The sun was at its highest point in the sky. Clover's leather armor felt uncomfortable. It clung tightly to her frame, trapping enough body heat to fry a mirelurk egg. She didn't care what that asshat Crow said about how his leather armor was 'All purpose': it wasn't designed for DC summer. Crow probably found half of his armor in some sewer in the assend of nowhere. Clover bet that's where he found his guards, too.

Still, it was better what Eulogy Jones had given her. The rifle on her back was also better than what she'd had: Adam had given her a chinese assault rifle called 'Xuanlong'. It had served Clover very well during her and Adam's numerous forays into DC proper. Of course, Adam had already modified the living hell out of it by the time Clover got it, but she didn't mind: the kid was smart.

Kind, too. And understanding; and polite; and not a raging sexist. That had certainly helped their friendship. Well, that and getting shot at was certainly a good motivator for not vehemently berating one-another constantly. Overall, Clover valued her relationship with Adam far more than any she'd had before - not that she had many relationships with other wasters bar being acquaintances with a select few.

So when he went missing, she had worried.

The amount Clover had reacted to Adam's disappearance had surprised her. It had made her question how close she was to Adam; they were friends, nothing more. That she was sure of. But she'd been wrong before… like with Adam. When she first saw the skinny, half-starved jumpsuit-wearing kid that blew Paradise Falls to hell, she didn't believe her eyes. But she'd traveled with him nonetheless, and the bond that formed between them was something special. No, not friends - more like partners. Clover decided that was the better descriptor of their relation to each other.

Adam had gone missing shortly after his father's death. That wasn't a good sign. They spent months searching for Adam's old man, with Clover at Rivet City picking up supplies when the Enclave vertibirds first arrived. She'd, in fact, been on the catwalk that linked Rivet City to the ret of the Capital to see them. A moment after her shock faded, dropped the goods she bought and sprinted over to the memorial. But when she got inside, Adam and the rest of the scientists were gone. Demoralized, she spent the rest of the day at the Muddy Rudder, struggling with the emotions roiling inside her at what she was certain to be Adam's death. But a day later Three Dog came over the radio in the Rudder, stating that the Enclave had attacked Project Purity, Adam's father was dead, and that Adam himself was in the Citadel.

He disappeared a week later.

Clover knew he'd had thoughts of self-harm before (What people will let out when they're drunk is interesting), but this had been be unprecedented for him. So she'd searched; and searched; and searched; and fucking searched.

Nothing came up - he'd seemingly disappeared off the face of the Capital.

Clover knew Adam was good at keeping things hidden: she was sure he'd been doing that for years before she met him. But keeping himself hidden from the Brotherhood, Enclave, and her would be impressive. Still, though, he had rigged Paradise Falls to blow sky-high in his first month out in the Capital. No reports had come in, so he was either captured by the Enclave (which Clover hoped wasn't the case) or he really had kept up his perfect emotional mask even after his father's death so no-one discovered his plans. It wouldn't surprise Clover. His face was just as much of a blank slate then as it was now. It was almost impossible to read him; but he could certainly read others.

Clover had never been at all good at judging people emotionally; Eulogy was read through how drunk or high he was. His compatriots were read similarly. The female slavers were no different than their male counterparts. That was why the person in front of her was so infuriating:

Jericho.

He had Adam's blank slate face with a shit-eating, 'Fuck you' grin. Somehow. Adam had said something about how the ex-raider had saved him a few times, but Clover thought he was lying. So far he'd just been an ass who seemed more interested about getting into her pants than actually giving her any information.

At the moment, Clover was stuck with Jericho's trademark yellow-toothed grin.

"You didn't strike me as the worrin' type, Clover. Are you goin' soft?" Clover snorted in exasperation. She crossed her arms, brown eyes narrowed in intense and special hatred.

"Just tell where the fuck Adam went, asshole." Jericho threw his head back, howling with laughter. A few Megaton residents glanced up at the pair.

"You think you can threaten me? I'll admit, that's a good one." Jericho said, before his expression darkened.

"Look, if you really want to know, There's this person that came to Megaton named McKinley. He said he's from a place called The Pitt. H-"

"Wait," Clover cut in, "The Pitt?" Jericho nodded, eyes narrowed in annoyance.

"Yes, princess. Now will ya let me finish talking so I can get back to drinkin'?" Clover had a million thoughts swirling around her head, but pushed all of them out of the way. The ex-slave nodded curtly. Jericho continued.

"Like I was sayin': this guy, McKinley, says he's from the Pitt. He mentioned your boyfriend a few times."

Clover rolled her eyes at the old raider.

