, "that doesn't mean I want to 
sleep without you here. And you?"
    
    Abigail smiled, warmth filling her cheeks. "Okay, me neither."
    
    "That's what I wanted to hear."

***
    
    Thankfully for Sharn her leg did not take long to heal in the days 
that followed. Chopper did good work, and while it would leave another 
scar it did not give her as much discomfort as she had feared in the 
process. Scars did not worry her - they gave life and history to a body 
- but she wasn't much of a one for pain, even compared to Abigail. It 
was lucky that she'd had her man to wait on her while she convalesced in 
bed.  
    
    It was lucky that she *still* had him, and that he was still willing 
to dote on her when she needed it most. They'd fought before, but 
nothing like that last week. Jealousy had never been so mixed with 
resentment, and she was willing to bet that Kyle had come very close to 
thinking that, back then, their relationship had not been worth the 
aggravation. 
    
    In retrospect it was a little frightening. She had never been shy 
about her affections, physical or otherwise, and yet she had been 
willing to trade blows with him over a past that she had known nothing 
about. Abigail had been right, is shouldn't have mattered really, but it 
had. 
    
    It had not been without reason of course. There would have been 
little he could have told her that she couldn't accept, no matter how 
disapproving or jealous she might have been. It had been arrogant to 
think she did not need to know the truth, as if she had not been able to 
understand it. Kyle had joined up with a man like Rathley, after all. 
For all his personal merits, he could hardly be a saint.
    
    And he wasn't. He was a gunfighter and a con-artist, and he had been 
long before he had ever met Rathley, let alone herself. He had been 
taught to shoot by the best guardsmen in Micasa, and trained to handle a 
deck of cards or a fistful of dice by over a dozen different gamblers in 
that town of caps and casinos. Half of whom he later set up on behalf of 
the town guard, or simply shot for one reason or another.
    
    In fact he had got so good at cheating in poker that he could 
finance his final year's visits to River almost entirely outside his job 
as one of the town's hired guns. Only his judicious choice of games and 
opponents ever stopped him getting caught by anyone who cared.
    
    Of course, River was the one point of Kyle's admissions that Sharn 
still had trouble digesting. To Sharn, even after their fights, love was 
a strong, binding thing. It swept her along, attached to her gunner-man 
whether she liked him at the time or not, because it guaranteed that 
beneath all their superficial differences it bound them together so 
tightly that only death would separate them. She would *always* love 
him, even when she couldn't stand him!
    
    But he'd already felt that love for someone else, long before he'd 
even known she had existed. His perfect love had been with a prostitute 
ten years his senior, and he had been determined to remain faithful to 
her, and ensure that one day she could be his alone. And he'd failed. 
He'd signed on to Rathley's team to earn the caps to free her, but in 
reality it was never going to happen. Maybe River had known that all 
along, but had held out hope that either Kyle or her owner could have 
worked a miracle for her. Or maybe she had shared his naivete, and 
believed that he could do it just as much as he had. Either way, 
eventually the situation had become too strained to continue like that, 
and Kyle had put his feelings behind him in order to carry on with his 
life, leaving his love in the hands of the man who owned her.
    
    So what did that make Sharn? Was she the naive one, with unpleasant 
lessons awaiting her down the road? Was she immature in Kyle's eyes, 
gushing her affection at him when his own heart had been tempered by 
love and loss already? That was what preyed on her mind now. River was a 
part of Kyle's past, and while she did not like the idea she could 
accept it. It had helped make him into who he was now. 
    
    Sharn had to be the best for Kyle though. The one he loved *now*. 
She could not just be a good lay, a fling, or a happy distraction from 
the women of his past. He needed to love her, because Sharn knew she 
could not stop loving him even if he didn't.
    
    He did, she was sure of that, but there was now that one lingering 
doubt. That one whisper that forced her to compare herself to the woman 
he had been so devoted to. The hateful curse of the 'what if' that 
shattered her carefree confidence in herself.
    
    She tried to put it out of her mind, and focus on the here and now. 
She did love Kyle, and he loved her, and they had got past the veil of 
secrets that had driven that wedge between them. There was time to think 
about it later. After all, there was a fair bit to think about!
    
