Morgan scowled at her reflection as the radio warbled a crooning tune behind her. A glob of pale concealer perched on her fingertips, already starting to dry. Over her shoulder, she saw Nate slow to a stop beside the bathroom doorway. She stifled a sigh as he ducked inside, padding across the bathroom floor with a meek expression.

"You okay?" he asked, curling his arms around her middle. He propped his chin onto her shoulder, meeting her eyes in the mirror.

She exhaled, and lowered her shoulders, rolling the makeup between her fingers. "I was thinking about taking Sean to the park today," she said. Flecks of concealer got stuck under her fingernails. "Just deciding whether or not I want to… paint them over."

Nate sighed. His grip around her tightened, and he pressed a kiss into her neck before resting the side of his head against hers. "You look beautiful," he said, with painful earnestness. "I promise. Those ladies at the Homeowner's Association, they didn't-"

"They meant what they said, Nate," Morgan snapped. Her eyes fell shut as she took a breath and composed herself. "I'm sorry, honey. It's just… a lot to deal with. I'm already worried about what's gonna happen next week."

"Sweetie, they already hired you. I don't think they're going to fire you on your first day."

"Maybe. Or maybe not. Everyone was so excited about having a bona fide war veteran in their

neighborhood, lady vet or otherwise. But now that I'm not attending the book clubs or baking shitty cakes for my neighbors, suddenly I'm not playing nice. You don't realize how often people change their tune when you don't play along."

"Morgan." Nate breathed a faint chuckle, and turned the woman aside, taking her palms in his with no mind to the makeup on her fingers. "I'm an underweight nerd who needs an inhaler to do any exercise more strenuous than a brisk walk. I stayed home to finish my girly art school degree while my wife went off to war. I like my coffee with sugar in it. I know how narrow-minded people can be."

"Right, right." She shook her head, face contorted in chagrin. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't-"

"You're fine." Hands still held firmly in his, Nate leaned forward and kissed her, damming the flow of stumbling apologies and self-doubts. "Everything's fine, okay? It doesn't matter what people say, or what they show on television, or how many doctors we have to see. We're fine. I'm here."

Morgan savored the kiss for a moment before releasing a bitter chuckle. "You're such a fuckin' romantic."

Nate's eyes gleamed, and his lips curled in a lop-sided grin. "And that's why you love me." He kissed her again, this time more brief and affectionate, before releasing her hands. Morgan reached after him, a good deal of the concealer still clinging to his sleeve, but he ducked down the hall before she could get it off.

Morgan turned back to the mirror and observed herself once more. With her clean hand, she poked the dark bags below her eyes. Dark hair, washed but unbrushed, hung limply down to her shoulders. Cloudy gray eyes dotted with flecks of blue stood out against the jagged scars running diagonally across her eyebrow, nose, and upper lip.

How Nate hadn't recoiled when she'd first stepped off that return train, she'd never know. But she could still taste his kisses on her lips, so she bit her lower lip to hide a smile, and ran a brush through her hair.

Sean wailed in the other room, drawing her from her thoughts. Cursing under her breath, she rinsed off her hands and put the cap back on the concealer tin, wiping her fingers on her jeans as she walked to the nursery. "Hush," Morgan murmured, leaning over the crib's edge. "Mommy's here."

She pressed her lips to her son's head as she held his small body to her chest, calloused hands cradling his delicate form. She'd just finished nursing him when Nate meandered in, leaning against the doorway and sipping his coffee. "We have Codsworth to do that, you know," he remarked, more reminding than reprimanding.

"Codsworth has a breastfeeding function?"

Nate walked up alongside her, resting a hand on her lower back. "You know what I mean."

Morgan sighed, letting her hand rest on Sean's back. She shook her head firmly and went on, coaxing the infant to spit up. "We got Codsworth to do the dishes and trim the hedges. And because you wanted a robot butler. I don't want my baby growing up looking to a robot for love and comfort. I'm his mother. When he cries, I should be there."

"Robot butlers are a good financial investment," Nate defended, picking up a cloth and cleaning Sean's spit-up.

