The next morning, Amata presents me with a fresh, clean 101 jumpsuit. The mere idea of wearing something clean is what sends me to change into it, and for a few seconds after I zip it up, it feels wonderful. Then I start noticing all the spots that it's too tight or too loose on me.

Amata grins when she sees me. "Feel more at home?" she asks, studying the outfit a little too long.

I shrug a little, wondering if it's the weight I've lost, or that I've gotten so used to wastelander clothes that makes the jumpsuit feel foreign to me. After a moment, I just decide to go with it, hoping it'll help boost the rebels' morale.

"What's the plan for today?" I ask, fidgeting a little.

Amata shrugs, looking up at me and smiling. "There hasn't really been 'a plan' around here except for surviving, so that's basically it. I guess you can do whatever you want. It's nice to have you around, and I know you're giving all of the rebels here some hope." Her eyes flick to the floor, then back up to me. "We're all... I'm glad to have you here, safe and alive."

I smile at her. "I'm glad to be here, safe and alive. Hanging out dead in some raider camp didn't sound like the best plan, so I'd pick this any day."

Amata's face darkens for a second, and then she looks as though she's not sure how to respond. She looks up and sees my silly smile and relaxes, letting a little grin grow on her face. "Good."

She heads off to the bathroom, and I'm left standing in the office with nothing to do. I peek out into the clinic, watching the rebels move around and kill time waiting for something to happen. I'm not completely ready to go out and talk to the rebels again, so I'm considering just staying and hanging out in the little office all day.

I wonder how exactly I used to manage to keep myself occupied in the Vault, aside from the job I'd had helping in the kitchens. Then a memory hits me, and I have to grin at myself; I can almost feel the light bulb in my head turn on.

I grab my pistol and my pack, making sure to jot a note to Amata to let her know where I've gone. With all of my ducks in a row, I sling my pack over my shoulder and set off through the Vault.

After sneaking past a handful of security officers and silently dispatching a few radroaches, I make it down to the reactor level unnoticed. Even the Overseer doesn't know where I am; Butch had proudly told me how his Tunnel Snakes had vandalized all the cameras they could find. In fact, I wonder if the Overseer even knows I've entered the Vault.

Mild irritation is forming in the back of my mind and I sigh, pushing thoughts of the Overseer out of my mind.

As I glance around the small room outside of the reactor, I can almost see Jonas and my dad presenting me with my BB gun years ago. A wistful lump forms in my throat and I wish I could go back to that time, just for a few minutes.

Before I can dissolve into a blob of emotion, I walk over to the storage room door and try to open it. I'm more than a little surprised when it opens without complaint; with the lock-down the Vault seems to be in, hardly anything seems to be normal.

As the door swings open, the dim emergency lighting inside kicks on, buzzing quietly. The sound is calming and instantly familiar. At the far end of the room, I can see the spindly silhouettes of my shooting range's targets.

I feel almost as if a magnet is pulling me toward the range, and I sink to the ground at the overturned locker that made up my firing point.

Memories bombard me again, toying with my sense of reality. After a few moments of reliving some of my most cherished memories, I shake my head and slide my pack to the ground. My hand goes inside, fingers searching for and grasping their target. I pull out my old BB gun, weighing it in my hands. There has been no reason for me to keep it with me for all this time; it's just dead weight since it has no effect against the creatures of the wasteland. I just hadn't been able to justify getting rid of it.

The toy feels so much smaller and flimsier in my hands than I'm used to, especially after handling Fat Mans and shotguns. Doing my best to ignore the difference, I hold the gun gently, adding a few BBs to the clip and loading it up. When I pull it up and look down the barrel to aim, my muscles seem to remember exactly how to shoot the weapon in my hand.

My first shot is a little wide and I adapt my aim, hitting the next target dead on. It spins around with a satisfying squeak, one that still makes the hair on my arms stand on end.

I unload clip after clip at the targets, my mind focused on the range and the memories of all my time down here.

Part of me wonders briefly if my dad had given me this because he knew one day we would both end up leaving the Vault. Knowing him, he wouldn't have wanted me to be unprepared, so he probably did all he could to ready me, just in case.

