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Chapter Text

If Butch had to describe his life in the vault, it would be miserable, skull-numbingly dull, and overall just a shitty time. Everything about living in Vault 101 sucks. 

The fluorescent lights were annoyingly bright and had this distracting “hum” whenever it got too quiet. The tiny rooms with their gray walls and rock-solid floors felt more like a prison cell than a home, and having to be a "hairdresser" for the rest of his life just because some test he took when he was sixteen said so totally blows. And the people down here, man, oh, man, don't even get him started! They were some of the most uptight sets of wet blankets he's ever had the misfortune of meeting.

Butch couldn’t wait to be rid of this god-awful place, and it seemed his wishes would finally come to fruition. His olive eyes slowly opened that morning, and the first thing to greet him was that same, concrete-like ceiling over his head. The outside of his room sounded as quiet as ever, so much so that it almost felt like his ears were ringing, and it was cold. But this time, Butch couldn’t help but smile to himself at this familiar sight above him. He hasn’t been this excited to wake up early since… well, maybe ever. It might as well be a holiday.

Pretty soon, it’d be a clear, blue sky over his head and not some unwelcoming ceiling, just like he’d always dreamed of. An empty sky with only the sun, and not a single wall to stop him. Pretty soon he wouldn't have to wake up and see this room ever again. 

His morning routine didn’t change much despite today's intentions -- he climbed out of a steamy shower and slicked his hair back with his little comb, whistling tunes to himself and slipping his Tunnel Snake leather jacket on over his blue vault suit. He spent all last night gathering everything he’d need to make the trek topside, that just being his switchblade, a 10mm he managed to swipe during the lockdown weeks ago, and the clothes on his back. He imagined there’d be plenty to get once he finally got up there, so Butch saw no point in getting over-sentimental and taking a bunch of junk with him.

Once he'd fully readied himself, Butch paused suddenly, just at the entrance to his room; a silhouette in the doorway, looking back into this little space down the hall. With all his stuff cleared out, it hardly resembled anything he once referred to as his place. All the beer bottles, memorabilia, and other pieces to identify him were either tossed out, sold, or packed up at his mom’s. The posters he had up were taken down as well, and with the furniture away, it was already beginning to smell just like the rest of the vault. 

Butch took a good long look, knowing that once he stepped away, that this was it. A big smile formed on his lips as the excitement began to bubble in his chest, warming his body up. He pumped a low fist in the air and cheered to himself. Finally, he thought. He’s finally free.

“What’s got you so excited?”

He recognized that bratty, high-pitched voice from anywhere. Amata Almodovar. While the new vault “Overseer” wasn’t necessarily someone he cared to see right now, Butch was too fired up to care. It wasn’t like he’d have to deal with her for much longer. 

He watched as she sauntered over, all uptight like she always does. Since becoming Overseer, he honestly hasn’t seen her around much, Amata’s attention being pulled in every direction whenever she came out of her new office. If the bags under her eyes didn’t already say as much, Butch would say she looked like she could use a 24-hour nap. He imagined she would agree.

Butch smugly leaned against the metal doorframe, flashing a coy smile her way. “You’re looking at a free man, Amata.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

She always liked to play dumb and ask stupid questions, like she didn’t understand what he was saying. One more thing he didn’t have to think about after today.

“It means I’m finally blowing this dump!” Butch cheered.

Amata just rolled her eyes. “I’ve heard that one before.”

“Huh?” Butch pushed himself off the doorframe, taking a small step forward. Not enough to come off like he was trying to intimidate her though, knowing she’d take issue with that. The last thing he wants is for her to be the reason he can’t leave. He only did it just enough to let her know he was being serious.

“You think I won’t?" he said. "Take a look. I’ve got my place cleared out and everything. All I gotta do now is walk my happy ass out the door. So you better say your goodbyes while you still can.”

“Does your mom know?”

Now, why would she go and ask that? It got Butch’s attention nonetheless... a lot of hostile emotions beginning to stir in him.

“What does it matter?” he snapped. “I swear, you’re the nosiest person down here. Why don’t you mind your own business for a change-”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Amata crossed her arms defensively, her expression folding into a pout. “I just know you’re usually the one taking care of her, so-”

“How about you drop it.”

Butch never did like talking to Amata, as most of their conversations turned into this nowadays. She was always prying, always whining, and always trying to play the mediator or “the bigger person”, like she was better than everyone because of it. And that’s when she wasn’t just playing the victim.

It got uncomfortably quiet between them now. Butch was all but ready to walk around her until she started talking again. “I’m still shocked you didn’t just go with Tanya when she came back.”

Tanya? Butch made a double-take at Amata’s comment. Nosebleed?! Why in the world would he ever want to be stuck traveling the world with that crybaby? The last thing he needs is the Doc’s kid messing up his jam… 

… Then again, Tanya’s not that bad. She could be a hell of a lot worse; she could be like Amata. 

Tanya also technically is still a part of the Tunnel Snakes, after saving his mom from those radroaches (and for being the whole reason he can even leave the vault in the first place). Judging how she hasn’t died yet since she’s left either -- and how she handled all the vault’s problems down here like it was lightwork -- he felt he did owe her some credit. Seems she isn’t all talk after all. Still, actually traveling with her felt like a bit of a stretch, even now.

“What would be the point of that?” Butch shrugged. “I’m leaving this pit to get away from all of you, remember?”

Amata chuckled to herself, sort of like she expected him to say something like that. And in a way, he expected Amata to react to his comment as she did. Once the initial response died out, the two of them stood there awkwardly again. Calmer this time.

A moment of serenity washed over Butch as Amata spoke for a final time. “Stay safe out there, Butch,” she said. “And good luck.”

“Please, I’m the luckiest guy I know.” 

Butch finally walked around Amata, continuing on his path towards the exit. He never did look back, but simply gave her a final wave goodbye. “Catch you later, Overseer.”

...

There was a skip to Butch’s step as he walked down these long, gray halls. He whistled a little tune to himself, one on par with his current mood. He took in all his surroundings and kept telling himself that this wasn’t his home anymore. This was just another hallway now. 

The whole time he made his way out, he made sure to make eye contact with every resident who passed him, smiling at every glaring guard and frowning neighbor, his bravado and excitement oozing off of him. He locked eyes with everyone and everything, letting them get one final look before he was gone for good.

It wasn’t until he rounded the next corner and saw Christine that he finally paused for a second. She stood just outside the cafeteria room with Stanley, likely discussing maintenance stuff, before her sharp, brown eyes fell on Butch with a tight-lipped frown. A classic look of hers, as always. Or at least one she often gave him. 

Christine was a woman bound to spice up a man’s life in all the wrong ways, something he was all too familiar with. An attractive woman -- given the lack of competition. Though over the years, with their hot and cold relationship, their interactions have become little to none as they grow older. 

Butch hasn’t decided if he’ll miss her much once he leaves. If anything, seeing her again only made him more excited to see the types of women that await him up top.

Christine pretended not to notice Butch at first, keeping her attention locked on the clipboard she clutched firmly in her grip. Had Stanley not waved for Butch to come over, he would have happily done the same.

“Where are you off to, Butch?” Stanley smiled. “I see the shop’s all closed up.”

"You're gonna have to find a new barber," Butch proudly boasted. "I'm finally blowin' this joint!"

“You’re leaving?” Christine cut in. The monotone in her voice gave way to genuine curiosity. She seemed surprised to hear this, in fact.

“That’s what I just said,” Butch remarked.

“Well, I didn’t know that,” she whined. “Were you not going to tell me?”

“What? Was I supposed to?” he said. “It’s not like you’ve ever cared about my plans before.”

“You don’t have to be such an asshole Butch-”

“Hey now,” Stanley stepped between the two, his smile growing more wary. “There’s no need to fight, don’t you think?”

Butch looked at Stanley in his eyes, catching that placid look in his old, tired gaze that he’s always seemed to carry with him. A familiar expression with the maintenance team.

“Butch,” he says. “I’m sure I speak for everyone when I say we’re all gonna miss ya, and we wish you the best out there, if that’s what you feel you need to do.”

An awfully kind farewell, given Stanley and Butch’s relationship throughout the years… or lack thereof. Butch awkwardly shuffled on his feet, crossing his arms and concealing his bashfulness behind his cocky exterior. “Don’t get all mushy on me now, Stanley.”

“At least we won’t have to worry about your stupid gang anymore,” Christine commented.

“Baby, I'll always be a Tunnel Snake,” Butch proudly boasted. “But that's small time now. Once I’m out there, I’ll-”

“Bullshit,” another voice retorted. A man’s voice. One Butch had hoped to avoid on his way out. Wally Mack's.

Wally emerged from the cafeteria, joining their small group out in the hallway. He had this shit-eating grin plastered on his face like he was ready to say something big, as usual. He always was an asshole, but after everything that's happened -- between the lockdown and everyone’s little rebellion against the last Overseer -- Wally's made it clear that there'd be no salvaging their relationship after the fallout they had. And Butch didn't want that asshole around any more no way.

"I give you a week tops before you come crawling back down here," Wally taunted. "And that's if you don't just wind up dead."

Wally means that, of course. Butch remained unphased by the former Tunnel Snake’s accusations, merely smirking at him with disinterest. Wally's always thought he was better than him. A real joke, if one were being made. He can bluster and provoke Butch all he wants, but once he leaves, Wally won’t even matter anymore. He’s not brave or smart enough to try and go topside himself anyway.

“Like hell I will,” Butch said. “You’re not gonna find me rotting away in some hole like the rest of you. You know it’s better up there.”

“What’s up there that I can’t do now?” Wally laughed. “I’ve got way better things to do down here than bum around topside like you.”

“More like you’re just chicken shit.”

The hallway grew stale, the intensity beginning to ramp. Butch was no longer entertained by this bozo in front of him, and now that he doesn’t have to worry about bumping into him anymore, he saw no point in filtering the way that he talks to him. Not that he ever did, to begin with. 

Wally held back a scoff, but then quickly grinned to himself, chuckling. “That’s big talk from a guy scared of a little radroach.”

Christine giggled under her breath at Wally’s comment, which sent Butch’s eyes peering in her direction. He looked back at Wally and began to huff a bit. But before Butch could utter another word, Wally continued. “I heard you couldn’t even man up to save your own momma from ‘em during the lockdown,” he mocked. 

“Watch your mouth, Mack,” warned Butch.

Wally only went on with his tangent. “You had to go cry to Tanya about it, from what I heard,” he said. “And you really think you’re gonna be big up there? If I were you, I’d be worried about how your dysfunctional mother’s-”

Butch ended Wally’s sentence with a fist, crashing it straight into the man’s nose; he’s sure he felt a little crunch on impact too. While Butch was hoping to break his nose at least, he’ll settle for whatever really. That's something he’s wanted to do for a while now. 

Christine screamed and jolted back dramatically the second he swung, while Stanley stood there with his mouth agape, the sounds echoing throughout the halls.  Wally stumbled back rather feebly, shooting his hands up to his face as blood began to leak from his nose like a faucet. He trembled and groaned, looking up at Butch in disbelief.

“You son of a-” 

Wally lunged at Butch, swinging a heavy left hand his way. It was too sloppy to count for anything however, as Butch merely took a step back, watching as Wally then crashed onto the floor in front of him with a loud “oof”. 

“Whoa there!” Stanley stepped between Butch and Wally. “Come on now, fellas. I’m sure you two don’t want vault security putting you both in a cell tonight. Especially you, Butch.”

Wally scrambled back to his feet behind Stanley. At first, Butch thought he might try and swing back at him again. That’s how Wally liked to act anyway. But he didn’t. He was too busy holding his bloodied nose. So rather than say something witty, or even just continue to lay it in on Wally for daring to speak about his mom, Butch did what he considered to be the next best thing. He turned around and began to walk away.

This, of course, only riled Wally up more. “What?” he babbled. “Nothing to say? You always were a pussy!”

Butch didn’t respond. He didn’t need to. He could feel their eyes on him as he walked off, their gazes practically burning a hole into his back. It made him feel giddy all over again thinking about it. It didn’t matter what they thought, after all; he was out of here, baby. 

Sweet freedom, here he comes!

There was just one last person he needed to see first.

…

His mother’s living room had been littered with empty bottles of vodka and old cigarette buds, the same as how he left it last night. There was a stiff smell to the air, filled with liquor and smoke. All the lights were off, a hazy cloud hovering above him, and the background noises beginning to falter. She wasn’t passed out on the couch -- like he’s often found her in recent days -- which only meant she was in her bedroom, where he eventually found Ms. DeLoria, lying on top of her covers asleep, with a lit cigarette gently teetering between her two fingers.

Butch removed the cigarette from her hands, setting it down into the overflowing ashtray she had on her nightstand. That small favor turned into him picking up the rest of the bottles and garbage she had lying around, making sure to do so without waking her.

There was a time when her lack of modesty in being drunk upset him, especially when others in the vault would point it out just to mock him. Growing older has only made him more numb to that. This was as routine to him now as it has become nostalgic. He’s lost track of how many times he’s come home from school only to do exactly this -- tending to his mother and her home as best he could. He always thought it was the least he could do for her, being the handful that he was as a child.

