Shrk. The metal door slid open and closed behind her with little more than a gust of air. A considerable luxury when nearly every other apartment door in the section had their own personal metallic grinding or shriek.
"Honey? Is that you?" His voice came from the only other room the tiny residence had to offer, which doubled as bedroom and office.
"Yeah." She said with a sigh, her tall frame falling a fair distance into the withered couch across from the entrance. The old springs groaned beneath her weight, its age showing through the stains and discoloration that remained, despite the countless efforts made to restore it. How many generations of families it - or any other piece of furniture in the Vault - had lived through were anyones guess.
Her father entered, tall and broad-shouldered, whose once dark hair was now a silvery grey. She quickly rolled forward, her long red hair falling like a curtain to hide her oval face, and started undoing the laces of her boots. "You're late. I was starting to get worried!" He said with a chuckle "Though I suppose it's hard to get lost down he-" Leaning back into the couch cast her face back into the florescent light, along with the darkening bruise that covered her cheek and above. The pale green iris of her downturned eyes seemed to stand out amongst the darkening shade of her already tan skin.
"Oh, my dear." His words were heavy with a pitiful disappointment. Dreading the lecture to come, she pushed herself up and moved into the other room. She had no purpose or intent other than avoiding his gaze, one always so full of total adoration, it made her sick to see them shine with worry and concern.
It looked worse than it was, really. Despite being a pip-boy programmer, she had a fit build to match her height. The first few lost fights against Butch DeLoria were enough to motivate her to fill some of her excess spare time with a workout routine. Just enough to keep herself able to take a punch, and to give one back. Butch hadn't walked away unscathed, after all.
"It was that DeLoria boy again, wasn't it?" He stayed outside the room, and she used the opportunity to change out of her work jumper into something more casual.
Taking off her pip-boy was her favorite part of the day. The large, clunky machine wrapped around her forearm like a sandbag. She'd gotten used to its weight by now, having had the thing for almost eight years. It took a substantial amount of tiny metal parts, pieces and wires to connect the buttons and knobs to the screenface. Despite all the technologies in the Vault that went towards climate control, water purification, sanitation, produce regulation and everything else needed to maintain a carefully controlled community, it seemed the Pip-Boy 3000 was the pinnacle of its potential.
She let it drop onto her dresser with a loud CLANK, and from the top drawer pulled a jumper that was almost identical to the one she wore now. It was mainly a greyish blue with pale yellow accents on the hems and zipper, though her 'casual' jumper lacked the 'PROGRAMMER' printed in large yellow letters along the shoulders, but shared the even larger '101' stamped in the middle.
"Is it ever anyone else?" She said light-heartedly, using an attempt at humor to gauge the level of trouble she was in.
A long sigh was her answer; a lot. "You've got to stop giving in to him!" His voice was still mellow, but severe.
"I know."
"This kind of behavior is unacceptable, especially from you."
"I know."
"Butch is...a troubled boy, but I raised you to know better, to be better than to sink to that level of-"
"I know." She drawled, closing her dresser drawer harder than necessary. She could only listen to the same lesson so many times, and there were only so many times he could tell it before he would eventually realize that it was a lost cause.
Changed and only slightly refreshed, she joined him back in the front room. With his brow still furrowed with paternal concern, she avoided eye contact to idly browse the half-stocked bookshelf.
He raised a hand to brush the small scratch on her cheek, but she pulled away. "You're going to be eighteen in a handful of months. This kind of behavior isn't appropriate for children, much less an adult." She picked up a random book and flipped through the pages, waiting for it to be over.
"You have to ignore him." He said, her eyebrows twitching with annoyance. "Whatever he does or says to you, he's just trying to get a reaction. And by giving him one, you enable him to-" She slammed the book closed. She had barely calmed down from the scuffle, and her temper quickly broke again.
"It wasn't me!" She said sharply. "He was going after Amata." Her father remained silent, perhaps with surprise. "All four of them were surrounding her, snickering and making...suggestions." She glanced at him, hoping she wouldn't have to clarify her meaning. "And they wouldn't back off. What was I supposed to do, just leave her there?" She turned to face him, fueled by her sense of vigilante justice.
"Of course not." He said, calm as ever. It seemed to wash over her like a gentle wave, calming her as well. "But violence is never the answer. You could have gotten a security guard, or-"
She rolled her eyes. "Who knows what they'd have done to her in the time it took me to find one who's sober!"
"OR," he continued, not bothering to deny the truth of what she'd said. "Go directly to the Overseer. She's his daughter, after all, I'm sure he'd-"
She scoffed and rolled her eyes again. "Please. He's so concerned with his own reputation that he'd only scold HER for...being in the wrong place or something. He's never done anything about Butch, OR that stupid 'gang' of his. No one does! There's only ONE way to make him listen."
Her ever patient, ever kind, ever loving father, gently wrapped his hand around hers.
"Butch has grown up without a father, and with a mother who's more concerned with her liquor stores than if he has clothes that fit properly. The security guards look down on him, his teacher dismisses him, and any other adult around doesn't pay enough attention to care one way or another. His friends mimic his behavior, and so he acts in the ways he thinks he must to be accepted by the only people who have ever paid any actual attention to him. Perhaps, my dear, what he needs is for someone to listen to him."
Her mouth opened to retort, but the only sound it made was a defeated silence. She lowered her gaze in embarrassment, and he kissed her atop her head in truce. "It's late. We ought to get to bed before the security guards take us in for breaking curfew." He said, finally offering a chuckle to let her know the trouble was over. She returned a light, half-hearted smirk, and made ready for bed.
Though she lay beneath the regulation sheets for ongoing hours, she did not rest. Her mind was consumed with her father's words, which cast Butch in a light she'd never dared to even imagine him under. Since they were children, he'd always been a troublemaker. She couldn't even remember a time when he wasn't surrounded by his gang of goons. Though in truth, she knew not all of them were so bad. Freddie Gomez, for instance, had a good heart but dim wit, and was only with the Tunnel Snakes out of desire of inclusion. He enjoyed the companionship and approval, though his discomfort at what he had to do to gain it was clear to more than just her fathers eyes.
Even Butch himself was, at worst, moderately annoying. He jeered and chided, but always seemed to know where the line was, and when not to cross it. Wally Mack was the one who made even the security guards a bit twitchy. Despite Butch's loud mouth and cock-sure attitude, Blake got the feeling that he was only the leader because Wally passively allowed it to be so.
And then there was Paul Hannon.
If ever there had been anyone to fit the phrase "tall, dark and handsome", it would be him. His african blood had sculpted a square jaw and full lips, with a curved nose and slanted forehead that gave him a divine regality. But his handsome features were not what initially drew her to him.
It was hard to say when it really started. It could have been during her first month as a pip-boy programmer, when he had come for Stanley's assistance but found she was the only one on duty. It could have been during her tenth birthday party, when he had apologized on behalf of his group and almost dared to pay her half a compliment. It could have been a few years later, during her thirteenth birthday where there was no party, but he'd stopped by the apartment- unbeknownst to the rest of the Tunnel Snakes-to give her a gift anyway.
Somewhere amidst countless encounters of similar kinds, something grew. It was difficult to call it an affection-perhaps a warm neutrality, or passive acceptance. Whatever good he might've done was always out performed by the deeds of his louder, more abrasive companions. They maintained a mutually respected distance from each other, like magnets of the same charge, always an unseen force pushing them apart whenever they came to be too close.
