Chapter Text
“This is it!”
Tanya pushed the door open, revealing the final destination for the day: some shack she’d been calling her new home for the past month or so. Her pride and joy.
Butch closed the door behind himself and took an eyeful of the place. The first thing he noticed was that her home, both square-shaped and cramped, had been brown, much like most other places out here. Yet Tanya’s efforts to thwart that hadn’t gone unnoticed. Fairy lights decorate the ceiling, hanging over the open loft area of the second floor in a cluster. A warm mixture of oranges, yellows, and other peach-like colors. Dimly lit, just enough to be able to see, but not so much that they were obnoxiously bright.
One other thing Butch could immediately infer was that Tanya left no spaces unused. There’s a lot of junk and lockers all over the place, and bottles upon bottles of Nuka Cola Quantum stacked on the shelves, their soft, lilac glow an immediate eyesore upon entering; like some sort of collection, if one could call it that. Beside it were a few “souvenirs” and memorabilia from her travels — a small Abraham Lincoln action figure, an old diary, coins, various bits of garbage and utensils, and a human skull as well..? She even had a bobblehead stand, only halfway filled but still impressively stacked.
Tanya practically skipped inside, presenting her arms out proudly to showcase the place. “So?” She gave him the dorkiest grin he’d ever seen. “What do you think?”
Butch grimaced. “Is this really how people live out here?”
Tanya scoffed dramatically before bending down to untie her boots. “It’s better than that stinky tub I found you in.”
“That ‘stinky tub’s’ sounding real appealing right about now.”
“Well, there’s the door if that’s how you feel,” Tanya pointed to it.
“Hey now,” Butch put his hands up jokingly. “I didn’t say all that.” Sure, this place was kind of a dump, with its uneven walls and tiny hole-ridden ceiling, but it was a hell of a lot better than sleeping in some overstuffed boat or being out in the Wastes.
Tanya merely shrugged before kicking her boots into a corner and tossing her bandolier beside it. “Well,” she grunted. “Make yourself at home. There’s a spare room upstairs, and food and drinks in the fridge you can knock yourself out to.”
“Now we’re talkin’.”
Butch followed suit and began unlacing his boots, feeling the instant relief on his feet the second he kicked them off. With his socks touching the cool floor, he removed his Tunnel Snake jacket next, placing it on top of what he believed to be a coat rack (or at least some kind of pole she'd been using as one). He then ends his undressing by unzipping the top of his jumpsuit, leaving him in just his blue vault suit pants and white tee.
All the sweat he’d been brewing had begun to dry, as he let his arms bask in the cool air— a more alleviating feeling than he dared admit. Just thinking about how much he'd been sweating for half the day nearly made him want new clothes entirely. Or at least until he could get this one cleaned properly. Never in a million years did he think he would actually miss doing his laundry.
The most he’d done recently was soak everything in a soapy bucket of water at the Muddy Rudder and let it air-dry on the side of the boat. That all had been fine the other day, though had he been fifteen minutes later to retrieve his clothes, he’s sure some junkie would have stolen them, even with the guards standing there. No doubt that’d be the day Butch found himself getting kicked out of the city for good for killing someone, had he visited the market and found his jacket for sale, or worse yet, with someone else wearing it! The thought makes his blood boil just thinking about it.
All the while Butch fixed himself up for the night, Tanya was already half undressed herself. She’d done so in the middle of the living room without a second thought, clearly having already forgotten his being there. The top half of her overalls were now discarded alongside her boots and bandolier, leaving her in nothing but a cropped white tee and her brown shorts. It had the curvature of her figure popping out like nothing he’d seen yet!
Butch didn't even try to hide his staring this time, as he whistled to himself in a rather facetious way. “Damn,” he said beneath his breath.
Tanya looks back up at him. “What?”
“Nothin’,” he smirks. “Just enjoyin’ the show.”
“...The show… ?” Tanya pauses at his comment, before her eyes grow wide at the realization of his words. Like it just now dawned on her that he’d been in the room still. No matter, she crosses her arms shyly and rolls her eyes. “Oh, ha, ha,” she said plainly. “Pervert.”
