"You've never left home before? Really? Oh, honey, thank God Sherrif Simms brought you in to town! Really, you look terrible! Let me help you get back on your feet, and don't let Moriarty give you a hard time! He's a bit of a hard ass, but a nice guy once you get to know him."

"And you said…you said it's the seventh of September?"

"That I did. But try to rest your voice, you sound scratchy, pretty English lady. I'll help you put your things down once we get up and into my home, and then I'm going to get you some water in a jiffy. It's going to be alright; you're just disoriented and dehydrated. And, hey, Church did a pretty good job patching you up. I even had him stitch a little smiley face to keep up your spirits, though it's kind of hard to see from your side. Just keep moving steady, girl, I'm not going to let you fall."

Everything…it feels heavy. Heavy. Hazy. Dry. Dizzy. Weak. Gritty. Bony. I've always been tiny but I...almost feel like a corpse.

Did I even put the bottles of water Amata gave me back in my bag after I drank them…

The fourth of September. That was it. The day I had to…

If today is the seventh September…I've been out here nearly three days.

If Amata hadn't shoved food and water into one of my bags when she got me out, I'd be dead.

Maybe that was what he wanted.

"Hey, hey, need a break? You're shaking a lot again. We're almost there, but if you need to –"

"I'm so sorry," Is that really my voice? I almost never… "We can keep going, I don't want…I don't want to be a –"

"You're not being difficult, you're in a shit state. Honestly, I'd be more concerned if you were acting just fine…death rallying and all."

Almost there. I look up as best I can, holding onto this woman's arms for dear life. She's right. We're almost there. There's a man outside a strangely shaped building who rushes to open the door. She stumbles me inside. Cold. Cold air is circulating in here. It really is a home, not a figment of my imagination. Stairs. It almost feels as though I'm crawling and she's lightly tugging me upwards. It doesn't matter. Soon enough, we're up to the second floor. Light. Dark. In. Out. The spots and clouds in my vision…are they getting better or worse? Then, the heavy sensation lightens. Shaking, I nearly fall over and onto the wood floor, but she catches me and carefully pushes me back up and onto something soft. Something is shoved under my head…then something light over…a pillow. A blanket. Something heavy bangs onto the floor, followed by two more thuds in quick succession. My bags? The woman's face suddenly reappears, and something cold and wet is laid on my forehead, pressing down some of my hair…long, matted, thin, dusty... Sudden panic grabbing me, I reach up towards my head to grab my hair but hit my glasses, their thin, red frames flashing the bright colour into my vision. Somehow, they're there but feel coarse and grimy. Is that because of my fingers or because of the way I was…the state I was in when they…

My glasses. I'm farsighted. I don't necessarily need…Amata didn't need to grab them and give them to me before getting me out before her…before he…

"Just stay there and keep that towel on your head. I'm going to get you some cold water to drink, and something easy to keep down. Don't want you to start feeling even worse by throwing up."

"I might have before I…before –"

"Shhhhh…don't worry. Just focus on what's happening now. When you're ready, I'll give you some of my clothes to change into and wash yours out. I'll have Church come by soon. You were really out of it when he was stitching you up in his office. I don't think I've ever seen anyone struggle to but need to drink so much water before. I'm so glad we found you. I don't even want to think about what might have happened to you otherwise."

Her voice. It's almost familiar even though that's impossible. Soft, sweet, sing songy. A hint of twang here and there. She hums a lot too. It's comforting, and the way she talks is almost motherly…maybe that's why it's comforting. Her footsteps come and go, nearer one second and much farther away the next, almost as if they're another hollow sound reverberating all around me. It's hard to tell. My ears are ringing again. Did they ever stop? Or have I just become completely numb to the sensation, the ringing accompanying the dull throbbing in my head.

It doesn't matter. I'm alive. I'm not going to die.

And I still couldn't be more lucky and unlucky at the same time.

Dad, where'd you go? And what happened…why did Alphonse…

"Oh God…" There's the weak, raspy voice again. It has to be mine, doesn't it? Even though it doesn't sound anything like… "He's dead. Alfie is…Alfie's dead."

"Alfie? Who's he?" Her face appears again, clearer this time. Did she clean the dust and grime off my glasses or… "Hold still," She pushes something into my mouth. Straw. A straw. "This should be easier than it was while you were with Church. Just take it slow. I squeezed some oranges into the water, so it should help. I don't know if you can tell time right now, but you've been here in town about fourteen hours, and you haven't passed out. Church said that's a good sign, so try and focus on recovering."

Fourteen hours. That's longer than I thought.

And she's right. It's a good sign. Even severely dehydrated, which I must be, if I'm not…

No fainting. Probably no…no seizing…right?