    "Say, what has Abigail been doing? She didn't come to see me much 
while I was laid up." 
    
    Kyle shrugged. "She's been with Casey's group a lot. And at the gun 
shop I think."
    
    That surprised Sharn. "The gun shop? That doesn't seem like her. She 
doesn't know the difference between a hollow point and full metal 
jacket."
    
    "Exactly. I think she's trying to show willing. She'll be better off 
if she knows the basics, at least."
    
    "I guess." She leaned her head on his shoulder and sighed. "I love 
you, you know."
    
    Kyle chuckled. "So you keep telling me, hon."
    
    "I'm just reminding you. You know, in case you'd forgotten in the 
last half hour." 

***
    
    Like Sharn, Rathley was still healing up while Abigail split her 
free time between her new friends, the gun shop, and the arrogant 
surgeon she called 'girlfriend'. Unlike Sharn though Rathley hadn't been 
able - or willing - to lie back and let his body mend, with or without 
Chopper's help.
    
    And it was without, if he could help it. Which he could. This time.
    
    He had been stung by enough Radscorpions to know when his life was 
in jeopardy, and for all their efforts the Radscorplings hadn't even 
come close. It'd hurt for a good few days - far more than his pride or 
his reputation would allow his to show - but he hadn't let that keep him 
in bed. Given enough booze he could endure almost anything, and getting 
to play hero had made sure that he hadn't wanted for the alcohol or the 
company to keep his mind off his swollen leg.
    
    And he could afford both anyway, not that he had to! Life could be 
damn good, and in some really fucked up ways sometimes, he thought. 
There he was in the bed of a very voluptuous host, being fed like a 
wasteland king, all for putting a few rounds of buckshot into a couple 
of oversized arachnids. And *she* couldn't believe *her* luck either, 
catching the eye of one of the mid-waste's premiere bad boys and leading 
him home like a brahmin to water. In her little Willets High circle she 
was the one who had managed to claim the prize.
    
    She'd also been please to find out that he was just as good a lover 
as he was reputed to be: both boisterous and skilled. He hadn't looked 
it when she'd chanced upon him at the bar with half a bottle of liquor 
in him.
    
    Rathley also avoided comparison with Sharn in that any care he'd had 
for his companions whereabouts had been as soothed by the sex and the 
liquor as his leg had. As long as they weren't getting into more 
trouble, he simply didn't care. In his mind it was time that this rest 
stop started working as advertised. Kyle could be trusted to take care 
of himself, and he could keep Sharn in line and mollified now that 
they'd made a peace and were fucking like animals again. That girl was 
insatiable when she got her engines going, lucky sod.
    
    As for Chopper, she would do what she wanted, when she wanted, and 
no-one would have the balls to tell her otherwise. Not that she'd take a 
blind bit of notice if they did. She didn't know *how* to relax, but it 
was clear that the best way to handle her was to let her handle herself. 
She was at least sensible enough not stick her neck out so far as to let 
someone take a blade to it.
    
    And Abigail... Despite his own opinions of himself, he did hope that 
she wasn't making yet *more* trouble for herself. She had potential - at 
least as much as Kyle had shown when Rathley had first let him sign on - 
but unlike Kyle she couldn't see the snares around her feet because her 
head was still so high in the clouds. Thankfully Chopper and Kyle were 
proving a good influence on her, and she'd started learning from her 
mistakes. 
    
    And frankly, Rathley was just too damned satisfied with his current 
situation to bother checking up on her. His drinks were stong, his 
stomach was full, and his woman was attentive and amorous. It was as 
comfortable a distraction as Rathley could have asked for. 
    
    He hadn't had to ask.

***
    
    Abigail did manage to keep herself out of trouble in the weeks that 
followed. It probably had something to do with Rathley not having a high 
enough opinion of her, Abigail thought. Being treated like the hero she 
had tried to be certainly helped as well. She had caused a fuss with the 
Dean, and that was never good, but bucking authority like that always 
brought out the rebellious side of any audience, especially when you got 
away with it. They didn't know that her victory had become a bit of a 
fiasco when the time had come to claim her reward. All they knew was 
that she had helped save the town, and given a man a chance to reclaim 
what the wasteland - and, in surreptitious tones, the Dean - had taken 
from him. 
    