"Where is he?"

"At Moriarty's probably having fun with Nova." Jericho stated matter-of-factly. Clover's expression turned even more sower.

"Thanks," She said curtly, turning towards the aforementioned saloon. The fact that Moriarty wasn't dead yet frustrated Clover immensely. The way he treated his 'employees' (that was a pre-war word the bastard used to sound fancy) was, as a drunken Adam put it, "like shit". He abused his barman and sexually abused Nova constantly, from the prostitute's less sober accounts. Yet Adam had made it clear that were the bastard to die, her head would have a several hundred-cap bounty on it. Clover, in any other situation, would've had as many qualms as those who enslaved her when it came to rape. But Clover also knew people would go after him, too. Seeing as how Adam was the only person to have ever gotten close to her on any level, any organised group bounty hunting group worth their salt would got after Adam. The kid was tough - he'd survived DC after all - but Clover knew that even the Lone Wanderer had limits. And she didn't feel like pushing them.

The saloon, as per tradition, assaulted Clover's nose with the stench of every vice Moriarty could scrounge up. In one corner, a group of Megaton residents were drunkenly laughing at some joke Clover heard but didn't find amusing. Another group of ragged-looking travelers were smoking plastic pipes and injecting syringes with god knows what in them into their arms. Gob was, as Clover expected, at the bar. He used a filthy rag to clean down glasses that he immediately filled up again with drink.

Just above the din, loud (probably fake) moans could be heard. Clover felt disgust boiling up in her again. She walked purposefully over to the bar, ignoring the gazes she drew from some patrons. Traveling with the Lone Wanderer bred recognition. Sliding onto one of the few rickety, wire-frame stools that hadn't been used by some waster to sit while they drowned memories with vodka yet that day. Clover waited as Gob worked through each customer, taking or giving glasses depending on whether the customer had regained their common sense or not. Eventually, he worked his way over to Clover, a small, flakey-lipped smile shot in her direction.

"Hey there, Clover. What brings you here today?" Clover felt a smile tugging at the edges of her mouth, which she suppressed. Gob had always been polite to her. Like Adam in a way, but clearly more for survival's sake. Still, the difference between politeness and crude come-ons was large and noticeable.

"Lookin' for a man named McKinley." she responded simply. Gob nodded, already reaching under the bar top for a bottle of nodded in approval, and the ghoul bartender poured the ex-slave a glass of the drink. Setting before Clover, Gob said,

"Holler if you need more," and turned to the patron next to Clover. She downed the shot Gob gave her, liking to burn of the whiskey against her throat. Unlike Adam, she had no problems drinking. She could down several glasses before she'd pass out, so one couldn't hurt, right? In fact, the first time Adam had drank, he said some things Clover would never let him live down. Ahh, those were the times.

Eventually the sounds of Nova at work stopped, and a few minutes later Clover glanced over her shoulder; a man, presumably McKinley, was at the foot of the stairs that lead to Moriarty's second and most egregiously-priced level. He wore a faded horizon blue coat with a comically sized collar. The combat boots he wore were a faded black, too, with patches of cloth covering the spots where they'd torn or damaged them. Clover rose from her stool and set a dozen caps down on the counter. Once again walking with purpose, this time towards what was likely McKinley. He looked over at Clover, eyes traveling up and down her body as a slimy grin spread across his face.

"Hey there, honey," he began, only to cut off by Clover. She determined that this one was either stupid or that special kind of slimy that isn't ashamed nor empathetic to it's own horridness.

"I'm not interested," the ex-slave said cooly, "There's a friend I need to find; he's called the Lone Wanderer. I was told you could give me some info on where he was." McKinley's eyes showed recognition. Then his grin grew larger.

"Yep. I know that. But that's info, and that ain't cheap around here…" Clover's eyes flashed dangerously, knowing what the end to that sentence was. It was either asking for money or sex, neither of which she had any interest in giving. McKinley didn't notice her subtle warning. Or perhaps, not fast enough, Clover would mentally realize later. Nonetheless, Clover immediately grabbed McKinley's stupidly-sized collar and kicked out his right knee. McKinley groaned. His right leg collapsed, dropping his head to Clover's waist before he looked up, fear in his eyes. Clover glared at him, attracting the attention of several of the bar's patrons. The ex-slave didn't care, of course. She knew Mckinley's game. He was a bastard through and through. Not even a clever one either.

