She sets a quick pace, her jaunty whistle carrying shrill across the wastes. Fawkes carries their food, but despite the casual nature of this outing, he cannot help studying her for any signs of weakness. She seems hale and whole—though strange to see her outside of Megaton's walls in anything less than full armor. Even so, this is the Wasteland; she still carries her plasma rifle. His lingering doubts about her health are dispelled as she clambers over rocks and gravel embankments with ease, finally going up a strangely bare dirt path. Rather than follow the path to its end, where a weathered gate sits recessed into the hillside, Jinx pauses at the top, brushing her fingers over the faded blue sign that reads 'SCENIC OVERLOOK.'

Perhaps it looked better in the prewar days. Fawkes stares out over the tumbled ruins and barren trees, the crumbling edifices of times past, and finds little joy in it. But she does, judging by the small smile creeping across her lips as if against her will.

"Not much, I know, but once I got over being blinded… this. This whole vista. Just so much space, room to breathe and run and do whatever I wanted. No more metal walls."

Comprehension dawns. "That gate leads to your vault?"

"Not my vault anymore." For a moment he thinks she's about to reach for his hand and he holds his arm out for her, but she instead starts fiddling with her Pip-Boy. "Might as well get some mood music." Her finger slips as she mutters, "Huh, a distress signal…"

"It feels like you left home a long time ago, but I know you're still out there." Jinx's jaw drops, eyes wide as she stares at her Pip-Boy with ashen features. The woman's plea continues and Jinx listens to the whole thing. It loops back, repeating. She allows it to play one more time, finally clicking it off after "I changed the door password to my name. If you're hearing this, and if you still care enough to help me, you should remember it."

Silence lingers, Jinx standing with her shoulder to the door as if only able to bear glancing side-long at it.

"Fawkes, I—I have to go back."

"Not alone."

Dogmeat thumps his tail against the dirt in agreement, nuzzling his nose against Jinx's leg.

"They—Fawkes. Please, understand." She turns her face up, eyes gleaming and looking so uncharacteristically terrified that he knows there is no power on earth that will keep him from her side. "They're all humans. Every single one. They've never seen a mutant or a ghoul or… or even a dog before. They're not going to understand, they won't—they won't be kind…" Her shoulders tremble, hands shaking like leaves as she clutches the front of his shirt.

His hand rests lightly over her back, spanning her shoulder blades. "And I should let you endure their unkindness alone?"

She pulls herself in, wrapping herself in his embrace. "Thank you."

A few moments to collect herself, and they enter that narrow passage in the hill. The gate creaks ominously behind them, shutting them in darkness before Jinx flicks on her Pip-Boy light. Staring at the rough walls and ceiling above, Fawkes' skin crawls with claustrophobia. Jinx, at ease in the subway tunnels and on that initial mad journey into his vault, seems little better. Her gaze flicks frantically from one shadow to the next, near-vibrating out of her skin with suppressed tremors. And he remembers the tale of the labyrinth, and wonders if it would have been crueler if Icarus had been forced to return to his cage after having tasted the wind and sun.

Jinx's nightmares aren't the only ghosts haunting these walls. Dogmeat pauses to sniff at a trio of skeletons, one still clutching a sign that reads "LET US IN, ASSHOLES."

A vast circular door blocks the end of the tunnel and Jinx immediately goes to the control panel mounted beside it. She whispers "Amata," voice tight and quivering with emotion, and then bites her lip as if unsure whether the name is sweet or poison. Enters the code, and Fawkes resists flinching at the dull alarm as the metal gears whir out of place. The door groans as it slides open, the pained sound echoing through the small passage.

The first room they enter is a mess, boxes and barricades strewn about, far more disorganized than Fawkes would have expected from an active vault. Jinx steps forward, holding a knife loosely in one hand. A knife, not her rifle, and he thinks of asking why before she stops cold, staring at a body on the floor.

"Jim Wilkins." She swallows, averting her eyes. "We used to play Grognak the Barbarian together."

Rustling sounds catch her attention, and Dogmeat lopes off to investigate. The hiss of an expiring radroach reaches their ears, but Jinx goes to inspect it anyway. She returns with a terse "Stanley's dead too." Swiping her fingers over the Pip-Boy on her wrist, she whispers, "He gave me this for my tenth birthday."

"What do you think happened here?"

"Radroaches aside… they were always nuisances, not real dangers. Bodies. The Overseer going mad—civil war, Fawkes. I don't know how many of my friends are dead already. Butch, Amata—"

"Then we will help the living."

"Yeah. No weapons—I mean, the security officers will have guns, but everyone else will have knives, maybe baseball bats at best." Her eyes search his, pleading. "They're not fighters. They're not used to the wastes. They're not killers, Fawkes."

At least two corpses would disagree with her, but Fawkes nods acceptance. "Your knife, then?"

"Only if I need it. And hopefully, not even then." She frowns, lowering the blade and staring at the door barring the way farther into the vault. "Better than threatening with my plasma rifle." Kicking aside a helmet lying on the ground, she then opens the door.