    She did spend quite a lot of time either with the town gunsmith or 
with her nose in her medical books, trying to fight her way through 
incomprehensible calibres and treatments for all manner of physical 
wounds. It was slow going, but by the end of it she did know how to 
clean her own pistol, and properly treat a bullet wound should she ever 
have to. In theory at least. 
    
    She also poked her nose into the town's water reclamation system, 
and spent the idle part of three days cleaning or replacing it piece by 
piece. They were reliant on traders for a good proportion of the town's 
water, but both ground water and bought supplies were filtered for 
contaminants and radiation by the pump stations, and then portioned back 
out for those who needed or had purchased it. It felt worthwhile making 
sure the system was working and in good repair, even if 95 percent of 
all the water they bought in was already as clean as it could be made. 
She had made sure that the last five percent would not come back to 
haunt them.
    
    Unfortunately it was not quite the bed of roses that it could have 
been though. Day by day there had always been plenty to do on the road. 
Lots to worry about, and the occasional few days respite was a welcome 
chance for her to crash out and recover. But three weeks of downtime had 
made her edgy. Anxious. She had sought out work and study not just to 
help further herself, but to make sure she remained occupied.
    
    She hadn't wanted to admit it before, and in the past she had always 
had a good excuse, but by the fourth day of idle relaxation she had been 
ready to weep with frustration. She'd hidden it well, but the tension 
and irritability had been overwhelming, and with it such a lack of 
energy that she'd felt incompetent to vent her unwarranted frustrations.
    
    So she'd taken another pill. There had been no reason to, and no 
excuse. She had just needed the Buffout to take the tension and the 
helplessness away. 
    
    So, she was addicted to them. She just had to accept it. She didn't 
*want* to, but she had no choice. She'd tried to find a way to 
rationalise it - stress, culture shock, being useful to her allies in a 
fight - none of that held up now. She had no good reasons to keep taking 
the pale green combat drugs, except simple physical need.
    
    So she'd kept herself busy in order to distract herself from the 
sense of weakness, and kept other people around her so she couldn't 
sneak off to exorcise those enervating cravings. And it had done some 
good, at least. She hadn't been able to stop taking the pills, but she'd 
managed to stretch it out as long as she could before each one. Five 
pills in three weeks wasn't bad, she hoped. Had she not caved in and 
surrendered to the fifth she probably would have broken down and 
vomited, the paranoia had been so strong.
    
    She had not dared to tell the others. Sharn would be sympathetic and 
as helpful as she could be, she was sure. Kyle as well, she hoped. But 
Rathley would hardly care, and when the cravings became severe she 
needed *some* way to bolster her waning confidence. Rathley's 
indifference or amusement wouldn't do that.
    
    And Chopper. The anger and derision she could be guaranteed from her 
was the last think Abigail would be able to handle by that point. The 
one person whose support she would crave was the last one who would give 
it to her.
    
    However, despite all that, Abigail had not let the realisation keep 
her depressed. If she was anything, it was wilful. Rathley and Chopper 
didn't seem to tire of saying as much, and Abigail was damned well 
*going* to be wilful! If she could overcome it herself, then none of 
them would ever need to know that she had been weak enough to fall 
victim to the Buffout in the first place. She was bettering herself in 
order to make a difference to the Mid-Waste, and to Chopper and Sharn 
and Kyle and Casey. She could be a damned good technician, she could 
defend herself with force, and she was going to make sure that if the 
worst did happen then her hands could save anyone that her knives and 
her gun couldn't protect. 
    
    She knew that wasn't just the Buffout talking either. She hadn't 
taken one for three days. 
    
***
    
    "You're leaving?"
    
    Casey nodded not touching her drink. The pair of them sat at a small 
table in Em's, and the bar was mostly deserted so early in the 
afternoon. Everyone else had work to be doing then, or were still 
happily digesting their lunch. As such Abigail's voice sounded louder to 
her than she had intended.
    
