- X -

(August 2277)

Part 1

He popped the zinc tablet into his mouth, washing it down with a gulp of water as Officer Kendall looked on. The daily dosage helped with his perpetual lethargy, which he supposed was a good thing, but for the past three months he didn't much care whether he was conscious or passed out most days. Once he finished, he handed the cup back to the older man, who nodded and glanced down at his clipboard.

"Don't head back to your community service session just yet. You have a visitor lined up in ten minutes."

Butch scowled, wiping his hands on the orange fabric of his prison uniform. If he had to sit with Ellen one more time and listen to her mouth say she believed him while her eyes told a different story, he was going to flip a table. Despite the amount of time that had passed since the incident at the spring formal, he still couldn't fully convince his own mother—much less anyone in a position of authority—that he was innocent of all charges. People whispered that the apple didn't fall far from the tree, that history repeated itself.

Everyone believed he had become his father.

"If it ain't a conjugal visit from a chick wanting to get a piece of this, you can tell 'em to fuck off," Butch snapped, turning from the desk.

"All right. I'll inform Ivy Ashburn that her standard visitation request was not to your liking," Officer Kendall said dryly.

That stopped Butch in his tracks. Ivy?

He whirled back around, squashing the sliver of hope that dared to rise inside him. "What's she wanna see me for now? I haven't even heard anything about her since freakin' May."

The security officer gave him a flat look and drawled, "Maybe you'd like to take this visit after all and find out? Quite frankly, I'm astounded she even wants to speak with you."

"Up yours, Kendall."

"Watch the attitude and get to the meeting rooms. They don't pay me enough to take lip from you."

Butch rolled his eyes and trudged out of the office, passing a few other detainees going in for their midday meds. The reinforced cuffs on his wrists clinked together as he made his way through the busy lobby of the Vault detention center. Security personnel stationed at every corner watched him warily, but he refrained from shooting them his customary dirty looks as his thoughts strayed to Ivy's presence. After months of dead silence, this impending visit surprised him and instilled both anticipation and dread in his gut. He listed to himself several prospective reasons for her coming here, none of which ended in his favor. Call him pessimistic; cynicism had become an integral component of his character.

Still, he couldn't quite rid himself of the jittery feeling as he entered the bright hallway leading to the meeting rooms. So as soon as the officer at the checkpoint patted him down and unlocked his cuffs, he dug into his pocket for his cigarettes. Raising one, he lifted an eyebrow and refused to move along until the officer sighed and produced a lighter. Butch puffed on the nicotine stick and blew a cloud of smoke toward the other man's face, smirking when the officer coughed and angrily ordered him to wait in the closest vacant room on the left.

He started to relax by the time he walked into the bare space and took a seat in one of the worn metal chairs. His hand went to his chest, felt around for the serpent pendant that had been confiscated along with his Toothpick and Pip-Boy at the beginning of his sentence. He still hadn't gotten used to its absence. The minutes passed as he flicked the cigarette ash into the tray on the stained table, preparing himself for whatever Ivy had to say. And once he thought he was as ready as he'd ever be, a pair of shadows darkened the open doorway.

Ivy strode in, with Dr. Ashburn right behind her.

Butch automatically put out the cigarette when she fixed him with an indecipherable expression. He stared back, surprised that she still wore her Tunnel Snake jacket over her jumpsuit. Her fingers came up to brush her overgrown bangs aside as she and her father sat across from him, the legs of their chairs scraping over the floor. A new hardened exterior had replaced the distraught girl he'd last seen running out of the atrium, evident in the rigidity of her posture and the steely glint in her eye. Once settled in, she drummed neatly trimmed nails on the surface of the table and glanced at Dr. Ashburn, whose facial lines deepened as he studied the younger man opposite from them.

The room lapsed into awkward silence. Butch tried not to cower under the scrutiny, but the gazes that pinned him to his seat were sharp and unyielding, and he knew they still blamed him for part of everything that had happened. Either that or they considered all of it his fault by now. Not that it mattered by this point. Coughing into a fist to break the strained atmosphere, he sent Ivy a cautious look.

"So… what're ya doin' here?" he asked before turning to her father, who produced a small pocket notebook from his white lab coat. "And how's it goin', Doc?"

Dr. Ashburn's baleful glare was his only response.

Ivy's face didn't change as she said in a businesslike tone, "I told my dad the whole story. He knows everything, from your role in the blackmail to Stevie abusing me. It's been a difficult three months doing damage control up there, but overall, our positions in the Vault haven't been jeopardized."