A dark-haired man in light security armor halts them as soon as they enter, gun raised. "Stop right there. I don't know how you got in here, but… hold on…" His expression shifts from stern to astonished, eyebrows shooting up. "Wait a minute! It's you! I hardly recognized you with all the dust and grime from out there."

"Still me, Officer Gomez. No matter how much dirt I got caked on me." Jinx smiles, though with darting eyes and the knife still held in one hand. Fawkes notes that Gomez does not lower his gun either. And Jinx is—well, by Wasteland standards she's quite clean. She just washes down when she can, brushes her teeth with scavenged toothpaste and her little finger, she smells—not unpleasant, though Fawkes admits he is not unbiased. She smells of dust and sweat, a human tang and something sharp and spicy in the back of his throat, her own personal fragrance. Though his FEV-enhanced senses mean he may be more aware of that than the typical human.

In contrast, Gomez is sterile. He smells of soap and sour fear, with little of the musty odor he has come to associate with 'humanity.'

"Guess that explains how you got that door open. You've got more experience with it than most everyone down here combined."

Jinx lowers her knife, tucking it into her belt and raising her hands. "Please, I need to talk with Amata. I got her message."

Officer Gomez averts his weapon, the pistol now aimed at the floor. He does not actually holster it, but Jinx's breathing grows more even nonetheless. "Amata's message? I don't know what you're talking about, but I'd keep that under your hat, for her sake. She could get in real trouble if people found out she sent you a message." He chuckles, though the humor does not reach his eyes. "So could I, just for talking with you now."

"What sort of trouble are you talking about?"

He releases a long breath, searching her face for something Fawkes does not comprehend. Whatever it was though, he seems to have found it—and then holsters his weapon with relief. "Let me bring you up to speed. It seems it's been a mighty long time." He wets his lips, exhaling sharply through his nose. "The night you and your dad left, everything went crazy. Between the bugs and the confusion, we lost a lot of people."

Jinx flinches. "I tried not to—"

"I know you did." His lips twist, too sad to be a smile. "I know you. But when your dad opened up that gate, he let loose a whole lot of crap." He coughs, covering his mouth with one hand. "If you'll pardon my language."

"Dad never meant to—" and her voice catches, but she continues resolutely, "He would be horrified to know all that." A pause. "If he were still alive." She bites her lip, containing any further response.

"I'm… I'm sorry to hear that." To his credit, Gomez looks genuinely shocked, cheeks blanched and eyes wide. He reaches out to Jinx, despite all the Wasteland grime and the strangeness of her new appearance, resting his hand on her shoulder. She hiccups, and that seems the signal to give a loose squeeze. "Regardless of how things turned out down here, he was a good friend. I always figured he'd do well outside. Matter of fact, a lot of folks started thinking he had the right idea." He releases her, shoulders slumping. "He usually did. So if it was safe out there, why stay down here forever?" Another deep sigh. "Well, the Overseer didn't like that one bit, and started cracking down on that sort of thought. Guess he didn't plan on you coming back."

Jinx manages a deadpan "no one does," before giving a shaky laugh, swiping the back of her hand across her eyes. "So what now?"

"I probably ought to put you under arrest and take you in to the Overseer," and his gaze lingers on her half-shaved scalp, the thin scars peeping past the sleeves of her jacket, then Dogmeat and Fawkes, "but frankly, I know better than to try that."

"You'd be surprised," Jinx mutters.

Gomez elects to ignore that. "Meanwhile, some of your old friends think opening the Vault is a good idea. I bet those rebels would like a word with you. Now, more than ever. Of course, if you want, you can just walk away as if you were never here. Out of respect for your dad, I won't even tell anyone I saw you."

Fawkes knows her response even before she speaks. She cannot leave, not when she'd be guilty of all the good she failed to do.

But she purses her lips, asking, "Wait, why can't the rebels just leave?"

"It's not that they want to leave. It's that they want to open the door and interact with the rest of the world. But that would risk the whole vault."

Jinx snorts, raking her fingers through her hair. "I'll see what I can do about all of this."

"Well, okay. Just be careful down here. The vault's changed, I tell you."

She bares her teeth. "So have I."

The vault is déjà vu for Fawkes, the layout bringing back strange, half-submerged memories similar to Vault 87. Jinx moves quietly, the knife held loosely in one hand as she sidles along. Not a full stealth approach—that would be impossible due to his company—but without the casualness of her previous walk. Dogmeat stays mercifully silent, sniffing the air and wrinkling his nose as he trods behind Jinx.

So much for their picnic.

They hear the altercation before they see it, an old man's quavering voice warning someone to stay back. A young man shouts back, something about "you can't cage a Tunnel Snake!" before shots fire. Fawkes catches a glimpse of the young man fleeing, wearing a black leather jacket similar to Jinx's. He steals a glance at the logo on her back—definitely a match. He wonders at the significance.

"You almost shot Freddie!" Jinx exclaims, staring at the man in the security uniform. His eyes widen, staring at Fawkes and raising his pistol, but Jinx bats his hand aside. "Officer Taylor, you know me! It's Jinx!"

"Jennifer? What did you do to your hair? You—you're filthy!"

"Not important. Talk to me."