But only a small charge was needed to change push to pull.
She sat behind Mr. Brotch's desk, the man himself having excused himself for some reason she hadn't bothered to listen to. Blake found it surreal to be on the other side of the desk for once-To look over the empty classroom, imagining each student in their place, the ones she knew and ones she made up. Minds ready for molding. She was so lost in the reverie that she didn't notice Paul enter the classroom. Or perhaps she did, and had assumed he was . They were both taller than her, and dark in complexion. It wasn't until his voice, which was clearly not her teachers, snapped her back to attention.
"Blake? What are you doing?"
"What? Oh, Paul? What do you want?"
He looked her over, curiously and maybe even a little suspiciously. She looked almost elegant, sitting straight up like a pre-war lady, but there was a strength in her shoulders. A woman raised by a man, but a woman still. A strange combination, one unique to her. It made her seem equally likely to either stroke his hair or knock his lights out. He fought to ignore how much he liked that about her.
"I'm fixing 's computer." She finally answered.
"Oh." He continued to study her. And she was smart. Wicked smart. He tried to ignore that, too. "What's wrong with it?"
That was a complicated answer. "It...keeps giving an error."
"Oh." Silence. "Where is he?"
"Uh. Getting a drink, I think."
"When will he be back?"
"I..a few minutes, maybe?" They stared at each other, like two wild animals uncertain of the others motives. Finally, she noticed a bunch of papers in his hand, the front of which having what appeared to be a large red "C". Before she could confirm, he flipped them over so she could only see the backs.
"I'll just come back later." He said, hurrying to exit the classroom. It was bad enough she had to see him so frequently with his group of goons. He didn't want her thinking he was cruel and stupid.
"Wait!" She called out before she even knew why. He paused and turned expectantly. "Err, I..." She fumbled. Why did she call him back? She had work to do. "Is that last weeks exam?" He clutched the papers more tightly, which only confirmed her suspicion. She stood up slightly, putting a hand out. "I got an A. That is, I'm not trying to-I mean, I can...take a look?"
And it was in that moment, a moment like a coin on its end, a boat with no oar at a fork in the current, that she realized she wanted him to stay. For any reason she could come up with, any excuse she could make, she simply wanted him to be there, and continue exploring the depths of who he was. Whatever happened next would define their relationship and the way they interacted for the rest of their lives, and they both knew it. It seemed an hour long as she waited for him to decide, and it seemed even longer to him as he struggled to do so.
Finally, after an eon, he closed the distance and handed the paper over. Not a monumental gesture, not one that would produce sonnets or have been featured in old, pre-war vids, but one that held the same importance to her.
She looked it over, nodding and humming to herself as she inwardly highlighted his of the things she liked about Paul-she realized it was a growing list- was his intelligence. Despite his consistently good grades, few others seemed to appreciate it, if even be aware of it at all. Given his reputation and general company, the idea that he was simply cheating was a commonly accepted answer.
The Generalized Occupational Aptitude Test had proven them all wrong, however, when he was placed on the Engineer career track. And again, all the sniggering and snide remarks had come to a halt when he flourished in the field.
With him standing on the other side of the desk, stiff and awkward, she really did feel like a teacher. "Ah..mm, okay. I see what the problem is." she pointed to the paper, preparing to turn it round so he could see properly from his spot, across from her. Her thoughts momentarily vanished when he moved to stand beside her instead.
The last time her mind had gone similarly blank, she had accidentally shocked herself when her screwdriver had brushed a live wire inside a pip-boy. She was so...aware of him. How soft his skin looked, how warm he felt beside her, how he smelled. "Ah," she faltered, fighting to get her bearings. "W-well, your hypothesis is actually correct, and most of the process as well. But right here- "
She was disrupted again when he kneeled down beside her, to get a better view of the paper of course. It certainly wasn't to move his hand slightly closer to hers. It absolutely wasn't to get a better look at her feminine, but strong face. It was definitely not to be closer to her, to hear her voice ever clearer, or catch a sparing whiff of her crimson locks.
And she had only adjusted her position to better show him the paper. Not to shift herself closer to him. "You introduce a couple other variables that are unaccounted for later on. Without taking those into consideration, the rest of the process is skewed which.." she flipped to the next page. "Yep, gave you a different result." She looked at him with a soft smile, surprised at her disappointment when he was looking at the paper instead of her.
"Damn. I didn't even see that." He took the papers back, turning to the first page and looking over the start of his mistakes. "I should've caught that. I'm no good at this stuff, that G.O.A.T should've put me in Maintenance."
"Don't say that." She said a little angrily, catching his attention. "You're a lot harder on yourself than you should be. You kick ass at your job and no one can deny that, even if they wanted to." Perhaps embarrassed or disbelieving, his gaze fell back onto the glaring red C.
"You're not stupid, Paul." His brow furrowed. "You're not. I know you think you are, and it probably doesn't help to be hanging around those knuckle draggers who barely make up a whole brain altogether. " The corner of his mouth twitched. He knew she was right. "I know how smart you are." His eyes flitted up briefly. "Even if no one else does, or they just refuse to see it cause of your reputation, but-" Their eyes met again. "I know."
She fought the urge to look away, although she felt her heart might actually come out her throat if she didn't. But he didn't look away this time, either. She thought for a moment that the room was spinning, but, no, it was only the space closing between them, just before her eyes closed and their lips met.
Elation? Bliss? Euphoria? None of these words seemed to fit the lightness in her chest, the calm quiet of her mind, or the almost sickening butterflies in her stomach. His lips were softer than she expected. Had his hand always been on hers? When had she put hers on his knee? Were those...voices?
They broke apart-he must have heard them, too. , saying a passing greeting to one of the guards. In a flash, Paul had his papers and was already halfway across the classroom when the teacher entered.
"Oh! Paul, what a...surprising...surprise. Something I can-?" He didn't get the question out of his mouth before Paul had rounded the corner and disappeared. The older man looked at Blake with confusion, but she had no explanation to offer other than a slack jaw.
"Ooookay." He coughed. "Well! How's the computer coming along?"
"I, uh..." She attempted to swallow the lump in her throat. "I'll...need to work on it again tomorrow. Sorry, I'm-I just-" she stammered, verbally tripping over herself as she sloppily gathered up her notes and rushed out of the room.
She kept her gaze forward and down, staring at the few feet of floor in front of her and walked with a furious pace back to her apartment. A journey on any other day that would only be a few minutes, but with how rapidly her heart was pounding, how fast her head was spinning, how hard her stomach was turning, it felt more like an hour until she finally crossed the metal threshold. Relieved that her father was out-most likely still at the clinic-she hid herself in the darkness of the bedroom, and further plunged herself into solitude by curling up beneath the thin, regulation covers of her bed.
The next day had passed as slowly as a storm cloud on the horizon. She dreaded leaving the safety of her private space, daring to face him when she herself had no idea what she was feeling. She was not expecting, therefore, the horrible dredge of dismay when he hadn't even spared her a glance the whole day. She had expected, at the very least, an attempt to forget, or to pretend, that nothing had happened whatsoever-to go on their daily routine of snide remarks and sidelong glances as they always had done before. But to be treated as though she'd ceased to exist, in fact to be treated in no particular way at all? This, as well as the twisting knot that swelled in her chest because of it, she did not expect either.
