So this is my first go at this. Enjoy, feedback is welcome as always; more to come soon hopefully.

June 30, 2281

It was just before dawn when the man's eyes fluttered open. He laid in the quiet stillness, listening to the slow, rhythmic breathing next to him. Moving slowly, he disengaged himself from the woman and got out of bed, limping to a chair at the opposite end of the room. Sitting, he took a deep breath and braced himself, before twisting his torso and drawing a string of pops from his back. The initial shock was quickly replaced by relief as his back relaxed and fell into place. His knee, however, was a different story. There was no amount of time or popping that would take the early-morning stiffness away, not with the ligaments as damaged as they were. The only remedy for that handicap was time. Well, time and Med-X, the man thought. He opened a drawer in the desk and carefully removed a syringe, tapping out any air bubbles before injecting it into his femoral artery. The pain began to dull almost immediately as the drug was carried back to his heart and then to his eagerly awaiting opioid receptors. Standing, the man quietly left the sleeping woman and limped down the stairs to the first floor. His butler, detecting his presence, sprung to life, prepared to serve his master.

"Good morning, sir!" the butler exclaimed, his English accent echoing through the metal house. The man flinched. He was not expecting to be assailed with noise this early. Perhaps I should modify his hibernation parameters, he thought to himself.

"Good morning, Wadsworth. Please keep your voice down, I don't want to wake our guest," he replied.

"Very well, sir," Wadsworth replied, his voice the mechanical version of a whisper. "You enjoyed your company, I hope?"

"Quite enjoyable, Wadsworth. I could use coffee."

"Of course, sir," the machine replied, beginning the process of making the drink. The beauty of having a robotic butler was its efficiency. While the man sat at the kitchen table and waited, the robot butler silently hovered across the room, precisely measuring out ingredients while internally boiling purified water. Up until three years ago, purified water was one of the most valuable commodities in this part of the country. It was more readily available now, but was still precious, mainly due to the utter lack of infrastructure needed to deliver it to everywhere it's needed. Someday, the man thought, someday that problem will need to be fixed. But not today. Wadsworth finished preparing the drink in about five minutes, and dispensed it into the man's waiting mug. Taking it, he walked back upstairs. The woman was still sleeping peacefully, so he quietly slipped out the door onto his deck, which doubled as the roof of a small bar and restaurant. Wearing only his underwear and a necklace, the man faced east and slowly, painfully sunk to his right knee, the one that wasn't totally destroyed. Bowing his head, he closed his eyes and prayed. He thanked his God for granting him another dawn, before beginning one of the prayers his father taught him as a boy. "I believe in one God, the Father, the Almighty…"

His prayer took him no more than a minute. Finishing, he grasped the Cross at the end of his necklace and kissed it. Slowly rising to his feet, he shook his legs out before sitting back on his deck chair to enjoy the sunrise. It was already quite hot, but the man didn't mind. He enjoyed the feel of the sun warming his skin as it crested the horizon over Washington, DC. Even the barren desert could be beautiful in this light. He sipped his coffee, enjoying the silence of the small town as a new day broke. What will this day hold, he wondered to himself? Perhaps he could go see if the town doctor needed any assistance. Or perhaps he would just anaesthetize himself at the bar with copious amounts of liquor. The joys of retirement were boundless. He finished his drink and sat in silence, the sun burning away the remaining chill of the night. After some time he heard the sounds of movement from the bedroom. The door had only begun to open when he spoke.

"Good morning, Lucy," he said, turning his head slightly to glance over his shoulder. She jumped slightly, obviously surprised by his greeting.

"How do you always do that, John?" she asked, shutting the door behind her. Lucy West was an attractive blonde in her late 20s, wearing a tank top and tight shorts. He smiled at her, showing a brief flash of the smile that had helped earn him his reputation as a lady-killer.

"I may not be quite as perceptive as I once was, but I can still hear, Lucy. That's one thing that hasn't left me," he replied as she brushed behind him and took a seat in the chair next to him.

"Oh, I don't know," she begins, smiling slyly. "You're certainly perceptive enough to pick up on what I need…"

"Imagine what I would have done to you in my prime, my dear."