"Robot butlers, underground vaults... Are you becoming one of your comic book supervillains? Is that what you're spending my government benefits on?" Morgan eased Sean off her shoulder and held him out as Nate threw away the cloth.

"I like to think I'd become a superhero, not a villain, thank you. And some of it is my money. I do get paid to draw things. Sometimes." Nate took the baby with ease and rested him in the crook of his arm, his free hand held out to let Sean grasp as his fingers.

Morgan watched them for a moment, taking in the idyllic scene of well-furnished baby's room, the sunlight filtering in through the curtains, her husband cradling her son. The windows were open, making the curtains flutter and a cool breeze fill the room. The smell of freshly cut lawns and well-kept flowerbeds filled the air. Morgan heard the doorbell ring next door as the Vault-Tec salesmen went through the neighborhood.

Something choked in her throat, and she looked away, fiddling with the crib's blankets. "I haven't taken my meds in a few weeks," she said, her voice falsely light.

"Really?" Nate stopped, looking back at her. His mouth split in a wide smile. "That's great, Morgan. That's - that's so good. That's progress."

"I don't want to make a big deal of it," she said, trying to be nonchalant despite the rapid pounding in her chest. "But, you know. It's something." Morgan smiled despite herself, and dared to meet his eyes.

Nate's hazel-green eyes shone with pride and joy. Sean still held in one arm, he stepped forward to cup her cheek with his free hand, pressing kisses to her forehead and lips. "It is something," he agreed. He bit his lower lip, then spoke with a shy smile. "You know, once we get settled here, and you've got your job, I was thinking-"

"Sir? Ma'am?" Codsworth's uneasy voice wafted in from the livingroom. "I think you should come and see this!"

The couple shared an uneasy look. Anxiety prickled at the base of Morgan's skull, and she took Sean from Nate's arms, pressing the child to her chest for comfort as she followed Nate to the front room.

On the television, a news anchor had replaced the daytime drama onscreen. Papers clutched tight in his hands, the man avoided eye contact with the camera, staring at his hands or his desk. He looked haggard, shadows under his eyes and his hair mussed. He babbled about flashes- incoming information- confirmed reports of-

Nuclear detonation.

Her heart didn't skip a beat like she thought it would. It didn't seem quite real. They were standing in their house, in Sanctuary Hills. They were safe here. That's what the real estate agents had said. Sure, pundits claimed nuclear war was just around the corner, but they were just trying to scare more people into enlisting. None of this could be happening. Right?

The new anchor on screen put his head in his hands. "Oh, god."

Outside, air raid sirens wailed, the sharp sound making Sean squirm and cry. Morgan, light-headed and dizzy, vaguely tried to shush him. Around her, Nate panicked. "The sirens. Oh, oh, god, Morgan, we have to go." Morgan didn't move, still staring at the TV with unfocused eyes. "M-Morgan, we have to go. Come on." Nate grabbed her elbow and dragged her along, fumbling with the locks and throwing open the front door. At his touch, Morgan blinked, and stumbled after him.

Sean's cries filled the air as they raced down the streets, the air raid sirens growing louder. Military trucks blocked the end of the road, guarded by soldiers armed with gleaming guns. They passed people in their pajamas, people starting their cars, people searching for a missing child. Morgan ignored them all, and followed Nate. Atop the hill behind their house, a small crowd clustered in front of a chain-link fence. Two intimidating soldiers in power armor forced the crowd back, and a man with a clipboard stood at the gate.

Nate pushed through the crowd, fingers digging into Morgan's skin. "We're on the list," he gasped, skidding to a stop at the end of the soldiers' guns. "The name is-"

"You're good," the clipboard-man said, jerked a thumb behind him. "Stop on the blue and yellow platform."

Morgan found Nate's hand and curled her fingers through it as they ran through the gate, wailing civilians clawing at the back of her shirt as they fled. A vertibird landed some fifteen feet in front of them, blowing hot air in their faces and whipping their hair around. They caught sight of a man in a blue jumpsuit, and he directed them to the platform, where several of their neighbors already stood. Sean cried. Morgan rocked him as best she could, her breaths coming in sharp, hyperventilating gasps.

