The room was dark, illuminated by soft lights whose origins were unknown to him. He couldn't move, paralyzed by the bronze goddess that danced naked in front of him. He wanted so badly to touch her; feel her hot moist flesh against him, feel her mouth on him in places that ached. His thoughts too were taken by the sound of music, smooth saxophones and the steady beat of thumping drums.

She knew what he loved. She kept her back to him, swaying to and fro, winding her bare robust hips to the jazz music that permeated the room. The woman bent forward, her rhythm unbroken, and swatted herself on the ass. A quick stroke but he saw it all in slow motion. The impact of her slender hand, colliding with her thick brown cheek, the slow wave of flesh that rolled over her body, sending droplets of sweat onto the floor.

Amata was cruel in that way and it was something that had aroused him since childhood. She teased him constantly and now was no different. Her lure was simple and innocent. She made men believe that she could be taken, easily and often. She'd moan and fight, just enough to make you think that she was yours. And then, nothing, because she wasn't easy or fragile or any of those things.

He sat in wherever he was, he wasn't sure, where she now had him again like so many times before. Her breasts were large, her waist miniscule, and her hips were things that men only saw in places that didn't exist.

The perfect hourglass for the perfect woman in a perfect setting without imperfect people. That was the dream that he had lived and now had again. She gave her fat bottom another hard smack; the droplets of sweat catching the light in a spectacular way, before she began twirling around and around like a charmed cobra towards him. Amata snaked her way to him like this, her hair freeing itself from its bun, and sending more of the magical droplets in every direction.

The droplets were no longer content with losing themselves on the floor. Now they hung in the air around them like stars, each giving off their own bit of light basking their mother in an ethereal aura.

Amata came to her last twirl, stopping just short of him, where she fell into his lap with weightless ease. Nathan's breath caught in his throat as he felt her nakedness against him. She slowly draped her arms across his shoulders and leaned in for a kiss. Nathan closed his eyes and waited, hungry for the familiar taste of her. She avoided his lips and instead caught the lobe of his ear. She suckled him like that until she felt his steel beneath her. She rhythmically grinded into him, riding him cruelly, both inviting and refusing his body entrance into her own.

Cruelty was her specialty and the sting of it left him wanting more. And he could have her, were he not bound to his chair.

"I can't touch you," breathed Nathan. "Why the fuck can't I touch you?"

Amata ignored him and continued the sweet assault on his ear. She grinded into him harder and Nathan heard the chair screech backwards over the floor. The tiny stars that had come off of her danced around the room, flickering wildly. Though he was oblivious to them now that she was on him. If only he could move, get his hands on her, make her pay for her sadism. He'd take her to the floor, bend her over and pierce her, just like she loved. And she would beg him to make her come.

"Something's wrong," Nathan whispered. "Why can't I touch you?"

She stopped her work for a moment and answered him in Spanish.

"Usted no está aquí…"

He thought that she would continue but her form, that beautiful face, the weight of those heavy voluptuous hips were beginning to fade. The sea of miniature stars around them were getting brighter. Soon the light was unbearable and Nathan mashed his eyes shut to avoid the intensity.

He tried in vain to struggle free from whatever was holding him before she vanished completely. He tried once more to call out for her but Amata was all but gone. As she departed, he could hear words though now they were garbled and distorted.

And then his eyes flew open.

The light was flicked away but he was still quite blind, only this time it wasn't a dream.

"Well now, it's about Goddamn time you got up," said the voice. "Boy, Now I done been over the rules with you. Yer botherin' me."

When his vision returned, Nathan realized that he was lying down in an uncomfortable bed inside the Megaton clinic. The man above him, Doc Church, was looking at him in a way that seemed to say that he had overstayed his welcome.

"Boy you've overstayed your welcome," said Church putting away the small flashlight he was holding. "Now you been in here for two damn days just hollerin' and kicking about vaults and women and whatnot. Botherin' me and my patients. For a guy that had a bullet in him you don't seem like you belong here."

