Everything happened so quickly. One moment, Alexander threw his knife at Pickman and the next he was watching Cait pursue Pickman with murderous intent. Cait hit the controls on the giant magnet as she went, releasing both Nick Valentine and Alexander's Remington revolver in a clattering of metal on metal. It was a positive development all things considered.

What wasn't quite so positive was the switch Pickman flipped as he fled deeper into his murderous lair.

The wall in front of Charles opened with a grinding, screaming of rusty metal on metal. Despite the unpleasant nature of that sound, it was the chattering- chattering scraping of chitin on metal and the clicking of mandibles echoing up from the now exposed tunnel that made him nervous.

As the first of the giant ants scuttled out of the tunnel Nick managed to deliver a deadpan sentence that accurately summarized both men's feelings, "Well, that's not good."

Alexander fired his Remington twice at the ant, splitting its head open. "I won't argue with that."

Several more ants began scuttling up the tunnel, each larger and more twisted than the last. Alexander and Nick fired their revolvers into the darkness, hitting several of the ants, killing a few but not making a dent in the numbers.

"It's been a pleasure," Nick said. There was such a degree of sincerity in his synthetic voice that it brought a tear to Alexander's eye.

"It really has been Nick, thanks for everything."

As both men stared at the onrushing ant colony, seeing how little of an effect their combined revolver fire had on the hoard, there was an overwhelming sense of finality.

This is it, this is how I died.

Except that it wasn't.

"Stand aside my friends!" The deep, bass voice of Fawkes the Super Mutant cut through the chattering of the murderous ants. As soon as he heard the sound, Alexander threw himself aside, just in time for the Gatling laser to begin physically cutting through the ants. Fawkes wasn't alone either.

"Strong smash insects!" The other Super Mutant had a voice as deep but less sophisticated yet he was as capable of causing destruction as the more articulate mutant. While Fawkes cut a swath through the ants with the massive laser weapon, Strong proved almost as effective with a pair of sledgehammers.

Yet still, more ants came on, enraged and incensed by the intruders to their territory. "Pickman must have built this damn Vault into the side of a colony!" Alexander yelled, killing another two ants with well placed shots from his Remington. "Now that we've pissed them off, who knows how many more are inside?"

"Strong kill ants! Kill them all day long!" The mutant gleefully announced, crushing multiple ants beneath hammers, feet and a few well-placed elbows. "They squash good!"

"My cousin's limited selection of dialog notwithstanding, he is indeed correct," Fawkes articulated, hosing down several other ants without emotion, "We Super Mutants can deal with these overgrown pests, no matter how vast their colony. Remember, they are merely a distraction to the true threat."

"Fawkes is right," Nick added, firing his 44 with the same professionalism he maintained for any task, "While we waste time with this distraction, Pickman gets away, or worse, takes another shot at Cait and Shaun." Nick's words were heavy with concern, a potent reminder of what the stakes really were.

"I'll go after him," Alexander announced, slipping several more rounds into his Remington revolver. As he snapped it closed firmly, he said, "Strong, give me a boost, up to the walkway."

Strong grinned. After smashing an ant's skull to pulp with both hammers, the mutant slid them into his belt. Dropping to a knee and cupping his hands before him, Strong grinned again, "Strong boost human."

Offering up a quick prayer that he wasn't about to do something completely insane, Alexander rushed towards Strong. He leaped into the mutant's hands and, true to his word, Strong gave Alexander a boost.

For a brief moment, Alexander escaped the coils of earthly gravity. He flew through the air with the speed of the circling radguls, but without any of the grace. He'd flown in his fair share of Vertibirds but this, this feeling of free-falling was a terrible shock and terrifying beside.

He landed with as much grace as he flew, slamming into the metal walkway on his side with a pained grunt. The injuries he'd suffered fighting the Deathclaw, the wounds during the attack, and some old injuries that had never healed right all seemed to flair up at once. It was agony and, as he lay on the walkway gasping for air, Alexander thought it a small miracle he hadn't vomited.

