Chapter Text
July 2279
Everything hurt as Abby stumbled into the Muddy Rudder in the belly of what had once been the USS Oriskany but was now known as Rivet City. Literally everything. Even her toes.
In fact, she was pretty sure she’d broken her pinky toe when she’d cracked it against a piece of rebar after tripping over the damn thing. If she took off her boot and still had a toenail, it would be a miracle.
Adding insult to injury was having to wear a stupid bandanna over her mouth and nose like she was some kind of bandit. The residents here might be used to the mold and the rust and the bacteria teeming over everything, but her vault-weakened immune system certainly was not. Knowing her luck, she’d probably die of red lung if she stayed here longer than a few hours at a time. As it was, her eyes were already incredibly itchy and she could practically feel the creepy crawly sensation of billions of microscopic organisms settling on her skin.
After a week over in Point Lookout gathering punga fruit, she was more than ready for home. With her darling Mister Handy and her gleaming metallic house with its easy to sanitize surfaces and shiny new second floor bathroom. She could almost hear her washing machine calling her name.
“Abracadabra!”
Oh, nope. That was just Belle.
“Hello, Miss Bonny.”
The barkeep grinned at her and leaned on the counter, “You got the goods?”
“Yes, ma’am.” She hefted the large duffel up and popped her back. “Thirty pounds if it’s an ounce. Fresh and juicy like the day it was picked.”
She hooted and almost hugged the bag. Abby found herself smiling despite all the aches and pains. This woman had terrified her the first few times they’d met two years ago, but since then she’d really grown on her. Especially after she discovered this bizarre love of all things punga.
“I tell you, Abs, you’re the only asshole worth a damn on this tub!”
“Thanks.”
“Let’s settle up, huh? What’d we say? Twenty caps?”
“Sixty.”
“Sixty?! I must’ve been drunk off my ass to agree to that kinda ripoff!”
“Okay.” She still wasn’t sure why people felt the need to haggle out here. Wasn’t it just simpler for everyone to agree to a reasonable price and then move on with their lives? Why did every transaction have to involve banter?
“Sixty. You must think I’m swimmin’ in caps instead of bullshit down here.”
“M’hmm.”
Belle scoffed, “Well, fine. Take your damn caps then.” She slapped down a sack and made a face when Abby slipped them into her pack. “Probably don’t even have my damn ointment on you.”
“I’ve got it right here.” She held up the bottle of liquid made from the innards of a spicy pepper imported in from out west. Good for rheumatism and joint complaints of all varieties.
“Hmph. That last shit you had wasn’t worth a good goddamn.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. Unfortunately, I can’t control the quality of the peppers I get. Moira is working on a greenhouse for me though so next year might be different.”
“A greenhouse?”
“On my roof.”
“Huh. Must be nice livin’ in such a swanky place.”
“It is.”
“Pfft. How much for the bottle?”
“Five caps.”
“Five?! You steal all my money over fruit and now you’re trying to give away medicine? What the hell’s wrong with you?”
“Consider it a refund for the last batch.”
“Huh. Well, alright.” She fished out five caps from the register and held her hand above Abby’s. “You ain’t just tryin’ to give an old lady a discount, are you?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Alright then.” She dropped the caps and pocketed the bottle. “Well, it’s kinda late. You fixin’ on staying at the Weatherly?”
“Probably. I told Bryan I’d visit, so…” She shrugged. Charon had told her a million times she shouldn’t let people know about the soft spot she had for kids, but they’d met too late for that advice to be worth a damn. She’d already met practically everyone in Megaton, Rivet City, Canterbury Commons and Underworld by then.
“Ah, you’re too soft, Abracadabra. I bet you still fall for those stupid rigged baby carriages, don’t you?”
Her cheeks went hot and she was suddenly grateful for her bandanna after all. “Of course not!”
“M’hmm.” She turned her head and yelled, “Brock! Come get this fruit!” Then completely ignored the man when he came over, “So… I got a job for you, if you’re interested.”
“A job?”
“Ya-huh. Usual?”
“Okay.” She dropped the five caps she hadn’t bothered to put away and accepted the Nuka. “What’s the job?”
Belle put her hand on her hip and slapped her bar rag down irritably, “I gotta guy here just won’t leave. Been camped out for a good month.”
“What? I thought you had Brock for --”
“Nah. Not for this one. I know the type. Jerk would just slip right back in here once Brock was gone.”
Righteous indignation swept through her. Belle was tough as nails. Whoever this jerk was must be a real piece of work to have her upset like this. “He hasn’t been harassing you, has he?” Her hand went to the plasma pistol on her hip and Belle’s eyes followed the movement.
“No, no. Nothing like that. I just think this job needs a special touch. A lady’s touch. A you kinda lady.”
“Oh.” Her hand left her pistol and she shrugged. “Okay, so you want me to talk to him?”
“Yes. Exactly. You gotta talk to him. Get that prima donna outta here. He’s bringing down the whole feel of the place and I can’t stand it no more.”
"I'm on it."
Butch sat at the other end of the bar, picking at the label on his beer. The busty gal on the front with her blonde braided pigtails and the two large steins in her hands reminded him a little too much of a certain someone. She had to go.
He’d given up on finding her. He’d hit every damn place she was famous for haunting according to the radio, but no dice. Apparently she moved around a lot. It was impossible to catch her. Especially when she went wherever the wind took her. Or at least it had seemed that way to him. One day she’d be spotted down south, the next she was halfway to Baltimore. He’d heard of her going to someplace called the Pitt. Another place down the coast a ways that no one else had ever come back from. She worked for the Brotherhood, the Regulators, the caravans. Even those twerps in Lamplight. Somehow.
They’d shot at him on sight, but she was pretty shrimpy. Always had been. Had that chirpy little voice and those big, dumb eyes. Maybe they just didn’t realize she was twenty-one. Probably just saw another kid when they looked at her.
