A/N: The concept of thermal mass as it relates to survivability in extreme climates has to do with the fact that the more massive something is, the more energy is required to raise or lower its temperature. That is, big things tend to stay close to the same temperature even if it's hot or cold around them. This is why elephants survive in Africa AND why polar bears survive in the arctic.

Also, one thing Fawkes says toward the end of the chapter is going to sound silly, but it is almost always true in FO3 gameplay. Personally, I use Charon as a meat shield on such occasions. Half my views in VATS are obscured by him trying to attack a super mutant master with a combat knife while yelling, "There's more where dat came from!!" He's definitely going to be in my next fic.

20

The rest of that day we just walked. I don't know how Fawkes could stand being out in the heat for so long, with his bald head, but he didn't seem bothered. (Fawkes says it's because of thermal mass and he'll explain later.) I had my hat, and Three stayed in the super mutant's shadow when it was possible. He actually tried to sort of herd me that direction at first, but I explained to him that I didn't want to be walking in shade and looking into the brightness – it's hard to see that way. I guess he wasn't too worried about it himself.

We talked a little bit, but not much. Fawkes is real chatty if he thinks you're in the mood to talk, but he doesn't usually start things. He just walked along quietly, like he was thinking. He thinks a lot. I just concentrated on walking and on paying attention to what was going on around us. I didn't want to get out of the habit just because I wasn't all on my own at the moment.

Much as I liked having Fawkes around, I didn't think it was going to be for the long term. Sure, he'd sought me out again, but I got the feeling that was because we both knew we weren't quite finished with each other yet. He would have places to go and things to do that had nothing to do with me. In his own strange way, Fawkes was an important person. I wasn't. Still am not. I kind of hope I never will be. Good things don't happen to important people in the world I live in. Fawkes was no argument against that.

And Three...

Three was too quick on the trigger, speaking figurative (Fawkes says figuratively – that just doesn't sound right to me). He was going to get killed. If I hadn't run across him, he probably already would have. Sure, he was fast, but he acted like guns couldn't hurt him and he couldn't get other people to like or trust him. Even Jay could carry on a normal conversation long enough to get paid or find out what he needed to know. I'm not sure Three could do that.

When the sun started to set, Fawkes said we were still a few miles away, and it would probably take us some time to find the place even in daylight. Instead, we made camp and Three and I slept (as much as he ever did, anyway). Next day we drank our water and ate some more of our rations, and off we went.

The map showed the Vault down in a gully, a sunken channel in the ground maybe a mile long where a little creek sprang up and sank down again. We found the lip of the depression well before noon. As we got closer the green grass was more obvious. I could even see one or two flowers here and there, things I'd seen maybe once in my whole life before Project Purity.

"I don't like it," I said. The bottom of the gully was still in deep shadow, and it probably always would be except at high noon. The weeds in this one were high and green, almost brushy enough to hide a deathclaw. Definitely enough to hold a couple of yao guai. Maybe even a few raiders, if they weren't too jeeped to hold still. I could hear the water running, the little creek muttering in its bed. Water attracts all kinds of things out here.

"The air smells... dangerous," agreed Fawkes. He unlimbered the gat with one practiced movement and fired it up. He tossed the sack of rations onto the ground with the other hand. "I believe there is a path slightly South of our position. Caution seems indicated."

"Gary," said Three. I was starting to think he did it on purpose sometimes, when he wanted to say something but didn't know exactly what. Or maybe it was just habit. Or maybe whatever was wrong in his head wouldn't ever let him stop. Maybe that word would write itself on the air in front of him like a neon sign until he said it.

"Okay," I said. I took down the plasma rifle and powered it up as Fawkes turned toward a narrow dirt track that led down between some rocks. The brush crowded up close on both sides, making it into sort of a tunnel. I took a good look from the top of the trail before we headed down. I didn't see anything, but I could feel that crawly feeling along my spine again. "There's something down there, all right," I said quietly. "I think we're going to have to do some shooting."

"Then I will suggest you stay here on the rim until we are certain," said Fawkes. "You will have a better vantage point from which to fire."

There was no denying the good sense in this. I got down on my belly next to a scrubby little bush. Its shadow blended nicely with mine. When I looked around again Three was gone. I assumed he'd taken off into the grass.

Fawkes went heavily down the narrow path. He crunched through the dirt and gravel, and his shoulders and arms ploughed through the grasses that leaned into the path with a loud rustle. I could see him turning his head this way and that, listening.

There was rustling in the grass. I couldn't tell if it was from things moving or from the faint breeze that blew down the length of the gully. I could still hear the creek somewhere below, but there was no seeing much of anything through the grass.

Fawkes must have heard something I didn't. I heard him snarl, "Where are you?" He began to push through the brush faster, looking for the source.

I searched the tall grass, trying not to focus my eyes too hard on any one spot, looking for a movement or a swatch of color out of place. I might even catch them by their eyes and teeth – one quick glimpse of shiny white or yellow.

I might accidentally shoot Three that way as well, of course. With luck, I'd get a glimpse of the denim jacket before I did.

I heard a shot. Fawkes's head rocked back. I about swallowed my own tongue, but I made myself keep looking – panicking wouldn't help him. He staggered back as the second one hit, and then I caught a flash of metal from the gun barrel down in the shadow off to his left. Three hasn't got a gun. I aimed a little above it and pulled the trigger.

The wad of plasma left a scorch trail through the brush, losing a little momentum as it went. That didn't matter to the gunman, though. It didn't even matter that I'd missed his head. The plasma took out a chunk of his shoulder and burned right through his neck, cutting off his scream.