"Oh, uh… so in the end, everything's cool for you guys?" Butch inquired, attempting to sound casual.

"That's the thing. It's not the end," Ivy told him as she took the notebook from her father and scanned a few pages. "We've been building a case to get the truth out in the open. There was a lot we had to dig up, and in retrospect, I shouldn't have waited this long to come forward." Her eyes flickered to him. "We're working on overturning your sentence and getting you the hell out of here."

Butch sat up straighter, not quite believing his ears. "Seriously? After… ya know, everything?"

"I'm claiming my share of responsibility in this," Dr. Ashburn spoke up, voice as gravelly as ever. "I was the one who set up that shooting range in the first place, and when Ivy came clean about all that had transpired…" He trailed off and shook his head, scowling at the table. "Anyway, although you're not entirely guiltless, Butch, this punishment isn't yours to endure. I'm aiming to have Stevie Mack take your place."

Butch swallowed, not sure how to react to this news. As he watched them, a brief memory of this pair during the first day of school flashed across his mind. The dramatic and continuous changes to their circumstances since then were almost unreal. The doting dad had become a weathered father on a manhunt, and the scared little girl had become a hard-bitten young woman with a score to settle. His initial enemies were now his only allies, and words simply weren't enough to convey his appreciation for their help.

"What's the matter, Butch? Don't tell me you're having a blast down here and want to stay," Ivy quipped, the corner of her mouth lifting.

He gave her a small grin in return. "Nah. They got me building Pip-Boys for community service, and as comfy as this prison suit is, orange ain't really my color."

Dr. Ashburn leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. "All right, then. Besides, I suppose I owe you for using one of the springs in your switchblade to fix Ivy's BB gun all those years ago," he grunted.

Butch blinked at him. "Wait… what?"

"Back on topic," Ivy cut in, growing somber again. "We're doing all we can, but even with the help we've gathered, it's not enough."

"Hold on, who's helping out?" Butch questioned, genuinely curious.

She flipped through the notebook, reading off a couple of notes. "Amata, for one. After the formal, I told her the truth, and now she's working on getting the Overseer to open his ears to us. Jonas is a given, and he's been helping my dad with their part of the case. Freddie and his dad are on our side, organizing the evidence I gave them and trying to obtain a search warrant for the Macks' apartment. Since Paul is the son of the security chief, he's been on the fence, but he's sympathetic to our cause. I've asked him to try and persuade Chief Hannon to grant the warrant to Officer Gomez."

Butch peered down at his hands clasped together in his lap. "What about Wally?"

Ivy took a while to answer. "I haven't been able to make any headway with him. He won't listen to me, Paul, or Freddie." The leather of her jacket sleeve creased as she rubbed the back of her neck. "He renounced the Tunnel Snakes a while ago. He's sticking with Stevie, Butch."

Disappointment weighed down his features, but he couldn't say he was shocked. "Yeah, I figured." Raking his fingers through his messy hair, he glanced wearily at her. "So what's your big plan, anyway? Wanna fill me in?"

She placed her elbows on the table and rested her chin atop her fists, appearing pensive. "It comes in two phases. The first phase entails dealing with the original issue. Since Stevie has already revealed my pictures to the public, the only thing he has left over me is your footage of the shooting range. What he doesn't know is that my dad is planning on telling the Overseer about it himself once Amata gives us the green light."

Dr. Ashburn nodded, reaching out to stroke his daughter's head. "And I'm prepared to take on the consequences. I just wish you didn't have to go through what you did, honey."

"It's fine, Dad, and it's in the past," Ivy declared, patting his arm.

Butch observed the exchange of affection without experiencing the typical emotions of envy or bitterness. On the contrary, he felt oddly relieved that they had made amends. He saw the fierce determination that united them, the silent forgiveness that had restored their familial bond. Although his own relationship with his mother had deteriorated beyond possible repair, he no longer harbored any antipathy whatsoever toward Ivy and her father.

The strength that radiated from her now, after she'd had to pick herself up over and over again, took him aback. Whatever had broken within her during the presentation of Stevie's illicit slideshow had healed, mended, come back stronger. After witnessing the example she'd set, he finally understood what fortitude meant.

"The second phase," Ivy continued as she returned her attention to Butch, "entails pinning it all back on Stevie and clearing your name. This is the part that gets tricky."