    "Yeah," Casey confirmed. She shrugged, but she didn't exactly seem 
happy about it either. Or maybe she just hadn't been wanting to tell 
Abigail. The two of them had become fast friends in such a short time.
    
    "Kat says it's time we got a move on. We were just supposed to stay 
here to throw them off our trail. If we stay too long eventually someone 
will be systematic enough to find this place. We can't let that happen."
    
    "You still haven't said who it is who's after you," Abigail pointed 
out. "Maybe we can help."
    
    Casey shook her head. "We take out one of these gangers, and two 
more find the body or hear about the fight and then *they* are that bit 
closer to tracking us down. It's not just one or two guys, Abby. It's a 
whole whacked-out city."
    
    "And you left two years ago? They really are crazy if they're still 
trying to find you."
    
    Casey didn't look as though *she* thought it was crazy. "People were 
still chasing Rathley... what was it? Seven years after he humiliated 
that one man? As long as there is a reward, people are going to try and 
claim it. But it's Fran who's been running two years. Me? I'm just a 
late addition."
    
    "Really?" Abigail asked, surprised. "I thought you had been friends 
with David and Katina."
    
    "No. I am now, but I hitched a ride with them after everything went 
bad. Back when there were a few more of us."
    
    How many more, Abigail didn't want to ask. It must have been more 
serious than she had guessed if people had been willing to die for this 
woman as well as kill for the sake of bringing back her head. "Fran must 
be a very special woman, to have you all looking after her like this."
    
    Casey swilled her drink around her glass, contemplating that. 
"Honestly, I did used to wonder why she was worth it. I mean, she's not 
that special really. But Kat and David are devoted to her, and if 
anything did happen? I don't want to think about how they'd take it."
    
    She chuckled, smiling down into her drink. Then she looked up with a 
bashful little smile that looked quite unlike the party-ready Casey that 
Abigail knew so well. "You know, I kind of hope that one day Kat or 
David will actually get it together with Fran. Then I can have the 
survivor to myself!" 
    
    Abigail stared at her, not quite sure is she believed her. "They're 
both interested in her? And they're together... and with you? So... who 
would you be with?"
    
    "Kat or David, I don't mind who. I love them both. Just not as much 
as they love each other, it seems." She shrugged again, and finally took 
a sip of her drink. "I don't know, maybe I'm reading too much into how 
they and Fran treat each other. I don't really know how it was back in 
the city."
    
    And Abigail had thought her own love life was strange. Even Chopper 
and her hot and cold moods couldn't compare to that.
    
    "So. Where are you going to go?"
    
    Casey didn't really know. "West. I guess we'll keep zig-zagging that 
way, make the most of having lost them here, and head under the Cobalt 
Line eventually. I think they'll be safe past there."
    
    "I hope you will too." Abigail didn't want this to depress her, but 
it was a losing battle. "I'm really going to miss you."
    
    "Hey, me too Abby. It's kinda nice, having you around to talk to. 
Without baggage, you know?"
    
    "Yeah."   
    
    Casey gave her that big smile of hers. "And what about you? I know 
you lot won't be sticking around much longer either, so where will you 
be going?"
    
    "I don't know either. Wherever the scavenging work takes us, I 
guess. Unless they already have plans in another town. They haven't 
said."
    
    "Well if we're both just wandering around, let's hope we bump into 
each other again," Casey said with optimism. "Or come and find us if you 
end up on the other side of the Line. I think we'll be finding somewhere 
to settle down over there, if we can."
    
    "I'll try. I wish I could come with you." 
    
    "You *are* still welcome, you know. Fran would appreciate more help, 
especially yours."
    
    Abigail had only meant it in wishful thinking though. While she 
would have liked to, she could not in good conscience abandon her own 
companions, and they had made their own wishes known. "No. The others 
must have something in mind, or they would have accepted when Fran 
offered. And I don't want to walk out on them."
    
    "Yeah, I wouldn't leave mine either."
    
    It was a downer, but Abigail finished her drink and forced out a 
sigh. The rest of their stay in Willets High was going to be a lot less 
fun without Casey around to spend time with. And her friends, as much as 
they made Abigail a little uneasy, were good people to know.
    
