Author's note : Okay, so this is my first Fallout story. Infact, it's my first story on here EVER. As it should already be implied, I'll still say it. I don't own any of the characters or concepts (Well, you know what I mean). All of that belongs to Bethesda, blah blah blah.
I'm open to any suggestions to make this better. I really hate the ending, so if anyone has any suggestions on that, it'd be wonderful. I'm also in the market for a Beta reader if anybody wants the position!
There will probably be a bunch more little onseshots like this if the reviewers want more. A girl's gotta' get results. Now, onto the first chapter!
She'd asked him to cut her hair.
And so, being the amazing barber – not hairdresser – that he was, Butch DeLoria instantaneously agreed to give her one. It was only halfway through washing her hair did he realize he wasn't getting paid for doing this.
He'd started out by pulling one of the few good quality chairs left in the Capital Wastelands from the corner of the living room and scooting it next to her sink. Leaning it back to balance against the dirty porcelain lip, he handed her a towel and instructed her to lie back in the chair. If he was going to do this, he would do it right. She wrapped the towel around her neck and did as he told, but not without protest.
"I still don't see why you have to wet my hair for this; you're just going to chop it all off anyways."
Butch had taken his jacket off prior to setting up, as well as shucked-off the top half of his vault suit and tied it messily around his lean waist. The muscles beneath his white undershirt rippled as he sauntered towards her once more, two bottles of water he'd heated with the Bunsen burner in her chemistry set held in each hand. "Those other guys you've been to might have just half-assed it, but girl, that ain't me. I'm gonna' barber the hell outta' that hair."
To be honest, he actually liked her hair as it was, but he wasn't about to admit that to anyone. Hell, he'd had a hard enough time admitting it to himself as it was. The way she threw it up into a messy bun every morning was kind of cute; a few of the corn silk strands would always manage to fall against her sun-bronzed neck. He had to resist the urge to play with them on several occasions until he remembered himself and quickly snuffed-out the urge. Butch supposed it might have had something to do with her being the only girl he actually knew outside of the vault, but he was open to other suggestions.
"And besides, girls' hair is different. You gotta' wash it before you can work with it."
"Did they teach you that in the vault?"
He paused, recalling the incident, "No."
"Then how do you know?"
"Let's just say that Susie refuses to be in the same room with me if I got a pair of scissors in my hands."
Taking the cap off one bottle he poured the contents over her hair before setting the empty container on a nearby shelf, making sure to not waste any of the precious liquid by placing the old rubber stopper in the drain whole. He didn't have any shampoo. Instead he was forced to use an unopened bar of lye soap he had found in the men's bathroom on the other side of town.
Piping up while he lathered his hands, the almighty Lone Wanderer, as some called her, asked, raising her damp head slightly, "Where'd you get that?"
"Men's room."
"Eww, that's disgusting. Do you even know how filthy that thing could be?"
Rolling his eyes, Butch dipped his fingers into her hair and began scrubbing away at the unseen grime. "Oh shuttup. It's a new one so don't worry. Besides, it's not like your hair could get any dirtier than it already was." The corner of his lip quirked slightly when she reached up and smacked his arm in mock anger.
"Watch it, Butch; a radroach might pop out of there and bite you."
His grin widened at that as he continued to wash her hair until the water in the sink became a light brown, flecks of sand and grit floating on the surface. She'd quieted down as his calloused fingers deftly massaged into her scalp and he glanced down to see her eyes closed and mouth set in a content little smile. He full out beamed. Then, finished with washing, he pulled the stopper up, waiting for the sink to drain before reaching for the other water bottle. Unscrewing the cap, he repeated the process, pouring the warm water over her hair, rinsing out the excess soap and dirt. He gathered her hair into his hands and gently twisted it, wringing out the remaining water. For fun he gave the dampened locks a small tug before promptly being smacked once more.
He ushered her out of her seat and pulled the chair into the middle of the living area where he'd made room to work. An unpleasant screeching briefly filled the air as its legs scraped mercilessly against the patchwork metal floor. Towel still snugly wrapped around her shoulders, she sat in the chair once more before asking, "Wait, don't you need scissors? I've got some in the lockers by the door."