He’d been moping around here for weeks. He’d lost his ma, his home, his gang. Everything. He’d hoped he hadn’t lost his girl, too, but apparently he had. She’d barely glanced his way after Amata had called her back to the vault. A curt nod of her head and that was it. In fact, she barely spoke a word to anybody except the dog she had with her. The mutt was scrawny, but had fangs enough that Butch hadn’t wanted to cross him to get to her.
Which meant that for the infinite time in his life, he’d missed his chance. By the time he’d drummed up the courage to go confront her over all the chaos and confusion her dad and her leaving had caused, the way it had torn him up inside to watch her run out that stupid vault door and how images of her frail, fragile self being ripped to shreds by some wasteland nightmare had haunted him every night thereafter, she’d already slipped back out.
She just showed up, completely remade his world all over again, and bounced. Just like that. Just like always. He’d been furious at her for at least a week before Amata confessed to making her leave. She'd actually had the balls to tell her the baldfaced lie that nobody wanted her around. That her very presence was just too disturbing for some of the idiots they’d fought so hard to save. The door to 101 was always open now, but not for her. Never again would she be welcome back into the only home any of them had ever known.
Fucking bullshit. That’s what it was.
So he’d split. Packed what little shit he cared about and left. He woulda packed those stupid heavy ass books of her Ma’s, too, but she’d already somehow filched ‘em when nobody was looking. He had no idea how she pulled that off. All together they had to weigh half her body weight and they’d been stored right there in the clinic where Amata had held court with her rebels twenty-four seven. But they’d been gone when he went to take them. Every single one. Even the stupid atlas.
That kinda sucked, actually. Carrying them would’ve been a pain, but he’d wanted something to give her when he finally tracked her down. Something big that would say everything he’d wanted to say since they were in kindergarten together. A gift awesome enough to make up for all the crap he’d put her through because admitting to himself or anybody else that he’d been pining for the Vault’s resident number one weirdo and perfect little girl scout all his life was just too hard.
God, he was pathetic.
“Butch DeLoria?”
Great. Now he was hallucinating her voice, even. He was just that much of a dip. Jesus fucking Christ.
A finger tapped him on the shoulder a few times, “Butch? Can you hear me?”
He rolled his eyes and sighed, “Yeah, I can hear you. Fuck.” Butch turned, fully expecting empty space beside him and blinked at the familiar green eyes staring at him. He almost choked on his beer but managed to get her name out through the coughing. “Abby?!”
“Yes? Are you alright?”
He waved his bottle at her, “Choking.”
“I can see that.”
“It’s fine.” He cleared his throat a few times and tried again, “Well, if it isn't my best gal, the one who sprung me from the Vault! I think I owe this lovely lady a drink!”
“Oh, no, thank you. I already have one.” She raised her own bottle and he frowned. Straight Nuka. Still a teetotaling dork even in an apocalyptic wasteland.
“Nah. What you’ve got is half a drink there, sweetheart.” He leaned over the bar and yelled down at Belle. “Hey! Can I get some whiskey in a glass for my friend over here?”
“That’s really not…” Abby watched Belle wink at her and sighed irritably. “Necessary. Thank you, Miss Bonny.”
“You’re welcome, Abracadabra.” She glared at him, “This is goin’ on your tab, bub. And you damn well better pay up before you leave.”
“Yes, ma’am!” He saluted her sarcastically and then patted the stool next to him. “Come on, Abracadabra! Let’s play a little catch up, yeah? I’m sick of talkin’ to all these dead soldiers by myself.” He smacked a few of his empties out of the way before taking her Nuka and pouring it into the glass. “Sit.”
“Okay.”
Butch waited for her to climb up onto a stool and raised his beer, “Here's to freedom and rocking the Wasteland! Drink up!”
She raised her glass and took a small sip before recoiling, “Oh, that’s just awful.”
“Heh, still ain’t much of a drinker, huh?”
“Not really.” She sat it down with a thump. “I see you’ve slowed down a bit though.”
“Yeah, well, this pretty nurse told me I should a few times. Figured I’d listen.”
“Hmm. So, you left the vault.”
“I did. Jerks didn’t know nothin’ about real livin’. Not like us.”
“Ah.”
“So I struck out on my own! Just doin’ it up big, solo styles.”
“That’s nice.”
“Yeah.” He shrugged, “And no, I guess. Wasteland’s a big place, ya know? Gets kinda lonely sometimes, but anything’s better than the vault. That place was a pit.”
“Right.”
“You’re lookin’ good though, shrimp. Guess the apocalypse agrees with you or somethin’.” She was looking real good, actually. The sleeveless leather duster and tight jeans she had on were definitely doing it for him. Course, she could’ve worn a burlap sack and he’d have still been into it.
“Thank you.” Her eyes darted over him and he would’ve been a little excited except he could tell she was frowning at him under that stupid rag on her face. “You shouldn’t wear your vault suit out in the wastes. It draws the eye. You’ll be a target.”
“Thanks for the free advice.”
“Sure. So… how’d you wind up here?”
“Same way anyone does. By being too cool to stop anywhere else! I didn't see a thing in the wasteland that was a match for a bona fide Tunnel Snake.”
“Ah.” She nodded politely, “Well… you should probably think about moving on. Miss Bonny’s kind of prickly, you know. She’s liable to have you thrown out if you keep camping out in her bar.”
“Pssh. And where would you suggest I go, huh?”
“I’m sure I dunno. Anywhere is fine, probably.”
“Hmm.” She was quieter than he remembered. Less feisty. He’d already said she was cute twice and she hadn’t so much as blinked. “Where’s that mutt of yours at?”
“Oh, I sent Dogmeat home before I got here. Rivet City doesn’t agree with him.”
“Home? You got one of those?”
“Yes.”
“Huh. Coulda fooled me. Way I hear it, you’re just boppin’ around from place to place all the time. Nomadic like.”
“That’s true.”
He waited but she didn’t say anything else and he squashed down the frustration swelling up inside. “So where’s home at then?”
“Megaton.”
“Oh, Megaton. Yeah. I been there.”
“M’hmm.”
“It’s pretty nice. Big walls.”