"I can only imagine," she replied in a wistful tone. John laughed. This was part of why he liked the girl. She could tolerate his sarcasm and return it in kind. His last…liaison, as it were, had gone hilariously wrong because of the woman's inability to comprehend sarcasm. She lived in town as well, which had led to some awkward encounters after it ended. That was two years ago, though, and he was back on friendly terms with the girl now. This was important, seeing as she was the most successful trader in town, and his go to source for weapons and ammo on the rare occasion he needed it anymore. His travels had left him with a more than adequate supply of firepower, but he was hesitant to touch it. Even after close to two and a half years of peace, he couldn't let his guard down. If conflict ever returned whole heartedly to the Wastes, he had no one to count on but himself. His closest ally, the one thing he had that resembled a true friend, had been gone for over two years now, traveling what remained of the world. He had no family to turn to, and John didn't try and fool himself-while he was still respected, maybe even loved, by most of the citizens of this land, he wasn't needed. He was a war hero, and now it was peacetime. It made him slightly bitter-they lionized him without bothering to know him; and once he had done what they had needed they washed their hands of him. To them he was an avenger, a beacon to rally around, but ultimately a weapon of war. He knew; swore he was more than that; and at this point he had effectively ceased caring what the Wastes thought of him. If war ever returned to the Wastes, he often thought to himself, they could fend for themselves. In the end, what his whole predicament, this retirement he found himself in, boiled down to was his refusal, his inability, to play the role the Brotherhood had planned for him after peace was achieved; that of a dutiful, order following knight, one they could use as a recruitment ad to increase their numbers after years of war had taken their toll. He had a near peerless intellect, but with a whole order of Brotherhood scribes at the Citadel, his intellect wasn't needed. He was a gifted scientist and doctor; but the expansion of the Brotherhood and their own system of public service throughout the Wastes had meant he wasn't needed there, either. He had begun to see the end coming in the last months of the Purge, with every conversation between himself and Elder Lyons, the commander of the Brotherhood, or with his daughter, Sentinel Sarah Lyons, growing increasingly strained and terse. That was why after the war he gave the Wasteland one last sacrifice, turned away from the Brotherhood and his blossoming relationship with Sarah Lyons, and returned to the closest thing he had to a home, the small but growing town of Megaton, and began his self-imposed exile. Still, it wasn't all bad, he thought to himself, looking over at the woman reclining in the chair next to him. He had all he needed-more caps than he'd ever use, a house, the respect of the town he lived in, and a good looking woman to keep him company at night. As if feeling his gaze on her, Lucy looked over at him.

"Do you have anything to do this morning?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Not until ten or so…why?"

"Want to start the day off right?" he asked, grinning wolfishly. She smiled back at him.

"I thought you'd never ask," she replied, standing and leading him by the hand back inside. This part of retirement I can live with, he thought as she peeled off his underwear.

I have been gone too long, the caravan guard thought as he and his companions made their way along the broken roads and highways of the northern wastes. He could smell the scent of greenery as they came out of the mountains. The Oasis, the one living part of the Wastes, had undergone a wild expansion in the two years that he had been gone. Slowly, but surely, something that resembled the old world was returning to the wasteland here. He had seen much of nature on his travels, in places far from the areas that the bombs had fallen in, away from where the wind had blown the fallout. But in his mind he remembered the area around the old capital as a barren desert. And for the most part his memory had served him well. He adjusted his weapon under his oversized black duster. His companions had told him that in the time he had been gone, the main risk on the roads had become hostile wildlife. He and John had apparently been efficient beyond their wildest expectations when they cleansed the wasteland. They had first turned their attention to the threat posed by the super-mutant population in the area. It had not pained the caravan guard in the slightest to turn his weapons on his brothers who had tormented him for what felt like an eternity. Until his last day, destroying every trace of them would be one of his proudest achievements. After purging the super-mutants, they had set out to destroy the slavers and raiders of the area. That had proven to be more difficult than either the Enclave or the super-mutants, in some ways. But between his Gatling laser and John's staggering force of will, and with ample use of captured Enclave vertibirds, they had done it. And then, with the peace won, they parted ways. John had encouraged it, had even convinced one of his long-haul caravan contacts to take his super-mutant friend on. And so for two years Fawkes had traveled the remnants of the United States. He had made it all the way to the Pacific Ocean, traveled the roads of the New California Republic, seen the lights of the city they called New Vegas on the horizon. In the mountains west of there he had found the super-mutant community of Jacobstown, and had spent the better part of a year there, surrounded by others like him, fellow intelligent metahumans, as they called themselves. He had seen the world he dreamed of when he was locked in his observation room in Vault 87, and he had learned more than he could have imagined. He was eager to see what changes had shaped the Capital Wasteland, even more to share his new knowledge with his old brother in arms. After seeing the NCR, he half expected to return home to find John as the president of his own nascent nation. That was not the case, he learned as they had returned east. He had talked with other long-haulers who had been in DC. While it had remained peaceful, they were no closer to forming a unified state than they had been when he had left. The caravaners silence on the matter of his old friend had left Fawkes even more baffled. It made him even more anxious to finish the last leg of this haul and collect his cut. A happy side effect of his adventures as a caravan guard was an almost excessive amount of caps. Aside from his work as a guard, he had run a side business on the road as a salesman for John and Moira's survival guide. He had agreed to a 50/50 split with Moira before he left. She had initially balked at the split, but John had interceded and convinced Moira it was for the good of humanity. It had probably helped that John had been sleeping with Moira at the time as well, Fawkes silently thought to himself. While he had no personal experience with romantic interactions, even he had found that to be a puzzling match. His unspoken fear was that he would find John settled down somewhere with a child by that strange, oblivious woman.