"Now listen here, asshole. Tell me where the Wanderer is, or I'll make your brains a new addition to the wall behind you." McKinley opened his mouth, likely to spout some smart comment, but one look at Clover's expression and eyes made him close it. By this point nearly the entire bar was looking at Clover. Gob had stopped washing glasses, his rag-holding hand stopped cleaning as he lowered the glass in his other. He set down the glass one the bar countertop and reached down below the bar and withdrew a long hunting shotgun loaded with beanbag shots. He barely used it, but Gob wasn't above its use. Moriarty would smack him around if he killed a customer with it, if that was even possible. He pumped the pump-action of the shotgun and Clover turned her head towards the noise.

"Clover, take that outside; you know Moriarty doesn't allow fights in his saloon." Gob said warningly. His flakey finger hovering next to the safety of the shotgun. Clover looked at Gob, then Mckinley. A few tense moments passed before the ex-slave nodded, grunting as she threw Mckinley over her shoulder fireman style. He squeaked as his crotch was pressed against the wireframe stock of Clover's Xuanlong assault rifle. Clover ignored this. The collective stare of bar continued to follow her as she exited the establishment. Clover continued to carry McKinley until she reached Adam's house, which she had a key to. The offer had shocked her; the key gave her access to nearly all of Adam's personal belongings. It was a massive amount of trust, something Clover secretly, guiltily, didn't know she shared with the Lone Wanderer. She pulled the key out of her left boot and put it into the lock. She twisted the key, hearing the door unlock and pushing it open. Mckinley still in tow, she shut and locked the door, cutting her McKinley out from the outside world. She threw McKinley down on the couch Adam had gotten with the house. His eyes were dinner plates as he observed the sheer amount of stuff the Lone Wanderer owned. He saw at least a dozen different weapons, even more types of ammunition, and bobblehead collection of all things. Clover glared at him.

"Don't even think about it," she growled. "Now, where was I?" McKinley's expression morphed from awe to fear. He cast Clover fleeting glances, but never made eye contact. So he was a coward, too. The ex-slave opened her mouth again, condescension mixing with disgust to make Mckinley let out another squeak.

"...right. You were about to tell me where the Wanderer was," she said. Her eyes were expectant. Mckinley's were scared; he didn't speak for several moments, suffering under Clover's glare. It was something the ex-slave considered an art.

"Um," he began in a nervous voice, "He just left the Pitt, actually..." Clover's eyes flashed again. McKinley hastily added, "But I wasn't that far behind him. He mentioned about needing to go to a vault. I think it was 102 or somethin'. 'Least thats what I heard…" Clover frowned, realization crossing her face.

"Hold on," she began, more to herself. "If you're a slaver, then for you to know where Adam went… which one are you? Slave or Slaver?" McKinley's face went from fearful to gleeful, as realization crossed his face. He started laughing.

"Oh my god," he said, and after a peering at Clover's face for a few seconds, added: "you… you're that Clover woman, ain't ya?" Clover bit her lip, nodding but not liking where McKinley might be going. His laughter went to Jericho levels of howling after a moment, only increasing the sour vibe Clover was feeling.

"You-you… ya won't believe this: he sided with us! The slavers!" McKinley began rolling on the couch, clutching his sides, stopping only when he rolled off Adam's couch. Clover's face showed, for a rare time, genuine, unadulterated shock. She was stunned. McKinley's laughter started up again when he saw Clover's expression. His laughter now seemed to be multiplied ten-fold, seemed to ring in Clover's mind, as the ex-slave thought of everything Adam had done: he'd wiped Paradise Falls off the map, and his kill count of super mutants numbered well over the over one-hundred mark. Why the hell would would Adam side with slavers?

"Did he say where he went?" Cover demanded. McKinley's laughter didn't stop immediately, so she set her boot on his throat. His laughter stopped after that. He also made sickening gurgling noises for a minute or so, before Clover lessened the pressure on his throat. Mckinley stared up at Clover, breath quickening as Clover drew Xuanlong and settled the sights over his heart. The threat didn't need to be spoken: Mckinley already knew what Clover was going to say.

"Rumors said he was headin' for a vault… I think it might've been 102 or somethin'..." Clover impatiently nodded. Mckinley looked at her, some hopefulness in his eyes.

"Can I go now?" Clover frowned again. Killing Mckinley could attract even more enemies, and for a woman that was a dangerous thing to do. But… Mckinley was a slaver - who would care if he died besides other slavers?

Adam might.

The part of Clover that pointed that out had a point. If Adam had really gone over to the slavers' side, he might have a vested interest in McKinley not dying. That could put a serious dent in their friendship.

If he's sided with slavers he's not any friend of yours, That same part of her mind said.

Clover turned off the safety to Xuanlong and fired.