Stammering, the man talks to her about the rebel faction and the chaos in the vault. She speaks soothingly, but the man's horrified gaze keeps drifting up to that scarlet mop. For whatever reason, Jinx's hair caught his fascination even more than Fawkes or Dogmeat. When she finally says goodbye, Fawkes catches a muttered 'good riddance' before Jinx leads the way to the rebel base. At first he wonders at how she knows the way, but a glance at the signs confirms that the security and administration offices are on the upper levels, so it would be unlikely that the rebels could have taken those areas.

They pass through a ruined and darkened diner, the jukebox knocked aside. She pauses just a moment, staring at the booths before biting her lip. Then she continues without comment. Fawkes wonders at the memories here but decides to ask her once they're outside. Jinx leads right, up the stairs and past another impromptu barricade, a metal shelf knocked against the wall. Behind it is another man in a jacket. Medium height and build, with dark hair lovingly styled. He holds a gun in one hand, but rather than reach for her weapon, Jinx's face lights up.

"Butch!"

"Nosebleed?" He gawps at her, then lets out a raucous whoop as she barrels into his arms, spinning wildly and lifting her off the ground. "Damn, look who's come waltzing back into the Vault! You're a fucking mess, babe, but that hair's wild! Who did your 'do? And what's with the freak show?" He grins up at Fawkes, no malice despite the words. "And is that—shit, is that a wolf?!"

"He's not a freak, Butch. He's my friend. Fawkes, this is Butch. Butch, Fawkes. And that's Dogmeat. He's not a wolf, he's my dog."

Fawkes inclines his head. "Pleasure to meet you."

Butch's eyes nearly pop out of his head. "Whoa, he talks?"

"I know, I'm amazed when you put two words together too," Jinx says, rolling her eyes. "Look, if you're done staring—"

"Is that what happens to guys who wander around outside? How come you ain't big and green?" he demands, setting her down and raking his gaze from floor to hair. If it had been Jericho examining her so thoroughly Fawkes thinks he would be offended on her behalf, but their obvious familiarity soothes rather than grates.

"Long story. Look, Butch, what's going on down here?"

He drops his arm over her shoulders, looping his other hand's thumb into his pocket. "C'mon, babe. You ain't stupid. You had to have heard about the changes since you left, right? The deaths, the lies, the whole Overseer lockdown thing? Ringing any bells?"

"I saw Officer Taylor shooting at Freddie," she says softly.

He snorts. "Man, they'd rushed in here long ago if they didn't know I stole one of their guns from when they issued martial law! But the whole shitstorm started when your dad left. At least that's what everyone says, but—babe, you ain't ever been nothing but honest with me, right?" His grip tightens, his side-long glance beseeching rather than demanding.

"Cross my heart and hope to die, stick a needle in my eye."

"Why did he leave?" He flinches at the accusation in his own voice. "I mean, it ain't a mystery why you left—the goons were all out and with Jonas and all dead—but he just… everything fell apart after he did. And I know I ain't smart like you or Amata—"

"—Butch, you're plenty smart, you're the one who taught me computers—"

"—shit, lemme finish. But it fucking stinks how everyone says that things fell apart because he left. If our whole Vault broke down just because one guy decided to up and leave, even if he was our doctor—we weren't that stable to begin with, were we? So why's everyone trying to pretend otherwise?"

"Dystopia was nibbling on the edges long before," Fawkes observes. "A stable society does not schism so easily."

"What he said. The Vault's been open before, Butch. That's where my dad came from. And everyone's just been lying to us, trying to pretend otherwise—"

"So he came in back then, right? All medical and smart and with a baby just the right age to fit in with the rest of us? So why did he leave?" Butch rallies as Jinx shoots him a glare. "I ain't accusing or nothing. I'm just saying what the others are saying, babe."

Jinx takes a deep breath, holding it in with her cheeks puffed and her body tense. Fawkes can almost hear her mental count-down before she releases a gusty exhale, gently pushing Butch away. "Long story, and he's dead. Short version is he was trying to make the world better."

"Yeah, and 'the greater good' is always just another fucking excuse—"

"Butch, we can talk about that later," she says wearily. "What can I do to help down here? I got Amata's signal."

"Figured. I was the one who helped her set it up," he adds with pride. "You can talk with Amata for the details; they're all set up by the clinic. But long story short, we all wanna get outta this dump."

"I thought you just wanted to open up the Vault again…?"

"Maybe that's Amata's plan, but I wanna leave, babe."

"Why?"

He stops cold, lips twisting into a defiant sneer even as his eyes betray him. "Because anything up there has got to be better than a lifetime of the same thing down here." He gulps, but where Jinx would paint a smile over that aching uncertainty, Butch buckles down into his delinquent façade. A flick of his fingers produces a comb from his pocket and he aggressively starts fussing at his hair. "Think about it, man. Down here, I'll always be stuck with the same job, with the same food—"

"—with the same people, forever," Jinx finishes, shuddering.

"You and your dad had the right idea: get out of this pit and make your own life."

"The Wasteland's not… Butch, it's dangerous out there."

"You are making it okay, ain't ya?"