The next day was no more merciful. At least twice, daring to look his way either out of desperation or forgetfulness, she could have sworn she caught the last second of his averting gaze. And each time, she dismissed it as wishful thinking. The following day, he'd apologized briefly when they'd bumped into one another going in and out of the classroom. There was a split, lingering second where they looked at one another, each one faltering as they tried to find simple words. None came, the second passed, and he moved to continue past her.
She wanted to turn with him, to grab him by the arm and spin him round to face her again, to shout at him or shake him until he gave her something, anything to settle her mind or heart, but...wait. She had grabbed him, by the crook of the elbow. And he had spun around, and now he was looking at her, his ebony eyes surprised, expectant, and perhaps even a little afraid.
She flushed, pressing her lips together. Having acted on impulse, there wasn't a trace of a thought put into what would happen next, much less what she could possibly say.
"I...just...wh-..." he looked away, hearing voices approach, but she held firm onto his sleeve. "Paul, please! This isn't fair, you won't even look at me anymore! What-" He cut her off, putting his hand on hers with a look of utter desperation as the voices-which they both now recognized as the rest of the Tunnel Snakes-drew louder.
"Blake..." he muttered pleadingly. "We'll talk. I promise. Later." He said, glancing over his shoulder like a hunted animal. She stared determinedly into his petrified face and, sighing, released him. He scampered further away from his supposed comrades, leaving Blake to hover in the doorway, somehow rooted to the spot with a flurry of embarrassment and frustration.
Butch's bouncing, chugging laughter rounded the corner with the rest of him, Freddie and Wally in tow, coming to a sudden halt upon seeing Blake in their path.
"Well well well, look who't is, boys!" he drawled, forcing the old greaser accent he'd perfected through late nights with pre-war vids. "Little Red." He chided his less-than-affectionate nickname for her.
"Fuck off, Butch." She said shortly. On a good day, she'd outmatch his wit like a cougar with a mouse, starting off with simple, short remarks and working her way up to full fledged insults. On a poorer day, this might only go on for a minute or so before one of them through the first punch, but today-today, Blake had no patience for either circumstance.
"Woah-ho!" He flared up, straightening his back as though it were a cue for their tango to begin. "I'm not sure I'm likin' that attitude, Little Red." She rolled her eyes, pushing up from the wall and doing her best to walk away rather than goad him on. "Hey, I'm talkin' to-" the moment she felt the pressure of his hand on her arm, she knocked it away before she'd completed her turn back to him.
"NOT today." Her voice was heavy with finality, and her eyes held a sharpness to them that Butch had seen only rarely, but enough times to understand.
He rolled his shoulders, repositioning his jacket and said "I ain't got time f'this anyway." Behind him, Wally's expression grew more irritated, but he said nothing. "We was lookin' for Paul, not some skeevin' sewer rat." He said snidely, Freddie chuckling behind him but Wally maintaining his unimpressed air. Blake felt her hand curl into a fist, and fought to remember what her father had said.
Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath and said in a forced calm, "He just went through, that way, probably looking for you-" she caught the insult in her throat and swallowed it. "Guys." A little bewildered and almost disappointed, Butch gestured for his boys to follow as he passed by Blake. Freddie followed his cue, but Wally hesitated, staring her down in silence.
Her lungs tightened in anticipation. Anyone in the Vault would be all too quick to identify Butch as the leader of the Tunnel Snakes-even Blake only ever brawled with him. But Wally...there was a disturbing air around him. He was like a boogeyman, always in the peripheral, just out of your vision but enough of a presence to raise the hairs on the back of your neck. The real wolf, hiding in the woods and watching his prey-one you knew was there, but chose to ignore for the sake of your own sanity.
Her mind and heart were racing, trying to read any movement he made, predict any possible outcomes. When he finally moved, she had worked herself into such a state she nearly leapt at him. It took a split second for her to realize that he wasn't moving towards her, but around her. For some unfathomable reason, he'd dismissed the fight and chose to keep up with Butch and Freddie instead. She kept her eyes on him as he passed, not daring to give him the slightest opportunity. Once he was shoulder-to-shoulder with her, he flashed her a glare so full of loathing and contempt that she almost attacked again, feeling an overwhelming primal defensiveness against the wild predator she recognized him to be. Steeling herself, she only allowed herself to move once he had turned the same corner as his companions, and was out of sight.
She found any excuse to be anywhere but home. She loitered in the cafeteria, wandered aimlessly through the halls, and even bothered to watch the Vault Little League practice in the atrium. Impatient, angry and irritated, she eventually found her way to her father's clinic.
Up front, Jonas, her father's partner in and out of the lab, looked busy with some paperwork. She meant not to disturb him, but upon seeing her approach, he flashed a bright smile and lowered his clipboard. "Hey, sport! Been awhile since we've had a visit from you." He said endearingly, hugging her in greeting.
"Yeah, sorry. Been, y'know, busy.." she lamely excused, but he only chuckled.
"Hey, I hear ya. No rest for the wicked, right?" He winked at her, and she smiled.
She could only remember so much of her childhood that Jonas hadn't been a part of. Just up until her ninth birthday, maybe a little before, it had been just she and her father. But as the years went on, Jonas became more and more prominent in her life. A marriage would have been all that was needed to move them to a larger family apartment, but for some reason it never came to pass. From the way James would talk about Blake's late mother and look at old pictures, she had her suspicions as to why that was.
"Here to see the old man?" He asked, turning to lead her through to the office.
She only shrugged in response. "Just, killing time, really. Came to see what you guys were up to." She made to follow Jonas, but before they could make it to the door, her father stepped through, half-hidden behind a clipboard of his own.
"Jonas, I'm looking over these results you got from our last-"
"James!" Jonas cut him off, a little too quickly. Were Blake in a calmer state of mind, it might have made her curious. "Excellent timing, look who's here!" He stepped aside to bring Blake into full view.
"Oh!" Her father finally broke his view from his data, leaning back into the office to toss the clipboard onto his desk and close the door. That, she did notice. "Hello, sweetie. Something I can help you with?"
He outstretched his arm, shepherding them back into the main clinic area and away from whatever he didn't want her to know. "No, just came to, y'know," she shrugged. "Kill time." He smiled at her, and Jonas spoke up next.
"Oh! That reminds me! I think I found just the thing to fix up your bb gun."
Finally, Blake lit up. "Really?"
Hidden amongst stained, worn out mattresses, broken bed frames and malfunctioning or otherwise broken equipment was the BB gun James and Jonas had presented to her on her tenth birthday.
"Turns out," Jonas began, "The trigger mechanism was just fine. It wasn't catching because the spring was worn out, and wasn't giving it the push we needed."
"So, what, we just need a new spring?" Blake asked, happy there was something new to focus her energies on.
"Exactly. And lucky for you, I've already got one." He indicated a dented silver tray on the table which, rather than the surgical equipment it would have held in its better days, was a single, tiny spring.
"Lucky that Butch 'misplaced' his switchblade, anyway." James said with a chuckle, and wordlessly returned to his office while she and Jonas dismantled the gun.
