Lionel was not a worrier. He accepted that things either did, or didn't, happen. Because of this, he didn't think much about the Vault girl after she'd left. Found himself occupying his time with other projects, like the roof of his shack. It needed some repairs to the wooden beams that held it in position. After he'd gotten up there and pried up the metal up, inspecting the beams, he'd fallen and broken his leg.

He limped along the road to Grayling, eyeing the lines in the dirt around the highway. Something had passed this way; looked like a few people with sprawling movement around the asphalt, the occasional shuffle into the dirt. He wasn't as concerned about the broken leg as he was getting surprised on the highway with a crippled limb, or his roof caving in on him in the middle of the night. It needed fixed. So did he.

He could have tried to walk to the Radcommons, along the highway, where a large amount of irradiated barrels had been piled into a crater. He did not want to go near the radiation, risk speeding up his chance to become feral. And he sure as hell wasn't touching any pain medicine. He learned that lesson, long ago.

Grayling was busy. Lionel limped around for fifteen minutes before he collared a resident and asked where the clinic was. The kid looked at him and pointed, then vanished.

He paid Dr. Jen and received Stimpaks, then kicked his feet up onto the gurney, staring at the faded and grungy poster on the wall. He wouldn't mind a real candy striper, right about now. Things in general, were becoming less pleasant by the day.

As he relaxed, an extremely black man entered the clinic and caught Dr. Jen in a conversation. He shot the ghoul a curious glance. Lionel ignored it and stared the posters harder. So many new faces, he thought. That Vault must have given up the ghost.

"Are you Lionel?" the black man asked, moving to the bed.

"Too many people are interested in me lately," he grumbled. "I might get a new name."

The man laughed, an easy grin on his face. "I'm Jack Calhoun," he said. "I was Overseer of the Vault that Celia Landis came from."

Lionel nodded, vaguely. "Everyone came out."

"Not all of us. Most felt... unsafe, outside. I've got a small crew of people here, attempting to find a place to live."

"Good luck with that," Lionel muttered.

"Actually, Celia said you might know more about the area," Calhoun said. "I've been meaning to come and speak with you."

"Maybe another time," Lionel said. "Got a lot on my to-do list."

"Hey, I understand. You let me know when it's a good time, I'll come see you, whatever you need." Calhoun waved and walked out of the clinic.

Lionel worked a toe through a hole in his sock, inside his boot. He wondered about the Vault dwellers. Would they last a year in the wastes? Unlikely. He wasn't a real friendly person but he wouldn't mind a town a little closer to his shack, maybe with a doctor and a general store. Anywhere he could sell scrap for caps, as long as it was closer.

His leg twinged a little. Those Stimpaks are some sure miracle, he thought. Nothing ached right now. Once the anesthesia wore off, his shinbone would hurt like hell. He wished Lilian had been around when he decided the roof needed fixed. She would have been the one who broke her leg, he laughed to himself. That'd stuff a potato in her tail-pipe, not even being able to run away.

Thinking about Lilian made him miserable. He waited for Dr. Jen to come back and check his leg.

"What happened, Lionel?" someone asked from the doorway. He turned his head, staring down Celia, and didn't answer.

She moved into the room and he noticed she'd changed into the Brahmin-skin overalls that wastelanders were fond of. Her arms seemed to be darker than they had, previously. "Thought I told you to go home," he grumbled.

"The Vault has bad air," she said. "I'm not going back." A sad look crossed her face.

"You'll regret it." He shrugged, half-heartedly.

"Nonsense," she said. "There's nothing stopping me from surviving out here."

He grunted. "Say that when you break a leg."

"You haven't given up, have you?" she teased, mildly.

"No, I haven't," he snapped.

"I don't think you'd be at the doctor, if you had," she said. "Did you break your leg?"

"Fell off my roof, fixing it." He adjusted himself on the gurney. These things are never comfortable, he thought.

"Oh," she said. "You want some help? Mr. Perkins is pretty good at jury-rigging."

"I'm not dead," he grumbled. "Go away, kid!"

She turned and left without a word. How dare she assume he needed help, like some useless lump. She probably pitied him for his condition. That kind of person was especially hard to get rid of, when they dug their heels in.