"Yeah, damn. I can see why," he remarked, exhaling. "The son of a bitch had an answer for everything I threw at him. How're you even gonna start on that?"

Ivy shifted uncomfortably. "Well, I do have one important piece of evidence," she replied, her lashes lowering. "When I was pregnant, I conducted a prenatal paternity test on myself using various DNA samples from Stevie's blood and hair to verify that he was the father in case he decided to bail. There's a time and date stamp on the test in our medical database."

Butch massaged a knuckle into his temple. "So that's just to prove that he knocked you up?"

"It's to prove that he impregnated me when I was still seventeen. That he was having sexual relations with a minor."

Dr. Ashburn bristled, visibly agitated at the subject. Butch sucked in a deep breath as he considered the uphill battle ahead. He knew little of the age of consent laws in the Vault, but one would think the ten-year difference between Stevie and Ivy spoke for itself.

"Once the first phase is complete, I'm going to formally testify against Stevie," Ivy went on. "It's just… the big hitch is the evidence. All I have for certain is the paternity test—which the Overseer may not even acknowledge—to charge Stevie with statutory rape. I don't have anything that will identify him as the one who coerced me into the pictures and chems, and he's already swayed most of the Vault into believing that you're perpetrator."

"Fan-fucking-tastic," Butch muttered. Of course this wouldn't be easy. "So even if you, the victim, tell everyone that he's the bastard responsible, we're still shit outta luck?"

"It comes down to Stevie's word against yours and Ivy's," Dr. Ashburn chimed in, scratching at his stubble. "Publicly, Officer Mack has been a model member of the security force. Ivy's claims implicating him could be dismissed as the effects of Stockholm syndrome; that she had developed an attachment to you during your alleged manipulations."

Butch slumped down in his seat as his fingers inched toward his pocket for another cigarette. Remembering that he didn't have a lighter on hand, he settled for curling his fists into the fabric of his pants in aggravation. From what he took out of this conversation, they were going in circles. None of it came with any certainty, and while their efforts were commendable, he couldn't help wondering if they were wasting their time.

Ivy seemed to read his thoughts from his body language. "Don't be discouraged just yet. Once I present my testimony, our chances for acquiring a search warrant will increase. I'm willing to bet Stevie is still in possession of chems, and since he had those duplicates, I've got a strong feeling he has more stored away. This is where you come in, Butch."

He immediately scooted back as far as he could. "Oh, hell no. I ain't crawlin' through anymore vents—"

"No, I mean I wanted to ask if you know anything that could help us out," Ivy interrupted. "I realize it's a stretch, but when you went in to retrieve the originals, did you see anything else that looked like it could have contained any data? Anything we should keep an eye out for once we can search his apartment?"

Butch frowned, scouring his memory. The retrieval had been a quick in-and-out job. Sticking around to see the sights and peruse the premises hadn't exactly been at the top of his priority list, and he couldn't recall noticing any other red flags. And given how tightly Stevie kept his stuff locked up, they'd probably have better luck tricking him into confessing somehow.

Wait.

He did know something.

"Yeah! That's right, I almost forgot," Butch exclaimed, leaning forward. "When he had me in the interrogation room after shit went down, he blabbed somethin' big. You know how he has his place under camcorder surveillance and caught me breakin' in? He said he keeps all of it. All the recordings of his room, tucked away somewhere. All of it."

Ivy inhaled sharply and exchanged glances with her father. "So that means… he would have the footage of him and me together," she concluded in a tight voice. "Do you think he really would? That's two years' worth."

Dr. Ashburn grabbed the notebook and jotted down the new information. "It's more than we had to go on before. We'll take every possibility we can get."

Butch's heart raced with renewed hope. If Stevie did keep the surveillance recordings around, they had a shot at winning this.

"Did he tell you anything else that we can use?" Dr. Ashburn demanded once he looked up from his furious scribbling.

"That was pretty much it, but he also mentioned that my footage of the shooting range wasn't edited real good." Butch shrugged. "Said I was still in some of the shots, but it don't really matter now."

Ivy suddenly slammed her palms down on the table, startling the two men. Eyes alight with fervor, she said, "That matters a lot. There's video proof of you at target practice with me. It'll depict our relationship and our interactions, prove that coercion between us was unlikely. But most of all, it'll show what we were up to during our downtime for six years." She moved closer until her chest pressed against the table's edge. "Do you understand what this means? That's your alibi."