"Found you!" roared Fawkes, and cut loose to the right of the body. Darts of red fire peppered the weeds, tearing them down. There was another scream, and I heard someone running. Fawkes shook his head once, as if it hurt – was there a bullet in his brain right now? Is he dead and just doesn't know it yet? I'd seen mutants take fatal blows and keep going for minutes.

Fawkes turned the gat's barrel toward the sound with perfect accuracy. This time I heard the body fall. Then he turned to his right, growling deep in his chest.

"Gary!" said Three's voice, sharp and urgent.

"Hrrrrrrmmmm," said Fawkes, deep in his chest, but he didn't shoot.

Suddenly, it was quiet. No shooting. No running. Just the loud hum of the gat and the sound of Fawkes breathing. Here and there the burnt leaves hissed.

I had to know. I tucked the rifle under my arm and went for the trail, keeping to the shadow of the tall grasses where I could. But then, I wasn't eleven feet tall. The grass stood well above my head, hiding me.

"It's me," I hissed. Three appeared out of the wall of brush to my right. He held up one finger. "You got one?"

"Got one," he repeated softly. I saw no marks on him, except the old hole in his jeans from his fight with Jay.

"Me, too," I said. "Fawkes?"

He didn't power down the weapon, but he did lower the barrel. As he turned toward us I saw the dark blood running down his face from the two bullet wounds. One had struck the ridge of heavy bone above his right eye. It was a big shell, and it hadn't gone in far. I could actually see the tail end of it sticking out there. The other had gone through his right cheek. The shooter had been below him. By rights, it ought to have pierced the roof of his mouth and stuck in his brain. Maybe it had.

"Jesus Christ," I said under my breath. "Fawkes..." I took another quick look around. No more people with guns materialized. Three nodded once and vanished again. I knew he would see anyone out there before they saw me.

"It is not serious," Fawkes said. His voice was almost normal. Now he did power down the gatling laser. He hung the barrel up as easily as he ever had.

"Kneel down so I can look," I said. Fawkes knelt carefully as I laid down the rifle and took off my rucksack. Up close, he stank like an acid spill in a fireworks factory. It was sharp and caustic and dangerous; you could never mistake it for anything else. It reminded me of the time when he had carried me. Then I had needed his help, and I had been afraid of him. Neither of those was true now.

The bullet looked smaller than I'd thought. It might be a .308, which made sense – probably the man I'd killed had had a sniper rifle.

"I'm going to pull this one," I said. "It will hurt."

"Do it," said Fawkes. I braced one hand against his hard skull and dug the fingers of the other in around the end of the shell. Fawkes's blood felt so hot I was sure it must burn me, but I ignored that as I looked for a grip. After a couple of seconds I got it, and the shell came out in my hand. I felt some resistance, and a drop of hot blood hit my face as it came out. I could see yellow-white bone underneath, but there was no hole in his skull. He grunted once, but otherwise made no complaint.

"Got it," I said. "I better not stim you until I get the other one out. If you're willing to have a Ghoul's hand inside your mouth, that is." I could feel the skin sliding on the fingers of my left hand, and I knew it was coming off. I'd have to use the other one.

"I assure you, there is nothing I would rather have at this point," said Fawkes.

"Quit talking and open up," I said. Fawkes opened his mouth as wide as he could. This wasn't much for the size of his jaw, but it was more than big enough to fit my hand in there. I looked inside first. I could just see the gleam of metal in the upper back of his mouth. It must've bogged down in his nasal passages. I felt a little weak from relief, but now was not the time for that. I tightened my jaw and reached inside. The bullet was well embedded this time. I couldn't get a grip.

Though surely it hurt, Fawkes understood the problem. He moved his lower jaw sideways, straining the muscle and tendon. I felt the cords bunch up against my fingers, and then the bullet squeezed half out and I grabbed it and pulled. It came free with a small spray of blood. I took a stagger-step back, my hand covered in gore and spit.

"Ah," said Fawkes. He coughed once, then shifted his jaw from side to side. "Thank you. In the normal course of things, it takes me quite some time to work them loose. Once I had one remain embedded for over a month."

"This happened before?" I said weakly. I took off both gloves. The leather was soaked with blood and ruined anyway. Most of the surface of my right hand and all of the left came off with them. I shook free the last few remaining flakes of skin as I dropped the mess into a small pile next to me.

"Certainly," said Fawkes. He wiped the blood away from one corner of his lipless mouth, leaving a spot of it on his teeth. The ridge over his eye kept him from being blinded by the flow from the small wound above it. "With conventional weapons, it is almost never possible to kill a Meta-Human with one shot."

I tried one or two different responses to this, but all I ended up saying was, "I'm glad you're all right."

In the normal course of things I'd wait until the red surface of my fingers dried before I went for the stimpaks, but I didn't like seeing that bit of Fawkes's skull open to the air. I leaned over and reached for the buckle on the rucksack.

There was another hand there already. I looked at it kind of stupidly. Three pulled the rucksack pointedly out of my reach. "Thistle," he said firmly.

"Where'd you spring from?" I said.

Three clucked his tongue and dug out a couple of stimpaks himself. He stood there for a minute, looking from them to Fawkes. I could almost see him trying to reason out a way to apply them without touching him. He obviously didn't much like the needle shape of them, either. In the end, he looked at my raw fingers one more time and he did it. The first one went in just beside the little hole, and the second one he applied to Fawkes's cheek.

"Thank you," Fawkes said. Three shrugged and tossed the empty syringes into the nasty little pile we'd collected. He kicked some gravel over it. Fawkes stood up, looking around. "I assume you did not find anyone else."

Three shook his head. "Gary found gggg - "

"Did you find the Vault?" I said.

"Vault," Three agreed. "And gary water."

"Good," I said. "Show us the creek first."