Hey y'all, I know this is not my norm but while playing this awesome game I noticed a weakness. It don't make the game less enjoyable but I thought the plot could do well with a romantic interest especially with the Broken Steel DLC. Well here is my attempt at one to join many of my fellow authors (Thank you by the way) This is a Fallout 3 fic, set just before the LW goes to Vault 112 to rescue his dad, James, of the main quest line. After skimming through the other fics I believe I am using a very unique pairing.

Disclaimer: All characters, locations, and known quotes are the property of Bethesda Studios.

Dedication: For Jim, my little brother who let me play his copy of Fallout 3 and got me addicted. I am pretty sure you never reads what I write but this is for you bub.

Prologue

War, war never changes. Since the dawn of humankind, when our ancestors first discovered the killing power of rock and bone, blood has been spilled in the name of everything. From God, to justice, to simple psychotic rage. In the year 2077, after millenia of armed conflict, the destructive nature of man could sustain itself no longer. The world was plunged into an abyss of nuclear fire and radiation. But it was not, as some had predicted, the end of the world. Instead, the Apocalypse was simply the prologue to another bloody chapter of human history. For man had succeeded in destroying the world. But war, war never changes.

In the early days, thousands were spared the horrors of the holocaust by taking refuge in enormous underground shelters, known as vaults. But when they emerged they had only the hell of the wastes to greet them. All except those in Vault 101. For on that fateful day, when fire rained from the sky, the giant steel door of Vault 101 slid closed and never reopened. In Vault 101, no one ever enters. No one ever leaves. Yet it was from here that the Lone Wanderer emerged and saved the Capital Wasteland..... and me.

The last thing I remember is a Super Mutant stomping down on me, then blackness. Me and my Rangers had been mapping the old D.C. Ruins when were were attacked by them. We had to take cover in the hospital and ended up under siege on the roof of the old Statesman Hotel by super muties. We lost Theo on one of the stairwells. He was blown apart right in front of me. I myself got ambushed while trying to slip out to find help in Underworld. All this for a simple mapping job. If I knew this would happen I would have told 'Mr. Smith' to stuff it. Oh God, how many mistakes can I make in one day?

I crack my eyes open and see nothing but bright white. I shut them again. Am I dead? Pain. No I'm not. I decide to reopen my eyes. My blurred vision begins to clear and I realize I am in the Chop Shop, the hospital in Underworld. That explains why the pain is not as bad as it should be. Then I see him.

He must be the one who patched me up. He is cleaning his hands and some medical tools. The first thing I notice is he is not a ghoul. He is wearing a Regulator duster with a scoped .44 strapped to his leg. A mournful whine from the dog next to my bed grabs his attention and then he looks at me. His emerald green eyes are kind and filled with worry and concern. His dark hair is clean cut. His face is actually clean shaven. His features make him appear half boy and half man. He kneels by my bed and places a hand on my good shoulder, the left one. So soft. I try to speak but he beats me to it.

"Shhhhhhh. Try not to move. You've been through quite enough as it is." His voice is so soothing.

"My team, they...." I manage to croak out.

"Are still alive. I picked up their distress signal. Its how I found you." They are alive. A small wave of relief fills me.

"I need to..." I start as I try to sit up, fighting against the pain. He gently but firmly holds me down.

"You are in no condition to go anywhere. I know where they are. If you can tell me a fast way to the Statesman it would be a great help."

I don't know why but I trust him, this stranger. I tell him not only how to reach my team, but also how to get to our H.Q. He listens intently, nods and places his hand back on my shoulder comfortingly. "Rest," he says, "I'll take care of it."

He stands up to sling a sniper rifle onto his back and places a cowboy hat on top of his head. Then he slaps his left leg and says, "c'mon boy," to signal his dog to follow as he turns to leave. As he is turning, I notice it. The soft green glow on his left forearm. A PIP-BOY. Only vault dwellers had that kind of tech and only they could use them. Some type of DNA imprint. Right now there are only two known vault dwellers known in the Capital Wasteland. This man is too young to be James. Could it be? It couldn't. It has to be. I now found myself more conflicted than ever. Had I just insured my team's survival? Or had I just unwittingly sent the Lone Wanderer, the "Paladin," the "Urban Avenger," the "Hero of the Wastes" to his death? Tears began to fall out of my eyes as I prayed to whatever God, if he is out there, that the latter was not true. Blackness takes hold of me again as I am pulled into a pain killer induced sleep. "I never even learned his name."

Well how about that for a start? Let me know so I can follow up from more. As always reviews, constructive criticism, and muses are welcome.