Chapter Text
Al Summers would later feel as if most of her life, pre-alien abduction, was defined and divided up mentally for her by other people.
Most of her childhood was the era of her mother; a shadowy figure she only later remembers as the soft, powdery pink smear of her lipstick she left behind and the lingering scent trails of her lavender-heavy perfume that coated her clothes and pillow long after she was gone. In some abstract way, Al supposed she had to have been a normal mother before she ran out on her family; she had hazy recollections of sandwiches with the crusts cut off, kisses for scraped knees. But her absence hit like a meteor and decimated most of her positive memories. The woman left behind a mother-shaped hole that Al never quite stopped feeling the absence of, though from the very start she told herself not to think on it.
What point was there in dwelling on someone who didn’t want to be a part of her life? What kind of mother up and leaves her children in the middle of the night, without so as much as a note, to live on a commune and write poetry? Not much of one, Al figured, and told herself she didn’t care at all.
As her dad was fond of saying after every disaster; Take a deep breath, leave your emotions at the door and take stock in your surroundings and gather what’s valuable.
So that’s what Al did, tucking any thoughts and feelings about her mother into a locked drawer in her mind to never be looked at again. Her father was already taking his own advice in mere weeks after mom’s departure, pawning anything of value that her brother couldn’t get his hands on to hide away. Ralph Summers was unsentimental at the best of times, even towards his own children, and seemed to view his wife leaving with no more feeling than someone would view a long-time employee quitting with no notice… and maybe that was part of the reason she had bolted in the first place.
Christopher, her brother, was another shadowy entry in the long list of people who had chapters pencilled out in the book of Al’s life. Someone side-by-side with her as they learned the ropes from their father on exactly how to train animals, to lead them and get them to do tricks on command for profit. Their father had big dreams of higher class lifestyles that he was pulling the siblings along on a ride for, not that they ever objected out loud. Al had her doubts on how profitable the movie industry was for anyone who wasn’t at the top and with their names on the posters.
Sure enough, no matter how hard they worked, they never seemed to be far above the teamsters and cameramen in terms of pay, though it wasn’t helped by the amount of money that dear old dad drank away. Too many nights spanning from teenager awkwardness to young adult restlessness, were spent with Al and her brother exchanging knowing glances as Ralph passed out in the living room, some radio show blaring so loud that it would wake the dead… but not the dead drunk, apparently. Too many nights spent having sleep for dinner while hunger twisted and gnawed at their bellies and only the animals were important enough to be fed, Christopher telling stories in the dark to try to distract from the misery and starvation.
Then… in Al’s early twenties, Christopher died.
And the less said about that, the better. Her brain numbed itself to it. Forced her to move on and keep on that toxic positivity she had to keep plastered on for show biz work. Even without being in front of a camera, all eyes were on you, you had expectations of you… and her mind just tried to block out her brother as if he never existed at all.
Another human shaped hole in the core of her that could never be filled.
There was enough to focus on; the tumultuous and combative political relations the US seemed to be engaging in with other countries, the whispers of more war on the horizon, shadowy conspiracy theories about what Vault Tec, Robco and even Nuka Cola were up to in those factories of theirs… Al didn’t trust anyone much but she especially didn’t trust the rich or the corporations that seemed to be continuously up to something (even if she didn’t know what it was).
But oh, oh, the years of Anne. Anne Steelcraft had come into Al’s life as an early adult with the slow, clever saunter of a femme fatale in a detective noir flick you’d see at the drive-in. Quiet, strong Anne with her sharp gaze and dark black hair as shiny and lustrous as a crow’s feathers. Anne, with her prickly edges like a porcupine but with a soft underbelly that showed when she checked on Al to make sure she was okay and eating enough. Anne, who brought her meals from her favorite restaurants because Anne wasn’t the chef out of the two of them but she still provided sustenance when she had the opportunity.
Anne was a pretty picture in contradictions; the daughter of a Vault-tec exec but not spoiled or like any of the pampered elite that Al had run-ins with on set so she let Anne be an exception to her rule about hating those who came from money or who were associated with corps in any manner. Warm and nurturing… but never quite going past platonic even when Al prayed that she would. They had lingering glances and touches but Anne would step back any time that things got too real or close.