It may feel like a terrible hangover, the kind one might have if they drank to excess, but in most cases, so long as the person had consumed some fluid about thirty six hours before, even severe dehydration is survivable in most cases.

Dad.

Everything feels awful. My lips feel as though they're splitting with every sip I take, no matter how small.

Those were dad's words…they had to be, and he's taught me just about everything I…

I keep trying to sip. F. O. C. U. S. Focus. Will trying to spell out what she's telling me help?

A hand clasps onto my shoulder, I think. The other…her other hand must be what's holding mine and the cup. My hands…tremors? Everything is still fading in and out…but it's slowing down? How long has it been doing…

"You're doing great," She eagerly says. Suddenly there's nothing. No more liquid. The hands let me go and her footsteps sound farther away again. "I'm going to pour you another one and bring over some crackers. Sorry about them being bland, but, honestly, that's probably a good thing for you right now. Church said not to overwhelm your system."

A hand grabs my shoulder again, and the other quickly pushes everything back into the same position. The only difference…how quickly did she refill…was the tearing noise opening the…

This time, when I try to sip again, there's more water. She wasn't kidding about squeezing oranges into…the tanginess is a relief; my throat feels less itchy, and the water feels…calming.

I'm not going to die. But it's been… About three days? And she said about fourteen hours of them being here, so far. What is…where even… How far am I from home?

Though the thought of eating anything right now is revolting, I do slowly nibble on the crackers as she hands them to me, partially to be polite and partially because I know they should, with the water, help make the nauseated feeling subside. I eventually leave them sitting beside me on the couch. She means well. But everything…I just want it to stop. The dizzy feeling. The hazy spots. The tremors. Feeling completely nauseated. At some point…how long has it…she's able to let go. Still shaking, not sure if I'll drop it, I pull my legs up towards my chest to hold the cup still, drinking slower. Maybe slower will help? She comes back just before I finish the rest of this…is dose the right word given the…

"You know, when the Sherrif found you, you'd lost pretty much all the colour in your skin. You're looking a little better. I know you're pale and all, but you look less like a ghost and more alive," She smiles, refilling the cup of water, and I can't help but smile a little back at her, even as uneven as I… "You'll probably look a little pinker than usual for a little after we get you all fixed up, but you'll be good as new soon. You're doing great, honey."

I don't know what to…slowly she helps me stand up and set the water down, for a minute.

"If you're alright with it, can I help you get into more comfortable and clean clothes?" She sweeps something off of the table…when did she put them…I'm not sure if I got the words out but I nod when she asks me again if she can help me into the clean clothes. "I'll be quick and gentle with you. Hopefully getting into these will help make you feel a bit better too."

"They probably will," I say with a weak laugh. "And…and thanks."

"No problem at all, honey. You feeling steady?" She pauses, holding me still before slipping a soft shirt on me over my Vault suit. "I don't want to make you uneasy, but –"

"It's okay. I think I need…" I shakily nod before letting her unzip my Vault suit and slip it off my body. It…I already feel a bit…a bit lighter? She slips a soft pair of…pyjama pants, I think? She slips them on me and then, when I start struggling to reach back to slide my bra off from under the shirt, she hesitates but gently tugs it off too, letting out a sigh of relief when I relax. Somehow everything…it all feels lighter. "You don't have to do this…" I whisper…is this the only way my voice sounds even close to… "Why help me?"

"Because you're a human being," She replies. "Why wouldn't I?"

"In the…in the Vault we were always told…" It wasn't true it wasn't true it wasn't – "We were told the world outside the Vault, the people would, they were…oh God. They…they lied to us. But why…"

"I don't know, honey, but it's alright now," She steadies me – when did I start shaking again or did I never really… "I can't promise this for everyone even in this town, but I won't lie to you. You don't have to believe me, but –"

"I do," I know she wouldn't, no one who does all this for someone they don't even… "Thank you so much…"

She laughs a little when I do my best to hug her but hugs me too once she gets me steady on the couch again. "Don't even worry about," She lets me go, sweeps up my Vault suit and bra. "I'll get these washed and fixed up for you. For now, just stay in those. If you've got any other clothes in your bags, I'll get those a bit later, too. I don't know if I mentioned it, but I'm Moira! I like to think I'm a tinkerer and a researcher, but I spend most of my time taking care of supplies and repairs around here. I'm also hoping to write a book but that's just a pet project. Oh! I can't believe I didn't ask, but what's your name, honey?"

"Annette," I say and she smiles again and hops up, coming back to hand me the cup of water again and…I manage to hold it myself after a few minutes of struggling to not keep… "You're really nice," I say almost embarrassed. "It's…I really appreciate it."

"Just happy to help," She says, humming and turning around. "I'll start getting these washed for you, and I'll be right back."

