Lionel followed, watching her silently. They hadn't spoken since he'd dropped her off at the Royce farm. After Amos' mother heard the story, she'd given Lionel a long and hard stare, and banned him from setting foot on her land. He'd heard the words, understood them, and walked away, numbly.
Celia went to the floor and pulled a bag from under the bed. She sat down on the bed, and took a piece of metal shaped like an L-beam from the bag. He remembered finding it, when Mayer had threatened him on the lake bed. She held it in her hand and examined it.
"Everyone is gone," she said, hoarsely. "My parents, my brother, Lilian, Calhoun..." She gave him a piercing look. "And you."
"Must be a ghost, then," he said.
"When I was a kid, all I wanted was to be left alone," she went on, playing with the metal beam. "Now, I am."
"Doesn't make me feel better, I'm still standing here," Lionel said, gruffly. "Or don't I count, anymore."
She curled her lip and threw the metal beam at him. "You gave me away!"
It bounced off the wall, beside him. "I had to," he muttered.
Celia stood, clenching her fists. "We could have kept moving, after St. James. But you all thought I should meet my father."
"I take it you felt the same as I did," he remarked, dryly.
"He didn't care, either!" She pointed at Lionel, and he focused on that finger.
"I do care, Celia," he growled. "I am not some goddamn superhero, saving your ass every time you need it."
"No," she said, turning to the bed and sweeping the bag onto the floor. She sat down. "No, you're just a ghoul."
Lionel was stunned. "You trying to take on that nasty attitude of your old man?" he asked, moving closer. "That isn't who you are." He was angry now. Innocent, dumb Celia had grown up when he left her at the farm. He didn't like what she'd turned into.
"Why not?" she muttered. "If being mean got you through a hundred and fifty years of this shit, it can get me through it, too."
He stared her down. "You aren't even one-fifth of that," he said, lowering his voice. "Maybe not even one-tenth. Long time to be a bigot."
"Here's to nineteen more years of it!" she laughed, holding up an imaginary toast.
"Stop," he said, moving even closer. "You're being foolish."
Celia snorted. "Well," she said, "at least I'm still as stupid as I was, before."
He wished he could take back every time he'd ever called her stupid. Who was he to talk like that? "The wasteland wasn't made for innocents," he said, stiffly. "Stupidity gets you killed."
"I'm here, though." She stared at her hands in her lap, like they weren't real. "I can't hide in the tunnels of the Vault, anymore."
"No," he muttered, "but pretending to be tougher than what you are only works if you're already tough."
"Like you?" She laughed and wiped her nose, not looking up.
"I'm only as tough as the people around me," he answered, and turned to the side, looking away. "Lilian was a cold bitch, in the end. You learn to meet that kind of toughness, and beat it."
"Must be a teddy bear, right now," she joked. "I'm about as tough as a wet piece of paper."
He wanted to laugh with her, tell her it would be okay. He couldn't make the words work, in his head. "Good," he grunted. "Back to normal."
He watched her bite her lip out of the corner of his eye. He turned around. She looked up at him, confused. Oh, fuck me, he thought. Don't―
"Was Lilian right?" she asked, her brown eyes on his. "Did I steal you away from her?"
He firmed himself against the emotion. "Must be back to normal," he said, "if you're believing the horse-shit she said."
"Don't avoid it," she said, stubbornly. "Don't lie. Everything went mad, for a while. The others acted like it was wrong, that we should be friends. I couldn't figure out why."
He shook his head. "You'd get that, even if you were a sixty-year-old. I'm a ghoul."
"No," she said, slowly, "I think it was my fault."
Lionel rubbed his face. It boggled him―she did―really. He waited for her to explain.
"I think I paid too much attention to you, acted too close." She tilted her head to the side. "And you ended up getting half-drowned, and treated like a villain."
He laughed, bitterly. "I'm not a good guy," he said. "Killed that soldier boy―" he stopped himself. He'd done that for her.
"You are," she said, simply. "Despite what you may do on occasion, at heart, you are a good person."
"So now I'm a person?" he asked. His head hurt. "Not two minutes ago, I was 'just a ghoul'."