"Check out my scars." She shrugs herself out of the leather jacket, passing it to Fawkes before she starts mapping the constellation of marks spanning her skin. Fawkes watches mutely, thinking of the lazy days and the warm nights they've spent together. The way her body speaks even when she is silent, the little echoes of memory etched in her flesh. She never laid herself so bare as she does now, jabbing a slick keloid patch on the outside of her upper arm. "See this? Plasma rifle. Talon mercs." Her finger jabs over a pink starburst of tissue, pale against her brown skin. "That one? Bit of shrapnel from an exploding car. That was… not fun. Pulling it out, soaking it in alcohol, hauling myself back to Doc Church and dealing with his lecture. The lecture was almost as painful as the injury. And this…"

"I get it, I get it. You got hurt a lot. But you can't make a decision for me, babe. That's my call. I ain't ever gonna cage you up like a bird. So don't try and do that to me, all right?"

She reels back, guilt flashing in her eyes. "Butch, you've never even seen a bird."

"Don't make it less true. Birds gotta fly. I know you. You're making a helluva storm out there, flapping your way into every kind of mess 'cuz you want to make the world a better place. So don't cage me up. Or if you think I can't make it, then teach me."

They stand scant inches apart, close enough to seize one another and wrestle to the ground—close enough to kiss. Just two teens still trying to save each other.

"Fine. I will. But let's clean up this mess first."

He grins, twirling his comb before stashing it back in place. "Figures, goody two-shoes. I'm gonna just stand guard here. But talk with Amata. She's the brains now."

They leave Butch behind, the young man lighting a cigarette. The acrid smoke lingers in the back of Fawkes' nose but fades as Jinx leads down another passage, past more barricades and to a large room with mattresses strewn about the perimeter. More teenagers lurk in here, clumped into pairs or trios and talking amongst themselves. An older woman sits back on one of the mattresses, eyes closed but flickering fitfully as Jinx enters. The quiet conversations stop as Jinx and Fawkes enter, horrified gazes ricocheting from dog to mutant to former Vault girl. Jinx grins, ear to ear with her shoulders back, a bantam strut as she calls, "Hey. Miss me?"

It is easy to miss the tremor in her voice.

But then a tall woman with dark hair tied back in a messy knot steps forward, flinging her arms around Jinx in a desperate embrace. "Oh my God, you're back! You got my message and actually came back!" A prayer, a blessing—she holds on tight, rocking back and forth, clutching Jinx as if afraid to let go.

"I came as soon as I heard you were in trouble." Jinx raises her hand, circling her arm around the other woman's waist and holding close. Even Dogmeat seems to want to embrace her, circling them with a low whine and bumping his nose against the back of the other woman's leg.

"Oh, thank you! Everything's gone crazy since you left, and now that you're back, you can help set things straight." Her friend (or more than a friend? Fawkes sees the way they fit, the way Jinx sighs and how her nose tickles the other's throat) makes a choked sound, half sigh and half sob. "You were always a fixer."

"You saved my life back then, Amata. The least I can do is help out now."

"My first crush. Didn't work out, but at least we stayed friends. She helped me escape the vault when everything went crazy." There is history there, but that is Jinx's to share. If she chooses. If she would want to share, with her childhood sweetheart there and warmer than the whiskey-burn of memory.

If she would be happier with her first love, how could he bar her way?

The unhappy thought distracts him as Amata continues, and he shamefully corrals his attention back to the present.

"…it was bad enough they died because my father was trying to keep the door closed, but then I found out it was all to protect a lie! I found out the Vault wasn't always closed! They've lied to us about it for our entire lives!"

"How did you find that out?" Jinx forces herself back from Amata, though still holding hands.

"After that night, I heard Wally's father say we should never have taken you or your dad into the Vault. I found out the Vault used to be open, but for some reason, they closed it off when we were babies and swore to hide it had ever happened." Amata takes a deep breath, staring into Jinx's eyes. "But keeping that lie meant Jonas' death. And even though we know the truth the Overseer still won't let us make our own decisions!"

"Absolute authority is hard to give up, isn't it?" Jinx murmurs.

Amata's high-pitched giggle ends in another choked sob. "It's not like we want to abandon the Vault, or anything! Most of us had accepted that the outside was certain death and things would always stay the same down here. But now we know they don't have to be!"

"Why is your dad so invested in keeping the Vault closed?"

Amata shakes her head, squeezing Jinx's hands so tightly Fawkes is surprised not to hear bone creak. "I just don't know. Maybe he thinks he's protecting us, but all he's really doing is condemning us." A soft, melancholy pause, the woman gathering her thoughts about her like a cloak. "I thought parents were supposed to want a better world for their children? Well, there's a new world waiting right outside that door. And we're not going to give up until we can reach it."

"Look, Amata—I swear, I can talk with your dad. Maybe I can reason with him."

"Thank goodness for that. No matter what I say, he just doesn't listen. He just spends all day up in his office. But you've actually been outside, so you can tell him what it's like with firsthand experience! Just… please don't do anything rash," and her voice breaks as she pleads "or hurt him, alright?"

Jinx smiles, crooked and painful. "You know violence just isn't my style, Amata. Don't worry."

