Fallout 4: Sam

by Casilcas1990

"My eyes widened as I stared at him, an odd feeling coming over me. His coat waved behind him, standing there in that pose… he looked like one of those superheroes from the comics or maybe a knight from the old books Daisy would read to me. The ones who defeat the bad guys and rescue the princesses. A knight in bloody armor." (OC/Hancock)

5. Chapter Four

Edit 5/27: word choice error

Edit 6/26: word choice error

~(:(Chapter Four):)~

The setting sun was already hidden by the city skyline, casting the streets below into shadows. A stiff breeze ran through the ruined buildings and creaking moans echoed from the structures, as if they were talking—or maybe crying.

I was on the roof of one of Goodneighbor's warehouses, laid out on my stomach with Mark pressed tightly to my shoulder. My cheek rested against the rifle's stock as I gazed out the scope.

"Two-hundred yards, one o'clock," came MacCready's voice. He was lying next to me, his own rifle held in position. "The red building. Third story up, on the balcony."

I adjusted my aim, keeping the movements slow and steady. The image that came through the scope caused my breath to freeze in my chest. A woman stood on the balcony, leaning on the rail as she smoked a cigarette. She was obviously a raider, the black markings smeared over her face, wearing patchy clothing and pieced-together armor.

Mac and I would come up here a couple of times a week to practice long-distance shooting. He was usually a hothead, easily frustrated, except with this. He made a surprisingly good teacher; patient, encouraging, and very detailed with his instruction. Most days, he would pick a target, like a street sign or some spot on the side of a building, at varying distances and we would take turns shooting it. Sometimes we would find feral dogs or ghouls and shoot them.

But not this. Never a person.

"Mac," I wheezed, his name squeezing out.

"You got a crosswind coming from the south," he continued. "Compensate to the right."

The woman brought the cigarette to her lips, taking a short drag and puffing out the smoke, completely oblivious to the eyes trained on her. To how close she was to death.

"Mac," I tried again.

"Head shot," the merc instructed, his tone soft and casual, as if he were talking about anything other than killing a human being. "Line it up, breathe, take the shot on your exhale."

Licking my suddenly dry lips, I tried to follow his commands. The crosshairs hovered over the raider's head, shifting slightly to the right. They bounced in place as a tremor ran through my shoulders, down my arms and into my hands. I tightened my grip to stop the shaking but it only made it worse.

"I can't," I breathed, the words ending on a gasp.

"Sure, you can," MacCready replied. "It's just like shooting an animal."

No. No, it's not.

The woman tapped the ash from her cig, shifting in place. She wasn't attacking a settlement or shooting at people or any of the things raiders are known to do. She was just standing there. I couldn't just kill her… could I?

"She's not doing anything." No, I couldn't. It wasn't right, it wasn't—

"She's a raider, Sam," MacCready said, his voice hardening. "You think she would hesitate if it were you in her crosshairs?"

"But—"

"She wouldn't. She'd kill you just for the fun of it, just because she could," he snarled ruthlessly, like the mercenary he was. "Just like those raiders killed your mom."

A whimper escaped as I readjusted the rifle, taking aim again. My breathing shuddered as my finger curled around the trigger.

"This is how it is, kill or be killed," he said lowly. "You can't always wait for the fight to start. Sometimes, you have to take the first shot. So, take it."

My heart raced, pounding in my ears like the beat of a bird's wings. Through the scope, the woman flicked her cigarette over the edge of the balcony. She was a raider; she'd do the same to me. How many settlements had she already burned to the ground? How many mothers did she murder, leaving orphaned children behind? Kill them. Kill them before they kill me.

"Take the shot, Sam!" MacCready ordered.

My finger tensed over the trigger but didn't squeeze. It was as if all the strength drained out of my shaking hands. My sight blurred with tears and one trailed down across my nose. Raiders killed without thought, without reason. If I killed her, I would be just like her… wouldn't I?

"No, I can't!" I sobbed. "I can't!"

MacCready's rifle went off next to me, the echoing crack like thunder—

I found myself sitting up in bed, my heart racing but not remembering what woke me. My mind was groggy and it felt way too early to be awake. Rubbing my face with the back of my hand I decided to lay back down when someone knocked on my door.