Al started spending enough time at Anne’s loft that they were nearly roommates. Al became the very image of domestication; she quit smoking, she began cooking meals for them both when she would get off of a shoot for the day and after she had helped her father unload the working animals off back at his house. Anne became her oasis, the only place where she could be anything other than a voice barking orders for a trained dog or horse to obey and a too-wide artificial smile when directors prattled on about the importance of a scene and staging.
Moments began to stack up between them like rocks pilling up for an avalanche, making the tension between Al and Anne nearly unbearable, to the point that Al could taste it in her throat when Anne would pass by so closely to her but not close enough to do more than graze her clothes.
A thousand moments that had the shadowy and blurry but anxious feel to them that good dreams have upon waking, when your waking mind starts to lose all the finer details.
Al chopping away at chicken at Anne’s marble kitchen counter, the knife practiced in her hand as she thumped the blade down through meat and into a cutting board that probably cost more than Al’s entire wardrobe at home. Anne, coming up behind her to peer at what she was doing, breath gusting out over Al’s flesh as she murmured that it was almost like she had a pretty wife cooking dinner for her. The praise from the dark-haired woman settling low in Al’s stomach, warming her in a way that bordered on sensual, though she didn’t act on it. Secret smiles exchanged between the women all night in between bites of food the only indication that anything beyond friendship was even simmering.
The countless times that Anne’s fingers would carefully reach out and “fix” Al’s hair, finding excuses to fuss and linger. Anne was fascinated by Al’s hair, the unique blonde and black split that was common in the Summers family. She’d always be reaching out to pet and toy with the strands, causing delightful shivers to run down Al’s spine at every gentle pull.
Her perfectly manicured nails, the only sign of Anne’s upper-crust upbringing to a casual observer, glinting in mermaid-like iridescence under the dimming lights of the boardwalk on an outing to a tourist trap one spring day. Their hands interlaced, under the excuse of trying not to lose each other, as they worked their way through the absurdity of the funhouse set up by the beach. Anne always pressing herself in front of Al at any sudden noise or jarring turn, all stiff-backed and shielding. A warrior woman in spirit, through and through. Al laughed it off every time but her eyes lingered on the cotton candy-sticky curves of Anne’s lips every time and pined, ached, wondered. She pined so badly she could feel it in the pit of her stomach and Al tried to tell herself it was caused by too many treats at a late hour.
They knew their time was limited, that they couldn’t pursue this… not really. Anne’s family had plans for her, for her being some cookie-cutter rich housewife some day and Al was practically shackled to her own father’s business, both out of obligation to the animals themselves and not knowing what else she would even do with her life. She was all empty charm and suppressed pain shoved into a 5’5 reed of a woman who barely even felt like a person when Anne wasn’t around; no prospects and no goals for the future other than cooing at well-trained animals until they did their practiced bit in front of rolling cameras ad nauseum.
But it didn’t stop them both from pretending. Anne escorting her out on late night drives while Silver Shroud reruns prattled on over the radio. Al taking her on guided tours of movie sets on her breaks; her hand leading hers around as they gossiped about the stars (who had secret lovers, who had a Med-x addiction) and Anne ooohed and ahhed appreciatively over all the half-built sets and shiny cameras. All of these little moments of domestic contentment a shield from the futures that loomed over them both like storm clouds, but they were still the happiest years of Al’s life even with that in mind.
Al didn’t know if she loved Anne. She had never loved anyone before, at least not in a romantic sense. She had a few stolen kisses and hurried dalliances in her past but nothing she ever wanted to pursue long term. She had always assumed that maybe she wasn’t the type to fall in love or get married; too quick to run at the first sign of trouble, too picky and judgmental to hold down a long-term relationship. But she knew that if she was capable of loving anyone? It would be Anne. Considerate and clever Anne, who took Al’s breath away with a half-smile flashed in her direction.
