A/N: Hello again everybody! Here is chapter two! Holy shit, I am having so much fun writing these two. Hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it!

Let me know what you think! Thanks so much for all the lovely reviews so far - they are always very much appreciated. It really means so much that people take the time out of their busy lives to not only read this, but let me know what they thought as well. Lets me know my writing isn't half bad. And it helps me improve, of course.

Enjoy!


Chapter Two - Rough Daye

Part One: In Which Cait Makes a Deal with the Crazy Asshole and Actually Doesn't End Up Murdering Him

Cait woke up on the asphalt, curled in a ball against the cold concrete road block, her old travelling pack under her head as a makeshift pillow.

When the hell did she fall asleep?

"Fuck," she groaned, sitting up, wiping off bits of gravel that had embedded themselves in her cheek.

What a rough night. She stretched, every muscle in her goddamn body aching, her whole fucking left leg stiff as a board, her back sore, her ass sore, her neck sore.

Jesus, she hadn't woken up so sore since she'd lost her virginity.

She squinted at the cold grey light of dawn that sliced its way between two buildings, blinking away the pain and the fatigue. She had never been a morning person. Or a people person. Or a decent person, if she was gonna get brutally honest with herself.

If she was anywhere in the world but there, in the middle of the fucking road, she would have gone back to sleep.

She wasn't. Of course she wasn't.

Still, this wasn't the strangest place she'd woken up. There was this one time – ah. Never mind. Too early for this shit.

"Goddammit," she hissed, poking at her wounded leg. Her jeans were crusted black and brown with dried blood and dirt and they were chaffing against her skin. She tried to bend it, and it did – a little, and it hurt a lot less than it had yesterday, but it still ached like a motherfucker. How in God's green earth – well, shit-brown now, she supposed – did people survive before Med-X and Stimpaks she'd never know.

"Good job, Cait," she muttered under her breath. "Ya fuckin' crippled yerself."

She would be pretty useless to Daye now.

Speaking of – where was the asshole?

She glanced around tiredly, and he wasn't there. Not beside her, not by the bus, not down any of the streets. His things were gone too.

Had she dreamed the whole thing?

Nah. She wasn't that lucky.

Maybe one of Chuckles' pals took him in his sleep. Maybe he simply up and left her there. Wouldn't be the first time that happened to her. Or maybe he'd offed himself in the night after he spewed chunks in front of her –

Ah. Right. His nasty chem-packed puke sat in a withering pile near her travel pack, and her stomach lurched at the realisation that she'd slept with it not two feet from her head all night.

Okay, yeah, there were a dozen headless, rotting raider corpses around her too, but – vomit. Ugh.

She hobbled pathetically to her feet, using the road block to pull herself up, and took a good look around.

Nothing to see. The same dead raiders, the same rusty bus, the same dying world as yesterday.

Wait.

There was a figure on top of a building – a tall figure, and the same building where the asshole with the assault rifle hung headless out the window. About four stories up, near the ledge. It was kinda hard to see in the mounting sunrise, but someone was definitely there.

Growing up in this fucked-up world had made her cautious of others. People lied and cheated and stole and raped and murdered for nothing less than boredom. Yesterday she would have crouched low, took out her double-barrel, and blasted the fucker into the next state over, because they would do the same to her in a heartbeat. And if by some slim chance they were decent – well, then. They shouldn't be skulking around downtown anyway. One less stupid cunt in the gene pool.

But yesterday she'd met Daye. He was the tallest dude she'd ever met. It was him, alright. Being all weird up on the building.

She almost left. Really, she could just leave and he wouldn't even know or care, probably. Just get up and walk away. Take Lonegan's caps and just peace out. Her leg hurt way too fucking much and she would only drag him down. He was a prick anyway. She didn't really like him.

So why didn't she?

Now that she thought about it - where would she go? Back to Tommy? The fatass would never let her live that down. She could just hear him now: Jiminy Cricket, Cait! He got you good! Half a day and you come crawling back in here – maybe I should hire him to be my pit fighter.

Could she strike out on her own in the wastes? Not likely, with her fucked-up leg and all. She had enough caps for food and a weeks' worth of rent, but she was a gimp now, and couldn't do shit to make any more before it ran out.