"Yeah?" I called out, having to clear my throat to make my voice work.

The door opened and I could just make out Jack's shape filling the frame.

"You up, Sam?" the ghoul asked in a quiet tone. I tried to frown but I'm pretty sure it looked more like a pout.

"I am, now."

"Good," he rumbled, a hint of satisfaction shining through. "We can get a head start on training."

I groaned loudly, flinging myself backward on the bed.

"You're as bad as Holliday," I whined half-heartedly. "At least he bribes me with coffee."

Jack chuckled, leaning against the doorframe. "The bot?"

I mumbled an affirmative, my eyelids sliding closed.

"You know, I still haven't met him face-to-face," he said. "Haven't seen the dam since you were digging it out, either."

"Maybe you should visit more often."

The ghoul stood for a moment before letting out a sigh. "Alright, I'll get a pot started."

His heavy boots walked away towards the sitting room, the old wood floor creaking with each step. I debated going back to sleep but decided against it. Jack would probably just drag me all the way down the stairs to train in my pajamas.

I forced myself out of bed and riffled through my dresser. Pulling out a pair of loose military pants and a black tank top, I changed quickly and shoved my feet into my combat boots without lacing them. Shuffling into the hall, I closed my door with a soft click and looked at the windows across the way. Darkness stared back through the dirty glass, the buildings beyond it barely visible.

Another groan squeezed out. The sun wasn't even up yet.

A deep chuckle sounded in response and I turned to squint at Vin, posted by the stairs to the third level. He was a pre-war ghoul, like Jack, and may or may not have been involved with the mob back before the bombs fell. Now, he was a Watchman for Hancock. He was on guard duty, his submachine gun held casually in his hands.

"Mornin' doll," Vinny smirked, his Boston accent a low rumble.

I gave an irritated grumble as I headed towards the sitting room, which only made him chuckle more. The creak of a door followed by a feminine giggle brought me to a stop.

Hancock opened one of the massive double doors to his bedroom. The room was on the other side of the spiral staircase, right between mine and Jack's. Jules, one of Goodneighbor's residents, stepped out on unsteady legs, supported by Hancock's arm around her middle. Her torn jeans rode low on her hips and her short top showed off her small waist and hung off one shoulder. The mayor's shirt was undone, a thin strip of scarred skin exposed down his chest, his famous tricorn hat a bit lopsided.

There was no mistaking what they were up to.

My heart thumped painfully and I berated myself. I had no reason to feel hurt—we weren't dating, we weren't anything. Just friends. Who Hancock did… whatever with, was none of my business. So, why did it hurt so much?

Hancock spotted me in the hall, his mouth pulling into a small grin.

"Mornin' sunshine—" the ghoul stopped short, the smile falling as he studied me.

I quickly formed my face into a grimace, wrinkling my nose to cover up whatever expression had been there.

"That's gross," I declared, then immediately regretted it. Way to sound like an adult, Sam.

Jules giggled again, swaying drunkenly as she leaned into Hancock, trailing a hand down his chest.

"Oh, I don't know," she slurred, clearly loaded. "He's not so bad, once you get used to him."

What hurt I was feeling evaporated with a quickness as searing hot rage took its place.

Most people were either afraid of ghouls or disgusted by them, sometimes both. Afraid, because of the rumors that ghouls will eventually turn feral, becoming like the mindless ones lurking in the Wastes. Disgusted, because of the way they looked. The radiation had melted their skin, darkening it, like a burn victim with scars covering their entire bodies.

It was why Diamond City ran all the ghouls out. Wiseman and the other ghouls at The Slog, my family, were tossed out of the city like trash, all because people were too afraid to look at them. It was sickening, and I refused to tolerate it.

Hancock just looked at the junkie with a strained smile, a muscle ticking in his jaw, and my hands clenched into fists so tight my knuckles cracked. Somewhere behind me, Vin let out a curse.

"I wasn't talking about him," I snarked, the words like sandpaper.

