This is a story for anyone who's ever done stupid awkward shit because of a crush and now sometimes lies in bed embarrassed about it years later. Written 1000 years ago in 2011 to fill a Fallout Kink Meme prompt, and revised for your viewing pleasure. Now with added em-dashes!

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Maggie was nine years old when she fell in love with the boy from the Vault. He'd walked into town pale and squinting, all long legs and lanky arms, with dark hair so clean it was glossy in the sun. He asked her something — directions, her name? She's never remembered — and smiled with teeth whiter than even his skin.

She has been in love with The Lone Wanderer for nine years... along with everybody else.


It Takes An Irradiated Settlement


1. It Always Protects

It's a sunny day in Megaton and Maggie is leaning on a railing outside the water processing plant, pouting over all she surveys. There is a breeze that comes and goes, and the ends of her long hair flutter at her elbows.

The town bustles below her: rickety old Cromwell is still preaching by the dormant bomb in its center, with unfaltering zest that's hard not to admire at this point. Just a few steps away at the Brass Lantern, Jenny Stahl is chatting up the new school teacher, whose four young students are taking turns imitating Doc Church's Brahmin. By the gate, Lucas Simms is giving advice to Stockholm's recent apprentice, Billy. A heavily pregnant Nova eases down one of the side ramps, pausing to glare at the cackling, wrinkled Jericho.

Maggie smiles, then sighs. Megaton, like her, has grown and developed, but Megaton, unlike her, is full of love and life. Just behind her, against the door of the water plant, Harden is making out with a trader. Maggie is standing out here, making out with no-one.

"Hey, kid."

She turns, but she already knows who it is; there are only two people in town with voices that drag their words over rocks, and only one of them calls her 'kid'. Gob pulls one of his hands out of his pockets to give her a little wave.

"What're you up to?"

"Oh, nothing. Did you need something?"

"Thanks, but don't worry about it. Just picking up a refill." The ghoul's eyes are suddenly caught and he tilts his head to look past the railing; Maggie is still fascinated by the way his exposed muscles push and pull. "Hey, looks like Gabe really is back."

Her head snaps to the side so fast that her hair flares out, and, lo and behold: Gabriel Aberdeen, the Last, Best Hope of Humanity, steps out of Lucy West's house. He grins at the light of day that greets him, flashing still-pearly whites and squinting eyes bluer than the sky above. He pushes back hair that is now short and slightly sun-bleached, and the action accentuates the swell of his bicep; the past nine years have left him with considerable bulk roping no-longer lanky limbs.

With a hitch of a breath, Maggie is off, scampering down re-purposed airplane scraps and leaving Gob to walk in on Harden Simms with his hands down Trader Nick's pants.

"Well! Morning, Maggie! What's the rush?"

Maggie catches her breath with her hands on her knees. Of course a chunk of Cromwell's congregation would decide to trot up the ramps together and leave no space for passers-by. Megaton is getting crowded.

"Morning... Lucy. W... Where's Gabe...?"

"Gabe? You just missed him." Lucy West tilts her head and smiles toward the sky. "Fresh off a week of doing who knows what out there, and he still came to see me right away... He's great, isn't he?"

"Yeah. He is." Maggie frowns as she straightens up, and Lucy notices.

"What's the matter? Why're you looking for him — is everything okay?"

Maggie shifts her weight to her other foot, suddenly contrite. Anybody looking for Megaton's resident hero in such a rush is bound to set off some alarms.

"No, nothing's wrong. I just wanted to see him, because, um... Why are you smiling like that?"

"You're just so cute!" Maggie's cheeks get hot as Lucy laughs. "Don't worry, I'm sure he's resting up at home. Why don't you drop by?"

"You can't go empty-handed!" The two women swivel around to find spry old Manya with her hands on her hips. She looks down her nose at them with a haughty air but can't hide the twitch of a smile. "It would be awfully rude to visit someone without a gift, you know!"

Maggie does a quick estimation of her personal belongings (childish) and funds (negligible) and huffs in frustration.

"A gift like what?"

"Yeah, what do you get a guy like Gabe anyway?"

Manya chuckles and looks kindly upon the two young women.