“Pervert?” Butch laughs. “Look, I ain’t no pervert-”
“Right,” she interrupts. “Says the guy checking women out while they change.”
“No one told you to start undressing in front of me, dollface,” he argues. “I mean, how’s a man supposed to concentrate in these conditions, is all I’m sayin’.”
Tanya merely ignores his comment and goes back to her business. She does a good job of covering up her embarrassment these days, all things considered. However, Butch always felt he was a natural at finding a way to push her buttons.
“What’s that? Nothin’ to say?” he continues to tease. He then peers smugly. “I see you blushin’, Nosebleed.”
Now she scoffs. Mockingly. “Keep dreamin’, Butch.”
Butch crosses his arms, leaning against the wall by the stairs as he keeps watching her. That’s when he finally notices the fresh blood staining the lower back of her shirt.
“Yo… Tanya-”
“Good evening, madam!”
Butch nearly jumped at the sound of a Mr. Handy robot emerging from upstairs. He watched the machine zoom down the steps to greet them, swiftly pushing its way past him. “You’ve been wounded, madam!” it exclaimed. “Might I suggest you seek medical attention as soon as possible?”
Tanya looks over her shoulder and gasps, equally surprised by this announcement, as she rests a hand over the wound that had seemingly emerged on the back of her hip. How on Earth had she just noticed this? Butch couldn’t help but wonder. It's one thing that he himself hadn't noticed, seeing as his mind was often elsewhere when looking at her backside. But for her not to notice it herself was even crazier. Did that not hurt?!
“Shit,” she said casually. “I think the clinic’s closed already.”
“What’s the plan then?” Butch asked. He was no doctor by any means, so really, he was banking on Tanya knowing what to do in this situation.
“I’m just gonna have to patch it here.”
Tanya walked around Butch and went up the stairs, disappearing into a room without another word. He wasn’t sure if she wanted him to follow her up or not. What would she do if he did? In fact, what would he do? Just stand there? Would he look lost if he did? Clingy? Or maybe it’d make him look like an asshole if he didn’t...
Why the hell is he even thinking about this shit anyway?
Butch settled for sitting on the steps next to a sleeping Dogmeat for now. He’s sure she knows what she’s doing, plus he wouldn’t complain about having an opportunity to unwind by himself, even if he were sober.
It wasn’t difficult to stay preoccupied: first, he pet Dogmeat for a short while, letting his fingers run through the animal’s short, dirt-ridden hairs. He hasn’t interacted with dogs much, for obvious reasons. However, he was starting to get the appeal to them after seeing Dogmeat’s performance against those mercenaries. And something about feeling the fur curl against his fingers felt soothing. For a solid five minutes, at least. Once he grew bored of that, Butch saw no better time than to stand up and begin looking through Tanya’s things.
He didn't find anything worth giving a damn about. Most of her valuables were either locked away or upstairs. He’d all but given up hope of finding anything good until he’d opened her fridge. It was then he’d found the stash of whiskey she’d had tucked away. Jackpot! He doubted she'd notice if a bottle or two went missing, having immediately helped himself to a glass before the thought of asking even occurred to him.
Tanya had told him to make himself at home, so he might as well.
Butch settled back beside Dogmeat on the steps, letting one hand rest behind his head, while the other clasped his glass, accompanied by more daydreaming about future plans for his gang. With this light buzz beginning to brew, and Galaxy News Radio playing on the jukebox upstairs, the night was finally looking up.
Maybe this teaming-up thing wasn’t a bad idea after all.
…
It had been nearly an hour since Tanya vanished upstairs— exactly a whiskey and a half, to be precise. A relatively uninspired, placid use of his time, now complete with the buzz he’d so desired since arriving.
To be honest, he couldn’t have asked for a better evening.
