Fallout 1. Chapter 1

"C'mon," Maeve whispered, tugging at Amata's hand. Vault 101 was in its simulated night cycle, every light dimmed, and the two girls crept through the dark in near-silence. As always, the doctor's daughter led the way. "My dad and Jonas showed me the coolest place," she said, barely able to contain her enthusiasm, and Amata hurriedly shushed her. The Overseer's daughter was going to be in _huge_ trouble with her dad if she was discovered out of bed at two in the morning. But she would follow Maeve through the gates of hell itself.

It was just the way they were, they way they always had been. And even if Maeve was a big ten-year-old now, it would never change.

The two children were a study in contrasts. Amata's dark hair was carefully brushed, pulled back behind her ears; Maeve's unruly locks spilled out from beneath her red baseball cap in a drifting cloud around her face, a golden color her dad called "cornsilk," whatever that meant. Amata's skin was softly dusky; Maeve was pale and freckled. There was caution in Amata's step and wild abandon in her friend's, one on tiptoe and the other half dancing.

Of course, she had extra reason for joy today; she'd been showered with presents at a surprise party, broken Butch DeLoria's nose over a sweetroll, and shot a radroach with her new BB gun. Easily the best day of her life.

And she wasn't prepared to let it end just yet. She tugged Amata down the stairs to the reactor level, ignoring the whispers of "but we're not allowed down here!" and "we could get in so much trouble!" just like she always did. Given how distant Amata's dad was, Maeve saw it as her solemn duty to make sure her friend had some fun and broke some rules as often as she could manage. Besides, she had to say thank you for all the work Amata had put into her party. And she knew just how to do it.

She tried the door, but it wouldn't budge. "See?" Amata whispered, her voice urgent. "We can't go in there!" Maeve rolled her eyes. Quick as a snake, she snatched one of the bobby pins out of Amata's hair. "Ow! What was that for?"

The wild child grinned. "Watch and learn." Producing a screwdriver from her jumpsuit, she worked both pieces of metal into the lock, humming as she concentrated. Moments later there was a soft click, and the door slid open. Giving Amata a playful punch on the shoulder, she walked through, then turned into one of the side rooms. "C'mon, it's this way. No one will ever catch us down here."

Amata hesitated a moment, gathering her courage, then swallowed hard and followed. The room beyond was just reactor component storage, though the BB gun targets Jonas had set up still creaked and twisted in the slight breeze of the air recyclers. They cast long shadows in the dim light, like growling monsters. Amata stepped back, her heart beating fast. But then Maeve was beside her. She slid her hand into Amata's, entwining their fingers and giving them a quick squeeze.

"It's okay," she said, her deep blue eyes full of reassurance. "C'mere, I have something super cool to show you."

They sat on some of the smaller crates while Maeve fished around in her jumpsuit's pockets. Bits of wire, a pair of pliers, several BBs, a bit of surgical tubing... she discarded each in turn, frowning. Finally her grin returned as she produced a crumpled photograph and passed it to Amata.

It was of a singer in a daringly-cut dress, a sultry half-smile on her face as she crooned out over a casino lounge. "She's so pretty," Amata murmured. "Yeah," Maeve said. "But look at her ears." Amata looked, squinting in the dimness, and finally made out some kind of round, metallic thing at the bottom of her earlobe. "What's that?"

Maeve grinned even wider. "I asked my dad, and he said that back before the war, pretty ladies used to wear 'earrings'. So I made us some. Y'know, to say thanks for my party. And issue 14; Grognak is so cool." Sliding her hand into another pocket, she pulled out four little metal studs, painstakingly carved and sanded down from bits of scrap metal Stanley wouldn't miss. "Cool!" Amata said, picking one up between her fingers. "But how do we put them on?"

Maeve gave a casual shrug. "You have to get your ears pierced." She opened her other hand to reveal a long, thick stimpack needle. Amata's eyes got big.

Maeve sighed dramatically. "It's not gonna be that bad. Here, you can do me first." Reaching out, she closed her friend's trembling fingers over the needle, guided it up to her right ear. "Ok," she said. "Keep it steady and just push, real fast." Amata bit her lip. "But..."

Maeve rolled her eyes, then tugged on Amata's hand, hard. Amata let loose a little shriek, letting go of the needle, so Maeve pulled it out on her own. "See?" She said, smiling. "Not that bad. Now do my other one." As always, her confidence was infectious. Amata took the needle back, not shaking this time, and followed Maeve's steady guiding hand. It was over in a moment.

Collecting two of the studs, Maeve tucked them through the little holes; their dark silver contrasted the gold of her hair. "How do I look?" She asked, smiling. "Really pretty," Amata told her, and meant it.

"Ok, now you," Maeve said, producing a second needle; her dad had taught her never to mess with dirty needles. Amata held very still, biting her lip hard. But Maeve's hands were steady and quick; it wasn't half as bad as she'd expected. Her friend gently fitted the other two studs into her ears, then leaned back. "How do _I_ look?" Amata asked in turn.

Maeve smiled, and it was a quiet smile this time. "You're always pretty. But they look good on you."


	2. Chapter 2

A knock at Amata's door jerked her from her studies. She marked her place, then snapped the book closed, dropping it among the half dozen others Mr. Brotch had assigned over the past year. Her father might not have time to give her a hug or have dinner with her, but he expected her to excel in her studies, and she did her best. Crossing to the door, she cycled it open.

Some things had changed over the years. Amata had filled out, with real curves and a chest; Maeve not so much, with a wiry frame and a pair of mosquito bites, though she'd grown long-legged and well-toned. Amata had taken to tying her hair back in a loose bun; Maeve's fell to her mid-neck in a short, soft curtain. But the important things were still the same. Maeve still danced when she walked. Amata would still follow her anywhere. Both still wore their little steel earrings.