Jules laughed it off, too high to get the insult, or maybe too dumb. She pushed away from the mayor, heading for the stairs.

"Don't worry, Sammy," she said as she teetered down the steps. "You'll understand when you're older."

I watched her descend as I seethed, waiting, and maybe hoping, for her to trip. She didn't, to my disappointment, and walked out of the State House with a muffled bang. I stood there for a moment, trying to let go of the anger but it was persistent.

"You okay, sunshine?" came Hancock's voice.

"Fine," I snapped.

He hummed as I glared at the stairs, the sound of a lighter sparking and snapping loud in the early-morning quiet of the hall.

"Don't sound fine," he mused.

I aimed my glare towards the ghoul. He was leaning against the doorframe to his room, his shirt still undone, a cigarette hanging from lips stretched into an amused grin.

Negative comments about ghouls always got me riled up. They had done more for me than any smooth-skin ever did. Jack, Wiseman, Daisy, Hancock—they had raised me. They were my family, and you don't get to talk bad about my family. I had earned somewhat of a reputation around Goodneighbor for going off on people for it. Usually, the ghouls found it amusing. Usually, I could brush it off after saying my bit. Usually, but not today. Jules' parting comment hit a sore spot, and she probably didn't even realize it.

I turned with a huff and stomped to the sitting room, Hancock's mumbled "what'd I do?" and Vinny's chuckles following me. I didn't need coffee anymore. No, now I just needed to punch something.

~0~

My back hit the mat for the umpteenth time, pulling a short cough from my tired body. My anger didn't last as long as I thought it would, Jack thoroughly beating it out of me. He wasn't pulling his punches like I knew he did during our sessions.

I was right. The old ghoul was still mad about our argument last night and was trying to make a point by kicking my butt all over the training room. If his point was how weak I was compared to him then he was wasting his time. I already knew that.

"Again," Jack commanded, his military persona firmly in place.

Groaning, I rolled to my knees and sat on my heels to catch my breath.

The training room was on the basement level of the Old State House. The downstairs was widely unused when Jack and I first arrived in Goodneighbor, with nothing but a single barred cell for the occasional drunk that got too rowdy. Jack had turned the empty room into a sparring/armory/break room for the Neighborhood Watch and it had become a popular hangout spot for them, besides the Third Rail bar.

It was empty now, though, being far too early for any sane person to utilize it.

"Come on, Sam," the sadist urged. "One more time."

I puffed out a breath and hopped to my feet, shaking out my hands as I got into the stance. Jack mirrored me, legs apart, one behind the other, knees loose, and hands raised in front of his face. He inched closer and I waited, watching his shoulders to see which direction he was going to go. He was wearing his usual black cargo pants and a black t-shirt. It barely fit, his wide shoulders and chest pushing the seams to their limit. If he flexed hard enough I was sure the shirt would rip clean off. I would have to keep my eyes open for some new clothes—

He lunged, jabbing out with his left. I pivoted back and to the right, my hands pushing his arm down and away while quickly darting out of reach. Jack stumbled a step before stopping and going back into position.

"Good," his voice rumbled as I took my spot again.

Shuffling, the ghoul jabbed with his right. I sprang forward into his space, my left arm bending up against my head to block his swing. At the same time, I thrust the heel of my other hand towards his face. His head reeled back and I took the opportunity to leap out of the range of his long arms.

"Good," Jack repeated, rubbing at his jaw.

I shook my arm out. Even taking a glancing hit from his forearm was like being smacked with a meat club.

We squared up again and he lashed out with his right. I went to pivot, letting his swing pass me then pushing it away. Before I could step back, the veteran black-ops agent caught himself and snapped his arm out, his hand wrapping around my thin wrist like an iron band. I was jerked forward and spun, my back hitting his chest as his arm came around my neck. It was a classic rear choke hold, the current move we were practicing.

Jack gave me one second to prepare before squeezing, his scarred skin both smooth and rough against my neck. I struggled to find my bearings as my air cut off.

"Don't lean back," he warned. "Don't lean—"

I planted my feet and bent my body forward as hard as I could, my hips jutting back, causing the ghoul to pitch forwards with me. He put a leg out to steady himself and my elbow swung back, jabbing him in the groin. He grunted harshly, his hold around my neck loosening just enough for me to twist to the side.