Nate wrapped his arms around her, and she pressed her head to his chest, Sean held between them. Muffled by Nate's body, Morgan heard someone shout. "Now! Do it now!" She stumbled as the platform lurched, descending into the earth with an awful, metallic screeching sound. Morgan's stomach clenched at the sudden drop, and she buried her face under Nate's chin.

Then the bomb went off. The sound, huge and terrifying, came crashing from her left. She jerked her head up and saw, saw the grand plumes of red and orange fire as it blossomed into the shape of a mushroom. She shut her eyes against the dark cloud of dust that swept over them, feeling the shockwave rumble under her feet. The platform screeched again, and dropped faster. A moment later, and some six feet below the ground, the vault entrance closed and sealed them into the elevator shaft.

Soon, they reached the bottom, where the platform stopped and a gate in the wall of the shaft opened. The group huddled together, parents with children and husbands with wives, unsure where to go. It took all of Morgan's might not to collapse where she was. The screams of the crowd that pulled at her clothes still rang in her ears, and she could see that afterimage of the explosion when she closed her eyes. Only Sean, still wailing and screaming, kept her on her feet.

A voice from beyond the gate ordered them forward. Morgan's neighbors shuffled out, into a room with a stairwell leading past a gear-shaped door. Morgan could hear people murmuring, doing as they were told, assimilating into the Vault. But she didn't move. Cold fear wrapped its hands around her throat and squeezed, anchoring her feet to the ground and sending freezing chills up her spine. Nate moved to go after the crowd, but stopped when she didn't follow.

"Morgan, honey," he murmured, rubbing her shoulders. "We're safe, okay? I need you to look at me right now. Please look at me. It's gonna be okay. We have Sean, see? Sean's safe. If Sean's okay, then we're okay." To punctuate his point, he ran his hand over Sean's head, soothing the unhappy baby.

Despite the daze that clouded her consciousness, Nate's words rang true. Morgan closed her eyes and took a breath, trying to control the shakes that make her nauseous and the fear that sent her spiraling into darkness. After a few moments, her fear remained, but she had more control. "Okay," she breathed, and adjusted Sean to make him more comfortable.

Nate gave her a tight, worried smile, and pressed his hand to her back as he helped her up the stairs. Their neighbors had all gotten a head start and were changing into jumpsuits by the time Morgan and Nate made it through inspection. They were one of the last to be greeted. Everyone else had already been taken into the decontamination room.

"Follow the doctor," one soothing woman said. "He'll take you where you need to go."

"You're going to love it here," the doctor began. Without looking back at them, he recited some rehearsed speech, touting the virtues of the state-of-the-art Vault-Tec technology. Morgan didn't bother to listen. At the end of their facility tour, they stopped in a room of pods, with many of their neighbors already inside them. "Decontamination," the doctor assured them.

Morgan couldn't help but inspect every aspect of the facility, still trembling even with Nate's arm wrapped around her. Crates of equipment - cover. The plastic batons the security guards wielded - breakable. The pipes along the walls could be burst. These jumpsuits - not bulletproof, or knifeproof. Form-fitting, but too brightly colored for stealth. Open toolboxes - improvised weapons.

At the end of the hall, two open pods waited for them. "I see you've brought your baby with you," the doctor said, smiling with uncaring eyes. "I'll hold him for you while you change into your-"

"No." Morgan jerked back, holding Sean tighter to her breast.

The smile faltered, but stayed. He stepped forward, arms outstretched like he was going to take Sean from her. "Ma'am, I can assure you, there's no need to-"

Morgan kicked at him, her heart pounding in her chest as she used both hands to hold onto her baby. "Don't touch me." She felt the other doctors' eyes on her, and began calculating her odds. Enemies were weak, but she was outnumbered. Nate might try to stop her. Have to be fast. Can't let go of Sean. In the hall and around the corner was an unattended screwdriver. Could stab someone in the eye. Get their brain. Kill them instantly.