She didn’t know if she loved her but she wanted to. She was happy to be content with whatever this was for as long as she was allowed to be and god, Al hoped it would be for the rest of their lives even while she knew deep down that it wouldn’t be.
So they enjoyed what they had and kept appreciating small slices of life that they carved out together amidst all the bullshit.
Until one night, Anne came into the loft in a flurry of slamming doors, of hitched breathing and bloodshot eyes. She had never been one for much makeup (unlike Al who enjoyed intricate waves of red or black eyeliner, swipes of scarlet lipstick), but the little bit of mascara she dabbed on each morning was trailing murky black trails down her cheeks.
Al’s stomach sank and somehow, she knew what was coming before Anne even spoke the words that their time was up.
“My parents want me back home. They seem to think something big is coming, or that Vault-tec thinks something is… but they want me out of California,” Anne spat out by way of explanation, slamming her purse down on the floor near the front door. Her black hair was tangled in a way that implied that she had been running her hands through it in a fit of pique on the drive home, messing up the usually immaculately braided ponytail.
Dread multiplying, breeding, creating endless waves of misery in her stomach, Al still plastered on a lukewarm half-smile as she snarked, “No more playing house then? So how much time do we have before you have to-“
“Tonight. I have to start packing tonight.”
Silence stretched out between them. Heavy and oppressive. Part of it angry, resentful. Why couldn’t she fight to stay? There were thousands of rumors of bad things coming, of arms races against China (especially after the aftermath of Anchorage), and Al was of the opinion that anything world ending was probably years off yet. If anything even happened at all! Everyone was so doom and gloom and yet the earth kept spinning.
Even if the world was going to end up some charred meatball in a few years time, why couldn’t they spend it together instead of Anne being under lock and key in some stuffy estate or even stuffier vault with her family?
That was selfish though and Al knew it. Anne had gently broached the subject of the vaults before and knew that she would never get Al Summers into one of them with her; she was too distrustful of being sealed underground with strangers in some glorified Vault-tec supervised tin can, especially as someone who was vaguely claustrophobic. Hell, not that Al could even afford a spot in any vaults that she had ever seen advertised. The few that could be offered such lofty ideals of safety were at least a tax bracket or two above those whose names were at the very end of any movie credits that ran after the final scene played out.
But that didn’t mean that Anne should give up her own safety, if anything explosive was brewing on the horizon, and not follow her parents into a vault just because her closest friend wouldn’t be joining her. God though, how it stung and weighed heavily in her gut that this was the end so suddenly for them.
Despite how much time that Al spent there, it took her less than an hour to gather up the personal belongings that she had strewn across the rooms. A toothbrush here, some sweaters there. How easily months of pretend could be gathered up in a cardboard box. Anne hovered nearby as she plucked items out of their respective drawers, not speaking but jittery and tense. She opened her mouth a few times as if to say something but nothing came out at all, the silence so thick still that it felt soupy, miserable. Both girls aching to speak, maybe even to argue this out, snap at each other but… what would even be the point? They knew this was coming eventually. Besides, Anne felt too eternally good to snap at, especially when her eyes were already brimming with tears. Not like how Al felt about herself; like she was an ugly and self-centered little creature that only had on the mask of humanity for the woman in front of her, but not when left to her own devices.
Anne followed her like a ghost to the front door when every trace of Al had been scooped up. Her stance was like that of someone being sent to a firing squad and maybe to her, she was. Anne still had her own packing to do but instead, she trailed behind Al and picked at her nails, messing up the beauty of them for the first time that Al could remember.
Al couldn’t bear to see her so morose, so defeated, all of that fiery life extinguished in a day like someone snuffing out a match. She mustered up some approximation of a grin and said faux-brightly, “Well, there’s no reason why we can’t call each other and keep in touch, right? It’s not like one of us is dying. We can still talk and maybe one day, when the world doesn’t end, you can come back…”
This did nothing to cheer her friend up for some reason. Still, Anne nodded and fished through her pocket book for her father’s business card (with the home phone number where she’d be staying). After Al slid it deftly into her jacket pocket, Anne reached out hesitantly to brush those now-jagged iridescent nails against her jawline, murmuring, “I think you should know-“
Something about the gesture was like setting off a powder keg. Maybe it was bound to happen eventually even without the threat of a final goodbye, maybe it was fated to always explode into this after so much unspoken and ignored romantic tension for so long. But either way, Al leaned forward and brushed her lips against Anne’s; soft against soft, bittersweet; the happiest and worst moment of her life all rolled into one.
