2297
The Lone Wanderer opened his eyes, and saw the ceiling of his longtime residence in Megaton, distinctive flaws in the bulkhead and all. He could tell it was morning by the light spilling into the house not unlike rain would. He felt his arm around a voluptuous woman, her chest rising and falling readily. He recognized the cherubic face of Lucy West. As he gently released his arm and stood in his simple Pre-War sleepwear in the small, but adequate study/bedroom, he remembered that the pounding in his skull was probably brought on by the inordinate amount of Vodka he'd ingested the night before.
"I gotta stop going over to Dukov's." The Wanderer muttered to himself. He descended the stairs, and looked upon the photographs of Fawkes and Dogmeat. It had taken him months to find a working camera, and another few weeks to find a book on how to develop Pre-War film.
"G-Good M-M-Morning, Sir!" A familiar, programmable voice said.
"Morning, Wadsworth. I don't suppose you could get me a drink?"
"C-Certainly, sir! Here you are!" Wadsworth said and handed the Wanderer a container of Purified Water. He unscrewed the cap and began to drink as he had a look at his Pip-Boy. It was 1042 hours, and he was hungover. But he didn't need the Pip-Boy to figure out the second part.
He heard a sound from upstairs and instinctively dropped the water to a floor in a flash and reached for the Scoped .44 Magnum on the nearby repair bench. Lucy West descended the flight of stairs, wearing little but Pre-War Sleepwear. A little like how the girls' in Dukov's wore. The adrenaline in his system subsided and with trembling hands, replaced the revolver.
"Morning, handsome."
"Morning." The Wanderer remembered that he dropped the water.
"Drink?" He asked. Lucy shook her head and reached for her day clothes on the bobble head rack. The nearly empty bobble head rack.
"No, thanks. I think we both did enough of that last night. I'm amazed you're not dead."
"I know that feeling. What're you doing today?"
"Oh, I don't know. Maybe head to Moira's. I found a Chinese Officer's uniform the other day. Should be worth a few caps." Lucy explained as she disrobed and got into her day clothes. The Wanderer nodded and yawned.
"What about you?"
"Me? Maybe go out into the Wastes, pump a few Super Mutants full of lead, and be back in home for a nice bowl of Cram and lovely company for desert." The Wanderer said with an air of sarcastic, chiseled-jaw heroism. Lucy laughed.
"Ha, now I know you're joking." There hadn't been any Super Mutant sightings for nearly a decade.
"No, but I think I'll just sit around."
"You seem to be doing that an awful lot lately." Lucy said, a dash of concern in her voice. She walked over to him and held his hand in hers.
"Come out to the Wastes with me sometime. Have some fun, see the world."
"What's left to see?" The Wanderer replied, a tad vacantly. Lucy said nothing but gently kissed him. Then she went out.
The Wanderer said nothing, but leaned on the wall and allowed his eyes to rest on the photograph of him, Fawkes, and Dogmeat all together. He could feel tears well up in his eyes and a lump form in his throat. He hated himself for being weak, then he choked back a sob and reached for the bottle of whiskey he kept in the secret cabinet under the bobble head rack. He knew it probably wasn't a good idea to drink when he was hungover, but then again, he knew it wasn't a good idea to leave the Vault. Bad ideas never stopped him before.