The Overseer had thrown a fit about that, of course, and directed it mostly at Maeve's dad. But her dad was cool; he'd stood by them both. Meanwhile _Amata's_ dad tried everything he could think of to keep them apart. But there was nothing in the vault, except maybe the massive vault door, that could keep Maeve out of someplace she wanted to be. Eventually he'd given up, conceding that Amata was at least not running off to kiss boys like Christine Kendall.

Maeve's smile hadn't changed, either. "Hey, birthday girl," she said, split by that infectious grin. She wrapped Amata in a fierce hug, lifting her up and twirling her once around before setting her down and inviting herself in. "What the hell's all this?" She asked, gesturing to the books on the bed. "Ce-le-brate. Look it up." Amata sighed and shook her head, trying to put on a firm face over the smile struggling to emerge. "The G.O.A.T. is tomorrow. I have to make sure I'm ready. We can celebrate after that."

Maeve stared at her like she'd just suggested going out to live in the wasteland. "You realize the G.O.A.T. has no wrong answers, right?" She asked, crossing the room again to flick Amata on the forehead. "You _can't_ fail, so what the hell's the point of studying?" Amata swallowed; that was hard to argue with. "Well," she said, "it's just that my dad wants me to..."

"What did he get you for your birthday?" Maeve asked, her face suddenly serious. Amata looked at the floor, trying to keep the hurt in. "He's... really busy," she managed. "And he can't use extra resources for anyone. He has to be fair." Maeve snorted. "Like he's ever been fair to you. C'mon, it's sweet sixteen! Tomorrow you'll get your job - bet you a comic you'll be on the supervisory track - and be a full-on adult. So c'mon, celebrate the age of irresponsibility with me one last time."

Amata looked up, managing a little smile as she held back the tears. She wondered if her dad had even remembered her birthday; she doubted it. "He's right about you, you know. You always do get me into trouble." Maeve threw her a mock salute. "That's why I don't even need to take the G.O.A.T. I already have a job. Now, presents time. The official vault mischief instigator will not take no for an answer."

They sat on the edge of her bed, brushing the books aside to tumble onto the floor. Maeve unslung the tool bag Stanley had given her for her sixteenth birthday from her shoulder and eased it down to the floor; something tinkled inside. "Been working on this for a while," she said, fumbling around within before finally pulling out something glittering. "It's not a perfect likeness, but... well, I hope you like it." She turned the makeshift frame around for Amata to inspect.

Her breath caught in her throat. It was her, her face formed of dyed metal shavings, from her dark hair and hazel eyes to the blue and yellow collar of her jumpsuit. The lines were perfect, some smooth, some straight. The metal Amata wore a little half-smile. She gently took it from Maeve's hands, tracing her fingers across its rough texture. "I had to mop floors for a month to get Stanley to let me use that much Wonderglue," Maeve said with a nervous little chuckle. "Uh... what do you think?"

Dropping it to the bed, Amata threw her arms around her friend. "It's beautiful," she said, squeezing Maeve tightly, feeling her warmth. "Thank you so much!"

They stayed like that a little while, just being close to each other, just touching. "Problem is," Maeve said, finally breaking the silence, "if you put that up in your room, everyone will think you're an ego trip, pictures of yourself all over the place." Amata pulled back and gave her a playful swat on the arm. "Whose fault is that?" They both laughed, and the moment was broken. Amata sighed and started to reach for one of her books, but Maeve swatted her hand.

"Hey, none of that. This wasn't irresponsible at all, so I still have a job to do!" Amata laughed again as Maeve rooted around in her toolbag. She pulled something out, hiding it with her body, then crossed to Amata's door and cycled it closed. Turning it around, she held the object up by its top: a boxy black bottle. Amata frowned. "Is that..."

"Vodka," Maeve said with a grin. "Mrs. DeLoria needs to drink less - where does she get this stuff, anyway? - so I figured I would find a better purpose for a bottle or two."

Amata frowned. "You want me to take the G.O.A.T. with a hangover? I've never had any of that stuff before." Maeve's eyebrows shot up in mock alarm. "Then you're in deep trouble if there's an alcohol-related question! What would Mr. Brotch say if his star pupil became a garbage burner on the basis of booze inexperience?"

With a roll of her eyes and a grin she couldn't suppress, Amata held out her hand for the bottle.


	3. Chapter 3

The stuff was strong; it burned on the way down, making Amata's eyes water. She tried not to cough and splutter, tried to get a good swig down, but Maeve's gentle hand intercepted hers and lowered the bottle. "Easy there, booze fiend," she said, grinning. "Just a little at a time. Nobody drinks this stuff for the taste, and we don't wanna jump over the good part and go straight for the toilets."

She took the bottle from Amata's hand, took a quick swig, and passed it back. Amata did her best to copy the motion, looking at her friend for approval; Maeve grinned wider and clapped her on the back, nearly making her spray vodka over her sheets. "That's the idea! I knew there was some genuine bad girl in there somewhere."

They passed it back and forth, sometimes in rapid succession, sometimes waiting a little, Maeve setting the pace. After a little while, Amata began to feel pleasantly warm, her fingers thick, her tongue a little awkward. "S'good, huh?" Maeve asked, putting the bottle down. Amata nodded sleepily, letting her head rest on her friend's shoulder. Maeve tensed for a moment, then relaxed, letting her own head rest on Amata's.

"You mean a lot to me, you know," Maeve told her, her voice low. Amata nodded, jostling them both. "You're my best friend, Maeve."

Maeve pulled back; startled, Amata looked up at her. "Is... I mean... is that all?" Head filled with pleasant tingling, Amata furrowed her brow, confused. "Touch me," Maeve told her, taking Amata's hand in hers. She pressed Amata's fingers to her cheek, snuggled into them. "When I do that, do you feel... maybe... something else?"