The sounds of battle came faintly, echoing through the fuzziness of his hearing, the throbbing of his head. His vision was blurry and, for a moment, panic set in.

My eyes! God help me I've damaged them! Not now!

Then he saw his fallen pair of glasses and a sense of bemusement set over him. Slapping them back on and restoring his vision to normal, Alexander forced himself to his feet with a groan of pain. A quick glance revealed the situation.

Nick and the Super Mutants had the ants well in hand. While there seemed to be no slowing in the hoard of creatures, they continued to be bottled in by the tunnel. Cait and Pickman were both gone, dispersing down the opened door at the end of the walkway. That left only Shaun, still trapped inside his cryogenic tube.

Alexander rushed over to his son, who was laying still against the restraints. With trembling hands, the general undid the boy's bonds and caught him, cradling Shaun in his arms. Gently, he lowered Shaun to the ground, leaning over him and feeling his neck for a pulse.

He audibly breathed a sigh of relief after he found one.

Shaun's eyes fluttered and his breath came in ragged gasps. He finally opened his eyes and gazed up at Alexander, seeming lost and confused. "Dad?" He asked cautiously, daring not to believe it, "Is that really you?"

Alexander blinked back tears. "Yeah Shaun, it's me. I'm here buddy." He pulled Shaun tighter against his chest and slowly rocked him. The sounds of combat faded away as his world focused entirely on the boy. "Are you okay? Did they hurt you?" The words came out in a panicked jumble but Shaun seemed to get the point.

The boy shook his head. "No dad, they didn't hurt me." He looked down at the Vault suit he wore with obvious confusion. "How'd I get into this?"

Alexander shuddered to think of Pickman's hands around his boy but forced the image out of his mind. "I don't know, buddy, but it doesn't matter. I'm here now and we'll go home soon."

Shaun smiled weakly and nodded his head. "Good," he said softly, "I want to go home." After a second, he added, "I'm hungry."

Alexander had no doubt that was true. He smiled and chocked back a few tears. "Don't worry, we'll get you plenty eat when we get home, okay?"

"Promise?" The word was weak and soft.

"I promise." Alexander slowly released his son and looked him in the eye. "Now Shaun, I have to go find Cait, okay? I need to make sure she's alright. So I need you to stay here. Can you do that?" Shaun nodded, determinedly. "Good. Now, when the fighting stops, tell Uncle Nick you're safe and he'll come get you, okay? Strong and our new friend, Fawkes, are with him as well and you can trust them. Do you understand?"

Shaun nodded again, "Yup."

After standing upright and taking a quick glance below to see the situation with the ants well under control, Alexander checked the wheel of his revolver. He had two bullets left.

It'll be enough.

Snapping the wheel shut, the general squared his shoulders and marched into the dark.


Pickman was in pain, oh sweet, delicious agony! The company that all artists must keep, whether that be emotional or spiritual. In his case, it was completely physical.

His shoulder bled profusely from where Alexander had caught him with his knife, the wound deep and painful.

Oh delicious irony! That my weapon would be used against me? Oh what a sweet, sickly irony.

His face was a mess of bruises and broken teeth where the woman had struck him repeatedly. She was supposed to be nothing but a catalyst, the fire from which his muse was reborn. It seemed possible that he'd underestimated her.

Still, he'd caught her several times with The Tooth, and no mortal being was strong enough to resist its poison forever. It would slowly consume her and that would be the end of it. It was a fate that lacked the pageantry Pickman preferred but it would have to do.

The medical kit was right where he'd left it, thankfully still full of its contents. Cracking up the kit and retrieving a Stim-pak, Pickman grit his teeth and injected himself right in the shoulder wound. It was painful, the healing process but it always was. Pickman knew that better that most.

"That's better." He said to himself after a moment as the pain subsided. He was still in control, despite the change in situation. He was ready for every possible outcome. The Super Mutants were trapped in a maze their primitive minds could not overcome, the ants would weaken the detective and the muse, and Cait would die alone in the dark. It would all work out okay...


