Sawyer really wanted to appreciate the fact that a beautiful girl had just thrown herself at him against a wall, but the bullets ripping through the air really ruined the moment.

The bulk of the chaos appeared to close in on the farmhouse in a semi-circle from the far end of the southwestern treeline up towards the camper trailer Sawyer had slept in the night prior. Somewhere on the other side of the house, Lucy shrieked and Blake shouted for his family to get inside. Mary and Sawyer ducked behind the pockmarked wooden fence before they could be seen, searching their immediate surroundings for weapons. Odorous basins full of murky water and woodchips offered nothing, and an ancient mechanic's top box squatting against the wall of the house showed only a few picks and small leatherworking utensils. Any port in a storm, Sawyer thought as he grabbed a weird-looking chisel.

A thrown Molotov exploded a little too close, instantly charring the dry grass in a ring from the outside inwards. The heat licked Sawyer's skin as he cringed away from it. "Who the hell are these assholes?"

Mary scoffed. "I don't know, maybe the neighbors are baking a cake and they ran out of eggs?"

"I'm not a stranger to sarcasm." Sawyer deadpanned.

She sighed. "These assholes are from an old USAF station not too far away. They've been setting up a protection racket with anyone weak and stupid enough to take them seriously. They're all bark with little to no bite, for the most part." She lifted back up to peer over the fence. "Two incoming."

A pair of raiders were swinging around the house, one armed with a spiked bat and the other a shoddy pipe pistol that made Sawyer's old battered hunting rifle look actually halfway decent. They were scouring the area in the fading brimstone light, spitefully kicking through the young melon patch. They were too close for the two of them to run away without getting seen, and time was running short before the rest of the raiders found them.

Sawyer balled up his fists, channeling the adrenaline to start throwing them. "Do you have a plan?"

She hesitated, her eyes darting back and forth as though mulling an idea over in her head. The change in demeanor made him leer suspiciously until she nodded, clearly coming to a decision."Yeah, I've got a something."

"Ok so, how do you want to do this?"

She suddenly grinned mischievously, almost wickedly as she said, "Just follow my lead."

Mary yanked out the bottom drawer from the toolbox and snatched up a rusted, chipped cleaver. She popped up over the fence and just hurled it. It whipped through the air and savagely crunched through the pistol-waving raiders' clavicle. Sawyer's jaw dropped as the raider clutched at his neck with a wet gurgle, looking up at Mary in awe. "That. Was. Amazing! I can't believe you just did that!"

She laughed into his face with mirrored disbelief. "Me neither! I've never even done that before!"

The remaining bewildered raider with the spiked bat turned on the two of them grinning stupidly at each other. He screamed and charged at them, swinging his bat above his head. "Eat this, you bitches!"

"Ooooh," Sawyer crooned with derisive intrigue as he vaulted over the fence, stretching out his back and rolling his neck out as he cracked his knuckles. "Allow me."

The raider yelled incoherently as he swung his nail-encrusted bat overhead. Sawyer swept his body to the left, letting the bat sink harmlessly into the dirt beside him, then swung his fist in a wide roundhouse punch that collided with the raider's nose with a wet, muted crunch. Blood spurted down the raider's mouth as he staggered, the bat dangling in his stunned grip. Sawyer stomped on his instep with more force than was probably necessary. He collapsed to the dirt with a whimper like a pile of damp clothes, and Sawyer dropped an elbow directly down on his throat that broke his windpipe with an audible crunch. The raider's eyes bulged and he clutched at his neck, writhing like a worm on hot pavement. Sawyer hesitated. Asphyxiation was brutal to watch and it took forever to claim a life. With quick deliberation, he stabbed his chisel through the raider's jugular with his chisel, which ended the sounds of choking in seconds.

He'd turned around just in time to find Mary wiggling and kicking through a crevice in the walls of the house. "Where do you think you're going?"

"Retreating to a defensive position!" She barked as she slipped completely through. "What are you doing?"

"Well, like, I just took that one guy out."

She peeked back through the broken boards with a less-than-amused expression. "What, you want a sweet roll now? Come on, get inside!"