Several seconds passed before it dawned on Butch.

"My ticket outta here," he breathed, starting to get it. Damn, we just might be able to pull this thing off.

Dr. Ashburn finished writing in the notebook and stuffed it back into his pocket as he rose. "I think this suffices for implementing that step of the plan. I'm going to head back to the clinic and brief Jonas on what we've gathered here." Sending Butch a curt nod, he added, "Your assistance is much appreciated."

"Sure thing, Doc." Considering your plan's success means my freedom.

"Dad, I'm going to stay here for a bit longer to talk to Butch," Ivy stated, giving her father a look that left no room for arguments.

Dr. Ashburn's disapproving stare lasted only a few moments. Then, sighing, he planted a kiss on the top of her head. "All right. Don't be too long." At the doorway, he turned back briefly. "I hope those zinc tablets are working out well for you, Butch."

Once he disappeared, Butch cocked his head to the side. "How'd he know I've been taking zinc?"

Ivy absently fiddled with the settings of her Pip-Boy. "He was the one who prescribed the tablets when we found out you collapsed after the formal."

"Oh. Guess I should say thanks the next time I see your dad."

She didn't respond right away. A troubled expression had come over her face as she remained fixated on the device on her wrist. Butch got the notion that she was stalling on something, but he had too many questions circling around in his mind to dwell on her demeanor. The whirlwind of the meeting had left him lightheaded and starved for answers.

"Hey, Ivy. You still mad at me for not tellin' you how I really found out about your secret?" he asked gingerly.

She peered at him, her body stilling. No response came forth. He tensed and wished she'd just take it out on him. Yell, slap him, anything besides that blank gaze that revealed nothing of her feelings. It unnerved him, maybe to the point where he felt a little intimidated. And as her former aggressor, that said a lot.

"Look, I know I should've done somethin' when I was there in the vent, but the shock, man. I fuckin' froze," Butch explained, aware that it all sounded so feeble. "If I could, I'd go back and do it over—"

"Don't worry about it. It's done," Ivy interjected.

Yep, she's still pissed, he lamented to himself, all delusions of continuing where they'd left off in the storage room evaporating. Well, at least she doesn't hate me enough to let me rot behind bars.

She examined her Pip-Boy again and tapped her pinky on the interface, a mannerism he recognized as a sign of her anxiety. But before he could question her about it, she spoke almost flippantly.

"I understand chivalry and honesty aren't really your strong suit."

Butch hesitated as the insult sunk in. Whoa, hold up, what the fuck?

He found that completely uncalled for. He'd already owned up to everything he'd done wrong, and then some. He had done what he could to help her when she'd hit rock bottom, made sure she was safe, and even took the fall for her unhinged stalker. She was angry, he got that, but this was just unfair.

As he glowered at her, his temper took over his mouth. "Okay, so you're takin' it in this direction? You wanna talk about honesty? Let's swing this back to you. Something's been bothering me for a long time, and I need an honest answer," he snarled, his words dripping with venom. "I hear you and Stevie actually used to be a couple for real, that you were with him by choice. That true?"

The flat line of her lips revealed all. Breaking off eye contact, she murmured, "So he told you?"

A vein in his neck throbbed. Confirmation.

Butch shot to his feet at once, knocking over his chair behind him. "Are you fuckin' kidding me? What the hell did I put in all that effort for, then? What am I even doin' here? And all that bullshit about how the blackmail and everything was my fault. If this is just some fuckin' lovers' spat… Jesus, Ivy, you totally played me!"

Her verification had sparked a rush of fury that obscured a few details, but he was too worked up to get his facts straight. The reality that she had willingly been with Stevie at some point dealt a blow to his stomach. He couldn't stop the images that came flooding in, depicting his obliviousness of her bedroom activities during their high school years. The thought of her shooting with him by day and writhing in Stevie's arms by night drove him insane.

Jealousy itself was an adverse emotion, but coming from his perspective, it felt much more potent.

She rose as well, equally incensed. "Stop jumping to conclusions and chill out. My relationship with Stevie was over a long time ago, and if you hadn't given him the footage of the shooting range in the first place, it would have stayed over," she snapped. "Even when I was his girlfriend, it wasn't entirely consensual on my end. I was young and impressionable."

"He said you used to beg him for sex," Butch accused, unwilling to back down. "That he was the one you ran to when we were kids. How could you date that pedophile?"