Her place didn’t stink or make unsettling noises every fifteen minutes. People weren’t talking so goddamn loud in the background, and better yet, he could sit back and close his eyes without having to hear Trinnie come whining his way with her nonsense drama. Her place was boring as hell, sure, but after six days of Rivet City, he’d take boring any day of the week. Plus, it’s not like they’d be here long, and at least here, the drinks were free.
Flushed cheeks and a faint lightheadedness aside, Butch didn’t struggle with finding ways to entertain himself either. He’d just about finished fixing his hair with his tiny comb when he nearly snapped the poor thing in half from shock, after suddenly hearing the Doc’s kid swearing upstairs.
“Goddamn it!”
Butch stood up from the steps and looked up the stairwell. “You good up there?”
There’s a slight pause, one that makes the man hold his breath.
“...Can you come here?”
Oh God, what was the problem now? With a heavy sigh, Butch trudged up the stairs and towards her bedroom. It was a cramped little spot; her desk and filing cabinet occupied over half of the walking space between the door and her bed, with the entire area covered in small plastic potted plants and a plethora of other books and guides.
Be that as it may, Butch damn near tripped when he came in and saw Tanya sitting on her bed topless. Well, she had a bra on, but still. Butch immediately took a deep eyeful in, ogling every available space of Tanya’s figure that he could see. Now, Tanya had a nice body, that much was made clear an hour ago, but Goddamn! She had no business having such a nice rack on top of it all.
Caught off guard, Butch began thinking of something to say. Something that wouldn’t sound too stupid or lame. He couldn’t quite decide what to spout out on time before Tanya went ahead and spoke for him.
Shifting on her bed, Tanya stared at him with all seriousness. “Do you know how to stitch?” she asked.
“Huh?”
“I can’t get a good angle on this to do it myself,” she continued on. “Can you help me, please? I can show you how if you’re nervous.”
Butch’s mind was officially addled. No way was the Doc’s kid having him tongue-tied right now, there’s no way! He quickly tried to adjust himself, remembering to stand up confidently and keep a smartass look on his face. Despite his best efforts, it didn’t hide the way his cheeks were burning up. Butch could practically feel the heat building in his face, which was the last thing he wanted her to see. And it didn’t help that he was still standing awkwardly in the doorway, as if afraid to enter her room. The reputation he had built for himself all these years was fleeting right before his eyes!
Never one to be flustered for too long, however, Butch eventually manages to return to default settings.
“I’m not nervous,” he said casually.
Butch doesn’t know a thing about stitching, but he wasn’t about to let her think he wasn’t man enough to close a little wound. Stitching can’t be that hard.
So, Butch did as she asked and sat on the bed beside her, as Tanya propped herself for him to best see her wound: sitting closely, while having her body somewhat twisted away from him. She’s cleaned the cut on her hip— a decently sized gunshot wound which grazed her, most likely during their firefight with Talon Company. Butch could also see the failed attempts she'd made previously with trying to stitch herself.
“Now remember,” Tanya began, attempting to guide him through this process. “It’s not a big wound, so don’t just stab the needle in all deep-”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Butch takes the needle from her and starts to pinch her wounded skin together, making Tanya wince. “I got it.”
Butch thought real hard to himself, the needle hovering just over her open wound, until he’d finally gathered the courage to drive it through her skin and begin stitching slowly. Tanya was a trooper about it, for the most part, keeping her jolts locked behind her tightly shut fists and clenched jaw. It didn’t stop her from wincing each time the needle went in, though.
The air grew uncomfortably quiet after a while. Butch could tell she was trying not to look him in the eyes, which he couldn’t blame her much for. This was probably the closest they’ve ever sat next to each other willingly, let alone touched one another. He can practically feel the warmth from her body radiating in this small space between them like a heater.
Butch also couldn’t help but notice the other details of her, now that he was sitting just an inch or so away. Numerous minor cuts, nicks, and other scars unfamiliar to him marred Tanya's skin. Ones he’s sure she’s gotten just recently. He wonders now if this will be his skin after a few weeks up here. Hopefully not.
“You’re really steady with that needle,” Tanya suddenly complimented.
