John sat at his desk, watching Amata sleep peacefully. She had only gone to sleep a few hours before, and he had been especially careful to not wake her as he had dressed and consolidated all his gear. He had two bags; one containing combat armor, spare clothes, his plasma rifle, and ammo, the second filled with bottles of water and a lockbox containing a large supply of Med-X and 8,000 caps. Fawkes had explained to him the 2,000 cap credit check required entering the Vegas strip, and John had every intention of exploring there. He had opted not to sleep the night before and was already regretting it. The walk north would be long enough, and that would only be the start of the day. John looked down to the envelope he held in his hand. A letter to Amata, explaining he had left. It was a chickenshit move, and he knew it. But on some level he was afraid that if he woke her to say goodbye he wouldn't be able to bring himself to leave. She still had a hold on him, even after all the time that had passed. He set the envelope on the desk before picking up the necklace McPherson had ripped off in their fight and putting it around his neck. Butch, in a rare moment of charity, had recovered it after the fight and had it repaired before returning it at John's send off at Moriarty's, the night before. Most of his closest friends in town-Nova, Gob, even Moira had made an appearance, and he was happy to say goodbye to them all in person. Lucy had been notably absent, which had caused him a pang of guilt. He and Amata had spent most all of the three days they had out of Megaton, with John hoping that would lessen some of Lucy's anger at how quickly he and Amata had reconciled. And then, after the party, he and Amata had their own farewell; attempting to say with their bodies what they couldn't manage to put into words. That felt like it had taken most of the night. After that, all John had to do was wait. He had sat in the darkness, reflecting on the journey that lay ahead of him; clarifying, in his mind, what his goals were: Watch. Learn. Observe. But don't get involved. Standing, John looked at Amata one last time in the dim light. Forgive me, Amata. I love you. With one last look at her, he slung an old Chinese made assault rifle over his shoulder, fixed his pistol to his hip, and silently made his way down the stairs, the small bag of supplies carried in his hand.

"Wadsworth, wake up and be quiet," he whispered at the robot.

"Yes, master?" the butler replied in a hushed tone.

"I'm leaving now. I don't know for how long. Maintain the house. Obey Sheriff Simms."

"Understood, sir."

"Goodbye, Wadsworth," he replied, unslinging the rifle momentarily so he could heft the larger pack on his back. Adjusting it for comfort, he reshouldered the rifle before looking at Dogmeat, curled up on the floor.

"Dogmeat, come!" he whispered. The dog sprang to his feet and padded over as John walked to the door. He took one last look around his home before leaving, walking toward the town gate. Fawkes and Simms were waiting for him there. He hefted the bag full of water and caps to Fawkes, who silently threw it over his shoulder. John turned to face Simms. The man had been the first person John had met out of the Vault, and Simms had grown to be a person he liked and respected immensely. He didn't know how to begin saying goodbye. Lucas, as if reading his mind, wordlessly extended his hand. John took it, feeling the strength of the man's grip.

"It's been a pleasure, John. You stay safe out there. I expect to see you again." John smiled faintly before releasing his grip on Simms's hand.

"Look out for Amata. She won't be happy when she wakes up. Make sure she gets back to 101 ok. And make sure the man in the common room, Elliot, goes with her. Threaten him if you have to." Lucas chuckled at that.

"I'll do that, kid. And Mr. DeLoria will be staying in your house?"

"He will. Don't worry too much about him. He tries to be a hardass, but he's a decent guy. And he can give a mean haircut. You still up to take care of Dogmeat?"

"Of course. Harden will love having him around." John nodded before dropping into a crouch to face Dogmeat.

"I want you to stay with Lucas, boy. He'll take care of you for now." The dog cocked his head, fixing his eyes on John before whining. "Come on, boy. Don't do that. I'll be back." Christ, I'm having a hard time saying goodbye to a dog. He stood back up and turned to Fawkes.

"Let's go," he said. The mutant nodded and took the lead, walking toward the gate as it opened. John gave one last look at town before following Fawkes north, the first light of dawn just beginning to lighten the horizon. John glanced quickly at his Pip-Boy. 5:30 AM, Sunday, July 17, 2281. Three years and 11 months after he had left the Vault and been thrust into the Wasteland he was beginning a new journey, one with a much clearer goal than simply running across the Wastes trying to find his father. Then he had been a scared boy, desperately trying to cling to some part of an old life. This time he was the master of his own destiny.