It wasn’t until the last few bottles Butch picked up which clanked together a bit too loudly, when she finally awoke. She nearly choked on her own spit when she did, shooting up from her bed only to quickly bring a hand to her throbbing temples. “Goddamnit,” her eyes immediately locked onto her son’s. “Butch, what did I tell you about sneaking in here like that?”

“Sorry, Mom,” he said reflexively.

“You nearly gave me a heart attack.”

Ellen DeLoria adjusted herself on her bed, sitting up straight as she continued to hold her head and groan. Butch remained near the doorway to her room for a while, before awkwardly stepping over and taking a seat at the corner of her bed next to her. 

Even so near her, he obtained the smallest of space between them, as though afraid to overstep his own mother's boundaries. As cocky as he was to everyone else, to his mother, in her eyes, and his as well, he was still that of just a little boy, longing for his only parent’s attention. Fearful of what she might scorn him for next. The older he’s grown, the more those scornful differences between them only seem to increase in the passing days.

Ever since the lockdown, she’s been somewhat cross with Butch, all but telling him she thought less of him for siding with “those rebels”. He didn’t want to believe his own mother would disown him over something as unimportant as that -- not when he’s her only son, and, quite frankly, the only person still in her life. Who else does she have in this world if not him? Or did that change with age? He didn’t want to believe that. He’s as alone in this world as she; It’s what makes today a hard one.

Ellen’s eyes darted to where her cigarette once was. When she saw it gone, she merely leaned over to her nightstand and instead retrieved a half-empty bottle of vodka. It took a few more seconds, but eventually, she faced him again, only after a few swigs. “What’s going on?” she asked.

“I’m heading out now.”

“Heading out?” she asked, her words still slurred from last night’s drinking. “What do you mean?”

“I’m leaving the vault.”

“Leaving the vault?” her tone soured. “Why the hell are you going to do that?”

Butch frowned. Of course, she’s already forgotten. He’d spent the last month trying to handle this situation as delicately as possible with her, going out of his way to remind her of his upcoming departure. Never once did he bullshit her either. Though he knew she’d been drinking prior to most of their conversations, it would be a lie to say he did not at least consider that she’d conveniently forget all of this once the time came. And still, it didn’t make him feel any less frustrated.

“We talked about this, Mom,” he said, trying to keep a calm tone with her. “I want to see the world, make a name for myself. I can’t do that if I’m stuck down here for the rest of my life.”

“So you’re abandoning me now?”

That wasn’t fair. Had he been younger, her attempts to guilt him into staying may have worked. But he’s older and knows he can make his own decisions in life that don’t involve his mother’s approval. She’ll survive without him being here. He honestly believes this.

“You know I won’t be gone forever.” Butch smiled at his mother, doing what he could to keep things lighthearted between them. The last thing he wanted was to leave things on a bad note. “I’d never do that to you. You know that.”

“And when you get yourself killed up there, what am I supposed to do then?” she asked. Ellen’s eyes began to swell with tears, her lip quivering in frustration. She shook her head and ripped her gaze from him. “You always were such a hard-headed kid. I’ll never understand your little obsession with wanting to go outside.”

Butch extended an arm to his mother, ready to wrap himself over her and comfort her, only to be swatted away when she lightly smacked his hand away. 

He recoiled, somewhat hurt. “If I could bring you with me, I would-”

“Like hell I’d ever go up to that hellscape!” she interrupted. “The only reason you even want to go up there is because of that girl and her stupid father.”

“I told you why I want to go, Mom,” he protested.

“I don’t care what your reasons are,” she said. “If you’re going, then just do it already. I won’t stop you. It’s not like I ever could…”

“Mom, please,” he said. “I’m not trying to leave things like this.”

“You’re just like your father.”

Butch opened his mouth to say something… but then paused, and the silence fell uncomfortably in the room like a heavy boulder. Her body shook until she finally crumbled, failing to hold back her tears any longer, as she turned away from Butch and laid back down on her bed.

She lay there, content to not say anything else to her son for as long as he continued to sit at the corner of her bed. Butch knew this game all too well.

Troubled and wounded, he knew she would no longer continue this conversation, no matter how negatively this would leave things. And in a way, Butch didn’t have anything left to say either. He stood from her bed and prepared to exit, before turning to his mother a final time.

“I love you,” he said. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

She didn’t reply. 

Somehow, that hurt more than anything else he could have imagined her saying in that moment. But if one thing was clear to him after this, it’s that it really is time for him to leave. Butch was done with taking in the rest of the vault. Done with all the gray, the dark, the cramped corridors, the old smell, the people. He was done with all of it. 

The entire rest of the walk to the main entrance was in silence. When he finally reached that steel vault door, it felt almost too good to be true. He paused in front of the door’s main switch, his hands anxiously flipping them over. Sirens began to bellow loudly, the metal gears churning against the large, safe-like door. Slowly, it pulled open, metal grating against metal. Before long, the door was open, and a rocky tunnel now lay before him, stretching out away from the vault. 

Butch kept expecting to see his mother running after him, begging for him to stay. But she didn’t. No one did.

With the door now open, Butch found himself hesitant by the steps leading out, feeling a cool breeze blow from out the tunnel before him. It chilled like nothing he’d ever felt before; its scent made the vault’s air feel stuffy in comparison. A dim light shimmered from the wooden door at the very end of the tunnel, beckoning him now.

This is it, the moment he’s been waiting for. There’s no more turning back after this, once he garners the courage to move.

“What’s the matter, Butch?” asked Officer Gomez. He monitored the exit, standing with the nineteen-year-old as they remained there, waiting. Butch just knew Gomez was eating this up. “Should I close the door?”

“Relax,” Butch gathered himself, readjusting his leather jacket over his shoulders. Like hell was he about to change his mind now. “I’m outta here.”

Butch took a few steps towards the tunnel, until he reached the mouth of it. The hum of the outside world could very faintly be heard in the distance; Butch could just vaguely make out the noises. What might it be, he wondered. Something better than this, he imagined. 

A pang of nausea began to settle at the pit of his stomach, as though he’d been met with an invisible wall. He couldn’t help but find it embarrassing that he was a little scared, but at least no one was around to see the paleness of his face right now. 

“Stay safe out there Butch.”

Gomez’s voice awoke him from his trance, and it nearly struck a sensitive nerve in him when he processed what it was he’d said. But ever the one to not appear uncool, Butch didn’t turn back to face Gomez when he finally took that first step off the metal and concrete of the vault and onto the rock of the tunnel floor. He merely kept walking, lifting his hand in a balled fist as a final goodbye. He didn’t even look back when he heard the vault door shut close behind him. Not until it finally did.

The sounds within the tunnel were all but muted once the giant vault door shut, all beyond the low wind blowing from the final exit before him. Butch looked back a final time, seeing the dark of the tunnel and the faded letters of “101” on the door behind him. Inhaling deeply, he turned to the wooden door before him and pushed it open, as the great white light of the outside world showered over him.

Chapter Text

DAY ONE

The upper atmosphere and region between space and Earth: the sky. 

Every pre-war textbook Butch has ever read made the sky seem like a big, moving ceiling; clear and blue with a bright light known as the sun hovering within it. That's what he honestly expected to see when he got up here, too.

“Oi!” A rough hand went to shove Butch’s shoulder, breaking the man’s already wavering posture. Had he not done so, the Tunnel Snake would have continued burning a new hole in his eyes, taking another peek at the sun. “It ain’t goin’ nowhere, Vault Boy.”

Butch blinked, gruffly rubbing his fingers against his eyes as he looked back at the man who’d just shoved him, one of two guards alongside the traveling merchant who hired them…. because that's how stores work out here now apparently. The guard’s name might be Lewis, or was it Lucas? No matter either way.

Lucas was the chattiest one of the lot, and the dirtiest too, judging by the ragged leather armor he wore. Though the others he’d been traveling with wouldn’t be winning any fashion shows either, all clad in rags and metal bits. Still, Butch has never met a man with such striking features before like Lucas, least of all from anyone in the vault. Like a cross between a rat and a human. A forewarning of the many uglier faces the surface had yet to offer him. 

The man had taken a particular interest in the Tunnel Snake ever since they found him right outside Springvale, trying to throw rocks at the local eyebot like some sort of caveman. Lucas’s fascination only grew after learning of his origins. And in a way, Butch couldn’t complain much about his curiosity; he wouldn’t be traveling with them now if that hadn’t been the case.

“What?” Butch snapped at him, still trying to get a grip on reality. Still trying to get a grip on everything.

“The sun,” Lucas says, going as far as to point at it as though he needed reminding. “It ain't going nowhere.”

“Still got another five hours before sundown,” the guard wearing the metal armor cuts in.

“And that's when the moon comes out, right?” Butch asks, a question he soon regrets.

“I sure hope so, kid.”

Both guards and the merchant burst into boisterous laughter that only echoes between the ruined buildings like a hyena’s cry. It's not every day they meet someone so fresh and innocent to the Wastes, let alone the entire outside world. It makes Butch pout, though it does little favors in showing both his age and naivety.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” Butch crossed his arms and kept his chin held high, not wanting the blush on his cheeks to make his embarrassment any more apparent. “Forget I said anything.”

As the guards continued to laugh amongst themselves at their new traveling punchline, Butch hung back somewhat, his legs beginning to feel the burn of the walk. Nearly over an hour out here and so far, all Butch has seen is beaten-down roads, trash, and shelled-out buildings. Beyond the merchants, Butch hasn’t even seen another human face since stepping out of the vault; you’d think that after 200 years that people would be more established. And cleaner. 

Really, he was over the “Capitol Wasteland” thirty minutes ago and couldn’t wait to find the nearest bar. But if there was one thing that hadn’t stopped catching Butch off guard, it was the floaty sensation he would feel every time his eyes drifted back above his head.

Butch’s neck has been at an obtuse angle ever since his boots touched the Earth's soil, after having been met with the brightest thing he'd ever seen. The sun all but blinded him at the door. 

Three seconds. That's how long he can stare at the sun before he's felt the center of his irises burn and his eyes squint shut with tears. It always leaves these black spots in his vision that only change color when his eyes shut, oftentimes taking longer to disperse than the act itself to create them. You obviously were not meant to stare at the sun, no more than you would any other light, yet he can't help himself; he's never seen anything so distant and bright before in his life. 

It took some handful of minutes before his vision adjusted, his olive irises finally taking in the full glory of the clouds and sunlight soon after, tinted in green and ruin, with distant structures and D.C. monuments sitting still like an old painting. He took one deep breath of that stilted air, and with a single thought in mind, the same one as before, he swallowed heavily. 

...I'm gonna puke.

In a new world of horrors and monsters, both creature and man, Butch prepared himself to see things beyond his imagination as it would be a given. However, nothing could have prepared him for the sheer vastness of the sky above him. It was truly like nothing he’d ever seen before. Remarkable in every way… and completely nauseating.

Butch takes a moment on the road, watching as the merchant and his guards continue on their way without him. They seemed adamant on reaching… well, to be quite frank, Butch already forgot where. He knows they told him though, sort of. 

Honestly, the two-headed cow they’d been hauling all their junk on had been such a trip that it’d been the only thing he remembered of their first encounter. When he asked them what the fuck that was, they just laughed at him like he was stupid. So quickly, he learned his first lesson out here just from that interaction alone -- go with it. A lesson he's still learning.

“Hey, kid!” Butch looked up to see Lucas waving at him from the road ahead. “You still comin’ or what?”

Butch swallowed back the build-up of saliva that had begun to form from the nausea, before clearing his throat and fixing his expression into its usual sharp bit of bravado. “Yeah, yeah, I’m comin’.”

As Butch caught up to the merchants, he watched as Lucas continued to linger back, leaning in to speak to him. “It's a beautiful sight,” he said.

“What is?”

“The moon,” he smiles. “Sometimes.”

The moon is a beautiful sight. He’s only seen it in picture books and old pre-war videos he’d doze off to in class. The moon has always only been a picture and a word to Butch after all these years. But soon, that wouldn’t be the case, in just a few hours to come, in fact. Like a child whose curiosity has been piqued, that tough guy act of his quickly gave way to his innocent want to know more about all he's been missing out on. 

“So, how big is it anyway?”

Who knows where these people could be going; it was somewhere, and Butch could put up with anywhere at this point, especially after an hour straight of walking through ruins and nothing. Anywhere with a roof, preferably. And in the meantime, if Lucas will entertain him, then Butch had A LOT more questions than that.

…

“Is that a boat?”

The traveling merchant continued down the road, he and the other guard seemingly ignoring Butch's question… all except for Lucas. The man's got this excited look in his beady eyes all of a sudden. 

“That’s Rivet City.”

Butch's face twisted into an expression that sat less than pleased. “That beat-up pile of metal?” The old generator back in 101 looked in better shape…

“Yep,” Lucas says. “They've got rooms, grub, booze…  shops even…”

“They got a bar?” That had honestly been the most upbeat Butch’s voice had sounded since he first started talking to them. And from the way Lucas smirks afterward, it hadn’t gone unnoticed. 

“That's right,” he said. “The Muddy Rudder. Best booze you can get East side of the river, I'd say.”

