Thanks so much for the condolences and lovely reviews, and I'm so glad to see you guys enjoyed the two little oneshots I wrote! One for the interaction between Maggie and Gob in chapter 34, and a little holiday thing, for any who had missed them. Good for you for writing geshagurl! I hope you have fun with it. :)

Cort had caught up with Gomez at the foot of a stairwell. He started moving forward as soon as she appeared, then stopped just as quickly as someone in the large central common room ahead started to shout. Giving her a grim look, he drew his pistol and motioned for her to stay. "Uh oh. Wait here, this doesn't sound good."

Cort huffed and shouldered her repeater, falling in beside him as he started down the corridor again. "Not good is why I'm here, so let's get...wait, is that Freddie?" Both of them skidded to a halt at the entrance. Old Officer Taylor was crouched in front of them behind an upturned table, and she confirmed that it had been Freddie Gomez she had heard shouting, Taylor trying to yell back in a quavering tone.

"C'mon you old geezer, just let me out!"

"You know I can't do that, Freddie. Now get back down below, before I have to do something we'll both regret."

Cort gaped slightly as Freddie shouted back at Taylor with a completely unexpected level of bravado, slapping his hands, one of them clutching a switchblade, against his leather jacket for added effect. "What, you're going to lock me up like you did the Brotch? You can't cage a Tunnel Snake man, cause we rule!" Her mouth fell even wider as Taylor yelped and opened fire, Freddie instantly diving back down the doorway behind him, echoes slinging around the room from the gunshots and their shouts. "Shitshitshit!"

"Stay back!"

The elder Gomez's reaction was immediate, and he rushed forward to slap the other man's arm down. "Taylor, stop shooting, damnit! That's my son!"

Finally breaking out of her stunned woolgathering, Cort joined him. "What are you doing, that's Freddie, it's Freddie!"

Taylor jerked his arm away from Gomez, clutching the pistol to his chest and blinking nearsightedly through his visor. "I didn't mean to fire, I really didn't. I just wanted to scare him off! But he had a knife! I can't be too careful with those rebels!"

Cort grabbed the sides of her helmet and screeched. "It's fricking Freddie Gomez, he'd be more liable to stab himself in the ass before he'd have a chance of hitting you, he brought a knife to a gun fight for fuck's sake!" The hands came down and she stamped one foot, hard. "And you've got the gun!"

"I tell you, I'm scared of them. I never know when they're going to try something dangerous!" Cort's identity finally sank in for Taylor as she gave another outraged stamp, and his face quickly went from shocked surprise into a sneering mix of fear and loathing. "You! Don't you know enough to stay away?"

"Don't you have any Goddamned sense in your head?" She reached out and wrenched the pistol away from him as Gomez wandered halfway across the room to look towards where Freddie had disappeared, thumbing the safety on and tucking it into her waistband. "No more gun for you! You'll get it back after class, or, or something. Now, I don't suppose you want to tell me what's happened down here, and why you're trying to blow a kid's head off?"

Taylor snapped at her, his voice querulous and more tired than pained. "I lost my poor wife Agnes, is what happened. In all the chaos and fighting, her old ticker just couldn't take it anymore."

Hearing that, Cort felt another part of her old life crashland into her guts. I could have fixed that, if they just hadn't- "I'm sorry, I didn't know."

"Well, you still shouldn't know. Why the blazes are you even here? All of this is your doing, for opening the Vault."

The lump ignited like a sick piece of coal, hot and sweaty. "Really, because I don't remember reading about the Vault going to hell in a handbasket when Agnes herself went outside." She grinned as he twitched. "Yeah, I know about that, her and Lewis and Anne Palmer going out on missions for the old Overseer, who I dearly wish was still kicking around. I know that someone else left a few years ago, too, after Dad and I got here. The only reason this place has gone to shit now is because of that fucknut Alphonse."

He stammered, his gaze carting around everywhere but back to her as he tried to keep up the charade. "It's never opened before. You-you don't know what you're talking about."

Disgusted, she shook her head. "Christ. I know I need to go."

Taylor snapped his eyes back to her, and his expression hardened again. "Yes, you do."

Cort flicked her own eyes to the ceiling and called over her shoulder, not caring about Taylor now past the knowledge that he had no way of hurting anyone. "You're fine, Charon." She rolled them again as the old man gave out a terrorized shriek and hid behind another upturned table as the ghoul strode into the room, shaking his head disgustedly.

"How many people did you leave alive down here. I want to know when I can expect the pleasantries to be over."