Oh ye of little faith. "Now honestly, do you think I'd be stupid enough to forget the most important tool? C'mon, you should know me better than that by now." Strolling over to the bookshelf by her stairs where he'd laid his jacket, he reached into one of the inner pockets, pulling out a tiny cloth wrapped bundle. He set it down and unfolded the package to reveal several pairs of identical, finely sharpened, cutting scissors. Pretending to actually think on which pair he was going to pick, he finally selected one from the pile and made his way back to the center of the room.
Say what she might, Butch knew the girl thought he was funny.
Circling around to her back once more, he procured a fine-toothed comb from his suit's waist pocket and swiftly raked through her wet tresses, removing any tangles. "So, whaddaya' want me to do to you?" He felt more than saw the blush that crept onto her dusty cheeks.
"Just…just make it short and get it out of my eyes."
"Alright. Hold still." He decided to get the biggest piece out of the way first. Taking her hair into one hand, he gathered it to the back of her head and quickly sheared through the long strands. Loose tresses fell through his hand like water to the floor.
"Are you done?"
He scoffed indignantly. "You kiddin? I'm just gettin' started. Now pipe down so I can concentrate."
She opened her mouth as if to say more, but two hardy snips at the vacant space next to her head later and she obediently silenced herself.
He set to work on trimming the back of her head first. Snip after snip, more of the pale hair fell gracefully to the floor. He stopped when the ends touched just barely touched the base of her neck before turning his attention to the sides of her head. As he was cutting, Butch took the chance to study his number one girl more closely.
Time outside Vault 101 had changed her. He'd only just begun to tan from being out in the unforgiving sun, whereas she had already turned a deep rust color to match the walls of her house. Her bottle green eyes were that much brighter because of it. That was another thing he liked about her. He let his own pair of baby blues roam over the rest of her face. Her nose would have been small and perfectly button-like except for one thing: a minuscule bump at the top of the bridge. Not terribly noticeable, but obvious enough to let others know she'd had it broken a time or two.
Most likely from that time he'd duked her at her 10th birthday party. God he'd been such an ass back then. Still was, to some extent.
When his gaze landed on her lips he hesitated mid-cut, entertaining the outlandish and out-of-the-blue thought of what it would be like if he kissed her.
Sure, he had macked on tons of girls. Well, maybe not tons; by the time he'd reached the age where he considered them useful for more than insulting, the teenage female – and general – population had dwindled considerably over the years. He still had his fair share of experience of course. Butch had frequently "practiced" frequently on Christine Kendall back in his Tunnel Snake days. But, the thought of kissing the girl sitting in front of him did weird things to his stomach. Hell, when he thought about it, this whole situation should have had his intestines tied in a knot from its overall unlikelihood. Why was he doing this for her again? Regardless, he was still a barber, a darn good one at that, and he always finished a job.
A few strands later and he was finished. Unwrapping the cloth from around her shoulders and briefly shaking out any cut hairs, he threw it over the girl's head before roughly toweling it dry. She batted his hands away while chuckling slightly, finishing the job herself.
"So now are you done?" She asked in mock annoyance.
"Yeah, I'm through with you. Go take a look." He busied himself with combing his own hair, patting down any stray piece back into its grease-sculpted shape.
Butch watched as she made her way upstairs to her bedroom where the only mirror in the house resided on her desk. That, and she probably wanted to let the mutt out of her room; he'd been locked up in there to be kept out of the way.
He smirked, already knowing she would like the results. Her hair had gone from long and tangled to short and…unsettled would probably be the right term. Not to mention, clean. And he'd gotten it out of her eyes just like she'd asked too.
"Wow." She called down from the second floor, the dog joining in with a mutual yip. "Butch, this is great, Thank you. I love it."
He couldn't help himself.
"Good. Now come down here so I can finish up wit' that bush you got growin' on your face."
He continued to laugh even after she had chucked the towel down onto his head, ruining his perfect coif.