“Well, why didn’t you say that?” Smugly, Butch shoved his hands into his vault suit pockets and picked up his pace. At this point, he didn't need them anymore; the city's right there.

“You heading up then?” Lucas asks him. He and the others seemed prepared to set up a temporary shop right outside the city entrance. A smart move business-wise, but not what Butch planned on doing out here.

“What else would I be doing?” Butch says, keeping on his slow walk towards the metal stairway to the gate. It stretched about two stories high, a pale comparison to the beached aircraft carrier he was about to enter. 

“Well, if you're headin’ up, you'll want this.”

Butch turned, only to have his reflexes tested as the guard tossed him a small pouch, which he barely caught. Once in his hands, he untied the bag, his frown growing immeasurably once he saw the items inside. 

“Bottle caps?” he said. “What, are you giving me your garbage now?”

“No wise-ass,” Lucas chuckled. “That's how you're gonna pay for your booze, kid.”

It took Butch a few seconds before the words finally clicked in his head, but once they did, he looked back down at the caps, rationalizing the information. 

“You guys use garbage to pay for shit now?”

“No, you dumbass, we use bottle caps.”

“Why?”

“Look, kid, I don't make the rules, I just follow them.”

“Fair enough, I suppose…” Butch looks down at the pouch, feeling a sudden weight to them against his palm. A handful of caps. Money. He looks back towards Lucas from the steps, a large smile on his face. “Thanks, Lewis.”

Lucas goes to open his mouth but holds whatever thought he had to himself, grinning instead. “Just spend it wisely. Money don't come easy out here.”

“I'll keep that in mind!”

All things considered, Butch had to admit that even the outside of Rivet City looked astounding. The largest structure he'd seen this close that wasn't a building; he could hear the creaking metal and the light lapping of the water against the rocky shore all the way from up the road, as the sun, now having started to set, began to tuck behind this behemoth mass of metal. It casts a shadow so large over the ruined roads of downtown D.C. that Butch could have easily mistaken it for night, had he been more clueless.

It hadn't been until he emerged atop the metal stairway leading to the boat's gate that he felt the warmth of the sun again, an orange fog building in the air. Had the intercom to the left of him not buzzed in suddenly, he might have stood there slack-jawed until sunset.

“Welcome to Rivet City,” a man’s voice speaks. “State your business.”

Shit. Butch hadn't thought this far ahead. He guesses he should have expected the cities to have some form of security, apocalypse aside. They’d be fools not to. On the fly, he couldn't think of anything better to say other than, “I just came for the bar.”

“We don't need any more drunks aboard. Got enough degenerates taking up way too much space as is.”

“I never said I was staying,” Butch argues. “I'm just stopping for a drink while the merchants set up shop out here.”

It's a half-truth… 

“Is that right? You some kind of mercenary then?”

…but it's a half-truth he can work with.

“That's right,” Butch says. 

A few seconds of silence pass before there's suddenly a loud knocking noise, like old metal gears trying to turn. And to Butch’s amazement, he watched as a great metal bridge slowly swings out towards him, before the intercom speaks once more.

“Don't cause any trouble,” they warn. “Welcome to Rivet City.”

It was a shaky first step onto the boat's bridge, his mind feeling the metal swaying below him. If he had any reason to walk any faster across it, it was so that he didn't get nauseous, feeling the world sway around him, now in every way possible.

Nearing the entrance, the guard that had spoken to him came more into view, a larger man clad in black armor and riot gear, his assault rifle sitting well-trained in his hands. Butch hadn't even reached the deck before the city guard started to speak to him.  “You don't look much like a mercenary,” they say. “Were you bullshittin’ earlier?”

Butch imagined he must look pretty underdressed for a mercenary. Here this guy was armed to the teeth, and Butch was just out here in his jumpsuit and leather jacket. But he's gone too far into this lie to turn back now, so he plays the part and straightens up.

“Obviously,” he says. “What, we're judging people's fashion now?”

The guard gives Butch another look, their eyes drifting up and down and lingering with disdain.

“Just don't bother the residents.”

Butch smirks.

“Aye, aye, Captain!”

…

In Rivet City, 30 caps can get you a hot meal and a room for the night. Thirty caps will also get you five whole bottles of whiskey at the Muddy Rudder. So naturally, by his second bottle, Butch was beginning to wonder where it was he would be staying for the night. Certainly not in a hotel room, that's for sure. 

He's only been in the Muddy Rudder for maybe half an hour now, but he must admit it's already been the best place he's seen out here so far. Sure, it was cramped with the makeshift bar and all the chairs and tables awkwardly strewn about, and if the jukebox wasn't playing, then there'd be this constant creaking from the metal walls. Almost like the boat was about to sink. There were maybe two other patrons here, both of them on opposite sides of the room, and Butch had to keep from sniffing the air too much to avoid this rank smell that scented the place. It’s the 200-year-old underbelly of a boat, what else could you expect? 

The whisky was cheap and the bartender wasn't a tightwad; and after walking for nearly five hours straight, there's nothing more he could ask for right now than a one-way ticket away from his sobriety.

“Yo lady!” Butch playfully pounded his fist against the bar, feeling the empty glasses sprawled before him rattle. “How ‘bout another round?”

“How ‘bout you finish what you have there in your hand, kid,” Bonny, the older woman bartending him, snorts. The last thing she wanted was him passing out at her bar like this was a free room.

“Oh, come on. Don't be like that.” Butch dug into his pocket, ignoring that tight knot he felt in his gut at the ever-decreasing amount of caps he had left… which he only throws onto the table. “I'm a paying customer.”

Though her arms are crossed, her expression hanging with judgment and disapproval, she wasn't about to turn away some caps. She slides the money over for herself before grabbing another bottle of whiskey from the cabinet and sliding it towards the already buzzed Tunnel Snake. He made sure to wink at her before gingerly taking the bottle into his hand, earning a small grimace from the bartender in response.

In the midst of all of this, he hadn't noticed another patron enter the bar, nor had he seen them ogling him from across the room. Nothing had grabbed his attention until he felt a sudden dainty hand glide over his shoulder, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand.

“Looky here.” A woman saunters by, dressed in dark reds and blacks and a little less cloth for comfort, most likely a deliberate choice to attract eyes to her more flattering features. Features Butch's drunken mind makes quick work at finding. “Someone new,” she purred.

Funnily enough, Butch had the exact same thought cross his mind. To think he's been topside for an entire day and he's yet to see a single babe out here; just losers and old women thus far. He was just itching to see what kinds of women he'd been missing out on the surface. Surely they’d be hotter than Christine, maybe even Tanya.

The mystery woman takes a seat beside him at the bar, inviting both herself and her strong stench to the area. He hadn't even made eye contact with her before he could smell her from across the seat, her scent practically burning all his nose hairs away. It takes everything to keep his face from wrinkling. One whiff of her passive smell was all it took to wake him sober.

“Would you buy a girl a drink?” she smiles. “I'm Trinnie.”

Upon closer inspection, she isn't ugly. If he were scaling all the girls he's either been with or at least sized up, then he would say that she's hotter than Amata, but nowhere near Christine. Half her straw blond hair was falling off her head (with what little she did have put into these two ratty-looking pigtails; some poor attempt to salvage a hairstyle), and the different shades on her skin would suggest she probably needed to bathe. But that red crop top sweater she had on was doing her MANY favors, and she did have a smile that was easy on the eyes too, with irises that were a kind of blue he'd yet to be familiar with…

Now he had some pretty low standards, but she was really testing those limits.

“Trinnie, huh,” Butch smirks to himself lightly. “Do I get something for it?”

Now normally when Butch would ask a girl that question, one of two things happened: they get all flustered and melt like putty in his hands, or they turn him down flat. He's only ever had the girls in the vault to contend with after all. So when Trinnie did neither of those things, but instead leaned in closer to him and whispered, “That all depends on what you want, handsome,” it's safe to say it leaves him a bit out of his element.

Suddenly flustered but not wanting to show it, Butch merely chuckles under his breath and takes another sip from his whiskey.

“Jesus, well, aren't you forward.”

“Hey, you're the one who asked, kid,” she nags. “But seriously, please. Just one drink. I can make it worth your while.”

Trinnie leaned in further, attempting to close in the already small gap between them. Butch in response leans back, brow turning towards sharp disdain.

“Find someone else to mooch off of,” he says.

The woman's mood shifted from feigningly pleasant to fumingly irritated in a split second.

“Tightwad!”

And like that, she stood from the bar and made herself comfortable at one of the other tables behind him. Not that it mattered much where she moved; the vibe of the entire place shifted the second he remembered he only had 13 caps left to his name. If anything, he needed an excuse to dip out.

Perhaps that guy Lucas has something interesting for him…

…

… Evidently, Lucas hadn't put much thought into Butch once he entered the city. Hardly a second passed by when he stepped out of the front entrance and into the cold outside world, in which he heard one of the city guards call to him suddenly.

“Looks like they left without you,” he said.

Butch paused, his mind trying to process what he'd just been told. 

“What?” he said aimlessly.

“Those merchants you came in with,” the guard said. “They dipped out not too long ago. Guess they didn't need you anymore.”

They didn't need you anymore.

Butch can't help but laugh to himself at that, as defeated the sound of his own voice tasted on his tongue. His gaze shifts off towards the ruins of D.C., most of the skyscrapers appearing as dark shadows far from reach. Like long, black walls, echoing distant gunfire and bomb detonations. Distant chaos his ears could not quite make sense of, yet. 

Another lesson he's learned quickly, and it hasn't even been 24 hours yet: you're on your own out here.

What else had he expected from those merchants anyway, for them to wait for him? It's not like they hired him in the first place. Still, no goodbyes or nothing… it's safe to say Butch shouldn't get sentimental if they weren’t feeling that way themselves. So instead, he smiles. 

“That just means I'm back on the market, baby.”

The guard laughs; it’s up to interpretation if that had been at Butch or with him. “That's the spirit, kid.”

And like that, he was alone again.

Suddenly feeling aimless, Butch finds himself slowly wandering out towards the walkway, his breath holding tightly at the sight of the sky once more. The moon should be out at this time if he's not mistaken. As dorky as it felt, he'd been secretly keeping track of the time, waiting for the night to be just right as they'd say.

Butch pauses in front of one of the many rusted railings of the ship carrier, letting his arms dangle over. With an excited, small breath, he tilts his head back and prepares himself for a sight above he was fast growing familiar with -- gray, bland, nothing. 

The clouds were so thick in the sky that you couldn't see the moon through them even if you tried. Instead, the sky appeared like a black abyss above him, with dark gray clouds whipping by in the low wind.

One thought crossed Butch’s mind, a similar thought as before, and yet a new one all the same… this kind of blows. 

Thus far, nothing has lived up to his expectations; not the sky, not the travel, not the money, not the people, not the women… especially not the women. Frankly, everything's been so drastically not what Butch had prepared for that he didn't really know what to do with himself right now. Because there honestly wasn't anything he actually needed to do right now. He's never had such freedom before, and now it feels like he’s drowning in it.

As he leaned over the railing, watching the dark waters below lap against the boat silently, gray clouds building above, another frequent passing thought ran by him. 

I wonder where Tanya is right now…

Ah, Nosebleed. Though he isn't sure why, he half expected to see her by now… somewhere. He hasn't seen her anywhere, ever since she last left the vault, for the second time that is. But man, does the radio not shut up about her. 

Who knew that little crybaby could be so popular; it seems everything she's gotten into has been chronicled in some shape or form, seasoned by Three Dog's flashy storytelling. On and on he goes about the “Hero of the Wastes” and her misadventures, treating her like some comic book hero. 

Butch had the hardest time picturing that same kid he used to bully all throughout his childhood actually surviving out here, let alone making a name for herself. Like many in the vault, he too had written her off for dead the second she decided to go after her father. But she always had a knack for proving people wrong, Butch knew that better than anyone now.

If anything, listening to that man ramble about her all day really got Butch thinking -- that could be HIM on the radio being bragged about, instead of some crybaby. He figures it must be easy if she could do it.

Yeah, then Butch could give Three Dog something to yap about other than a goody-two-shoes saving kittens from trees and helping old people cross the D.C. ruins. Something that’s really cool and worth mentioning. And luckily for everyone, Butch already had a three-step plan for his path to riches and glory.

First things first, he needed a gang, where he'd be the leader, of course. Once he's got the muscle, next he'll need the money, then the fame should come easily after that. Naturally, it needed some more detailing, but hey, one step at a time, right? Butch understood the patience and planning this kind of thing takes more than anyone, having been doing so his whole life in the vault. How much different can it be?

You have no idea how many idiot Raiders are out there…

Tanya said that to him the last time they spoke, almost like she was doubting him. Well, no one said his gang would be full of idiots, not if he has any say in the matter. And if there's one person he wanted to prove wrong, who better than the “Hero of the Wastes”?

A fire burns in Butch suddenly, making him smile at the night sky. The cold air makes his flush cheeks a rosy pink, his teeth wanting to chatter, but he doesn't care. He's got a lot of planning ahead of himself tonight, step by step.

Chapter Text

Maybe the vault did have a few things going for it after all… as little as that list goes. For starters, at least the Overseer didn’t let the vault become a dump.