Cait staggered forward, the effects of whatever foul poison coated the strange dagger's blade still fighting with her body. She could only assume the Vault-Tec cleansing she'd gotten back in Vault 90 had something to do with it. That or possibly her own stubbornness. Either way she was still active and moving but it was growing harder and harder to do so.

Her fingers grew cold and distant, her legs were numb and sluggish, the pain in her arm from where the cut was deepest refused to lessen or abate, blood was still flowing and yet she pressed on. Her will to live was still strong as ever, that same animal instinct that kept her alive through battle after battle in the combat zone was powering her forward now. But that will was bolstered by a need to see Alexander again, to be in his arms. And Shaun, did she really care for him? She'd called him her son...she'd never done that before...

And if what Pickman said was true...

She shook her head, now was not the time to be thinking of possible, terrifying futures, now was the time to focus on the battle ahead. If she didn't focus, she would die, Shaun would die and possibly others. It was time to put a stop to this, here and now.

She stepped into the darkened room and gave her eyes a few moments to adjust to the lack of light. What she saw was unpleasant but not horrifying.

It was clearly some sort of staging area where Pickman had been working. Several unfinished paintings were resting on easels, clearly abandoned in frustration, with one actually slashed with a knife. The Artist had also tried his hand at sculpture and modeling at some point, considering the collection of various ill-formed and half-finished clay models scattered about the room. Carpentry had also been considered, though for what foul purpose Cait didn't have the foggiest idea. The pile of planks and nails was interesting enough but it was the simple carpentry hammer that caught her interest.

While she was a capable brawler, more than capable if she was being honest, bare hands verse that jagged blade was far from the scrap she wanted. Anything that could even the odds was to be desired.

A quick dash across the room and the hammer was in her hand, the well-worn handle fitting comfortably in her palm. While a lead pipe or a baseball bat would have been more her style the simple hammer was better than nothing. Pickman wasn't going to let her alone for long. Alexander's throw may have bought her the time she needed to change up his macabre showpiece but she'd heard his ramblings and knew the simple fact.

No scenario existed where both Cait and Pickman walked out of this alive.

Her eyes caught a glimmer of something white and red, lying on the floor, oddly placed. It was a medical case, lying on the ground. It was open.

Now why would it be open?

Just as she realized the implications of the open medical case, the footsteps sounded behind her. Instinct took control of her body, sending her into a forward roll. That instinct, as sharp as ever, saved her once again.

The slash of blade through air was far louder than it had any right to be and all the more terrible for the closeness of the strike. "Just die already, despoiling whore!" Pickman hissed through clenched teeth, "Just die and let me get on with my work!"

Cait was moving again before the Artist struck, sliding away from the jagged blade with all the strength left in her failing body. She blindly swung the hammer backward but hit nothing.

"You struggle against destiny!" Pickman howled, diving towards her with another brutal stab. Gone was the polite gentlemanly facade of earlier. Gone was the soft voice and softer words. All that remained was the wild, burning hatred in Pickman's eyes as he gave in to his murderous impulses.

"I don't give a shite about destiny!" Cait roared back, lunging at the artist and swinging her hammer. Pickman narrowly slid aside, just missing the heavy blow. He threw a punch at Cait but it was clumsy and unpracticed and she avoided it easily. "I just want to be left alone!"

Pickman stabbed for her again but she managed to deflect the strike with her hammer. "The mother Deathclaw always fights harder to protect her young," Pickman hissed, throwing another slash towards her belly.

Rather than give some elaborate response about how unsure she was about this whole motherhood thing, and about how she was really not processing it until after she got out of the serial killer's morbid trap, Cait grunted. The jagged blade tickled by her but didn't actually cut her flesh. A blessing, considering the impact of the poison in her bloodstream already slowing her movement. She swung the hammer again, aiming a blow that would cave in Pickman's skull but he narrowly ducked aside.