“Right.”
Damn. She was giving him less than nothing here. He was doing everything he could to not blow it, but if she didn’t give him an opening, he was screwed. “So you got anybody waiting for you at this home of yours?”
“Just Wadsworth.”
“Wadsworth?”
“My Mister Handy. He came with the house.”
“Oh, no shit! You got your own robot?”
“Yes.”
“That’s awesome.”
“Thanks.”
“So nobody special though?”
A flicker of the girl she’d once been finally showed in her eyes and she glared at him with a raised eyebrow, “What kind of special?”
“You know, boyfriend? Girlfriend? Sex slave? Whatcha got?” He grinned at the aggravation that practically radiated from her now. Come on, kitty. Time to play. “Maybe you’re just one of them freaks who’s into the dog and robot though, huh?” He shrugged, “Takes all kinds I guess.”
“I am not some kind of deviant! That’s… how dare you!”
“So you got a toy stashed somewhere then? Dick on a leash? Pussy on a string kinda thing?”
“Of course not!”
He scoffed, “You’re tellin’ me a stacked piece of ass such as yourself ain’t gotten laid in two years? Please.”
“That’s -- that’s none of your business!” She stood up and pointed her finger at him. “Listen, you jerk! You move on from here and go find somebody else to bother with your nonsense! You hear? Miss Bonny’s tired of it and so am I!”
She stomped away. Right out the door without looking back and he saw his whole future leaving with her. Fuck. Too far.
“Wait! Hey!” He hopped off his stool and made to follow only to be met with the bar hag at the door. Butch scowled at her, “Get outta my way, old lady.”
“Pay up first.”
Shit. “Oh. Right, yeah.”
By the time he got his tab settled and ran upstairs into the closed market, Abby was nowhere in sight. A security officer frowned at him, no doubt about to give him the business over being caught there after hours, but he beat him to the punch.
“Yeah, yeah, I know it’s late. You seen a little slice come through here? About yea big?” He held his hand up to the middle of his chest. “Big green eyes? Curly hair?”
“Abby Lane.”
“Right. Her.”
“What’s your business with Miss Lane?”
Goddammit. Somehow the girl who’d never been able to manage one decent conversation in her life had made nice with everybody in the whole fucking Capitol Wasteland. Made it hard to track her out there and now it was fucking with him in here, too.
Butch raised his left arm and pointed at the PipBoy there. “We’re old friends, alright? Grew up together.”
“Oh, you’re from that vault.”
“Right. Yeah.”
He pointed up, “She’s headed for the Weatherly. Checks in on Vera’s boy sometimes.”
“Great. Thanks.”
“Marketplace hours are --”
“Yeah, I know! Thanks!”
He bolted for the stairs and took them two at a time straight up. He didn’t care how much she’d changed, she couldn’t have fixed that bum ticker of hers. Overtaking her had always been a cinch. He finally caught sight of her at the top landing and shouted her name. She jumped and whirled, hitting him with that frosty look that had always had his stomach doing somersaults and he couldn’t help it. His brain just completely short circuited for a sec.
Butch tripped and fell flat on his face.
“Oh, my God! Butch!”
He winced at the pain in his forehead and knee and sat up, shaking his head, confused at why he was suddenly sweating so much. Cool hands cupped his jaw and tilted his face up. Abby was staring at him from less than five inches away and he couldn’t do anything but stare back.
“You’re bleeding.”
“What?”
“Hold still.”
One of those soft hands left him and he immediately pouted. He wanted it back.
“What’s wrong? Does anything but your head hurt?”
“Huh? Oh… my knee.”
“You probably just banged it on a step on the way down, but I can check it if you want.”
“‘Kay.”
She dabbed at the cut on his forehead, “I’m sorry if this stings. I have to disinfect it. This ship is filthy.”
He chuckled at that. The whole damn wasteland was filthy. It was cute though, that she’d held onto that hospital corners mentality after all this time. “Yeah.”
“I don’t think you’ll need stitches. Just some tape should do it. I'd use a stimpak but it might scar.”
“Hmm.” He watched her work, all efficient and calm. The only time he ever remembered her being calm was when she was doing patch jobs like this. “You’re still a nurse.”
“I was never a nurse. I was an intern. I dunno why you always called me that.”
“Cause nurses are supposed to be cute… and you always wore that little hat.”
“It was part of the uniform.”
“Heh. Yeah.” Goddamn that uniform. He wasn’t sure who’d designed the Vault-Tec nursing outfits, but he’d like to shake that man’s hand. Her in that sexy pink dress with the crisp white apron over it and that saucy little hat were what dreams were made of.
“Okay, all done.” She packed away her supplies and waved her hand in front of his eyes, watching as the shadow fell across them. “I don’t think you’re concussed or anything. Do you need help getting up? I can find somebody.”
“Nah, it’s --”
“Oh, your knee. I almost forgot.” Her hands were suddenly pressing on his leg, “Does this hurt?”
“Uh, no.”
She moved them to just above his knee and squeezed again, “How about now?”
Shit. It definitely didn’t hurt but having her sliding her hands around there wasn't exactly doing him any favors in the ‘don’t be a skeeze’ department. He shifted away before certain things became noticeable and shrugged, “It’s fine.”
“Oh, good. You might have bruising but it should be alright.”
“Great.”
“Yeah. Well… I should, uh…”
“Wait.” He caught her hand as she started to move away and she wobbled, off balance on the stairs. She had to plant her other hand on the railing above his head and he got a faceful of breasts squished up against him before she managed to recover and sat back. Heat flooded through him and it felt like his heart had shot off out of his body.
Was this what a stroke felt like?
“What?”
“Uh.” Right. This was his own fault. He’d asked her to wait. He’d run her off like a dope earlier. Butch glanced around but they were all alone in the dark staircase. Just them and the rust. He lowered his voice anyway, soft and serious. “I’m sorry, Abby. For bein’ such a jerk.”