The kiss was reciprocated for a few seconds, the taste of Anne’s respective balm against Al’s lip gloss mixing, sugary and poignant, before Anne pulled back. She looked more despondent than ever before, guilty even as she mumbled, “We shouldn’t have done that.”
“I know. I’m sorry. I know.”
“I… what I was trying to tell you was that you should know that my family will probably rush an engagement, after I get back. They have some suitors lined up for me already, some sons of their friends… I didn’t want you to wait to see if I’d come back someday, Al.”
Pain. No surprise there but pain blooming worse than before. Al nodded and gave a soft, understanding smile but guilt and self-hatred twisted in the very center of her. Why did she have to take that chance and kiss her? Why make things even worse than before, even harder for them, in their last moments together? The kiss didn’t even feel like closure, it felt like opening a wound and pouring salt in.
They continued their placid goodbyes, making half-hearted promises to call and send postcards and keep in touch. The last time that Al saw her as she stepped out the door, Anne’s hands were tightly clenched at her sides as if trying to stop herself from touching her again but… she didn’t do anything to stop her from leaving.
Neither of them called each other or kept in touch.
The next year was defined by movie stars and specifically, Cooper Howard. Al began to hate most celebrities, in her own way. The entitled behavior on set, snapping their fingers at staff for coffee or to clean up their messes (even if it wasn’t their job to do so). How out of touch they seemed with the common person; eyes going blank and ears going deaf any time they had to enter into conversation with one of the teamsters or key grips. She had some sentimentality for the actresses; especially for ones who were rumored to be a little “overly fond” of other women (like Vera Keyes) but for the most part? Al really began to hate seeing these vapid sheep swanning around in between yells from the directors and producers.
But god, she hated Cooper Howard more than she hated any of them. He wasn’t quite as entitled seeming as some of the stars but he seemed to not have a thought in his head beyond his perfect little life and family. His smile always placid and civil, no matter how short she was with him and affable personality making her want to hurl.
And the fact that his wife was another Vault-tec paper pusher only made Al think of Anne’s family and how they whisked her away, out of her reach. Cooper Howard might have been amiable enough but he was the personification of everything that Al hated about her life and she began to despise any time that she was hired to work on a job with him… which unfortunately, was often. His star was rising in Hollywood (probably aided by Vault-tec’s tactical nudging) and he was getting more work than ever to play the no-nonsense detective, the sheriff with a heart of gold… all of those hero tropes that the public ate up greedily with a spoon. Which meant movies that needed dogs, horses, dogs that could be made to look like wolves in dim lighting… and that meant Summers Animal Wrangling.
Adding onto it all… her dad started showing up to set later and later, reeking of cheap booze, and then eventually not at all. It left all of the animal handling, dealing with Hollywood big shots, clean-up, packing into the trailers at the beginning and end of the day all in Al’s increasingly exhausted hands. Occasionally she’d be able to find some temporary help by placing a classified ad in the paper but that never lasted long when it felt like Ralph Summers was drinking most of the paychecks away. With no Anne to hide away with, the stress kept steadily pulling at Al’s frayed nerves while she tried to grin and bear it all as placidly as possible.
What other choice did she have? She had no choice but to survive and she had no prospects that came to mind outside of what she was already doing. She had dropped out of high school years ago when her father needed help with the animals, there was no other family to call on… all that Al had at her disposal was a pretty face, a penchant for bullshittery and a skillful hand at getting animals to follow her commands.
She had to just keep pushing forward until something got better.
Something had to get better.