"Besides my dad and Jonas, who were always busy, he was the only guy who gave me the time of day," Ivy shot back. "I had a relentless bully who made my life hell at every opportunity, so when an older male came along and treated me all nice and sweet, I latched on."

Butch fumed in place, even angrier at the insinuation that the blame could be traced, once again, back to him. "That's the sorriest excuse I've ever heard. You were so fuckin' blind you couldn't see what he was after?"

Ivy flushed and leaned down to brace herself on the table. In a gentler tone, she said, "Yes. That's it precisely."

He didn't move from his overbearing position, but he shut his mouth as she gathered her composure and returned to her seat.

"I never had a mom to teach me better. My dad, of course, had no idea what was going on," she declared. "Stevie and I didn't start out like this. The first time he spoke to me was after he'd found me under one of the couches in the cigar lounge, sick from the smoke because I was hiding from you. He took me to the clinic right away, where he defended me from my dad, who was very angry and worried. After that, I put my trust him."

Butch pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation. "Oh, come on. That nice act is the oldest trick in the book, Ivy."

"I was six years old. I couldn't have known," she returned defensively. "He was decent to me, like a big brother, at least until I started growing up. Looking back, I sensed his feelings change once I hit my preteens, but couldn't pinpoint it. I started putting some distance between us, and that was when you and I began hanging out at target practice, even if we still hated each other." She paused to sigh, jaded. "Remember when you found out about the shooting range? That Christmas when we both skipped the annual dinner, and I had the barrel of the BB gun on your forehead as soon as you opened the door?"

"Yeah," Butch grunted in annoyance.

"I was avoiding Stevie at the time. It was the only place he wouldn't have thought to look for me, which was why I was willing to share it with you as long as you kept it quiet."

Butch scowled as he mentally added another notch to his track record of guilt. "But you still ended up dating him later on."

He really wasn't going to let that go.

"Because after years of having to deal with you constantly harassing me and putting me down, I had little self-esteem. Stevie had always been there, telling me things I wanted to hear, telling me I was special to him. So in my early teens, against my better judgment, I went for it."

Butch had the sudden urge to kick his own ass. Well, that's just great. Turns out I drove her into his clutches not once, but twice. Nice job, Butch-man.

Ivy ran a hand through her hair, tousling the auburn locks. "When I started to like you, Stevie was furious. But he couldn't actually do anything about it until he got the ammunition to corner me." She folded her arms over the table, still not meeting his gaze. "I should've told you about my history with him, but I didn't think it would make a difference. I hadn't anticipated that you'd become interested in me, if that was what that was in the storage room at the spring formal."

Heat crept up Butch's neck, and his wrath receded as he righted his chair to sit back down. He would own up to that, too, but he'd never put it into words, his rollercoaster of feelings for her. The time and circumstances had never been right, and he still wasn't sure if now was the time to contemplate it.

Deciding against pursuing that topic, he stared at her intently. "Stevie been bothering you at all since I got sent to the slammer?"

She lifted her chin. "He's tried, but I've called his bluff each time he brought up the shooting range footage. I think he knows I'm up to something, so he's backed off to observe from the shadows. And it helps that I have a lot of people supporting me now."

"That's good," Butch remarked, calming down as sincere relief filled him.

A wry smile softened her features. "Also, he only recently went back on active duty. My dad and I might have been a bit slow on his healthcare when he was rushed in after your fight. You did quite a number on him that evening."

Butch's chest inflated, always quick to absorb any compliment. "What can I say? Fucker had it comin', and I'm just that awesome."

She mumbled her agreement and returned to tinkering with her Pip-Boy.

He watched her, wondering what she had on her mind. "You've been messin' around with that thing for a while now."

"Ah… yeah. We just had the annual Pip-Boy checkup," she told him offhandedly. A minute went by before she said, "Hey, I'm sorry for that jab about your chivalry and honesty. It was really hypocritical of me, and I think it was actually aimed at myself."

His brow knitted in confusion. "What do you mean?"

The troubled look returned, and she took a deep breath before raising her eyes to him, the distress clear on her face. "There's something else I need to talk to you about. It's important."

Butch's pulse picked up. She had finally stopped stalling, but he knew that tone. Whatever it was, he wasn't going to like it.

"Do you remember that physical my dad did for you back in November last year?"

He nodded. "Yeah, I needed it for my work file. Why?"

Ivy seemed to struggle with herself as she attempted to put up the professional mask she usually presented while on intern duty. "Butch… we found something."