Fucking fuck. She hated being useless. Hated it.

She could, you know… kill him and steal his shit. If she were still being honest, she'd done it before. No regrets. No hard feelings, either. She needed the shit and so she'd took it. That's how it worked. Cait had lived a pretty shitty life and she'd had to learn most of what she knew from hard experience, but she liked to think she was smarter than most. She knew how the world worked, how stuff got done. She could spot a liar in a crowd, an honest man in a theatre full of pickled and sky-high raiders. Could tease out every weakness of her opponents, see the flash of fear in their eyes, turn that against them.

Daye, though. He was a mystery. He gave no fucks. He had no fears. And she was pretty fucking sure he wouldn't take too kindly of her tryin' to kill him.

She scowled but figured following this asshole might just be in her best interest. For a little while, at least. Only until she found something better to do. Or until she could walk like a normal person again. He said he didn't care about her contract anyways, right?

So Cait shouldered her pack and hobbled like an old lady away from the road block. She gave a wide berth to Daye's chunks, around crusty, smelling raider corpses, over twisted metal and crumbling stone. Through the splintered door of the apartment building, up the stairs, past the headless asshole, and out onto the roof.

Holy fuck.

Cait squinted in the sun that was breaking over the harbour to the east, its rays bathing all of downtown Boston in a soft orange glow. It looked like one of the paintings Tommy had put up in the shitters back at the Combat Zone – the city spread before her, almost peaceful in the quiet, the sun sparkling off the water. She kind of wished she'd been alive to see it back before the War, before all the colour and life had died along with everything else. And it smelled… clean up here. Not stale like down in the streets, in the filth and rubble of the wastes. And not mouldy piss like the arena. She breathed deep, letting the cool air fill her lungs, shivering a little in the breeze that blew.

"Morning, sunshine. You look like shit."

Daye smirked over his shoulder, his mask off for once – and then turned back around, staring out over the city, looking through the scope of his sniper rifle as if searching for something.

Cait hobbled up beside him, scowling.

"I cuddled with yer puke all night so shut the fuck up."

He huffed in amusement, eyes still against the scope. "You're lucky I don't get the shits when I'm coming down from a high."

"Right. Lucky me."

"There's some Mentats in my bag there," he said, nodding his head to the pack resting against the old air duct.

Cait glanced from him to the bag and back again. "So?"

"So take a few."

She frowned. "I don't like 'em. Taste like rubber and ass."

"These ones are grape."

"So?"

"Just take the fucking Mentats."

Cait scowled at him. "Why? Far as I know ya poisoned 'em."

"Lady, if I wanted to kill you I'd have done it before now."

"It's Cait."

"Whatever."

Daye peered out at the city a few moments longer then sighed, lowering the sniper rifle. Flexed his fingers, blinked a few times. Looked at her.

Cait hadn't been this close to him yet – well she had, but she'd been bleeding out on the street and he'd been juiced up on Psycho – but he really wasn't all that bad looking. He had nice eyes and his hair was ok, sort of hacked-at, though. He could do with a shave and a wash and yeah, maybe some reconstructive facial surgery – she'd heard of a guy in Diamond City who did it for a decent price – to smooth out the ugly burn scar across his face.

Though now she thought about it, it was kind of badass. Made him like a sort of good guy, bad guy character – one half smooth, the other totally fucked up.

But yeah. He was better-looking than the pool of raiders she'd been forced to knock heads with the last few years. Although that wasn't sayin' much.

"I take them every morning," he said, fiddling with the sights on his rifle. "They'll clear your head, wake you up. Closest thing I've come across to coffee in this fucking place."

"Coffee?"

Daye glanced up at her. "You haven't heard of coffee?"

"No."

"Jesus Christ. You poor soul."

Cait's hackles raised a bit. She didn't like being pitied.

He raised the rifle and peered through the scope again. "Take a few Mentats. And a Stimpak. Then come sit. Have something to eat."

"Yes, mum," she sneered, hobbling over to his pack. She would've flipped him the bird or told him to fuck his own mother had her stomach not growled viciously. She hadn't eaten in over a day. Maybe two. Fuck if she knew.

Rummaging around in his pack proved frustrating and somewhat interesting – it was stuffed full of useless junk, from broken desk fans to empty Nuka Cola bottles to tattered wads of old world cash.