The people living in Rivet City keep all sorts of junk out in the halls and walkways, as though it were their own, personal trash bins. Butch can’t help but accidentally kick over glass bottles or stomp through stray, empty cans whenever making his way around this stinky tub, only to have some local or a guard tell him to “Watch it!”, as though he was about to knock over an inexpensive piece of art. And it didn’t help that this creaky boat was harboring far too many residents either, of whom were rude, stupid, or stoned out of their gourds, moreso than anyone he’s ever met before.

It was damn near shoulder-to-shoulder some days, as he’d begun habitually making his routes to the Muddy Rudder every evening. That walk has quickly become a typical mixture of frowns, greetings, and complaints. And if ONE more sweaty, smelly local brushes against him with their B.O., he might just lose it. Here he thought he’d smelled a few stenches in his life, but his nose was fast growing accustomed to all sorts of new bodily scents he hadn’t wished to be familiar with. And give or take a few more days of lackluster upkeep and Butch feared he’d soon be joining the stench himself.

He’s already taken drastic measures involving his own hygiene and daily routine, though he’ll damn himself forever for not bringing more with him. Hygiene, evidently, was seen as a luxury topside, meaning working showers with soap and shampoo were both in high demand, extremely rare to find, and disgustingly not taken care of. The showers in Rivet City may as well be a hazard zone of spills and stenches, thus marking this the third day he’s gone without a shower. He's felt less than appealing, to say the least.

He’d gotten close to showering last night. After 9 P.M., most residents were in bed, leaving the rest of the ship mostly vacant, minus a few roaming guards. Butch wanted to make this shower quick, just to test the waters (no pun intended). If all goes well, he’d just resort to showering at night for the time being. Things were looking up on his short journey there… until he rounded the corner and caught one of the residents shooting up Psycho by the drains.

Butch recognized him as Paulie Cantelli, only because the other residents liked to treat his life like a hot tidbit of gossip. That tends to be the case when you’re a drug store owner AND a drug addict on a boat. The man damn near looked OD’d when Butch arrived, though the sudden presence of this nineteen-year-old boy so late in the night quickly woke the addict from his stupor.

“Whoa there!” A few syringes went spilling onto the cracked tiled floors around Paulie as he spoke, sending him scrambling. “You need something?”

Butch had one foot already out the door by the time he replied. “Don’t worry about it, man.” He remembers walking back to the bar that night both pissed he didn’t get to shower, and too tired to really give a damn.

And as if not being able to shower hadn’t already been an unexpected fork in the road, the food out here made the meals back in the vault look like five-star dining. These wastelanders couldn’t cook for shit; it’s like folks just fry up whatever meat they can scrap up off the road! Two-hundred-year-old Cram and Salisbury Steak had Butch damn near keeling over by the end of every night, and he hadn’t even wanted to humor the Mirelurk meat.

He told himself he’d made his first AND last visit to Gary’s Galley the other night, when he’d told them to give him something with some actual flavor and Angela, the blond waitress that had been giving him googly eyes since his arrival, brought him back a lizard with a stick shoved through it.

“What the hell is this supposed to be?” he’d asked.

“Iguana,” she answered.

“Iguana?”

“Iguana,” she repeats.

“What the fuck is an iguana?”

Butch didn’t try Iguana on a stick until his fourth night being here, after he’d finally grown sick of the old canned food they had to sell down in the market. When he went to bed that night with less of an upset stomach than the last few nights before, he’d decided that Iguana would be his meal of choice for at least the next week… and there on after as well, if he can’t find anything better to replace it with…

… Or at least until he runs out of money to afford it, given what little he had left with him. Had he not been trading random trash he’s managed to find “misplaced” in the halls when the guards weren’t looking, he would have run out of caps two nights ago. Yet even that’s starting to not pay well, leaving him with very few options beyond one of the many things he’d been trying to avoid since coming up here- a job.

Thankfully for him, however, this boat did provide such an opportunity, as unglamorous as that opportunity turned into.

DAY FIVE

“Hey, kid!” That fast-growing familiar howl from Belle Bonny quickly pulled Butch's attention back toward the bar. “That's enough for today,” she said. “Go ahead and wrap up.”

You didn't have to tell him twice. Butch dramatically slouched his shoulders and exhaled, before throwing the broom away in its usual corner, and then taking his seat in his equally usual spot at the bar. He didn't even bother counting his money before divvying out half for Bonny to pass him a drink—the smallest of rewards.

One look around and you honestly couldn't tell the difference between what Butch cleaned and what mess had been left there before, beyond a few scattered chairs and empty bottles "straightened up" to look more decorative. No matter, Butch sat down at the bar as though he'd just single-handedly carried out the entire 10-hour schedule of a Mr. Handy behind on its work. Mentally, he may as well have. 

All things considered, however, this had been a nice set-up he’d conned his way into. At least, for now. When he proposed offering a hand around the bar in exchange for booze, he half expected Bonny to tell him to kick rocks; that’s what he would have probably done in her shoes. Yet to his surprise, she hadn’t needed much convincing on the matter.

“How about I help out around here and you can put it on my tab or something,” Butch had suggested. With zero caps to his name two days ago, he’d been a lot more desperate than he wanted to let on.

Of course, Bonny had been unamused by this at the start. “What?” she’d snorted. “You mean like a job? I don't do tabs.”

“I'm not looking for nothing long-term,” Butch shrugged. “I'm just… not plannin’ on leaving yet and I'm short on caps…”

“So you want a job then?”

“... I guess so. Yeah.”

Two outcomes could have happened at this point, both of which Butch would have been prepared to deal with (he believes). But as luck would have it, something had swayed the woman. Butch liked to imagine his charms were just that good, especially with the women.

“You can start by picking up all the leftover bottles on the tables,” she told him. “Drinks come AFTER it's clean in here. If you get tired, there should be some extra cots in the mid-deck area.”

And like that, Butch had found himself a new job; from barber to custodial work. It was a good deal, so long as the drinks kept coming.

He's fast grown a liking to whiskey; it gets him drunk the fastest and the aged taste to it wasn't shit like with the other drinks. It was also a plus that it was the cheapest drink on the menu too. The vault had often favored beer and vodka, contrary to old-fashioned whiskey, for reasons lost 200 years ago. Butch only knew that so long as he was out here, he didn't even want to hear about the vodka on the menu; he'd had enough of it back home.

“So is this your plan then, kid?” Bonny breaks his train of thought by finally sliding him over a glass and a bottle. She doesn't even bother pouring the shots for him anymore. “Cleaning and drinking?”

“For now anyway,” Butch says, before pouring himself a glass that brimmed at the rim. “Keeps you in business, don’t it?”

Bonny lets out a light huff and grins. “You won’t hear me complainin’, as long as you keep doing what you're asked... And you keep things nice with Trinnie.”

“There’s absolutely nothing to worry about, trust me," Butch groaned. "I ain’t interested.”

Just last night when Butch came back down to the bar to crash on one of the spare beds in Bonny’s bunk did Trinnie try to pull another fast one on him. She waited until he’d been drunk and tired to start flirting with him again, this time, and for a second, it nearly worked. She sat at the end of his bed, eyelashes fluttering, shirt loose, and a hand dangerously resting on his thigh, continuously rising and making the blood rush in more places than one. Mostly to his burning cheeks. He’d felt himself leaning in too, until he smelled her breath again. It’s safe to say the comment he made immediately after justified the smack to his right cheek; it stung even the morning after.

Bonny meant to ask Trinnie about her sudden attitude this morning, however, after seeing the faint bruising on Butch's face, she'd gotten all the answers she'd needed. The young man was a loser. But between the two of them, it might be safe to say Bonny might have a soft spot for the reckless abandon types.

“Should I expect you to be a permanent employee then?” she asks.

“Hell no,” Butch grunts out dramatically. “I'm out of here the second I get my crew going.”

Now, Bonny laughs. “Your crew?”

“That’s right,” Butch says, only this time he sits up in his chair before fixing himself another shot. He wasn't about to let some old hag start dissing him now, even if he needed the money. “Just you wait. I'm about to have the baddest gang you've ever seen out here.”

“Right,” she says. “Sure, kid. Well, if you're staying then I'm upping your hours and charging you full price for the bed. I'm not giving you free room and board.”

Butch thought about protesting, he even thought about saying something smart, that way he'd leave the conversation feeling more on top. Yet somehow he knew that would only be a waste of time.  No doubt Bonny must think he's full of shit, as she's heard this kind of talk from patrons a dozen times over. After knowing Butch for five days, she could safely say that there wasn't anything special to him. More than likely, he'd be working here the rest of his life, scraping by whatever caps he can make and flushing down the monotony with alcohol, just like every other kid who runs away from home trying to prove a point. 

Well, that's where she's wrong.

The Wasteland ain't seen nothing like Butch yet, and people like Bonny only made him more excited to get everything in motion. He'd already started talking to some of the other residents who looked like they might know a thing or two about gangs out here, which had mostly been the retired mercenaries and cynical guards. 

Brock, the bouncer, mentioned Raiders, as did most of the guards and residents. Butch didn't run into any of them on his way here, and from what he's heard, he should be thankful. But they seemed more like loose bands of crazed savages and slavers than gangs. Nothing organized or worth giving a damn about. So if that's what the competition looks like out here, then Butch figures that maybe he's got a shot afterall. It was good knowledge to have either way.

“You see a raider, you run the other direction,” they told him, sparing no details regarding all the creative things they'd do to his body if he got caught out in the wrong places.

“Well,” Bonnie decides to keep talking, having now gone to wipe down the bar. “I don't know what 'crew' you think you'll find here. The only tough guys you'll get around these parts are washed-up, old drunks, and even they're not gonna wanna partner up with some greeny with less experience in the Capitol than a baby born three weeks ago.”

“Man,” Butch grins. “You really know how to lift a man up, huh?”

“I'm just being real with you,” she said. “Rivet City ain't exactly a hub for wannabe thugs.”

Which is exactly why he won’t be staying long. Pride and drink alone would proceed to have Butch yapping on about this topic for another five minutes, before Bonny was at her wit's end with the whole thing and, in less than polite terms, told him to fuck off for the night. By that time, Trinnie had just popped in and already begun glaring at him, which only mutually ended both the conversation and his time in the Muddy Rudder for the evening… once he finished this bottle.

Of course, Trinnie could never take a hint, or rather she’d begun to find it amusing to poke at Butch whenever the opportunity arises. Whatever the reason, the man keeps his eyes forward as he hears her placing herself in the seat next to him. She pretends to ignore him, though that would have been more believable had she sat anywhere else at the bar. Still, Trinnie was never one to mix up her priorities.

“Belle~” she coos. “Pass me a glass too, won’t ya?”

“You got caps for that glass?” Bonny asks plainly. She’s already felt too lenient with Trinnie’s drinking habits as of late, so the girl couldn’t get away with it every night. That previous stance soon falls once she sees Trinnie slide a couple of caps across the table towards her.

“There,” she said. “Happy?”

Bonny takes the caps without a second thought. “Take it easy tonight, alright?”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” Trinnie barked back. “You’re not my mother. God damn.”

Butch can’t help but take another sip from his drink and shake his head silently. Seems drunks came in all shapes and sizes, both above and below ground. Five days ago Butch would have looked at someone like Trinnie and found her pretty pathetic, which admittedly he still kind of does. But every so often, he can’t help but feel this odd sense of unwanted nostalgia listening to her drunken rambling these past few nights.

His mother comes to mind.

He’s tried not to think about what she might be doing right now. He hopes she isn’t drinking too much, or that she did not mourn him. Did she even care anymore, he wondered. No doubt the others have already gone on living without him, already growing used to the halls being just a little quieter, or the drama just a bit less chaotic. They probably prefer things this way… they probably think he’s already dead.

Well, he isn’t, and as a big “Fuck you” to everyone down there who thinks that, he downs the rest of his drink, letting the burn seering his throat and wincing eyes toast him to another night of not being dead, and being one step closer to fulfilling his dreams.

“Oh brother,” Trinnie suddenly groans.

When Butch follows the woman’s gaze, he finds himself soon met face to face with an overly excited four-legged creature that seemed to waddle in his direction like a longtime friend. He believes they called these things dogs; vault tech didn’t seem all that interested in including household pets into the moving-in package, so there was an array of animals Butch needed to familiarize himself with still. 

The dog stopped just short of Butch's knee, its curiously large eyes having not left him since first spotting him. After some heavy debating, Butch eventually decided to reach out and “pet” the creature, as his fingers awkwardly combed through the short hairs of the dog. Its dirt and muck leave a dusty residue on his palm right after, which he wipes away on his vault suit. Funnily enough, however, this dog did almost look familiar, almost like he’d seen it before…

“Dogmeat?”

A voice calls from the entrance above, a woman's voice. One so striking to the ear, that it had felt like a bolt of lightning struck Butch the second her words reached him. It couldn't be, could it?

A pair of boots start down the metal steps, before rounding the corner into the bar, and for the first time in five days, since Butch has stepped foot out into this Wasteland, he feels his heart skip a genuine beat. He sits up in his seat, his gaze traveling up each step of the stairwell at each passing heartbeat he had.

“Tanya?”