With my arms locked around his bicep, I got my leg behind his and yanked his body backwards. Off balance, Jack fell to the mat with a loud thud.

I stood there and blinked in shock. It was the first time I had managed to throw him. Not just today, but ever. Sure, he let me do it when showing me the moves for the first time, but never when we were actively sparring. My face split into a grin.

I did it. I actually—

My legs were swept out from under me and I landed hard on my back next to the sadist I considered my father. My breath came out in ragged pants as I glared up at the cracked ceiling.

"Disable and retreat, Sam," he chided. "Disable and retreat."

I made an irritated sound. "You couldn't just—"

The words were cut off as my chest constricted with pain, a hacking cough shaking my body. I rolled to my side, trying to control the fit.

No, not here. Not in front of Jack.

"Shit," Jack cursed, pulling me into a sitting position. "You okay, Sammy?"

Thankfully, the coughing subsided and I cleared my throat.

"Yeah, just," I cleared my throat again, thinking of an excuse. "You know, choking on my own spit."

Really? That's the best you've got? It seemed to work, though, as Jack gave a grunt and hopped to his feet, the movement looking odd for someone of his size. He offered me a hand and I grasped it, his strength easily tugging me up.

I stood on tired legs, my hands braced against my thighs. My whole body was tired, my arms like jelly, and now my chest… I guess I was going to have to deal with this sooner than I wanted. I was due for a check-up, anyway. Might as well get it over with.

Jack went to the lockers lined up against one wall and came back with two canisters of purified water.

"Here," he grumbled, handing me one.

I straightened, cracking open the seal and taking a careful sip. It was tepid, like most beverages found now adays. Refrigeration wasn't all that common, not unless someone actually took the time to fix up an old fridge or icebox.

"You did good today," Jack said.

The corner of my mouth curled in a half-smile. It was the closest he was going to come to acknowledging my victory today. It was good enough for me.

"We'll work on your follow-through tomorrow."

"Ugh," I moaned, smushing my cheek against the side of the can. "You're a tyrant. When will the torture end?"

Jack chuckled at my theatrics, taking a chug of his water.

"It's called training, and it never ends, not even for me." The old ghoul sighed. "The Wastes are dangerous, Sam. You lose focus for one second and it's over. You've got to—"

"Stay sharp, yeah, I know," I muttered, having heard the speech before.

"Yeah," Jack replied quietly. "Yeah, I know you do."

He was staring hard at the can in his hands. Taking a breath, he glanced up at me. "Look, Sammy, I—"

I blinked at him as he cut himself off. "What?"

"I, uh," Jack paused, debating with himself before shaking his head. "I heard Rufus was having trouble at the hotel… something about a leak in the pipes. You should probably go see if he needs a hand."

Right.

"Sure," I said, giving my body a stretch and moving towards the door. "I'll get cleaned up then head over."

"Good," he replied. "I'll check in on you later."

I hummed a response then made my way back to the second level. My thighs burned going up the two flights of stairs and I trudged into my room. The twin-sized bed looked incredibly tempting; my poor muscles wanted nothing more than to take a nice, long nap. I sighed dejectedly, deciding against it. I had things to take care of.

Using the half-empty can of water, I took a quick sponge bath with a somewhat clean rag. It wasn't even twenty-four hours and I was already missing my shower back at the dam.

Not every place had working plumbing—the Old State House didn't have any to begin with—but the Third Rail, Hotel Rexford, and the Memory Den did. There were a couple of working showers at the hotel, but the manager, Clair Hutchins, was stingy with them. If you weren't renting a room, you had to pay per use. Of course, if there was a leak, it was likely the water was switched off at the moment, which wasn't good. The purifier in the basement of the hotel supplied the whole town with clean water. It wouldn't be long before they ran out.

I tugged on my jeans and grabbed a faded t-shirt out of my dresser. After retying my boots, I reached for the green hoodie laying at the bottom of my bed but paused. Tinkering in the basement was going to be dirty work and I had a feeling I was going to need those showers up and running after I was done. Instead, I pulled out my backup hoodie. It was a dark blue with three lighter blue stripes on each arm, the Wattz Electronics logo on the front.