When she activated her Pip-Boy, an automated voice he vaguely recognized filled the room.

"Welcome to Ashburn medical records database, user IVY ASHBURN. Accessing classified files for BUTCH DELORIA. Accessing last test taken on NOVEMBER 10, 2276. Results for CERULOPLASMIN TEST available. Accessing results. Retrieved. Blood copper levels indicate hepatolenticular degeneration. Patient afflicted with Wilson's disease."

Although he had no idea what that was, his heart pounded hard against his ribcage. Ivy powered down her Pip-Boy unsteadily.

"Your dad didn't die of liver deterioration and failure from alcoholism. It was Wilson's, a genetic disorder that can manifest as liver disease," she told him in a hoarse voice. "I'm sorry, Butch. You have the same thing."

In the span of an instant, his surroundings slowed and came to a standstill. How was that even possible? He had always been healthy and fit and at the top of his game. He'd taken care of his mother, nursed a sick girl back to health, beaten up a man in one-on-one combat. Now he was supposed to believe he had some sort of disease that had killed his alcoholic father? His brain refused to register it.

"That's gotta be some mistake," he declared, shifting his line of sight away. "Ya got the wrong guy. I mean, c'mon, I'm in my prime here."

Ivy gripped her hands together to stop their shaking. "The reason you've experienced dizziness and exhaustion all year, the reason you bleed excessively and pass out from overexertion, the reason you're on zinc tablets now, are all due to Wilson's." She tried to catch his eye. "That ring of copper around your irises… I first pointed it out in your shop when you gave me that haircut in January. It's one symptom. And why do you think I've been so against you drinking alcohol?"

Butch didn't want to buy it, but there was an undisputable truth to her words about the signs.

Still doubtful, he asked, "Well, if I do have it, how do I get rid of it? I'm guessin' we caught this early on, so do I just nip it in the bud?"

"Currently… there is no cure," Ivy replied, lowering her gaze. "We've been working on a treatment, and in the pre-war days they used penicillamine or trientine hydrochloride as tentative medications for Wilson's. The problem is that our resources in the Vault are limited."

Nothing was ever simple.

The rage returned, but he reigned it in, kept it simmering beneath the surface. "And you hid this from me why? So I'd stick around and right my wrongs without having a goddamn clue?" he demanded. "Make sure I didn't bail on you when I found out I was fuckin' ill?"

Unfazed by his hostility, she shook her head. "I didn't tell you because your dad specifically ordered mine to keep it a secret. I don't know why. But when your body gave out after you and Stevie had that violent altercation, I got scared that your case may be more advanced than we'd thought."

Butch curled his fingers around the armrests of his chair, gripping the metal so tightly that his hands went cold. Hank. It was always Hank. Everything wrong with Butch's life, from his rocky upbringing to the infamous DeLoria legacy he'd had to live with in the Vault, was because of his father. And now, some kind of liver disease had even been passed on, casting Hank's shadow further over Butch. Even in death, the father hadn't loosened his hold on the son.

The room fell quiet for several minutes as both occupants lost themselves in their own thoughts. Butch peered over at Ivy, who appeared grief-stricken. Although he was aware she wasn't at fault, he couldn't help the spiteful feeling that this situation was far too familiar. Just as Dr. Ashburn had broken the news of the disease to Hank, Ivy had done the same with Butch. As misinformed as the Vault residents were when it came to him, they were correct in one regard.

History repeated itself.

"All right. Just do what you need to do to get me outta here," Butch stated quietly, standing.

Ivy looked up at him and studied his solemn manner as he headed for the exit. "Hey, wait—"

"Once I'm out, if you need any more help with Stevie, let me know. But other than that, you won't need to worry about me." He glanced back over his shoulder at her anxious face. "I'll stay away from you from now on."

There was no use pursuing anything further with her, no point weighing her down when she was finally up and thriving on her own two feet. Something heavy had settled in his chest, and he had grown too tired to continue fighting it. The knowledge of his condition had convinced him.

He was doomed to follow in his father's footsteps, all the way to the grave.

x-x-x-x-x

A/N: Hang in there, guys, the story's not over yet! I usually respond individually to each review, but life got so busy that I was unable to do so for the last chapter. Please accept my gratitude here in this author's note! I find all your feedback valuable, and I love reading them, whether they're simple responses to the chapter or constructive criticism about what I could have done better. You're all amazing, and I'm so glad you've stuck with the story this far!