"I should have remembered. I was just worried— I don't know, maybe your time outside had changed you. I mean…" Her voice trails off uncertainly as she attempts that peculiar sidelong gawk that Fawkes knows is not intended to cause offense, but he is too strange and foreign (and mutant, too 'other,' too much a sign of how the world has changed outside the vault) for her to hide that shock.

"I changed the hair, but I'm still the same person." Jinx lets go of Amata, instead choosing to stand beside him. Her arm links around his, squeezing possessively. A small, fierce joy fills his chest. "This is Fawkes. He's human too. Just… changed a bit."

"Nice to meet you Fawkes. I'm Amata." She wets her lips, so plainly at a loss that Fawkes takes pity and dips his head.

"It is a pleasure to meet one of Jinx's friends. She speaks fondly of you."

"Thank you." Her attention flees back to Jinx. "Good luck talking with my dad. Let me know when you change his mind."

When, not if. Fawkes marvels at her faith.

Jinx's steps echo like memory as she turns, leaving the room and its prying eyes. Despite the months since she's been here, her path is certain. Too deliberate for a run, too erratic for a mere walk—her hands swing like pistons as she bounces up towards the Overseer's office. Hyperkinetic, energy crackling over uncertainty and if she ever stops moving she might succumb to the nightmares that claimed so many out in the wastes (and the darkness of labyrinths and the horrors that even now he's not sure whether they are dreams or true memory echoing through the quiet hours of night) and it drives her forward, steam-rolling past a square-jawed man with a gun who raises it and snarls "you never should have left, kid," but the 'kid' she was, little Jennifer with the clean face and the clipped wings is no longer here. This is Jinx, hero and wanderer and even now, dressed in a leather jacket and armed with a simple combat knife she somehow draws more attention than the eight foot mutant behind her.

"Now, we'll make sure nobody ever leaves again!" makes for remarkably poor last words, since Jinx sweeps her arm up, forearm smacking into his elbow and twisting his line of fire while she slips the knife high, a vicious stab through the neck and shoving him into the wall as he bleeds crimson onto the floor. All before even Dogmeat could do more than growl.

"Dammit, Mr Wilkin."

She sounds so tired, dropping him so he collapses on the floor.

"That was extremely dangerous," Fawkes observes.

Jinx cackles, brittle laughter echoing off the walls in broken shards. "No more so than activating the purifier. Just… more immediate."

"Who taught you that disarm?"

The skin around her eyes crinkles as she grins. "Jericho, believe it or not." She crouches, wiping her knife clean on the man's sleeve. Unlike the raiders and Talon mercenaries she's disposed of, she does not search the body. Perhaps because even now, he is 'Mr Wilkin' rather than yet another attempt on her life.

"That was unusually altruistic of him."

"It wasn't. I gave him two bottles of whiskey in exchange for lessons." She licks her fingers, lips thinning as she shuts the dead man's eyes. "He says I'm still lousy, but… better lousy fighting than being a victim. Not ready to see if my metal skull can stand bullets, and Mr Wilkin was never the type of guy to pull a gun unless he meant to use it." Standing and clapping her hands as if to rid them of invisible dirt—and will those dainty hands ever be truly clean?—she mutters, "Figures he'd waste breath on talking at me."

"Perhaps you should offer your next would-be murderer constructive criticism."

"I did." She turns, averting her gaze from the corpse. "There's… two types of people who will talk at you. One wants to gloat or do bad things. Real bad things. But that's something you can take advantage of." The knife's tip rests against the edge of her belt, but she does not actually sheathe it. Fawkes eyes it nervously, thinking that one slip and she would disembowel herself, but relaxes as she flips it in her hand. "Jericho told me once that the reason the Regulators are worse than the raiders is that a raider won't try to kill you right away, necessarily. If they want victims, you gotta be alive and kicking and screaming. So you got a chance to survive, fight it out." A smile ghosts about her lips as she continues. "Now a Regulator will just kill you. Short and sweet. No games."

"If someone wishes to kill you, your best hope is that they are a bad person."

"Yeah. But that's just one type of talking." Her face turns up, finger tapping the corner of her mouth in wry acknowledgment of her own verbosity. "The other kind of talker wants to be talked out of things. Or maybe talk you into it. A stammering man with a gun who approaches, all clumsy and awkward instead of just letting the bullets travel for him, that guy isn't really interested in hurting you." She rolls her shoulders back, jutting her chin. "I like to call it out when I can. There's enough death out there without me adding to it."

He spares a glance for the hallway ahead, wondering what sort of man lies at the end of it. "Do you think the Overseer will talk?"

"He raised Amata. He cares for the people in the vault, in his own pig-headed way." Her hand trembles as she walks forward, feet dragging against the metal floor. "I hope he's the second kind of talker."

When they enter the office, Fawkes is struck by how normal he looks. Surely the de factor ruler of this den of nightmares should look monstrous. Grey hair, lines about his eyes, a salt and pepper beard and moustache, heavy on the salt—nothing to suggest why the bravest person he knows has to clench her fists, nails digging into the palm, to keep from shaking.

"Mr Almodovar—"

"I am the Overseer." He blinks at Fawkes and Dogmeat, but does not comment beyond a faint sneer.

