Blanket Disclaimer: I don't own Fallout. Bethesda does.

Wernher had never been a very poetic man, owing to his upbringing as a Raider rather than a well-educated scholar, but as he worked in the mill, sweat-soaked, steel-axe in hand, he thought, not for the first time, that the Pitt had grown darker without her. The morning that the little hero from the Capitol Wasteland had left, Pittsburgh grew dim, its now liberated slaves grew listless, and work continued as it always had. Freedom didn't have much of a meaning without their liberator there to remind them of what they had overcome.

It was because of this subtle but well-known fact that the slight shift in the atmosphere nearly two years later seemed as bright and glaring as the flood lights that protected the battered city.

He first noticed it when Marco came into work whistling. It was some song that played on that radio station from the Wastes run by that cheeky bastard Three Dog. It was a song he hadn't heard since she had left. It had always been her favorite. The other man had pretended not to notice the suspicious glare that Wernher had aimed in his direction, but the whistling stopped, and with it disappeared the faint sensation that something had changed.

A few days later, he thought he heard someone laughing. Laughing. There hadn't been anything to laugh about since the morning they all woke to find themselves alone in their city with no one to turn to who knew anything about how life had managed to continue in the world beyond the train yard. When he turned, everyone had the usual weary expressions etched on their scarred and dirty features, but he knew what he had heard nonetheless.

It was when he thought that he actually saw a flash of bright red hair that he finally snapped. He threw down his steel-axe and stalked across the mill, ignoring the now all-too-obvious looks that were exchanged between the other workers as he stormed out into the Downtown streets. If his suspicions were correct, then they had better clear out before he returned if they wanted to keep all their limbs attached to their bodies.

With each step he took closer to Midea's quarters, his blood roared louder in his ears and by the time he reached the door and threw it open, he could hardly hear himself think.

There she was. Sitting on the edge of the bed with Marie standing up on her lap, giggling happily. Both she and Midea looked up sharply as the door slammed open and a moment of silence reigned. Quickly, the older woman snatched up Marie and was out the door before either of them could do anything more than stare at each other.

She hadn't changed much in the past two years. Her pale skin had tanned slightly from her time back out in the wasteland and her bright red hair was a longer, but those changes were to be expected. Her experiences had hardened her appearance a bit, and she'd lost some of the physical innocence of youth, but there was absolutely no doubt in his mind about who he was looking at.

The expression on her face gave away no emotion, but her eyes betrayed her. "Wernher."

He continued to stare, rage boiling hotly in his chest. "Red." She looked relieved at the sound of his voice, and she stood up, taking a step toward him. He backed away just as quickly and his voice cracked through the tension between them like a whip. "What the fuck are you doing here?"

She looked sad, but he couldn't find anything in himself that looked remotely like remorse. He was too angry, no livid, to even think much beyond 'how fucking dare you'. She crossed her arms over her chest and looked up at him, her teeth worrying at her bottom lip. She had always done that when she was nervous.

"I said I'd come back didn't I?"

He jerked away as if he'd been slapped, his mind filling with the memory he had tried so desperately to repress during those two long years.

She's blushing when she finally looks back at him, embarrassed by the heat of his gaze upon her bare skin. She's beautiful; perfect; his.

"Don't go back out there," he rasps, his voice rough with desire. "There's nothing there for you. We need you here. I need you here." He has never been very good with words, and her gaze softens with his quiet admission.

She pulls him down to her, her skin smooth and soft against his taut muscle and jagged scars. Her lips are warm against his own, and they hold the promise of something he has never known before. If she just stays, he thinks he can learn to love her.

It's when he's buried deep inside of her, moving with a tenderness he didn't know he possessed that she whispers against his open mouth, holding one of his large, rough hands tightly in her own.

"I'll come back, Wernher. I promise I'll come back."

He offered no response and stood motionless when she reached toward him, his gaze hard and cold. "It's been almost two damn years, Red."

"I know, but...when I left..."

His eyes flashed with long repressed fury. "I fucked you. And when I woke up in the morning, you were gone."

She looked injured; or was it guilt that plagued her features? He hoped that it was. She deserved to be in pain for what she had done to him. He hoped that his heart wasn't the only one that had broken.

"I promised, Wernher. Didn't you trust me?"

"Sure I did. For the first few months, I waited at the Bridge every day, hoping you'd come back to me," It hurt to admit that he'd been so weak, but she deserved to know what she had done to him. That it couldn't just be forgotten, or forgiven. "but things changed, Red. The people here needed me and I couldn't spend my days dreaming about some Vault bitch." He spat out his last word and gave her a venomous glare, almost afraid of his own numbness upon seeing her reaction.

She was quiet for a moment before nodding. "I should've known better than to try, but I'm here now, and I plan to stay, so I guess I'll...see you around then?"

Turning his back to her, he opened the door and offered one last comment over his shoulder, "You'd better not. Get the fuck out of my city."

Turning over for what had to be at least the twentieth time in an attempt to find a more comfortable position, Red gave an impatient sigh and yanked the sheets back up to cover her bare shoulders.

She shouldn't have come back. Yes, she had promised that she would, but now, after seeing the way he had reacted to her, she understood why no one had wanted to tell him that she had come back. Maybe he would've been better off just forgetting about her and moving on.

She looked at the empty space beside her in her bed and sighed. He should've been there next to her. Hadn't their night together meant anything to him?

She should go see him, beg if she had to. But why the hell would he take her back after what he'd said? He had meant every word; that much had been plain to see. But, that didn't matter. He didn't have to take her back. He just needed to hear her out, so she could at least clear her conscious before running back out to the Wasteland like the coward that she was.

Frustrated, she sat up, running a hand through her hair and swinging her legs over the edge of the bed.

He was still living in that room above the steelyard; Midea had at least told her that. She'd have to be careful not to wake up Marie or her caretaker on her way out. If Midea knew what she was planning, she'd only try to stop her, and she couldn't take being stopped. She just had to see him again. Had to get some closure.

The walk to the steelyard was quiet save for the gentle slapping of her bare feet across the cracked pavement. The faint light that burned above his door drew her ever closer and her heart was pounding when she found herself standing before it. She had one hand raised to knock when the door suddenly flew open to reveal a very disheveled and frustrated Wernher.

They both stopped, startled, and his look of determination shifted to one of surprise and disbelief as he slowly looked her over. They stared at each other for a moment, then spoke simultaneously as they each managed to collect their thoughts.

"Listen, Red—"

"Wernher, I—"

They both stopped and he continued staring for a moment before stepping forward, his hands roughly grasping the back of her head and crushing her lips to his. He tasted like beer and smoked iguana. He smelled like beer and sweat. She loved it. After a minute, Wernher pulled away and looked at her sternly.

"You know I meant every word I said."

She nodded. "I know."

"And you still want me?"

Her expression was almost pained as she bobbed her head. "I'll always want you."

She could practically see the wheels turning in his head as he looked her over. She was only wearing a short, thin, pink nightgown and his eye was dark with lust as he regarded her. When he spoke again, his voice was rough with desire and he looked at her with unveiled hunger.

"You wearing anything under that?"

A feeling of relief washed over her before she quickly schooled her expression and smiled coyly. Her smirk growing, she sauntered toward the bed in the corner, walking her fingers up his bare chest as she slid past him; her reply followed shortly by the soft thud of fabric hitting the floor.

"Nope..."