She sobered at his words, the disjointed feeling she had gotten upon entering the Vault returning to knock back the spiteful flash of temper. "Soon. You can expect soon." Wanting to feel less mean and more like her old self, Cort walked over to where Gomez was still standing as Charon started assessing the new area, the man having ignored the entire exchange.

"Officer Gomez?"

"That's the first time I've seen him in over two weeks." He fell silent again, staring blankly at the door, and Cort tentatively tried again.

"Officer...Hey, Herman?" She reached out and patted him softly on the arm, giving it a firm squeeze when he flinched. "He's fine, Freddie's fine, I'll even make sure when I get down there." Cort suppressed her own flinch at the lost look on his face when he turned to face her.

"Sorry, what were we doing?"

"You were taking me to see Amata. So I can make sure Freddie's alright."

Gomez visibly pulled himself back together, checking his sidearm and glancing around. "Right. Right, I'll just wait for you downstairs again. Make sure it's clear there."

Cort watched them go, lifting one foot to rub nervously up the back of her calf. She had expected people to be upset, but Gomez was displaying signs of having suffered long term trauma, something she wasn't sure she could handle on a large scale. She had done that for Gob and Charon, one deliberately and one intuitively, but to her, doing it for people in the Vault was an entirely different kettle of fish. Christ, sewing a limb back on would be easier than this, that's what I was instructed for, I hadn't started my official job training yet. Oooh, why couldn't the old minister still be alive, this kind of thing was his job, until...Daddy, why can't you still be here, this is the sort of thing you dealt with. And two weeks, he hasn't seen him in two weeks? Just how long has all this been going on?

Looking around for answers and taking in the dreary state of the room Cort stalled again, having finally gotten a good bead on just how bad her surroundings were, her eyes starting to roll around in her head like a mad dog's. "It's not supposed to look like this, it's not supposed to be like thiiis. I'm not supposed to be the grownup down here, nonono." Everything in the tiered room was a mess, doors barricaded, bloodstains everywhere, along with more scattered papers and battered furniture. She reached up to wrench at her chin strap, suddenly feeling like it was choking her, pausing when Charon walked up and rasped out something completely nonsensical.

"I approve of the new sign."

"What? What are you talking-" Cort broke off as she looked up and then followed his gaze to the upper wall across the room, clapped a hand over her mouth, and started fizzing. Someone, God only knew who considering the angle, had repainted the 'Thank You, Overseer!' that dominated the top of the wall to something much less flattering. Butch, oh that just had to be Butch. He's the only one just stupid enough to pull that off and still spell it right. She lost it entirely as Charon blandly continued, drawing her attention to the figure standing in the circular window adjacent to the sign by pointing at it.

"Don't think I'd want to fuck him, though." Listening to her choke out a string of snorts that blossomed into full-blown giggling, he made his mouth twitch slightly in amusement and let her see it. A small deception on his part was better than honesty right now; the happier he could keep her, the better his chances of getting Cort out without her having another breakdown. It bothered him, but what was happening to her down here made him furious, her confidence wavering and her body language broadcasting her unstable state of mind so loudly it was shrieking at him. It was the reason she didn't notice he had just fooled her with his own.

"You tell absolutely horrible, terrible jokes." She shook her head and looked back to him as he relaxed and stretched, her disgusted expression ruined by the smile that kept breaking through it. It was patently true; the ghoul's rare attempts at humour stank, for the most part. It still did nothing to dim the fact that he was extremely good at the delivery and timing of the lousy quips he did choose to make, usually deadpan and always precise. Perfect thing to say at the perfect time. Always.

He looked back down at her and shrugged nonchalantly, then gave her an out. "You keep laughing, jackass. Should we keep going?"

Cort let her breath out in a woosh, saluted at what she presumed to be Alphonse hovering behind the glass, and then flipped him the bird. "Have to keep going. Come on, farther up, further in. Well, down, really." Charon walked forward for a few paces, stood directly under one of the lights and stared up at the man in the window, letting him take a good, long look before following after.

Cort tried not to hunch her shoulders as she trailed Gomez through more doors and down more stairs into the Atrium level, feeling like the short hairs on the back of her neck were standing up so high they were about to spring off by the time she made it to the Cafeteria. Gomez was already through the far door, standing at attention and looking down the hallway to the Living Quarters, Charon giving her a placid look as he planted himself outside the near one.