    "Can I walk back with you? I'd like to say goodbye to David, Katina 
and Fran properly."
    
    "Uh, we're not going for another couple of days, Abby. I just wanted 
to tell you. But sure. That'd be nice."

***
    
    "So what do you think?" Sharn asked as she sat in the hotel bath 
tub, a few days later. 
    
    Behind her Kyle was working through her sodden hair with the block 
of hard, waxy paste that passed for soap in the Waste. Privately, Kyle 
always liked his lover's hair when it was weighed down with water, 
though he would never admit it to her. Her large reddish mane was a 
matter of pride to her, but it made her a sight to behold when it fell 
heavily down her shoulders and back, shimmering wetly in the evening 
light.  
    
    Then he paused as he once again realised that it was such simple 
secrets, the little omissions and harmless white lies, that Sharn cared 
so much about knowing. How on earth had she lived this long without 
biting her tongue or 'enhancing' the truth?
    
    Bullshit, he thought a moment later, and he went back to washing her 
hair. Sharn was a part of their team *because* she was so good at 
enhancing the truth, distracting attention, and calming the feathers 
that Rathley, Chopper or himself so often managed to ruffle. Kyle was a 
people person, unlike those two, but where he was pragmatic and 
straightforward Sharn was perceptive and sympathetic. 
    
    She just didn't want *him* hiding his opinions from *her*. Most 
other girls he'd dated - hell most girls he'd known, full stop - would 
have preferred him to keep his honest opinions to himself unless they 
were complimentary. Maybe it was because of her upbringing, or maybe it 
was just how she was, but it did seem as though her way *was* the most 
straightforward one. It just meant telling her things that women 
generally preferred not to hear. Especially about their beloved hair.
    
    Abigail was the same as Sharn when it came to hair. That plait of 
hers was so hugely impractical and must have taken real effort to 
maintain in the desert, but she refused to cut it. 
    
    "I think," he finally answered, stroking the strands beneath his 
fingers, "that you look gorgeous with your hair down."
    
    "Huh? You what?"
    
    "I think you look amazing with your hair down," he repeated, 
grinning down at her face as she tilted her head back to give him a 
confused look. "It's... sleek."
    
    "Uh, Kyle, have you even been listening? I wasn't asking about my 
hair."
    
    So much for the compliment. At least she didn't read anything 
negative into it about her usual voluminous plumage. "Then I don't know. 
They have somewhere else to be, and problems to get away from, so they 
left. Like us."
    
    "We *don't* have places to be though. We're just going where the 
work is better. We could get by fine if we just stayed in Corva, or 
Mercedes or High Town."
    
    "We did leave Corva for a reason. We're bound to go back once 
whatever issues they end up having with the Hearts have worked 
themselves out. If we weren't going to stick around we'd have taken the 
caravans east and been long gone already."
    
    Sharn remained quiet for a moment. "Maybe Abby would have been 
better off going with them. They were looking for a quiet place to live, 
not hanging around and waiting for the other shoe to drop. And she'd 
have saved herself a lot of heartache."
    
    That was true enough. Abigail had been impressively pro-active 
recently, but after all that exhaustive work and study she'd burst into 
tears even before Casey and her companions had left. "Maybe," Kyle 
conceded. "She'd be less likely to get shot, but you've heard Chopper's 
stories. The desert isn't any greener over there. And hell, those Super 
Mutants sure as hell didn't come from our side of the Line! They don't 
know *what* it's like over there. God knows when the caravans that way 
will come through and tell us."
    
    "And," he added, as he began to rinse her hair, "we're not looking 
for trouble. We're taking some time out, spending our caps, and making 
sure we're still in the loop if the Hearts start moving properly again. 
Or even the Brotherhood, if we're unlucky. Who knows what any organised 
group around here will do if they think there's more of those green 
giants roaming around. Don't you think Abigail would have something to 
say about that too?"
    
    "Then why not tell her?! She deserves to know that's why you lot 
want to keep camping out here."
    