Her dark brown eyes finally find his, and he can't help but notice the way they light up the instant she recognizes him.

“Butch?” she said.

For a few seconds, she just stood there slack-jawed and wide-eyed, but the sight had felt so nostalgic to see that it damn near put Butch at a loss for words. She looked the same as she did before, maybe a bit dirtier, and a bit more tired as well. But even underneath all that dirt and leather armor, Butch soon finds that he would always be able to recognize her face, an unknowingly comforting thought.

Before he could finally speak, however, Tanya had suddenly started to smile. The next thing he knew, she'd practically skipped his way, pulling him into a warm embrace that happened so fast that it had been over before Butch could even step out of his seat. Not the reaction he would have expected from her, seeing as she hadn’t done that when she revisited the vault a few weeks back. Still, its sudden nature couldn’t hold back the smirk that grew on his lips once he finally could get another look at her.

“Well,” he said. “If it isn’t my best gal, the one that sprung me from the vault! I think I owe this lovely lady a drink.”

He doesn’t even think twice before sliding the last of today’s earnings over to Bonny for another bottle to share. She can’t help but smirk at him as she takes his money. “You know her?” she asks.

“Boy, don't I,” Butch can’t help but laugh a little at that comment. “I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for her.”

Bonny nods with a rather mocking sense of approval. “Is that right?”

“Oh, that's definitely true,” Tanya chimes in. “He was always too scared to come out here on his own before-”

“Like hell I was!” Butch retorts. “Don't listen to her bullshit, OK? She's a natural-born liar.”

“Am not,” she scoffs.

A small chuckle escapes the bartender's lips upon hearing their bickering. “Ah, I see now,” she says. Had Butch not been so distracted by Tanya’s sudden presence, he might have asked Bonny what she meant by that.

Tanya didn’t need much convincing before she pulled out a chair of her own to sit next to him, to his surprise. The last time they spoke, she couldn’t have been more in a hurry to handle her business and leave; it left little to no room for any real talking in the past. Now, suddenly, she's acting all buddy-buddy, a curiosity to Butch.

“How did you get all the way down here?” she asked.

“Same way anyone does,” he said. “By being too cool to stop anywhere! I didn’t see anything in the Wasteland that was a match for a bonafide Tunnel Snake.” And then he cheered, and the goofy smile that grew on Tanya’s face immediately after felt so familiar that for a second it didn’t even feel like he’d left the vault at all. “So here’s to freedom and rocking the Wasteland! Drink up!”

The two clink their bottles together and then promptly throw them back in a celebratory toast. Funnily enough, Butch couldn’t recall a time when he’s ever seen Tanya so eager to down a bottle of whiskey. Any time someone back in the vault was throwing a party (and she actually happened to be invited), she would always grab a Nuka Cola and call it a day. Now she downs the bottle as though she’s been a heavy drinker her whole life. Once the glass is set back on the table, however, Butch watches her nose wrinkled and her eyes scrunch at the burn in her throat as she swallows. That rough alcoholic taste is still an unpleasant one to be had, it seems. So some things never change.

“So what about you, then?” he says. “This place doesn’t look much like your scene.”

“I could say the same to you,” she said. “Wasn’t being tied down to a place the exact opposite of what you wanted?”

“I’m not staying,” he shrugs. “I’m just crashing here while I start my gang up.”

“Your gang?” Tanya rolls her eyes and smirks. “You're still doing that?”

Now it’s Butch’s turn to give Tanya a funny look. “Hell yeah I am,” he says. “All I need is a few guys, and then I can take this Wasteland by storm! Just you wait.”

Trinnie laughs from across the bar, having been not-so-secretly eavesdropping on the conversation. Ever since Tanya stepped foot down here, she’s been glaring and making faces, clearly feeling threatened by the presence of another woman talking to the latest piece of eye candy to take residence on this rusty, old tub. “You see what we’ve had to listen to for the past couple of days,” Trinnie teases.

“Try listening to this for over a decade," Tanya joked. "It’ll drive you mad.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Butch pouts. “Like you’d know anyway. Why are you even here?”

“I was in the area and figured I could wrap up a few things before I head back out again,” she said. “Shouldn't take me too long.”

“Well if that's all you're doing, then you mind if I tag along?”

Now she raises an eyebrow.”Oh?”

And this, of course, offends the man. “Oh?” he questions. “What, are you saying no?”

“That's not it,” she said. “I just didn't expect to hear you ask.”

“Traveling with you sounds better than staying here,” he shrugged. “If it gets lame, I’ll just come back anyway.”

“Oh, I see,” Tanya grins now. “You just want to come with me ‘cause you’re bored.”

“Why else would I?”

It was a question that felt a lot colder once he said it out loud, despite not fully meaning for it to come off that way. Still, Tanya’s come a long way from when Butch knew her last in the vault. He half expected to hear her snap back at him in offense, or even refuse the offer completely. Just as he would in her shoes, probably. What reason would she have to keep him around? She’d left him in the vault, along with everyone else.

But rather than deny him, or even be rude, she simply nods and downs the remainder of her drink, before turning to him and saying. “I guess you wouldn't have another reason.”

“So… can I?”

Tanya spent the next few seconds pretending to ponder the question, though from her smile it was clear her mind had already been made up. “Tell you what,” she says, as she stands from her seat, preparing to leave. “Let me go finish up what I’m doing real quick. When that’s done and over with, I’ll come get you. Sound good?”

“I gotta wait for you now?” Butch groans.

“I won’t be long,” Tanya rolls her eyes. “Should give you enough time to ready up, anyway.”

“If you say so.”

Tanya laughs to herself at that, and it makes Butch wish she couldn’t see how it had made him straighten up more eagerly in his seat right after.

“I can already tell I’m gonna regret this,” she jokes, and then, she parts with a final and small farewell, leaving Butch at the bar with an awkward half-smile on his face. 

I can already tell I’m going to regret this… funny how they’d been thinking the same thing.

Chapter Text

A memory came to Butch that night, or a dream more like. A time not so long ago, yet so distant to him all the same. The first night Tanya had left the vault, and the last night Butch could say that he knew her. 

The end of the beginning of the rest of their lives.

That night flashes in and out of Butch’s memory like a foggy nightmare. It was difficult putting together every fine detail, given the chaos that ensued, though bits and pieces would remain in the young man's mind. He won’t forget the blaring alarms or the flashing lights, or the Overseer’s droning voice, demanding as ever, practically threatening the residents to remain inside. The security had all but forced him back into his mother’s room when he tried returning to his quarters, a decision Butch would unknowingly be thankful for later that night. 

Security flooded the halls, running back and forth like chickens with their heads cut off. Any shouting heard had most likely been them yelling at residents too daft to listen to the rules, at first. Butch could hardly complain about the tyranny of it all before things began to take a turn for the worst… when the radroaches crawled out from the dark. 

Radroaches… The sheer thought of them never ceases to make Butch shudder. One thing he would never forget about that night would be those mutated bugs.

He wasn’t sure what he disliked most about them; if asked, Butch would most likely say everything. He hated how loud they clicked and screeched, with their vile, chattering noises that seemed to vibrate off the concrete walls just as loudly as the alarms themselves. They left an odor like nothing he’d ever smelled before, a mix of something pungent and rancid. And as if their sheer size hadn’t already been ridiculous, they could also fly. A cruel consequence of man’s destruction 200 years ago.

But a dislike for them grew just as easily into fear and disgust after seeing what damage they could do to the human body. Nothing could have prepared Butch for the sheer terror of it, and that night their timing couldn’t have been more perfect.

With the guards completely distracted and scattered, the halls had been free for their perusal, as they slipped through the cracks of the vault doors like a growing infestation, clicking and gnawing at anything in sight. Their mandibles tore through flesh like wet tissue paper, eating indiscriminately and leaving behind a trail of blood and filth. Whatever they didn’t eat would later rot and puss with infection, with those who managed to survive their gruesome encounters later passing away from fever, not even 48 hours later. 

Eaten or sickened, Butch couldn’t imagine a worse fate…  A fate his mother had nearly shared, due to his own incompetence.

A bottle of vodka had shattered on the ground before Butch could hear her screaming. By the time he’d entered her room, the radroaches had already swarmed her bed, as they took turns trying to pick at her. They tore and ripped at her vault suit, yanking, pulling, and trying to bring her to the ground for them to feast on. 

Her eyes met his in the doorway, and never in his entire life had he seen her so afraid. Yet he wonders if she could see just how terrified he had been as well. He dreams of that moment at times, hearing the kicking, the screaming, her crying out his name for help, while all he had on him was his switchblade. 

When he tried to stab one, the blade did nothing more than scratch the skin, before it turned to him, its mandibles outstretched toward his ankle. Ready to have a bite at him. Had he not stepped back out of the room, there’s no doubt in his mind that he would have been swarmed himself. Or that’s how he justifies running away after. And had he not run into Tanya, as much as it shamed him to say, he’s almost positive his mother would have perished.

Tanya had emerged from the restrooms down the hall, having snuck through them to avoid Officer Kendall, who’d only been around the corner. She’d looked like she’d seen a ghost, the way she gawked at Butch once he approached, gripping her baseball bat so tightly that her hands were shaking, her knuckles white. No doubt, if there was anyone she didn’t want to see that night, it was Butch, he could be sure of that much. And had he not nearly been in tears, who’s to say she wouldn’t have accidentally swung on him, mistaking him for one of her adversaries. But given everything going on, there was very little time for her to pick and choose her interactions. A mutual predicament between the two.

He stepped close enough to Tanya to see her eyes widen at his invasion of her space, and with clenched-fisted and misty eyes, for the first time in his entire life, he begged her, “Please! I know I've always been a jerk towards you. I know it! But you can't walk away and let her die! Just because I was an asshole. Please... I'm begging you.”

Now Butch had never begged for anything in his life; the act itself felt beneath him in many ways. However, he wouldn’t lose his mother over pride, not when she’s been the only thing in his life to actually care for him and give a damn. So when he bumped into Tanya, frantic and out of any useful ideas outside of going back inside himself, begging for help had never felt more natural of a thing to do.

For a moment, Butch fully expected Tanya to tell him off. As much as he would have resented her for it back then, he can’t say he would have blamed her for it now. After all, here he was, her number one tormentor for the past twelve or so years of her life -- and here she was, desperate, confused, emotional, and on the run. He was surprised she even stopped to hear him out in the first place… 

…And yet she did.

“Alright, I'll help,” she said. “But I'm doing this for your mom, NOT for you.”

With a single deep breath, Tanya took her baseball bat, headed towards his mother’s bedroom, and with just a few swings, saved her from the radroaches, without expecting so much as an award or even a thank you. As though the past fifteen years had no longer meant anything to her… 

Before tonight, Butch saw Tanya the same way he’d seen her since their very first encounter: as some scrawny, pipsqueak, goodie-two-shoe, crybaby that no one in the entire vault seemed to like, apart from Amata. Tanya had been THE pariah of all pariahs, a true-born victim in Butch’s eyes. Weak and utterly lacking in depth. A nobody. Names like “Nosebleed” just came naturally to someone like her, so how can you respect someone like that, Butch always wondered. He never thought this view of her would ever change.

But Butch gave her his leather jacket, as a small attempt of his to thank her. He’d even gone out of his way to lie to Officer Kendell about her whereabouts when the guard had suddenly wandered into his hall once more. There were so many questions he wanted to ask Tanya that night, yet he could see in her eyes that her mind had no longer been there with him, but elsewhere. Outside. She didn’t even say goodbye afterward…

… And he hasn’t thought of her the same ever since.

…

DAY SIX

“That’s all you brought with you?” Tanya’s nose had scrunched, her tone shifting with pure awe and dismay. 

Tanya couldn’t help but be baffled by the amount of gear he had on him, or lack thereof. To say Butch was the type to travel light would be the biggest understatement of this post-apocalyptic century, it seems. He practically had nothing! Though, the question caught Butch off guard. Embarrassingly enough, it even pissed him off a little. Enough to make his eyebrow twitch. 

Breakfast and supplies sounded like a better use of his time than sweeping the Muddy Rudder a few minutes ago. Though, it wouldn’t take much for Butch to reconsider his decision to tag along. Fifteen minutes have gone by since they seated themselves at Gary’s Galley, and Tanya has already begun to try and sour the morning with her bitching. 

“That’s what I just said,” he retorted. “What’d you sound all bothered for?”

“I’m not bothered, it’s just…” Butch didn’t know what had started to piss him off more, her initial reaction or the fact that now he could tell she was trying not to laugh at him. “Not even Stimpaks?”

“What would I need that for if I don’t plan on getting hit in the first place?”

“And how would you manage that with no armor?”

“Easy,” Butch boasts. “I’m not an idiot, you know? Armor’ll just slow me down, so who needs it? Not me.”

“OK, Butch.”

“What?” Butch crossed his arms rather defensively. “You judging me now or somethin’, shrimp?”

“No, no,” she shrugs. “I'm just trying to figure out if we should stop at the market and buy you some more gear before we head out. Megaton’s not close.”

“I don't care what you do, as long as it means we can finally ditch this dump and hit the road already.”