Dr. Jen returned after another hour, examined his leg, and he caught up to the local gossip. "You should be nicer to the Vault people," she said. "They've been real helpful since they arrived."

"Any of 'em walking on water, yet?" he jibed.

"You know better than that," Dr. Jen said. "Having new people in town, it's good for business."

He grunted and concentrated on his leg. What good could he do, anyway. He was too old and too grumpy to be useful to anyone. The only person who didn't care if he talked was that mechanic. Damn, what was his name?

"Lionel," Dr. Jen was saying. "Lionel!"

He looked up. "What?" he growled.

"Are you turning feral on me?" She gave him a stern look.

"Hell, no," he said. "I'm irritable. It happens to all old men."

"Don't I know that," she chuckled. "Lilian's still gone?" He didn't answer. Dr. Jen sighed. "You'll find new company," she said. "Couldn't hurt you to make a friend, at the very least."

She applied a second round of medicine to his leg, and he wondered what he would do. If Lilian didn't come back... he couldn't isolate himself, it was a death sentence. And he didn't feel like dying any time soon.

When she released him from the clinic, he gave himself a kick in the ass and found out where the Vault people were. After being directed to the common house, he made his way through the wide street toward it. Hope I don't regret this one, he thought to himself.

"May I call you Lionel?" Jack Calhoun asked him, right off the bat.

"Are you people all this polite?" Lionel griped.

"It's basic manners," Calhoun said, and the ghoul's hackles raised.

"Whatever," he rasped, smoothing them back. "Your people?" he asked, making a sweeping notion to the room. About ten or twelve people in Vault outfits and Brahmin-skin clothes were scattered around the couches, tables, and floor.

"The ones who wanted to come, have," Calhoun said. "Still trying for the rest."

"How much space are you looking for," Lionel continued.

"As much as possible," the former Overseer said. "Clearly, with so many people and many of them being married couples, we want to provide a safe home as quickly as possible."

Lionel scratched at what was left of his chin, thinking. "...If you were more experienced, I would suggest the abandoned military base. Place is crawling with robots, though." He went over the nearby area in his head. "Down south, there's some abandoned farms. Wouldn't be any people to argue if you moved in."

"A Pre-War structure would be our best bet?" Calhoun asked.

"Ain't many building materials laying around, are there?" Lionel said. He tried to keep the edge out of his voice, but failed.

Calhoun pulled up the Pip-Boy map and had Lionel show him where both those places were. The map was awful small, but he indicated a rough area for each one.

"Is your leg better?" Calhoun asked him, lowering his arm.

Lionel grunted. Damn that girl, telling people he was injured. That sort of volunteer information could get you skinned alive and hung to dry in some parts of the waste.

"Can you elucidate about the radiation?" the black man asked. "I'm curious to find out why it should heal you." He gestured to the table and chairs, nearby.

"That's a new one on me," Lionel said. "Elucidate."

"...Make clear? As strangers to the wastes, we have to know as much as possible to avoid danger." Calhoun sat, and gestured to the chair in front of him.

Lionel bristled at that. This persuasive attitude of Calhoun's would help them get off the ground, but Lionel was much too stubborn to to give into passive coercion. "Maybe later," he said. "It's personal."

Calhoun nodded, and moved on. "Don't suppose you could lead us to this military base, to get a feel for it?"

"You paying me?"

A tiny smile twitched on Calhoun's face. "Obviously we have very little money, right now," he said. He peered behind Lionel at someone opening the door to the common house. "We're working on that. ...Celia, what is it?"

Lionel looked, watched the girl walk soberly to Calhoun's side. "Ed and Ann," she murmured. "No one else."

"Twenty-two, now," Calhoun said, looking at Lionel. "Twenty-two people in need of a home."

Lionel stared him down, without speaking. They were absolutely fucked, he knew. He was already regretting this.

"Isn't your sister-in-law pregnant?" Calhoun asked Celia, who looked at him like he'd gone crazy.

"You folk need serious help," Lionel muttered. He sighed. Not doing much with my time, he thought. Might as well. "...I'll see what I can do."