Something about his cold response makes her relax. The second kind of talker. Her voice gains strength as she straightens up and sheathes her blade with an off-handed gesture. "You are no longer my Overseer."

He snorts, arms crossed in front of him. "And here I thought you were trying to slink back in, like a teen missing curfew. Not that you could. You're tainted." The weight of his gaze lands on Fawkes, heavy with judgment and unafraid, perhaps seeing Fawkes as a mere extension of Jinx's own changes. A symptom of her 'disease.'

With her lips curled over her teeth, voice tight with strain, she counters, "With your leadership, no one in this Vault has much of a future."

He chuckles. "That would be where you're wrong. By locking down this Vault, I'm protecting its future. In fact, I was protecting its future when I had to make those unpleasant choices the night you and your father abandoned us."

"Trying to claim 'the greater good' is just another excuse." The bite to those words makes 'greater good' sound like a dirty word, one worse than the casual 'damn' she drops with such ease.

"If anyone's to blame for the unpleasantness, it's him."

Jinx shakes her head, hands clasped behind her back. "Too late to justify the murders, Mr Almodovar. They were never threats."

"Spoken like someone who's never had to make difficult decisions. Like someone who's never had to lead." It echoes with the cadence of a well-worn litany, and Fawkes sees the fatigue etched on that face alongside the creases of age. "Jonas was leaving with your father. Their departure would lead to others leaving as well. And before you know it, half the Vault would be gone. And then, our home—the last safe, pure bastion of humanity—would be reduced to a lonely handful of aging hold-outs, too few to continue."

Her voice is soft, almost gentle as she coaxes, "You're not protecting your people. You're destroying them." Her hands relax and she reaches forward before pausing, dropping her hand to her hip. "Can't you see that?"

"I'm simply keeping them safe and untouched by the war above. The real dangers are the rebels and insurgents who insist on risking all of our lives just to die out there in the Wastes. If they weren't trying to throw our lives away like this, we could go back to the peaceful life we once had." He pauses, muttering "everyone would be happy again," as if to reassure himself rather than Jinx.

"Few of us actually were happy," Jinx says, soft and gentle like coaxing a stray dog. And unavoidable simile for Fawkes, since Dogmeat pads forward, tongue lolling out and butting his head against her leg. "The rebels are upset because you lied to them about the outside."

"They have to understand that we did that to keep them from going outside and getting killed. To keep them from making the same mistake our generation did when we were their age. Some of us already lost loved ones out there long ago."

Jinx wets her lips, angling herself as if preparing to duck. "Is that what happened to Amata's mother?"

Mr Almodovar—or the Overseer—whichever he is, his roles blurring but perhaps not as interchangeable as he would like to pretend—stares at Jinx, color draining from his face. His eyes narrow, lips pressed into a thin line as he growls, "And what business is that of yours?"

"I have more experience than anyone else in this vault about what's going on outside," she says softly. Her lips curl up, a tentative smile offered as a gift. "They call me the Wanderer out there, you know. I've travelled more ground than just about anybody. I see things. I learn things. And I don't want us to lose any more people either. So I think I got a solution for your problem."

"To fix what you started?" He sounds weary rather than dismissive, and Fawkes dares allow himself to hope. "Go ahead and humor me."

"You need to open the Vault." She forces her next words out before Mr Almodovar can do more than protest "what do you" and overrides him with, "You simply don't have enough people to stay isolated down here forever. Genetic diversity alone is dwindling. Look at how many boys and girls you have left."

"We have enough genetic diversity for… a few more generations." Spoken like a confession, light slanting across his face as he rubs his temple. "We're the last bastion of pure humanity, and we're doomed."

"Humanity isn't about pure genetics." She reaches out, grasping his hand between thumb and forefinger, smiling like sunlight. "It's about never giving up hope, even now."

Mr Almodovar deflates, pulling his hand free. "I wish I could share your optimism. My way won't save our Vault's mission. But if I let them contact the outside world, I might be able to save its inhabitants."

People over principles, Fawkes thinks. Something Jinx, people-focused and friendly as she is, must have always understood.

"But I'm not the one to lead them in that. I'm stepping down as Overseer. I'll tell Amata I can think of no more appropriate leader than she." Decision made (and Fawkes thinks this must have been something he was already contemplating, judging by how readily he acquiesced) Mr Almodovar wastes no time stepping into action. He grasps the microphone, tersely announcing, "This is the Overseer. We have reached truce with the rebels. Cease all hostile interactions." Then he leaves at a brisk pace too dignified to be called a 'run.'

Rather than follow immediately, Jinx lingers in the office. "Too easy. I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop," she mutters. Drumming her fingers on the desk, she adds, "Peace through talking. And only had to kill one person to do it." Bitter lies so close to sweet, like the rind on a fruit.

"Do you truly think you could have talked that man down?"

"No. But I wish I could have." She sits on the desk, toes dangling inches from the floor. "Let's give them a couple more minutes. Amata deserves that much."

"At least you were able to broker a mostly peaceful resolution."

"That's what I tell myself." She flips her hand, palm up and extended, and he recognizes the silent plea for comfort. So he holds her hand, thumb pressing the cup of her palm. "Ends and means are not inseparable. Even having the best of intentions does not give you an excuse."