Forgoing the leather armor, I strapped on my holster with Meg snapped in place and latched my pip-boy. Grabbing my tool kit—which was just an overstuffed satchel filled with all the usual tinkering paraphernalia—and securing it across my chest, I headed back down the stairs.

Exiting out the door towards Scollay Square, I paused on the State House steps. The sun was up now but the tall buildings lining the street kept Goodneighbor in the shade most of the time. The pre-war streetlights were on, like always, their shiny brass poles now green with age and the hanging string-lights crossing back and forth over the roadway glowed softly. Directly across the street was Hotel Rexford, its red neon sign above the entrance with only a couple letters flickering.

I could just go find Rufus and help him with the pipes like I said I would. I wanted to, if only so I could ignore the dread building in my stomach a bit longer. My hand tightened around the strap across my chest. It's not like ignoring it was going to make it go away.

You already know what she's going to say. Just get it done.

I pulled the hood over my head and went down the steps. Crossing the street, I walked past the hotel towards the Memory Den.

The elegant architecture of the old theater stood out amongst the more modern buildings, the grand signboard still declaring "Monday is ladies night." There were pre-war posters of showgirls pinned to the boarded-up windows and a smaller sign that said "Memory Den" above the red double doors.

Pulling one side open, I entered the dim hall. Candles and antique lamps illuminated the room, the ceiling decorated with a large chandelier and ruffled maroon drapes that hung all the way across and down the walls. Memory loungers lined each side, the high-tech pods that allowed you to jump into your past and relive moments from your life. Most laid open, but a few were in use.

As I walked along the center carpet I passed an occupied lounger. Ian, the drifter, reclined inside, his sunglasses off for once, tucked into the collar of his shirt. His blue eyes stared unseeingly, but his expression appeared sad. It felt wrong, seeing him like that, so I turned away and continued to the back of the room.

Irma was sprawled in her usual spot, the red leather settee displayed on the stage with a small table and bottle of bourbon.

"Sammy. Haven't seen you in a while," she said, her voice coming out in a purr. "Here for Amari?"

"Yeah," I nodded, pausing by the dais. The mature woman gave me a soft smile, her scarlet lips stretching.

"Head on back, sweetheart."

I gave another nod and went through the side door. Stairs led down to the basement where the city's clinic was set up. I peaked in through the open doorway, making sure the doctor wasn't busy with another patient.

Medical equipment and machines lined the walls with a couple of hospital beds to one side. The tile floors were a red and white checkered pattern, faded and cracked but sparkling. It was probably the cleanest room in the whole Commonwealth.

Dr. Amari was at her desk, typing at the terminal. Her dark hair was pulled into a bun with a couple of strands escaping and her reading glasses perched low on the bridge of her nose. She reminded me of my mother and I didn't really know how I felt about it. Like it was comforting but painful at the same time.

I knocked on the doorframe and her head shot up.

"Sam, come in," the doctor said, setting her glasses down and standing from her desk.

Walking into the room, I made it three steps before Amari was in front of me, her hands tilting my head up as she prodded my face to check my eyes and my gums.

"How are you feeling?" the doctor started, shooting rapid-fire questions. "You missed last month's appointment. Have you noticed any changes? Loss of appetite? Fatigue? Shortness of breath?"

Huffing, I swatted her hands away. "Fine! I'm fine—"

I stopped myself, rubbing a hand over my face. Pretending wasn't going to help me.

"Actually, I, uh," I gave a tired sigh, my shoulders dropping. "I'm not fine."

"Symptoms?" she asked.

"Just a cough," I replied quietly. "It only happened a couple of times. And some chest pain."

The doctor's mouth flattened, her brows pinching in worry. "We better take a look, then."

She gestured to one of the beds and I walked to it. We had done this several times, so I knew what to do without being told.