“Damn straight,” Butch grinned. “You know I’m the best, baby.”
He could hear Tanya groan, which managed to bring a chuckle out of him; it’s all he could do to stay nonchalant about the whole thing. Although he didn’t feel like reminding her that he's gotten steady hands from being a barber for the last three years. The job may not have been his first choice, but he wouldn't have anyone in the vault saying he’d given them a fucked-up haircut, or have them slandering his work. He made sure people left his chair satisfied, which more often than not involved keeping his hands as steady and precise as he could manage. It's nice to know even a job like that could give him some skills to use now.
But Butch had to admit stitching wasn’t as bad as he thought it’d be. Sure, he was still nervous that if he drifted off too much into thought, he might poke her the wrong way or something. But so far, things seemed to be going pretty smoothly.
“Maybe you should have worked for my dad instead of being a hairdresser,” Tanya suddenly said.
“Barber,” Butch corrects her. “And fuck that noise. That job looked like shit. At least cutting hair is fun, sometimes.”
“Oh, so you did like the job then?” Tanya smirks at him.
“What can I say,” he jokes. “I like makin’ people look good by my own work.”
“Fair enough,” Tanya said. “Still, God knows he needed more assistants with steady hands.”
What would something like that have even been like for him? If the G.O.A.T. had told Butch he was going to be a doctor’s assistant for the rest of his life, he’s sure he would have rioted in Mr. Brotch’s class right there on the spot. There was no way in HELL someone was about to stick him in some boring ass doctor’s office with just two older men to talk to all day. Butch guessed that Tanya clearly hadn’t wanted that life either, seeing as she became a goddamn pip-boy programmer.
“I’m surprised you weren’t ever his assistant,” Butch said. He then gives the thread a final pull, closing the wound as his fingers now struggled to tie the strings together and be done with his work. “I thought helping people and being a goody two-shoes was your whole thing.”
“As you can see, I’ve never been much of a good doctor,” she joked. “Plus, I like programming; it’s a lot more consistent and straightforward. Very low stakes. Nothing near as dire as medical work.”
“Yeah, well, I doubt your old man would’ve wanted me around to fuck things up.”
“Or around me.”
“I’m sure this has him rolling in his grave as we speak-”
Butch cut himself off the moment he realized what he was saying. Shit, he really did just say that, didn’t he? James hasn’t even been dead for more than two weeks, and he’s already cracking jokes about the man. And of course, Tanya noticed it. Shit!
“I didn’t mean it like that,” Butch quickly adds.
Tanya grew quiet, and for a second there, Butch had thought he’d just ended their travels together with that one sentence. But instead of lashing out at him or making another backhanded remark, Tanya turned to him and said, “I’m sure he would have come around to it.”
Butch remains cautious of his next words. “...You think so?”
“Believe it or not, he never actually thought you were that bad of a guy.”
“No shit?” That is a surprising revelation to him, given his prior relationship with Tanya. “I wouldn’t have guessed it.”
“Yeah,” Tanya went on. “He was actually pretty happy to hear it, when he found out you were gonna be a hair-,” she quickly corrects herself. “A barber. Sorry.”
“Is that so?” Butch can’t help but grin. “Well, I’m glad someone was happy about it.”
“I still remember this one time he came back from your shop after you’d given him a wash and a trim,” Tanya smiled to herself, already reliving this moment in her mind. “He had nothing but positive things to say. I was shocked.”
“I’m shocked now,” Butch chuckled.
James always had been a pretty cheerful patron, all the way to the end of his time in the vault. There were many times he’d see James swing by, usually every two weeks or so in the early mornings, just for a quick trim before heading back to his office for the day. Each time, the man never once complained or tried to micromanage Butch’s work while in the chair, unlike some of the other more high-maintenance vault residents who would visit. Instead, James often asked him about his day, or how his mother had been, almost like he was checking in on him. James would always tip him extra, too, even if the work was little. It never once dawned on Butch how good a customer James had been until this conversation.
“Now I wish I could thank him,” he said.