Fawkes can think of no response for that, instead contenting himself with holding her hand. She does not check her Pip-Boy, but he watches her breathe slow and easy, each inhalation calmer than the last until she finally slides off the desk. Her internal chronometer satisfied, they retrace their steps back to the rebel base.

Amata leans against the wall, hand on her temple while about her people attempt to regain some sense of normalcy. She smiles weak and wan as Jinx enters. "I… I just heard. My father says he's stepping down as Overseer. He won't tell me why, but I have to assume it's something you said to him."

Jinx swallows, biting her lip before butting her head against Amata's shoulder. The taller woman's arm slips around her in a loose embrace. "You both care about the Vault's residents," Jinx mumbles, cheek pressed against her friend. "Just in different ways."

"It's hard to forgive what he's done, but I suppose I can understand why he did it." Fawkes catches the echo of Jinx's pained realization, and wonders how many of these struggling vault children deal with the same parental betrayal. "I'm planning on opening the Vault, this time for good. It's a bright new day for the Vault, but I'm afraid there's one thing that has to change."

And she must know what's coming, there's no way she can mistake the dull finality weighing Amata's words, but Jinx smiles and seals her fate as she murmurs, "Whatever it is, I'm glad to help."

"I know you are, and on behalf of the Vault, I thank you for all you've done." Still Jinx smiles, though it's stiff and jagged on the edges because if she unbends enough to even breathe she'll crumple in on herself while Amata twists the knife. "But there are still many who blame you for everything that happened. So I have to ask you to leave. I'm sorry, but the situation is just too delicate for you to stay." Amata dares to squeeze her close, arms like welcome, like warmth and belonging—and Fawkes has a dazed feeling of double-synchrony. In another life, another set of circumstances, perhaps Jinx could have been happy with her childhood love. But this is the only world they inhabit and they must make the best of it. "Please, if you really want to help the Vault, you have to go."

Jinx laughs, bright and sharp with all the edges of a broken heart.

"Leave? Is that what you want?"

"Not what I want, but what the vault needs. Please." Amata clasps Jinx's hands in her own, close enough to kiss—

And Jinx breaks away. "Fine." A brittle smile. "Always the greater good, huh?"

"I wish it didn't have to be this way."

"I know." Jinx's eyes remain bleak despite her pasted-on smile. "Look, quick advice. Bottle caps are currency out there. And here, let me upload some map data," she adds, pressing her Pip-Boy near Amata's and clattering over the buttons, "because Megaton's the closest settlement and trade will be your lifeblood. You've got goods I know will be popular for that. Soap. Strawberries. Veggies from the hydroponics." She sighs, shoulder slumping as she curls in on herself. "Amata, can I have one last favor?"

"Anything."

"I want a shower." She chuckles at Amata's startled laugh. "I'm serious! With the orange blossom soap. And some crayons, plus a jar of strawberry jelly if there's any left." Leaning against Fawkes, blithely ignoring a few surprised gawks, she adds, "Fawkes, you might like a shower too. One of the little luxuries of home, right?"

Amata smiles, clasping her hands behind her while tension flows out of her shoulders. "I think we can manage that."

"Thanks." Jinx swallows, carding her fingers through her unruly hair. "So you know—I live in Megaton. If things ever change, you can find me there."

"Understood. If you want, you can use the shower in your—what used to be your quarters. We've moved things around, but there should be some fresh bars of soap under the sink. And I'll be by with the other items."

"Sure. I'll just revisit the old clinic first." Jinx's lips twist into something a shade too sardonic to be amusement. "Figure I'll pick up that old 'Alpha and Omega' hanging."

"Fair warning, we tried programing Andy to be a doctor after—well. It's a mess in there."

"Duly noted."

In hindsight, Amata's warning was insufficient. The 'doctor' bot would be more appropriately called a 'butcher.' Jinx is faintly green about the gills as she steps over the mess, ignoring the robot's greeting and making for an embroidered hanging. Using just her finger tips, she lifts it away from the wall, exposing a safe. She peers at the safe, then the homily.

"'I am Alpha and Omega, the beginning and the end. I will give unto him that is athirst of the fountain of the water of life freely. Revelation 21:6.' I'd burn this thing, but think I'd regret it," she mutters. "Might as well see what's in the safe."

Fawkes takes the homey little cross-stitch, watching Jinx ease her trusty screwdriver and a bobby pin into place to pop the lock in less time than it would take most people to turn the key. He rather enjoys watching her do that; in much the same way as watching a master painter practice their craft, there is beauty in the certainty of her movement. Inside the safe is a small recording with a penciled script 'Home Sweet Home.' The handwriting looks familiar, and with a jolt Fawkes recalls the 'Better Days' recording back in Megaton.

Jinx must recognize the writing too, since she bites her lip and reverentially tucks it into her pack. She exhales loud and gusty, rolling her shoulders back when Butch pops his head into the clinic.

"Hey Nosebleed, good job on making that asshole step down. What's this about being banished?"

"Better good of the vault, Butchie."