It certainly didn’t get better the day that Al popped in to her dad’s house after another day of him not showing up to set and finding him dead at the bottom of the basement stairs, his neck snapped. Ralph Summers ending his life in a crumpled heap, stinking and rotting, the product of another drunken tumble… what a waste. What a fucking waste.
It became another thing she buried deep into the background of her psyche and tried not to think about ever. She handled funeral arrangements like she had for her brother and kept moving forward.
Al took a deep breath, left her emotions at the door and took stock in her surroundings and gathered what was valuable. Again.
Movie studios still wanted to hire her even with her father dead; she kept the original name on the business, understanding that there was power in names and connections. She still had the same trained animals, after all, and there were still westerns and scrappy hero escapism stories to be told. Life moved on and moved forward.
It was slightly easier to hold onto money now without every penny being funneled into vodka, so Al was able to hire some help occasionally so it wasn’t all on her back to do everything.
Still, the knot in her stomach never really let up and her shoulders never untensed. Maybe they hadn’t in years.
Somehow, she ended up accepting an invitation to a wrap party at the Howard family’s hip manor after the end of one successful finish for some generic “shoot-em-up”. Al usually turned down the frequent invitations that Cooper Howard always levied out to the entire cast to shindigs at his place; she couldn’t stand the man and it didn’t make sense to go to his home and have his good fortune rubbed in her face even further. She much preferred the more low-key get-togethers from other behind-the-scenes cast members and people on the same level as her.
But this one? She accepted and she wasn’t quite sure why herself. Maybe she was lonelier than she thought, most nights spent thumbing over the business card that Anne had given her until the lettering on it was starting to fade. Maybe it was because Vera Keyes was rumored to have been invited to the same party and she was one of the few actresses that Al actually admired.
Either way, she found herself wandering through the halls of his home, bitterness mixing with the few sips of a martini she had politely accepted from a bartender hired just for the party and forming a noxious cocktail in Al’s stomach.
Conceited, she mused to herself as she saw giant film posters of Cooper Howard’s movies blown up and displayed on the walls as showy decorations.
Spoiled, she commented mentally, lip curling as she took note of the top shelf liquor and gold rimmed ashtrays laid out for guests.
Fucking pretentious, Al sneered as she saw the man himself across the room in his perfectly tailored smoking jacket that probably cost more than a year’s worth of her measly salary.
She couldn’t stop dwelling on the fact that Anne would probably marry some random guy like this one day. Some milquetoast middle aged man, swanning around and amiably asking people if they needed their drinks topped off. Someone like this who had never faced hardship in his entire life, everything handed to him, would get Anne gifted to him, regardless of Anne’s own hopes and dreams, like a participation trophy just because of family connections and good breeding. It wasn’t fucking fair.
Her stomach roiled and felt increasingly nauseous the more that Al observed him and watched him do the rounds with the other guests with his fake little pleasantries. He was always so disingenuous with her too; she knew that Cooper could tell that she hated his guts. She wouldn’t let him interact with her animals outside of scripted scenes, she was snippy and cold to him at every opportunity. And yet he still gave her these kicked puppy eyes and even extended to her the invitation to this stupid party that was just a show-and-tell of affluence. Pathetic.
Al needed to find something to do, away from him, before he made his way over to her to make lukewarm chitchat or she’d vomit on his polished loafers. She was good at faking patter herself under most circumstances but something about Cooper Howard rubbed her nerves raw to the point that she didn’t even want to try.
She wandered aimlessly as she left the main rooms, not having any real direction but she sort of remembered that the Howard family had a dog somewhere. Maybe Al could pet the dog for a bit before making her excuses and leaving. She couldn’t find the creature anywhere, eventually resorting to just opening random closed doors upstairs until-
She found herself in what was clearly a child’s bedroom. Soft warm light glowing, both ballerina and cowboy motifs littered throughout the decor. And sitting in the middle of it on the floor, was the curious-eyed Janey Howard. Al remembered her from the times that Cooper’s family would come visit on set, even if Al made herself scarce when they did, and mentally kicked herself for barging in like this.