"Do you girls know what the fastest way to a man's heart is?"

"Through the chest?"

"With a bullet?"

"No, no, no..." Manya laughs again, and the sound is warm and sweet. She leans forward with an air of conspiracy and Lucy and Maggie find themselves drawn in. "It's through his stomach!"


The first thing Billy Creel notices when he gets home is the smell of his favourite dish. The scent of Maggie's special Brahmin barbecue is a rare but always welcome treat that never fails to seduce his stomach into a demanding entity of its own.

The second thing Billy (the man, not the stomach) notices is Maggie herself, moving with the confidence and grace of a seasoned merc in the night around a stove that, just a few years ago, she was afraid to touch. Hell, she could barely even reach the dials, and now her hair is as long as she was tall. Just when did she grow up?

"Is it my birthday already? At this rate I'll look like Moriarty by tomorrow."

Maggie slings him a side-glance a wry smile.

"Sorry, Billy. Not for you."

Putting on a crestfallen air is easy; he really is hungry.

"But who could possibly deserve my Maggie's world famous barbecue more than me?" The young woman is careful to keep her expression schooled, which is exactly what gives her away. "So Gabe really is back in town?"

The screech of the fork she jerks across their nicest plate drowns out her gasp.

"Why — why do you say that?"

Billy chuckles and ruffles up her hair in passing, deciding to cut her some slack.

"Just making conversation, sweetheart."

He takes an Aqua Pura from the fridge and sits at the table. Sometimes he wants to sip at an old, still-irradiated bottle just to fully appreciate the contrast of the crisp, clean taste of Gabe's gift to the Wastes. Maggie starts to hum, an old lullaby he'd heard from a trader back in the day, and it makes him frown. He wants to instill the fear of God (or his gun) in whatever chump that would dare get involved with her, but this particular chump took down the Enclave for drinking water. How do you intimidate a guy like that?

At the same time, he's relieved. Maggie's childhood crush has proved enduring, and so has the reputation of its focus. Gabe was a nice kid, sure, but the Wasteland hardened — or ruptured — even the softest of hearts, particularly those worn on the sleeve. Nearing thirty, Gabriel is still as soft-hearted as ever, and Maggie couldn't have picked a better man to pine over.

Still, soft-hearted and nearly thirty. The type who won't say no, for how many years?

A plate with two glorious skewers of perfectly grilled Brahmin chunks appears before him, and his free hand automatically accepts it. Maggie grins at him through the steam wafting off the heavenly bounty with a side of baked potato.

"I thought these weren't for me?"

"Oh, please. Nobody deserves my world-famous barbecue more than you."

She heads back into the kitchen as he takes a bite. It's even tender. The seasoning is slightly different from how she usually does it, but it's better, has a kick you can appreciate without getting overwhelmed. Did she figure that out on her own? Oh, Maggie, you are ready for marriage.

Except when she emerges with the rest of the dish covered on their best plate for someone else — someone who has spent the last nine years travelling to places they didn't know existed, risking his life for the good of others and never turning down a plea for help, no matter how deep the shit got — the delectable morsel in his mouth gets a little harder to swallow.

"Maggie. I know Gabriel's a nice guy, but... he's called the Lone Wanderer, you know?"

Maggie raises a brow.

"Really, is he?"

Billy sets his plate down and stands to fully face her.

"I'm trying to say... he's lone. He wanders. He's not the settling down type."

"Billy — "

"I just don't want you to get hurt, Maggie."

His daughter pauses, then also sets down the plate she's holding. She wraps her arms around his waist and squeezes as hard as she can. He remembers the little girl who, in the beginning, wouldn't even hold his hand. Couldn't.

"Don't you worry about me. I know journeying is more home to him than his house. And, besides, he's probably got more girls out there than that Dave guy. It's not like I'm in love or anything." She taps on the plate she prepared for Gabriel. "Just showing a little appreciation. He's a nice guy and the Lone Wanderer, you know?"

Billy doesn't believe her but sees her off regardless. The meal she made him waits on the table.


The last rays of light streak the horizon as the sun sets, and Maggie is ignorant of its majesty. All she does is stare.

