Note: I didn't want to do that, but at least I didn't blow him up like husband suggested. Also, thanks for the idea Cathy!

The house was lying in the middle of town, the back left corner barely touching the ground. It was very nearly upside down, the lower level resting on the roof of the Brass Lantern. Once the dust had settled and people stopped making noise, Simms assessed the situation.

One of the water pipes under the house had exploded with whatever ordinance the raiders had been using. Simms sent Leo up to have Walter shut down the town's water supply until the pipe could be checked out and covered. Jericho and Nathan kept an eye on the depression in the ground; it appeared that the raiders had used too many explosives and collapsed the tunnel, killing themselves. Simms didn't want to take any chances, however―the idea that they had managed to dig all the way under the town wall was frightening enough.

Emily was climbing the side of the house to get to her front door, wobbling as she scaled the metal roof of the Brass Lantern, forced down by the house. Simms followed her up to the door and reached the sill as she fell into the house, thumping and swearing along the way.

He poked his head into the house, hearing the metal creaking under their weight. "Miss Emily, are you alright?" he called in.

"Fuck!" she swore.

"Guess not," he muttered to himself, and pulled himself into the door. Holding onto the frame with both hands, he surveyed the damage.

If the clinic hadn't caught the edge of the building it would be lying flat on its roof, instead of being suspended just above the ground. Everything loose in the house had been thrown to one corner, where Emily was lying, prying herself off of a pile of lockers and swearing loudly.

A Nuka-Cola machine had torn through the railing on the top level, falling to the upper corner, landing atop a surgical station. Doors hung ajar above them, the mattress laying across the bedroom door frame in a haphazard way. Junk items were everywhere, clothing caught on sharp edges and bullets and broken weapons strewn about through the main room. Water had streamed from the broken sink, coating the floor and making it slippery. Sparks were flying from a loose wire, swinging over their heads.

The fridge had stayed against the wall, oddly enough. Simms grabbed out and caught the edge of the bookshelf that was face down on the floor and moved down to where Emily was, holding a hand out to her. "Here," he said, grabbing her hand. She was slick with blood, still dripping from her nose.

"Where's Butch―" she groaned, grabbing his wrist with both hands.

Simms looked up and around for a moment. "Who is Butch?"

Emily sighed and tried to stand up. "A friend from the Vault," she said.

"I'll find him for you," Simms said. "You should get out of here, Miss Emily. You're pretty banged up. Don't want you getting hurt any more."

"Whatever," she muttered, reaching out and crawling across the floor. Simms watched her climb around and onto the bookshelf. She sat atop the wood with crossed legs, staring numbly at the mess. Didn't seem like she fully understood what had happened. Simms frowned, adjusting his hat on his head.

...Or maybe that injury to her face had given her a concussion. That was something he'd deal with, later. He turned away from her, sighing. There was a lot going on here and now, but first he would deal with this missing person.

His eyes caught a line of blood streaming down the wall from the upstairs. Followed the blood to the top floor, and cautiously moved toward the far corner, looking around. After a moment he located the source, some poor kid in a Vault suit, smashed in between her Nuka-Cola machine and the surgical table and lying on his back. The young man probably died instantly, given the amount of blood around him.

Simms sighed and pulled a first aid kit from the table, sideways against the far wall. He carried it back to the bookshelf. "Miss Emily," he said, looking up at her. "I hate to tell you, but..."

"Yeah, I know," she sniffled, wiping her bruised and swollen face with one arm. Blood streaked across the arm of his duster. Why she hadn't been wearing any clothes, was injured, and hanging out with Jericho―Simms didn't like it.

She'd literally lost everything in this weird accident. Wasn't much he could feel but sympathy for the girl.

"Let's get out of here and get the power shut off," Simms said, gesturing to the door. "We'll figure out what to do once everything's calmed down."

Emily sighed and nodded tiredly, crawling back up to the door. She slid a few times, then fell out of the door frame. Another loud swear and thumping. Simms tossed the first aid kit down before pulling himself out of the house, landing on his feet outside the counter of the Brass Lantern.

Andy and Jenny had hightailed it out of their place and across the way to the Children of Atom, standing there with angry looks on their faces. Leo must have been up at the water processing plant, since he'd been up on the railing when the sheriff yelled up. Simms watched the water slowing to a stop as it poured out of the pipes, flowing over the ground and making everything a muddy mess.

Emily climbed up the hill behind the Brass Lantern and was talking heatedly with Jericho. Simms watched them talking for a moment, trying to get a grasp on the situation.

Obviously the house was intact, but torn apart. The ancient pulleys that had been used to move plane parts were no longer in working condition―and even the best minds of Megaton couldn't get the house back up to the side of the crater. Simms breathed out slowly, his hands holding the first aid kit, watching Emily intently.

Jericho threw a handful of caps at her and yelled something about a slut. Simms shook his head at that. Emily had been trouble in the past, though her visits were never very long. Simms had sometimes regretted letting her have the house as payment for defusing the bomb.