"There." Jonas said with a finality, holding the reassembled BB rifle. "That ought to do it!" He handed it to Blake, who felt no immediate difference. She lifted the rifle, peering down the sights at a blank wall. "Woah!" Jonas said, holding a hand out to cease her. "Best not do that here. Lot'a things could go wrong, most of all the Overseer finding out." He glanced to James' closed office door, a fleeting motion that further riled Blake's curiosity.
Slinging the strap across her shoulder, she headed for the door. "Tell Dad I'm gonna go shoot. I'll head back to the apartment once I'm done." It was a great assumption that he would make it home before she would, but she thought it best to leave the message anyway, for whatever it might be worth.
Down in the Reactor levels, Blake made her way to her pseudo shooting range. Chipped paint targets were attached to swiveling poles at varying distances, set up by her father years ago and improved upon as was needed. As it always offered her some relief from her daily anxieties-whether they be social, familial, scholarly, or even borne of 'Vault Depressive Syndrome'- she found herself here rather frequently.
Taking aim, Blake let the first pellet fly, smacking the first target with a spark on the second outermost ring. She clicked her tongue with annoyance, aimed more carefully, and this time hit the ring just beyond the center. With a huff of personal satisfaction, she set her sights on the second target, a few meters behind and to the right of the first.
It only took a few warm up shots before each pull of the trigger resulted in a spark of metal-on-metal right in the bullseye. It was an easy thing for her to do these days. Given the frequency of her visits to her shooting range, it was surprising at all that she would get anything but bullseyes. An occasional radroach-a mutated cockroach roughly the size of a skateboard- would offer her the thrill of a moving target, but it was the best that could be done under the circumstances.
Each pull of the trigger-or perhaps it was the sharp clatter of the pellets hitting their mark-felt like the undoing of one of a series of knots in her mind. As each one pulled free, she felt more and more relaxed, more calmed, more in control.
Eventually, she turned to a table set up along side the room and set her rifle down, looking over the ever dwindling amount of bb pellets she had and debated whether or not she still felt the need to burn through a few more.
"Blake?"
A voice came from behind, starling her so badly that she knocked the table, some of the bb's bouncing out of their container and rattling onto the floor. A panic immediately overcame her. Whoever was here, if it was someone that would report back to the Overseer what they had seen...but no. Before she'd even finished the thought, she knew the voice.
Turning slowly around, she saw that it was indeed Paul Hannon Jr. that waited in the doorway, who had called her name so softly and sweetly that she hadn't immediately recognized who the voice had belonged to.
"P-Paul." She stammered in honest surprise, and a thinly veiled attempt to buy herself time. She hadn't expected anyone to join her down here, much less the young man who'd made his best efforts to avoid her as of late. She was grateful, therefore, when he did not advance into the room but stayed in his spot in the doorway.
"H..how did you..." She stepped to the side, hoping to block the rifle from view. He smiled gently, but it was gone in an instant.
"Your dad told me." She furrowed her brow, feeling completely betrayed by her own blood. "I figured...I mean, I thought...I said we'd talk, so..uh..." He rubbed the back of his neck, averting his eyes.
"So what the hell, then?" She said suddenly, anger bursting from her voice like a flame. He looked surprised, and then indignant.
"What the hell, what?" His temper quick to match hers.
She squared her shoulders in annoyance. "What the hell else? You're just gonna-" she faltered, blushing at the memory of the kiss, but pushed through back to her anger. "And then just...completely ignore me? Like I don't even exist?"
He turned away again, a slight red coming into his own cheeks. "I wasn't ignoring you.." he defended poorly.
"Oh, no?" She took a step forward without realizing it. "What do YOU call it, then, when you won't look at me, or speak to me, or even acknowledge my presence? What do you call that, Paul?" He could not look her way, or muster even another syllable. She sighed, rubbing her eyes. "Look, if...if that was just...a random mistake and...didn't mean anything, then-"
"It didn't-" He interrupted, surprising the both of them. "It...wasn't meaningless." His eyes softened with a sorrow she hadn't expected. "Was it?" He asked her with a crackle of fear.
"...No." She responded, bringing her hands together to squeeze and fiddle with her own fingers. It was then she noticed Paul's arm, crossed over his chest and clutching the other as if in pain.
"So...what does that make us, then?" She asked more gently.
"I..don't know."
"Why did you ignore me?"
"I...guess I'm just...kind of...nervous. I guess."
"Like I'm not? First you just walk out right after it happened, then you don't even look at me for the next two days, I mean..what am I supposed to make of that? Jesus, Paul, I'm still a girl for fucks sake." He smirked and glanced at her like she'd made a joke.
She deflated slightly, embarrassed and a little miffed that he didn't seem to be taking her seriously. "So where does that leave us, then? Are we, like...dating?"
His smile faded and he looked away again. "I...don't..."
Her stomach dropped so suddenly she thought she might be sick. Cutting him off before he could say anymore, she said "So we'll just go back to the way things were." and failed to mask the venom in her voice.
"No, I don't want that, either."
"So what?" She snapped, growing ever more confused and annoyed by the second. "So you just want me to wait around for whenever you're feeling randy? So you can have some stand-by fuck buddy to-"
"No!" this time, he was the one to step forward, stunning her into silence. "It's not like that. I...I do like you, Blake..."
The words pulsed in her mind, filling her up with something like helium, making her feel light and dizzy. So much so that she almost missed the point of what he was saying. "But what?" She asked, sinking back down to Earth. "I...like you, too.." she offered, embarrassed to death, but hoping it might ease his discomfort.
She was almost successful. He smiled at her and began to move forward, and she thought for a moment everything was resolved and they would move on from there. Yet he paused, and withdrew once more.
"But it's...it's too complicated."
"How is it complicated?" She was almost laughing with the absurdity of the situation.
He sighed. "The Tunnel Snakes..." She felt another drop in her gut. Was that really it? Was he really going to set her aside for...
"...Those airheads?! They don't have anything to do with this!"
"They're my friends, Blake." He said a little coldly.
"You're wasted on them." She snapped back. The only 'friends' she really had down here were Amata and Jonas, and even Amata had her own circle of friends outside of Blake. Suzie, Christine, even Monica...all of which seemed to be predisposed against Blake for some unknown reason. Adding yet another rejection onto the ever growing pile was too much for her to bear just now.
His shoulders fell. "I already get enough shit for being as nice to you as I am. If they knew...the Tunnel Snakes don't-"
"Fuck the Tunnel Snakes! This isn't any of their fucking business, it's not about them or what they want. I'm asking what YOU want, Paul."
There was very little space between them now. Seeming to realize this, he stepped away from her. "I...I don't know. I need more time to.." he shook his head and began heading back to the stairs that lead to the main level. She stood momentarily frozen with indignation and anger-but only for a moment.
One furious heartbeat later, she stormed after him, grabbing him by the arm again just before he hit the stairs, spinning him around and slamming his back into the wall with such force, he immediately raised his arms in defense. He barely got a grip on her wrists, which were clenching his leather jacket, before she pressed her lips into his.
Despite his complete and utter shock, his lips parted for hers almost instantly, having thirsted for her like a flower for sunshine. Their hands released one another in the same moment, choosing instead to wrap their arms around the other, pulling themselves ever closer and diving ever deeper into one another.
This time, with no voices or limitations and hidden away in the depths of the vault, they had the freedom to enjoy one another without interruption. Hands wandered, heartbeats increased, fingers gripped and became more desperate. They broke apart for only a moment, coming up for air and checking, just to be sure, that this was actually real before they dove back in. Somewhere along the way, Blake ended up with her back against the wall, both of his hands cupping her face like a goblet he drank from greedily.