“Oh. Well… that’s alright. You don’t have to apologize.” Her eyes crinkled up in a way that let him know she was giving him a half smile. “It’s not like I’m not used to it, right? It’d probably be pretty weird if you weren’t at this point.”
Fuck. Maybe this really was too far gone. That well-known feeling of hopelessness and disappointment washed over him. “Yeah.”
“Anyway, we aren’t kids anymore. People are jerks everyday. You aren’t so bad, really. I figured that out a while ago. Ran into at least three way worse jerks than you just on my first day out, so… don’t worry about it.” She shrugged, “I grew up, Butch. I don’t expect stupid stuff like decency or manners from anyone anymore. So don’t worry about it.”
Oh, God, his heart hurt. She said it so casual-like but it was tearing him apart to hear her talk like that. He’d been a selfish asshole before. All pissed that she’d left and he’d had to endure years of fighting before he got out. Once he’d seen she’d survived, he hadn’t even given a thought to how much she must’ve suffered to manage it.
What had happened to her? Abby had been soft even back when they were toddlers. Crying over the dumbest shit. Getting all upset anytime somebody said boo to her. It had made her a prime target for razzing, but it was also the only way he’d ever found to get all of her attention at once, so he’d kept at it.
One time, when they were barely four, he’d tried sneaking a kiss. Snuck right into her living room and planted one on her chubby little cheek. She hadn’t even looked up from her book. It was like he wasn’t even there. So he’d stolen it and her glasses and ran gleefully down the hallway while she shrieked and chased him. The whole thing was beyond embarrassing now looking back on it, but that one moment had basically set the tone for the rest of their relationship all the way up until she’d left.
No wonder she hadn’t cared to talk to him when she came back. Why would she, right? She’d probably been worried that he’d aggravate her and she’d lose it and just shoot him. He knew her. She’d have done it and then felt terrible for ages after. No matter how much he’d deserved it.
“Anyway, I gotta go. It’s getting late, so… I’ll see you around, I guess.” She gently pulled her hand away and patted his awkwardly. “It was nice to see you again.”
Butch watched her stand up and put her pack back on. There were too many words trying to get out of his mouth at once for any to actually make it. He wanted to tell her that he’d thought about her every day since she’d left. No, more than that. Every day since the very beginning. There hadn’t been a single hour of his life he could remember that she hadn’t been burned on his brain.
He wanted to tell her he was proud of all the insane shit she’d done. All the rescues and escapes and stuff Three Dog talked about on the radio. That he was proud to call her his friend, even if she didn’t think of him as hers.
That she was smart and pretty and kind and wonderful and all that crap he’d done when they were kids, all the names and the pranks and the cruelty, was wrong and stupid and he was wrong and stupid. He wanted to beg for her forgiveness. Tell her all the sappy stuff she’d always inspired in him. All those stupid poems and the love letters he’d never been brave enough to leave in her desk. How they’d ridden around in his jacket pocket for weeks before he’d finally given up trying to muster up the courage and tossed them in the incinerator.
Instead, he barely managed to make anything come out at all.
“Hey, nosebleed? I’ll see you in the morning, alright? We got a lotta catching up to do.”
She almost laughed and shook her head, “Morning? Since when have you gotten up before noon?”
The bulkhead door shut behind her and the awful metallic scrape that accompanied it was so similar to what the vault door had sounded like when she’d first escaped that he winced and shut his eyes, banging his head back against the railing.
“Stupid, stupid, stupid.”
August 2274
“Abigail. Where do you think you’re going, young lady?”
Abby froze at the door and hugged the book in her arms a little tighter. “Just returning this.”
“M’hmm. And getting the next one?”
“Well… since I was already going to be there…”
James sighed, “Sweetheart, it's nearly midnight. You need to sleep sometime.”
“I can sleep after the G.O.A.T.!”
“I know you’re worried about this test, but you really shouldn’t be. It will be fine.”
“I’m almost done. I swear.”
“Which volume is that?”
“Twenty-two.”
“Isn’t this your third time through the set?”
“Third time’s the charm!”
“Abigail.”
Oh, that tone. She hated that tone. “I just want to live up to Mom’s legacy. Make you proud and all.”
“I’m already proud of you, and your mother would be, too.”
“I know, I just…” She sighed, “I’m being silly.”
“No, you’re being your mother’s daughter.” He ruffled her strawberry blonde curls and smiled. “Alright. Go get number twenty-three. But be quick about it. It’s far past curfew.”
“Thanks, Daddy.”
Abby quietly walked the silent, darkened halls of Vault 101, hugging the walls to avoid the security patrols. Slowly making her way to her father’s office in the clinic. The Encyclopedia Britannica set kept there was one of the few possessions her mother had owned that they had left. She probably should have asked before borrowing the heavy, leather bound books, but here lately her father had been pushing her to ‘be more sociable’ and ‘make an effort’ to make more friends with the other kids. If she’d asked outright for more books to read, he probably would have finally set her up on a blind date like he was always joking about.
In her opinion, she had plenty of friends already. Stanley and Jonas and Amata and Grandma Taylor were great. Most of the adults in the vault were nice enough and she got along fine with them.
Their children, however, left a lot to be desired.
Then again, maybe it was just her. They all seemed to get along swell with each other. She was considered the odd one, after all. She wasn’t interested in gossip. Or hairdos or dance steps or who was caught necking with who in a closet somewhere. She didn’t care who went all the way, who was considered a prude, who was pinned to who.
She’d liked the games they used to play when they were little. Back when they all still got along with each other. Hunt the Mutant and baseball and tag. Slumber parties and popcorn. Playing gin rummy and attempting to create edible offerings for the annual Bake Off. Then puberty had happened and it felt like everyone, save her and Amata, had lost their damn minds. The other girls had stopped fighting back against the boys incessant bullying. Stopped circling the wagons. Now they just giggled when they did asinine things. Blushing and acting like ninnies whenever the posturing and chest thumping would start up. The teasing they all endured was suddenly full of sexual overtones and innuendo.