A knock at the door made them both jump a foot. "Amata," her father's voice called, angry. "What have I told you about locking your door? Open it this instant!" Eyes wide, Maeve grabbed the bottle and slid under the bed, raising a finger to her lips; as if her friend needed to be reminded. "Sorry, daddy," Amata called, brushing off her jumpsuit and hurrying, rather unsteadily, toward the door. She cycled it open, offering her frowning father the most innocent smile she could muster.

Her father stepped into her room, looking around. "Why did you lock your door?" He demanded. Amata offered a nonchalant shrug. "I just wanted some alone time, daddy. That's all." Alphonse ignored her, walking around the room, sniffing the air. "Do I smell alcohol?" Taking deep breaths, Amata did her best to stay cool. What would Maeve say? What would she do? "Um... yes, daddy. I got a little cut, and I had to disinfect it. I spilled a little. I'm sorry."

"Hm. You know, you shouldn't hide anything from me, Amata. I'm your father." Amata nodded. "Of course, daddy." She though a moment, then spoke again. "Do you... remember what day it is?" Alphonse waved his hand. "Of course. Good luck on the G.O.A.T. tomorrow. I trust you won't need it."

Tears welled up in Amata's eyes, and she turned away to hide them. "I won't, daddy. Good night."

She wasn't sure when he'd left, really, or when Maeve came out of hiding. But her friend wrapped her in a warm hug from behind, resting her cheek against Amata's. "You know I'm always here for you," she said, nuzzling her hair. "Always." Amata cried quietly as they rocked back and forth, holding each other.

"I know," she said.

* * *

"Please, honey," James said, putting his hands on his daughter's shoulders, "_please_ take these achievement tests seriously."

Maeve rolled her eyes, reaching for the red baseball cap he'd made her take off for the exam. She still wore that thing six years later, which always made Stanley smile; good thing it had an adjustable band. "Yeah, I got that the first eight times, dad," she told him, but with a playful smile that softened her words. "Can you please point that light somewhere else, now? And talk a little quieter?"

James sighed; he knew a hangover when he saw one, but he had no idea how she'd managed to get drunk in the vault's sterile confines. She wasn't about to tell him. She was a wild child, and if there was something she really wanted to do, it was damn hard to stop her. "All right, sweetie," he said, tucking his instruments away. "Now go on, get out of here. And good luck."

She flashed him a dazzling grin, and in that moment he saw so much of Catherine in her that he felt tears welling in his eyes. Every piece of her sang of outside: ocean-blue eyes, cornsilk hair, skin like pale beach sand, a swaying walk like a gentle breeze. It seemed _wrong_ to keep her down here, surrounded by unfeeling steel. But that was why he had returned to his experiments. The old outside was gone, blasted to dust and filth, but he might one day purify it. One day, if he succeeded, it might be safe for Maeve to dance beneath the rays of the sun.

She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek, then turned to the door. But halfway there she turned back. "Um... dad?" James jerked himself out of his reverie. "Yes, honey?" She looked nervous, which wasn't exactly common with her. "Remember when you told me about... y'know... boy parts and girl parts?" James nodded; he knew exactly where this was going.

"Well," Maeve said, still hesitant, "what if a girl... I mean..." She paused, running out of words. "Loves another girl?" Her dad finished. Maeve stared at him, then gulped and nodded. James smiled. "There's nothing wrong with that, sweetie. But," he said, his voice dropping to a whisper, "I wouldn't tell the Overseer, if I were you."

Maeve blushed fiercely. "I never said who it was. I never said it was me, either." But James just chuckled, then offered her a reassuring smile. "Honey, I'm your dad. I've known you as long as you've been around. I can tell. And it doesn't change how much I love you. Now go on, get to class; you've got a G.O.A.T. to take."

With a quieter smile, full of gratitude, Maeve slipped through the door.


	4. Chapter 4

"Get out of my way, you stupid Tunnel Snakes!"

Lounging against the metal wall, Butch just grinned as he leered at the Overseer's daughter. Paul and Wally stood behind and beside her, boxing her in. She seemed a little... unsteady this morning; Butch knew it from the way his mom got, well, pretty much all the time, and he also knew an opportunity when he saw one. Amata might not have tits to die for like Susie Mack, and she sure as hell wasn't as easy and eager to please as poor, lonely little Christine Kendall, but something about her mouth turned him on, especially when it was spewing venom at him.

"I can show you a real Tunnel Snake, Amata," Butch said, reaching for his jumpsuit's zipper. He'd carefully chosen his ambush site to be out of the field of view of the Overseer's cameras; he was in deep shit if he got caught harassing the paranoid old man's daughter. The Tunnel Snakes were supposed to make trouble for his supposed enemies, but none of them were young and hot and female, and Butch had needs.

His heart skipped a beat when he heard footsteps behind him, but it was only that damn little nosebleed, the doctor's daughter. Maybe the Overseer did have _one_ hot, young, female enemy after all. Maeve had no tits to speak of, but those long, toned legs and firm ass of hers danced across his wet dreams with some regularity. All those baseball games had done her some good.

"Leave her alone, Butch, or you'll answer to me." Butch half laughed and half sighed; just like Amata, her personality was the problem. Empty threats, anyway; there were three Tunnel Snakes and only one overly-bold little girl. "What're you," he asked, "her girlfriend? Ha!" Turning back to Amata, he lunged for her wrists, pinning her against the wall and leaning in to steal (burglarize, really) a kiss. He could already imagine what it would taste like to force his tongue past her resistant lips, muffling her cries...

The only thing he tasted was steel.

Skull ringing from the impact, stars popping in front of his eyes, Butch managed to twist his head around and figure out what'd happened. Maeve's surprisingly strong hand was wrapped around the back of his head; Paul and Wally were just standing and staring, their eyes big. "Ged 'er, Dunnel Snaes!" He managed to spit out around a twisted nose and a mouthful of blood.