Clover pushed the gates to Megaton open, mentally scolding herself. Of course Adam would go to Vault 101. It was his home. Mckinley had told her that Adam said 102, but she could see through that lie. It was painfully obvious.

Her footsteps kicked up sand and dust as combat boots against dirt broke the natural stillness and silence of the Capital over and over again. The ex-slave glared at the old, weather-beaten wooden door that lead to Adam's home as it came into view. Trudging up the hill that lead to it, Clover thought of every obscenity she knew of to throw at Adam. Every curse, insult, and prose she could use to make him regret his decision.

She kicked the door open, causing light and a gust of wind to flood into the dim cave that lead to Vault 101's door. The light spread until it painted itself across the back of a figure wearing a black traveling cloak with a hood. Clover stepped forward, boot smacking against the rock of the cave. The figure did nothing. At this moment the door creaked closed, draining nearly all light from the cave.

Clover's eyes narrowed at the figure. Every part of her wanted to kick the shit out of them. To kick and scream at what had to be Adam. To get some answers for why he did what he did.

"Why'd you do it?" she asked them. They turned their body to face her. Their posture stiffened when they saw Clover. The ex-slave noticed this, feeling a vindictive grin threatening her neutral expression. They seemed perturbed by her presence. Good. She should have had that effect.

"Well?"

They didn't respond immediately, instead opting activate the 'flashlight' function of their pip-boy. Then they lowered their hood, and because of the light provided by their pip-boy, Clover saw the deadness in their eyes. Adam's eyes. His mud-brown hair was matted and disheveled; poorly stitched stitches ran down his right cheek. It made some radical part of Clover want to hug him. She quashed that urge fast.

"Clover… what are you doing here?"

Clover wasn't imagining things: this was Adam. Their face was a dead match, but the voice was damning: it was quiet, but dignified. Not uppity, but with a certain control that Clover had yet to encounter in a person other than Adam. She glared at him, taking another, more menacing, step toward him.

"Looking for you." she said curtly. Adam didn't move at all, slouching slightly and just looking Clover directly in the eye. It wasn't an angry stare, nor was it a warning one. Instead it was tired; it had more tiredness than Adam had any right to.

"Why'd you side with them?" after a moment, she added, "In the Pitt."

Adam, while he was tempted somewhat, didn't ask who: he already knew what she meant. How she found out, he didn't know. But she clearly knew what he'd done in the Pitt.

He was still on the fence on his choice, still hated himself for letting his bleeding heart take control again. Still despised everything to do with the Pitt; Ashur and his cronies; how the entire thing operated. But the alternative was Werner; and Adam didn't trust him to develop the cure. Whatever he'd did, somebody was going to be fucked over by his choice.

"I didn't trust the leader of the slaves." he answered, flinching slightly as Clover's glare intensified. It was clear she wanted answers. Adam should've expected this; he was the only person she knew and was close to. Of course she'd have been looking for him. Considering what she knew he'd nearly done to himself… this had, in hindsight, been a very likely outcome. She didn't know why he'd even come back to Vault 101. He hadn't told anyone - not that he'd even consider telling most wasters he met or even his confidants - bar Clover. She could have had an idea, maybe. She wasn't stupid, Adam knew well; if anything, she'd taught him more than he'd taught her. Adam sighed, his already beaten resolve withering under Clover's unwavering glare.

"Look… you don't know what happened there; what the context was. I'm surprised you even found out," Clover's glare deepened as her brow furrowed even more.

"Then tell me," she deadpanned. Adam bit his lower lip, then looked at Clover: her posture was straight, so her full height became visible even in the cave. It was determined; demanded respect. Then he glanced back at the door to Vault 101; the number of the vault, once painted on in bright, proud yellow paint, had faded upon the rusted cog. He then glanced in the direction of the camera to the upper left of the cog. It was focused solely on him. Someone was listening right now. If he was going to explain himself, Alphonse Almodovar didn't deserve to hear it.

"Fine. But let's at least go outside; someone's listening right now." Clover tilted her head to the side, expression just as sower. What did he mean someone was listening? Was somebody watching them? A stealthboy, perhaps? No, Clover chided herself, that was an incredibly naïve thought. It came and went though. Still glaring, Clover growled a 'Fine' of her own and headed out of the cave. Adam followed.

Clover leaned against a rock once she was outside, eyes slits.

"Talk." She commanded. Adam took a deep breath into his mouth and let out through his nose. He closed his eyes. He straightened himself. He opened his eyes and met Clover's brown orbs. He sat down, and began to tell.