Nate, as if he could hear her thoughts, shook his head at her quickly. He licked his lips, and held out a hand to try and stop the doctor. "Please, let me-"

The doctor batted him away, pressing his lips together and giving Morgan a stern look. "Ma'am, I will call security if you are going to-"

"Just try," Morgan dared, eyes flashing.

"Doctor?" One of the nurses came forward, looking uneasy. "Is there-"

"No, Marie, don't-"

One of the guards peeked in through the doorway. "There a problem in here?"

Morgan saw a glint on the floor, where one of her neighbors had discarded his old clothes. She tucked Sean onto one arm and lunged for it, swiping the pocketknife and holding it up, blade out. The room stopped and stared at her, all frozen still.

It made her feel even more crazy. What was she doing? This was insane. Everything was insane. She was miles underground, a baby in one hand and a goddamn pocketknife in the other, trying to fend of a least a dozen armed guards and scientists. She had nowhere to go. She felt herself backed into a corner, her hands shaking horribly and strands of dark hair covering her eyes, but she had no free hands to push them behind her ears. She looked like a madwoman.

"Morgan." Nate's voice caught her attention. When she stopped to focus on him, she realized how fast she was breathing. Nate stepped forward, taking the knife from her hand and maintaining eye contact. "Honey," he murmured, eyes sad as he cupped her cheek. "Where are we going to go?"

At first, Morgan took that as a challenge. Nate would hold Sean. She'd take down the doctors. She hadn't noticed stun guns, but she could deal with real guns. Take a pistol, shoot their way out, then-

Then what? She had nowhere to go.

She exhaled, and her heart slowed. Heat bloomed behind her eyes, her chin fell to her chest as she released the pocketknife. Tears threatened to spill over and roll down her cheeks, but the sting of pride kept her from crying. Nate placed the knife back with their neighbor's things, and took her back into the center of the room, keeping her beside him as he changed into his jumpsuit. By the time he took Sean from her so she could change clothes, she had gone silent, numb and disconnected from the world around her.

Nate caught her just before they stepped into their pods. "I know, love," he murmured. He offered a hopeful smile. "But it's okay. We're safe here, I promise. I need you trust me, okay."

Morgan squeezed her eyes tight to pull herself together, to muster some kind of response. "I trust you," she said at last, her voice scratchy and tight. Her lip quivered, but she contained it. "I just don't trust this fuckin' place."

Nate smiled, and cupped his hand around her neck, pulling her closer to press a kiss to her forehead. "Go batshit on them after we've been decontaminated of radiation, please." He gave her a weak smile. "I love you."

Morgan softened. "I love you too."

Nate squeezed the back of her neck. "See you on the other side, my love."

Then they climbed into their pods. Morgan gripped the seat tightly as the door swung down over her, a thin fiberglass window her only view of the outside. Nate looked back at her from the opposite pod, a reassuring smile on his face as he lifted Sean so she could see him. He held up one of the infant's arms, making him wave.

Morgan smiled, the small gesture tugging at her heartstrings and making her wave back. Then, cool clouds of mist filled the pods, making her shiver. She felt a deep sigh leave her, and shut her eyes against the whiteness.

Then she fell asleep.

Suddenly she was conscious again. Freezing, in some strange blackness where she couldn't feel anything. Where was she? Dead? Dreaming? A thick fog clouded her brain, keeping her from thinking clearly. She couldn't move. She couldn't even feel her arms or legs. Her body ached, though she wasn't entirely sure it was her body. Everything felt foreign, unnatural, cold.

One thought pierced the fog. Where was her baby?

Something melted on what she thought was her face, and she forced open her eyes, squinting against the cold and the sudden light. She blinked clicking, trying to get her eyes to focus. Distant voices caught her ears, though too muffled and far away to be understood. She grit her teeth and focused her hearing, trying to make out the works. Slowly, her sight returned, blurry and bright as if she'd been in darkness for too long.

"-the one. Here."

"Open it."

Why was everything so blue? What was going on? The sharp, sudden cry of a baby pierced the air, pulling her thoughts together as if by force. Sean. Sean, needed her, had to get up, had to think. She heard someone coughing, and remembered Nate was in front of her. The two voices belonged to two blurry figures, each standing beside Nate's pod. Didn't look like the scientists.