Three pellets before I'm out of ammo, my gun makes a noise it's not supposed to and a spring flies off of it. A few small metal pieces follow it and I swear, flinging a hand out to try and catch the parts. Naturally, I miss all of them and hear them scatter across the floor.

"No, no, no, no, no," I whimper, laying the toy down and crawling around, looking for all the pieces I've just lost. Even when I turn on my Pipboy light, I can't find them. Knowing I have nothing in my bag that can repair my gun, I just end up sitting by my things and hugging my knees to my chest, trying not to cry.

I know it was just a toy, but it's my last real connection to my dad and my childhood. That BB gun, working or broken, has more meaning to me than most of the people here in the Vault.

I mope for a good long while, finally deciding that I'm being ridiculous and need to suck it up. The tin of BBs catches my eye and I pick it up, rolling one of the pellets between my fingers.

On impulse, I toss it at one of the targets and completely miss. The same happens when I try with the other two pellets. I can't help but grin at my lousy aim, reminded of my first and only attempt at using a grenade. I'd missed my target, an angry Super Mutant, overshot, and ended up causing a building to nearly collapse on top of us.

The memory fades, and I'm left alone with the buzzing of the lights.

I hesitate for a moment, my eyes resting on my BB gun. I guess I can be glad that I didn't break it out in the wasteland, but it's broken either way. Now it really is dead weight. I end up deciding that I'll mount it on a wall in my house in Megaton; it'll look nice up there.

The thought of Megaton puts a new problem in my head. As usual, I'm not planning too far ahead, only really knowing that I have to deal with the Overseer and that I'm going to help get Project Purity up and running. But Amata's face appears in my mind, seemingly warring with the images of Megaton and the wasteland. Suddenly, I'm very confused and torn.

After all the time I've spent out in the wasteland, I feel like it's become a part of me. It's ingrained so deeply in who I've had to grow up into that I really don't think I could ever let it go. The life I had here in the Vault... it's not something I think I could go back to. Even with all the horrors in the wastes, there's something about it that makes me feel free.

But Amata...

I know better than to think Amata will leave the Vault. She's been taught the ways to lead it and the undying loyalty since she was a toddler. Even now, she isn't rebelling to try to leave, just to get the Vault back in order.

I also know that I can't let everyone outside of the Vault down. I'm too invested in Project Purity to just disappear on them. A disgruntled sigh escapes me. Now I can understand how my dad felt and why he left in the first place. Damn that Enclave group. If they hadn't gotten involved and my dad hadn't died, then maybe I wouldn't be so torn.

Part of me never wants to leave Amata again, since I never expected to have another chance to be around her in the first place. Being able to be around her and knowing that I love her, even if she doesn't feel the same, is unlike anything I've ever known; why would I want to let that go? But another part of me has tasted the outside-the fresh air, the freedom-and staying cooped up in the Vault would probably drive me past the point of insanity. I just have to wonder if there's a way for me to have the best of both worlds.

A glance at my Pipboy's clock shows me that I've been gone from the clinic for a few hours longer than I'd meant to. I grab all my things, stash them in my pack, and begin my sneaky trek back.

When I arrive back in the clinic, no one seems to notice that I've been gone, which I'm grateful for as I duck back to the office. I don't particularly want to talk to anyone; my mind is busy whirring and wondering what to do.

I drop my pack to the floor in the office, turning around to find Amata focused on something at the desk. She plays with her earlobe as she works through whatever she's thinking about, glancing up at the intruding noise that I've made. Her face softens and a smile breaks out when she sees me.

"Hey. Where've you been? I mean, I saw your note, but..."

I shrug. "Went down to the shooting range and did some thinking," I answer.

The dark, pensive tone in my voice makes Amata's brow furrow. She gets up and moves toward me, her eyes flashing with concern. "You okay?"

My moment of hesitation before answering seems to be enough to worry her. She reaches for my hand, grasping my fingers gently in her own.

"What's wrong?" she presses, her voice soft and caring.