It all made her extremely uncomfortable, and she wasn’t shy about letting them know. Amata didn’t care as much, or if she did, she didn’t show it. As the Overseer’s daughter, she’d been drilled in being ‘the example’ her whole life. Retaliating wasn’t even an option as far as she was concerned, though her efforts to be above it all usually had the opposite effect for some reason.
Honestly it all just seemed silly to Abby. She’d had a plan for her life down here since she was five years old. Study hard, follow in her father’s footsteps, work in the clinic, have two babies at some point with the least offensive male available to do her part to keep the vault going. Dating and marriage didn’t really factor into any of those plans. Babies could be made through science far easier than the traditional means in her opinion. Less messy, too. Plus, there wouldn’t be anybody hanging around after trying to tell her how to raise her children as if they had a right.
In short, she wanted to be somebody important. People who were important in the vault were defined by their jobs. Overseer, doctor, engineer, teacher. Those who weren’t were defined by what others thought of them. Delinquent, lush, prep, loser. In her particular case, shrimp, Poindexter, nosebleed, or, her personal favorite, ice queen.
The boys in the vault all thought she was, in Paulie’s words, a frosty bitch. Which was just fine with her. Apparently objecting to being pawed at and drooled on just wasn’t hip. Thanks to grabbing Wally’s finger and almost breaking it when he’d goosed her in the cafeteria, slapping Freddie across the face when he’d tried to plant one on her during Homecoming, and punching Butch in the stomach when he'd pinched her bottom in the hall, she’d secured quite the reputation for herself as a girl you didn’t want to get frisky with.
Especially since none of the adults would ever believe a ‘good girl’ like her would ever possibly do the kinds of things the boys occasionally accused her of. No, of course not. She was tiny and soft and cried at the drop of a hat. Delicate. She had a condition. Several conditions, actually. There was absolutely nothing about her that said ‘fighter’ to anyone. Not even to herself. She was always surprised at the violence she was capable of. The eruptions of emotion that would occasionally surge past her control.
It had all started in the fourth grade. Butch and his little friends had cornered poor Amata. Ambushed her in the bathroom of all places. A sacred space if ever there was one. Angry that she’d answered a question correctly in class and supposedly humiliated Butch in the process.
Abby had been taught her whole life that bullies were just cowards. That if you stood up to them, they’d back down. So she’d gotten between Amata and the boys and told them if they were going to hit her friend, they’d have to hit her first.
That was the day she learned the very important caveat that a bully will absolutely fight back if they have an audience of their peers cheering them on. Butch had broken her nose, blood flew everywhere. Abby had one of her little moments where her brain completely misinterpreted the signals coming in from her body and she’d laughed instead of cried. Laughed like she’d just heard the funniest joke ever as blood poured down her vault suit and tears ran down her face.
Butch and his buddies had reacted like she was some monster from a horror film and ran away. Amata, not wanting there to be more trouble, had told the Overseer and her father that Abby had just tripped and fell down in the restroom.
She was forever clumsy, too, so it was an easy lie to pull off.
That was almost ten years ago, and you would think that the boys would have gotten a clue by now and stopped messing with her, but no. They had not.
At least with the other girls blossoming into early womanhood, they were more distracted now. Who wanted to pick on a couple of nerds when you could be feeling up Susie Mack, right? Sure. Aside from Homecoming, when the Overseer had insisted on old-fashioned conformity and she’d been forced to wear an honest to God dress, the boys didn’t seem to even realize she was a girl at all. Which was also fine with her, since the one who did went nutty and mistook a ‘it’s nice to see you this evening’ for ‘please shove your tongue in my mouth’. Hard pass on that, thank you very much.
Didn’t he know how many germs were found in human saliva? It was disgusting.
She input the code to unlock the clinic and then the other one for her father’s office. They were easy to remember. Her parents's wedding anniversary and her mother’s birthday. Dates of singular importance to the Lane family and no one else.
Volume twenty-three, Vase to Zygote, was one of her all-time favorites. Some very interesting entries there. It was already late, but surely she could get through a few pages before her father started threatening to confiscate her light bulbs.
Again.
Abby was just turning to leave when a familiar derisive snort from behind nearly had her out of her skin and she whirled around, thankful to whatever deity was watching out for her that she’d thought to put her robe on over her shortie gown and bloomers before leaving their quarters.
Why’d they have to wear such ludicrous outfits to sleep in, anyway?
She narrowed her eyes. There was something about the way Butch was looking at her that made her feel like a piece of meat. She did not like it. Abby straightened her spine, adjusted her reading glasses and leveled an icy glare at him.
“You have absolutely no business being here after hours.”
He smirked and leaned against the door frame, “Neither do you, little Miss Goody Two-Shoes.”
“Of course I do. I am borrowing a book. With permission.”
“A book? You’ve got free run of the place and all you wanna take is a book?”
“Why are you here?”
“Saw the door was open.” He shrugged, “Figured I’d investigate.”
“Well, I was just leaving and I have to lock up, so you’ll have to go.”
“Hmm.” Butch walked over to her and tugged at the book in her arms. “Whatcha readin’, anyway?”
She refused to back up even an inch for this greaser wanna-be, but she did smack his hand away. “None of your business!”
He snatched the book and started laughing, “Encyclopedia Britannica? Jeez, kid. Do you ever lighten up?”
“What is that supposed to mean?!”
“It’s the weekend and this is what you’re sneaking around with? A book?”
“I like reading books.”
“Yeah, no, we all know that already. If I ever saw you without your nose in one, I’d die of shock.” He opened it and squinted, “Shit, the print’s tiny. A vase is an open container. It can be made from a number of… good God, I’m already bored as a gourd.”
She tried to hold it back. She really did. But he’d just left off right in the middle of the damn sentence like an animal. “It can be made from a number of materials, such as ceramics, glass, non-rusting metals, such as aluminium, brass, bronze, or stainless steel.” It all came out in a rush and she clapped her hands over her mouth after, staring at him with horrified eyes.