"Jeez, what does it take to impress girls these days?" He grumbled as he awkwardly followed her through the gap in the wall. Inside the house was pitch black, all that he could make out were the sounds of short panting breaths and scuffling feet. He stumbled awkwardly, momentarily blind, hitting the edge of a desk or something with his hip. He reached his hands out in the dark as his eyes tried to adjust until his fingers touched much smaller ones that wrapped around his and guided him forward. "Mary?"

"Shhh!" Lucy pressed a finger to her lips, pulling him through what felt like a hallway towards the huddled figures of Blake and Connie, leaning behind the upturned dining table like a makeshift bulwark in front of scattered plates and broken glass. Shafts of dim orange light split the air above their heads, igniting the tiny specks of dust that fell from the ceiling. Connie was muttering something furiously to her husband. Blake crouched stock still with his gun resting over the lip of the table, his eyes threaded through the sights that were directed steadfast at the front entrance.

Seconds later, it was silent outside the house. No gunfire, no shouting, just the soft creaks of an old house. The rasps of the Abernathy's fearful breathing were all that he could hear.

"I guess Bloody Mary finally ran out of bullets." Lucy's said bitterly, repressing a hiccup. Her white-knuckle grip on his hand was trembling.

He gently patted her wrist, half out of reassurance and half out of concern for the lack of circulation to his fingers. "Don't be afraid. I won't let anything bad happen to you, or your family."

"You don't understand-" she began, but he cut her off.

"I promise it'll be ok. I just need you to be tough for your family. Take a big breath and release slowly." He felt rather than saw her nod, inhaling a calming breath through her nose and exhaling gradually as instructed. She relaxed, and he smiled warmly at her. "That's it. I'm right here with you. Everything's going to be-"

Maise hissed and yowled venom from a corner under the stairs. Slow heavy thunks of booted feet walked across the front deck, the shadow of an imposing figure drifting through the gaps in the wall. Sawyer's empty fist reflexively curled tight.

"They say there are no atheists in a foxhole," A voice like a necrotic bullfrog spoke as the jagged outline of a man slid through the doorway. His armor was made up of slabs of rusted metal barbarically lashed together over a broad chest, his head bare except for a stripe of hair down the middle that appeared spray-painted stark white. Smears of black grease paint dripped down his eyes like fingers. "I'm not a religious man, but I am here to follow up on a promise. You were given a chance to put your lives in the hands of something bigger than your nuclear family. All I asked for was an open mind."

Blake had been so still and silent it was almost chilling when he coolly replied. "I'll say this one last time. I will never offer up my children to your gang. I pay my dues to keep my family safe, just as agreed, and no more."

"I admire your dedication to your family, Mr. Abernathy," The raider struck a match, igniting his palm in an orange glow that he slowly brought close to his pockmarked face. A wrinkled cigarette hung from his lips and the smoldering cherry shone in unblinking black eyes. "But you don't decide where to draw the line in the sand. And neither do I. Think of me as your representative, overseeing an agreement struck between a contractor and a contractee. And as of right now your contract has been altered."

Blake scoffed. "Contract? Is that what you're calling it?"

The imposing raider exposed rows of infected teeth rimmed by flaking cracked lips. "Enforced by yours truly."

"Who the fuck does this shit ticket think he is?" Sawyer muttered. Mortified, Lucy clapped a hand over his mouth, her wide eyes gleaming. Connie's face was apoplectic and looked she might strangle him. He sank into his shoulders and shot back an indignant look that said, What did I do?

"And who the hell that?" The raider growled, idly reaching for something bulky strapped to his thigh. "I don't recognize that voice."

Sawyer shrugged Lucy off and stood straight upwards, jerking his chin out. "'Sup, fuckface?"

The collective blood pressure in the room shot through the roof and exited the atmosphere. The raider had to be at least a six-foot-something brawler of a man with sun-weathered skin the color of dark urine, marked with pale waxy scars. Sawyer was ... well, he stood just a little bit below average height, if he was being honest with himself, and didn't really look like much. The raider looked annoyingly amused. "You got a name, kiddo?"

Sawyer instantly bristled, his eyes narrowed to resentful slits. "Well, it ain't fucking that."

The raider chuckled. "I like to know the names of the people I kill, but I'm not opposed to making exceptions."