The sun was still low in the sky when they reached Joanne's caravan headquarters. John checked the time on his Pip-Boy. 7:45. The walk had taken just over two hours to. The caravan itself was being loaded by a pair of men John didn't know. He took a moment to observe the caravan itself. It was unlike anything he had seen before; considerably different than what the short distance traders used. This caravan consisted of a team of four Brahmin, pulling what looked almost like an old covered wagon, John thought. It didn't have a cover of any sort, but was a deep, long wooden rectangle with four large wooden wheels. There were an assortment of goods loaded on already as John and Fawkes approached. The two men turned to face them as they neared.

"Heard you two were joining us," the first man said, wiping his hands on his pants. "Name's Bonzo, and this here is Smith." The second man, Smith, nodded at them as he was introduced.

"Pleased to meet you," John replied. "I'm John…"

"We know who you are. Heard enough stories about you from traveling through this area. And your friend is Fawkes, right? Joanne says you're one of the best guards out there."

"Let us hope I can fulfill that praise," Fawkes replied. Joanne strode out as the group finished loading the last of the goods into the wagon. She looked pleased to see them.

"Fawkes! John! Glad you two are here. John, have Bonzo and Smith explained this caravan's route to you?"

"No," John replied. "We were just finishing loading up."

"Well, let me explain and then you'll be free to leave. This caravan will head north along old I-95 until you reach I-70. From there it heads west, through the Appalachians and the Interior Desert until Kansas City. You'll trade and resupply there, and then continue to New Vegas. After Kansas City the route becomes more dangerous, especially along I-70, so your path after K.C. is up to Bonzo. He's the lead trader on this route. You, John, and you as well, Fawkes, are contracted as guards. You receive a flat fee for safe arrival in Kansas City, as well as a percentage of the profits from delivery. The same goes for arrival in New Vegas. From there you're free to do what you like. You can wait for another caravan originating from D.C., or join a caravan from Crimson Caravans. They go as far as KC, usually; but the situation in the west has disrupted them. Have you been filled in on the war in the Mojave?" John had to take a moment to absorb the information. Joanne had been extremely thorough and spoke quickly.

"I have a general idea," John replied to her question.

"Good. I know all your companions have been west before. Listen to them. You may be good here in D.C., but the rest of the country is a different story. Don't underestimate it." John nodded at her.

"I won't." A smile flashed across her face before she extended her hand.

"Good luck, John. I hope you find what you're looking for out there," she said, before turning to Bonzo. "Make sure he doesn't do anything stupid. He may not look like much, but we're kind of attached to him here," she continued, winking at John as she did. Bonzo chuckled, while Smith remained stone-faced.

"We'll try. No promises, though," he replied. Joanne nodded at him.

"Ok. Well, you're free to go. Safe travels, guys. Try not to get stabbed in a bar in Coalseam." With that, she turned and walked back into her office. Bonzo looked down to John.

"You ever been on a wagon before?" he asked.

"No," John replied. He felt oddly out of place. He had become accustomed to being the best where he was. Now he was the new guy that had to be watched over again.

"Well, hop on," he said, gesturing at the space on the wagon next to him. "You can ride shotgun until our first break." John accepted Bonzo's hand and pulled himself up onto the bench. Turning back to the Brahmin, Bonzo cracked the reins and the wagon slowly lurched forward, before the animals got into their rhythm. The wagon rolled up the shattered remnants of I-95, heading north. Bonzo began speaking as they traveled.

"You ever left D.C., kid?"

"I've been to the Pitt and Point Lookout, but that's it." Bonzo's face twisted at the mention of the Pitt.

"God, why did you go to the Pitt? We avoid that place like a Deathclaw nest," he replied.

"Got duped into it," John explained, a hint of bitterness in his voice. He was still pissed about the fiasco that had been the Pitt.

"Yeah, I can't imagine anyone willingly going to that shithole. Either way, if that's all the traveling you've done, this is going to blow your mind. New Vegas…man, you just have to see it for yourself to believe it. Hell, even West Virginia is an improvement from here."

"Hey, lay off. D.C. is the only home I've got."

"You might not want to come back after you see the rest of the country," Bonzo replied. John looked at him, studying the face of the man he'd be traveling with for the foreseeable future.

"Up until about four days ago you'd probably have been right. But tell me about it. What makes West Virginia so special?"

"It's still alive, for starters. Barely any fallout came down there, and no bombs. They still have forests, and people; living like they always did, maybe with a bit less technology than before. What's the biggest city in the Capital, Rivet City?"

"Yeah, pretty easily," John replied.

"The town we stop in out there, Coalseam, could fit all of Rivet City's population and no one would know." John was taken aback by that.