The Artist slashed upward, not at her throat but instead at the exposed arm. Cait felt the sting of the wicked weapon, watched the blue jumpsuit turn red with blood; worst of all, she felt her fingers loosen. Despite her body's tolerance for pain, despite her own stubborn desire to live, there were some reflexes that were too ingrained within the human condition to be ignored. The hammer fell from her hand as the other instinctively grabbed at the wound. She released it as soon as she realized what was happening but Pickman knew as well. He sneered and stabbed again.

She had one play and she made it.

It took every ounce of will, of rage, of sheer animal instinct but she did it. Cait grabbed the knife blade with her hands. It cut deep into her flesh, slicing tendon and bone. The poison from the weapon wept into her open palms as she screamed in agony. Pickman leered and tried to pull the weapon free, slicing deeper into her hands but still she fought on, still she held the blade. Tears of pain welled up in her eyes but she refused to let go, to give the killer the satisfaction.

"Just give up! I'll be merciful. It'll be painless." He whispered in her ear, close enough she could feel the heat from his breath. The pain in her hands was agonizing, the poison in her veins overwhelming. For a moment, for a singular second, she thought about giving up, of surrendering to oblivion.

But that wasn't her way, that wasn't how she did things.

Cait was no quitter.

She screamed in defiance and stomped on Pickman's foot. There was a crunching of bone as his finely made shoes failed to protect him from her boots. The Artist roared in pain and slacked on his advance. Cait pushed the blade away, her hands streaming blood. Everything was red, everything was pain but in that pain was focus and clarity.

She threw punch after punch, more feeling their effects than actually aiming them. Bones broke, teeth shattered and ribs cracked beneath the assault but still she continued. Pickman's feeble attempts to stab or slash were easily avoided or deflected. There was no stopping her now.

With lighting precision, Cait seized Pickman's wrist, narrowly avoiding the jagged point of his wicked knife. "Leave us the hell alone!" She screamed with all the rage and pain Pickman had put her through.

Pickman knew it was over in that moment; his eyes betrayed him.

She snapped the wrist with one brutal motion. The crack echoed in the enclosed space, louder than it had any right too. The blade slipped from fingers now incapable of holding it, tumbling to the floor. Yet it never had the chance to connect with that metallic surface as Cait's other hand snatched it from the air.

The impact was more felt than seen. Cait drove that jagged dagger through Pickman's chest with all the strength her rage addled brain provided. Blood dripped down as Pickman stared vaguely off into space.

He looked down at the handle of his dagger, now protruding from his chest. "It wasn't supposed to be this way..."

Cait ripped the blade free and stabbed Pickman again. He gasped and collapsed against her. She more felt than heard his final words, "Such an artist I die."

She let him fall.

It was over.

Pickman lay on the floor, eyes staring blankly out at nothing, a pool of blood rapidly expanding from his still form. The area was silent, save Cait's ragged breathing. The blood continued to drip from her brutalized hands as the poison continued to work through her system, slowly sapping what little energy she had left.

She was woozy, exhausted and finished with standing. Cait collapsed, looking up at the darkened ceiling without any though of rising again.

"Cait!" The call was distant, distorted.

Is he far away? Or am I?

"Here," she croaked, her voice barely above a whisper. "I'm here..." Her vision began blurring, fading in and out.

"Cait!" It was closer now, stronger and recognizable as belonging to the man she loved. He was looking for her.

"I'm here..." Her eyes closed just as a figure darkened the threshold of the room.


Alexander saw her on the floor, across from Pickman's still form. She was bloody and pale, looking hauntingly like an image he'd seen before, once in person and than nightly in his nightmares. "Oh no, no God no," he mumbled, rushing across to her, "Please God not again." His eyes were blurry with tears as he looked up to the heavens and pleaded, "Not again! I can't do this again!" Her jumpsuit was more red than blue now, her breathing was ragged.

Alexander collapsed beside her, pulling her into his arms. She was nearly as cold as Nora had been. "I'm here baby," he whispered, kissing a forehead slick with salt and blood. "I'm here."