Comforting and cozy. That's the first impression she got, focusing on the floor instead of the room itself. She had played hopscotch on the red and white tiles with Amata, before they had gotten old enough to think it was silly; at least too silly to do in public. Relieved to see at least one part of the Vault looking normal, the feeling ebbed away as she took in the slumped, defeated atmosphere of the room. Ellen Deloria was just slumped and drunk, half-sprawled over the counter in front of her and reeking of fumes. Well, there's something that hasn't changed. Cort wasn't particularly struck by her lack of empathy this time; Ellen had always been drunk and always refused to do anything about it, turning down her father's offers of having her addiction removed so many times that even he had stopped trying. All the problems and faults Butch had could be squarely laid at his mother's feet, and Cort loathed her for it. Even Alphonse's overbearing control of Amata would have been better than the emotional torture Ellen had subjected Butch to.

It was the reason she could never bring herself to hate him, and why they had been able to be some skewed sort of friends, hanging out or at each other's throats in equal measures. Someone who still had their mother growing up should have had a good one. Deciding that there was nothing worthwhile to be gained from trying to talk to the woman, Cort went to move past her and stopped when Ellen herself leaned out, peering through a messy wave of hair spilling over a too-high forehead.

It's all kind of blurry for me, but I hear I owe you for saving me." The blank look on her face resolved into a muzzled contempt. "But don't expect much. the whole thing was your Dad's fault in the first place! Always sticking his nose...in things."

Cort ground her teeth. "I have to go."

Ellen belched, and slumped back over her glass. "Yes, you do."

Cort resisted the urge to haul the vodka she kept for cleaning out of her pack and slap it in front of Ellen in an effort to speed up the slow death she was subjecting herself to. I need to stop saying that to people. It does not have good results. She made it halfway down the room, passing the dirty red booths before the next slumped figure resolved itself into someone she had actually missed. "Stanley!" Cort slid into the seat across from him, shifting her pack around to fit. "I've missed you." She waited for him to lift his head out of his arms, for his friendly, sleepy eyes to fix on her.

His head came up, and her own smile froze on her face. His eyes weren't friendly, and sleepy had moved into total exhaustion, stubble on his face and his white comb-over flicked up in a cowlick. "Cortenay? You don't belong here. I don't know that I should be talking to you."

"I grew up here, and I came back because, ah, my Pip-Boy picked up an automated distress signal." She lifted her arm slightly. "You were right about this model you know. It's sturdy as anything, I've had a lot of opportunity to..." She trailed off, seeing that he didn't appear to care. "I guess the Mainframe decided that enough had gone to pot to warrant broadcasting it."

Stanley sighed heavily, rubbing his temples. "Well, I can see that happening. With all of the bugs and the fires, there was an awful lot of strain on the systems down on the reactor level. Our water chip's pretty delicate right now, but I'm working on setting her right again."

The bugs. That was something that had bothered her then, and was still bothering her enough now to press him about it. "Where did the bugs come from, anyway?"

"Popular opinion is your Dad let them in when he opened that door."

Cort shook her head and frowned. "Yeah, but there were already radroaches in here. You know that, I shot enough for you down in the reactor room. And they don't congregate in numbers that large outside. You might find a dozen altogether at once in one spot, but that's it. Dad wouldn't just let a crapwad of the ankle-biters in on his way out, either. It's not like he left the damn door ajar, he wanted me to stay in here. I mean, think about it. Why so many so sudden?"

Stanley looked like he didn't want to think about that, or anything else."I don't know. We'll probably never know. Look, Cortenay, maybe you should just go."

She snapped at him. "I'll go when I'm damn well ready to this time, and not before." Cort grimaced as he flinched, even managing to make that reaction look tired. "How long's it been since you had anything for your headaches? I'll be going into Dad's clinic, I can bring you something back."

"A while. Thanks." That said, Stanley folded his arms on the table and buried his head in them, clearly stating he was done with talking for the time being. Cort bit her lip and shook her head, then glanced over her shoulder to the last person in the room, slumping when she recognized the flat-topped haircut.

Oh just peachy. It's Sadism Junior. Wally Mack was slumped over the far counter, nonchalantly brooding out the window that backed on the corridor to the Living Quarters. He was missing his Tunnel Snakes jacket, something that had kept her from picking up immediately on his identity, but she held no reservations about him not having paid full attention to everything that had gone on behind him, regardless of his apparent disinterest. Wally had always been the brains of that little horde of hoodlums, only staying subordinate to butch by dearth of years and size. If anything, the lack of the jacket made her even more keyed up. It meant that he was no longer associated with Butch's gang for whatever reason, and no matter what the reason, it spelled bad news for anyone weaker than Wally. Thankfully, there weren't many who were.