    "And I agree with Rathley," Kyle replied, seriously. "She has enough 
to wrap her head around at the moment, and she's still a vault dweller. 
We've given her a real crash course, and she's hit the ground running, 
but she doesn't need the extra worries right now. Especially if making 
friends with some other traveller reduces her to tears we they leave."
    
    "That's different," Sharn argued, before dunking her head back to 
remove the last of the oily suds. "She... she lost her family. Everyone 
in her vault. Of course she doesn't want to let go of anyone else. 
That's probably why she puts up with Chopper!"
    
    "So the least we can do is give her as much time as we can to 
acclimatise. People die out here, and *everyone* has somewhere else to 
be. I don't expect we'll be sticking around with Rathley forever, after 
all. And I'm damned sure Chopper won't." He shrugged and stood up, 
drying his hands on the towel he then passed to her. "You can tell her, 
but I'd wait until she's ready to start worrying about herself again, 
and what *she'll* want to do about crap like this. After all, who's to 
say anything'll come of it anyway?"

***
    
    Em's was all but deserted when Abigail snuck in. She felt a little 
like a thief as she looked around, wondering if anyone else but the 
meagre bar staff was there to watch her. She wasn't hiding, and she had 
no need for caution, but all the same she thought she probably looked 
like she was guilty of something.
    
    Which she was. But that was her business and no-one else's.
    
    She paused when she saw that she wasn't the only patron to arrive 
before midday, but relaxed when the ten strong party at the back of the 
bar did not even glance in her direction. They were far too busy with 
their own talk, and the beers that several of them drank far too 
quickly.
    
    Abigail was please to ignore them in return and headed over to the 
bar where a single familiar face met her.
    
    "Hi Alan. How are you doing?"
    
    The ex-slave looked up from the counter top he was cleaning and 
greeted her with a small smile. "Abigail. I'm okay. Still feeling a 
little lost, but I'm getting used to it. I think I told you, but I never 
realised this town was as big as it is."
    
    He had told her before, but Abigail humoured him. "Well, I guess you 
can't see that much of it from the school." Of course, he didn't just 
mean lost in the physical sense but that was understood by both of them.
    
    She was glad that he had found himself work so quickly. The bar 
hardly needed the extra staff, but since he had been willing to do just 
about anything for them he now worked with the owner and his son 
cleaning up each morning and getting the bar back in order after the 
previous night's excesses. He would probably be pouring drinks before 
long, once he had finished learning what they all were.
    
    "And how about you? Can Mr Baschek get you a drink?"
    
    "No, I'd better not. I just wanted to see how you were doing, Alan."
    
    It raised her spirits a little when the man suddenly looked 
flustered. "Aw, are you blushing?" she teased, before letting her 
amusement fade. "No, I just wanted to make sure you were okay. I, uh... 
I'm going to try and move on again soon. If my friends are okay with it. 
I don't think I'm going to get much more relaxation by staying here any 
longer."
    
    Alan gave her a curious look. "Has something happened? If I can 
help..?"
    
    That was nice of him to offer, but Abigail shook her head. "No, it's 
okay. I'm just too eager to get back on the road I guess."
    
    He couldn't have missed hearing about her tearful farewells with 
Casey, and since then Abigail's restlessness had been far more acute. 
She had hidden in a bottle that afternoon, and then turned Chopper's 
comforting attempt at seduction into an hour of raw, aggressive 
lovemaking. The morning after she had been left sore, cold and weak when 
Chopper left to work. A little green pill had been her answer to both 
the pain in her head and the lack of her lover beside her. 
    
    And her willpower had not lasted past the second day before she'd 
had to invite that little green fairy back to keep her company.
    
    Not that anyone knew that, but her vocal parting with Casey had 
started a few rumours, and she was disappointed that her resolve against 
the Buffout had been broken. Likewise, though they had bonded quickly, 
she had only known Casey a few weeks. It had been painful to part - far 
more painful than she could explain rationally - but she still had Sharn 
as her closest friend and confidant, and she still had all four of the 
wanderers who had first saved her life. They were almost her family now.
    
