Celia was gone. After her talk with Landis, and a spat with Jesse that was relayed in pieces to Lionel, she'd disappeared. The Royces were of the opinion that she'd gone with Landis, off into the wastes. Landis had left at almost the same time, ducking out after dinner.

Lionel didn't think she would have gone off with a stranger like that, but he didn't know what to think. He didn't think she would kick Jesse in the balls, either. It made him grin, though. That little shit, he thought. Serves him right.

In the three months they'd been in Gladstone, he had cleared his debt. Amos ignored that he couldn't have possibly worked off that many caps, and released him from employment. Lionel knew he was just waiting to get rid of him, one way or the other. Amos and Avery gave him enough caps to get to Toskey and a day's head start before releasing Wade. Lionel was ready for the soldier, if he needed to be, but he doubted he was a target.

He hoped Celia hadn't gone home to Stockton.

Lionel rode the barge to St. James, and didn't disembark. The red sky, filled with the bloody rays of the apocalyptic sun, was troubling. He thought about storms and his houseboat, so many years ago. Maybe he'd get another boat, sail around Lake Michigan. Celia wouldn't want to come with him, because of her motion sickness.

He kicked himself. He had to forget her.

After arriving at Toskey, he plodded back through the bogs, the flies, the ants. By himself, the journey was quiet, lonely, and a lot simpler. He tried to clear his mind. He'd go to his shack, grab everything of value and sell it. He'd move out to the shore, and fix and sell junk until he had enough caps to get the hell out of Michigan. The time seemed right.

It took him a few days longer than it ought to have. He was slow. Lionel felt every bit one hundred and fifty five years old. Hell, had it really been that long? He sighed.

He didn't stop for anything, just walked right to his shack and unlocked the door. He picked through the electronics, trying to figure out what he could sell for a decent profit. The radio hummed gently behind him, and he turned it off after one song. The shack didn't feel much like home, anymore, even with the radio on.

He must have dozed off. He jerked upright, drowsy, at a sound on the roof. He heard drumming sounds, like someone kicking their feet against the metal wall.

Oh, goddamn that girl!

He debated on what to do. No one knew he was inside the shack. He'd locked the door when they left, so she should expect it to still be locked. He could try to stick it out until she left. It was a low thing to do, hiding from her, but he didn't know if he could stand to be truly alone with her again. Too much hurt, he thought. Just because I'm used to pain, doesn't mean I want more.

The drumming stopped after a few minutes, and a scraping noise echoed through the shack. He went to the door, ready to lock it.

"I've been looking for you," Wade said, from the roof. Lionel froze

"I don't have that thing!" Celia yelled. "It was in Lionel's pack, and he lost it when he fell off the barge into the lake!"

"You're still a terrible liar," Wade said. "Let's try this again."

There was a scuffling sound and a loud banging noise, and a yelp from Celia, then a thud outside the door of the shack. Lionel jerked opened the door and scanned the situation, then strode out and grabbed Wade around the neck in a choke hold.

"I am fairly sick of this shit," he roared, tightening his arm around the man's neck. Wade kicked out, struggling. Lionel wasn't about to let him go. He looked at the girl.

Celia was lying spread eagle, on the ground in front of them. She wasn't moving. He felt all the frustration change to rage, all the things he should have said echoing in his head. He felt powerful again, and crushed the young man's neck with his arm.

Ten minutes passed. Wade stopped struggling after a few seconds, went limp, and was definitely dead after a minute, but Lionel held him until he could feel the tendons in his arm begin to strain.

It had been almost eleven years since Lionel had killed a man. That mark of pride was gone, now.

He dropped the man, and looked at Celia again. Relief flooded into him when he saw her breathing, the rise and fall of her stomach. Part of him wished she was dead, but that part was quickly smashed down by the rest of him. Don't be an idiot, he told himself. She's plenty dumb for both of us.

He exhaled, and dragged the young man's body out of the rocks, pulling it until he reached the ant mounds. He left the body there, and tramped back up to the hideaway.

Were you supposed to move someone who'd fallen? He couldn't remember. He'd fallen many times, got up, limped away. But he was a ghoul. He was tougher than her.

Lionel sat back on his heels and pushed a bit of hair out of her face. Really? Old gruff Lionel, being tender, seemed ridiculous. He wondered if that was how people had seen him when he was with Lilian, like a lion at the zoo. Teeth and claws, until mated.

Celia's wide brown face was peaceful. Inside, he was fighting his heartbeat. Fast and hard, he felt fear and anger. Fear for her, not understanding why it was bad for her to be around him. For her not knowing what feral ghouls were like, for not believing he was dangerous. And anger, because it had to be like that, and he couldn't do a damn thing about it.

This shit-for-brains Vault dweller had treated him like some kind of hero, idolizing him. He remembered the shack at On-the-Bay, when she'd held his hand and was so... so soft. That was when it had started, he thought. All her concern for his arm, and when Dr. Boyer had cut it off and she'd leaned over him―

Lionel groaned to himself, stood up, and punched the rock wall. His knuckles popped and cracked. This pain was real, but he couldn't feel it very well.

He looked back at her. This kind of drama should be for some other person, some kid her own age. Like Jesse Royce. Not that he thought the little shit deserved her, but he sure as hell didn't. She acted like this world wasn't going to kill her. Like it wouldn't kill everyone, eventually. The only people this world was suited for were ghouls, like him.

Celia stirred. He moved behind her, and waited, putting on his best stoic face. She slowly moved her arms and legs, then sat up with a push.

She brushed her hair out of her eyes, and winced audibly. "I fell," she mumbled. She looked around and jerked when she caught him standing there, out of the corner of her eye. For a moment she held his gaze, then turned forward and tried to stand up.

"What―" she stopped and rubbed her back, wincing. "Wade?"

"Gone," he said, roughly.

"Where?" she whispered, fearfully.

"Dead."

She exhaled slowly, and held her back as she stood. With a hunched back and hitch in her step, she moved to the shack, and opened the door.