"You are a person," she murmured, "who gets angry when he doesn't know what to say, and says mean things instead."
Lionel stood there, without a word, clenching his jaw. Yeah, he thought, that pretty much sums it up. A minute passed in silence.
"And," Celia said, "you should know that I won't stay upset, even if you get angry with me. I came back every time you chased me off, except when you had to come get me."
A sharp pain in his chest. "We're both shit on each other's heels," he grumbled.
She smiled, happily. "Yes," she said.
He took a deep breath, exhaled. Worked that gearshift in his brain. "How did you know?" he asked, his voice not wanting to leave his throat. He couldn't admit to it. He could get as close to the subject as possible, though.
Celia put her fingertips together and looked over them. "I was upset, and Jesse kept asking me why I liked you, and it all suddenly made sense."
Figures, he told himself. She grew up, finally, and realized I gave her up because I didn't want to―he still couldn't admit it. He could tell Lilian, but not her. He clenched his fist.
"Home is where the heart is," she said, softly. "Where is your heart, Lionel?"
"You're driving me crazy, kid!" he yelled, throwing up his hand. "Showing up here, when you should be back where you're safe―"
"I'm safe with you," she said, firmly.
"You're just trouble for me," he grunted.
"I'm trouble for everyone," she snapped, and stood up, facing him. "Everyone treats me like a bothersome child, only capable of throwing tantrums, getting into jams, and making work! And when I try to act like an adult, no one lets me!" She tensed.
"You want me to give you a chance?" he asked. "I gave you a chance when we first met, and I told you to stay in that goddamn Vault! You―"
"So I'm better off dead!?" she shrilled. "I went back there! It's full of burned corpses and smoke!" She started crying, wiped her face. "Everyone―"
Lionel moved to her, and before he could think about it, crushed her to him in a hug. She sobbed, and worked her fingers into his chest, painfully. "This is why you can't pull off the tough guy act," he rumbled. "You care too damn much."
"I don't want to," she moaned.
"Yeah, I don't want to, either," he said. He ran his ragged hand over her hair. His heart hurt.
Celia pushed him away, and stood lamely in front of him. "I'm going to leave," she said, and wrung her hands. "I'll go away, so I'm not trouble."
"Don't have to," he said, forcing himself to say it. "I'm tough," he jabbed his chest. "I can handle your trouble. I've done it before."
She shook her head. "You don't want it."
"Is that really what you think?" he asked.
"I'm going to Detroit," she stated, flatly. "You'll end up dead. I can't have that on my conscience."
Lionel reached out and lifted her chin, staring into her brown doe eyes. "Everybody dies, Celia," he said, and released her.
"I know," she said, and wiped away the rest of her tears.
"Why would you go there, anyway," he said. "You were terrified of Sigma, before."
"Wade wanted that thing," she pointed at the metal beam. "It must be important, if he was willing to track me all over creation to get it."
He pushed her hand down. "You didn't really answer that," he said. "The only reason we left in the first place was because you were convinced that tall fucker was up to something."
"I'm not afraid of him," she lied.
"You are, and you should be," he said, harshly. "It was obvious what he wanted."
"I can handle it," Celia said, jutting out her chin, but she wobbled.
"Like you handled it, last time? Banging your head off the wall, freaking out?" Lionel looked at her critically.
"What do you want from me?" she asked, irritably.
"Not what Mayer wanted," he said. "But a little concern for personal safety would be nice."
She flushed red. He moved away, picked up the metal beam, and handled it. If it wasn't so rusted, he might be able to tell what it was.
"Lionel, I..."
He turned back to her. "What?"
"I'm not sorry we met," she mumbled.
"Me either, kid," he said, and put the metal beam onto the shelf by the fridge.
When he turned around, she wrapped her arms around him, buried her face in his shirt, and squeezed. He patted her head, gently. "Good thing it's not contagious," he joked.
"I wouldn't care," she declared, muffled. "I love you, Lionel."
That was a knife right through his heart. He grimaced at the pain. "Kid," he said, "you really do drive me crazy."