the story in which Alex Seattle Geer is right for hating enclosed spaces,

[doubletap]

and Neil Park is blamed for his knowledge of vaults.

---

Terminal Entries:

1st Floor, Vault Entry-Room Computer:
- Data Entry 1: Year 20XX, Month XX; There's no escape.
- Holotape Entry 1: Y#4@ SDhig^8705 H98 [data corrupted]; This is hell and I want out of it.

1st Floor, Cafeteria Luncheon:
- Holotape Entry 2: Private Recording; I've had better?

1st Floor, Cafeteria Supply Room:
- Inventory List: Inventory List; A list of food....
- Data Entry 2: Shift Notes; Maybe I should tear the walls down.

1st Floor, Broken Cave:
- Data Entry 3: Preparations; Everything's fine.
- Data Entry 4: Near the End; I'll tell you the truth, but I won't give up my soul.
- Data Entry 5: Finally, the End is at Hand.; This is far enough.

1st Floor, Office:
- Data Entry 6: Vault-Wide Public Service Announcement; Get back to work everyone.
- Data Entry 7: Locked Administrative Reply; You're reaching for straws.

1st Floor, Administrative Secretary's Office:
- Data Entry 8: Drama Hoes; It is sort of funny that people aren't able to lie, though.
- Holotape Entry 3: Bill Self-Log; Byron's access still works everywhere.

Comments

[goodfight]

[Alex declares their intentions for the night and goes to prepare when Neil remembers their original objective. As he watches the other work on the door, he thinks to voice his thoughts.]

Weren't we supposed to clear out this floor?

[doubletap]

[ The sound of a lock clicking is the only answer to Neil's question.

Alex returns to the other, slipping a hand to spread Neil's legs so Alex can lean between them. Not allowing an objection to be voiced, his other hand takes Neil's chin, and Alex takes his mouth. ]

[goodfight]

[The answer to his question comes in the form of a lock sliding into place. It is further elaborated when Alex returns, his hand and body forcing near overwhelming closeness and his mouth swallowing whatever objections Neil might have given.

Except, in reality, the Lone Wanderer has nothing to say. Nothing that he would offer up as a reject. He only falls back into his emotions and murmurs Alex's name against the other's lips, his hands now slipping into the other's hair.]

[doubletap]

[ He breaks off, gasping for air. Thoroughly off-balance, affected, and whatever other words you like. Not like normal... Decidedly not normal. ]

This right here.

[ He murmurs against Neil's lips. ]

You call my name and expect me to be sane after.

[goodfight]

[Normal, Alex Seattle Geer, has since flown out the vault door long before this moment. Neil inhales sharply at the break, before laughing breathlessly.]

I don't think sanity is what I'm after.

[doubletap]

Goddamnit, kid.

[ He speaks breathlessly, lost somewhere in between shock and want, one hand pressing into Neil's thigh. ]

Just god damn.

[goodfight]

[Another place, another time, he might have taken the strength of Alex's reactions with an objective eye. Might have mulled over the why of things.

Here, in Vault 7, Neil gives in. He meets lips with like, his thoughts woefully blank and his hands grasping at the other's hair.]

[doubletap]

[ Things progress, as things often do. If one would question the level of passion and enthusiasm, one needs only to look at the vault they are in (right?). It ends in naked bodies in a heap, muscles and scars open to the air.

Alex thinks to sleep. His body would prefer it.

His mind would need to quiet first, running far too fast for him to keep up. Moving in ways he isn't sure he understands. He would rather sleep. He would rather shut down. He closes his eyes.

They flick open to stare at the dark ceiling.

Not knowing if Neil is sleeping, Alex stays still; languid--an arm curled around the other to keep him close to his chest. ]

[goodfight]

[Things progress and eventually dissipate, leaving one to insomnia and the other to a deeper sleep that is inappropriate for the time of day. Neil's biological clock ticks best at night, but here, he is caught in sleep. As always, he is caught in a dream.

Something simple, of course. Something deceptively normal. He's opening box after box of Sugar Bombs, looking for that elusive prize. That limited edition, Butch-is-going-to-try-to-fight-me-over-it prize.

In reality, the man stirs against the other's chest, mumbling about nothing. In his dream, he continues to sort through boxes, until finally, through sheer luck and determination, he finds it. A Vault-Tec bobblehead.

Eager for the message inscribed beneath, Neil turns the bobblehead upside-down and reads. Or rather, a different person reads, one whose voice he is likely to never forget.

"Congratulations, my boy--"

Tobar. The ferryman.

"--you are going to pull through and everything will be right as rain."

Neil jolts sharply in Alex's arms, eyes slamming open and lungs expanding desperately to take in air.]

[doubletap]

[ He had finally been dozing.

It was in a way he remembered doing, somewhere in the recesses of his mind. Half-awake, half-sleep, aware of his surroundings and ready to jump at a moment's notice. More recent he slept like this when hunting Legionaires with Boone--and after the Sierre Madre, in that long walk back. Before that, when he was hunting down Benny, sparing little for sleep.

Before that, the Divide. In that town he had destroyed. The name of it escaped him, in his damaged brain. But it had had a name, hadn't it? There was a name for that sacred place, and he's so close to remembering it--

There's a loud gasp and a body jolting against his, and Alex knows it to be Neil. He reacts on instinct, arms wrapping tightly to hold him still, hold him against. ]

Hey, hey, it's all right. I got you.

[goodfight]

[It would be enough. The hold, the assurance-- These should be enough to calm him down.

He can't. Neil is still beneath that influence, caught in that dream, in that murky old swamp. He reaches around the other's arms desperately for the scar on his head, where Tobar had taken away the thing that once resided within himself, solid and whole.