Pulling the strap over my head, I placed my tool kit on the floor. Next, I removed my hoodie and top, leaving me in just my sports bra, and hopped onto the elevated bed. Amari wheeled over the imaging machine, turning it on and pressing several buttons to get it set up. When it was ready, she placed the corded scanner against my chest.

"Just breathe normally," she murmured, her gaze focused on the screen.

I wasn't exactly sure how the machine worked—medical technologies were even more intricate than robotics—but it let you see inside a person's body. The wand was cold against my skin as Dr. Amari moved it slowly across. I couldn't see the screen, so I watched her face.

The doctor's eyes squinted in concentration, taking in every detail. Then, her expression fell.

"What is it?" I asked, though I already knew the answer.

She swallowed, pressing another button to save the image.

"The cancer has progressed," Amari said in a clinical way. "It is now in Stage Two."

My heart dropped into my stomach and I closed my eyes.

We had discovered the cancer growing in my lungs almost two years ago during one of my regular check-ups. Jack had become a bit paranoid after what happened at The Slog and insisted on them. Well, he was right to worry.

Not many people know this, but ghouls give off a low level of radiation. The ghouls know, but it's not something they go around telling everyone, especially not after Diamond City. Normally, it doesn't matter much. In a place like Goodneighbor—as cramped as it is—there's enough room and open space for it to not affect anyone, even if half the population are ghouls. You'd probably catch more rads rolling in the dirt. But in a place like The Slog… it was different.

The Slog had plenty of open spaces, being a farm, but that wasn't the problem. The entire settlement is just ghouls, about twenty of them, and there is only a single building that provides shelter. The rec center is separated into three main rooms. All the women sleep on one side, all the men on the other, with the common room right in the middle. All working together, eating together, living together.

When a small, smooth-skinned child came to live with them, no one had thought about it. No one thought about what the constant exposure would do, even if it was at such low amounts. No one thought about it, until I got sick. After five years, the radiation caught up with me.

I still remember their faces, and Jack's, when they realized what was happening. They blamed themselves for not seeing it sooner, but it wasn't their fault. It was mine, for not being strong enough.

It was why we had to leave. At the end of it, I was getting weekly transfusions of Rad Away and popping Rad-X like candy. I got over the radiation sickness soon after coming to Goodneighbor, but it still left its mark. The cancer, like a constant reminder of my weakness.

"Perhaps we should let the others know. Jack especially, since—"

"No." My eyes flashed open as I cut her off.

I didn't want anyone to know, especially Jack. He would only blame himself, just like he did before. He'd want me to move back to the city and keep me from scavenging or any other "risky" behavior. If I couldn't scavenge, if I couldn't do my part, then I wouldn't be useful.

If you weren't useful, you were useless, and useless things got left behind.

Amari sighed. "Sam, I know it is hard, but—"

"No! I don't," I paused, taking a breath to calm down. "I don't want them to know. Not yet."

"Then, when?" she asked with a raised brow.

When it can't be avoided, I thought to myself. At the last possible second when I can no longer hide it. It's not like Jack or the others could do anything to help, anyway. There was only one thing that would.

"Have you found it?" I spoke aloud, changing the subject.

The doctor turned away, setting the scanner back in its place and shutting down the machine.

"No," she said quietly. "Re-Gen, as you know, is rare and difficult to acquire. I have some friends of mine keeping an eye out for it. Daisy has her caravan contacts searching, as well."

"Daisy?" My head shot up. "You told Daisy about…"

"Of course, not." Amari gave me a small smile. "As your doctor, I will keep your medical information private, as you requested. Daisy is not aware of who needs the medicine, only that it is needed."

She bent and retrieved my shirt and hoodie, handing them to me. I yanked them on and hopped off the bed, grabbing my tool kit and securing the strap back across my chest.

It was likely that we would never find any Re-Gen, the medicine needed to cure my cancer. I would just have to keep going for as long as I could to give them as much time as possible.

A hand fell gently on my shoulder and I met Amari's warm brown gaze.

"We will find it, Sam," she reassured me. "In the meantime, you must avoid any radiation hazards. It will only aggravate the cancer and make it worse."