"Y'know, for someone that claims to not be religious, you outta be ready to go and meet your maker." Mary's cool voice emerged from the shadows (how the hell did she even get there?) directly to the left of the raider, underneath the obscured staircase. "I'm only too happy to send you to him. Tell 'em I said hi." She pointed the slightly dented end of a battered rifle that looked familiar-

"Mary, waitwaitwait—no!"

The trigger clicked. Nothing. The raider had barely flinched, blinking slowly instead while nothing happened. Mary squeezed the trigger a couple more times before staring incredulously at Sawyer. "It's ... broken!"

Sawyer winced, rubbing his neck. "Yeeeeeaaaaaaah."

She snarled and threw it at him. "Why the fuck did you give this up as collateral if it's garbage?"

He wanted to parse out the meaning behind the phrase 'speak softly but carry a big stick', even if that stick didn't really shoot bullets anymore, but instead what came out was a borderline shrill defense. "I needed you to trust me!"

She grabbed his shirt and yanked him close to roar in his face, "Are you fucking kidding me?"

"ENOUGH!" Blake bellowed. He'd stood up from cover and the two of them all but cowered under his somber glare. "For once, Mary, do as you're damn told and don't complicate things," To the raider, he said, "Take your caps and leave my family out of any further negotiations. Final warning."

The raider shook his head heavily with a tsk, sauntering closer as if he didn't care that Blake was aiming a gun at point blank range at him. "Too much blood's been spilled to go back to the way things were. I'll be leaving with my pound of flesh today, one way or another."

Sawyer instinctively stepped forward wearing an intimidating glare at the admittedly much larger man. For a moment the raider indulged in glaring back, squaring off almost dismissively before smirking. "I like your gumption, kiddo, but I know you won't tango with me if you wanna puppy guard your folks at the same time."

The raider was infuriatingly correct, not that Sawyer was willing to admit it. Instead, he sneered back, "It's Murphy. Sawyer. Murphy."

Something flashed behind the raider's eyes. Hesitation? Recognition? Sawyer was certain he'd never met this man in his life. It triggered the feeling of unease again, but before he could wrack his brain for answers the raider grinned again with those awful teeth. "Well met, Sawyer. Y'know, you got spark, kiddo. I think we could have been friendly in another life. It's funny the way things turn out, aren't they?"

Sawyer refused to reply, even if he could come up with anything to say to that. The hairs on the back of his neck tingled unnervingly, almost like there was someone staring at him from just out of sight. He refused to let his glare stray despite the goosebumps rising on his skin.

"We'll be taking double the usual cut this time." The raider eventually said, turning to leave out the front door. "Can't say what'll happen once the boss gets wind of this. Enjoy the rest of your night, Abernathys."

He paused at the doorway, framed by the dying blaze of the reddish sun as he looked over his shoulder. "The name's Gristle. I'll be seeing you again, Sawyer." His long shadow trailed through the cracks in the wall behind him, thunking footsteps moving toward a lockbox that was situated beside the workbench. Everyone inside the house remained frozen in place, listening to the sack of caps clinking together as it was thrown on presumably Gristle's back as he callout out orders to the remaining raiders. There was silence in the growing darkness until Blake finally lowered his rifle and let out a breath he must have been holding in.

Before anyone could speak, Sawyer jumped at the sharp clap from beside him that caused his ears to ring. Connie's face was a contorted in rage, while Mary was staggered and pressing a hand to her right cheek, which burned a bright red. Her eyes were wide and lips parted, but too stunned to speak.

"What. Have. You. DONE?" Connie roared. "Are you proud of yourself? You feel like a hero now, pissing off those monsters and leaving us defenseless? Or did you suddenly learn how to shit bullets?"

Sawyer was too shocked to speak. Mary cradled her face as tears converged on her eyelashes, struggling to remain stoic under her mother's ferocity. "Mom, I just thought-"

"Why didn't you go on after him if you like killing so much? Is that what you want for your sister? What were you thinking?"

"That's enough, Connie." Blake set a hand on his wife's shoulder, which she promptly shook off and stormed away to the back of the house. Blake's shoulders heaved and then slacked slowly. He turned back around and motioned to Sawyer with a sharp jerk of his chin to follow. "Outside."