I'm undecided about whether to actually talk to her about what's on my mind; I'm scared of the answers that may arise from a conversation about going back out into the wastes. "My BB gun broke," I answer finally, using that as cover.

"Aww, really?" Amata looks upset for me. "I'm sorry. It's so old, I'm surprised it lasted so long, especially with how much use you put it through." She offers me a sympathetic hand squeeze, stepping in to hug me.

I wrap my arms around her, my mind still whirring. Whenever everything gets resolved and I can go back out into the wasteland, I'll have to decide what to do or say. For now, I just ignore it, knowing it's not really the time to worry about it.

After a long moment, Amata breaks away from me, giving me a look I can't quite decipher. After a second, she shakes herself and steps away, heading out of the office. "I'm gonna go help with dinner rations."

"I'll be there in a second," I reply automatically, listening to her footsteps leaving the room. When she's gone I sink down on the cot and bury my face in my hands for a few minutes. I try to just breathe, fending off the wild thoughts I don't want to have to deal with.

Finally, I get up, tugging at the still-uncomfortable jumpsuit and following Amata out to help with the food.

Everyone gets their share, myself included, though I don't feel much like eating.

While Amata mingles, I eat and make an excuse to head to the nearest bathroom.

Splashing some cool water on my face does nothing to alleviate the tangled emotions in my gut. I stare at myself in the mirror, watching water run down and drip off my face, searching for some sort of answers in my eyes.

Instead, I see a stranger in a Vault suit staring back at me. I'm reminded of how foreign the suit is as I see it in my reflection, struck by how out of place I suddenly feel. I've grown so used to seeing myself in some form of armor or pre-war clothes that anything from the Vault seems... wrong.

I can't stand being in this damn jumpsuit any longer, and I head back to the clinic, walk straight into the office and start digging through my bag. I find a set of wastelander clothes someone had given me in Megaton and quickly shed the Vault suit. I've just hopped into the pants when a gasp comes from behind me.

I panic and wonder for a split second if I'd remembered to close the door, knowing I had. I turn and see Amata there, looking a little horrified. My cheeks color and I fumble for the shirt, hoping to pull it on before I die of embarrassment. Before I can find it, she comes forward and reaches out for my shoulder. Her fingers land on a large, angry scar, tracing it gently. The wound was bad enough that I can barely feel her touch through the knot of scar tissue, but the coolness of her hand still seems to seep through.

Amata's eyes flick up to my face, silently asking me what happened.

"Someone started shooting at me, and I didn't get outta the way fast enough," I murmur, trying to crack a smile to ease her mind.

The emotion in her eyes doesn't fade despite my efforts, but her gaze drops back to the scar. Her fingers trail down my arm, finding old gashes from ghoul attacks. I don't know how to explain those to her, at least not without completely traumatizing her. Thankfully, she moves on and searches the rest of me for any old wounds.

When she's finished, I grab the shirt and pull it over my head, only to find myself wrapped up in a hug the moment it's on.

"I'm sorry," she whispers. "I had to get you out of the Vault. My dad would have had you killed, and I wouldn't have been able to live with that."

I notice that she's shaking, and cradle her against me. "It's okay," I try to tell her, but she shakes her head and tightens her arms around me.

"Either way, you're risking your life. I sent you out there, and who knows how many times you've nearly died. This, all these scars, everything... it's all my fault."

It's my turn to shake my head. "No, it's not. Don't even think that, 'Mata. My dad started this whole thing by leaving." I rest my head against hers, trying to offer her as much comfort as I can. "Maybe even by him coming to the Vault with me as a baby. None of this would have happened if he hadn't brought me here."

"I'm not sure I could live without you," she whispers, almost as if she doesn't want me to hear.

For a few moments, I'm not sure how to respond. "You made it for a good six months," I remind her.

"Yeah, and I spent every one of those days thinking about you, hoping that you were okay, and praying I'd get another chance to see you," she retorts, pushing me away and going to the other side of the room. I see her dry her cheeks and my heart drops to the floor. I'd spent almost all of my life protecting Amata from as much as I could, and now I was the one that was making her cry.

