The stuff was strong; it burned on the way down, making Amata's eyes water. She tried not to cough and splutter, tried to get a good swig down, but Maeve's gentle hand intercepted hers and lowered the bottle. "Easy there, booze fiend," she said, grinning. "Just a little at a time. Nobody drinks this stuff for the taste, and we don't wanna jump over the good part and go straight for the toilets."

She took the bottle from Amata's hand, took a quick swig, and passed it back. Amata did her best to copy the motion, looking at her friend for approval; Maeve grinned wider and clapped her on the back, nearly making her spray vodka over her sheets. "That's the idea! I knew there was some genuine bad girl in there somewhere."

They passed it back and forth, sometimes in rapid succession, sometimes waiting a little, Maeve setting the pace. After a little while, Amata began to feel pleasantly warm, her fingers thick, her tongue a little awkward. "S'good, huh?" Maeve asked, putting the bottle down. Amata nodded sleepily, letting her head rest on her friend's shoulder. Maeve tensed for a moment, then relaxed, letting her own head rest on Amata's.

"You mean a lot to me, you know," Maeve told her, her voice low. Amata nodded, jostling them both. "You're my best friend, Maeve."

Maeve pulled back; startled, Amata looked up at her. "Is... I mean... is that all?" Head filled with pleasant tingling, Amata furrowed her brow, confused. "Touch me," Maeve told her, taking Amata's hand in hers. She pressed Amata's fingers to her cheek, snuggled into them. "When I do that, do you feel... maybe... something else?"

A knock at the door made them both jump a foot. "Amata," her father's voice called, angry. "What have I told you about locking your door? Open it this instant!" Eyes wide, Maeve grabbed the bottle and slid under the bed, raising a finger to her lips; as if her friend needed to be reminded. "Sorry, daddy," Amata called, brushing off her jumpsuit and hurrying, rather unsteadily, toward the door. She cycled it open, offering her frowning father the most innocent smile she could muster.

Her father stepped into her room, looking around. "Why did you lock your door?" He demanded. Amata offered a nonchalant shrug. "I just wanted some alone time, daddy. That's all." Alphonse ignored her, walking around the room, sniffing the air. "Do I smell alcohol?" Taking deep breaths, Amata did her best to stay cool. What would Maeve say? What would she do? "Um... yes, daddy. I got a little cut, and I had to disinfect it. I spilled a little. I'm sorry."

"Hm. You know, you shouldn't hide anything from me, Amata. I'm your father." Amata nodded. "Of course, daddy." She though a moment, then spoke again. "Do you... remember what day it is?" Alphonse waved his hand. "Of course. Good luck on the G.O.A.T. tomorrow. I trust you won't need it."

Tears welled up in Amata's eyes, and she turned away to hide them. "I won't, daddy. Good night."

She wasn't sure when he'd left, really, or when Maeve came out of hiding. But her friend wrapped her in a warm hug from behind, resting her cheek against Amata's. "You know I'm always here for you," she said, nuzzling her hair. "Always." Amata cried quietly as they rocked back and forth, holding each other.

"I know," she said.

"Please, honey," James said, putting his hands on his daughter's shoulders, "please take these achievement tests seriously."

Maeve rolled her eyes, reaching for the red baseball cap he'd made her take off for the exam. She still wore that thing six years later, which always made Stanley smile; good thing it had an adjustable band. "Yeah, I got that the first eight times, dad," she told him, but with a playful smile that softened her words. "Can you please point that light somewhere else, now? And talk a little quieter?"

James sighed; he knew a hangover when he saw one, but he had no idea how she'd managed to get drunk in the vault's sterile confines. She wasn't about to tell him. She was a wild child, and if there was something she really wanted to do, it was damn hard to stop her. "All right, sweetie," he said, tucking his instruments away. "Now go on, get out of here. And good luck."

She flashed him a dazzling grin, and in that moment he saw so much of Catherine in her that he felt tears welling in his eyes. Every piece of her sang of outside: ocean-blue eyes, cornsilk hair, skin like pale beach sand, a swaying walk like a gentle breeze. It seemed wrong to keep her down here, surrounded by unfeeling steel. But that was why he had returned to his experiments. The old outside was gone, blasted to dust and filth, but he might one day purify it. One day, if he succeeded, it might be safe for Maeve to dance beneath the rays of the sun.

She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek, then turned to the door. But halfway there she turned back. "Um... dad?" James jerked himself out of his reverie. "Yes, honey?" She looked nervous, which wasn't exactly common with her. "Remember when you told me about... y'know... boy parts and girl parts?" James nodded; he knew exactly where this was going.

"Well," Maeve said, still hesitant, "what if a girl... I mean..." She paused, running out of words. "Loves another girl?" Her dad finished. Maeve stared at him, then gulped and nodded. James smiled. "There's nothing wrong with that, sweetie. But," he said, his voice dropping to a whisper, "I wouldn't tell the Overseer, if I were you."

Maeve blushed fiercely. "I never said who it was. I never said it was me, either." But James just chuckled, then offered her a reassuring smile. "Honey, I'm your dad. I've known you as long as you've been around. I can tell. And it doesn't change how much I love you. Now go on, get to class; you've got a G.O.A.T. to take."

With a quieter smile, full of gratitude, Maeve slipped through the door.