Almost like a fairy, she's there one minute and disappeared up another set of stairs the other. I keep sipping the water. Nibbling every so often on a cracker. How long have we been… The spotting in my vision is almost gone, I'm pretty sure. Hopefully the nauseated feeling will go away soon, too. The sound of water running starts above me. Do they have laundry washers and driers here too or is it by hand? How different are things, really, out here than they were at home, in the Vault? I shiver. The blanket. I reach behind me and, a bit shakily, pull it around myself. She was right. The…the doctor was too, wasn't he? I think he said I would recover but I can't quite… My medical supplies, my notes, everything…did I forget them or are they in one of my bags? I'll have to look later. The water running stops. Her footsteps are coming down the stairs again. Seeing her is a relief. Grounding. She's been…has she really be the only consistent thing since I was found and…

"Here's this," She's close again, fixing the blanket over my shoulders and evening out my glasses on my face before putting something in my hands. "Something felt caught in the pocket of your Vault suit and, when I tried to dislodge it, I found this. I'm glad I found it, washing it might have ruined…"

Dad's holotape. I thought I'd left it in my bag where I found it but…

"I'll leave you be to listen to it," She says and I nod, shaken. "I'll be down in the store working. Holler if you need anything."

I know the second she's gone the mask slips because it's no longer just my hands shaking but my entire body and, the second I can't hear her anymore, I begin fighting with the holotape. Everything is still…fuzzy. My body feels strange, even in her soft, clean clothes. My head still hurts, even though she – I think – washed my hair, not just brushed it out. Did she do that but I can't remember? Does my forehead still feel damp from the cloth or from that? Does it matter? Things are feeling better, thanks to her. Moira. Things are feeling better thanks to Moira. And the man called Church. I'm still here, and alive, because of them. Because of them, and Butch, and Amata.

Amata, I'm so sorry…I never thought he would…I never thought Alfie would have you beaten nearly to death because of…

"Annie?" Amata had grabbed my arm, turning me around, nearly sliding my bags off me and all but lunging on me to kiss me. I held onto her, the soft feeling of her lips on mine, the way it felt when they parted and we… "I'll be here when you come home, whenever that may be," She had whispered when she pulled away. "I love you."

"I love you too."

I love you too…should I have said more?

I wish I could go back…but I can't, even if it's safer now Alfie is...I can't. I can't go back, not without knowing where dad went or why Alfie tried to kill us.

Dad's holotape. Maybe he left…finally finding the switch – why did I…how did I forget where… – I set it to play, flicking up the volume as high as it goes.

"Hold on, Jonas, I need to record this first," Dad's voice is the same…and Jonas. Jonas is…Alfie had him killed before he tried to…why did any of this have to happen? Why… "I don't really know how to tell you this, Annie. I hope you'll understand, but I know you might be angry. I thought about it for a long time, but, in the end, I decided it was best for you not to know where I am going or the specifics of why. So many things could have gone wrong, and there's really no telling how Alphonse will react when he finds out. It's best if he can blame everything on me. Obviously, you already know I'm gone. It was something I needed to do, a commitment I need to fulfil. You're an adult, now. You're ready to be on your own."

No, I'm not, not without knowing why.

"Maybe someday, things will change, and we can see each other again. In fact, I'm sure of it. I can't tell you why I left or where I'm going. I don't want you to follow me."

Then why didn't you tell me you were leaving, why you had to, if you didn't want me to try and find you?

"God knows life in the Vault isn't perfect, but at least you'll be safe. Just knowing that will be enough to keep me going."

But I wasn't safe. Amata wasn't safe. Butch wasn't safe. None of us were and, if we were, Amata never would have had to…she wouldn't have been forced to…

"Don't mean to rush you, Doc –" Jonas' voice…you…did Alfie have you…because you helped… "– But I'd feel better if we got this over with."

"Okay, go ahead," Dad's voice again and…I drop the tape, covering my ears and closing my eyes. The grating metal, the groan of the Vault opening the door to…when it stops, I open my eyes and reach to pick it up, shaking when it's in my hands and dad's voice comes out again. "Goodbye, for now, Princess. I love you."

And I realise I'm still alive, not going to die, for certain, now, when I realise I'm crying, enough water back in my system to cause tears to fall, steadier, and steadier.

Down.

Down.

Down.

And, the more I keep trying to stop the awful feeling still clawing all over my body by drinking the water, it just keeps going, and I don't know what to say to Moira when she comes back up and holds me, brushing my hair again the way a mother brushes her child's hair to soothe them.

I never knew mom, dad, and she died because of…because of me. You're the only parent I've ever known.

How could you think I wouldn't need to know why you left? How could you think I wouldn't go after you?