By the time the third kitten was born, Zenda knew what to do: remove the membrane, wash the kitten, nudge it toward her belly. That made her reaction to the fourth kitten all the stranger: she sniffed it and ignored it.

Lana picked it up and tore the membrane, and saw why: this one was not moving, nor mewing, nor breathing. Its nose was pure white, no healthy pink at all. She tried rubbing it in the washcloth and even blew into its nostrils gently, but it did not, could not react.

"Three out of four born alive is actually a good percentage," Lucy said. "I mean, everything has mutated so weirdly that I wonder how some animals manage to give birth at all. Like Brahmin. You'd think the two heads would pose a problem."

"I've seen a few Brahmin calves born in my trips with the caravan," Lana said, "And I read a prewar poem about a two-headed calf. It was beautiful and sad. It was about how by morning, he would be dead, but right then, he was warm and safe with his mother, and there were twice as many stars as usual. I didn't understand it when I read it, because I was thinking, why should he die? Weren't two-headed calves normal? Back then, they weren't.

"Anyway, there was only one time the Brahmin needed help calving….wait, where did the stillborn one go?" Lana looked around.

Zenda was swallowing something. "Eww." Lucy said, for the third or fourth time.

"That's nature's way. Don't waste the meat. I suppose it's only human beings who get all sentimental about who meat was before they died." Lana shook her head.

"I don't know about that. I don't mean that animals get sentimental, but he," Lucy jerked her head in the direction of the kitchen, "made ass jerky out of somebody he knew."

"He did?" Lana cast a glance that way. "Well, in the Wasteland, you do what you have to."

"Have you ever eaten…former people?" Lucy asked.

"Not that I know of, at least not for certain. However, some caravan stops have vendors with some very suspicious stews. Not something I care to dwell on."

Suddenly two dogs appeared in the doorway. "Should I block them?" Lucy asked.

"Not Kirby; he would never harm a kitten. He was Zenda's babysitter, back when she was a baby. He'd wash her and cuddle with her—if he could have, I think he would have nursed her. When she got bigger, she would sleep with one of his ears for a blanket, and his tails were the best toy."

"That's adorable," Lucy said. Both dogs crowded around the bed, Dogmeat looking at the new family with interest, Kirby with something akin to adoration. Zenda accepted her babysitter's attention, but hissed at Dogmeat.

"I wonder if I can slide out from under Zenda and her babies now that Kirby's here." Lana said. "Quite frankly, I really need to use the toilet."

Carefully she inched her way out from under the bedspread. "Freedom," she said with triumph, and disappeared through a door.

When she came back, there was another kitten, this one alive and quite vocal about it. It was the same light grey-white with black markings as Zenda.

"Four!" Lana remarked.

"Uh-huh!" Lucy exclaimed. "Zenda, they're beautiful."

Zenda squinched all six of her green eyes in pleasure as she purred and purred.

"They're almost but not quite as adorable as you were when you were a kitten," Lana said.

"Are you going to keep them all?" Lucy asked.

"I'll probably keep one," Lana said, "and put the word out among my neighbors that she had a litter. Lots of people have asked me about getting a tarantulynx of their own—I love that name, by the way."

"Really?" Lucy asked.

"Oh, absolutely," Lana assured her. "Zenda is a mighty huntress. At least five days out of seven, she brings back a kill. Often it's just a mole-rat or a rad-rat, but other times it's a fish, or a goose, and sometimes even a small gulper or lakelurk. We have no problem with ordinary vermin around here. Our neighbors who grow corn and razorgrain would love to have a kitten. Plus, she's also such good company.

"Anyway," Lana looked around, "I want to get dressed, because I can smell breakfast. That reminds me—there are two suitcases of scavenged clothes up in the loft where I keep the finished leathers. I hadn't got around to altering them yet. If you like, you can bring them down and see if you can make use of anything. I think there are some unisex things in there as well that might do for Cooper."

"Hey, thanks!" Lucy left the room.