After an immeasurable length of time, they pulled apart again, their thirsts temporarily satisfied. They both smiled, and Paul couldn't fight an embarrassed chuckle. He then rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger, sighing. "You sure don't give up easy."
"Implying that I ever give up at all?"
He chuckled again, and she pressed her forehead against his. "They can't know." He said seriously, causing her to pull away and look into his eyes. "Butch, and them." She rolled her eyes and made to argue, but he held up a pleading hand and she allowed him to continue. "BOTH of us would get hell for it. It's not worth what they'd do. We can meet up down here, or by your dads clinic, anywhere we don't frequent."
Her eyes bore into him, considering this proposal before finally relenting. "Fine." She attempted to sound stern or displeased, but was too elated at the thought of their forbidden rendezvous and was betrayed by a smirk. He couldn't help but to smile back, and before either of them knew it, their lips met once more to seal the deal.
The next few weeks were filled with more excitement and happiness than she would have ever considered possible in her lifetime. The dull, depressingly grey walls of the Vault corridors became something entirely new, each one a secret passage that would either lead her to treasure, or the dragon's jaws. Each hour away, in class or at work, dragged on for days which only made their time together all the sweeter.
She made her excuses where was needed; for being late to class, not finishing a homework assignment, skipping study group sessions, or any other amongst a growing list of shirked responsibilities. None made any dispute or argument, either simply accepting her excuses or not caring enough to put up a fight. Even her father accepted her dismissals with ease, but to his experienced eyes, the truth could only be more obvious if she were to sing and skip down every hallway.
Paul, however, had a more difficult time.
To a gaggle of wanna-be ruffians, his constantly passive demeanor had always been the subject of criticism. But adding in droopy eyes, recurring grin, and generally cheerier attitude won him outright suspicion.
"What's gotten into you, Pauley?!" Butch accused loudly, waving his nearly-full beer bottle aggressively. The four of them were settled in a corner in the reactor level, the most secluded place for them to ditch class and avoid the gaze of the Overseer. "Y'actin' like yer floatin' on Jet half the time!" Paul raised an eyebrow at Butch, trying to play off as aloof. Glancing around at the others, Freddie only swigged his own beer and Walley used his thumb to flip, then catch, the bottle cap from his drink.
"What are you on about NOW, Butch?" Paul said light-heartedly, hoping his skepticism of Butch's constant loud-mouthing would spread and the others would take his side.
"What am I on about." Butch repeated mockingly. "Whaddyou think? You've always been the quiet type but we ain't barely heard anythin outta ya more'n a sigh! And that's even if you're here. Half the time we can't even find y'anymore." Butch leaned forward to emphasize his point. "And don't think I don't know what's goin' on." Even Walley glanced upwards.
Paul's heart dropped so quickly he thought he might be sick on the spot. "Uhh, what-"
"I heard you the other day outside the classroom." Another pang in Paul's chest. Hadn't it been last week, if not the week before, when Blake had caught him alone after a detention? He had been certain there was no one else in the hallway, but-
His train of thought was interrupted as Butch continued, smiling proudly at his own detective work. "Yeah, dat's right! Talkin' to Teach! Apparently, our little Paul's been getting straight A's as of late."
Paul was struck dumb with confusion and relief. "Teach..?" He repeated, almost not believing it himself. Butch tilted his head cockily, leaning back to a more comfortable position and adopting a mocking voice as he went on. "Yeah, sayin' how you 'reaching your potential' and 'surprising' the higher-ups."
Freddie finally chimed in with a smile. "Wow! Way to go, Paul!" Which earned him a smack on the head from Butch. "Whaddyou think dis is, The Boy Scouts?! We got a reputation here! We can't be lookin' all well to-do!"
Paul actually laughed. It started out as a light chuckle, and he had to fight to keep it from evolving into a full on guffaw. "Yeah, alright." He said, putting his hands up in feign surrender. "No point in trying to hide it now. My old man's been gettin' on my case about it." He straightened up, making a screwed up angry-face and waving his finger to no one, making fun of his father. "A man with a job like yours shouldn't be a screw-about! You're an embarrassment to this family!" Dropping the charade, he shrugged. "Said I needed to at least do better in school or he'd tell the Overseer to put me in Maintenance instead."
"What a tool." Freddie offered sympathetically. Paul smirked at him, leaning back into a more relaxed position.
"Well...you'll for sure come with us next week, yeah?" Butch asked, his inner-detective satisfied. "Freddie finally manned-up and snatched us some ammo from his pops stash, so we can finish puttin' together them firecrackers!" Freddie and Butch sniggered at each other as they bumped fists, and Walley smirked in their direction.
"Yeh, I'll be there." Paul said dismissively. "Figure out what y'wanna do with em?"
"I'm glad you asked." Butch said greasily. "Dat G.O.A.T wasn't a waste o'time after all...we gonna drop 'em in the Overseers toilet!" He and Freddie erupted in more laughter.
Walley spoke up this time. "An' I told you, that'd never work! Even IF we managed to get past all his security into his bathroom, we'd NEVER get away with it."
"He's right." Paul agreed. "Not like anyone else down here is stupid enough to pull a stunt like that." Butch frowned at both of them.
"Ehh, what's he gonna do to us anyway? Ground us? H-uh." He laughed humorlessly at his own suggestion.
"He can still put you under house arrest." Walley argued. "You tellin' me you really wanna be couped up wit'yer old lady? Much as she drinks in a day, don't think she'll be keen on sharing."
Butch looked a gruesome mixture of outrage at the insult to his mother, and complete horror at the truth of it. Deciding to let the infraction slide, he relented.
"Yeh...well...alright, so maybe it's not such a good idea. Hey, how 'bout the girls bathroom? Maybe we'll get lucky and it'll blow on his fatass daughter."
Despite his distaste at the idea, Paul did well in maintaining a positive air... until Walley added, "Yeh, or her closet-dyke girlfriend."
Paul's heart skipped a beat, but his stomach lurched two-fold when he glanced over and saw Walley looking directly at him. He immediately redirected his attention, but it'd been too late. That one little glance, that tiniest of movements told Walley everything he needed to know.
"Yeah! Oh man, that'd be great!" Butch shouted with a hoot of laughter.
"I dunno..." Everyone looked up in surprise at Freddie's objection. "I mean-!" He put his hands up defensively. "Not like I'm tryin'a defend her'r nothin! It's just, I dunno, her dad's a pretty cool guy, I just...don't wanna..." he trailed off, the combined stares of his only friends feeling like an actual weight.
Before another word could be spoken, Butch's pip-boy lit up with a jingle. "Oop, looks like class is about to let out. If we leave now, we'll make it to the cafeteria first!" Everyone stood as he spoke, accustomed to the usual routine, but it stroked Butch's ego to make even the simplest of orders. Paul stole another glance in Wally's direction, but it was not returned. Maybe he'd imagined it after all, but it was better to be safe than sorry.
Paul did not seek Blake out that day, nor the next. The arrival of the weekend gave him relief from the constant effort of avoiding her eye, shirking her approaches, and trying to drop subtle hints about their predicament. It had already been determined that weekends, when the hallways and common areas were significantly more full of bystanders, were too much of a risk for any secret meetings. At the very least, it gave Paul an opportunity to reinforce his loyalty to the group.