Butch turned his attention back to the Iguana he’d been trying to eat before this conversation sparked, though his appetite has now been ruined. She’s been on one this entire morning, Butch could tell you that much. He can’t remember the last time he and Tanya bickered like this, maybe one or two years ago. They didn’t do much interacting after graduating, given their relationship. Now that they’re talking one-on-one again, he’s beginning to remember why that was.

He didn’t know what the big deal had been about his “lack” of equipment, nor did he care. Tanya’s been this way since they were kids, after all, and he was just as argumentative about it now as he was back then. She was being dramatic, or putting on some wiseass act to look tough, now that he was the one out of his element.

Though before now, the furthest he'd been away from home was only a few hallways away, back in the vault; he’d never even owned a backpack before. And why would he? If there’s one thing Butch NEVER wants to do, it’s carry around a bunch of junk on his back. As long as he had his switchblade, his 10mm, leather jacket, and a little comb in his pocket, he was set to travel anywhere he saw fit. Any more would just be excessive.

On the other hand, Tanya would disagree.

According to her, you need an entire pack of food, junk, and medicine on your person at all times if you even dream of traveling the Wastes, and that’s just basic equipment. Even if you’ve got the firepower to defend yourself and the Stimpaks to patch up after, your body would just be riddled with holes like Swiss cheese if you step foot out there without any proper armor. So traveling with just a knife and a pistol in his possession, in nothing but his leather jacket of all things, was practically suicide. He may as well be waving a giant, blinking sign, telling every raider in the area to rob him. 

Amid their bickering, Angela all but sneaks over to grab the empty glass bottles that had begun piling up on the table. Had Butch not heard her suddenly giggle as she took a step back from them, he wouldn’t have noticed the smirk on her face. Clearly, she’d been listening. 

Butch was ready to comment, however, to his surprise, Tanya beat him to it. “What's so funny?”

“Oh, nothing,” Angela grins. “I just couldn't help but hear you two talking; you bicker like an old couple.”

Immediately Tanya’s eyes land on Butch’s, who'd only done the same, as they both gave each other the most disgusted expressions conceivable. With zero hesitation, the two began to gag at the thought, speaking over one another.

“She wishes,” Butch teases.

“As if,” Tanya gags.

Angela only laughs and grabs the last empty glass on their table. Slyly, she says to them, “OK then,” before walking back off just in time to miss the second round of protests they had prepared. It was anyone’s guess if she actually believed them or not, but it would be a guess neither of the two would pursue further, nonetheless.

Butch rolled his eyes and continued chowing down on the third stick of Iguana he’d ordered. Believe it or not, Tanya had offered to pay this morning. So naturally, Butch took full advantage of that when he ordered five plates and a few whiskeys to follow. He may owe her a favor or two for saving his mom all those weeks ago, but he liked to think she owed HIM some incentive for having him tag alongside her. After all, he could be doing anything else. So if that meant she’d pick up his tab, then that would do for now. It wasn’t like Tanya had been eating, anyway. 

Tanya’s been sorting through her pack and sifting through imaginary lists in her head since they sat down. One minute, she’s counting bullets, and the next, she’s cleaning her rifle and loading her clips. After that, she sorts through her medicine, pulling out and putting away various syringes and pill bottles. Had Butch not known her prior, she would have looked like some kind of well-armed drug dealer, especially with how hyper-focused she'd been on her task at hand.

After a while more of the two just sitting there in silence, Butch couldn't help but comment, “What do you need all this shit for anyway?”

Tanya came to a dead halt,  just so she could look at Butch like he was an idiot. It wasn't like she'd just explained this to him minutes ago, giving her the impression that he hadn't been listening. Not a first-time occurrence for either of the two. “What do you think, Butch?”

“Look,” he made sure to finish the rest of his food before continuing with his point. “The smartass schtick doesn't suit you, Nosebleed. So, how about you just answer my question.”

For a moment, Tanya looked as though she were about to say something snarky back to him, reigniting old habits between the two. However, to no one’s surprise, his fellow vault dweller stood down, instead simply saying, “I'm not being a smartass, that's just a weird question to answer.”

“How exactly?”

Tanya put her thumb to her chin ponderously, attempting to think of the best way to explain herself to him. Give it to him baby-styled, so to speak. No doubt, it was easy to forget that Butch was now more fresh and new to the wasteland than she was.

“The answer’s just an obvious one, to me at least,” she said. “The way I see it, you can never be too prepared for the Wasteland. So, in a way, you can never have too much shit .”

“You make it sound so cryptic,” Butch nonchalantly rests his hands behind his head and begins leaning back in his chair. Tanya, much like everyone else he's talked to out here, seems to have some notion that the Wasteland is dangerous. Yet all Butch saw on his way here were some stray dogs and distant bloatflies. As disgusting as those things were, it had all been nothing, all the same. “Shit wasn't even that bad, last time I was out.”

“And when was that?”

Butch was prepared to answer her with his entire chest and say six days ago… until he realized how lame that might sound, given how long Tanya’s been topside already. “Why’s it matter? I’m still alive and thriving, baby.”

“Until you accidentally walk into a Super Mutant camp with just a 10mm pistol and a switchblade…” Tanya warns. “You’d be chopped up in two minutes flat. Seconds even--”

“Like hell I would!” Butch cuts in. He may not quite know what exactly a Super Mutant is, but it’s not like it's anything he can’t handle. “You’re forgetting who you’re talkin’ to, Nosebleed. I’m BUTCH and ain’t nothing’s gonna stop me. Besides, even if we do run into… what were they called? Super Mutants?”

“...Right.”

“Even if we do run into some Super Mutants, they won’t be a match for us Tunnel Snakes.”

Tanya can’t help but smile, his catchphrase sparking old memories, though Butch can tell she’s trying not to smile too much. Instead, she lets her eyes dip down to the table, where her hands begin to trace over her Nuka Cola bottle rather sweetly. She even laughs under her breath, a sound that could easily be mistaken for pity. Though Butch knew better…

… Which was a first.

“Well,” she said. “At least you’re optimistic.”

“You’re not?” Butch asks.

She’s quiet again, thinking, until she says suddenly, “Let me ask you something.”

“Let’s hear it.”

“Have you ever killed anyone before?”

“What?” Butch damn near fell out of his chair, hearing that question. Has he ever killed anyone before… a crazy thing to ask so unabashedly in the middle of a public area. Though it’s still very easy to forget he’s not in the vault when talking to Tanya now. “What the hell kind of question is that?”

“So no then?”

Butch opens his mouth, and then he closes it. As much as he wanted to argue with her, Tanya was right. He hasn’t killed anyone before. Or anything, for that matter. Even the thought of pulling the trigger on another human was enough to have him start to feel the whirlwind of today’s breakfast forming in the pit of his stomach. 

Up until the lockdown, he hadn’t even seen a dead body before, though he wouldn’t forget it. The security had to come through the halls to drag out all the bloodied bodies left behind by loose gunfire and radroaches, once the initial commotion from James and Tanya’s exit had died down. Bodies with faces of neighbors and old friends, frozen in the last expressions they’d made before death had taken them. Their skin had already begun to pale, with their limbs frozen and stiff like statues. Those first couple of nights had been the most death he’d seen in all of his life. Still, they’d already been dead by the time Butch discovered them, and them being dead was a whole lot different than them being dead because he killed them. 

“What about you?” he asks instead, rather than answer her question directly. “You put anyone six feet under yet?”

Tanya nods. “Sadly.”

“Was it easy?” he asked, an odd question, but one he had in fact wondered. 

As much as he’d like to act tough about it, he can’t imagine it’s easy pulling the trigger. Or what that weight felt like on the mind after a while. However, the thought of having to kill has crossed his mind from time to time since being out here. He’d be foolish not to ponder the reality of that.

So, Tanya’s response, as much as it hadn’t exactly been what he wanted to hear, came as no surprise. “It’s never easy,” she said. “But that’s why I’m trying to make sure we’re good and ready before we leave. Because no, it’s not easy.”

It’s not easy… 

With that said, Butch only sits back up in his seat again, and for the first time since they sat down, finally gives the girl his full, undivided attention. “Well… alright then,” he says. “So, what are we waiting for?”

Tanya smirks. “Follow me.”

Chapter Text

It has been exactly two hours since Butch left Rivet City with Tanya… the longest two hours of his life, he’d reckon.

The sun hangs high above them, with a heat beating down on Butch like nothing he's ever felt before. It makes his pits sweat beneath his leather jacket, which stuck to his skin uncomfortably, as he can physically feel his hair beginning to lose its shape with all this sweat and humidity. And as if that hasn't already started pissing him off, his feet were beginning to ache from all the walking.

By now, he’s seen all there was to see out here: a bunch of rocks, skeletons, and ruins, all in various shades of brown, grey, and green. Nothing worth getting excited about; it’s an ugly, God awful Wasteland. Even the sun shining above couldn't make this place welcoming; it only highlighted all the ugliness like a spotlight. On top of that, there was no excitement anywhere. Beyond the occasional mole rat, there hadn't been anything or anyone on the road to interact with, leaving him with just his thoughts and Galaxy News Radio to keep him entertained. Anyone living up here sober is insane.

The air smells like shit. Having to walk miles in between settlements was bullshit. Everything’s expensive as shit, and it was hard as shit finding any action. Everything was just.. well, shit. 

And even worse, Tanya hasn’t stopped talking since they crossed the river.

“The Anchorage Memorial is down that way,” Tanya points to their right, just as the two begin to pass a sign saying the exact same thing, as though Butch couldn’t read it himself. The small bridge heading that direction looked otherwise unremarkable, completed with tiny blast markings on the ground from old landmine detonations. “There’s some cool-looking statues over there, but I wouldn’t go that way if I were you.”

Butch finally brought it upon himself to look over to where she was pointing, though he felt zero excitement seeing yet another set of crumbling buildings and gray rocks on the other side of the river. At this point, he had no idea why she even bothered mentioning any of this to him in the first place. 

“Why?” he bickers out of boredom. “You think I can’t handle it?”

“Not alone,” Tanya says bluntly.

“Bullshit,” he protests. “There ain't nothin’ I can't handle.”

“The area’s swarming with Mirelurks and Centaurs.”

Butch pauses. “Centaurs?” For reasons unknown even to him, his interest peaks. Given the cakes they had back on the boat, he knew about the Mirelurks already (through word of mouth only). But Centaurs? “There’s horse people out here?”

Tanya does a poor job of hiding her laughter, though she tries. “In a Lovecraftian sense, I guess.”

Here she goes using big words he doesn't care about again. Butch wishes she could see him roll his eyes, though she's too busy walking ahead of him to look back. “If they’re not horse people,” he asks. “Then why are they called that?”

“Good question.”

“You don't know?”

“I've never asked,” she said. “That's just what people call them. They’re nasty-looking, though. They’re like… fleshy and warty-looking, with all these tongues protruding from their mouth that spit-”

“I can do without the description, Nosebleed. Jesus.”

“My bad,” she laughs once more. “We shouldn’t bump into those things too much, anyway. And they’re easy enough to kill, especially with the two of us.”

Butch merely smacks his lips together, as he keeps his chin held high. “If you say so.”

She’s been yapping to him about safety tips, rules, and other random shit since they passed the Citadel, and frankly, he was about ready to chop his ears off; he never knew she could talk so much. 

Back in the vault, it was always anger and vitriol from the two of them; nothing worth remembering. If he wasn’t calling her names and threatening her, then she was cursing his name, damn near in tears telling him to fuck off. This dynamic has been nothing short of a tale as old as time. Only now she’s suddenly done a 180 on him, talking to him about as much as she would with Amata. Except unlike her overseer friend, Butch could care less about what she had to say. 

Instead, he continues trying to tune her out with his radio, a task as annoying as swatting a persistent fly from your ear. He places his hands in his jacket pockets and simply stays a few feet behind, letting a growing frown rest noticeably on his face.

Looking at his surroundings, he could have sworn he recognized where they were. Specifically, the little red shack they were nearing. It was on a dock over the river, with the tables and chairs set up like a diner. Some old lady was perched against the shack walls like she owned the place, which she probably did. The merchants he’d traveled with before weren’t interested in stopping by, so this place came and went in his mind by the time they’d passed it last week.

“That’s Wilhelm’s Wharf,” Tanya interjects, yet again. “She doesn’t sell much stuff that’s any good, but she’s still a merchant if you need one-”

“Goddamn,” Butch finally snaps. “You gonna tell me about every piece of shit building we walk by? This might surprise you, poindexter, but I don’t care, so save it.”

Tanya grows silent for a moment, though Butch gladly welcomes it. It’s probably the quietest she’s been since they started walking. Once she’s found the right words to say, she glances back at him momentarily. “You’re right,” she said. “I have been talking a lot… I’ll cool it.”

Well, shit. Now he feels bad… kind of. He hadn’t expected that to be so easy. To be fair, this would have sparked an argument back in the day; the Tanya he knew before would have told him to shove it, which he would not have done. Her sudden compliance only catches him off guard.

“Glad we’re on the same page,” he said. Butch never was one to make something like that obvious, though.