"In the front," he called out, still scanning the city.

She hit the fucking motherlode to end all motherlodes.

Cait hadn't seen such a wide variety of chems and junk guaranteed to rot your teeth in all her shitty days on this earth. Buffout, Jet, Psycho, Med-X, RadAway, Day Tripper, Daddy-O, cartons of three – no, four – types of cigarettes, and jars and boxes of shit she'd never even seen before. There were a few inhalers that looked like Jet on steroids that were particularly interesting. Could probably get her a pretty penny. Whatever the hell a penny was.

She grabbed the tin of grape Mentats and downed a few. Took a Stimpak and jabbed her leg – fucking ouch – and grabbed a box of Fancy Lad Snack Cakes.

"Grab the Luckies," he said when she was already halfway back. She growled but did it anyways. Asshole.

He took the box of Lucky Strikes from her without so much as a thank-you. He set his rifle against the ledge, hopped up, and sat down, feet dangling over the edge like an idiot. Pulled a cigarette out of the box, lit it, inhaled it.

"Fuck," he breathed, blowing the smoke out into the crisp morning air. "I needed that."

She could push him off the ledge and take his shit, right now. If he was stupid enough to sit there, dumb enough to turn his back on her, he deserved to get splattered on the pavement. But watching him – and she had, pretty closely – you know, to spot a weakness – she just couldn't. She'd noticed the slight twitch of his hands, his eyes blinking just a little too much – all signs of an addict. She knew, because she did the exact same fucking things. She hated to admit it, but she saw a lot of herself in this weirdo. She just couldn't force herself to do it.

What a pussy.

She sat down on the low ledge beside him, the concrete cold on her ass, tearing open the box of snack cakes.

"A little early for a lung dart, don't ya think?"

He didn't even flinch. "Who says it's early?"

"The fuckin' sun."

"Maybe it's late for me. Maybe I didn't sleep."

Cait munched on her shitty breakfast, her eyebrows raised. "Did ya?"

Daye inhaled again, blew out again, glanced sideways at her. Smirked. "Yeah. Fucking died after that fight."

Cait smirked back. "Thought so."

"Toss me one."

She did. He took a bite.

"Now these," he stressed, holding up the cake, "these taste like rubber and ass."

Cait laughed. The sound was loud and clear in the quiet morning over the city, before the sun burned away all the mist on the water, making the air hot and dusty and choking.

It had been a long time since Cait had laughed at a joke. She didn't think laughing from an adrenaline high in the pit, covered in the blood and brain matter of her opponent, counted. It felt… fucking weird. Too normal.

He smiled at that, the burn on his face making it look almost like a sneer, his right eye just a little more shut than his left. He offered her a cigarette. She took it. Lit it from his little gold lighter. Inhaled. Blew out.

"Ya do that often?" she asked.

"Hm?"

"Charge into a fight like a deathclaw on steroids? Explodin' heads like that?"

He shrugged. "Sometimes. When I feel like it. Usually a little more tactical, though. Mac's my deadeye, I'm his vanguard. He stays back, I go in close. It works."

"No shit it works. Never seen someone so fuckin' insane in all me life. And that's sayin' somethin'."

"I'll take that as a compliment."

"Fuckin' eh."

"So. How's the leg?"

"I dunno. It's still there, so I guess that's somethin'."

"Guess so. Bullets gone?"

"Probably. Hope so. Didn't really check." She blew out on her cigarette, watching the smoke twist in the air before her. "Only got one other pair of jeans in me bag. First hour on the job and I fuckin' ruin half me clothes."

He huffed. "Yeah. I would've changed your pants but I didn't want you waking up halfway through and gutting me like a fucking fish."

Cait raised her eyebrows at him. "Change my pants?"

He shrugged, eyes distant. "Yeah. I've left clothes on too long over a wound before. Starts smelling and gets real fucking gross."

Cait turned her nose up. "Spare me the details."

He took another bite of his snack cake. "Well, excuse me for trying to prevent gangrene."

"The fuck's gangrene?"

Daye sighed, closing his eyes. "Never mind."

