Fallout: Born Unto Trouble

8. Message Begins

Sarah knocked on the doorway of the room Gloria was borrowing during her time at the Citadel. Gloria didn't acknowledge her, so she let herself in.

"Gloria," Her voice was strong, yet gentle at the same time.

Gloria blinked, still staring at the ground, "You know, I actually didn't hate him. I was so mad, but I didn't hate him."

Sarah sat down next to her, pulling Gloria into her chest and wrapping her arms around the other's significantly smaller frame. She'd lost weight in the past three weeks she stayed with her.

"I know. He knows... knew it too."

Gloria exhaled, leaning her head on Sarah's collarbone, "You're warm."

"You're starving yourself."

"It's not like I don't deserve it. I don't deserve anything."

"Don't say that, you deserve the world."

Gloria laughed, dangerously close to a scoff, "Whatever. I don't care anymore."

"I got a message from a trader; says Moira misses you and needs you to return your friend's call."

Gloria didn't bother lifting her head, but instead lifted her gaze to Sarah's face, "What?"

She handed Gloria a torn piece of paper, and she unfolded it and sighed.

Things had gone to shit in Vault 101; The Overseer enforced stricter and unfair rules on the residents, which resulted in a rebellion. Whoever wasn't killed was going to be if Gloria didn't act fast.

While Vault 101 was no longer her home, she still had to protect Amata.

Everything she did was for her, she realized—well, almost everything.

She tossed the paper to the side, then stretched her arms over her head, grunting when her back popped and turned to Sarah, "Alright."

"You'll help them?"

"I have to. There's no one else who will."

She went back on her promise and spent the next week in Rivet City.

The sun was beginning to set, and the slightest of sunrays shined over the ruins in the distance, covering the sky with clouds of pink and red, purple and orange. Times in solitude were times spent drinking vodka and getting lost in her thoughts.

Gloria sat at the edge of the broken bow of Rivet City, where Pinkterton had set up her laboratory, legs dangling over the edge of the water, swinging back in forth gently. She waited for the scientist to finish Harkness' checkup; ever since she's told him he was an android, he'd been worried something would break. Of course, he wouldn't, but he would not believe her. So she would take him to the man who reset his memory and, well, she'd leave them to it.

She'd watch the waves lap against the boat, the sun set and get drunk. The only peaceful moments in her life.

The air was cool and she shivered due to the lack of clothing she wears. Her Vault 101 jumpsuit was barely enough to shield her from the cold, and with its rips and tears all around, barely holding together, it let the chilly evening air inside. Her fingers were the coldest, hanging onto a cold bottle of vodka like a lifeline, hoping it could make her forget.

Forget what?

She took another sip, then set it back in her lap as she watched the sunset.

It was beautiful, she thought.

"You sure can't get anything like this in the vault," She whispered to herself, "James would've loved this."

The drink wasn't working, but it sure as shit made her feel a whole lot better.