Sawyer gulped, casting one last glimpse at Mary before following in haste. Her jaw was clenched tight, her expression dejected and stormy as she stomped up the stairs to the roof. He wanted to follow her, though he had no idea what to say. Lucy crept up the stairs behind her sister, and he errantly remembered what she'd called her. Bloody Mary...

Blake was waiting for him beside the house, lighting a smoke on his lips and snapping the lighter shut as he pocketed it in a fluid motion. Sawyer could see that the laughter lines sagged in a darkened, aged grimace. He looked so tired. Then Sawyer realized Blake was gazing out at Mary's earlier handiwork.

The cleaver was still stuck in the raider's neck. Without the adrenaline pumping through his system, Sawyer couldn't dispell the shiver of revulsion. Without so much as a backward glance, Blake hooked fingers on the kerosene lamp perched on a stack of tires and said, "Help me move the bodies away."

It was harder than it looked. Sawyer knew it would be before he picked up the legs of the raider he'd killed, following Blake past the decimated melon patch to the foot of the crags. The dead just ... weigh more. They were hard to grip, especially when the rigidity hasn't yet settled in. The days in which Sawyer would wax philosophical over the corpses of friends and foes he'd had to bury were long behind him. It was the way of the universe, you deal with death and move on. Blake said nothing as well, and that suited him just fine. Still, Sawyer noted they both avoided looking at the raiders final, permanently stricken faces.

Mary had shot two more raiders on her own, which Blake helped him drag to the edge of the property. They dumped the bodies in a row at the base of the rocky outcropping, where the length of power lines connecting the farmhouse with the northern pylon planted on top of the weathered hill. A large pile of chopped shoe-sized stones and row of farming equipment rested against the rocks. Rusted shovels, hoes, and rakes lay against the hill, which Blake ignored after they dropped the last body. Sawyer slumped down on his haunches to rest as he waited for further direction. The older man leaned on his iron-pronged rake, hunching his shoulders over something in his fingers, mumbling quietly to himself. After a moment Sawyer realized he was praying.

The older man touched his fingertips to his head, heart, and shoulders. Then he began to scrape away the pebbles, grass and roots away. Taking his cue and grabbing one of the shovels, Sawyer dug. And dug. And dug, much more than he ever thought he would have for raider corpses. He tried to banish his feelings of resentment, despite growing sweaty, thirsty, and tired with each pile of dirt tossed. It was one thing to drag away the dead to prevent hungry critters from getting to close to camp, and another to pray for killers. There were people out in the world who deserved a proper burial that would never get one, people he'd known in his travels and during his time on the west coast. Not selfish, violent, scum-of-the-earth raiders. They'd lost any scrap of soul they'd had left to lay to rest long before they finally bit the dust.

But it wasn't up to him. Sawyer was living on the good graces of the Abernathys, which meant he couldn't afford to get kicked out just yet. He remembered his debt to their kindness, rare as fresh water out in the wasteland. He couldn't decide if he admired Blake or if he felt reproachful.

"I ain't angry with you, if you're wondering," Blake said, breaking the silence at long last. Sawyer leaned against his shovel, turning his full attention to the older man, waiting for direction. Blake puffed a large cloud of smoke before throwing his smoke away, shaking his head. "You hardly know us and you stuck your neck out regardless. Thank you. Never meant to drag you into our conflicts. Now ... I don't know where my short-sighted daughter's recklessness will take us."

Sawyer paused, thinking about where to begin to deconstruct what Blake had said. He decided to strike as close to home as he could risk it. Go hard or go home, like his Gran used to say. "You've been dealing with them for a while, from the looks of it. Other nearby settlements are probably feeling the pressure too. These raiders aren't going to stop pushing their boundaries without a fight."

Blake's lip curled. "The last time they tried I put my foot down. I told Gristle if they took my girls they'd lose out on my ... generosity. I'd raze my own farm just to get even, to get them back. Or ... avenge their deaths. Hmph, bastard seemed to think it was funny. But so far they never pressed their luck. But today ..." Blake stabbed the earth with his shovel, leaning against it as he wheezed in anger and exertion. "Mary crossed a line I can't pull her back from."