His eyebrow slowly rose and he grinned, flipped it to a new page and began again. “A wallaby is a small or…”
Goddammit. Abby fought it as hard as she could but it came out anyway. “A wallaby is a small or middle-sized macropod native to Australia and New Guinea, with introduced populations in New Zealand, the United Kingdom and other countries.”
“Goddamn. You’ve got this whole thing memorized, don’t you?”
“Just give it here!” She yanked the volume out of his hand and held it tightly. “You can go now!”
“Nah, I gotta know. It’s gonna drive me crazy.” He spun around her and stole a volume at random from the shelf. Dancing back out of her reach when she lunged at him.
“Hey! That’s not yours!”
“Jasmine is a genus of shrubs and vines in the olive family. It contains around two-hundred species…”
“It contains around two-hundred species native to tropical and warm temperate regions of Eurasia and Oceania. Put it back!” She smacked him on the shoulder with the heavy book she was holding but he just laughed.
“What kinda freak memorizes a whole damn encyclopedia?”
“This kind, obviously! Now give it back, Butch! I mean it!”
“Oooh, she means it!” He laughed, “Sorry, nosebleed. I can’t take you seriously in your dumb bunny slippers. Come on.”
“These are standard issue!”
“So? Don’t mean you actually gotta wear ‘em. Sheesh. What are you, ten?”
“I was just about to ask you the same thing! Now give me back my book or so help me God, I will find a scalpel and stab you right in the neck! I swear I will!”
“Stabbing people now? That’s not very teacher’s pet of you. Apple’s gonna lose its shine if you don’t watch it.”
Her mother’s precious treasure in the hands of her worst enemy was like a living nightmare. The pages were so thin. The binding so old and fragile. He could probably tear it apart at the spine with his bare hands. Abby felt her throat constrict and her eyes went hot as tears started sliding down her face. Her voice broke over the words, “Give it back.”
His obnoxious grin slid into something a little less confident as he stared at her. “The fuck you cryin’ for? I ain’t even hit you yet.”
“So hit me already. Just give it back after. I don’t care.”
The smile finally died and he frowned thoughtfully, “Nah. It’s no fun if you aren’t fightin’ back.” He handed her the volume and watched her carefully set it back in its place. “So what’s the story here with you and the books?”
It was none of his business, but he’d shown a surprising amount of humanity for someone with the emotional IQ of a radroach. “They were my mother’s.”
“Oh. Oh, jeez. I’m… hey, I’m sorry, kid. I really am.”
Abby stood back up and wiped her nose on her sleeve. “I’m sure.”
“No, really. Look, some things are sacred, right? If I’d known they were your Ma’s, I’d never have… I’m just sorry. You can believe it or don’t. Whatever.” He put his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket and shrugged.
“Oh… well, thank you for being decent. For once.”
“Heh, yeah.” He shuffled a little closer until she had to back up into the shelf. Staring down at her with those mischievous baby blues. “Hey, you know what?”
“What?” Her own eyes were narrowed in suspicion. He was using the boyfriend voice on her. The one usually reserved for Christine or Susie when she’d see them snuggled up in the cafeteria together on dates.
He lightly tugged on one of the curls that haloed her head and smirked, “Somebody could almost mistake you for a real girl in this getup.”
She felt her cheeks go pink and quickly tugged the top of her robe even more modestly closed than it already was. From his angle, he might have had a look right down her top. She had no way of knowing for sure but it definitely seemed like something a pervert like him would do.
“So?”
“So…” A half shuffle closer and he was now close enough that she could smell the soap he used under his liberal application of aftershave and the miasma of stale smoke that clung to him. “You’re kinda cute under all that nerd crap, aren’t you?”
She blinked up at him in complete confusion and shock. This wasn’t how things were supposed to go. They should have either started the fight for real or he should’ve wandered off with his tail between his legs by now. This was just… odd behavior. Unprecedented.
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m sayin’ you ain’t half bad to look at when you aren’t trying so hard to be a frosty box is all.”
“Is that supposed to be a compliment?”
“Yeah, it is.”
“I think maybe you should do a little reading on what qualifies as a compliment then.”
“M’hmm.” He took a half step back and she immediately felt relief flood through her, even as he carefully looked her over. “Did you look this tasty at Homecoming?”
The feeling receded. “I… I have no idea how to answer that.”
He kept on as if she hadn’t spoken at all. Nodding to himself, “No, I don’t think you did. You had that stupid thing on. Made you look like a banana.”
“I borrowed it from Amata.”
“Yeah, that sounds about right. You look a lot better in this. Pink’s your color.”
Why was he staring at her so hard? His eyes looked darker now for some reason. Some trick of the light, maybe. She averted her gaze and swallowed. “Thanks.”
“Yeah.”
They stood there in growing silence and the few times she got brave enough to peek up at him, he was still staring at her. Was this some kind of new bullying tactic? Making her feel cornered and queasy without saying a word? Her heart was starting to race and that made her even more nervous. If the palpitations started up, if she had one of her episodes in front of him, she’d die. Absolutely die.
“Hey, that uh… that kiss? When Freddie laid one on you and you laid him out? That wasn’t your first, was it?”
“Is that supposed to be a rhetorical question?”
“No.”
“Of course it was.” She frowned at him, “You’re friends with all the other boys, aren’t you? Has anybody ever said they’ve kissed me?”
“No, but not all guys kiss and tell.”
“Sure they don’t.”
“I don’t.”
Abby went to roll her eyes but realized she’d never actually heard of Butch bragging like the other boys did. It was always the girls bragging that they’d made out with him instead. Huh. “Oh.”
“You must’ve felt like you were drowning under ol’ slobber chops, huh?”
She almost laughed. The memory of his slimy, punch flavored, cake crumb encrusted tongue invading her mouth made her shudder still though. Even almost a whole year later. Easily the most traumatic experience of her life. She’d take a million broken noses over that any day of the week. “Kinda. Yeah.”
“That blows.”
“I guess.”
“Didn’t put you off the whole idea though, right?”
“I…” She frowned, “I was never on the idea in the first place, actually.”
“No shit?”