It wasn't until much later in the evening that he gave a rap on her apartment door. Immediately upon doing so, he was reminded with a heart-wrenching jolt that it was in fact, her father's apartment, as he was the one who answered.
Paul froze up in momentary panic, but James had a soothing presence to him that seemed to spread to those around him. Feeling his lips loosen a little, he was able to mutter, "Is, uh, Blake h-home?"
James smiled, but it was more than just hospitable. There was a twist of humor to it. "No, I'm afraid she isn't, Paul." Paul's shoulders wilted, and he hesitated for a moment before shifting his weight to turn away. "But-" James caught him, his smile spreading. "If you promise to keep it between the two of us, you might be able to find her down in the Reactor levels."
Paul stared back at James, putting together what he'd just been told. James only offered a nod before stepping back into his apartment and closing the door. Taking a moment to gather the courage, Paul altered his course and headed to the lower levels.
As he descended the metal stairs, he heard a metal-on-metal CLACK that told him she was practicing with her BB-Gun. To the left of the generator was a doorless archway, which lead to the resonating sounds of bb pellets. He hovered there, watching her.
She stood at full height, as always. Spine straight, shoulders back, feet apart, the rifle raised as she peered down the iron sights. He waited until she took her next shot to approach - when she did, another dent was added to the cluster gathered in the bullseye.
"Blake?"
She spun around and made another poor attempt to hide the rifle with her own body. "Paul..!" She stammered, her tone changing halfway from excited surprise to confusion. "Wh-hi! What.." she smiled and blushed, unable to finish her question, but not really feeling the need to.
"Hi." He replied with a grin, momentarily won over from his original intention. They awkwardly moved towards one another, pausing to try to find words and, when none came, stepped forward again. He stopped on his mark, but she continued until the final step wove into an embrace and kiss. He forgot himself in her, the words that had been on his lips surrendered to hers, falling back to his tongue where they dissolved into her taste, retreating further into his throat where they dried up into thirst for more.
"I knew it."
Those words, those foreign, toxic words rushed in through his ears and dropped into the bottom of his stomach like an iron weight. Nearly shoving Blake away as he turned, they both saw Wally Mack standing in the doorway. "You little fuckin' rat." He sneered. "Y'weren't even smart about it. Y'might's well've been screwin on the desks in class for fucks sake."
"Jealous, Shit-Stain?" Blake intervened, flipping him off defiantly. Wally scoffed and grimaced.
"Please. That robot's got more curves than you." Given that Andy, the robot, took the form of an orb with three metallic arms, the effect of this insult was arguable. But before Blake could rebutt-verbally or otherwise-Paul moved forward.
"C'mon, Wally, this ain't got nothin t'do with you.
Wally shrugged. "Sure don't. I never cared much for you t'begin with. But Butch, well. He's got this sense of loyalty'r whatever. Gonna be mighty upset when he hears about this. I think Freddie's gonna be the only one t'miss you, though."
"What are you even talking about." Paul scoffed, failing to mask the anxiety in his voice.
"What, you don't REALLY think you're still gonna be a Tunnel Snake after this? We got a reputation, y'know? You've always been a weak-link, but this? Sneakin' around, puppy love bullshit? We ain't about that, man. How're people s'posed t'take us seriously when you got that dumb look on yer face all th'time?"
"Good riddance, then." Blake put a hand in the crook of Paul's elbow. "You cock-bites always held him back anyway. He'll be better off...without...?" When she tugged on his arm, he resisted. Wally waited, and Paul was silent. "Paul?" She said softer, fear working its way into her voice now, too. "Paul, you can't seriously be..." she tugged again, harder. He looked away. Wally smirked.
"Don't tell me you actually FELL for this dame?" He goaded, and Blake felt Paul tense beneath her grip. "After all we, The Tunnel Snakes've been through, done for you, lookin' out f'you, givin' you a place to be wit' guys who actually give a shit 'bout'chu. That don't matter t'you as much as some piece'a pussy?"
Both Paul and Blake turned their attention to Wally, their glares rivaling in severity. He was unphased-he simply waited. Only the silence of the womb had been longer than what now took place. Heart beating faster by the second, Blake was the first to break it. "C'mon, Paul, y'don't need that kind of-" her words fell from the air like dry leaves when he pulled away from her. "...Paul..." this time, her voice sounded more like thorns.
Beside her, Paul's eyes never wavered from Wally's, locked and grappling for dominance.
"You can't seriously be thinking about this!"
Finally Paul looked at her, the determination he'd held in his gaze overturned and defeated. "Blake...I'm sorry, but-"
"Fuck your 'sorry'!" She spat.
"Blake... please. It's...better this way. For everyone."
"For who?!" She asked, welling tears betraying the strength she wished to display. "You can't tell me that what you really, really want is to go back to that stupid, gang of wannabe thugs who just-"
"It is!" He said sharply, turning his body towards her. "These are my friends, Blake. They actually care about me."
"I...!" She glanced at Wally, loathing his very existence, but continued regardless...albeit in a hushed tone. "I care about you..." She offered, desperation dusting her breath. The look that Paul gave her in that moment would resound in the deepest corners of her dreams until her dying breath.
"This was just a fling anyway...it had to end eventually." He shifted towards her the way he did before planting light kisses on her forehead, but only went so far. His gaze had to only falter for a moment for her to know he was overly conscious of Wally's presence. "So, uh...see'y'around, I guess..." He hesitated, opting out of any awkward contact and turned to join Wally instead.
Tears flowed freely down her cheeks as she watched them leave together, Wally deliberately looking over his shoulder at her, his voice ringing in her head as clearly as telepathy.
I win.
"...So, what?!" She shouted after them, stepping forward to get her final say. "Was that all I was? A piece of pussy for you, Paul?!" Neither of them faltered in their gate towards the stairs. "FUCK you! You fucking coward! You little b-itch!"" She shouted as they ascended, unable to move further as every ounce of remaining strength went towards keeping her standing upright. But soon, they were gone, and she allowed herself to crumple onto the floor.
In the darkness of the stairwell, Paul bit the inside of his lip and tried to force the sound of her sobs from his ears.
She didn't remember much about the trip back to the apartment. It was late, and the only ones in the halls were the security guards. Knowing their routes by heart, she avoided them easily. But she could not avoid the eyes of her father, which always held a remarkable warmth despite their steely grey color.
He was on his feet before the door closed behind her, and his arms seemed to scoop her up the same way they had done when she was small, the pain of a skinned knee as equivalent to her little body as the pain of a broken heart was to her now.
Paul had initially hoped that as time went on, Blake's anger would fade and at best, they could resume their awkward and silent glances to one another. It didn't take long for him to realize he was sorely mistaken. She did very little to mask her resentment, if she indeed tried at all. The first casual greeting he'd offered her as they passed in the cafeteria was met with a resounding "Go fuck yourself". Glances from across rooms returned with a raised finger, and he was starting to suspect that she was going out of her way to bash shoulders with him in the hallways.
Even so, he never argued. He never rebutted or called out or aggressed. This was his punishment, and though he'd never admit it to anyone, he knew it was well deserved. He had begun to wonder if it would ever cease, and soon got his answer.