"Those raiders crossed the line," Sawyer spoke up firmly. "Sooner or later they would have taken what they wanted. Gristle slipped up and showed his hand. Or rather, his employer's hand, whoever the hell that is."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, all that noise about a higher power, double the cut, blah blah blah? Sounds like they were just getting to know you. Seeing what buttons you have that they can later push. If you get in the way of something they decide they really want, they won't hesitate to cut out the middle man and take over your farm. I've seen it done back home. Someone's got an agenda, and Gristle is just a face to put on an ultimatum."

Blake scrutinized him again, this time with the gentle knowing look of a seasoned parent."Back home?"

Sawyer frowned as a tightness in his throat formed. He'd prefer not to elaborate. He'd prefer to leave it all in the past. "Huh. Well, it used to be home. Before our own brand of raiders broke up our settlements." He cleared his throat. "Anyway, extortion isn't really a raider M-O, amirite? And that guy, Gristle?" He shook his head emphatically. "He talked like he didn't just know what he was doing, but like he was really good at it and enjoys it. And honestly, I've never come across a raider with a vocabulary that fancy. He's either an amateur orator or he's being fed lines by someone else."

Blake nodded. "Yeah, I don't trust 'sophistication' coming from a man that looks like he dipped himself in glue and went cartwheeling through a junkyard. You thinkin' he's representing something else? Gunners?"

Sawyer shook his head. "I don't know for sure, but I have a really weird feeling about that guy. It's not all that far-fetched that what they really want is to take everything you have, not just your caps or food. I think they're biding their time, watching and seeing how you and your family would prove most valuable." He shrugged to punctuate his thought, wrenching his shovel out of the dirt. "The world is a twisted place."

Perhaps an hour or so later Blake dismissed him, saying he'd finish the rest by himself, that he needed to think. Sawyer stretched out his back with audible pops and bid the farmer a goodnight, lumbering towards the little camper trailer. The air was cool and the night sky cloudless, making his skin sticky with drying sweat and dirt. He wondered if he'd get another bucket of water to clean up, then remembered the water pump was still disassembled on the ground. He groaned inwardly, deciding to get up at first light to resume his project, when he found Mary sitting patiently on the steps of the trailer.

She had a lit cigarette in one hand and was thumbing a smooth oval pendant that hung on a silver chain around her neck with the other, staring out at the expanse of stars. He paused at the edge of the camper, dreading the lambasting he probably deserved for the trick he'd pulled with the broken rifle. But she graced him with a small wistful smile instead. "When me and Lucy were kids we used to have this big old tomcat. He was mean and ugly, and he hated it when you tried to pick him up. But he kept the rats off the crops so dad said he could stay. He liked me the best 'cause I'd give him bits of mirelurk jerky when no one was around. Lucy didn't know and would just lose it when we'd wake up and he'd be snoozing on my legs. I think she named him Mr. Tato Blossom."

She took a drag of her smoke with a little smirk, tilting her chin up as she exhaled through her nose. "Anyway, he died eventually and we both cried about it a lot. We went out over there to dig a grave for him." She waved the hand holding her cigarette over to the area where the raiders were buried. "Luce was afraid he wouldn't go to heaven so she made a little cross to stick over his grave. We said a little prayer and promised to visit. A week later we came back, and Mr. Tato Blossom's chewed up head was lying on the ground a few feet away. The hole was too shallow and wild dogs came sniffing around for an easy meal. Gave me nightmares, but Lucy was really messed up by it. Wouldn't talk for days."

The visual of dogs gnawing on an exhumed carcass made Sawyer's stomach twist. The pile of irregularly sized rocks were probably there to prevent that from happening, functioning like a cairn or something. Mary dropped her gaze to her hands, flicking ash absently. "Sorry, I don't know why I'm telling you all that."

Sawyer gently smiled. "S'okay. I'm a good listener."

She smiled back, just for him, and that made him feel like he won the lottery. "I guess what I'm trying to say is that you shouldn't sleep out here by yourself, it's not safe. The dogs know better than to get too close to the farm, but they might come out here. There's a sleeping bag on the roof if you want it."

A distant howl helped reinforced her point. Still, Sawyer felt reluctantly obligated to ask, "Won't your parents be upset if I just move my stuff in?"

"I don't think they can be any angrier with me." She said bitterly.