Paul surged forward, clipping Maeve in the shoulder with a wild cross; she barely flinched, though it looked like it'd be a bad bruise. Instead she let go of Butch and slammed her fist up beneath Paul's chin, knocking his teeth together so hard he nearly lifted off of the ground. Wally, cleverer by far, came at her from the side. He kicked her in the back of her knee, and she stumbled. A punch to her face smashed the side of her head into a drinking fountain hard enough to dent the thin metal casing.

"Stop it!" Amata yelled. "Leave her alone!"

Wally went in to kick her in the stomach while she was down, but Maeve caught his foot and twisted hard, sending him to the ground with a howl of pain. Pushing herself to her feet, a black eye welling on her pretty face, she stamped on his jewels. A high, piteous whine escaped his lips.

It was at that moment that Mister Brotch came out of his classroom. Everyone froze. "What the hell is going on out here?" He asked, a heavy frown wrinkling his features. No one said anything. "Do I have to call security?" The teacher asked. "Get them to throw you all in the cell for a night or two?" Butch remained stubbornly silent. There was no way in hell he was going to admit he and his buddies had just had their asses handed to them by a _girl_.

"Oh, it's nothing, Mr. Brotch." Butch was surprised to see Amata stepping up. "The boys just got in a fight, about their gang I guess, and Maeve got hit by accident."

Butch's jaw dropped as he tried to work through what'd just happened. She could've turned them in for harassing her, and her father would've had them fucking flayed. But then they could tell the Overseer that Maeve had thrown the first punch, and the old man, who was always looking for a way to hurt that girl and her dad, could've dragged her down, too. Even after all the harassment, after what it'd almost led to, Amata would let it all go to cover for her friend. Maybe the girl had some guts after all.

"They were just _apologizing_," Amata said, staring hard at Butch as he managed to regain his feet. He stared daggers at her, but there was no way around it. "Sowry, Maeve," he muttered, the sound distorted by his still-streaming nose. Mr. Brotch nodded. "Well, then, that's over with. Now come along; you _will_ take the G.O.A.T. today, so help me God."

Helping Wally to his feet, Butch beckoned Paul with all the cool he could still muster. "C'mon, Dunnel Snaes. She's nod worf our dime." But as he headed for the classroom, he turned back in time to see Amata giving Maeve a careful but heartfelt hug. "You're my hero," he heard her whisper, and Maeve laid her cheek against her friend's. But over Amata's shoulder she stared straight at Butch, molten rage in her eyes that only burned brighter against the purple swelling.

"Touch her again," that look seemed to say, "so much as come near her again, and I'll make you _wish_ I'd broken your skull."


	5. Chapter 5

"Where is she?"

Butch had barely walked twenty steps from the doctor's office when Amata stormed up the hall toward him, her normally-tame hair flying out behind her in a dozen directions. He wasn't sure he'd ever seen her so angry. "Where's who, bitch?" he muttered. His eyes widened as she grabbed him by the collar of his leather jacket. "Maeve! Where the fuck is she?"

Butch laughed. "Better watch your language, daddy's girl. Wouldn't want him to... oof!" The air rushed out of him as she slammed him against the wall. What'd gotten into her? This was _not_ the Amata he knew. "What did you tell the doctor about your nose?" The girl asked. "That you walked into a door? Want to explain to him how you walked into another one?" She slammed her fist into the wall half an inch from his head. "Where. Is. She." She spat every word right in his face, eye to eye.

"I don't fucking know!" Butch yelled. What had gotten into this crazy bitch?

"Think harder," she said, and kneed him in the balls. He hunched over, collapsing against the wall with a pathetic little wheeze. "There was..." he managed, gasping for breath past the pain, "there was someone crying in the girls' bathroom." Amata reached down, grabbed him by the hair, and turned his face to look into hers. "If that's your fault," she told him, "I'll be back for you."

Stunned, Butch watched her walk away. Was this the same girl who'd had to be rescued three hours ago? What the fuck was going on with her?

* * *

Amata cycled the door open, stepped through, and closed it behind her. She'd skinned and bruised her knuckles punching the wall, but she hardly felt the pain; too much else to think about.

On the one hand, she was damn proud of herself. She'd always wanted to be more like Maeve, and if busting Butch DeLoria's balls wasn't progress on that road, she didn't know what was. She was tired of feeling helpless; maybe that just meant she had to help herself. One the other, she was worried. Maeve had rushed out of the classroom just after Mr. Brotch had tallied her G.O.A.T. and no one had seen her since, including her dad. This was a girl who didn't let _anything_ get her down, so what the heck had gone wrong?

Sure enough, she heard crying: slow, quiet sobs barely audible over the rushing water of one of the showers. "Maeve?" She called, moving over to the occupied shower stall. There was no response. Slowly, her heart beating in her throat, Amata eased the shower door open.

Maeve lay curled on the tile floor, still wearing her jumpsuit as water cascaded down over her. Her hair was plastered to her face and neck, her baseball cap lying next to her, slowly filling with runoff. Streams of water mixed with tears slid down her face, dripping from her nose, her chin, and her swollen eye. Huge, choking sobs wracked her body. Amata had never seen her cry before, not for anything.

"Maeve," Amata said quietly. "Maeve. It's okay. I'm here. I'm here for you."

She turned off the water, sliding her arms around her friend and easing her into a sitting position against the shower's back wall. Maeve hugged her knees, shivering between sobs. Amata slid down next to her, heedless of the standing water that soon soaked much of her jumpsuit, and hugged Maeve's head to her chest, stroking her hair. "Hey," she said. "It's okay. It's okay."

Maeve looked up at her, one eye rimmed in purple, the other in red. "I'm the fu... fucking vault tattoo artist," she managed, her sobs a little slower and further apart now. "A fu... fucking garbage burner is m... more useful. How do I... how do I tell my dad?"