“You and me both…”
Tanya smiled and brought her eyes to Butch, which pathetically seemed to warm him up inside a bit. It then dawned on him again how close they were sitting next to each other on her bed.
He towered over her, even as she had straightened up to face him again; Tanya always was a munchkin after all. She sat a few inches away, their legs damn near brushing against one another. By now, he’d already finished tying up the final stitch, though his hand still lingered, the edge of his thumb faintly hovering over the skin of her hip.
She was warm to the touch. The warmest thing he’s felt out here. A small part of him wanted to keep his hand there, or reach out for more to fill his palm. Another part of him wanted to pull away and call it a night, acting like this hadn’t happened at all. His eyes began bouncing back and forth between her eyes and her lips, fighting tooth and nail not to lower his gaze and take another look at her breast. They seem to just rest there so pillow-y, waiting for him to reach around, unclasp her bra, and let them breathe.
He could do it right now.
Close the gap between them. Come in all slow-like and kiss her, having her melt into his arms like he always imagined she would. Lord knows it’s been far too long since the last time he’s been able to get physical with someone. Though doing something like that with Tanya of all people… it really had his mind in a tizzy. His buzz wasn’t doing him many favors either. Any time his thoughts wandered to her in that way -- from how feathery her plump lips must feel, to the kind of heat her body would make pressed against his, beneath him, with the things she might do to him if it ever did escalate that way -- he’d remember who he’s looking at and quickly come back to reality. This is Nosebleed we’re talking about!
If this were any other girl, Butch would have gone for it by now. He’s never been shy, nor the type to think with his brain when he’s horny. If there’s someone he wants, then nine times out of ten, he’s going for it. But with Tanya, he couldn’t quite bring himself to, not without it feeling weird for some reason; as though he were stepping over a forbidden boundary set between them long ago. A boundary influenced heavily by their environment and the people they’d resided with within it. Butch would never hear the end of it if everyone in the vault could see how he’s feening for her now.
Sure, if she’d been down back in the day, then he would have been tried to bag her. Tanya’s a knockout. And even on her worst days in the vault, she was kind to her friends and family, ambitious, and always full of life and energy. None of which ever translated in their interactions, though, Butch never being the one she would direct these feelings towards, understandably so. He was a tough guy to get close to, and he cared a great deal too much about how others would look at him. He couldn’t imagine if one day Paul or Wally saw the leader of their gang bumping uglies with one of the biggest outcasts the vault had to offer.
Only Paul and Wally aren’t around anymore. They’ll never be around again, Butch is sure. And here Tanya is now, mere inches from him, fluttering her stupid eyelashes and biting her stupid bottom lip. None of that stuff from before seemed to matter to her anymore. She must want this as much as he does right now. Right?
Butch thought very hard to himself, perhaps the hardest he’s thought about anything up here so far. Beneath his breath in a low voice, his eyes remained on her lips. “Tanya,” Butch said. “Do-”
There’s a sniffle.
Butch’s eyes jumped from her quivering lips to see her shaky, teary eyes, and instantly he realized he'd had this whole scene mixed up. She hadn’t been ‘fluttering her eyelashes’ at him; she was trying not to cry, and not a second more went by before those tears started falling. They rolled down her cheeks slowly, growing more numerous each second. Butch woke up from whatever trance she had him in real quick, feeling a wave of clumsy hesitancy wash over him. Instantly, he backed away, taking his hands from her just as fast.
“I’m sorry…” Tanya said it so softly that he almost didn’t hear it, her head sinking. She brought both her hands up and buried her face into them, sobbing silently.
“Ah, shit,” Butch said awkwardly. “I…”
Tanya didn’t budge.
Jesus Christ, what had he done? Butch knew her tears probably had to do with his comment earlier and the conversation which followed.
Of course, he’s made her cry. It only took him a few hours, too.
Butch now sat awkwardly at the corner of Tanya’s bed, staring cautiously and debating if he should leave. He would feel somewhat bad if he just stepped up and left without a word right now, though maybe it's what she would prefer. Crying women haven’t exactly been Butch’s forte.