Her eyes opened weakly, "Hey, you found me..." Her voice was on the verge of breaking, a tone he'd never heard before from her. "I knew you would..."

"Of course, Cait," he said, pulling her face into focus with his own, "I'll always find you..."

She smiled a weak smile before looking over at Pickman's still form, "Is it over?" The whisper came from between cracked lips with the desperate tone of hope beyond hope. It took Alexander a moment to realize that her eyes were full of tears.

"Yes Cait," he kissed her head and pulled her even tighter, "It's over."

And Cait wept.

He'd never seen her cry, never heard it, but in that moment she broke down and all the pain, stress and grief of the past few days came tumbling out. She moaned and cried into his chest and soon enough he joined her, rocking the woman back and fourth as both cried deeply. "I've got you..." He said between tears, "I've got you."

How long they rested like that no one could say. Alexander lost all sense of time, of location. It was just them, somehow alive after all they'd been through.

Cait grew colder and stiller in his arms as the poison worked it's way through her until her breathing came even slower and harsher, ragged in her throat. Alexander was at a loss. The General, a figure who made constant important decisions involving life and death for dozens if not hundreds, couldn't think of what to do. He was drained.

"Hey partner," Nick Valentine's voice echoed in the room, seeming to come from nowhere. Alexander turned towards the source, still cradling Cait in his arms. Nick stood in the doorway with a small case in his hands. "I found a couple Stim-paks, figured they might come in handy."

Alexander couldn't even speak, he just waved the synth over as he struggled to keep his gaze and voice steady. "Help her, if you can." The words were soft and pitiful, without any strength or force behind them. He was breaking, breaking all over again.

Nick crouched beside them, drawing the first Stim-pak from the container with remarkable tenderness. He jabbed in into Cait's shoulder with mechanical precision, not bothering to see if it had any effect before administering the next one. He gave her two more before he finally seemed satisfying, closing the container with a gentle click. "Now we wait."

"Do you think she has a chance?" Alexander wasn't sure if he was asking Nick, God, or simply talking to himself. Her breathing remained ragged and her features remained still; at the very least her bleeding had stopped. He kissed her had again, inhaling the scent of her hair with a desperation that suggested his life depended on it.

Nick squeezed his shoulder. "Cait's strong, Alexander, stronger than either of us." Alexander snorted an affirmative, even smiling a little through the tears. "She also got a healthy dose of that radiation from Vault 95, should help kill whatever toxin Pickman's dagger left behind."

"Will you wait with me?" It was a plea desperate from the heart.

Nick smiled reassuringly. "Always."

The two friends sat together for longer than Alexander would have liked. However, it became clear after a few moments that Cait would win the battle for her life. Her breathing strengthened and the color returned to her skin. Her eyes flew open and she gasped in air greedily before coughing violently. She gripped Alexander's collar with all the strength left in her body. The coughing continued, until it subsided into the maniacal laughter of one who has survived an impossible ordeal. She kissed him with the passion of a woman near dead, then wrapped him tightly in her arms. "I killed him. Baby I killed that son of a bitch! He came after me and I killed him."

"It's over." Alexander repeated, pressing his forehead against hers and holding her tight. After a moment he remembered something else, "Shaun?" He asked Nick with obvious concern in his voice, "Is Shaun okay?"

"His fine, a little woozy. He's going to have a a headache but nothing worse than that. I've left him with Fawkes." Nick reassured him with a smile, "But we should get back, he's worried about you two."

Slowly the detective helped the two of them up, supporting the badly injured Cait and the lesser injured but still well enough Alexander as best he could. "Can I get you anything?" He asked with a smile, "I don't have much but I'd like to do what I could."

"A cigarette would be nice," Cait admitted with a shaky smile, leaning heavily on Alexander as she did.

"Yeah, I'm afraid that's not happening," Alexander responded with a smile, nodding down at her belly. "Not at least until Curie checks you out and confirms the pregnancy."