The silence falls quickly between them, leaving nothing behind but their boots stamping against the dirt-covered road, Dogmeat’s paws tapping alongside them, and Galaxy News Radio blaring on his pipboy. The river grows farther behind with each step, as the hills ahead grow ever more. Nothing but distant ruins to paint the foreground. The same boring views he saw ten minutes ago down the road.

Butch couldn’t help but already reminisce the Muddy Rudder. Had he stayed, he would just be clocking out for the day and cracking open a bottle of whiskey. He’d drink until he couldn’t see straight, or he was out of caps, then he’d pass out in the nearest bed and repeat this the following day. An easy enough routine to fall into, he’s noticed. Instead, he’s out here walking with Ms. Talks-A-Lot, who hasn’t said a word to him now since he’s pointed it out.

She must be giving him the silent treatment; she hasn’t turned to look at him once since they left the river. It wouldn’t exactly be out of character for her, Butch would say. He can’t count how many times she’s tried it with him before. Instead, he sees her scan the surroundings, her rifle held before her like a professional. She never stops walking, and her head was always on the swivel.

When he’d see how intensely she was scanning the surroundings, Butch wondered if he should be doing the same. They are outside, after all. He looks to his left, seeing more hills and distant, torn-down, wooden houses, completed by another foreground of desolate, gray office buildings and factories. Copy and paste, and it had been the same view to his right as well. Man, the Wasteland sure does blow.

When he’s run out of things to look at, he finds his eyes dropping down to Tanya’s backside a lot more. He was still getting used to seeing her out of her vault suit. It catches him off guard now and then when he looks over at her, getting a hefty eyeful of her exposed midriff and bare legs. She’d cut up some brown overalls and turned them into shorts and a tank top, which barely covered the white crop top t-shirt she had on underneath, using a bunch of different belts and buckles to hold her entire outfit together. 

As far as fashion went, Butch guessed that what she had on would pass for… something... Really, all it was doing was making him realize that she's got a nicer body than he remembers. She’s tone, her skin a more golden brown, even underneath all the dirt and grime they’ve collected. Most likely from all the sun exposure she’s faced. Her dark brown, curly hair was longer now, too, and surprisingly flowy despite everything. She had it up in this high ponytail that bounced around a lot every time she stepped or moved her head. That much thick hair must be a bitch to comb through and style topside, and yet she somehow managed.

“Wake up, Wasteland!” A loud and familiar voice begins to blare from the radio, putting an end to the jazz music Butch had been using to sate his attention span. “It’s me, Three Dog, bringing you all the music and news your little hearts can handle.”

Butch listens relucatntly to Three Dog, seeing as the man’s voice was the closest thing to entertainment he was going to get at this current moment. Butch wouldn’t say so out loud, but believe it or not he has been enjoying the station; it’s ten times better than anything they ever played back in the vault. Plus, the news segments were surprisingly informative, even if a majority revolved around Tanya and her misadventures. She’s yet to comment on this, listening to it like she would with anything else. She must just be used to it.

“Tinfoil hat time, children,” Three Dog starts, that syrupy voice of his working its usual magic on drawing listeners in, Butch included. “My eyes and ears tell me the Big Bad Government has taken over that big machine thingy at the Jefferson Memorial. And when the Man showed up, a bunch of scientists went running. With them was Rivet City's own Dr. Madison Li, and that crazy kid from Vault 101.”

Tanya groans suddenly. “Another rerun.”

“This story’s old?”

She keeps walking forward, never facing her companion. “Two weeks old.”

Butch can’t help but keep his gaze on Tanya, even if it was just the back of her head that he was looking at. He’s heard bits and pieces about the Jefferson Memorial from other residents in Rivet City, though the details have been scarce. He hadn’t cared enough at the time to ask more deeply about it either. All he’s heard is that some group calling themselves the Enclave came in, shot the place up, and took over. Three Dog’s been spamming the airways with PSA’s warning to avoid them, so Butch hasn’t dug any deeper than that. If anything, he was curious about how exactly Tanya got mixed in with that crowd. However, the radio would soon answer part of his question.

“They're safe and sound now at the Citadel,” Three Dog cheers. “Praise Jesus! Praise Jesus! No sign of the kid's father, though. Here's hoping James is okay.”

James… Now there’s a name he hasn’t thought about in a while. 

Growing up, Butch never had much of an opinion on the man, if he were being honest. Unless he needed a physical or some patching up after a fight, they never spoke to one another. He should thank James next time he sees him, though; they wouldn’t be out here without him leaving first. 

James was always just the vault doctor to Butch, and even worse, Tanya’s dad. If it wasn’t Amata in his ear telling him to leave Tanya alone, then it was James telling his mother the same. Whenever they’d get in a fight or trouble in class, Butch would dread coming back home to see James at the door, asking to speak with his mother about his behavior . Each time it happened, too, he’d always be in for a night of lectures and groundings.

James always had Tanya’s back, and Tanya was always his number one fan and defender. The two were never away from each other for too long; hell, that’s the whole reason Tanya’s out here. Where he goes, she goes, which begs the question… where is he?

Butch never did learn why the Doc just up and left. Everything just sort of happened that night, leaving everyone with little choice but to react. Whatever it was that had compelled him to leave must have been pretty important, though. He didn’t even bother bringing his daughter with him.

“What happened to James, anyway?” Butch asks. “Did you find him?”

“Yeah,” she said, her voice monotonous and to the point. “I did.”

“And?”

Tanya took a glance back at Butch, just enough for him to see the glint of frustration in her eyes. “And nothing,” she said. “He’s gone now.”

“Gone like… dead?”

“...Yeah. Gone like dead.”

“I see…”

So he died after all… a shame, even to Butch. He’s sure the man deserved better than what became of him, even with all the hell he’d caused in the vault. He wanted to ask her how he’d died, though he imagined it must be a pretty sore topic. Butch didn’t care much about Tanya’s feelings, though he knew when it might not be wise to push buttons. He’s toyed with the idea of heading back on his own; he would like that to be his own decision, not because Tanya sent him off out of anger.

So rather than make a joke or say something snarky like he usually would, Butch instead takes a small moment of maturity, saying only one other thing. The right words stumble in his throat as he tries his best to articulate his condolences. 

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he said. “I didn’t know him well, but… I didn’t think he was a bad guy. He did right by me, mostly.”

Tanya doesn’t stop walking. She doesn’t turn to look at him, nor make any sort of acknowledgement to his words. For a moment there, Butch thought she may not have heard him, and he wouldn’t repeat himself if she hadn’t. But then he hears her clear her throat, and without meeting his eyes, she simply says, “Thank you.”

He’s never been good with these kinds of things. People died in the vault, of course, but many of those deaths had the fortune of being of natural causes. Very few accidents or major tragedies. Nothing or no one too close to Butch, until recently at least. And even then, Butch hadn’t found himself too broken up about things, considering. Only passing thoughts and a few minutes where he’d feel a bit more irritable than usual because of it.

But James hadn’t just been some random vault dweller. That was Tanya’s father, and the last surviving member of her family. With him gone, she truly had nothing now, only herself. Yet despite everything, Tanya doesn’t seem as moved or bothered by James’ departure as he’d imagined she’d be, not like how he’d be if it had been his own mother. In fact, had Butch not asked just now, he would have been none the wiser of his passing.

They approach the Super Duper Mart, a giant, gray, abandoned shopping center smack dab in the middle of nowhere. The only reason Butch remembered the place was because it was the first big building he’d seen outside of Springvale. Still, the place looked as vacant as it had a week ago.

The two stepped into the empty parking lot, passing the rusted cars and broken shopping carts left behind when the bombs dropped. A few scattered skeletons littered the road; unfortunate souls unable to find shelter 200 years ago. Sometimes Butch wonders what their last thoughts were that day, or if they knew this would be their fate. Were these people shopping when the bombs dropped, or had they died some time after that?

Just as Butch’s mind began to wander, something hot whisped past his left ear, making a loud plink noise as it hit the stone walls of the Super Duper Mart in front of him. He comes to a dead halt. His eyes followed where that noise landed, seeing the small, new hole in the wall. 

Was that a bullet that just shot past him just now? 

Butch turned his head towards the direction of the supposed gunfire, and sure as shit did he see someone coming their way. An entire group, in fact! Men dressed in heavy black armor with white, bird talons painted on their chest, armed with even heavier guns and laser rifles. 

As Butch saw them running over, he looked to Tanya to see if she saw them too. That’s when he felt her hand clasp tightly onto his leather jacket. Two more bullet holes join the wall behind him, and before Butch knew it, Tanya pulled him to the ground behind one of the abandoned cars. There wasn’t even an introduction between them before things went completely south, fast.

“Get down!” she shouted.

Butch did as he was told and pressed his back against the car, unholstering his pistol. “What was that?”

“Gunfire,” Tanya says.

“No shit. Who’s firing?”

Tanya peeked over the car, only to immediately duck back into cover when three more shots fired her way. “Fuck me.”

“Did you see ‘em?”

“Yeah,” she said, though her tone sounded wholly disappointed. “Mercenaries.”

“Mercenaries?” 

“Talon Company assholes.”

Butch took another peak, watching as the men took cover behind the other abandoned cars across from them in the parking lot. As quickly as the Tunnel Snake could manage, he started counting the heads he could see. One. Two. Three. Four? Five?! Why were there so many of them anyway? With no better ideas that could come to mind, he turned back to Tanya. “What’s the plan then?”

“Your gun’s loaded, right?”

Butch looked down at his pistol. The weight of reality sat as heavily within him as his gun did in his hand. “Yeah, it’s loaded.”

“Start shooting.”

“Wha-”

Before Butch could say another word, Tanya stood up from her cover and began firing off rounds from her rifle. The shooting happened so fast that it was almost hard to keep up with, but man, what a rush. It was like nothing Butch had ever experienced before.

The sounds of gunfire ripped through the air like loud, continuous pops, rattling his bones with every pulled trigger. Maybe a minute or two passed before Butch actually stuck his head up from behind the car, but eventually he peaked over the rear and took aim. He could only manage three seconds of looking before having to duck for cover again. But one mercenary kept peaking his head over the hood of one of the cars; he seemed like an easier target than the other four shooting at them. 

Taking one, large breath, Butch rested his gun on top of the car trunk, using it to steady his shaking hands. To think, just this morning Tanya told him killing wouldn’t be easy, and now she was throwing him into the fire to learn that the hard way. Not that they had a choice here. 

Butch did his best to strengthen his nerves, even with his stomach beginning to twist. One shot. One shot is all he needs right now. He sucks in one final breath of air and holds it, aiming his sights on the mercenary.

BANG!

The gun kicks against the palms of his hands roughly, a heavy vibration rippling through his entire body, as he pulls the trigger. The sound rings in his ears even seconds later. Looking over to where he’d shot, though, he feels an immense swell of disappointment when he sees the mercenary stand up from his cover like nothing happened. He must have missed. Shit! And as though to punish him for missing, a few of the mercenaries immediately began returning fire towards Butch’s direction, forcing him back into cover. Any attempt he made to peek again was only met with a barrage of bullets, which now grew uncomfortably closer to his head with each shot fired.

Well, at least he can say he tried. Now that he’s pulled the trigger, he can guarantee that he won’t have any qualms doing so again. This was nothing he couldn’t handle!

It felt like they’d been shooting for nearly half an hour now; he and Tanya huddled against the car as they chose their openings wisely to fire back at the mercs. Butch wasn’t sure what surprised him more though, the number of bloodthirsty mercenaries, or how armed and ready Tanya was for them. She was practically unrecognizable; nothing like the puny, little shrimp he remembers growing up with. The way she was taking these men down would have one believing she’s been doing this her whole life. She didn’t just throw caution to the wind, she kicked its sorry ass halfway across the country! 

Butch watched her damn near stand out from their cover at one point, just keeping the pressure on them with heavy gunfire. And she never missed a single shot either, each man going down one by one. How long has she been hiding from everyone that she was apparently a crackshot?! 

Even her dog was putting in the work, rushing the last two mercs and bringing one down by the arm for them to aim at. Butch used that as his opportunity to be of use, firing at the subdued man and watching as the first two shots he made missed, before the final third shot found its way directly into the merc’s skull. He drops, as the bits and pieces of his skull thankfully spill to the ground just outside of Butch’s view. Finally. Butch can’t help but cheer to himself after. 

“Tough luck, pal!”

“You’re gonna die bitch!” the last standing merc shouted. He was already pretty wounded from a few shots that only managed to graze him. But he was huffing and puffing his chest like he’d just slammed three bits of psycho. “You and your friend-”

By the time Butch had blinked, the merc had just been given a brand new bullet hole to the skull. Tanya’s doing, no doubt. Butch looked to his side to see her still aiming with her rifle, breathing calmly, her mind completely in tune with her actions. Rather dashing, from Butch’s perspective at least. 

Butch hardly knew what to say by the end of it all. His mind was still catching up with the adrenaline spiking through his body. He kept his heavy breathing in check and concentrated on not blinking or expressing himself too much. The last person he wanted thinking he couldn’t cut it out here was this pipsqueak beside him. Tanya must not have noticed though -- nor did she seem bothered by this firefight at all -- because the second she realized it was clear, she took a deep breath and looked over at Butch. She then groaned. “I’m sick of those guys.”