“No, I um…” She shrugged, “I don’t really believe in the concept of romantic love.”
“The fuck does that mean?”
“I dunno, it just doesn’t seem very appealing to me. There’s a lot of drama and germs and it’s messy and…” And her mother would still be alive today, no doubt remaking Vault civilization as they knew it with her brilliance, if she hadn’t fallen for all that fairytale nonsense. “Why are you kind of being nice to me right now? It’s weird.”
“It is weird, huh? I dunno. Maybe I finally found the perfect amount of vodka.”
“You’ve been drinking?”
He smirked, “Ha. Well, if it ain’t obvious then I definitely found the right amount.”
“You shouldn’t drink. It’s --” Hereditary. “-- bad for you.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“What do you care? You sweet on me, nosebleed?”
She scoffed at the ridiculousness of his assumption. “I only care because…” Wait, did she care? When had that happened? “Because cirrhosis of the liver is very difficult to treat and one day I’m probably going to be your doctor. So your… your poor choices now are making more work for me in the future. So you should stop it.”
“You’re saying if I drink too much, I get to spend more time alone here with you?”
“I guess. Eventually.”
“Don’t give me much incentive to take care of myself then, huh?”
“What?” He raised his hand and she involuntarily flinched, squeezing her eyes shut and bracing for whatever smack or noogie or wet willie he was about to unleash on her. When she felt his fingers slide through her curls without yanking or twisting, she cautiously opened them. He was staring at her with the strangest look on his face. She didn’t even have the words to describe it. “What’re you doing now?”
“Your hair’s real pretty. Why don’t you ever wear it down like this?”
Oh. That’s right. He had that weird obsession with hair. “It just gets in the way.”
“Hmm.” He watched the way it wrapped around his fingers and smiled down at her. “Kinda makes you look like one of those uh… whatcha call it? A cherub.”
“A cherub?”
“Yeah, that’s one of those fat, baby angels, right?”
“Right.” Was he calling her fat now? What the hell was wrong with this jerk anyway? First Amata and now her. Did he just consider any girl who didn’t talk incessantly of dieting as fat? What an asshole.
“You gonna smite me if I go for it here or what?”
Abby frowned. Once again completely lost and confused. “Smite you? What?”
“Eh, fuck it. You hit like a girl anyway.”
“What are you --”
He cut her off mid-sentence, bending down and softly pressing his lips against hers. His kiss was so different from Freddie’s. It felt warm and gentle and she couldn’t help but gasp at the strange little electric pulse that zinged through her. The moment she did, he chuckled and resettled his mouth, more firm and insistent now but still pleasant. His tongue barely whispered against her lower lip and it wasn’t disgusting at all. Quite the opposite actually, even with the sharp taste of vodka and cigarettes on his breath. The hand in her hair tightened just for a moment and then he let her go, watching her face closely to gauge her reaction.
Except she didn’t really know which reaction to go with. She was drowning all over again but this time for very different reasons. It felt like her brain was on fire and simultaneously frozen solid. Her entire thought process had stumbled to a halt and all she could do was stare at him with wide, shocked eyes. Her whole body shivered rather violently as the lingering sparks finally left her and she was able to blink at least. Proper speech took a few more seconds.
“What was that?”
The corner of his mouth quirked up, “If you gotta ask, I didn’t do it right.”
“I mean… why? Why would you do that?” Her lips still felt weird and tingly. She brushed them with her fingertips but they didn't seem any different. There was no residue from some kind of nefarious lip balm or anything.
Butch shrugged, “I dunno. Always kinda wanted to, I guess. Saw a shot and took it.”
“Oh.” Of course. He’d already kissed every other girl in their class. Why not her, too? She should probably warn Amata in case he tried coming for her next. He no doubt wanted a full bingo card before declaring victory to his silly gang.
He was starting to look uncomfortable and backed away, “So, uh…”
Right. Her father was expecting her. She had her book. He had his kiss. There was no reason for either of them to still be here.
“Well, you did it so…”
“So?”
“So we’re done here, right? You’re done, I mean. I have to lock up and get back to studying.”
“Oh. Uh… yeah. Alright.” He seemed confused for the first time since he’d walked in. Or maybe that was just the alcohol in his system. He walked to the door of the clinic and paused, glaring at her over his shoulder with his usual hostile sneer. “Don’t go blabbing about this, alright, Poindexter? People’ll think I’ve lost my marbles trying to melt a glacier like you.”
For some reason, his insult, repetitive and pithy as it was, seemed like it slammed directly into her heart this time. She didn’t understand that either. Abby nodded, eyes overbright with unshed tears. “I’ll take it to the grave.”
“You better.”
She watched him stomp away and hurriedly rubbed her eyes. What a silly thing to get upset over. Glacier. Honestly, she was surprised he even knew what the word meant with how lazy he was in class. She really should be more amused than anything else.
By the next morning, everything had returned to normal. Or he had, at least. She caught him and his friends, the so-called Tunnel Snakes, hassling Amata. More fat jokes and deriding her for being a daddy’s girl. A few sharp words and the threat of violence from her had them scattering like the radroaches they were. Same old, same old. But she was somehow disappointed in a whole new way in Butch. Wally and Paulie were lost causes, but she’d truly thought he’d shown her a different side the night before.
Just went to show how silly she was, really.
They took their seats and he had a spit wad slamming into her earlobe from across the room before her butt had even hit the chair. Typical. She flicked it away without acknowledging him and waited for Mr. Brotch to pass out the examination scantrons. Normally she’d be fidgeting like mad in her seat, but she was too exhausted to be nervous this morning. She’d finally fallen asleep sometime after her father had gotten up to start breakfast. Now she was just barely managing to stay awake even after four verboten cups of instant coffee.
Abby had tried to get out of the exam altogether, honestly, but her father wasn’t having it. Not after his repeated scoldings over her staying up so late and studying too hard going ignored for so long. He’d just pouted sympathetically at her and sent her right out the door.
If she ended up in maintenance or as a waste specialist, it would be all his fault.