Cort wasn't quite sure what was wrong with the boy, and didn't find herself wanting to think any harder about it now than when she had been growing up. She didn't know if it was because of nature or nurture, and didn't much care. Most of the really vindictive ideas for trouble-making or torturing her and Amata had come from him, and the decision to have them as targets had probably also been his idea, not that he had any plan that could counteract her ability to mess with their heads. Lucky us, the easiest targets, lucky I outstrip everyone in the brains department, we were really the only targets. His sister Susie scared him to death, and Christine's father had no problems giving her a belt or two, so what would stop him from doing it to a bunch of scrawny boys. Jesus. How could Dad leave me here with these people? I was supposed to live and have a family with them? Why am I even trying to save these people?

For the space of a second, Cort decided that overall, she was much happier topside, she should just try to take Amata and leave with anyone else who wanted to go instead of sorting things out, they could adapt like she had, then remembered just what her life entailed. I'm happier being a killer. I killed Wally's brother. I've killed other people's families. I'm...what the hell am I?

Considering how confused she now felt, and the fact that she was dimly aware she had done something to his older brother like Gob had done to Moriarty, Cort got out of the booth, deciding to slide past him and hope for the best. Just like always, Wally couldn't let her get away without opening his fat mouth. He nailed her just as she went far enough to have to turn to be able to talk to him.

"Oh boy, are you in trouble."

Christ, maybe I should just knock out the people I don't want to talk with, it would save me time. Cort forced her voice to stay even, resigning herself to another repetitive conversation. She would be damned if she would come out of one with Wally on the retreating end, no matter what she felt like. "Really, I had no idea, whatsoever, that my reputation was in a state of social disarray. Want to tell me about the rebels? I hear they're in more trouble than me, even, possibly."

"What do you expect from idiots like them? I'm just glad I was done with Butch's stupid gang before they got involved in all this." Wally tilted his head back and gave her a nasty grin she didn't much like. "You shoulda seen my Pop, he personally saved old Stanley! But guess you wouldn't know what it's like to have a hero for a dad, would you?"

Oh, that tears it. "I don't know, do you know what it's like to have an abusive, impotent misogynistic asshole for one?"

Wally's lip curled up in a sneer. "Remember when I hit you with that baseball bat? It wasn't an accident. I should have hit you harder."

Cort tilted her head and smiled, then hissed at him in a sibilant whisper. "Remember when I beat your psycho brother to death? That wasn't an accident, either." Wally's eyes flicked wide with shock, and she felt a surge of elation. He didn't know. Oh, I can have fun with this, yes I can. This is for making my life a living hell. "Nobody told you that, little old me took out big ol' Stevie? He squealed, Wally. Squealed and begged and died. I should have made you wat-" Wally's fist came up, aiming for her nose, and Cort quickly dipped her chin into her chest, crowing to herself as she felt his punch connect solidly with the top of her helmet. He howled, pulling back his injured hand and cradling it to his chest, and she snapped her head back up to leer at him. "Yes! He sounded just like that. Good job."

"I'm going to-"

"Run. I don't have the time or inclination to deal with your brand of psychological shit, so we'll keep it simple. You have a baseball bat. I have a baseball bat, four guns, three knives, a dog with an aggressive venereal fixation, a mercenary with a shotgun, twelve grenades in two different flavours and a friggin' frag mine. So you're going to run, Wally; run right now, right quick." Cort grabbed him by the back of his suit, hauled him off his stool, and shoved him through the door. Ever the smart one, Wally ran. She kept herself from wanting to run him down, and signalled over her shoulder to Charon. The big merc appeared silently beside her a few seconds later without incident, Cort having correctly guessed that people too drunk and exhausted to pay attention to a dog clicking around wouldn't notice a ghoul who could move like he wasn't there in the first place. Both companions at her back, a comforting buffer between her and everything she had waded through, Cort left the Cafeteria and went down the hall towards Gomez, who stopped short of triggering the next door and turned to her with a pained look on his face.

"All right, this is as far as I can go. Amata's up there, in the clinic with the rest of them. I'd take you closer, but they don't get along with Security. Good luck."

"I'll make sure Freddie's okay." She fidgeted as he turned to leave, not wanting to let the only friendly person she had met so far go. "I'm sorry."

"Yeah, Cort. So am I." Cort watched him retreat back the way they had come, spun around, and then triggered the door. Almost there.