I open my mouth, but I can't find the words to express what I want to say. "I'm sorry," I tell her softly, settling for those overused, nearly cliché words.

Amata forces out a bitter laugh, still not turning to face me. "Why?"

I shift my weight anxiously, hating the tension and charged emotions radiating from her. "I just... I never want to make you worry, or hurt you, or anything. I care about you more than you know, and knowing that I upset you kills me." I swallow, nearly choking due to my suddenly-dry mouth.

She goes quiet, and a painful silence stretches out between us. The absence of sound reminds me vaguely of my first night out in the wasteland, and I cringe inwardly as the memories of the sheer terror flood over me.

"Can I ask you something?" she murmurs after a moment. She doesn't wait for a response. "The other day, you said something about there only being room for one girl in your heart. Are you... I mean, does that mean... you like girls?"

I've already been feeling a little shaky, and her question only amplifies it. "Yeah," I manage.

She turns around slowly, watching me quietly. After a moment, she crosses the room and stops right in front of me, looking up into my eyes. "Me too," she whispers.

My heart threatens to pound its way out of my chest. It takes me a few moments, but then I realize that she's waiting for me to do something. Deep inside, I know that I desperately want to kiss her, but I can't quite make myself move. A voice in the back of my head tells me how ironic it is that the Overseer's daughter, one who's always been a leader, is waiting for someone else to take the first step.

Something in Amata's eyes changes as we stand there, and her face begins to fall. I know instantly that disappointment at my hesitation is the driving force behind her expression crumbling, and I say the first thing that comes to mind to stop it.

"It's you."

That stops her, and a look of confusion crosses her face.

"The girl," I clarify, my body threatening to completely shut down on me. I've never been so close to passing out in all my life. Something in the back of my mind tells me how silly it is that I can face a deathclaw without batting an eye, but admitting this to Amata has me terrified. "The one no else can compare to."

Amata looks a little surprised, then a blush spreads across her cheeks. She drops her gaze down to my collar, biting her lower lip nervously. "I didn't know," she says after a moment. "I mean, I dreamed about it, but I didn't think we'd ever... you'd ever tell me that." Amata chances a glance up at me, her eyes meeting mine again. "I just... I don't know..." A sigh escapes her. "I really, really like you. As more than my best friend."

My heart is still pounding in my chest, but this time I'm pretty sure it's doing a happy dance.

I don't know who moves first or what really happens, but all of a sudden, my entire body is tingling and I feel like I'm floating. The only thing I'm aware of is that Amata and I are kissing. We break apart slowly, still lingering close to each other. Amata looks up at me through half-lidded eyes, a dazed expression on her face.

"Wow," I manage, my voice sounding surprisingly breathless.

Amata nods, catching my lips in another gentle kiss.

We're both timid and unsure at first, but the more kisses we share, the more bold we become. At one point, I feel Amata's fingertips sneaking under the bottom of my shirt and brushing my stomach. I brush my tongue against her lower lip, pleasantly surprised at the sensation and the taste of her lips.

My arms end up curled around Amata, while hers are around my neck, one of her hands tangled lazily in my hair. She rests her head on my shoulder and catches her breath, making no move to leave my arms.

"We should stop," Amata murmurs.

"Don't wanna," I answer, hugging her closer, my body nearly on fire from all of the new, intimate contact with the girl I love.

"Me neither," she admits against my neck.

We stand there, wrapped up in each other for a few minutes. Finally, Amata pulls herself out of my arms and I'm instantly struck by how empty and cold I feel without her. She seems to feel the same way, because she offers her hand to me. I grab it and intertwine our fingers, gaining a bit of comfort from the contact.

A grin crosses Amata's face and she quirks an eyebrow at me. "I bet you won't object to sleeping with me tonight, will you?"

I feel my cheeks heat up and I can't find it in me to do anything but stare at her. I know Amata can be bold, but this is pushing her limits.

Her face goes beet-red as my reaction clues her in to what she said. Her hands fly to her mouth, covering it in horror as she tries to squeak out a correction.