Nathan tried to sit up but the older man placed his hands on him and kept him down.

"Just a minute," said Church. "Two things: payment and diagnosis. Your pick."

Nathan sat for a moment looking at the older black man with a confused expression. "Two days? You're certain?"

"Am I sure? This is my clinic. Now I can forgive your confusion once, on account of that wound, but that's it."

This time Nathan was allowed to sit up and he expected a stab of pain but to his surprise he found none. He ran his hand along his side finding only smooth flesh and a passing soreness.

Nathan threw Doc Church a crazed look. "Diagnosis."

Doc Church leaned forward and pulled a small deformed piece of metal from the medical pouch at his side. "Son, I pulled this out of your left side. It's a 10mm round. Nicked your kidney. Fortunately a round like this is low velocity so it wasn't too bad. Still, a busted kidney ain't nothin' to play with so it's a miracle you didn't drop dead out there."

Nathan reached out and Church allowed him to take the bullet from his hand.

"If nothing else you're lucky. Usually someone with bleeding like yours is a prime candidate for hypovolemia. That's shock and it's deadly, just so you know."

Nathan examined the bullet with mild interest before speaking. "Lucky isn't the word. Renal damage. I'm shocked I didn't have to undergo nephrostomy, or some sort of retroperitoneal draining. I'm a bit behind on things out here. How exactly did you treat me?"

Doc Church sat up and looked at him strangely. "Well, fuck a duck. Kid's got a brain. And here I had you pegged for another retard. You don't talk like no local and you sure as hell shouldn't know anything about medical procedures. You really are from that vault aren't you?"

"Yes sir. Born and raised in Vault 101."

"Huh. Well how bout that. Any way as far as treatment was concerned, I just cleaned up the blood, plucked out the bullet and gave you what I could spare to keep infection off you. I did what I could to save the organ but I didn't need any draining agents or anything of the sort."

"Wait. So it wasn't some kind of miracle drug, no special treatment?" asked Nathan in disbelief.

"The only special treatment I gave you was my time. The only question I got is what the hell are they putting in that vault water? After that shell was out you started putting yourself right back together. Never seen nothin' like it."

Nathan spun around so that he was now sitting on the edge of the bed. "Putting myself back together?"

Doc Church leaned backwards in his chair draping his arm over the back of it. "You sound as surprised as me. After you finally drifted off to sleep I'd come back in every hour or so and bam (he hit his hands together) little by little that hole in your gut closed up."

Nathan again looked at where his wound was supposed to be, giving his side a gentle pat. "Accelerated healing? But that's…"

"The stuff of fiction? Indeed and yet here we are. Doc Church again went into his medical pouch and held up a syringe with a gauge. "As far as I know, a stimpak is the closest thing we mere mortals have that can do what you can. Even then the things take more than half the time to do what you were able to with a good night's rest. But I digress."

Just then, a knock on the door behind them halted the conversation.

"It's open!" yelled Church.

The metal door lurched opened and Lucas Simms appeared to greet them.

"Well, Christ almighty," he began as he removed his cowboy hat. "Nathaniel! Still among the living. Mr. Church, you always know just what to do."

Doc Church held the stimpak up and tossed it gently to Nathan who deftly caught it.

"Mr. Simms. Well, genius out here is a rare find. You're all lucky for that. Still, this one wasn't all my doing. Kid's a miracle of nature, or a freak, whichever one you find less offensive."

Nathan chuckled a bit. "Hey man, whatever you want. Just glad to be here."

Simms walked over to Nathan and patted him on the shoulder with those big heavy dark hands. "Aren't we all. I'm glad you're alright boy. You had me scared. A lot of folks have shown up here in the same shape. Next thing you know, crematorium."

"Thank you Sheriff. Really," Said Nathan putting his hand over Simms's where it still rested on his shoulder.

Church smirked an amused smile before he slipped back into his usual hard ass routine.

"Now this is all very touching. But listen, I don't work for free."

"Excuse me?" said Nathan with confusion.