It isn't his brain, he thinks. It's something he will never get back again, and that thought is enough to for his gasps to transition to sobs.]

[doubletap]

[ He knows where Neil's hands are reaching.

To the scar hidden under hair, to the place where something had happened that Alex could never ever touch. To the place where Neil came back a little more broken, a little more settled. Different, is the word to be used, and Alex knew that it wasn't over, not really. Neil had slain his demons, but there was nothing to protect him when he slept.

This is what Alex was thinking when the panic turns to outright sobbing, and all of his conclusions disperse into the stale air. Neil is crying, and the Courier is at an outright loss.

He twists to his side, pulls Neil's hands down to hold together in one large hand. Alex cups the back of Neil's head to hold him closer, and kisses the thin line that represented loss. ]

[goodfight]

[Once upon a time, Neil Park had left the Capital Wasteland on a creaky old ferry headed to Point Lookout. Tobar had been his fateful ferryman in those three weeks, allowing him access to one of the most haunted places in all of Maryland. It seemed like a nice getaway (despite the decor), a pleasant escape from his slowly deteriorating life.

Of course, there was more to that place. It wouldn't be this if it had been anything less; he would not be choking on his sobs now if that had been the end to things.

His head feels like shit. Hurts almost as much as it did after the "surgery". Neil barely registers the comfort, the kiss against his head, but he manages to squeeze the hand holding his own as hot tears pour out of his eyes.

Eventually, it all subsides. Or perhaps Neil has lost his energy to continue. His sobs slow to harsh gasps, and slowly, the man stills.]

[doubletap]

[ There is silence in a place there had once been tears given to the open air. Alex's body is tense as if waiting for a threat--the full extent of his claustrophobic perception pushed out to hear for any noise, any threat.

But there is silence.

And it's this he doesn't know what to deal with. Because there was nothing external to destroy oneself over, nothing for Alex to kill. Everything was internal, and he knows that.

Of course he knows that.

But Alex is older than Neil, in quite a few ways, and while Neil's damage underneath still shows in scars on the surface, words spit out and ill-taken, Alex's is further down. Deeper and stiller. In a place that he can't even reach.

There is loss for that: He takes it, holds it, and lets it go.

One hand pets over Neil's hair, and Alex finds comfort in the touch. ]

[goodfight]

[He's done in that swamp, in his perception of Point Lookout. Neil finally opens his eyes to darkness, to warmth, his body and mind fully awake. His head is still killing him, but there is motion over his hair that proves alleviating.

Strangely, he does not remember life and dreams blurring their lines just a moment prior. The only pieces of evidence are a headache and swollen skin around his eyes. And the hand gliding over his hair.

It is enough, though. Enough to cause a strange emotion to spark in his chest.

He allows the quiet for a beat longer before chancing speech.]

Did I do something again in my sleep?

[doubletap]

[ The voice makes something in his brain spark, makes his heartbeat skip and pick up its rhythm.

He wonders in a tone strangely flat. ]

...That was you asleep?

[goodfight]

[His throat aches from use. His body feels tense from strain. Neil wonders if his perception does not match reality.

He swallows, suddenly afraid.]

I...don't know. I thought I was still...

[Dreaming of mourning.]

[doubletap]

[ The part of him shifted would move to brush it off. Move to make an explanation that would be taken and they would move on.

He opens his mouth to do so, and the power surrounding the Vault has other ideas. ]

You cried.

[ And because that isn't the full truth-- ]

Sobbed like you were dying.

[goodfight]

[Cried. Fuck, Neil hasn't done that since he was a child, yet Alex claims otherwise.

But even then, it doesn't seem to be just that. Instead, the further description matches the loss still clinging to him, and Neil cannot deny it.]

Dreamed I was.

[In whatever sense that place represents.]

Heard a voice I never wanted to hear again.

[doubletap]

Hm.

[ He is off balance, out of sorts, and he maintains touching Neil's hair.

In another place, he would have asked if it were Neil's dad--pissed the kid off, distracted him. In this place... he's held to other things.

He brings his hand around to trace the scar on Neil's head. ]

But he's dead now. Right?

[goodfight]

[The hand against the invisible line etched into his head proves too much. Too close to that memory, that image of the man's toothy smile.

Neil stirs and attempts to detach from Alex's hold.]

Maybe. Feels like nothing will ever just die.

[doubletap]

[ He lets him.

Lets go and lets him do whatever, and when Neil speaks, Alex lets that lay there, too. Watching is enough for now. He's too off-balance for anything more. ]

[goodfight]

[Free, Neil rolls off the table and onto his feet. Without another beside him, the room feels cold, and he moves to pick up his pair of briefs and undershirt that were happily thrown on the floor hours before.

The strange emotion in his chest moves to sadness at the sight.]

Sorry for making things awkward.

[Are the strained words. He carefully puts on the briefs, ignoring any evidence on his body of their earlier activities.]

[doubletap]

[ His answer would have been, "Are things awkward?" A distraction, playfulness, and an attempt at moving on.

Here, Alex swallows. Here, he is aware of how different he is acting. ]

...You touched me like you love me.

[ Fuck fuck fuck shit fuck shit shit fuck fuck. ]

[goodfight]

[Cloth on his body serves to accentuate the evidence, making Neil feel all weird and...crusty. He walks over to his pack, fishing around its contents in search of a rag and a bottle of purified water.

What Alex responses with, however, has him halting all actions. Neil stares intently at Alex, unaware of the blood creeping over his cheeks.]

...As opposed to?