She's still trying to compose herself when I work up the courage to reply. "Absolutely not. I'd fight Grognak the Barbarian to the death to be able to sleep with you, 'Mata." I don't know how, but I manage to purr out her name.

If it's possible, Amata blushes even darker and buries her face in her hands. I double over laughing at the sight, too distracted by the humor to be embarrassed by what I've just said.

She peeks at me between her fingers and huffs, though I hear her start giggling, too. We laugh for a while longer, eventually flopping on the floor and giggling whenever the urge strikes us. Although the wordplay was accidental, it's put some rather... exciting imagery in my head. My laughter subsides into an emotionally (and physically) charged silence.

"So, uh... what if I wasn't kidding?" The question slides out of my mouth before I can filter and stop it.

Amata blushes again, though not as deeply, and her tongue darts out to wet her lower lip. Her gaze flits between me and the floor for a few moments. "Are you, um... You don't think it's a little soon?"

I hesitate, realizing how I must sound and suddenly wanting to go find a cliff and fling myself off of it. "Shit, sorry. Forget I brought it up?" I bury my face in my hands, feeling more than a little sickened at myself.

"Sorry," Amata mumbles after a moment. "It's just... We only just found out about... well, everything. That feels too fast."

"I know." I sigh, looking up to find her staring at the floor. "Outside in the Wasteland, there's no waiting; you do what you want, or risk getting killed and not having the chance to try again. I forgot that it's different in here. I'm sorry."

We sit there on the floor, an awkward silence between us. Finally, I can't stand it and get up to go out into the clinic. Amata looks up at me questioningly, worry flashing in her eyes.

I offer her a smile that I hope will ease her mind. "I'm not mad, and I'm not leaving, don't worry."

She doesn't look totally convinced, but doesn't try to stop me. I wander out of the clinic into the hall, noticing that Butch is asleep at his guard post. I roll my eyes and go over and kick his foot. He jumps awake, waving around his little toothpick of a pocketknife.

"Who goes there? Ain't no way you're gettin' past a Tunnel Snake, man!" Butch crows before he's even fully awake.

"Shut up and go get some sleep, DeLoria," I tell him, half a smile on my face. As annoying as he's always been, it's still nice to have people that don't shoot first and talk later around.

He waves me away, but ends up hauling himself to bed a few minutes later.

I settle into Butch's guard spot, pulling out my pistol and playing with it absently. I feel like such an idiot for even letting those words slip out of my mouth. I curl my hand into a fist and lightly hit myself in the forehead, chanting out the mantra of "stupid, stupid, stupid" every time my hand and head collide. Naturally, that doesn't make me feel better, and I stare off down the dark hallway, imagining a million other ways I could have handled the situation.

Time seems to slip by unnoticed, and soon I'm stifling yawns, leaning against the barricade and pinching myself to stay awake.

"Hey," Amata murmurs from behind me, startling me awake.

I panic, not sure of what to do, or if I'm even comfortable looking at her. "Hi," I answer finally, playing with the safety on my pistol nervously.

We're both quiet for a few minutes, and then Amata sighs.

"I'm sorry," she says. "I didn't, I mean..." She lets out another upset sigh. "Did I just ruin everything?"

"Of course not!" I reply instantly. "Why in the world would you say that? No, 'Mata, if anyone did anything to ruin things, it was me." I turn and face her meekly, holstering my pistol. "I should be the one apologizing."

She studies me for a minute, relief visibly sweeping over her a second later. "Since I know you'll argue until this time tomorrow if I press it, let's just agree that we both were partly wrong?" She offers me a shy smile.

I return it and nod. We reach for each other's hand and intertwine our fingers before we wrap each other up in a hug.

"Bed time," I murmur, my drowsiness drowning me now that the major stress of the night has been resolved.

Amata nods, releasing me and heading back into the clinic. She goes and gets Andy, the destructive Mr. Handy, and puts him on guard duty before leading me into the office.

I go over to my bag and pull out a fold-out pad that passes as a mattress and spread it out on the floor as Amata curls up in the cot. After yanking my boots off and retrieving a blanket from a footlocker along the wall, I settle down to sleep.