Amelia has been in the wastes for five long years; she has seen both the best and worst that the shattered remnants of America have to offer.
And she has known happiness like she never did in the vault.
She has made friends and saved settlements; she has healed wounds and dismantled bombs.
All of this by the age of twenty.
And now, at twenty-four, she is tired, so tired, and she is scarred. The scars aren't just physical, no; some are mental and all too present. Sure, the physical are there, always visible, thick bands of white and pink tissue criss-crossing over sun-darkened skin, shiny and new and reminding her of all she has accomplished -- shutting down the president, taking on the Enclave, giving the wastes pure, clean water. It is the mental scars that hurt most. She never expects it when something hits on those scars; never expects the tears when something reminds her of her father or her time in the vault or of how Fawkes and Star Paladin Cross had died for her. Those scars are why she doesn't think of the bad she's done -- the people she's had to enslave so she could help free others; those she's had to kill to push forward; the people she's had to pick off just to be able to survive; even the people that she's only indirectly killed.
She has done so much she is proud of, and even more that she's not.
Butch is still with her, her constant; a reminder of home and happier times. She is grateful that he hasn't left her (and even more grateful that he hasn't managed to drink his liver into submission yet), because she needs him here -- needs someone strong by her side to keep her from losing her mind.
Because the more she thinks about it, the more she thinks she's going to go crazy. This only gets worse when she wakes up one day to Butch in her face, repeating, over and over "There's a message from the vault, Amy; there's a message from the vault!"
At first, she doesn't think anything of it; figures it's some routine message like she'd caught before, when she'd just left. It isn't. It's Amata -- Overseer Almodovar, the second coming -- calling her back, telling her that, if she's alive, she'd like a chance to speak to her again.
It takes her three days of internal arguments to convince herself to go, and another two to get Butch to come with her (and he bitches the whole walk there: "I don't get why you wanna go back anyways, Amy; she kicked you out, remember?" and "She's an ungrateful bitch" and every time he speaks, she just rolls her eyes and says "She was my best friend").
When they arrive at the vault, she's surprised to find the door already open, Amata standing in the doorway with a handful of guards behind her. They have a tearful reunion, and Butch stands by awkwardly, clearly not anymore pleased to see Amata than she is to see him. Amata directs the guards to take butch to the diner, and she leads Amelia to her office so they can talk.
“I know it's been a long time, Amy,” she says gently, frowning, “but I had something I wanted to ask you.”
Amelia has half a mind to tell her to go straight to hell, because the last time she'd asked for something, it had ended with her being kicked out of the vault, but instead, she bites her tongue, nods. “What?”
“Would you like to come back to the vault? Permanently, I mean – your room's yours, if you want it.”
Amelia bursts into tears, stutters out a thanks and an apology, covers her face with her hands. “I can't. I can't, Amata – if you knew, if you knew the things I'd done... You wouldn't want me here.”
Amata clearly doesn't understand – she spends the next few minutes calming Amelia down, getting her friend to the point where she's forming words and not just making sounds through her tears. “What do you mean?”
Lord, I've Been Trying- Gen (1/2)
And she has known happiness like she never did in the vault.
She has made friends and saved settlements; she has healed wounds and dismantled bombs.
All of this by the age of twenty.
And now, at twenty-four, she is tired, so tired, and she is scarred. The scars aren't just physical, no; some are mental and all too present. Sure, the physical are there, always visible, thick bands of white and pink tissue criss-crossing over sun-darkened skin, shiny and new and reminding her of all she has accomplished -- shutting down the president, taking on the Enclave, giving the wastes pure, clean water. It is the mental scars that hurt most. She never expects it when something hits on those scars; never expects the tears when something reminds her of her father or her time in the vault or of how Fawkes and Star Paladin Cross had died for her. Those scars are why she doesn't think of the bad she's done -- the people she's had to enslave so she could help free others; those she's had to kill to push forward; the people she's had to pick off just to be able to survive; even the people that she's only indirectly killed.
She has done so much she is proud of, and even more that she's not.
Butch is still with her, her constant; a reminder of home and happier times. She is grateful that he hasn't left her (and even more grateful that he hasn't managed to drink his liver into submission yet), because she needs him here -- needs someone strong by her side to keep her from losing her mind.
Because the more she thinks about it, the more she thinks she's going to go crazy. This only gets worse when she wakes up one day to Butch in her face, repeating, over and over "There's a message from the vault, Amy; there's a message from the vault!"
At first, she doesn't think anything of it; figures it's some routine message like she'd caught before, when she'd just left. It isn't. It's Amata -- Overseer Almodovar, the second coming -- calling her back, telling her that, if she's alive, she'd like a chance to speak to her again.
It takes her three days of internal arguments to convince herself to go, and another two to get Butch to come with her (and he bitches the whole walk there: "I don't get why you wanna go back anyways, Amy; she kicked you out, remember?" and "She's an ungrateful bitch" and every time he speaks, she just rolls her eyes and says "She was my best friend").
When they arrive at the vault, she's surprised to find the door already open, Amata standing in the doorway with a handful of guards behind her. They have a tearful reunion, and Butch stands by awkwardly, clearly not anymore pleased to see Amata than she is to see him. Amata directs the guards to take butch to the diner, and she leads Amelia to her office so they can talk.
“I know it's been a long time, Amy,” she says gently, frowning, “but I had something I wanted to ask you.”
Amelia has half a mind to tell her to go straight to hell, because the last time she'd asked for something, it had ended with her being kicked out of the vault, but instead, she bites her tongue, nods. “What?”
“Would you like to come back to the vault? Permanently, I mean – your room's yours, if you want it.”
Amelia bursts into tears, stutters out a thanks and an apology, covers her face with her hands. “I can't. I can't, Amata – if you knew, if you knew the things I'd done... You wouldn't want me here.”
Amata clearly doesn't understand – she spends the next few minutes calming Amelia down, getting her friend to the point where she's forming words and not just making sounds through her tears. “What do you mean?”