Cait stared at her cake for a second, thinking about what the fuck gangrene was. It sounded pretty nasty, and she wasn't so hungry any more. She tossed her cake, watching it fall to the alleyway below.

"Hey, I know I said they taste like shit, but I don't have a lot else. That just cost you lunch."

Cait shrugged. "I'm sure I'll get over it."

He didn't answer her. He was fiddling with something on his wrist – some electronic thing.

Cait leaned closer. "That a Pip-Boy?"

"Yeah."

She whistled. Those things were pretty rare. She'd seen one in Diamond City once, a long time ago, but it was broken and that stupid robot tried to sell it to her. She almost caved his metal head in for being such an annoying prick.

"Where'd ya get it?"

"From a dead guy."

"You kill him for it?"

"No."

"You from a Vault, then?"

"Does it look like I'm from a Vault?"

Cait scowled. What a dick.

"Where ya from, then?"

Daye frowned, tapping away at the screen. "Look, Firecrotch, you and I are on a need-to-know-basis, and right now you don't need to know anything. Alright?"

Cait bristled. "Firecrotch?"

He looked up from the screen. "Got a problem?"

"That's not me fuckin' name."

"Well Kat is just too boring. I refuse to call you that."

"It's Cait," she seethed.

"See?"

"It's really not that hard to remember, ya know."

"Yeah, but it's boring."

"So's Daye. Could you get a more bland word?"

"Daye with an e on the end, Firecrotch. Remember that."

Cait clenched her teeth. "Me name's fuckin' Cait! And no one can see the fuckin' e on yer name when ya say it!"

Daye smirked, sucking on the last little bit of his cigarette. "See? Firecrotch fits you perfect."

She almost shoved the stupid fucker off the building. For real this time.

"Asshole," she growled.

He just smirked wider. "Dickhead."

"Cocksucker."

"Motherfucker."

"Jackass."

"Douche Canoe."

Cait frowned. "The fuck's a douche canoe?"

"You are. You're a douche canoe. An entire canoe full of douche."

"Yer a fuckin' idiot."

Daye smirked again, clearly enjoying himself – and Cait wanted to punch him in his stupid fucking face. "You're gonna have to do better than that, Firecrotch. Been called a lot worse."

"Wanker."

"Fucktard. I can do this all day."

Cait smirked, the wheels turning in her brain. "So can I. Nate."

"You drive a hard bargain," he said, flicking his cigarette down into the alleyway below. "Fine. I'll call you Red."

"You'll call me Cait."

"I'll call you Red."

Well. It was better than Firecrotch.

She looked out over the city again, at all the brown and black and decay.

They lapsed into a – well, not comfortable silence, but maybe an easy one, there on the ledge of the old building. Daye had turned on the radio of his Pip-Boy, and a song was playing softly. An upbeat one, the only sound in the quiet morning as the sun rose over the dead city.

Oh well I roam from town to town

I go through life without a care

'Till I'm as happy as a clown

With my two fists of iron and I'm going nowhere

They call me The Wanderer, yeah The Wanderer

I roam around around around around…

"So... where we goin'?"

Daye opened another snack cake, shoving half of the thing in his mouth at once. "Dunno. Don't really need to be anywhere right now. Figure we should get out of the city for a while, at least. Chuckles had a lot of friends. Some big guys, control a lot of people. They won't be too happy he's dead. Let things cool down for a bit."

"How many 'big guys' you owin' money to?"

He paused. Only a second. But Cait saw it. "Don't really see how that concerns you."

"I just don't wanna be worryin' I ain't gonna lose me head every time I turn a corner."

"Listen Red, I'll tell you now: I'm not really that popular in a lot of places round here."

"Figured as much. I ain't got too many friends either."

He shoved the other half of the cake into his mouth and eyed her for a long moment, chewing slowly. Thinking.

"Alright," he said, swallowing loudly. "I'll make you a deal. I can tell you're a fighter. I saw it myself. You're decent hand-to-hand. Haven't seen you with a gun yet, but I'm betting you're okay – when I'm not dragging your ass out of the firefight."

"That was a fuckin' ambush and you know it."

"So I'll tell you the same thing I told Mac - you can go if you want. I won't blame you. It's probably best, really, cause you'll get shot at and beaten up and in a lot of trouble with a lot of people."