"They're just scared. At least, your dad is. Otherwise I think he'd make you dig a bunch of graves with him instead of me."

For a moment she look down at her knees in shame, then the spitfire within took over. "We all scared! I'm sick of being helpless, but my parents are just fine being compliant to these glorified playground bullies." She stood abruptly and started to pace. "Ever since the Minutemen were wiped out, new gangs have been pushing all the boundaries they can. When so many people are letting them all get away with simple harassment, it all snowballs from there. And my parents are falling for it. All it takes is for a few settlements to bow to raiders demands, then it's all downhill from there. They think it's better to just let them walk all over us instead of actually doing something about it, once and for all. "

He folded his arms and leveled his gaze with hers, chin up and scrutinizing. Not patronizing, or even challenging. Just regarding her seriously. "What do you wanna do about it?"

Mary didn't falter for a second. "Fucking rally up. Get back in touch with other nearby settlements. The Minutemen helped us trade tato cuttings for one of Tenpines calves. That's how they got their farm started, and we got Clarabelle. I say we rope in the caravan merchants too. They're always armed and run regular circuits all the time. They want to keep the routes that make them caps, then they outta pitch in to keep their customers safe."

There were a number of things he could have said to explain why that plan didn't quite hold an entire gallon of water (yet), but part of being a good listener was knowing when to shut the fuck up.

"The Commonwealth needs to come together again, the way it did for the CPG. They had a shot at uniting everyone for people like my parents, and for me and Lucy, but everyone is so fucking scared after what happened no one has stepped up since. It's been over fifty years, for crying out loud! I just-" She angrily sucked the last drag from her smoke and threw it on the ground. "I feel like the Commonwealth needs something to believe in again. I want to be a part that, like the Minutemen used to be, before ... before."

"You sound really passionate about this." Sawyer said quietly. "And you're right, the world needs more good people that think like that. Beyond the small scale, for the good of everyone. Maybe the Commonwealth needs someone like you to show them the way."

She held his gaze, perhaps searching for evidence of empty flattery until she actually blushed before retorting. "Is that so? Then how would you like to join the all new Commonwealth Provisional Government Reclamation Team? Together we'll take back our future!"

He chuckled. "Well, the name could use some brainstorming, but I'm game. Where do I sign up?"

"You just did." She tucked her hair behind her ear, then pointedly looked away with the smallest quirk to the corner of her mouth that brought out a tiny dimple. There it is, Sawyer thought dreamily as his heart cheerily swan-dove into the pit of his stomach. I think I'm in love.

"Lucy told me what you said to her, about keeping her safe," She added, interrupted his thoughts. "Thank you. It should have been me there telling her that, but it was you and that means a lot to me." She winked at him. "Makes me glad I didn't shoot you on sight."

"Me too," Sawyer chuckled, pleased that her mood had lifted. A thought occurred to him that made him frown. "Why didn't you though? Like, I'm not complaining, at all! It's just that, with all the trouble with these raiders, what kept you from shooting me full of holes? Some stranger you'd never met?"

"Hmm," She rolled her weight to one hip and stroked an invisible beard in mock deep thought. "I don't know. There was just something about you that seemed so ..."

"Ruggedly charming?"

"... Unthreatening. Like a lost radstag calf."

"Wow. I know you're, like, this sheltered farm girl and all, but that's an awfully depressing thing to say to a man."

She laughed good-naturedly and spun around to lead him into the farmhouse, but not before flashing him a devious grin. "I'll find a way to make it up to you."

Holy cow, I'm really sorry for the delay! Thanks so much for tuning back in and reading!

I know it's been a while since I last updated, but let me say this ... *ahem* I have come up with the ending for this story! That's right, this baby is, for the most part, planned out and will keep on rolling as long as it needs to.

And to answer some questions ... well, things aren't going to be strictly canon, not by a long shot. I was inspired by the pain in the Abernathy's dialogue during the game. Without directly revealing the punch line I can tell you that this story is gonna get pretty depressing, on some real levels. I'm actually considering bumping up the rating because of some of the directions I'll be going for, if ya know whum sayin. Lemme know what you think about this!

And finally, thanks so much for the kind words of encouragement! Trust me, those reviews kept me from abandoning this story and just letting it gather dust in my laptop. Until next time!