The whole test was a blur. It was so hard to focus on the little bubbles and she had to check three times on each question to make sure she was coloring in the correct one. Then once it was finished, she realized she’d completely forgotten to even put her name at the top. First time ever.
Amata got hers in first, of course. Bouncing in place while Mr. Brotch tallied her score. Supervisory track. Like there’d ever been a doubt. Abby gave her a thumbs up and stood in line to turn hers in, trying to keep her eyes open and promising herself a much needed nap after.
The scent of aftershave and pomade engulfed her and she didn’t even need to turn around to know who was right behind her. Butch. Of course. She sighed heavily and ignored the snickering and vulgar noises coming from him. Wally was smirking in his seat, so God only knew what silly game he was playing. Probably pantomiming something disgusting or flipping her off. Devil horns or whatever.
Just two weeks of class after this and then she could start her apprenticeship wherever she was sorted. If she played her cards right, she should only ever have to see Butch and his little cohorts at the mandatory monthly meetings the Overseer held in the atrium. Thank you, God.
Christine was arguing with the teacher now. Complaining over… something. She didn’t really know. It was so hard to think about anything but her bed. Someone warm and familiar pressed against her back and she almost dozed off right then and there. A quiet voice in her ear just made it that much worse.
“You alright, angel?”
Her brain was sluggish enough that although she registered the voice belonged to Butch, she couldn’t seem to manage a proper antagonistic response. “Tired.”
Now there was a hand at her waist. Right side where no one could see it. It slid down and gently squeezed her hip. He murmured, “Too freaked out about the test to sleep, huh?”
The test. Her future. Her place in the world. His weird behavior last night. The strange reaction her body had to him kissing her.
That damn kiss.
“M’hmm.”
“Alright. Just checkin’. Fuckin’ nerd.”
Abby frowned. One of his favorite insults paired with the soft way he’d whispered it turned it into something that sounded, weirdly enough, like a term of endearment. The hand at her side vanished and she was suddenly very aware of how chilly it was in here. Chilly in the whole damn vault, actually. Who the hell had decided that sixty-five degrees was the optimal temperature in the first place?
Mr. Brotch had to snap his fingers at least three times before she realized it was her turn. She stumbled forward and he frowned first at her and then Butch still lurking behind her. “You aren’t bothering Miss Lane here, are you, DeLoria?”
“Who me? Course not, Mr. Brotch.”
“Uh-huh.” He marked a few of her answers before fixing him with a hard teacher stare. “You know, I’ve been watching you pick at her for years, and now that our time here in the classroom is coming to an end, I feel I should let you know that it shows a real lack of empathy for your fellow man to go after a girl with her kinda condition. You’re about to be considered an adult in this Vault, mister. You should start acting like one.”
“What?! I ain’t goin’ after her!”
“And what do you call lobbing spitballs and flicking rubber bands her way then, hmm?”
“Oh… oh, that’s…” He shrugged, “Ya know, just havin’ a goof.”
“Uh-huh.” He went back to grading her test. “I’m sorry about him, Miss Lane. I don’t know how you put up with it.”
Usually very well, thank you. She just sighed though. All the adults here treated her like she was made from spun glass. The poor little girl with the conditions. A weak heart and always so anxious. As if any of that mattered in the grand scheme of things.
Her father had told her a million times that if she’d grown up anywhere else, she’d have finished school before most of her peers even knew cursive. But the Overseer didn’t believe in exceptions, or autism for that matter. So instead of being allowed to be the whiz-kid prodigy her mother had been, she’d been permanently yoked to her age group and forced to strictly adhere to the Vault-Tec approved educational system. Plodding along with the rest of them at a pace that made her prone to spacing out in class and suffering from a terminal case of boredom.
Sometimes she really wished she’d been born before Amata’s dad had taken over the vault. Clearly his predecessor had been more progressive and reasonable.
“Wow. Wow. Says here you're going to be the vault's Marriage Counselor.” He laughed, “Almost makes me want to get married, just to be able to avail myself of your services.”
The absurdity of that statement managed to break through the fog and she shook her head, “What? No, that’s… that can’t be right.”
“Yeah, that uh… I always figured you’d be a brain surgeon or somethin’. Weird.”
“I… I didn’t get much sleep last night. Daddy said I was overworking myself again and --”
Wally Mack snorted from his seat and mimicked her voice, high and frightened. “Daddy.”
“Shut it, man!”
She started. The admonishment had, for some reason, come from Butch. Abby glanced back at him but he was too busy glaring at his buddy to notice and she went back to pleading her case.
“Is there any way I can take it again? Maybe after a nap or --”
“Hey, it’s okay. Don’t get excited.” Mr. Brotch leaned towards her and whispered conspiratorially, “Listen, kiddo. Just between you and me? The whole test is a joke. If you don't like the results, I can make your G.O.A.T. come out any way you want. Just let me know.”
“But… isn’t that cheating, though?”
He gave her a flat stare before an exasperated sigh left him and he looked down at her scantron, “Oh! Would you look at that! I totally marked this all wrong. Golly. Lesse…” He scribbled all over the sheet, making most of her answers unreadable. “Wow. Yup. That’s what I thought. What it really says is you’re slated to be our next doctor. Must run in the family, huh? Your pops is gonna be so proud.”
“Really?!”
“Really!”
She clapped her hands, beaming from ear to ear. “Thank you, Mr. Brotch!”
“No, no, thank you. It’s nice to know I’ll spend my geriatric years being looked after by someone who actually knows what the heck they’re doing.”
“I’m going to go tell Daddy right now!”
“Okay then. Tell Dr. Lane I said hello.”
Abby turned and immediately stumbled over a foot that wasn’t in her way a second ago. She barely managed to catch herself on a desk and glared at the miscreant responsible. Always had to go ruin every good moment in her life. “Fudge it all! Why don’t you go get bent, Butch!”
His eyes went wide with comedic shock and he pouted, “Did you hear that Mr. Brotch?! Got a mouth on her, don’t she?”
“Save it, Mr. DeLoria.”