I gave her a flat look. Avoid radiation in a place where every pond and puddle were contaminated and rad storms blow across the Wastes on a weekly basis? Yeah, sure thing doc.

The woman took in my face, a long-suffering sigh escaping. "Just try your best."

"Thanks, Amari," I said, honest gratitude pulling a smile from me.

"Anything you need," she said, returning the smile. "And don't miss your next appointment."

I waved my hand behind me, making my way back up the stairs.

~0~

"Yep. There it is, alright," Rufus said as we peered down the open grate.

We were back behind the Rexford in a narrow alleyway, watching a large diameter pipe spit out contaminated water in the light from my pip-boy. Turns out, the leak wasn't in the basement. It was right here, way down in this teeny, tiny crawlspace.

"Purifier was making all kinds of noise," he continued. "Had to shut it down before it burned out the motor."

Rufus Rubins was an older man, his beard colored like salt and pepper—with more salt than pepper—and the dark skin of his face creased with smile lines. He was the resident handyman and did a good job keeping the town running. There were some jobs, though, that were a bit much for his old bones.

Which meant I had to do it.

I leaned over the opening, trying to get a better look. The leak wasn't too bad, trickling out of a fairly large tear in the side of the 4-inch metal pipeline.

"You turn the main water off?" I asked.

"Nah," he shook his head. "Think there's a blockage somewhere in the line. Figured we patch up the leak and worry about the clog later."

I turned my head to grin at him. "We, huh?"

"Okay, alright," Rufus said with a bark of laughter. "I see how it is. Hey, tell you what, how 'bout you jump in that hole and try sassin' the leak, see if it dries up."

I snickered, flipping my satchel open and pulling out the necessary tools. "If that's all it took, you'd be out of work."

"Yeah," he chuckled. "Between you and Clair, it'd be enough to keep Goodneighbor runnin' for the next couple of decades."

Snorting, I sat on the edge of the utility hole, my feet dangling down. Rolling up my sleeves, I scooted over, using my hands to brace against the concrete ground.

"Careful, now," Rufus warned, hovering next to me.

I grunted out a "yeah" and lowered myself down, my feet sliding against the walls. When my arms were fully extended I let go, dropping a couple more inches. My boots hit the bottom with a splash, the dirty water mixed with trash and debris coming up to my ankles. The pip-boy on my wrist let out a few clicking sounds, the Geiger counter picking up low levels of rads, and I cursed.

Didn't Amari just tell me to avoid radiation? But I was already down here and the pipe needed to be fixed. Besides, who else was going to do it?

"You okay down there?" Rufus called.

"Yeah," I replied, my voice echoing in the small chamber. "Looks like the drainage field is clogged in here, too."

The air was rancid, like something had been rotting for a while. The smell made me gag and I pulled my bandana over my nose to block it out. The sooner I got to work, the sooner I could take a much needed shower.

"Go ahead and pass me that clamp," I grumbled.

The old tinkerer knelt on the ground above the opening with a muffled groan and started handing down my tools.

I situated the clamp over the pipe and slid the scrap piece of curved metal into place. The corner of the plate was angled wrong, refusing to lay flush. Taking the ball-peen hammer from my belt, I gave it a couple good whacks, the ping of metal on metal loud. On my last swing, the pipe gave a shudder, shifting in place.

The old metal tube made an odd moan, vibrations running down its length causing dust to fall.

"Sam?"

Suddenly, water sprayed from the tear, the volume of it instantly soaking through my clothes. It spewed out in all directions, the metal plate partially blocking but not stopping the massive flow. The fabric over my mouth was drenched and suffocating so I ripped it off.

"Shit!" Rufus yelled above me.

I rushed forward and yanked on the clamp, trying to tighten it to stem the water. The small space was already filling up, the sewage coming up to my thighs.

"Give me your hand!" he barked. I ignored him, taking my hammer to the lever on the truss.

"Dammit, Sam, come on, get outta there!"

"No!" I yelled back, meeting his eye briefly. "I have to fix it, or we won't have any water!"

Rufus paused, debating for a moment before letting out another curse. "Okay, I'll turn off the mainline. Just hold on!"