Clover, all-in-all, was deeply disturbed; what Adam said… it made Paradise Falls look like what it was named after. There were several times when Adam was silent for several seconds, closed his eyes, and seemed at a loss for words. Clover certainly was by the time he stopped telling.

It didn't make her question her life, but it did make her question Adam's common sense. More than she usually did, anyway. Her eyes were, at this moment, focused on the stitches that ran down Adam's right cheek.

"Where'd you get those?" She asked, pointing to the stitches. Adam unconsciously ran his index finger down them. He looked toward the ground for a second then back at Clover.

"The Hole." He said, a small shiver raking his frame. Clover had a bad feeling where this was going; Eulogy had something called 'The Ring' where he'd make her face off against other slaves to make sure she wasn't losing her murderous touch. "It's what allowed me an audience with Ashur." He never said what it was, Clover noted. Adam stood up, disorientated for a moment as blood rushed to his head.

"But why did you even head to 101 anyway?" clover blurted. Adam gave her a pointed look and adjusted the knob for radio stations until a certain station came through clearly. He heard snippets of the repeated broadcast from The People's Republic of America, Galaxy News, and finally:

"Adam… um… it's me. I don't know if you're even out there - or you're even alive anymore - but the situation is desperate; since your father left, my dad went crazy! The security started arresting people - even Mr. Brotch! Some of us, me included, want to open the vault. Please, if you're still out there outside the vault, please help us. I changed the password to the vault to my name; if you still if you care enough to remember it… please help. For me?"

Adam tuned the broadcast out, still giving Clover a pointed look.

"That." He said, turning back towards the door that lead to Vault 101. Clover, though, grabbed his shoulder and jerked him to face her.

"No." She said, genuine concern in her eyes. "You haven't even gotten over this-" Adam opened his mouth to interject, but Clover was adamant. "No, you haven't," she cut off sternly.

"You never talk about these things. I didn't know you were lookin' for your goddamn dad until Three Dog blurted it out over the radio. You just said you were lookin' for someone," Adam felt a small pang of guilt as he remembered that intensely awkward moment between them.

"You told me nothing before you left," Clover said, "Your dad dies, then you disappear - what does that say?"

This time, Adam didn't open his mouth, saying nothing.

"I'm so sorry…" He mumbled, like a child caught stealing a cookie. Clover waited for him to continue, determined to steer the conversation away from the place that had thrown him to the radioactive wolves. "I wasn't thinking... I just wanted to get away." One moment's look at Clover's expression told Adam she wasn't satisfied.

"Do you know when I left Vault 101?" Clover shook her head. "August 7th, 2277. It's 2278; losing my father... it was five months' effort gone. I felt like I'd just wasted all the time I'd spent; I had to watch as he killed himself. I couldn't stop him. I wanted to just curl up in a ball and never face others again." Clover's hand squeezed Adam's shoulder. She saw his eyes showing, for the first time, sadness. It was the type of sadness that was all-consuming, bordering on depression. Adam took a shaky breath.

"I felt useless; I felt like I needed to do something. When I found Werner's signal... I'd found my chance." Clover's mind worked to process this. What was the word? It was some word Adam had used once or twice... self destruction.

"You were being self destructive." Clover stated. Adam nodded. He began to speak again, and that urge Clover felt to hug him just kept growing. She tried to fight it, to not show what she perceived as weakness. But Adam kept talking; and talking; and talking. About seemingly unconnected things; his childhood; the bullying he'd experienced; how his father had delved so far into his work that he barely talked to past age twelve. Eventually, cutting off Adam mid-sentence, Clover threw her arms around her friend, her first hug in months.

Adam, initially, froze; he was in a similar situation to Clover, though he didn't know it; Amata had hugged him on his eighteenth birthday, after both had drank themselves tipsy with just one bottle of scotch Amata had smuggled for the occasion. Slowly though, he returned the embrace. He wrapped arms around Clover's back, holding on tightly out of instinct.

The two stayed like that for a while, before Clover disentangled arms from around Adam, seeing a blush beginning to spread across his cheeks. Clover grinned.

"C'mon, kid; let's get you back to Megaton. You owe me a drink." Adam blinked, watched Clover turn around and start to Megaton, feeling that, maybe, a drink right now wasn't the worst thing in the world.

AN: I started this a while ago and it's an idea that's been floating around in my head for a good bit of time now. Seriously, there isn't enough of M! Wanderer/Clover relationships - platonic or otherwise. I hope I gave an interesting spin on it. Any and all reviews are welcome. I think this is one of my better stories, and feel free to tell me what you think. Oh, and a quick note, this is the Adam from my previous one-shot, "The Mistakes We Make". 'Till next time. - Raging Celiac