"Ya sure are sellin' yerself there, bud."

"But you can come and work with me – for a bit. If we see some real action soon, and I like how you fight. Like I said, just until Mac gets off his ass. Help me out, do what you're told, don't ask questions. My rules still apply though. If you break them you're out. If you end up being shit at shooting you're out. If we run into any problems you're out."

"Jesus Christ. Am I allowed ta take a piss?"

He smirked. "We'll see. I'll split the profits with you 80/20."

"Fuck that! I'll be gettin' 50/50."

His grin widened. "You're in, then?"

"50/50 or I walk."

"70/30 and I'll toss in some armour that doesn't smell like raider piss."

She eyed him a moment. A long moment. Tryin' to see what his gig was. What the fuck he was really about. There must be a game he was playing. She'd been played before. She knew the fucking way it worked. She knew.

Nope. Still a mystery. Fuckin' asshole.

But you know, maybe she could roll with this. Earn a bit of cash on the side. 70/30 wasn't much, but she had a feeling this guy could get his hands on some dirty money. A lot of dirty money. And improve her fighting skills – not like she wasn't the best already but, still. See the world beyond the Combat Zone. She'd never been further than the trailer park she'd been born in and the downtown area. Maybe he was right – she should get out more. Sample the local man-meat if she had time. It had been a while, after all. A girl has needs too, ya know.

"Fuck it. I'm in."

"Nice." He smirked again, holding out his hand. She took it. Shook it. "Get your shit. We're out."

"Never had a partner before."

Daye got up from the ledge, hopping down and shouldering his pack, his sniper rifle. "Mac's my partner, remember that. You're more of a… temporary employee. Until he's back. But don't let that get you down. You'll probably be dead by then."

He checked his shotgun quick. Cocked it loudly. Put the stupid bloody gas mask back over his face.

"Saddle up, Red. You're in for one hell of a ride."

Looking back, maybe she should've just pushed the fucker off the ledge.


Part Two - This Part Actually Happens a While Later So Yeah, But Anyways: In Which Cait is Already Tired of This Shit and Wants to Murder a Certain Crazy Asshole Right About Now

"Goddammit ya bloody fuckin' motherfuckin' son of a fucker!" Cait screeched, clutching her left shoulder as the blood leached out faster than a horny teenager's load. "I'm gonna kill ya Daye! I'm gonna fuckin' kill ya!"

She was cowering in the aisle behind one of the shelves in the Super Duper Mart, and so was he, and had she any strength left, she would've ripped his dick off and shoved it so far down his throat his ancestors would've tasted it.

They hadn't even made it to noon and they'd been caught – again – by a band of seriously cheesed raiders. And – again – Daye managed to dodge their wild bullets like some sort of juiced-up Jesus man while Cait took the brunt of the heat before they dove into the grocery store.

And here they were – AGAIN – cowering like Lonegan back in the pit, Cait bleeding out, Daye jamming tubes of Psycho into his arms and Buffout down his throat.

"Shut the fuck up," he hissed, pocketing a few inhalers of Jet. "Or I'll leave you behind this time."

"Fuckin' do it! I swear to Christ I'll come back as a ghost and haunt yer ass for all eternity, ya smarmy son of a bitch!"

He just growled, recoiling as a particularly loud burst of submachine gun rounds tore through the cheap wood of the shelfing.

"Come on out, ya assholes!" one of the raiders by the door laughed, and Cait could tell, just by his voice, that he was way too high to even be walking right now. "Promise we'll just kill ya real quick-like! No torture or nothin'!"

"There's a bitch in there with him, though! I saw!" another one hissed.

A pause. "Oh. Never mind! We'll fuck her in front of ya then kill ya. Sound like a plan?"

They all laughed again, and Cait very nearly rushed out and ripped all their fucking dicks off.

"Uh, no, I don't think so," Daye called out, reloading his shotgun. "I mean yeah, sure, go ahead and fuck the bitch, but come on guys," he laughed. "You could just let me walk away. No hard feelings."

Cait practically frothed at the mouth. "You fuckin' –"

"No can do, asshole. Boss says ya gotta go, so ya gotta go. No prisoners, no survivors. Sure ya understand."

Daye smirked. "Yeah, well. Man's gotta make a living."