In accordance with the Overseer approved Annual Vault Events and Holidays calendar, it was Spring Break, which meant that Butch had spent the past four days doing what he usually did in his free time and was getting bored.
Blake had done what she could to make herself scarce. While she had been progressing somewhat with her own emotions, the anger and pain she felt was starting to become exhausting. Even Amata, her closest friend, offered limited sympathy and support. Lately she only parroted different versions of "What did you expect?" and "He's just a tunnel snake" before continuing on with her own topic of conversation. It was easier for her to stay at home or in her father's clinic than risk seeing any one of the Tunnel Snakes and reliving every vivid detail.
It just so happened to be her great misfortune, then, when she ran into the four of them on her way to the clinic. Her best attempt at diplomacy was to avoid eye contact and move aside.
"Wha-hey, Little Red!" Butch's perfected accent - and an outstretched arm - stopped her in her tracks. "Just where d'y'think YER goin?"
"Fuck off, Butch." She retorted in stride with the 'not today' glare that had always worked before. Perhaps she had used it beyond its effect, because for the first time, he did not relent.
"Ho-ho, wrong answer." He said threateningly, stepping directly into her path. Her hand already curled into a fist, she was already fighting to keep it at her side.
"What's the rush?" Wally piped up, causing Blake's heart to stagger from the shots of adrenaline. "Got someone else waiting to give y'a good pounding?" He sneered, rolling his hips forward in mocking thrusts and causing Blake to snap her attention to him. If ever pressed for a definition of 'unbridled rage', Butch would always call to memory the look Blake had in her eyes in that moment.
Before anyone could make heads or tails of what to do next, Blake grabbed Butch by the cheaply made lapels of his leather jacket and wrenched him forward. Tossing him behind her as if he were no more than debris that had gotten in her way, Blake's next move was to plant a left hook into the side of Wally's face, her knuckles landing in the divot below his cheekbone.
While Butch had been entirely unprepared and now lay prone on the ground, Wally had seen the hit coming with enough time to brace, but not dodge. Thus, instead of falling into the wall beside him as his would-be leader had done before, he recovered with his own swing, an uppercut to her jaw.
The typical scramble that had always taken place between Blake and Butch, now seemed laughable to the onlookers, Paul and Freddie. Wally's movements were fast and deliberate, while Blake's were fierce and unforgiving. It quickly became evident that this was no measly schoolyard brawl.
Wally took an elbow to the nose. Blake took several knees to the stomach. She got her hands around his throat, and he got in a perfect body shot at her ribs. Even Butch could only watch in bewildered awe. When a spatter of blood, spewn from Blake's cut lip, landed on Paul's cheek he was jerked out of his daze. He directed Freddie to run for a guard and stepped forward to intervene.
"Guys, enough!" He shouted, and attempted to grab hold of Wally's drawn arm. Wally's attention was diverted for only as long as it took him to plow his free fist into Paul's stomach, forcing the air from his lungs. It was then that Paul realized that, whatever Blake's intentions might've been, they were surely not as sinister as Wally's.
As he gaped for air, Paul was forced to only spectate as Blake began to lose the battle. Another shot to the ribs doubled her over, the sensitivity from the previous hit debilitating her temporarily. But it was all Wally needed to land another blow on the side of her face, knocking her backwards onto the floor next to Butch. He only stared at her, face half swollen and covered with bruises and blood. His focus shifted as Wally approached, standing over her with a darkness in his eyes that made Butch feel like a little child.
Whatever Wally might have done next was interrupted by a shout. Blake's head rolled from side to side as she struggled to regain control. Officer Mack, Wally's own father, stood at the end of the hall. "Back away. Now!" He commanded, drawing his baton. Wally turned his dark glare onto his father, and for a moment it was a unanimous certainty that he would even take on a fully armored guard.
However, sense seemed to still reside somewhere in his mind, and so putting his hands up, he stepped away from Blake, who pushed herself up in an attempt to regain some dignity. She did not notice Butch put his hand on her back in assistance.
"What the hell is going on here?!" Allen Mack shouted, taking in the scene but returning his attention to his son. "Get her to the clinic." He barked at Butch, though never breaking contact with Wally. "And YOU, come with me." Silent and resilient as a martyr, Wally walked forward into Officer Mack's sharp grip, who lead him away and left the others to dwell in the aftershock. Freddie watched them leave with frightened eyes, wondering how many more additional bruises Wally would be sporting the following day.
Butch helped Blake to her feet, but it wasn't until Paul came to her side that she shoved them both away. "I'm fine." She wavered, wrapping an arm around her aching chest. "Thank you." she muttered over the shoulder that Butch stood beside, the softness in her voice a contrast to the weight that it carried. "But I'll manage."
"Yeah...yeah, alright." Butch muttered, the three of them hovering with uncertainty as she disappeared down the hall.
The walk to the clinic was neither long nor torturous. She was in pain, certainly, but she almost relished in it. To have a different, outer pain that distracted her from the non-stop ache she'd felt in her chest recently was actually...relieving.
Rather than walk fully into the clinic, she paused in the doorway. She shrank into the frame, dropping her shoulders and lowering her gaze. Despite the fact that she'd come for medical attention, she appeared to be trying to make herself as small as possible.
Jonas sat at his usual post, a desk off to the side and tapping away on his computer. A few moments had passed, Blake slouching anxiously in the doorway and wondering if she even wanted Jonas to notice her. Leaning back, he cracked his neck and finally caught sight of her.
"Oh!...Oh." The initial pleasant surprise was instantly overwritten with concern. "My God, Blake!" He nearly knocked over his chair, and she recoiled as he approached.
I'm alright...I mean..."
"What-how- who is responsible for this? It wasn't that DeLoria kid, was it?" His voice, one that always rang with positivity and cheer, dropped to lower tone that warned of danger. "The next time I get my hands on that little punk -"
"It wasn't Butch."
He paused in his examination of her face, his gentle touch in contrast with his threatening inflection. "Then who? Mack's kid? It would be him, that mangey -"
"Can you get Dad, please?"
"Of course, hon. Sorry. Come on in."
He gestured for her to enter and made the courtesy of closing the door behind her. She followed him for a few paces, but stopped at some invisible barrier before her father's closed office door. Jonas gave a respectful knock before cracking it open, from which she heard James' voice.
"Not now, Jonas, I'm so close to-"
"I know," Jonas interrupted. "But this is urgent."
There was the sound of a sliding chair before James fully opened the door, the cogs in his brain audibly screeching to a halt as he took in the sight of his daughter.
"Oh my God." He muttered, crossing the distance between them in a single stride. She couldn't bare to look him in the face - her physical maladies no longer offered her any relief, instead being overwritten by embarrassment and shame.
Placing his fingers on her jawline, she didn't fight him as he gently turned her head this way and that, taking in a full account of the damage.
"What...who...how..." His usual articulate composure crumbled beneath his worry.
"We'll deal with that later." Said Jonas.
James glanced over his shoulder, nodded and gestured her into his office which doubled as an examination room. Jonas, following them inside, closed the door behind them.
She paid no attention to how long the whole thing lasted. In fact, she tried to pay attention to anything else she could. As much as she hated getting that look from James, seeing Jonas' brow creased with concern made her stomach twist.
Meanwhile, James pressed lightly on different spots on her face, rolled her wrist, pinched her hand and fingers, and felt along her ribcage, every poke and prod pulling out some kind of grimace or hiss.