The scientists! Where were they?

Her revelations made her stop listening. She mentally shook her head and refocused. Now, one of the strangers had pointed a gun at Nate. Big gun, strong barrel. Not standard issue. Unlicensed. The stranger spoke in a voice that matched his gun, all hard and unfeeling and merciless. She hated him, hate the way he threatened her husband. Wanted to claw his eyes out.

One of the strangers was grasping at Sean, trying to pull him from Nate's stiff arms. Morgan felt hot tears building up in her eyes, her mouth trying to open and shout. Couldn't. Couldn't move, only watch.

"I'm not giving you Sean!" Nate's voice sounded so raw, harsh and guttural, like he hadn't spoken in forever. Sean screamed.

Boom.

It sounded like the bombs all over again. Made her want to cover her ears and scream. Nate flung back against the seat of his pod. He wasn't saying anything anymore. Sean's cries echoed in the room, heart-wrenching wails that seemed too big for his body. Her skin burned like fire, and she couldn't move.

Through her rage she heard the voices still talking. She tried to focus on them, but a sharp jolt of fear ran through her when one of the strangers leaned towards her pod. Just within her perspective, letting her get a good look at his face.

"At least we still have the back-up."

She hated his voice, hated him, hated his gun. Hate, hate, hate, she burned with a damning rage, and somehow he must have seen it in her eyes. The smug, cruel smile on his face faded, replaced with something almost resembling fear. He leaned back, walked away, and he was gone.

The mist came back, and the world went white.

When she woke up next, flecks of ice melted on her skin, and each breath came easier than the last. Her insides felt frozen through, too cold even to shiver. Cold droplets of water dripped from her hair and down her jumpsuit, a vague sensation on her numbed skin. Her breath puffed in white clouds that faded away as her pod warmed.

Her numb fingers twitched, stiff and unresponsive. Shivers racked her body, made her struggle to breathe in between her shakes. She fumbled for the latch on the inside of the pod, the cold metal burning her frozen hands. When she couldn't push the door open, she braced herself against the back wall and kicked out, repeating the motion until her legs warmed enough she could summon her full strength.

She didn't know how long she spent kicking that door, dazed and cold and unfocused, but at some point the metal creaked and gave out. She managed to push it open and tumble out onto the floor, landing with a splat and a cry, like a newborn child. Morgan laid there for a few moments, breathing onto her hands, rubbing life and feeling back into her body. When she gained strength enough to stand, she blinked and stepped onto her feet, feeling cold drip down her jumpsuit.

She looked up, and almost on accident, her eyes fell on the window of Nate's pod.

Morgan breathed out, and heard the sigh leave her like someone's dying gasp. She took one, two, three trembling steps forward, eyes still fixated on the man behind that fiberglass window. She brushed her fingers over the pod door, and when it didn't budge, she thought to go to the control panel. She had no idea how to operate it, but pressed buttons until something clicked. The door hissed, and swung open, leaking more white mist onto the floor. There Nate sat, with crimson crystallized around his middle, his lips parted in an unfinished cry and his eyes wide and glassy.

Nate was dead.

Morgan's shaky breathing sounded deafening in the silent room. Nate wasn't dead. This was just a nightmare. Just a hallucination. She just needed to wake up. Just needed to take her meds. Just needed to close her eyes, do the grounding exercises her therapist had given her. So she did. Morgan closed her eyes, listening to her breathing. Remembered her name, her age, her hair color, the feeling of the ground beneath her feet.

She opened her eyes, and Nate was still dead.

The realization hit her like a blow to the chest. She crumpled, falling to her knees, ignoring the sharp sting of the impact. "Nate," she croaked. Terrible, aching pain bloomed in her chest. Her throat tightened and heat rose behind her eyes, and suddenly she was crying. She clawed at his pants, at his knees, grasped at his hand and felt how cold and clammy it was.

"Nate. Nate, please, Nate- I can't, I can't. I can't- please-"

Morgan buried her face in Nate's knees, wretched sobs rippling through her like waves. Her crying wasn't pretty. Tears streamed down her face, snot bubbled in her nose, and pitiful wails tearing from her lips with every sob. She needed the pain to stop, needed Nate, needed everything to go away.

