Disclaimer: I do not own anything that is the original property of Fallout 3 or Bethesda.

Author's Note: This is what is probably my fifth attempt at a Fallout story, but this is the first one I've ever actually published, because this is the first time I've got the "feel" of it. I think it'll be good, so just read on. I really hope you enjoy it, and please, leave a review if you're inclined.

Summary: Vault 101 isn't perfect, but it's home, and James Foster does his best to make a good life for himself and his child. But the road to Hell is paved with good intentions, and dreams of the world above will guide the way. Though I am still undecided, as the story progresses, serious pairings will likely include LW/Butch, LW/Jericho, and maybe some LW/Burke and LW/Harkness.

Chapter One

The End Begins

The night was the longest and most stressful he had ever endured, and the loudest in his memory. He'd have thought there would be complete silence so deep underground, but the unfamiliar humming of the ventilation system was a constant white noise in the background, no matter what time of the day it was. He found himself wishing they would turn it off sometime. It was cold enough down here without the constant draft.

His smooth, nimble fingers brought the bottle to his lips again, and again, not stopping until it was empty, but he never got any warmer. As he opened another, he found himself trying to work around the computer that was now mounted to his wrist. The Overseer himself had put it on him, with the authorative air of one shackling cuffs around his wrist. He found it surprisingly light, and though it was sleeker than most models, it took some getting used to. A man named Stanley had talked him through it's handling over the communal dinner, and had also informed him that this model had previously belonged to their late physician, John DeLoria, though James could find nothing to indicate it. The memory chip was empty of any personal effects; only the patient files remained. It monitored his health with remarkable detail and accuracy, displaying every heartbeat and brainwave, the state of every bone, every vital organ, every single muscle, nerve ending, and blood vessel. It was truly a work of scientific art. Above the miniature model of himself, his name was inscribed: James Alexander Foster.

After another swig from his bottle, he flipped the dial to the left, moving away from the display to his personal notes. The file was empty, and for some inexplicable reason, he felt the need to make his first entry, to commemorate this moment to words. Above the right corner of the screen was a red button, and he pressed it. The speak emitted a faint beep, indicating it was recording.

"Well, here we are," he began, taking another swig from the bottle. His eyes swept the gray, metal room with a long, suffering look. "Nestled all safe and snug inside Vault 101. It's so cold down here," he admitted, the words alone sending another shiver through him. "Colder still with Catherine gone..." And he was back again, lost in memories of Catherine. He could almost imagine her arms around him, trying to ease away the loneliness and the cold. But the shivering only got worse. "Oh, Catherine... I so wish you were here with me. How the hell am I supposed to do this?" he wondered aloud. "Live in this hole. Raise our child..." His eyes fell on their daughter, sleeping soundly in the safety of her crib, swaddled in a fuzzy pink blanket that Mrs. Palmer, his newly appointed mother-in-law, had knitted for her. His gaze immediately softened, and for a moment the cold seemed to recede. Their child could afford to sleep so soundly. Because of these cold steel walls, she would never need to know fear. She would always be safe. She would grow up, go to school, make friends, work a job, and eventually fall in love, grow old, and die... all in complete safety. It was worth any price. "This is our home now," he finally said, firmly, with absolute certainty. "So I'd better get used to it." And it would take getting used to. The noise of the ventilators was the least of his worries. He would be have to learn how to raise his child. Learn to live in the Vault day after day, year to year, shut away from fresh air, the stars, and the sunshine. And he would have to deal with one Alphonse Almodovar, a man so clearly drunk on his own power. "The Overseer is an overbearing bully," he muttered to himself, "but I've dealt with worse." He stopped talking for a moment. It would not do to take for granted that he was the only one who might have access to these files.

A sudden soft cooing sounded from the pink bundle of blankets, and James moved closer to the crib, silently peaking over it's plastic edge. Dark lashes fluttered on his daughter's pink cheeks as her warm, cinnamon-brown eyes opened, the exact color of his, and the exact almond shape of her mother's, and her face began to screw up as she started to fuss. Gently, he lifted her from the crib, holding the warm bundle close to his chest.

"Shh, shh," he murmured soothingly. "There, there. Shh... You're safe now. No more monsters. No more nightmares." At the sound of his voice, she began to calm, and he held her still more securely, keeping her close. "Shh... That's it. Daddy's got you…"

He watched her eyes begin to flutter once more, and she gradually settled, her breathing slow and rhythmic as she returned to her dreams. James sighed and held her for several more minutes before returning her to her crib, then stopped the recording on his Pip-Boy and quietly fell back on his soft bed. He took a final swig from the bottle and placed it on his bedside table, then closed his eyes against the dim light that simulated nighttime. Immediately the room began to swim and he allowed himself to drift.

"Home, sweet home," he murmured to his child as he slipped away. Unseen by him, a light flickered on his Pip-Boy, and the softly spoken words flashed on the screen, followed by a notice indicating the file had successfully been saved.

Author's Note: Please don't mind this short chapter, it's really more of a prologue, but if I call it that then the numbers of the chapters aren't aligned anymore, and I hate that. And I wanted the next part to be it's own chapter. It gets much longer from here, and more in depth as the LW gets older. Just one childhood chapter and then straight off to an older LW.