The door to Gabe's house stares back.

Just knock!

It's not like she hasn't done this before. Not like she hasn't grown up knocking on this door out of boredom or excitement or, a few times best forgotten, fear. This isn't even the first time she's had a gift with her, or been an eighteen-year-old in front of it.

But it is the first time she's stood there as an eighteen-year-old-going-on-nineteen and feeling it. The first time standing there and wondering why she ever thought Gabe would be excited to hear about her first hunting trip (but always appreciating that he was). The first time standing there and realizing that she and Harden don't play ding-dong-ditch on Wadsworth anymore. The first time standing there listening to the bustle of Megaton's blossoming nightlife and having zero interest in it. It's her first time standing there hoping for something more than vague and convoluted little daydreams coming to life. There's a weight in her chest that marks this moment as a milestone. A turning point.

She is standing in front of an old and dented metal door with a plate of rapidly cooling meat in one hand. Just knock, Maggie.

So she raises her free hand and raps on the door. Immediately she can hear Wadsworth's muffled puttering as he hovers over. The door swings open.

"Good evening, madame. What can — "

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, it's a madame? Shove over, Andy Senior."

With a weary (weary?) "as you wish, sir", Wadsworth moves away, allowing Maggie entry. The rickety dining table's been moved into the living area, and a dark-skinned man with styled hair and a worn and patched leather jacket draped over his chair sits at it, across from Megaton's second ghoul, Charon. Next to where Charon's crutch leans on the table is a pile of bottlecaps substantially larger than his companion's. A third pile, smaller than Charon's but still dwarfing the man's, sits by the far edge of the table, along with another hand of cards.

"Well, hello beautiful. How come I ain't seen you around this dump before?"

"You have," Charon grumbles, throwing a card down, "last time we were here. You're gettin' senile."

"Master DeLoria's last visit ended approximately one year, three months, eighteen days, two hours, and forty-five minutes ago," Wadsworth primly declares, helpfully remembering that humans have no need for down-to-the-second accuracy.

"Hey, shut it, Tin Can! And The Butch-Man ain't senile, Chuckles! I'd remember a fox like this!"

The Butch-Man jolts Maggie into recognition; she can hear the phrase being said by the same voice, with the exact same tone and inflection, in a distant memory.

"No, I remember you — you hit on me last time, too. Billy stuck you in a headlock after."

Butch stares, mouth hanging open.

"What... You mean Biwwy? That dweeb? No fuckin' way."

"I believe madame is referring to her guardian, Billy Creel, sir." Wadsworth is definitely sounding derisive, especially with his sarcastic little "sir", but the seriousness with which Butch glares at him speaks not of anger, but of cogs grinding painfully into place.

"Billy Creel... he the one with the eye-patch?"

"He is indeed, sir."

"No shit." Looking away, he takes a gulp of beer and mumbles, "your old man's a, uh, sturdy guy."

Maggie grins. Wadsworth floats in front of her once more.

"Now, Madame, what can I help you with?"

"I was wondering if I could see Gabe... is he around?"

"Everyone wants to see Gabe," Butch snorts. "Tough luck. You just missed him."

Oh, no. Maggie swallows.

"He left? Already?"

"Yeah, crazy, right? Asked if I wanted to come with, too. No way I'm sleepin' on the rocks when I'm already here. Of course the dog went with 'im, the keener. Why?" He points with his chin at the plate she's holding. "Got him a little somethin'-somethin'?"

Maggie sighs, and places the plate on the table, between Nuka-Cola and beer bottles and a half-empty can of Pork 'n' Beans.

"I guess it's not for him anymore. You guys can have it."

As she leaves, she can hear Butch exclaiming over her cooking.

("It's beef! And it doesn't taste like ass! Betcha wish it was Deathclaw meat though, huh?"

"It's a passive grudge for me. Call.")

It brings a smile to her face that is quickly erased by the heavy sense of defeat. She feels as though she'd been directly rejected by Gabe, just with his absence.

Why doesn't he ever stay? she wonders, though the question seems null when she considers her surroundings. She can't blame him for going out and seeking other places, other people. Nobody would stay. Especially not The Lone Wanderer.