If only she hadn't left her gun back at the house.

She sobbed until her chest hurt. Then, she staggered to her feet, turning back to the dripping husk of her pod. A jagged piece of broken latch jutted out from it, sharp and long like a knife. She wrenched it from the door, feeling the cold metal bite into her hand. She drew the sharp end of the broken latch across her right palm, whimpering as the skin tore and red blossomed along the cut.

She dropped the metal shard with a clatter and held her wrist with a shaking hand, keeping her palm open, staring at the blood as it pooled. Her hand ached with each beat of her heart, and the pain in her chest calmed, the poison draining from her through the gash on her hand. Her head cleared, and she stood upright.

She closed her hand and dug her fingernails into the heel of her palm, closing her eyes and gritting her teeth as blood dripped from her fist onto the floor. You're wounded, her training told her. Get a bandage. Get out. Find safety.

Morgan turned towards the doorway, but hesitated. She looked back at Nate, taking in his appearance once last time. She watched his face as she touched the controls one more, the pod door sliding down over him. It sealed, and that familiar mist filled it, turning the glass in his eyes to ice. A final resting place. A tomb.

Morgan walked away, and didn't look back.

Her neighbors' shirts were shredded with the pocketknife to make bandages. Some bourbon, hidden in a desk, sterilized the wound. The cut was too thin to need stitching, but some tongue depressors and tied bandages made for a decent splint. Skeletons littering the floor revealed that the scientists had long since turned on one another. The storage rooms, which were supposed to hold some half-year's worth of supplies, were empty.

So she'd been in that pod for at least six months. But she didn't know when they'd taken Sean. And Nate's body was too well-preserved to figure out how long it had been since he was shot. So she had to go outside and see. A Pip-Boy 3000 Mark IV, still attached to the skeletal arm of one of the scientists, let her access the Vault controls and open that gear-shaped door. She had only walked through that door an hour ago, or so it felt. If an hour could become six months, how long had she been in stasis?

With her uninjured palm curled around a pistol she'd found, Morgan walked to the elevator's center and the gate door slid shut, the ground lurching beneath her feet as the platform rose. The journey up felt much shorter than she remembered coming down. When the doors above her screeched open, Morgan threw her arm over her eyes to shield them from the blinding surface light. When her eyes adjusted, she lowered her arm and squinted out over the hill.

Her heart skipped a beat.

Nothing she'd ever witnessed on the battlefield compared to the desolation stretching out in front of her. Skeleton houses falling to pieces, skeleton people clinging to one another. Trees, ripped and torn asunder. Dried grass, dusty rocks. A thousand things and lives broken and left to die. The green grass was faded and dry, and there were no lights or cars or children in the streets. All the world was dead, and she the sole survivor.

How long had she been out?

Sudden, burning rage thrummed in her chest, making her limbs curl and flex. She sank to her knees and howled, burying her hands in her hair, the side of her pistol pressed to her head. She screamed, over and over again, rocking back and forth on the platform like a deranged animal. Nothing responded to her pain. Not even a bird flew away in response to the noise. She was alone.

Still bellowing hot, angry sobs, she grit her teeth and took her pistol in hand, holding it in front of her and bashing the end of the barrel into her forehead, feeling it bruise and cause more tears to stream down her cheeks. "Do it!" she shouted, still weeping. "Don't be a coward. Don't be a coward."

And yet her finger refused to pull the trigger. That dreadful, horrible, god damn frustrating survival instinct wouldn't let her rest. She clenched her right hand into a fist, felt warm and fresh blood seep into the bandages. Still shaking and sobbing, she rose and glared out over the ridge, beyond her neighborhood and at the wasteland before her.

"I'll find him," she breathed, voice rough from crying. "I'll kill you all if I have to fucking do it. I'm going to find my son."

The people that had taken Sean - they must have come after the bombs went off. That meant people were alive, somewhere. That was reason enough to start looking.

"I'm coming, Sean."