“Christ,” Butch exclaims. Even now, she didn’t care that she’d just killed a group of men like ants. To think, this had been the same girl who used to cry when watching animals die in documentaries. The woman beside him now was but a shadow of that girl she once was, more and more by the hour. “I can’t believe that just happened. We just mowed down all those guys!”

“You’ll get used to it.”

How many people has this woman killed?! He’d have to ask her later, he told himself. As long as it wasn’t an absurd amount, Butch saw no reason to really give a damn. If anything, it just made him more excited having her be a part of his future gang. Maybe she was a useful addition after all.

“You said they were Talon Company?” Butch asked, now that he could finally take a second to himself to think. “Who the fuck are they?”

“Soooo… about them…” Tanya’s voice began to drag, purposefully beating around the bush. “I may have a little bounty on my head.”

“...You’re joking.”

Tanya spared him the “gritty” details of course, and kept things incredibly simple for him: she’s got a bounty on her head, and because he’s stuck traveling with her, he’s guilty by association; and thus a reasonable casualty in their altercations. Regardless of how she tried to sugar coat it, the explanation only seemed to piss Butch off. When he decided to team up, he didn’t expect to find that half the mercs and raiders on this side of the East Coast wanted her dead. 

“It’s from a while ago,” she only continued, nonchalantly. “I’m surprised they’re even still trying to collect. It’s not even 200 caps worth. Or at least I think so. Maybe they raised it, who knows.”

“That would have been nice to know yesterday,” he said.

“Why?” Tanya smirks. “You tryin’ to collect?”

“Don’t give me any ideas,” Butch quips back. “I just wasn’t expecting the kind of trouble you’ve got going on.”

“Would it have stopped you from coming?”

Admittedly, while the initial interaction with those crazed mercenaries had Butch’s heart beating faster than it would after a three mile run, it was kind of fun. Not so much the getting shot at part, but doing the shooting himself. He may be a bit rusty on the trigger and need to work on his aim, but shooting down someone hadn’t been as bad as he’d imagined. Not nearly as bad as everyone made it out to be. It makes it easier that they were also assholes though. But Butch would never lose an opportunity to show off his skills and prove his worth, more to himself than anyone else.

He took another look at where those men had formerly been, seeing nothing but a wreck of bodies on the ground. It was real nasty work, and the smell those mercs left behind made it hard not to gag... Butch wasn’t sure if he’s ever seen or sniffed such carnage up close, but he was aware now that this was just the way things were around here. Disgusting, bloody, and always moving. It almost makes him as nauseous as the sky.  

Reclaiming himself, he cleared his throat and spat to his side, groaning a bit. “No,” he said. “I guess not.”

“Well, let me know if it’s too much for you to handle,” Tanya then teases. “I’ll walk you back home, whichever way that is.”

“Like I’d go back now,” Butch smirks. “Things are just startin’ to get fun up here.”

“That’s the spirit.”

Tanya uselessly brushed the dirt off her raggedy brown overalls and adjusted her bandelier, taking this sudden newfound free time to straighten herself up a bit. Such are her favorite priorities, apparently. Of course, Butch couldn’t say much, seeing as he instinctively went to fix his own hair himself without even realizing it. And while he did it, he kept looking back at Tanya again, as the same thoughts from earlier plagued his mind once more. 

His gaze starts at her legs, seeing the way the sweat rolls off her thighs and glistens in the sunlight like glitter. His eyes travel up from there, pausing on various parts of her with an unknowingly bated breath. Even underneath all that armor she wore, the way her hips would sway with each movement she made had his mind going places they’d never gone with her before. He could hardly believe he was just noticing all of this now. Then again, it also had to do with the fact that he hasn’t seen any hot babes around since he’s been here. The only woman to give him any attention, and look halfway decent, had been Trinnie. 

Tanya looked like a supermodel in comparison.

“Take a picture,” Tanya suddenly said. “It’ll last longer.”

Butch had his eyes locked on hers, for how long he’s not sure. He almost felt embarrassed for getting caught, before brushing it off like it was nothing. 

“Don’t flatter yourself, dollface,” he said. She never did like being stared at. 

Butch would do it a lot in Mr. Brotch’s class. Dare he say he found it cute the way she’d get flustered when she caught him looking, like she was embarrassed to have accidentally made eye contact with him or something. Her cheeks would always go red, and she’d awkwardly whip her head forward and act like she didn’t see him. He always felt like hot shit every time it’d happen too. 

Now her gaze is unmoving, her brown eyes trained on his olive ones regardless of what he says. The looks she’d give him now were chill-inducing, amongst a few other things Butch couldn’t quite describe. He was still adjusting, but he couldn’t find a more biting stare.

Once they finished, Tanya gestured for Butch to keep following. And like that, things continued like they never stopped. Now they were almost… wherever the fuck she’s been leading him for the past four hours now. He’s sure Tanya probably told him where at some point during their travels, though Butch had a tendency to tune her out, mainly when she would ramble. She hasn’t done much of that at all recently, though, not since leaving the river.

Broken down buildings cast deep shadows over the battered roads, as crumbled bits of wall stood tall like dark silhouettes. The sun was starting to hang low in the sky, tinting it with this nice pinkish orange, with hardly a cloud above them. It’s the nicest the weather’s felt since he’s been up here. Besides the sound of their footsteps and the small patter of Dogmeat’s paws against the dirt and pavement, the Wasteland was mostly still. For once.

As they began treading up a small hill northwest of them, Butch lingered behind Tanya, his hands returning to his pockets. From here, he could check her out more freely without fearing her catching him.

When she’s not giving him advice, she’s a lot quieter when they’re traveling. Alert. Standoffish even, and a rather formidable force. But every now and then, when she’d turn to face him, he noticed something a bit off about her. Like she was tired. When their eyes would meet, it was like some of the light she once possessed behind them had dimmed. Though that didn’t stop some of the old her from slipping out here and there, just as it seemed to have back on the boat.

“We’re not much further now,” she said, keeping her gaze forward when talking to him. “Maybe another five minutes.”

“About time,” Butch remarked.

“What, tired already?” Butch could hear the playfulness in her tone now even as she didn’t look at him, her voice raising with amusement. Mockingly, she added in an “Aww.”

Butch began to blow rasberries. Tired? What kind of question was that? Of course he was tired; they’ve been walking for nearly five hours now! He wasn’t about to say all of that, however. 

“Tunnel Snakes don’t get ‘tired’,” Butch proclaimed.

“Is that so?” she played along.

“Damn straight,” he said. “We Snakes got TONS of stamina, if you catch my drift, doll.”

“Oh yeah?” Tanya teased. “That’s not what I’ve heard.”

Oh that got Butch’s attention, alright. He straightened right up and took a few wide steps to walk side-by-side to her, leaning rather uncomfortably into her personal space. Whether that was to assert dominance over her or just out of plain curiosity was unknown. “What was that?”

Even with him by her side now, Tanya kept her attention forward, still making sure to have her surroundings in mind. Though that didn’t stop a coy smile from placing itself on her lips. She wasn’t going to answer him, and Butch wasn’t going to just let that comment slide either. 

“Who said I couldn’t keep up, Nosebleed?”

“Well, I know I’ve heard Christine mention it,” she said.

Christine?! When’s the last time he even thought about that fucking broad? 

“You’re so full of it,” he huffed.

“I think I heard her say somethin’ about you only lasting five minutes when you guys hooked up after the formal.”

“That isn’t true!” Butch protested. He remembers hooking up with her a few times, back when they had class together. And maybe a few more times a couple of months ago. But she wasn’t anything noteworthy. In fact, Butch is sure that if he did finish quickly it was just because he’d gotten bored halfway through and wanted to wrap things up. “That broad’s got no fucking clue what she’s talking about.”

Tanya giggled to herself. A rather girly giggle. This sort of breathy, awkward one that was as soft as it was prominent; very unique to her. When she’d do it, she’d lift a hand over her mouth delicately, hovering it over her lips as she’d laugh. He used to poke fun at her about it when they were younger, obnoxiously mimicking it in class to mock and embarrass her.

It felt different hearing it now.

“Eh, I never liked her much,” said Tanya. “She used to trip me in the hallway like all the time.”

Yeah Butch remembered; he’d bust out laughing every time it happened too. She’d practically face-plant onto the ground like a sack of rocks, all loud and comical-like. It never failed to get a laugh out of him.

“Makes me wanna laugh just thinkin’ about it,” he said.

She punches his shoulder, not hard enough to hurt or anything, but just enough to give him a light shove. “Asshole.”

“Hey, it ain’t my fault you got two left feet.”

“There’s definitely a difference between being clumsy and being tripped.”

“You would know,” he teased.

She went to open her mouth and talk again, but quickly stopped herself. Butch wasn’t sure if she had meant for him to see that, but he had nonetheless. 

They reached the top of the hill, distant structures slowly rising over the horizon as they continued. Tanya then sighed heavily all of a sudden. Her smile began to fall. Butch picked up that she probably wasn’t going to finish her thought, a few more steps in. He would tell himself later that it was out of boredom that he decided not to leave it alone, rather than his sudden, genuine interest in it.

“What’re you sighing for?” he pushed. “Don’t tell me you’re getting sentimental.”

“I’m not,” she objected, getting shy all of a sudden, now that she was put on the spot. “I was just…” Her voice began to trail a bit, until she looked at him curiously. “Why?”

“What, I can’t ask?”

“No, it’s not that,” she said. “It’s just… I don’t know, I’m not used to you asking me that.”

Butch rested his hands back behind his head again, taking his eyes off her and starting to huff like a bratty kid. “Keep it to yourself, then. I don’t give a shit.” 

This behavior was a little unfair of him, he knows. After all, it wasn’t like her suspicions weren’t warranted. Sometimes he forgets her last memories of him were of how shitty he was to her before she had to leave the vault. But it wasn’t like she wasn’t shitty back at times, and he’d already gone out of his way to ask. She wasn’t about to make him push too.

Tanya scoffed, giving him a look before returning her gaze to the Wastes. She used a free hand to lightly tuck a strand of curly brown hair behind her ear, readjusting her grip on her rifle. Butch expected her to be more pouty about his response. But instead, she brought her eyes shyly down to her feet. Vulnerably. 

“I was just thinking about how nice this is.”

That piqued his interest more than he cared to admit. Butch raised an eyebrow at her comment. “This?”

“You know…” Tanya thought deeply to herself, before gesturing the space between them, “This. Today. I guess I just…”

She’s quiet again, and yet determined to get out what she was trying to say, though it seemed the words were hard to come by. Before Butch could inquire or comment, however, she cleared her throat and shuffled her feet a bit. “You probably don’t care,” she said. “It’s nothing.”

Butch would have left it at that if they had been in the vault still. After all, they’ve gone this far in life never really talking to one another. Once they no longer had to be in class, Butch didn't see her much anymore. He knew that was probably purposeful on her end. So he could leave this alone, and it would mean nothing. Yet today he thought to himself -- maybe it did mean something, whatever that may be.

“I asked, didn't I?”

Tanya looked surprised to hear him say that, and Butch was just as surprised himself. Eventually, she settled down, growing more focused on her thoughts. He could see the words slowly coming together in her mind as she parted her mouth to speak to him again. 

“There’s just so much nothing out here…” she said. “Having you here now just… It’s been a nice change; I didn’t realize how much I missed talking about “normal things” like Christine or the vault. And I know it’s only been like a day, but it’s nice having someone regular to talk to, you know? Someone who gets me when I say that shit up here is crazy.”

“Shit up here is crazy,” Butch agrees.

“Exactly,” she smiles softly. “Exactly…”

The two reached the other end of the hill, which gave them a good view of Megaton. At this point, it was only a few more yards ahead. The sun had set over the horizon, the sky growing dark as the stars began to pierce through the clouds. It still amazes Butch how the world above him would transition so effortlessly. 

Still no clear signs of the moon, though...

Tanya let out a sigh of relief at the sight of Megaton, finally lowering her rifle a bit to take in the scenery. “And there she is,” she said. “Pretty as a painting.”

Butch rolled his eyes. Megaton? Pretty? As far as he knew, this place looked like a walled-up junkyard. When he first saw it, he actually skipped over it entirely, not even bothering to see what was up. Yet, Tanya sure seemed excited by it, for some reason.

“You know what’s funny?” she continued suddenly. “I keep thinking about how much of an asshole you were before.”

Butch figured it was only a matter of time before she brought up the bullying; better sooner than later. He’s surprised how nonchalant she seems over it, though, despite everything. God knows he wouldn’t be, if he were in her shoes. “What? You holdin’ a grudge?”

“It feels like so long ago now,” she shrugged. “It doesn’t really mean anything to me anymore. I’m here now, right? And so are you. That has to mean something, right?”

Only for a few short moments did they stand atop that hill gazing at the land ahead of them, though time seemed motionless in her presence. Their eyes locked, neither of them turning to look away. For the first time Butch found himself at a loss in her gaze. He could have sworn he felt something bubble in him. An emotion he wasn’t too familiar with. It was warm, innocent even.

That has to mean something. Maybe it did. Of what that could be beats the shit out of Butch. It means something to her, though, so maybe, just maybe… 

…Maybe he was beginning to read too much into this.

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.