"Fuckin' right. So make this easy on all of us and just shoot yourself, okay? Please and thank-you and all that shit."

"Manners. I'm impressed, good sirs."

"Enough chit-chat, asshole. Ya dead yet?"

"Sorry. Only got enough bullets for you two. I'll be short for myself."

The raiders did not fucking like that joke. They screeched and swore and laid their fingers too heavily on their triggers, making bits of wood and plastic and two-hundred-year-old dust fly through the air like some sort of fucked-up Fourth of July rocket show. Not that Cait had ever actually seen fireworks. Or celebrated the holiday. Or her birthday. How fucking sad.

"Jesus, tough crowd," Daye chuckled. He glanced over to Cait, his eyes flashing with… concern? Nah. Probably from the chems. "Hey, Red. You're not looking too hot. You alright?"

Cait blinked and wow, her eyes really did not want to stay open. She was tired again, just like yesterday – it hadn't even been twenty-fucking-four hours yet – and all she really wanted to do was just sleep.

" 'm fine," she grunted, shuffling her shoulder to prove a point and ouch-motherfucking-ouch that was so not worth it. He shoulder was numb, and she could feel the bullet deep in there, grinding against something – a bone probably – and her leg was still sore and she had a cramp from limping all day and to top it all off she was so fucking hungry. She should've eaten that nasty-ass snack cake.

"No, you're not," he pressed, inching closer. He smelled like leather and sweat and gunsmoke and something she couldn't quite place. Maybe it was just Essence of Daye. Eau de Asshole. "You're bleeding way too much. You're gonna pass out."

"No I ain't," she growled, annoyed he thought Cait, Undefeated Headliner Pit-Fighting Champion, would faint from a little bullet wound. "I been through worse. Hell, I have ta suffer you."

He smirked at that, the smirk that twisted his probably once-handsome smile into a sneer, his eyes bloodshot and darting.

"Whatever. I don't care. Just stay here and try not to die. Or get shot. Again."

"Fuckin' wanker."

Like yesterday – Jesus, this felt like one big déjà vu nightmare from Hell – he huffed some Jet, tossed it aside, and darted out from cover.

Cait was much too tired to watch him slaughter them all again, but she was content to listen as she leaned against the grocery shelf, feeling the blood warm and sticky and not fucking stopping between her fingers and all down her arm. And onto the only other pair of pants she had. Goddammit.

Boom. Daye's shotgun. Bambambam – submachine gun spitting out bullets but stopping mid-clip as the owner probably had his head painted across the wall. Boom again. Chika-chaka-chik – pipe bolt rifle, slow and useless against Daye's modded shotgun. Pingping – ha! A pistol. Poor asshole. No chance in bloody hell. Boom.

She chuckled a bit despite it all. Her mind was swimming and fuzzy from losing all that blood and from starving and from going on her second day of no Psycho lubing up her veins. She knew right then that, if she stuck with this guy (and made it out of this shitshow alive) he would absolutely be the death of her. And she was sort of okay with that.

Boom.

Boom.

Boom.

Time wore on.

Glass shattered and blood gurgled and cries were cut short. Mostly silence now.

A scuffling sound, cloth against the ground, a grunt, a whimper.

"…fuckin' just let me go, man! I'm good as dead anyways!"

"No can do, asshole." It was Daye. "No prisoners, no survivors."

"Wait!"

"I'm sure you understand."

Boom.

Cait's body decided that would be the perfect moment to pass the fuck out.


"You owe me two cartons of shotgun shells and a tube of Med-X."

Cait's head pounded hard as two Brahmin goin' at it. She knew. She'd been unfortunate enough to see it before.

"What in bloody fuck?" she groaned, opening her eyes.

It was dark and there was a small fire in front of her. Her pack and double-barrel beside her. Daye across the fire, leaning against something old and broken. An ice machine, maybe. Or a water cooler. Smoking a Lucky Strike and munching on a blue tin can of Cram.

The dumbshit didn't even have the decency to put her on a fucking bedroll. Just tossed her there on the cold concrete.

Cait sat up. Painfully. "We still in the damn grocery store?"

He blew out. "Yeah. You're heavy as fuck, I told you that before. I wasn't dragging your ass away for nothing."