“Sorry, I… I was looking for your dog,” Al offered contritely, wincing at how this wasn’t one of her smoothest moments. Now she felt frozen and stiff in the doorway, unsure exactly what to do but knowing she’d rather be anywhere but here. She was neutral enough to children but hadn’t really been allowed to be one herself for long enough to know how to behave around them.
“Roosevelt is at the vet, he got into the trash again,” Janey informed her, brushing carefully at the hair of the doll in her hands. “He should be home tomorrow though. Do you wanna play dolls with me?”
It seemed rude not to after stumbling in uninvited. Al had never played dolls before; toys like that weren’t something her family could justify spending money on growing up. Most of her childhood was spent running alongside pups for obstacle courses, reading books about the newest in clicker training, learning to saddle and ride a horse. Playing pretend wasn’t something that they had time for in the Summers household.
But she hesitantly walked over to the spot on the carpet that Janey offered up, plopping down softly and looking at the dollhouse all set up against the wall. It was quite a marvel even to an adult; all shiny plastic furniture that nearly looked real and even a fridge that lit up when the doors were opened. It was clear that this was probably a top of the line toy indeed.
Janey noticed Al’s silent observations and beamed, all sunny smiles, as she said proudly, “My mommy put that together for me when she got back from a business trip! And we picked out dolls together to play with together every weekend when she’s not at work!”
Al had a plastic woman shoved into her hands, probably one of the aforementioned ones that Barb picked out with Janey at some high-end toy store. Its dark hair still perfectly coiffed, the smile huge and perfect and artificial.
Barb, even for being a Vault-tec shill, seemed like a decent mother whenever Al had caught glimpses of their family. Always doting on Janey, giving her little candies from her purse, eyes always searching like spotlights to keep her daughter within her sightline and keep her safe. Maybe that was why it was harder for Al to hate Barb on sight the way that Al hated her husband; at least she came across like she treasured Janey and maybe that hit some aching part of the older woman that longed for a mother that loved her. Or… even a mother that stayed.
Al blinked at the figure in her hands and offered up awkwardly, “Uh. She has a pretty dress?”
Janey nodded encouragingly, as if she was the adult and Al was the child who needed positive reinforcement to play well with others. “She sure does, thank you! I picked it out! Her name is Moxie and she’s a ballet dancer but sometimes I put this hat on her so she’s also a cattle rancher. That means we have to find her missing cows if she has her hat on or the cattle drive will be ruined.”
This was a lot of information to take in. Al couldn’t really tell if Janey had a better imagination than most kids or if this was par for the course but again, she felt something sad and years in the making start to sink into her stomach. Al’s own mother would never have sat down and listened to elaborate backstories like this, or like Barb had probably countless times by now. Janey would grow up most likely to be a loved and creative adult some day, with every opportunity possible open to her, never having to wonder if her parents loved her or not.
Meanwhile, Al knew she had never been a priority for her own and had grown to be an adult toeing into thirty in a dead-end career, with no one who cared for her enough to stay and a baseball bat that she had to let roll around in her car’s backseat, just in case, for when she drove back at night to her home in a neighborhood wracked with crime because that’s all that she could afford.
A last surviving daughter for a long line of poverty-stricken genetics that would end with her, probably face down at the bottom of some stairs like her alcoholic con-man of a father one day. Unmarried, unmourned and forgotten about, a corpse that took up space in the world and that’s it.
Janey took pity on Al and reached over to rearrange the doll in the older woman’s trembling hands, showing her gently, “See? She can sort of do a little spin if you move her leg like this. That’s how I play with her.”
Al let out a shaky laugh and copied the move, obediently making the glittery skirt flare out as the doll spun between her fingers. “Yeah, so she does. That’s really neat, kid,” she said agreeably, forcing a grin on her face.
Sometimes she felt like a doll like this. Performing and entertaining and not feeling anything at all. Just a plastic shell with just air inside, no soul. A facsimile of a person pretending to be human.
“You’re crying, are you okay?” Janey asked abruptly, concern written all over her cherubic face and shining brightly in those big doe eyes of hers.