"Really?"

"Yeah," Bonzo replied, leaning back in his seat and shifting to get comfortable. "It's where this wagon was made, matter of fact. They still have enough wood out there to make things with." John thought about that. If there was one thing the Capital Wasteland lacked, it was resources. He made a mental note to pay extra attention while in Coalseam.

"And what about the Interior Desert Joanne mentioned?" Bonzo grimaced at the mention of it.

"Ugh. Don't get me started. The Midwest got hit hard in the war. Nebraska, Missouri, Kansas, a lot of Iowa…bombs and fallout totally destroyed the area. Pretty barren there now. Not much left but sand dunes and empty roads. That'll probably be the worst part of the trip." That put an end to the conversation as they rolled up a hill. John realized, abruptly, that he had never been passed here. This was, effectively, the northern boundary of the Capital Wasteland. He spun in his seat to look back at the D.C. skyline. The Washington Monument and the crumbling dome of the Capitol could just be made out in the distance. The only home he had ever known. And just as quickly it disappeared from sight, as the wagon made its way back down the opposite side of the hill.

As soon as she woke Amata knew something was wrong. Light was streaming into the room and she was alone in bed. She bolted up, a sickening feeling overwhelming her stomach as she scanned the room. It was empty. He left. He left without even saying goodbye. Her eyes began to blur with tears before noticing a white envelope on the desk. She climbed out of bed and walked to it, wiping her eyes and attempting to regain her composure. She picked the envelope up, eyes falling on the writing on it. John's handwriting. It said, simply, "Amata". Her eyes began tearing again as she opened it, her efforts at self-control proving futile. She unfolded the letter and began reading.

Dear Amata,

I'm sorry I'm saying goodbye like this, but I don't know if I could handle saying goodbye to you for a third time. The first two times were two of the most painful experiences I've been through.

Your pain! What about the people around you? She silently screamed at him. The tears were flowing freely as she kept reading.

I promise, I will come back to you if you'll still have me, and you won't be able to get rid of me. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Please forgive me. Yours always,

JJ.

She folded the letter back up and set it down before allowing herself a momentary breakdown. She quickly regained her composure, drying her eyes and blowing her runny nose. Inside the privacy of the house she could be a borderline heartbroken, 22 year old. Outside she had to be the Overseer. She refused to let her people see her being emotional. Amata pull her Vault jumpsuit out of her small bag and pulled it on, before placing the folded up letter in her pocket. Hoisting the bag onto her back, she made her way out of the house, finding a small group waiting near the gate. She spotted Sheriff Simms and Butch, having what appeared to be a stern talk with Elliot, now wearing civilian clothing instead of his combat armor. They turned their attention to Amata as she approached.

"Good morning Overseer," the Sheriff said in a respectful tone. She smiled at him, doing her best to make the pain she was in.

"Good morning, Sheriff. I think it's time I head back to the Vault. You ready to go, Elliot?" The medic nodded glumly, Amata not being able to ignore the hard looks being given by Lucas and Butch.

"I'm ready," he replied, looking down at the ground. Butch spoke up as the medic put the small bag of supplies Doc Church donated over his shoulder.

"I'm going to walk you guys back," he said, looking Amata in the eye. His and Simms's eyes told what they wouldn't say out loud: they didn't trust Elliot to not try and run off on the way to the Vault. There was no other explanation; it wasn't a long walk to the Vault and the path wasn't any more hazardous than anywhere else in the Wasteland these days. She nodded back at Butch, as if acknowledging the unspoken meaning behind his offer, before speaking.

"Well, Elliot, let's head to your new home," she said, before turning to Lucas and extending her hand. "Thanks for the hospitality you showed my people, Sheriff."

"Anytime, young lady. You ever need anything, you let me know." She smiled, grateful for the offer, before starting the short trek back to 101.

Hello everyone. So, 10 chapters in. We're finally getting to the main part of the story. Hope that my attempt at building the characters a bit has been successful; in the long run I see this story as being the first in a multi-part series so I wanted to give some background and depth to them. To explain the description I gave in here of the world between D.C. and New Vegas, I looked at the map FEMA produced showing the expected fallout patterns if the Soviets had launched their ICBMs at the US. The Midwest would have been absolutely hammered, as would a lot of the mountain west. The Appalachians definitely would have gotten some; but in this case I'll be explaining later in the story why West Virginia isn't a ruin, it'll actually be a major plot point. Anyway, hope you've enjoyed, and comments or thoughts, feel free to share them!

SF