    Though she had made a fuss, both in public and afterwards in 
private, it was not the drama that it had first felt like. She just 
wanted to put Willets High behind her because, in her mind, Casey, David 
and Katina had been part of the town's colour. Without them all she had 
were people to study from, and a single victory over the slavers. She 
wasn't able to do any more than that, so she would rather leave than let 
the Dean and his school building sit looking over her already troubled 
conscience.
    
    "Well, wherever you go, try not to get yourself killed," Alan said, 
seeming to understand at least a little of her motives. "If I'm not 
allowed to squander my freedom, you're not allowed to get shot either. 
That lot," he said, motioning to the two caravans worth of guards at the 
back table, "they were talking about those Super Mutants of yours, down 
south-west. I heard about what you went up against, and you might be a 
hero - *I* know you are - but you can't help anyone if they put a bullet 
through your skull."
    
    The flattery made Abigail's head spin, but with it came the 
knowledge that she wasn't nearly so heroic in the flesh. "I'm not a 
hero. I was... I just wanted to get that monster back for what they did 
to me. And I didn't want anyone else to die."
    
    Alan smiled, taking his turn to make her blush. "That sounds pretty 
heroic to me. Just make sure you're alive to enjoy it."

***
    
    There was an unpleasant falling sensation to this dream. Abigail had 
had falling dreams before, of course, but never one that lasted so long, 
or been so persistent. She also knew she was not falling, no matter what 
her mind telling her. She couldn't be falling because she hung from the 
gymnastics rope that reached from the floor to the gym's ceiling. 
    
    She was lucky that she hadn't fallen all the way and broken her 
neck. Next to that, hanging upside down five feet off the ground was a 
much more preferable option. 
    
    Of course it did mean she could not escape the five figures who 
stood in a circle around her, looking at her hanging body with 
disappointment. And strangely it was not Gillian's eyes that made her 
feel most guilty. Nor was it Marcus, or Daniel, or Overseer Jahera. They 
all knew her secrets, or her sins, or the lies she'd told to cover her 
own backside.
    
    It was Mrs Beatrice Kline, fourth seat Overseer of Vault 42, whose 
dark eyes filled her with shame. She had never known of Abigail's guilty 
fantasies about her in life. With the exception of Gillian, Abigail had 
never admitted being attracted to *anyone*. To Overseer Beatrice Abigail 
had just been that nice dancer girl who people aught not to tease so 
much. 
    
    And now she knew. She knew what Abigail had pictured in her mind 
late at night, after her rejection from Gillian had healed, and it made 
the woman's skin craw. Abigail could see it.
    
    But while Overseer Beatrice needed to say nothing to show her 
disgust, Marcus was more than willing to be vocal. He held up a very 
familiar white bottle, and rattled it in front of her.
    
    "So, this is what it's come down to, is it? Our Jinx, frustrated by 
sex, drugs and alcohol. Is it any wonder your fingers always slip when 
*this* is what you're resorting to?!"
    
    His glare showed the depth of his disappointment in his apprentice. 
"No wonder you were forever 'oversleeping'. And after all the months I 
spent training you. Years of work, wasted on a profligate slacker."
    
    With all the blood rushing to her head Abigail could think of a 
hundred denials, and through her dizziness she could not utter a single 
one of them. Lies, she cursed inside her head. It was all slander. 
    
    Gillian just threw back her head and barked out a laugh, cruel and 
cutting. "Thank God I never *did* let you touch me. To think you wanted 
me to end up like that!" That wasn't Gillian, even in the slightest, but 
it looked like her and sounded like her, and Abigail couldn't help but 
be hurt.
    
    "It was her idea to break into the computer room," Daniel snitched. 
"She couldn't have done it without me, she didn't even have *those* 
skills, but I wasn't looking though people's confidential files. Man, I 
wish she'd found another pervert there though. That would have been 
hot."
    
    I'm not a pervert! Abigail screamed inside, trying desperately not 
to feel like a piece of hanging meat as Daniel eyed her. She couldn't 
help who she was! He wasn't allowed to do that to her! How would he have 
felt knowing *he* would never find someone in the vault who would love 
*him*? She dearly hoped Overseer Beatrice or the real Gillian had never 
felt as used and objectified as she did right then, and after that 
Beatrice's betrayed glare only made her feel dirtier.
    