The sun had almost reached its apex and the day had become brutally hot, judging by the way his companions were sweating, but they were finally at their destination. Finally home, he thought to himself as they began unpacking goods from the caravan. A woman came out to meet them as they did. Fawkes turned to face her and found the woman frozen, staring in momentary shock at the towering super-mutant in front of her. Joanne, Fawkes thought to himself. John's contact. Realizing who he was, the woman found her voice and the words began tumbling out.

"Fawkes! We had begun to think that you had gone for good!"

"As you can see, I am very much returned. How is the Wasteland? I have missed it in my journeys," he responded.

"As quiet as the day you left, Fawkes. We heard rumors of you while you were gone from other caravaners. Are they true? Did you really never lose a trader under your protection?"

"Happily, those rumors are true. Barring any of my companions dying suddenly before we cash out, this caravan completes my 100% success rate."

"I take it you'll want to cash out and be on your way then?" Joanne replied.

"Indeed," Fawkes replied. The woman led him inside to calculate his pay.

Half an hour later, Fawkes stepped back outside with a considerably heavier purse. Joanne had also given him a bonus, as it were-where to find John and a promise to radio ahead to Lucas Simms and let him know Fawkes was coming, hopefully avoiding any unnecessary surprises that could lead to hostility when he arrived. Freed from his contract, Fawkes turned southwest and set off for Megaton.

It had been three and half years since Amata had become overseer. Three and a half mind numbing years. The only respite she ever found was going on the occasional trading run. She could still remember the first time she had stepped outside the vault; the blinding sun, the blistering heat. It was overwhelming, but she had loved it. By this point, she had been to most of the major settlements of the Capital Wasteland, as the inhabitants knew it. Most, but not all. She had never been to Megaton, and it was not by accident. She couldn't bring herself to face her first love after the way it had ended; the last time they saw each other. He had been calm, accepting of her decision that he had to leave. But she had grown up with him. She had seen the hurt in his eyes. Every trader from 101 that had encountered him in Megaton came back saying the same thing-that he was well and, as ever, he sent his love. And the whole vault had heard his legend now that they had access to Galaxy News Radio. But privately, Susie Mack, Amata's closest confidant, had told her about the other, darker things. His apparently multitudinous romantic liaisons with women across the wastes. The increasingly obvious descent into alcoholism. The subtle signs of chem abuse, namely Med-X. As Susie put it, the fire that had always been so obvious in him, the same one his father had possessed, had been put out. It made Amata sad to think her first love had fallen apart. And she wondered if it was her fault. She had tried to follow the example her father had set-put the Vault's needs before your own. And at that time, asking John to leave had seemed like it was best for the vault. And now, three and a half years later, she questioned her decision. Every day. She sighed, leaning back in her chair, looking at the two pictures on her desk. One was her with her father when she was 10. The other, resting next to it, was her and John when they were 17. He was standing behind her, arms wrapped around her waist, nose buried in the back of her hair. She was smiling that old, wide smile that she used to get when she was with him. She hadn't smiled like that in years. And that didn't look to change anytime soon, she thought, glancing down at the stack of paperwork on her desk, awaiting her attention. She had no idea how her father had done it for as long as he had. The tedium and stress of the job was already driving her mad. And she was only 22. Could that be right? She felt so much older. It felt like her childhood, the happy days before she had taken over, was a lifetime ago. She glanced up at the calendar, as if to confirm to herself what the date was. June 30, 2281. John was still 22, for that matter. His birthday was in another two weeks. She glanced back at the paperwork on her desk, and then over to the picture that summoned a thousand memories with a single look. Two weeks. Maybe it was time. Maybe, she thought, I can fix things. She had given up her life for the Vault. Even with the new residents that had come in following the semi-opening of the Vault, it was a quiet place. Dammit, she thought to herself, waging an internal struggle. Every fiber of her being wanted to go to Megaton, as if being pulled by a magnet towards her old lover. There was a small group that had grown up with them in 101 heading to Megaton for John's birthday. They had planned it over the radio with the sheriff, Simms. She could join them, finally make the trip to Megaton and attempt to set things right. Almost all the lingering tensions that had existed in the weeks and months following James and John's escapes had disappeared. And if Butch DeLoria could become friends with John, anyone could. She desperately wanted to join the group going to Megaton. Every time she thought about it, though, her father's voice began ringing in her ears. Every lecture about duty, and responsibility, and yes, about how John wasn't good for her. She hadn't known when she took the job what a burden power was. She was beginning to understand, perhaps, why her old flame had stepped back from the world, rather than taking center stage. Making decisions for more than yourself was the heaviest burden to bear, Amata was beginning to think. She was drawn from her thoughts by the sound of the door opening, the hydraulics in it hissing as it lifted. Susie Mack strode in, pulling up a seat without bothering to ask permission and sitting in it backwards to look at Amata.