Amata resisted the urge to blow out a sigh of relief; she'd feared that something much worse had happened. But she knew that, deep down, past all that wild nonchalance, Maeve's dad's approval meant a huge amount to her. This was a blow in one of the few places she couldn't armor, and it hurt. Because James _would_ be disappointed. She'd heard him tell her that he just wanted her to do what made her happy, so long as it was useful. A job as the vault's first and utterly un-demanded tattoo artist didn't fit either criterion.

There were a lot of things she could've said. "You're so artistic, you'll be great at it," or "I know you, you can make anything work." She could've said that she would talk to her father, though he was probably giddy. He'd always hated Maeve, and he knew she'd wanted to work with Stanley in maintenance for years; hell, he might've had her results fudged just to make sure that didn't happen. But she knew Maeve, knew that she worked things out for herself. So she didn't say anything. She just rested Maeve's head on her lap, stroking her hair.

Eventually, the sobs stopped. "I'm a mess," Maeve murmured. Amata offered a little smile. "We'll get you cleaned up." She eased her friend to her feet, but Maeve winced the whole way up; there must be a lot of bruises less obvious than the one on her face. Amata turned the shower back on, hot water this time, as Maeve gritted her teeth. "Take it easy," Amata told her. "I'll do the work."

As the warm water cascaded around them, Amata gently unzipped Maeve's jumpsuit, peeling it down to her ankles so that her friend didn't have to move her aching muscles too much to get it off. She hooked her thumbs under the bulky panties the uniform extruders provided and gently pulled them down as well. She unhooked the ill-fitting bra, pulled it away.

Only in Mr. Brotch's maturation diagrams had she ever seen another girl naked before, and there was something exciting about it. But this was not the time and place. Filling her hands with soap, she gently massaged it around Maeve's dark bruises, careful not to chafe her with her jumpsuit.

"I'm always here for you, too," she whispered. "I promise."


	6. Chapter 6

Maeve had done a beautiful job, Amata decided, especially given how little she'd had to work with.

The impromptu tattoo parlor, little more than a converted bedroom, had been decorated on the windows, walls, and doors with swirling patterns of ivy, skulls, rockets, and mushroom clouds, all done in the same sort of metal shavings as Amata's sixteenth birthday present. It'd taken almost a year, which was fine given that Maeve hadn't had any customers in all that time. It'd kept her busy, and when it wasn't enough she'd run errands for her dad or Stanley. As always, she was perpetually in motion.

But today was her grand opening, her official declaration of "all done!", and Amata planned to be there, even if no one else would. She hadn't talked much with Maeve since that day in the showers; she'd been so damn busy with her new responsibilities (supervisory track, of course - she owed Maeve a comic), and all the extra pressure from her father wasn't helping. But she wanted what she'd said back then to be true. She wanted to be there for Maeve. Always.

No one answered the door when she knocked, so she cycled it open for herself and stepped inside. Immediately a smile lit up her face. Maeve had her dad in a fierce hug, smiling with her eyes squeezed shut. She still had a scar just beneath her cheekbone from where Wally had punched her, but somehow it suited her. "Thanks for coming, dad," she murmured. He smiled at her in turn. "I wouldn't miss it for the world, sweetie. I love what you've done with the place." There had been disappointment at first, perhaps, but James loved his daughter more than he loved his plans for her. That was what mattered in the end.

The doctor looked up and spotted Amata, offering her a warm smile as well. "See, Maeve? I'm not the only one." Opening her eyes, Maeve grinned ear-to-ear, letting out a joyful little squeal. "You came!" Detaching from her dad, she rushed over to Amata and lifted her off of her feet in a fierce hug. Seventeen she might be by now, but there were shades of ten in her yet. Amata hugged her back. "Of course."

Smiling a mysterious little smile, James headed for the door. "I'll let you two catch up," he said, cycling the door closed. "Hey!" Maeve shouted after him. "Don't forget! I get to do the Rod of Asclepius on your shoulder! You promised!" With a mirthful sigh, her dad disappeared behind the closing door, leaving them alone.

Finally breaking the hug, Amata walked around Maeve's new workstation. In spite of all the mess the decorations must've caused on the way up, it was immaculate now. A tray of clean, gleaming tools sat next to a repurposed medical bed. The lights were dim, and soothing music played quietly in the background. "What do you think?" Maeve asked, uncharacteristic nervousness in her voice.

Amata shot her a reassuring smile. "I think you did a great job." That set Maeve grinning again. "Well," she said, "since we've never had a tattoo artist down here before, all I had was the Vault-Tec manual for my job, which was _not_ all that helpful. But I've been practicing, first on paper, then on myself. I think I've gotten pretty good. Wanna see?"

Before Amata could say anything she'd unzipped her jumpsuit to mid chest, pulling the collar back to reveal a twining chain of ivy down her collarbone. "It's... wow," Amata said, stepping forward to gingerly run her fingers along the design. Maeve shivered, but didn't pull away. "Hadda do it in a mirror," she murmured, somehow nervous again. "Couldn't tilt my head down to see it without my chin getting in the way."

"Did it hurt?" Amata asked. Maeve shook her head. "Remember our ears? It wasn't even that bad." Amata reached up and touched the little studs she still wore, then bit her lip. "Do you... want to give me one?"

Maeve looked at her, caught between worry and a smile. "You sure?" Amata nodded, smiling tentatively. "Okay," Maeve said, smiling a little smile of her own, "but it'll have to be somewhere your dad can't see it. I don't want to be shut down in my first week." Amata hesitated, then gathered her courage and went all out. "I have somewhere in mind," she said, a little glitter in her eye. God, she was getting more like Maeve every day.

She sat down on the table, slowly unzipping her jumpsuit before kicking it aside. Then she slid her panties down to her ankles and lay back on the table. Maeve breathed in sharply as she moved closer. "Where do you want it?" She asked, quietly. "Here," Amata told her, indicating the skin just above her wetness. She'd shaved it a few days earlier, getting ready for this. "A flower. A rose."