    And Overseer Jahera, ever stern and yet so frustratingly willing to 
forgive and understand, looked at her with infuriating pity. "You had 
potential, Abigail. Why would you throw it all away like this?"
    
    "BECAUSE I'M *ALIVE*, AND YOU FUCKING AREN'T!" 
    
    Her voice had come back to her like a thunderbolt piercing the sky, 
and she hung furious and defiant between the friends and family who now 
judged her so unfairly. 
    
    "You can't talk to me like that! I'm a *success*! I'm a good person, 
and I'm doing the best I can. So what if I need those pills? Even if I'm 
so worthless that I can't give up on my own, I don't know where to get 
any more! I'll have to give up one way or the other! And I never did 
anything wrong to any of you. I don't know who you are, but you aren't 
my friends and you aren't my family, so GET LOST!"
    
    And then she really did fall, collapsing limp and suddenly quiet at 
the feet of her parents. Her father had cut her down with a knife, which 
he threw to the floor in disgust. "She's right, let her leave. Her kind 
are out *there*. I don't know who she is, but she isn't family."
    
    Abigail woke in tears, and Chopper could only ask why. To her 
relief, when Abigail did tell her, Chopper did not ridicule or even 
smirk before slipping over to offer comfort.

***
    
    It was the next morning that saw the group standing at the edge of 
Willets High, looking back into the strange, bi-polar town. How such a 
happy and peaceful place could thrive on a foundation of a slave trade 
and the good will of secretive refugees was a mystery that Abigail 
doubted she would ever be able to get her head around. In a way she 
would be sad to put it behind her, when she thought back to the personal 
victories she had won there. Buying her first real gun, surviving the 
Radscorpions and standing up to the man who ran both the town and his 
own private army of slavers; despite her urgent need to put it all 
behind her, she was taking away a lot of good memories from such a 
shadowy town.
    
    Chopper had taken no issue with her desire to leave, though after 
that night her lover had become a little distant. As if she didn't care 
what they did. Abigail hoped that Chopper was just bored with the town 
now as well, and that her recent moods had not annoyed Chopper.
    
    Sharn and Kyle had no reason to leave, but both seemed glad that she 
was wanting to go out and explore again. Abigail had tried to wake early 
and look for a few places she might like to visit on Celia's PipBoy 
maps, and Kyle in particular had more to add to her short list. 
Apparently Giltford was nice this time of year, with the worst of the 
summer heat over, but neither Sharn nor Chopper were eager to venture so 
near to the vague swathe of territory there known as the mantis 
Swarmlands. They'd had their fill of invertebrates for this year.
    
    Rathley was a harder sell. His woman was still more than willing to 
put him up, and he had not even come close to drinking his way through 
the profits of their last few jobs. However, against the four of them he 
put up only a minor resistance, and with his leg healed he had little 
excuse to have them remain there any longer. He had joined them by the 
time they had made their last preparations and done their re-supplying, 
as he had said he would, leaving his host with a last flurry of sex to 
remember him by which he took great pains to mention in as much detail 
as they could stand.
    
    Abigail had bought little in preparation. Another pouch full of 
bullets replaced what she had spent on the Radscorpions, and then some. 
A couple more .357 magnum rounds and another cylinder's worth of .38 
specials was plenty, cleaning the gunsmith out of the latter. She was 
surprised to realise she had started to think of them by calibre after 
those few days she'd spent learning how to clean and maintain her gun 
from the friendly gunsmith. She must have seemed so ignorant when she'd 
thought that a bullet was just a bullet. Especially to the Mercs back in 
Corva, who had taken such pride in their weapons. 
    
    But that ammunition and her share of travelling rations was all she 
really thought she would need. In the end it was Chopper who had picked 
their next destination, and though both Kyle and Rathley had questioned 
her choice, to Abigail it didn't really matter. She just wanted to be 
somewhere different, and before then get back to travelling with just 
the four of them, where everything would be less complicated. 
    
    She would be able to get herself sorted out that way.
    
***

To be continued...

***

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Many thanks to Richard King for his proofreading assistance.

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