Sure enough, Al swept her hand over her face and her cheeks were wet without her even noticing it. She was certain of a few things in that moment; she was losing her grip on herself (and her emotions) more every day and also… she needed to get the fuck out of here before she embarrassed herself further. She made her apologies to the worried looking kid, handed back Moxie as gingerly as she could, and made a quick exit from the party itself.
Vera Keyes never did show up.
Al stole one of the fancy gold-trimmed ashtrays on her way out the door though; it’s not like she needed it but it did make her feel better to know that stupid, dopey Cooper Howard might be counting his ashtrays after the gathering was over and know that the count was off. Maybe it would annoy him and he would waste hours looking around for it and that thought brought her some small measure of enjoyment. She didn’t know what to do with it since she had quit smoking so she threw it into the glove compartment of her car, hearing it rattle around heavily every time she took a turn too fast in the following weeks afterwards.
She was losing it. She knew she was losing it. But there was nothing to be done about it when she had dogs to feed, horses to brush and clean up after, past-due funeral expenses to pay-
New movie. New set. She was going through the motions as usual, shooting the shit with one of the camerawomen when… some suit with a briefcase with the snappy Vault-tec logo strolled by. Then another.
Al Summers was never a perceptive woman, but she could smell corporate bullshit brewing on the horizon when it was happening right in front of her.
Sure as shit, a little bit of prodding and poking around and it became clear that this wasn’t going to be a normal popcorn muncher flick. It was going to be a vehicle for some not-so-subtle Vault Tec propaganda. The hero saves the day… with the help of our homegrown American industry of Vault tec, aren’t we all so lucky to have them?
Before she even realized that she was doing it, Al was cornering the producer, a sleazy man named Sal, in his office. He was as greasy as a snake oil salesman but fuck, he had been friends with her father and that had to mean something in the end, right?
It didn’t mean anything at all.
Al simpered, she raged, she pointed out that she never would have taken a job like this with Vault tec’s grimy fingers hooked into it… and Sal just looked at her with those beady shark’s eyes and chewed on the end of his cigar. He looked at her in a matter-of-fact way and told her that this was the way that the film industry was headed now. She could get on board, she could do her job or they would have another animal handler out here within the hour.
Sal said, dismissively, that Ralph Summers would have done what he was paid to do and shut up if he was still here instead of picking something stupid to moralize about.
That knocked the wind out of her a bit as she ambled out of his office and out to the parking lot. Yeah. He was right. Her dad would have just taken the money and shut up. She couldn’t afford not to do her job and be quiet; there was still a stack of overdue notices on the kitchen table back at home that she was still steadily chipping away at.
But Sal’s glossy Cherry Bomb sports car caught her eye as she walked outside for air. The domed windshield shining smugly under the mid day sun, the paint job immaculate as if dirt had never even thought of smudging the hood. A pay-off from his shady dealings and under-the-table shilling for corporations like Vault tec, most likely.
It’s as if time sped up; suddenly, Al was fishing her baseball bat out from the backseat of her own scuffed Corvega Blitz. Her fingers tightening around the wood and then hammering it, SLAM SLAM SLAM, into the stupid fucking scarlet red of the producer’s paint job. Chryslus Motors had advertised the Cherry Bomb’s windshield as being shatter proof but a few hard smacks of her bat proved otherwise.
For the first time in a long, long time, she felt awake. Exhilarated even. The sun on her face as she beat the hell out of this tacky sports car felt like a blessing from the heavens themselves and laughter bubbled out of her mouth in a way that Al didn’t think she had experienced since she was a child.
All good things come to an end though and her little foray into rebellion ended in Sal as red in the face as his midlife crisis mobile’s now chipped and ruined paint job, screaming as security forcibly pushed her to her car and told her she was banned from the premises. She was lucky that they didn’t call the police on her and have her thrown into a cell for the property damage but she began to realize as she sped away that she was well and truly fucked.
No movie studio would hire her now. She would be blacklisted, not only from anything that Vault tec had their claws jabbed into, but from film entirely. She’d be lucky if she could get hired at a damn pet store after this.