Without a word, Maeve slid her left hand into Amata's right, giving her fingers a reassuring squeeze. With her other hand, she got to work. The soft music, the gentle hum of the needle, the sound of Maeve's breathing and the feel of her skin, they melded together in a serene place, far beyond the room. Amata hardly felt the needle, hardly realized any time had passed.

"All done," Maeve whispered, and wheeled a tall mirror over by the bed. Amata stood, half naked, and looked. A regal rose, studded with elegantly-vicious thorns, twined its way from the top of her wetness up to the base of her navel, filling the space with green and red. "Oh, Maeve," she said, admiring how the colors melded with her dusky skin. "It's..."

"It looks good on you," Maeve said with a little smile.

A loud knock at the door startled them both, and made Amata very glad that Maeve had installed privacy screens. "Open up," the Overseer's voice called. "Health and safety inspection!" Amata nearly tripped over herself in her scramble to recover her clothes; Maeve rolled her eyes, though Amata was quite sure it wasn't directed at her. "You'll have to slip out when he passes the screens," she whispered. She took a step toward the door, then turned back. "Maybe we can... y'know... get lunch tomorrow? Catch up?"

Amata smiled. "Sure. I'd like that."


	7. Chapter 7

"And can the snake, y'know, kinda spiral down it? Like it's wrapping around it?"

Maeve stared hard at Butch. "The Overseer says I have to honor all tattoo requests, given that I don't have a lot of work to chose from. But this one I will _only_ do if you hold it up while I work. I am _not_ gonna sit there holding your dick." Butch threw up his hands, as if to shield his face. "Okay! Okay, don't get mad," he said, a little quaver in his voice. He was damn careful not to get on her bad side nowadays.

There was a knock at the door, and both looked up in time to see Amata walk into the studio. "Hey," she said. "Do you have time to get lunch, or will you be too busy putting a snake on a worm?" Butch turned a nasty shade of puce and stalked out past her, muttering something about "stupid idea anyway". Maeve laughed, long and loud, before sweeping over to envelop Amata in a hug. "My hero," she said. "I was _not_ looking forward to that one."

They walked out into the hall together, talking, laughing. "Of course," Maeve said, when the mirth of the moment had faded a little, "you did cost me my potential third customer." Amata's eyebrows shot up. "Your dad actually went through with it?" Maeve grinned, with that nonchalant shrug of hers. "I can be pretty persuasive, by which I mean I complain about him not keeping his promises until he goes through with them. Came out well, too."

Amata thought of her own father, of his promises. She was sure there was no way he'd have let her been assigned as vault tattoo artist; he was going to make sure she was his successor and do his best to turn her into a carbon copy of himself, all the while promising he had her best interests in mind. But after a certain amount of his not having time for her, she'd stopped caring. It still hurt sometimes, but she'd found better company elsewhere.

"Anyway," Maeve said, "I think you're missing the point. You cost me a customer, so you owe me." Amata laughed. "So, so sorry about that. But I don't think I can get another tattoo. I thought about angel wings for my shoulder blades, but it turns out my dad's been clocking the amount of time I spend in your place. Too late to stop the first one, but we'll both be in big trouble if he so much as thinks you're giving me another."

Maeve rolled her eyes; she wanted badly to mutter something about paranoid old dingbats, but she didn't. She knew that, although Amata might not _like_ her father, she did _love_ him, and she did her best to respect that; neither of them got to choose their parents, but parents they still were. "Well," she said, stopping short, "I can think of one other way to pay me back." Amata raised an eyebrow; there was something sultry in that tone.

Maeve stared up and down the hall and found it deserted; everyone was either on their lunch break or hard at work, this being early afternoon on the vault's cycle. "Probably easier if I just show you," she said. Stepping in close, she gently took Amata's face between her palms. Slowly, softly, she moved in, until their lips met. Amata's eyes got big, and her body tensed; Maeve pulled back immediately and searched her face, looking worried.

There was a brief, tense silence between them. And them Amata broke it. "I cost you a whole job," she said, with quiet mirth, "and you don't get that many. So I don't think that covered it." She wrapped her arms around Maeve's neck, and the tension melted from both of them as their lips met again. Maeve's tongue slipped into Amata's mouth, twisting, dancing with her own.

They backed into the wall of the corridor, their lips roaming, hungry for each other. Amata slid up the wall a little, resting her knees on Maeve's hips with the support of her friend's strong arms. They pressed into each other, feeling the warmth of their closeness. Maeve broke the kiss to run her tongue along Amata's jawline, then down her neck; Amata threw her head back, eyes closed, her hands tangled in Maeve's hair.

"Hey, sport!" The sound broke the spell like a hammer through an ice sculpture; Maeve overbalanced, spilling Amata down the wall and crashing with her in a tangle of limbs. Jonas rounded the corner, fiddling with his glasses. "I was wondering if... er..." He stopped cold, eyes widening behind his lenses. Maeve looked up at him, a bruise welling on her forehead from where she'd hit the wall on the way down. "Please, Jonas," she said, her eyes just as huge, "please don't tell the Overseer."

Shaking himself free of his shock, Jonas smiled. He stepped forward, offering a hand to both girls and hauling them to their feet. "If I was going to do that, sport, I would've done it a long time ago. Just watch where you meet up, okay? There are cameras in this hall." Maeve's stomach seemed to drop out through her feet. "Good thing their 'record' function is on the fritz today," he finished, flashing her a wink.

Bounding forward, Maeve gave him a fierce hug. "You're the best, Jonas," Amata told him, smiling even as she blushed. He grinned in reply. "Hey, what are friends for? Just... be careful. If Butch finds you two doing that, he'll faint dead away."


	8. Chapter 8

"Happy birthday, cutie." Maeve crouched by the door, her voice a silken whisper barely audible above The Overseer's snoring.

