AN: This is my only note of the story, except to say thank you to reviewers (which I hope you are one...). This story has language, graphic scenes, and probably enough angst to make it worthy of an M rating. I wrote it after replaying the game for the umpteenth time and got really annoyed with James acting like you were an idiot for leaving the vault. But kuddos to Bethesda for making their characters interesting enough to write about over and over again :)

Anyways, enjoy and please leave some reviews!

Chapter One

Life wasn't fair.

It was nearly six o'clock on a Sunday. Most families would be sitting down to a nice meal provided by Vault 101 rations, talking, laughing, and doing the sort of shit that families were suppose to do. Butch, though, had never lived that life. He didn't get the happy hellos and warm hugs goodbye. He didn't get a good goin' champ or even an I'm happy you're home, honey on the best of days, and god knew those were few and far between. There were no friendly conversations over a nice hot dinner on what happened at school or what his friends were doing around the vault. Hell, there wasn't dinner half the time unless he was the one dumping a can of some sort of shit into a pan and heating it up. It was a far cry from what everyone else had, but what could he do when life decided to shit on him by letting him be born to a drunk, worthless mother?

Staring up at the ceiling of his tiny room, he ignored his mother's continued pounding on his door, her shouts that he was nothing but a worthless bastard melting into the hum of the vault's filtration system. It was the same shit he had heard all of his life. His mother, pissed for one reason or another, would look at him with glazed, resentful eyes. Her slurred curses would follow him from the small entry of their tiny apartment and echo into his room. When he was younger he would take out his switchblade and throw it at a piece of wood he hung near the door, the thuds at least breaking up the screams of worthless, mistake, and idiot coming from the woman that had brought him into the world.

Now, he barely bothered to do anything when she was in one of her moods. He had so much practice drowning her out that it was no different than if he were tuning out an overplayed song on the rec' room's jukebox. He could stare at his ceiling in peace without a care in the world despite her shouts so long as his mind didn't wander to what his classmates and friends would be doing with their picture-perfect families and lives. That was the killer.

Slowly the pounding died down, his mother's voice fading into incoherent grumbles. He listened for a minute, waiting to hear the clink of empty bottles but nothing came. She must be out, he thought blandly as he sat up and threw on his leather jacket. He had learned years ago to take advantage of the beautifully frequent nights when his mother passed out from her drinking habit, leaving him free to wander the vault. Giving himself a quick glance in the mirror and slicking back his Tunnel Snake signature haircut, he carefully opened his door and moved past the snoring form of his mother on the couch.

Butch wandered the halls for a few hours, passing by only a few random people who barely looked at him let alone greeted him. It was always like that. Unless he was raisin' hell or causing trouble no one spared him a second look. He was just that drunk's bastard son, not worth anybody's time. It was just one more thing that had become routine, like which halls the patrols took at what times or when the adults would meet up for a drink in the lounge. Nobody seemed to do anything different once they got a set schedule. They all ate at the same times, socialized at the same times, probably even shitted at the same times if he had to guess. He was the only one it seemed like that didn't have enough bullshit to do or people to do it with to be routine. Even changing up what halls he slunked around in while his ma' was drunk didn't seem to livin' up his worthless existence in the vault.

Someday Butch-man, someday you'll do somethin' and show 'em what you're worth, he told himself as he took a turn he hadn't been down in weeks. It led to one of the many abandoned sections of the massive bunker, marking it as off-limits except for security personnel. Not that it mattered. There were too far guards to walk every floor let alone care about a bunch of unused rooms. Life taught him that if he wanted solitude this was one of the many places to find it, which made it all the more surprising when he found himself pulled from his thoughts by uneven ting echoing down the hall sporadically. He stopped for a moment, listening to the noise that seemed to make the unused passage come to life despite the signs marking it as abandoned and the late hour making it curfew for all but security personnel.

Slowly, he moved in the direction of the small metallic sounds which soon were mixed with the distinct noise of a gun chambering. It wasn't long before he found himself in front of a door that was open just enough to let a little light escape along with the strange noise. He gave it a small push, just enough to slip inside what appeared to be nothing more than a long, narrow storage room filled with crates that had been hastily pushed to the sides to allow for an open space where a girl stood holding a gun.

He recognized her instantly by the way her short gold and copper hair seemed to frizz in every direction but down. He spent the last seven years staring at that ratty mess of hair from his spot in the back of the classroom, but at school it was often bent over a notebook that Zoey seemed to always be writing in. He had never seen the doctor's daughter take anything resembling the strong and solid stance she took as she clicked her next round into the chamber.

Butch watched her curiously from behind his wall of crates as she let out her breath with a hiss and quickly discharged a shot, followed by another, and another in rapid motion. The sharp metallic tings rang out in the small room as the tiny homemade metal targets shuttered. He watched for a few minutes before she stopped to reload. Deciding that this at least would be a nice distraction until he was forced to return home, he stepped out from his hiding spot and gave her a few loud claps.

"Nice shootin', poindexter. Never would have thought you could hit the broad side of a vault let alone a target."

Zoey turned to face him, her short hair sticking to the sweat on her face. He could see that she was in a pissy mood by the hard look in her blue eyes and the thin scowl that made her small features look more like an angry molerat than a fourteen-year-old girl. "How did you get down here?"