Any lingering euphoria was plummeting into dread and panic as she realized how badly she had messed up her whole life in one impulsive and nearly instinctual move.
The roads around her began morphing from city ones to more secluded rural ones as she just kept driving. What could she even do? Nothing could be done to fix this now, the repairs to the car alone would be more than she could afford. She was truly and majorly screwed and only had herself to blame. All of her unraveling grip on her emotions had been leading up to this and maybe some kind of breakdown had always been inevitable… even if Al had never thought it would end up being this dramatic or violent.
Expanses of fields, not another car seen for an hour and then, like an oasis of water in the desert, a pay phone. This might have been even more stupid than what she had done with the baseball bat but she couldn’t stop herself from pulling over, switching off the engine and getting out.
That business card that Al was always worrying at with her fingertips like a lucky rabbit’s foot was in her hand, she was pushing coins into the slot in the booth with shaking hands… and Anne picked up on the first ring when Al called.
Al was so, so grateful that the other woman couldn’t see the state of her right now over the phone; hand clenching sweatily over the plastic receiver, shards of windshield glass glittering in her disheveled hair still, jittery and panicky like someone coming down from a high.
Words sputtered, poured out of Al’s mouth. A disjointed and frantic outpouring of feeling, sentence vomit that cried out how she had missed Anne, how she felt like she had been losing control of her life, how she had nearly called her dozens of times, her father’s death, Vault tec, the incident today that resulted in her getting fired…
She half-expected to get hung up on. It had been more than months since they had last spoken. For all she knew, Anne had moved on and been paired up with some veneer mouthed asshole, some Cooper Howard-like man.
Instead, Anne listened silently and patiently. Not making a noise other than breathing before she finally murmured, “We could run away together.”
Al’s heart stopped in her chest. “…what?”
“I never stopped thinking about you either, Al. I have money hidden away that my family doesn’t know about, we could meet at the border to Mexico, get a ranch somewhere for all those animals… this might be our last chance,” Anne said, so softly that Al had to press the phone hard enough into her ear that it hurt just to hear her properly. “We could get away from all of this. Together.”
Part of her hesitated and she didn’t know why. Wasn’t this what she had always wanted, really? To spend the rest of the end of the world together (if it was really coming at all)? Still, she paused.
But she found herself nodding, realizing that Anne couldn’t see her gesture through the call, then saying out loud, “Yes. Finally. Yes.”
There was some brief talk of meeting details, some tearful exchanges of feelings… and then Al was hanging the phone up in the booth’s cradle for it, slumping against the metal and glass wall of the box. Relief, anxiety, exhaustion all rolled through her body like the crashing of great waves.
What if Anne didn’t show up?
(Some smaller part of Al’s brain whispered: what if neither of us showed up? What if Al really was her mother’s daughter after all?)
Those traitorous thoughts were shoved out of her brain as Al stumbled out into what was now becoming the cool evening air; she had spent so long on the phone that it was getting dark without her realizing it. Tired, just needing to lay down for a bit, she went over to the nearby field and simply laid down in the grass.
Christopher used to lay down with her in grass like this, once upon a time. The smell of sweet, half dead grass all around them, the dogs barking and yipping the only soundtrack as they stared up at the stars together in silence. Tears sprung to her eyes even as she blinked them away and banished the memory away again.
Maybe her and Anne would get to have moments like this together, one day, Al thought to herself drowsily. Maybe they would have thousands of nights of laying in fields together, hands intertwined, as they were finally together and alone to be whatever they wanted to be, like she had always dreamed.
Soon, she was asleep, fitfully but deeply. A ray of light coming out between the clouds would surround her and she would be pulled up by some kind of tractor beam, though she did not wake to see it. Al’s Corvega Blitz would remain abandoned by the side of that deserted country road, stolen ashtray forgotten in the glove box, as she was taken far away from this place and time.
Al Summers never made it to Mexico (like she had feared), but she never would have guessed that it would be because of alien abduction.