"Bullshit. You're the closest fucking thing to a hero we've got here, and if that bitch is turning you out—"

Butch doesn't get to finish that sentence since Jinx wheels sharply, grabbing him by his jacket and shoving him into the wall. Her nostrils flare, eyes narrowed as she growls, "Don't you ever call her a bitch again."

Hands high, voice pitched low and soothing, Butch murmurs, "Hey, hey. I'll ease up, but I don't get why you still stick up for her. She's left you cold, babe."

"We all do what we have to, to get by," Jinx mutters, releasing Butch. "She's got to be a leader, and I'm not a real stable element around here."

"Fuck that." Changing from defiant to frantic in one breath, he asks, "Are we cool? You still taking me with you?"

"Sure. Just grabbing a shower first. Come on, we can talk."

Butch and Jinx wander ahead, Fawkes trailing with Dogmeat. They walk side by side, Jinx's shoulder bumping into Butch's arm as they push back and forth in playful banter.

"Glad you still kept the jacket, Nosebleed."

"Glad you gave it to me. Did you ever get together with Susie…?"

"Nah, not when Stevie's being such a shit about everything. You finally get to bang any cute chicks out in the Wasteland?"

"Eh, there's cute girls, but," and she shoots a look over her shoulder, grinning at Fawkes and he feels his cheeks flush hot, averting his gaze and still embarrassed as she purrs, "I'm dating a pretty cute mutant."

Butch whoops, loud and riotous and his laughter only amplifies the burn on Fawkes' cheeks. "Good one, Nosebleed. But really, the dames are cute or are they all irradiated out there?"

"Some cute ones, and if you get lonely you can always pay Nova for a throw. But I'm serious, Butch. I'm dating Fawkes."

She leaves him gaping as she enters a small living space, peeling herself out of her clothes and shedding them on her way to the shower. Butch is apparently used to this—or simply doesn't care—instead staring at Fawkes with renewed horror.

"No shit?" He scratches behind his ear, looking up and jaw dropping. "No shit. Fawkes, man, say she's joking."

"No," Fawkes murmurs, ill at ease with Butch's disbelief.

Butch flaps his hand weakly, mouth hanging before he protests, "But how the hell—I mean, you're fucking huge. How the hell do you even—"

"Do you really want the answer, Butch?" Fawkes hears the water starting, Jinx's voice echoing through the shower. Steam and sweet citrus fill the small room, wafting out to where the two men stand. "Because I could sit down with you and explain—"

"No," Fawkes says firmly, ears sizzling. "That is a private matter."

"No shit, she would," Butch groans, slumping against the wall and sliding down until he sits on the floor. "More power to you man, whatever. You two take care of each other and all that shit. But shit." Just when Fawkes starts to think that word's the extent of his vocabulary, Butch adds "fuck" for good measure. "Like, don't take this the wrong way, man, but I always figured she'd end up with a girl. And you ain't look nothing like a dame."

Fawkes nods in mute agreement as Jinx muses, "Funny, thought I'd have ended up marrying you if I got stuck in the vault forever."

"Hell, we mighta got married. Maybe knocked out a few kids together, but we were never gonna be happily ever after." Butch pulls a cigarette lighter from his pocket, flicking it idly. "But better off marrying my best friend than any of the other crazy dames in this vault." Shooting a sidelong look at Fawkes, he mumbles, "Hey man, you cool? Jinx and I ain't ever been like that, just so you know."

"It is not my concern, even if you two shared romantic or sexual history."

Jinx's laughter echoes off the walls in a wave of silver. "You know just the right things to say. Hey, wanna see if we can both fit in the shower…?"

"Fuck, you two!" Butch buries his head in his hands.

"Let us not embarrass your friend any further."

A loud raspberry is her response, Jinx emerging with a towel wrapped around her. She glows, the shower jolting alive the color in her hair and the dark shine of her skin, incandescent and effervescent. She looks so alive, thrumming with vitality like the heartaches of the vault only needed a shower to sluice them away.

"Feels a shame to go back in those dirty old clothes, but eh. Whatever. Your turn."

Fawkes enters the bathroom, shutting the door behind him because unlike Jinx, he harbors his modesty. Turning the knob, he is startled by the spray of chill water before quickly realizing he can adjust the temperature. The bar of pale orange soap is doubtlessly substantial enough for Jinx, but feels like little more than a sliver in his hand as he washes himself off. Still, he can see why Jinx missed showers so. It is much more refreshing than the simple sponge baths they must make do with even in Megaton. Though now that water is no longer a precious commodity… gears turn, thinking of how to reroute the pipes and considering how they might fit a simple shower into their Megaton home. Heating would be his main concern…

He spends a few happy minutes daydreaming about plumbing, rinsing the lather off his skin before turning off the water. It takes him several towels to get fully dry—a luxury he would normally be quite abashed about but the vault seems as if they can spare the toiletries—and dresses himself once more. The fabric which had felt so clean before now feels slightly gritty over his freshly washed figure, but it is but a minor inconvenience.

Opening the door, he finds Jinx carefully fitting two jars of red substance into her pack, swathing them in bandages and padding with a spare shirt.

"The strawberry jelly?" he asks.

"Mhm. And got some crayons for Maggie and Harden. Ready to go?"

"Wherever you may lead."