"Hm, I should ask you the same thing, lil' miss goody-two shoes. Shouldn't you be at home snuggling with your daddy? I'm surprised that he hasn't sent out a search party for ya yet."

Her scowl deepened, but she said nothing. That's how she normally dealt with him, ignoring his words and insults as if she couldn't hear him or even see him. It was infuriating and made him feel worse than when Amata cried to her father or Susie called him names right back. It was almost the same feeling he got when his mom had drank herself into such a stupor that she didn't even respond to him calling her name, making him wonder if she would even notice if he left and never came back. The feeling only got worse when Zoey turned away, raising her gun like he wasn't even there.

As the empty, gut-wrenching feeling of lonely worthlessness began to stir in him he felt his anger building. "Hey! Daddy's girl! I was talking to you."

She turned again, this time her eyes flashing an anger he had only ever seen in his own eyes when he locked himself in the bathroom after his mother got to the stage of her drunkenness where she liked to call him a mistake. "Don't you dare call me that," she hissed darkly, the gun in her hand rattling as her grip tightened.

"Call you what? A daddy's girl?"

"I said don't call me that!" she shouted, her voice echoing loudly in the narrow space.

Butch felt a smile pull at his lips as her reaction drove away the sense of isolation and insignificance that seemed to always pull at him. It was the first time since her birthday party when she had hit him in the nose for trying to take her sweetroll that she actually rose to his cries for attention and it made him feel a satisfaction he didn't know existed. Leaning back against some crates he let his face slide into his practiced mask of amused indifference. "That's what you are, so why shouldn't I call you that?"

"No, I'm not," she barely managed to grit out between her clenched teeth.

"Oh yeah? Then why do you go running home everyday after school to daddy? Why do you stay home every time our class has a party in the rec room? You're nothing but a little homebody, dorky daddy's girl that can't go anywhere without dear ol' dad holding your hand."

Zoey seemed to be biting something back as her lips remained locked over grinding teeth. He gave her a signature sly smile as he enjoyed watching her squirm. Finally, after what felt like hours, she finally opened her mouth. "Butch, my father hasn't left the damn clinic in nearly two weeks. I haven't seen him in nearly three. If you think I go home to be with my father you're a bigger idiot than I thought."

It was a small revelation that the good doctor wasn't sitting at home waiting for his only daughter to get there, but it wasn't like she was going home to a parent that was passed out on the couch in varying states of clothing and company. Hell, he would be happy if his mom actually left the house to go do something productive rather than just doing his classmates' fathers for their liquor rations.

Crossing his arms, he pushed further. "Oh boo hoo, daddy's had to work late and poor little baby had to be all alone and take care of herself. Cry my a river, sunshine."

"Cry you a river? Butch, I have been cooking my own meals, doing my own laundry, and taking care of myself since I've been tall enough to reach the counters. So instead of making assumptions about my life why don't you run home to your mommy? At least she'll be there."

Her tone had changed from angry to sad to envious in a matter of seconds, leaving Butch slightly confused at what exactly she was saying. At first he thought she was making some sort of crack on his mom being a drunk, but after catching the look in her eyes a ludicrous idea floated through his head. "Wait, are you jealous of me?"

She let out a disbelieving huff, but didn't meet his eye. Standing up straighter he continued to stare at her. "You're actually jealous of me. Are you insane?"

"What do you know? You're nothing but a lazy idiot."

"You do know my ma is a drunk, right? That I go home to clean up her messes and be told I'm worthless?" he pressed, the complete ridiculousness of her jealousy cutting through his normal tough-guy act.

"At least she speaks to you," Zoey grumbled lifting her BB gun again. "If I get a hello every few weeks I would count myself lucky."

"God, you have no idea how good you have it, do you?" he said with a disbelieving laugh. "I would take an absent parent over getting smacked in the face just for existing or having a bottle thrown at my head."

"Fine, Butch," she snapped as she began firing at a target again. "You win. Your life is worse. No one else can have a shitty life. You're the only one."

"Enough with the self-pity. My god, no wonder the only person that talks to you is Amata. And her daddy makes her be friends with everyone."

His words seemed to strike another nerve as she lowered her gun and stared at him. "Shut up."

"It's true!" he laughed, his hand going to his slicked back hair. "She's only friends with you because her dad makes her!"

"I said shut up!"

"God, that's the best thing I've heard all day. Little baby Zoey has no friends!"

Zoey's face twisted up into something dangerous and ugly as she lifted her gun and shoved its long barrel into his chest. "Get out," she hissed, nudging him back towards the door roughly. "I would rather be completely alone than have to spend another minute with you."

Butch threw his hands up and stepped away from the fuming girl. "Alright, alright! No need to get violent, sunshine. I was just kidding around."

"I said get out!" she shouted, raising her gun and shooting at the crate behind his head. "Go!"

He didn't need to be told again. Retreating from the space he could hear a few loud crashes followed by a rapid discharge of her BB gun. It wasn't until the noise had completely disappeared and he was nearing his own rooms that a small smile appeared on his face. Even if Zoey was being a bit overdramatic about her situation it was nice to know that he wasn't the only one that felt abandoned and alone in the dark tunnels they called home.