He left, running down the alley and I turned back to the pipe. The water was up to my waist and I gave one last whack with the hammer before tossing it aside and reaching for my torch. Even dripping wet, the champ still sparked up, the bright blue jet blinding.

Pulling the welding goggles resting on my forehead down over my eyes, I got to work. The water rose over the pipe but the torch powered through, melding the metals together. After the third side was done, the sewage was up to my chest.

Only one side was left and it was the hardest. It was along the bottom curve of the pipe, completely under water. The levels were still rising, which meant the pipe was still leaking.

I had to get it done. The town couldn't go without clean water.

Cursing to myself, I took a couple of deep breaths. Then, I dropped to my knees. My head went under the nasty water and I was grateful the goggles kept it out of my eyes. The torch gave off plenty of light and I set the jet to the last seam.

It wasn't long before my lungs started to burn with the need to breathe. But I was so close to finishing, just another inch…I made the last pass and cheered in my head—

I was yanked up by my hood so forcefully I dropped the torch, the collar of the sweatshirt choking me. My head broke the surface and I coughed and sputtered, my arms flailing around, trying to grab onto what had hold of me. A grip like steel clamped onto my wrist and jerked me out of the hole with tremendous strength. I fell to the pavement on my hands and knees, hacking up a lung and spitting that awful taste out of my mouth.

"Sam! Thank heavens." Rufus knelt by me, a hand on my shoulder. "You okay, kid?"

Everything was dark and I pulled my welding goggles down around my neck. Sitting back on my heels, I gave him a nod, gasping past the pain in my chest. My pip-boy was going off, clicking away louder than before.

"What the hell were you thinking?" came Jack's enraged growl.

He was on one knee next to the manhole, his right arm and side soaked with sewage, chest heaving but not from exertion. His eyes flashed in anger and he turned his glare towards Rufus.

"Did you put her up to this?" he asked, surging to his feet, his teeth bared.

Rufus stood, too, his hands up in front of him. "Now, wait a minute, Jack."

"Just gunna let her drown in that fucking hole?!" the ghoul snarled, taking a threatening step towards him.

Jack was big, standing at six-foot-five with a broad, muscular build. It didn't take much for him to be intimidating and people that didn't know him usually gave him a wide berth. But now, with his scarred face twisted in rage…poor Rufus didn't deserve that.

"Hey!" I screamed, jumping to my feet. My boots slid on the grimy, wet street as I put myself between the two. "He didn't make me do anything. I stayed down there to—"

"You what?!" Jack screamed back, his voice rumbling like thunder. "Why? Why would you—"

"To fix the pipe! The purifier is—"

"No, no, no, God dammit, Sam, you know better!" He stalked away a few steps, hands on his head.

A small crowd was forming down the cramped alleyway, the residents drawn in by all the yelling. Jack turned back towards me with a finger pointing at my chest.

"You fucking know better than to take stupid risks like this. You're not—" He stopped himself and brought a hand up to cover his face, as if to keep the words from coming out.

My heart panged sharply. Not strong enough, is what he was going to say. I just knew it.

"Not what, Jack?" I asked, my voice going quiet.

He didn't speak and the clicking of my pip-boy was deafening in the stillness. He glanced at it, folding his arms across his chest.

"Just," the old ghoul looked away, absently staring into the uncovered utility hole. "Just get cleaned up and go see Amari before you get sick again."

The words were like a physical blow. My sight clouded with tears and I bit my bottom lip hard to stop them from falling. Was that all he thought I was? Too weak to do anything…just a fragile, sick little kid?

Aren't I, though?

Turning on my heel, my gaze landed on a blurry Rufus.

"Fixed the leak, by the way," I told him, forcing myself to speak as evenly as I could. "If you find my torch, I want it back."

"Sure thing, Sam." The man gave my shoulder a gentle pat and I pulled away.

My clothes felt three times heavier, dripping with the dirty water, and my boots made odd squelching sounds as I stumbled down the alley. The crowd pressed to one side, not willing to get splashed with the foul smelling liquid. Fine by me. My skin was starting to itch and all I wanted to do was wash and fall into bed to forget about the whole day.

The sooner the better.