Amata threw her covers aside, a grin lighting up her face as her sleepiness fell away. She beckoned Maeve in, and her friend obliged, cycling the door behind her. "Ready for your present?" She asked, eyes gleaming in the half-light. She pulled her hands from behind her back to reveal... a bouquet of roses? Amata reached for them, her gaze full of awe. But when she touched them, the illusion was broken. They were just fabric petals on flexible steel stems, the only blossoms to be found in the vault.

But they were beautiful all the same. "I hadda dissect the softer bits of half a dozen jumpsuits for the petals," Maeve was rambling, her voice fast and nervous. "And the stems, I hadda..." Amata gently laid a finger across her friend's lips, and she fell silent. "They're beautiful," she said. "But I was thinking of something else." Her hands found the zipper of her jumpsuit, tugged it gently down to her navel, so that the top of her tattoo showed. She was naked beneath the navy blue fabric.

Maeve's eyes traced the descending zipper, entranced, then shot back up to her face. "But your dad..." she whispered, motioning at the door. "He's, like, right there." Amata offered her what she hoped was a sultry grin, trying to mimic that singer with the pierced ears. "Since when are you the cautious one?" She asked, reaching out to touch Maeve's cheek. "And it's my birthday. I get to decide what we do."

One hand caressing Maeve's face, the other sliding around the back of her neck, Amata drew her forward and met her with a kiss. There was a moment's hesitation, a tension born of worry that froze all of Maeve's muscles hard as iron as she struggled to decide. This time, when she made her decision, she did not melt. She kissed back with ferocity, with force, pushing Amata back down onto her bed as their tongues danced. Her teeth grazed Amata's soft lips, tugged gently at them as they slid against her own.

Her hands, soft but strong, roamed beneath the jumpsuit, finding the tender curves of Amata's breasts. The younger girl gasped into the kiss as they brushed her nipples, fingers running in circles around the sensitive nubs as palms cupped and massaged from beneath. She felt herself growing wetter, hotter, and one of her hands roamed down between her legs to stroke her folds. Maeve broke the kiss, planting smaller kisses down her neck, her collarbone, as she helped Amata pull her arms out of the jumpsuit and pull it back from her chest.

And then Maeve's kisses found a nipple. She flicked it, circled it, teased it with the tip of her tongue; Amata bit her lip to keep from moaning, her fingertips running faster and faster across her wetness. Maeve lowered her whole mouth to cover the dark nub, sucking on it as her tongue played across the tip, and the Overseer's daughter clenched at the sheets, her free hand crumpling the white linens in her fist as she threw back her head and closed her eyes.

Slowly, softly, without breaking contact, Maeve traced a fingertip down from Amata's navel, making her shiver. It traced lower, then lower still, spanning the length of the tattoo and beyond. It brushed Amata's wet folds, ran up against her furiously rubbing hand. And slowly, gently, it slid inside of her.

Amata did moan then, loudly, but Maeve cut it off with a deep kiss that tasted of her skin. One room over, the Overseer snorted and fidgeted in his sleep, his blankets rustling as he rolled onto his side. Amata had the insane urge to giggle, but couldn't have managed it past Maeve's probing tongue anyway. The older girl's finger eased slowly in and out of her, in and out, and she rocked and bucked with the steady rhythm, meeting each push. Maeve's other hand teased a nipple with soft flicks and pinches.

A second finger joined the first, then a third. Opening her eyes as she bucked harder and harder, Amata stared up into Maeve's face, into that mirrored look of bliss, of fulfilled longing. They had shared countless smiles in the years they'd known each other, but this was a new one, a special one, intimate, sacred.

When she thought she could take no more, Amata pushed up, rolling her friend over onto her back. She tugged at the zipper of Maeve's jumpsuit with her teeth, running her hands over that little mosquito bite chest through the cloth as Maeve ran her tongue along her earlobe.

She could feel Maeve's heat as she drew the zipper down to the bottom, smell her desire. She gave the garment an extra tug, pulling it away from her friend's skin, and lowered her mouth to taste her. Maeve gasped as Amata's tongue probed her folds, dancing over them, pushing into them, then gagged herself with a finger as Alphonse turned over again; she could taste Amata's nectar on it. Her own juices flowed over Amata's lips and chin, sticky and sweet, as she grabbed at the edges of the bed.

Sitting up, Maeve guided Amata's body with gentle hands until her friend lay on top of her, legs spread. Their tongues danced in tandem over forbidden places, drinking deep. Neither could say who came first, thrashing and moaning muffled by the body of the other, her bliss only stimulating her partner further. They gushed over one another, warm and wet, and for a moment the vault vanished. There was only the two of them, together, like it had always been meant to be.

Amata sat up, her face sticky, her breasts hanging free, and smiled their new, secret smile down at Maeve. The older girl ran a finger along the curve of her spine, ghostly and intimate, and returned it. They lay together as sleep closed in, skin to skin, softer than the blankets around them.

And then a fist struck the metal door. "Amata? What the hell is going on in there? Open this door at once! I've told you a thousand times, you may _not_ lock me out!"

For a moment Maeve considered staying there, come what may. Some moments were too precious to let anything take them away. But this one had felt like a beginning, and she liked where she imagined it to lead. So she sat up, threw Amata a rueful smile, and slipped beneath the bed. The more things changed, the more they stayed the same.


	9. Chapter 9

"Wake up! C'mon, you've got to wake up!"

Maeve rolled over, a dreamy smile on her face as she drank in the features of the most beautiful girl in the world. But at seeing the expression on Amata's face, ice crept into her heart. "What's going on?" She asked, sitting bolt upright. Amata's lip trembled, and unshed tears glimmered in her eyes. "Amata, you're scaring me."

It all came out in a rush, and the world shattered. Her dad was gone, without even a word to her. His departure had let radroaches in, and they were attacking everyone. Jonas was dead, and security was coming for her next. The only way to survive was to leave the only home she'd ever known.