Lana was left alone with the animals for a moment. "The best babies in the world, Zenda." She told her cat as she scratched under her chin. "You did great."

Zenda squinched her eyes again, and her purr increased in volume.

Janey entered just as Lana was starting to close the door. "Lucy said there's another one!"

"There is, see?"

"Oh, they're so cute!" Janey stood there petting Kirby with one hand and Dogmeat with the other. "Um…Lana?"

Lana was searching around in the wardrobe. "Hmm?"

"You should wear a pretty dress today," Janey smiled, a hint of innocent coyness playing around her face. She opened a dresser drawer. "This one!"

Lana turned to see Janey holding up a particular dress she had made and loved too much to sell. "I'm not wearing albino rad-doe suede to breakfast, kiddo. That one is not for eating in."

"But you never wear it," Janey pouted.

"I haven't yet had the right occasion. So, no. Why do you think I should wear a pretty dress?" Lana asked.

"Well, because it's the first breakfast we're all having together, which makes this a special day, right?" Janey reasoned.

"The real reason, kiddo, please. Or do you want me to Sherlock Holmes it?"

"Um… no….Can I whisper in your ear?" Janey asked.

"Okay," Lana leaned down so Janey could reach her ear.

"Uh….Would you maybe, please, marry my daddy? That way, I mean, we'd be a real family…"

"Oh." Lana sat on a part of her bed which wasn't currently stained with feline body fluids or covered with kittens and Zenda and the dogs. "I am going to be doing all kinds of laundry today, I can tell.

"I know why you want me to marry your dad. However, I can't say yes or no right now. I don't know him well enough yet to answer. Plus you're leaving out the fact that he would have to agree."

"Oh," Janey said. She laughed a little. "Just kidding."

"Kiddo, we both know you weren't kidding. But do you really think anything could make the two of us more family than we are right now? Or less?" Lana drew Janey to her and hugged her close, kissed her temple.

"I know! And I know that…that's the kind of thing from fairy tales, or movies, and I shouldn't get my hopes up… but what if you were to fall in love with him?" Janey beseeched Lana with her eyes.

"I don't know. I've never been in love—at least, not that I remember. I do know one thing, though, and that is, both your dad and I love you an awful lot. So that's something we have in common. It's a place to start. So. Do me a solid and get food and water for Zenda, and I'll be dressed when you get back. Okay?"

"Okay!" Janey went out, and Lana went back to her wardrobe.

"Wonder if I could convince you to move your little family in here?" she mused, speaking over her shoulder to Zenda. "I'd make you a little nest, and it would be so safe and cozy."

Lana looked through her clothes. By and large, her outfits were not pretty. They tended to be the kind of thing that kept her skin intact when running away from a rampaging radhog through sticker bushes. Yet there were a few pieces that were more feminine, because even hunter-killer synths had days they wanted to wear something besides leather.

She took out an apricot geepswool sweater she liked. People had told her it brought out the color of her eyes. Should she really be doing this? Trying to attract Janey's dad? Trying to attract Cooper?

She wasn't made of ice and stone. Last night, when they had stood so close she could feel his breath on her cheek… He was very masculine. And tall. And…yes, attractive. True, he was a ghoul who had a permanent rad-burn and lacked a nose, but he had a charm that shone through that.

Then she considered the likelihood that the sweater would get snagged by somebody's claws that day, one way or another, and put it back. Choosing a simple indigo cotton dress instead, she put it on. It had a collar like a man's shirt, buttoned down the front, and left her arms bare. She left the top two buttons open, and the bottom two as well.

What if she turned out to be bad at…interacting? Missed the signals, or misinterpreted them? Or he wasn't interested in her at all?

And why was she even thinking about this when everyone else was on the brink of a crisis?

"Inner voices, shut up," she commanded, and went to breakfast.

A/N: The poem Lana is thinking of is 'The Two-Headed Calf' by Laura Gilpin. It is heart-rending.