"You heard me. Now I'm glad we're all here to sing Kumbayah together but I'm a man of business. Which usually means I get caps for my work."

Nathan looked up at Simms. "What's he talking about?" He then looked to Doc Church. "What're caps?"

Doc Church rolled his eyes and leaned back in his chair putting a hand over his face in exasperation.

"Kid, if you're fuckin' with me you better quit it. There's no way in hell that…"

Sheriff Simms intervened cutting off Church's rant. "Now, now, no need for all that Mr. Church. Boy's fresh outta a hole in the ground. Stands to reason that he wouldn't know a damn thing about money up here."

Sheriff Simms then looked back to Nathan with a bit more pity in his eyes than Nathan was comfortable with.

"I'll give you the short version. Out here in the wastes we use bottle caps for currency."

"Bottle caps? As in, right off of a bottle of soda?"

"That's right," said Simms retrieving a single cap from his leather duster. "In particular, these are from Nuka-Cola, real popular stuff from back from before the war. Somehow, there's still a shitload of cola to go around. Don't mind the stuff myself, still.

Sheriff Simms passed the bottle cap to Nathan who examined it with interest. It was small and red and the edges were slightly worn with 'Nuka Cola' barely legible across the top.

"So this is money up here?" asked Nathan. "It's kinda hard to see the value of it."

"I'm sure," Said Simms taking the cap back. "But you better believe that this here cap has killed more people out here than Deathclaws ever could."

"I don't even wanna know what a Deathclaw is."

Sheriff Simms gave a hearty laugh and again patted Nathan on the shoulder. "Trust me Nate, You'll know one when you see it. Of course by then, well, it'll probably be the last thing you'll see."

Nathan rolled his eyes, put his hands over his face and huffed a big sigh. "Jesus Christ... What the hell am I gonna do?"

"Ah, chin up boy. Fortunately, in this town there's a million things to be done. Ask around, you won't find a shortage of folks willing to deal you some caps for an honest bit of work."

Doc Church stood up and clasped his hands together. "Well alright, It's settled. Usually I don't let people walk out of here without leaving my money but I'm gonna cut you a break."

"See that. He's an ornery ol' bastard but he's got compassion in spades," said Simms making his way towards the door. "Still, round here we don't give out much for free. So make yourself useful."

Sheriff Simms flipped his hat skillfully onto his head and winked at the two before he left the clinic.

"Fuckin' showoff," Nathan heard Church utter under his breath. The doctor then disappeared briefly from sight and returned holding Nathan's clothes.

"Alright boy, get going. I cleaned that jumpsuit of yours." He handed the suit to Nathan all but shoving it into his chest. "You can wear it but I'd get myself something better. You'll need it if you plan on taking to the wastes again. Though I don't suppose you're too keen on getting shot up again anytime soon."

"My deepest gratitude Mr. Church," Said Nathan as he began slipping into the familiar blue jumpsuit. "I'd be dead if it weren't for you."

Doc Church turned his back on Nathan and waved as if shooing him away. "Yeah, yeah. Whatever. Just get lost. And take care of yourself, you get fucked up and have the nerve to come in here without my money again and I'll haul you to the furnace myself."

"Gotcha." Nathan smiled and turned to slip on his boots which were still next to the foot of the bed.

He made his way to the door and stopped just short of opening it.

"Uh sir? One more thing," said Nathan.

Doc Church shook his head and sighed as loudly as he could. "Good Gracious. What now?"

"How much did you want for the work?"

"It was on the house kid."

"Seriously. How many bottle caps were you expecting?"

Doc Church took a seat behind his desk and began sorting through a few manila folders. "50 caps for the cutting, 20 for the jumpsuit, 30 for staying here and another 25 for bothering me."

Nathan smiled and nodded his head up and down as he took it all in.

"Have a good one Mr. Church." And with that Nathan left the clinic and into the heart of the city. It was time to see what else Megaton had in store for him. He only hoped that James's trail hadn't gone completely cold.