"What a fuckin' hero."

"Hey," he said, pointing his cig at her. "That's the second time in less than a day I saved your ass, Red. You could be grateful, you know."

Cait rubbed at her eyes, groaning again.

The fucker was right. Did she ever feel like a useless piece of shit.

"Yeah. Whatever. Sure. Thanks, I guess."

Daye munched away, watching her. "Well. You're welcome."

An awkward silence settled on them, one punctuated only by the occasional spitting of the fire and the spoon scraping against the inside of the can as Daye ate.

Cait's stomach growled viciously as she watched him. He must've heard it, because he smirked the tiniest bit, glancing up at her.

"I'm guessing you're hungry."

"No shit, Sherlock."

"You know, you could always ask for something instead of being a total bitch about it."

"I could, yeah."

He rummaged around in his pack before tossing her another box of Fancy Lads Snack Cakes.

"Rubber and ass for dinner again. Sorry."

Cait scowled but tore the box open like a ravenous molerat. She was too fucking hungry to give a shit. "You ain't sorry."

"Not really, no."

Cait ripped open the plastic packaging and shoved an entire cake into her mouth, ignoring the looks Daye kept throwing her way.

"Thought I lost me lunch privilege today."

"You did. You slept through it. This is supper."

"Right."

Whatever.

She ate four cakes in less than two minutes, and was working on her fifth when she thought she should probably slow down before she puked. Ugh.

She glanced sideways at him across the fire, being careful he didn't notice. He'd lit another cigarette and was sucking it back, eyes glossy, distant. Thinking.

He'd had the same look a lot, she was beginning to realise.

Earlier in the day, as they'd travelled in silence fluffed with the Pip-Boy radio and Cait's wheezing as she dragged her leg like a pirate, he'd stopped once at a broken intersection and gazed out at the city with a sort of disappointed look. Sort of like he had been searching for something out there and never found it. Or nothin' was good enough, maybe. Cait knew the feeling well.

Cait gave no fucks about anyone and now she thought about it, she never really had. She thought she loved her parents as a child, but she realised later she'd been duped. And so she told herself never fucking again.

People sucked. She was pretty damn sure she knew that better than anyone. And she'd never gotten close again. Hated her slavers. Didn't care about the drifters that came through the Combat Zone. The raiders could all go die in a fucking hole – well, Daye had taken care of them, she supposed. Each and every human being she'd ever met had been worse than the last one. They were all selfish motherfuckers. All fucking animals.

But something was bothering Cait. It had been burning inside her since last night, and as she sat on the roof over the city munching on a two-hundred-year-old shit cake and sucking in shitty cigarette smoke for breakfast. And even now. Especially now.

"Why'd ya save me back there?"

Daye's eyes lost their glaze, blinking as he was dragged back to the here and now. He took one last long drag of his cigarette before putting it out on the concrete beside him.

"Listen Red, we're not having a moment here."

"Never said we were."

A long silence. The fire burned low.

"Should I have left you to die in the street yesterday? In the aisle back there?"

"Well…"

He nodded. "There you go."

"Ya didn't owe me nothin'. I'm just some bitch nobody ya picked up not an hour before. Ya could've left me there an' taken all me shit. Ya still could."

"Is that what you would've done?"

"I'll be honest. Probably."

"Would you do it now?"

She thought about it.

Maybe this morning. Maybe not now though.

"No."

He smirked. "There you go."

Cait was suddenly angry. "What is this, fuckin' wisdom? Ya think ya need ta earn me loyalty like I'm some fuckin' dog?"

"I'll be honest. Yeah."

Cait's blood was boiling at his stupid smirk, his way of rewording shit, how he made so much fucking sense.

Fuck.

She worked to calm her thrashing heart, see the bright side of this stupid fucking situation. There was one, really – other than the fact she was alive – even though she would've rather shagged a Mutie than ever let anyone know.

And it was this: no one had ever saved her life before. No one had ever given her a second chance.

"Whatever," she growled. "At least yer honest."

He chuckled a little. "Now that is a fucking lie if I ever heard one."

Cait couldn't help but smile back. Only a little fucking bit. Honestly.


Jesus Christ, Cait has no luck.

Let me know what you think!

Go forth and multiply!

Huzzah!