Not right now, though. This was completely out of her control. She was out of control, too. Her questionable activity with Jericho and the matter of this poor boy that had been crushed to death inside her house; she had been drunk as hell coming into town, and stayed that way. She was a mess.

He felt like it was his fault for not stopping the trouble she'd had before, with that ghoul. Wasn't much he could do but tell people to leave each other alone, around town. Couldn't even kick that mangy old ex-raider out, on account of Moriarty vouching for him.

Emily might be a mess, but she was decent folk. He'd thought, when she returned without the ghoul who caused Jericho so much trouble, that things would be better for her and for the peace. Didn't look like that was going to happen, anytime soon. Emily was picking up the caps that the ex-raider threw at her, slowly, wiping her face. She needed a little intervention. And, hell, he liked the girl. She was honest, at least.

When Emily came back down the hill, sliding on her behind in the mud, Simms was waiting for her. "Listen, Miss Emily," he started.

She pushed herself up off of the ground and looked up at him with a dead expression. "What."

"...It might be better to dismantle the house as quickly as possible," Simms said, holding out a hand to help her up. "And, I have to say, I don't like whatever is going on with you right now."

Emily blinked slowly and wobbled on her feet. A massive bruise was spreading across her face, her nose bloodied and the skin torn. She had scratches all over her arms and what was visible of her chest. "And?" she said, staring at him.

"Do you need somewhere to go?"

She scoffed and threw a hand back up to the railing. "Jericho said I can stay at his place for a while," she muttered, unhappily. She did not seem to enjoy the thought, crossing her arms and putting her head down.

That was what did it, he knew. He was an even-minded man, hadn't lost his head in a long time, but this, this finally broke his temper.

"That's not going to happen," Simms said, firmly. "Look, girl, you got something you need to get off your chest, I can tell. But you aren't going to be staying there, not if it means more of―" he motioned at her face "―whatever happened to you tonight."

She sighed through her nose, staring at the ground. "Ain't nothing going on," she muttered.

"Don't make me brand you a liar, Miss Emily," Simms replied.

She coughed out a laugh and wiped her face again, smearing blood everywhere. Simms put a hand on her shoulder, pushing her under the wreckage of her house to the other side, and up the hill toward the gate.

"Nathan, round up some of the boys and start taking that thing apart," he yelled. "There's a body in there that needs removing, too."

"Can do!" Nathan called back. The old man would be excited at the chance to do his civic duty for the mayor and sheriff. He'd get it done in no time, too. Nathan was good people.

A bit like Emily, though she had a lot of years to get to that level of civic loyalty. Simms pushed her up the hill and toward his house. "I don't rightly care what is going on with you, right this moment," he said, slowly, "but you look like you could use some sleep, and I've got to handle this mess out here."

"Okay," she practically whispered, trudging up the hill.

"And I want you to get in the house here and go lie down, and I'll talk to you in the morning." Simms unlocked the door and motioned her inside. "Stay away from Jericho from here on out or you'll both be finding a new place to live, you hear?"

"But―"

"Go on," he said. He handed her the first aid kit and shoved her gently in the door.

She slumped herself into the house, looking down. "Yes, sir," she murmured, sighing.

Simms closed the door behind her and moved back down into the fray, to deal with the Stahls and to find out if Doc Church had survived the accident.

No one died, except for the boy.

The men were out cutting apart the metal as the sun rose, being very cautious around the bomb. It was well-known that it had been defused, and most people ignored or venerated its existence, but everyone was still careful. Simms was there helping to lift the last pieces of roof from the metal casing. A watch had been posted at the edge of the hole, slowly solidifying into a hard casing of mud, and Jericho was watching the men work with a smug look on his face. He hadn't moved since Simms told him to stay put.

Simms had decided to have a talk with the ex-raider about the night's events. To warn him, for one, that beating the crap out of women was not acceptable in the community, and this was his last chance. Between Emily and Jenny, he'd pushed the limits of Simms' patience.

He'd rather kick the foul old knuckle-dragger out of town. The town needed him, though. Simms was fairly certain that Jericho would go and get Moriarty to talk him into letting him stay, at any rate.

"Jericho," Simms said, coming up to the man. "Need to talk to you."

"Whaddya want," he said, tossing a cigarette off into the dirt.

"Just what in the hell happened tonight?" the sheriff asked, crossing his arms over his chest. Hadn't gotten his duster back yet. Felt a bit naked without it.

Jericho chuckled nastily. "I don't kiss and tell, sheriff. You want a story, you go bother Nathan."

Simms stared him down. "I know that girl didn't come into town with a broken nose, Jericho." The ex-raider shrugged and found somewhere else to point his eyes. "Whatever you were doing, it won't happen again, or you will leave town for good."

"Don't get your panties in a fuckin' twist, I ain't stupid," Jericho said, rolling his eyes. "I'll mind my manners."

"See that you do," Simms answered, moving away from him. "And you get her clothing back to her before long, you hear?"

"When you're done with her, you send her back over to me," Jericho called, as he started back up toward his house. "We wasn't done playin'!" He laughed meanly, ending in a wet cough.

Simms sighed and went to talk to Emily.