"What's up?" Susie asked, straightforward as ever. She and Amata hadn't been particularly close as children, but had become good friends as they'd grown up and eventually revolted together against the old Vault authority. Susie's father had been one of Amata's father's main security personnel, but Susie was nowhere near as violent or easily commanded as her father. She had become Amata's right hand, going on trading runs and bringing back news of the Wastes. She had told Amata all about the war, the legend that had sprung up around John, his various relationships, the rumors about him…and then she had seen him for herself in Megaton the first time she led a trading mission there. She had come to Amata the evening they had returned, when there were less people to overhear the conversation, and told Amata about it. They had run into him sitting at an outdoor bar, drinking quietly by himself. He had jumped up when he saw them and hugged Susie; which she had found odd as they hadn't been at all close as children. She had smelled the liquor on him and could tell he was drunk; and it was only 4:00 PM. The trade run had gotten a late start that day and, as evening was falling anyway, they decided to spend the night in Megaton catching up. He had come to see them off the next morning, and that's when Susie had picked up on his darker secret: he was, she suspected, addicted to Med-X. He was sweating at 8:00 AM, and his eyes were…strange. The pupils were practically needle heads, and he kept glancing around as if he were looking for something. According to Susie, his personality was largely the same, still the big, friendly, tolerant person he had been growing up; but he looked resigned, for lack of a better word. Apathetic. In Susie's words, he just didn't give a shit anymore.

"Oh, nothing," Amata replied lazily. "Just another wonderful day of paperwork. Sarah Hill is convinced that one of the new residents, Tommy Werner, has been stealing from her quarters. She filed a request that security investigate it. She's actually filed 5 requests for that, now. And then Sasha Patrick accused one of the Gomez boys of making an unwelcome advance on her. I had to listen to her rant for 10 minutes. That's about the extent of my day. You?"

"Same shit as ever. Couple of traders will be coming by next week. Other than that, nothing." Susie paused for a moment before continuing. "A group of us want to go to Rivet City to kick off the 4th of July weekend. They asked me to come talk to you about it."

"You know they don't celebrate the 4th above ground, right?" Amata replied.

"I know. But it's as good an excuse as any to get out of here and go get drunk around a different crowd. Maybe see how Butch is doing." Amata laughed at that. She had a point. The Vault could get claustrophobic, especially now that everyone knew what the outside world was like. And Butch, the Vault bully from their childhood, was now living in Rivet City, working as the resident stylist…or barber, as he was quick to point out if you called him a stylist.

"Fair enough," she replied. "You have my permission. I'll let security know to open the door for you tomorrow. You'll be staying in Rivet City the night, then?"

"Yeah, we're getting rooms at the Weatherly. You should come with us. You look like you need a break," Susie replied. Amata smiled faintly and sighed, tipping her chair back on its rear legs a little as she leaned back.

"I wish I could, but I should stay down here and keep an eye on things. Thanks for thinking of me, though," Amata replied.

"Fair enough. If you change your mind, you know where to find me," Susie said, standing to leave the room. "I'll catch you tomorrow," she finished as she walked to the door.

"Have a good evening, Susie," Amata replied as her friend left. The offer to go to Rivet City was tempting, but she felt bad leaving the Vault too often. Especially with new residents living in it, she wanted to be there in case something came up. Her father had trained her well: the Vault before her own needs or desires, always. Amata sometimes felt a tightening in her stomach thinking that this is what the rest of her life would be. There has to be more than this. God, let there be more than just this.