Whenever Christine or any other girls in the vault would cry, they'd often kick him out of the room, usually after he'd gotten done rolling his eyes and telling them to save it for someone who cares. Girls like that were only crying to get something out of him or make him feel bad, which would have the exact opposite effect on him instead. But that's nothing like what's going on right now. Tanya hadn’t been angry at him before the tears, not that he knew of.
The only other woman who’d cried around him had been his mother, and for a long while, she'd never do so on purpose. He won't forget waking up in the middle of the night as a teenager to the sounds of her silent, drunken sobbing in her room. When he'd come in to check on her or ask what he could do, she'd mostly lie and say she was fine, sending him away when she could muster the strength to do so. Reluctantly, he would obey. And every so often, he would ignore her wishes. He’d instead place himself in her room, pulling her into his arms as he rocked her back and forth in a soothing motion. Sometimes it would work. It could work here, too.
Of course, right as Butch finally found the right words to say, Tanya seemed to snap out of it.
“Fuck,” Tanya sniveled a bit, her eyes and nose all red and puffy now. She then wiped away the remaining tears and snot on her face aggressively. “My bad…”
“Jesus,” Butch teased. “Was it something I said?”
“No, no…” she protests, though her words begin to drag, almost as though she were lying. “It’s nothing, I just… It’s just been a long month, that’s all. I didn’t want you to see that. I’m sorry…”
“Crybaby.”
Tanya laughed under her breath and punched Butch weakly in his shoulder, her way of reassuring him that things would still be the same for them after this. He let out the breath he’d unknowingly been holding in.
“So…” Butch started awkwardly. “Are you good..?”
“I will be.”
Tanya continued wiping her face dry, doing her best to bring back that carefree facade she’d seemed to create for herself out here. Butch almost asked her about it, wanting to see what it was that was really gnawing at her right now, but he knew she probably wouldn't say anything to him. She didn't need to. If anything, he only hopes this is just a one-time occurrence, though he knows her well enough to guess that probably won’t be the case— just his luck.
“We should probably call it for the night, yeah?” Butch suggests.
“I think so…” Tanya nods.
"Way to make shit awkward, Nosebleed." Butch didn’t really know what he was saying anymore, just whatever felt natural at this point. Anything to bring normalcy back. It’s all he knew how to do.
“It’s what I do best,” Tanya joked.
“Ain’t that the truth.”
Butch stood up from her bed and began making his way towards the exit, while silently preparing to forget this night ever happened and move on. He was surprised how uncomfortable it made him. Tanya wasn’t done with him for the night quite yet, however.
“Butch,” she called out suddenly.
He paused. “What?”
“Thank you.”
Butch found himself taken aback all of a sudden. “What?”
“I said thank you,” she repeats. “For helping me with the stitches. I wanted to say that before I forgot.”
That had, in all honesty, been the last thing he expected to hear from her, after seeing her bawl her eyes out. Thank you. Has she ever thanked him for anything before? Never, now that he thinks about it.
The smallest part of him had liked to hear her say that. Very little kept him from opening his mouth and saying something stupid. But he held his tongue. And it was clear to him from the tears still brimming at the corners of her eyes that she was still very much feeling some type of way.
“Don’t mention it.”
Tanya's lip quivered, though she hid her remaining sorrows behind a smile, before giving her companion a final wave goodbye. “See you in the morning.”
“Catch you later.”
Tanya’s house grew quiet, with nothing but the subtle sound of creaking walls and floorboards to fill the ambience of their breathing— the true end of the night. Butch lingered in the doorway a little longer than he needed to, even after Tanya had turned away from him on her bed to sleep. Even now, she cried to herself, silently this time, her body merely trembling beneath her covers at every breath taken. Whether she’d been aware of Butch’s lasting presence seemed irrelevant to her now, with sleep being her only concern and aid to her sorrows. A type of sorrow never before seen by him, yet one shared in the eyes of everyone he’s seen topside thus far. It really puts this world into perspective for him.
A terrifying realization.