There wasn't time to think. She told Amata to keep her father's pistol; she would need it if the radroaches came after her. They would meet at the vault door, past the overseer's tunnel; they'd made love down there more than once, no cameras, no interference, and now it was the last piece of home she would ever see. In a daze, Maeve swept up what few possessions she could carry: her baseball bat, the BB gun her dad had given her, the baseball cap from Stanley, a few extra jumpsuits. There wasn't even time to go by the tattoo parlor, to say goodbye to her little project.

She just took what she had and ran. She knew the vault's back ways, its ducts and catwalks and service doors, and it was easy to give security the slip. What was hard was to realize that these men, people she'd lived with all her life, were coming after her. It was hard to understand how the fathers of her peers could be planning to bash her skull in, just like they'd done to Jonas.

She found her old friend, her second father, really, sprawled in the room opposite the security office. She'd snuck through it often enough for a late-night rendezvous with Amata, but it had never looked so sinister by simulated night as it did now, under unrelenting light. His glasses were broken, shards of them cutting into the skin around his eyes. Blood pooled around the break in the back of his head, an unreal crimson. His stare was so blank, so empty; his humor, his kindness, everything that had made him Jonas was gone, leaked out through that hole.

She was too stunned to cry. It was all too senseless to be real.

Maeve gently eased off his glasses, shut his eyelids to turn that emptiness into peaceful sleep. She folded the twisted frames and tucked them into the breast pocket of his lab coat, like he used to do. As she did, her fingers brushed something square and metal. She pulled it out and held it up to the light: a holotape, marked with her name. She slid it into her Pip Boy, listening to her father's words, silently begging that it would make it all make sense. But it didn't. It only filled her with more and bleaker questions.

Voices jerked her from her reverie, voices she knew well. The Overseer's insincere pleading. Officer Mack, having his sick fun. And Amata, distressed, on the verge of tears. Black fury raced through Maeve's limbs. Mack had murdered Jonas; she'd heard as much from Butch when she'd rescued his mom, from Officer Gomez when he'd caught her but let her pass. And now the Overseer had turned him loose on the one person she had left.

At the very moment Amata's trembling hands closed around the gun, finally pushed too far, the door cycled open and the angel of rage strode through. Officer Mack, heedless of the fact that she'd almost put a bullet through his skull, turned to the new arrival with sadistic glee on his features. The younger girl, horrified at what she'd almost done, fled the room, tears leaking down her cheeks. But there was no remorse possible for the elder girl, not then.

Mack snapped his retractable baton out to its full length, then lunged in, eager to begin beating someone he was allowed to kill. The next thing he knew, he was lying on the floor, the world spinning around him. The shattered upper half of a baseball bat hit the floor next to him; his half-crushed helmet was the only reason he was still alive. And then Maeve stepped on his throat. She stomped, again and again, shouting, until his head lolled at an impossible angle on his mangled neck.

The black rage faded, leaving ice in its wake. Maeve bent to retrieve Mack's baton, then turned and leveled it at the Overseer. He had given the order; he was just as responsible. "I should kill you," she choked out, tears running down her face. But her own words, now years ago, rose up in her mind; no one chooses their parents, but they love them all the same. And there was one person left in her world that she would never, ever hurt.

"And I swear to God," she finished, "if you ever lay a hand on Amata again, _I will_." Giving Officer Mack's corpse a savage kick, she turned on her heel and left, letting the Overseer's words about the necessity of turning herself in fall on the empty air behind her.

It was several minutes later, as she was hacking the Overseer's terminal, that she thought about the fact that Mack was Susie and Wally's dad. She thought of her own dad lying in the wasteland somewhere, his neck turned back on itself, and vomited down the side of the terminal, crying harder. The man had been sick, but he'd been someone's family, too. There was no way she could face this place ever again. There was no way she could ever go back.

So there was only one thing that still mattered to her, one stable point. And she would be asking her to give up everything for nothing.


	10. Chapter 10

Amata was waiting at the vault door. She kept her promises.

They watched together as the heavily metal screeched and groaned its way out of place, grinding aside to reveal the tunnel to the great, blasted nothing beyond. Maeve's heart pounded; her guts churned. There was nowhere else to go, nothing else to do, and the bleak unfairness of it all descended over her like a suffocating cloud. "I almost didn't believe it could happen," Amata said, staring out at the hint of sunlight at the end of the tunnel.

"Come with me," Maeve said, turning toward her. She knew she had no right to ask, no right to drag anyone out into the harshness beyond those sterile walls. "I can't do it without you."

Amata shook her head, fresh tears slipping down her cheeks. "They need me here," she said, and Maeve's newly-frozen heart shattered. "I'm the only one who can keep my father in check. And you _can_ do it without me. You don't need me. You never have. You've always been the strong one."

Maeve managed a rueful little smile. "I've always been strong _for you_," she said, tears of her own falling freely. "The people here are used to the Overseer. They'll go back to his way of life, and I would too if I could, just to stay with you." She turned away, fighting to stifle her sobs. "But I need you. I'm strong when you trust me. I keep going when you believe in me. It's for you."

She turned back, looked Amata right in the eyes, spoke the truth that lay heavy on her heart for the first time. "I love you. I've loved you since I was ten, since way before I knew what that really meant. And now that I know what it means, how much you matter to me, I don't want to live without you. I _can't_." She looked away again, her tears slowing. "You can't save the people here; they don't want to be saved. But you save me every day."

The room was silent, still, save for the distant sound of guards banging on security doors, struggling to reach them. Then Amata slipped her hand into Maeve's, squeezed her fingers. "I promised to be there for you," she whispered. "Always. And I meant it." Standing on tiptoe, she kissed Maeve on the cheek, wiped away her tears. "We'll find him. Together. I promise."

By the time vault security reached the control room, they were gone. They had slipped through the door, hand in hand, to face the sun together.


End file.

Fallout, Hurt-Comfort, Romance