"Right." Cait's voice took on a faraway tone that suggested she was far from ready to discuss her feelings about this potential child and that they weren't all entirely possible. After all, she had only just come around to Shaun...

"Well, let's get back to Sanctuary," Nick said after enough time had passed for the silence to become suitably awkward. Despite the obvious nature of his attempt, everyone was so willing to move on that they latched onto any opportunity to do so.

"Hey Nick," Alexander asked after a moment, "Do you still have that magnum on you? I want to make sure of something."

The synth must have known what the General wanted but he handed the magnum over without hesitation. Leaving Cait in Nick's capable hands, Alexander crossed the room over to Pickman's gently cooling corpse and put three rounds in his chest. He stood there a moment, looking down at the man who'd caused him so much grief, and, for good measure, put one last bullet through his head. "Now, we're done." The words hung in the air with a grim finality that pleased Alexander.

He was in the process of returning Nick's revolver when something caught his eye. Despite the dim light in the room, there was something that stood out among the various tools and devices. A stack of papers, neatly organized. They were so mundane and yet so compelling that Alexander had to take a look. "Today I had a most, fascinating encounter..." He read aloud, noting the exquisite penmanship and artistic lettering.

As he skimmed the collection of papers it became clear exactly what he was reading. "Pickman's autobiography," he breathed aloud with a mixture of horror and contempt.

"What was that?" Nick asked from the side, seeming unsure of what he'd heard.

"Nothing," Alexander responded, "Nothing worth preserving anyway." He turned back towards his synthetic friend and asked casually, "Could I see your lighter for a moment?"

Nick shrugged and passed it to him rather nonchalantly. With a nod of appreciation Alexander took it and set fire to Pickman's writings. "Now, let's pick up the Mutants and get the hell out of here."

No one argued.


The joy of seeing Shaun again was mingled with the grief of seeing Nora's body once more. She was still covered respectfully in Nick's coat but he knew what was beneath it, what that monster had done to her. Strong of all people had suggested that she be carried out with them and had graciously taken the assignment upon his own broad shoulders. He cradled Nora's body in his arms with a gentleness that surprised the General.

He was however, incredibly grateful to Strong for the action as, truth be told, after everything they'd been through he doubted he had the physical or emotional strength to take Nora out of that cursed place.

He kept Shaun wrapped tightly in his arms, his son saying very little. The full impact of the events on his young mind was still to be determined. Despite everything though, he kept up a brave face. Alexander just kept him tight in his arms and tried to keep the tears from falling.

Cait remained on Nick for support. He also said nothing, perhaps feeling nothing could be said in light of everything. Or maybe he shared the immense feeling of relief that came with leaving that cursed tomb.

Fawkes remained a calming presence among the group. He took the lead, his gatling laser at the ready just in case his massive frame wasn't enough to deter potential threats. Nothing approached them however. The Wasteland was silent.

When the group stood on the surface again, with the replica Vault dark behind them, there was a palpable sense of relief. Lexington's familiar ruined structures remained as softly tragic as ever, but in light what had been witnessed below, they were positively homely.

"We'll need to get a team in here to demo this Vault," Alexander said bluntly, "I don't want anyone going down there again. If this place is ever going to be resettled..."

"I'll make sure Danse knows," Nick assured him. "I'll even go with him to make sure if gets done right."

"That'd be good." They were words robotically spoken, without joy or flair but even so it felt good to say them.

"Let's go home," Alexander said finally more ready than ever to put this place behind him.

And they did.


Alexander Blackwood's Journal: I want to believe there will be no real reprecussions to what happened, that we'll be able to move on quickly from the events Pickman orchastrated but I know, deep down, that we won't. Still, I know things could have been worse, much worse. My scars will heal and the sun will shine again. I believe this to be true because I cannot accept any other possibility.


AN: Two chapters left to go, it's mostly epilogue and wrap-up but I'm looking forward to hearing your thoughts. Thanks for sticking it out!