A great sigh told her they'd reached a halfway point. "It's a miracle nothing's broken. Your ribs are bruised and your hands took a lot of damage, but you won't be needing any casts." She kept her eyes averted, knowing he turned away but not what for until she felt a cold cloth against her skin.
"Are you going to tell me what happened?" It sounded more like a command than a question as he washed the drying blood from her cheek. As difficult as it was for her to even find the words, it was harder still speaking them out loud. All she could offer was a shamed silence.
"Blake..." Her heart dropped. She hated that tone. "How many more times are we going to have this discussion?" He relented with the cloth, allowing her some reprieve. "You cannot continue behaving this way! You're a young woman now, with responsibilities to the community and your peers. If the Overseer - "
"Fuck the Overseer." She spat.
James held her eyes for a moment, then turned to Jonas. "Would you give us a moment, please?"
"Sure." He nodded to James and Blake in turn before exiting.
His first response was a groan and sigh. "Look. I know...I know it's not perfect down here. But it's-"
"It's safe." She echoed the line with a drawl as he spoke it, rolling her eyes.
"Yes, it is." He forcefully emphasised. "And that's all your mother and I ever wanted for you."
"Safe from what?" She asked listlessly, arguing only for arguments sake, and saying anything she could to avoid the topic of her mother.
"You know from what. The Wastes are a dangerous place. There's radiation everywhere and all kinds of monsters...it's no place to live."
It was the same diatribe she'd heard countless times over, from teachers and parents and directly from the Overseer himself. But the way James said it now...there was an urgency to it that had been lacking in the parroted speeches of the others.
"How do you know?" She had tried, and failed, to hide her suspicions.
"Well, that's what the Overseer says, isn't it?" His answer held the same confidence as the previous one, causing Blake to doubt only herself. "We're born in the Vault, and we die in the Vault. It's how it has to be to keep everyone safe." Ah, there it was. That monotone repetition she heard in every other adult.
"And we can't ever, EVER leave?" She pressed.
"That's not the way it works." He said sternly. "And it won't do to go around saying things like that. You're already in enough trouble getting into fights like these." He raised a hand to brush one of the deepening bruises on her cheek.
"What happened? Did Butch do this?"
"N-no..." Knowing she couldn't avoid the conversation forever, she shifted uncomfortably and tried to find the right words.
"It...well...Wally was the one who convinced Paul to break up with me." She blushed and averted her eyes, embarrassed to be discussing such intimate things with her dad.
"I see." He was sympathetic, but it didn't help.
"The four of them caught me in the hall-I tried to ignore them! I tried to just keep my head down and walk around them, but, Butch got in my way and...Wally kinda, threw that back in my face, and I just..." She looked down at her hands, unable to continue.
He laced a lock of hair behind her ear in attempt of comfort and encouragement, and was rewarded with a small smile.
"Where is he now? Do you know?" Her eyes flickered upward but did not hold his gaze.
"His dad showed up. Called him off and walked off with him." She sounded almost remorseful. Where Wally got his violent streak from was a secret to no one.
"I see." James said again, more solemnly as he rubbed his chin, dark with five o'clock shadow. He pondered this information for a handful of seconds before returning his attention to her. "Go on home and rest. I'll be there shortly, I just need to go over a few things here."
A small light filled her eyes for the first time in a long while. "What are you working on? Can I help?" Her eagerness shone through her injuries, making her look almost puppy-like.
Despite her vision being compromised, the panic that flashed through his face was unmistakable. "Oh, just. Research. On-Vault Depressive Syndrome." Charismatic as he was, she knew a lie when she heard one.
"Oh. Well, alright. See you at home, then." She feigned disinterest, but it appeared to have worked.
"Jonas can walk you home, if you like."
"No, I'll be fine." The only dangers ever posed to her before were, at least temporarily, indisposed. "Thanks, dad. I'm...I'm sorry I keep messing up."
His usual, gentle smile reappeared and soothed her some. Cautious of her injuries, he opted for a kiss on her forehead instead of a hug. "Things will get better. I promise."
She smiled up at him before sliding off the examination table. She gave Jonas a ginger goodbye hug, and he gave her a light kiss on the forehead as James called him back in.
Curiosity filled her stomach with such weight that she was brought to a halt outside the clinic doors. Waiting a minute or two to allow them a sense of security, she moused back into the room. This proved more difficult than she originally expected, as she had to keep pausing to force back a hiss or groan. Soon enough, she made it to the door and pressed her ear against it.
"...still unstable. But! With the data you sent me last week, once I reconfigured the equation to include the new variables and-well, here, just look."
James' voice gave way to the clatter of fingers over a keyboard, a final tap of a key, followed by silence.
"Oh my god." Jonas breathed with awe.
"Do you see what this means?" There was an excitement in her father's voice she hadn't heard for years, if ever before. "I think it's finally possible. If we could just enter this into the main computer and adjust the equipment as necessary, then-"
"Don't tell me you're actually thinking of-"
But what James may or may not have actually been thinking of, Blake did not hear. Instead, alarms went off in her mind as she heard the quiet tap of footsteps in the hallway. Moving as quickly as her damaged frame would allow, she cleared out of the clinic.
Turning the corner, she found there had been no need to worry at all. Amata stood before her, surprised by her sudden appearance. "Blake! I was just...Jesus, look at you." She raised a hand as though to touch Blake, confirming that what she saw was the truth. "I caught a glimpse of Wally walking somewhere with his dad. He looked PISSED. God. Are you alright?"
"Yeah, m'fine." Blake waved her arm dismissively and immediately regretted it. "Well, nothing's broken at least." She relented.
"Probably more than we can say for Wally. I'm pretty sure you broke his nose. Hard to tell, but he looked more fucked up than usual."
Blake smiled but held in the laugh - she didn't think her ribs would be so forgiving.
"What did your dad say?" Amata asked quietly, like a sister who had somehow missed being in trouble too. Glancing back at the clinic, Blake walked forward and motioned for Amata to follow her.
"The usual. He was pretty freaked at first. I think Jonas is gonna dismember Wally if he ever finds out. But it didn't take long before it turned into another lecture. 'This is where you're safe, you need to behave, respect the Overseer', blah blah blah."
"Sounds about right." Amata sighed with solidarity, having gotten the same lecture from James himself when he'd overheard them bad mouthing the authorities. "Are they still working?" She asked, suddenly realizing their improper absence.
"Yeah. Sounds like they're on the verge of something big. He said it was just something about VDS, but that sounded like bullshit, especially after what I just heard."
"Wow, really? What did you hear? What do you think it really is?" Amata asked excitedly, having a seditious love for anything that might drive a thorn in her father's side.
"No idea. Something about equations and variables and computers. It's probably just something boring, like...making the reactor more efficient or whatever."
"Yeah..." Amata sighed heavily. "Or! Maybe it's like, like a...mind-control device, and he and Jonas are gonna slowly take over the Vault through indoctrination." She sounded entirely too thrilled about this possibility.
Blake couldn't help but laugh. "Hah! Yeah, that's gotta be it. And then they're gonna enter a command to make the Overseer to open the Vault."
"Pfft, yeah right. Now you've gone too far." Amata said with a sarcastic deadpan.
Blake scoffed. "Yeah, well. A girl can dream."