Note: As noted, this is the third in the series, starting with Make it Okay and Get it Right. If you've ever talked to me you know I don't really care for Emily; I promise you that I am not doing this on purpose. I am legitimately trying to get her back to a better place than she is. She's just... really, really messed up right now.

Characters will be added as they pop up, but so far it's scripted to have six character viewpoints. I also don't enjoy having three stories open right now, but I write what I can when I can. I try to respond to all reviews (I might not notice them right away so be patient), so if you have any thoughts be sure to shoot them at me, hell even a PM is fine.

Sexual content warning right off the bat because everything is gonna get worse as you read on. Much worse.

He had just fallen asleep when the banging on the door started. Butch groaned to himself, laying on his stomach in the little room off of the Muddy Rudder, and flicked at his Pip-Boy to check the time. Three thirty-two in the morning.

Emily was back again.

Every day for the last week he'd been fending her off, trying to keep her hands off his ass and his booze. It wasn't like she couldn't afford her own―his tasted better, she would say, winking at him before guzzling it down. This was the second time she'd come to his door in the middle of the night, trying to get into his room and probably into his pants. Last time he'd ignored her for thirty minutes and found her passed out on the floor in front of the door, after she hollered herself out.

It wasn't that he didn't care. Or that he didn't like a quickie, every now and then. Any other time, Butch might have been fine with giving her a roll. But she'd been so damn annoying lately, and after seeing her desperate behavior he didn't know he wanted to have a go at her. Stupid woman needed to calm the hell down and sober up―

Coming from him, he knew that meant something.

"Buuuuutch!" she yelled, slurring her words. "Let me in!"

If he didn't try to make her go away, he would never get any sleep. Butch pushed himself up and rubbed his eyes, trying to get the world to come into focus. After a moment he moved to the door and spun the lock, pulling it open.

She poured herself into the room and immediately latched onto him, grabbing at his hips and landing on her knees. Shining blue eyes looked up at him, a mischievous grin on her face. She was sweating and flushed and half-naked, having lost her jacket and t-shirt the day before. Damned if he knew where she left 'em. She'd been walking around in her undershirt like nothing was wrong.

It was just another example of how strange she'd been acting. He stared down at her for a moment, then sighed. "You can't keep doin' this, nosebleed."

She laughed happily. "Butch, baby, you know I love you, right?" she said, running thin fingers along his hips and to his front. He slapped at her hands as they moved to unzip him.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" he snapped. She kept trying to go for the zipper, until he grabbed her hands and pulled her up up eye-level. "Knock it off!"

Well, not quite eye-level―Emily hadn't been the tallest kid in the Vault, that honor went to Wally, but Butch always did have an inch or two on her. Made him feel better about himself when the other girls shot up like rockets and he somehow stopped growing.

He stared at her, seeing her smiling face and the blood that crept under her skin. She was really drunk. Her head slowly spun around in a circle and she went limp under his hands. "Butch..." she moaned, wiggling her wrists under his hands. "Mmm!"

That was disturbing. He dropped her and she crumpled to the floor like a piece of paper, slowly and gracefully. Emily was up on her knees in a flash, belying her drunken state, and had her hands back on his pants again.

"Seriously?!" he groaned, fighting the urge to slap her. She'd probably like that, too. Man, Emily'd always been fun, up for a roll, always been willing to try new things, but being out here in the wastes... she'd turned into some kind of crazy. Butch shoved the door shut, then grabbed her around a shoulder and dropped her onto the cot.

"Why are you―" he started.

She laughed and leaned back onto the wall, closing her eyes and running a hand across her body in a decidedly sexy move. "C'mon, Butch," she slurred, moving her hands down to her pants. "I missed you, didn't you miss me?"

" 'Course I did," he said, rolling his eyes. "But you're driving me batty, doing this."

Emily got up on the bed on her knees and leaned onto his chest, rubbing her forehead on his jacket. "Maybe you'd like to take me for a ride then," she said. "Rev my engine."

"Dammit, nosebleed―" He jerked back in surprise as she had him out of his pants in the sneakiest move he'd ever seen her pull. "Stop!"

Emily moved down between them and had her mouth wrapped around him. She was a hell of a lot quicker than he'd expected, and her tongue moved in a way he'd never thought possible. Butch groaned and laid his hands on the back of her head, winding his fingers through her hair. "Shit," he hissed, squeezing his eyes shut. Damn, that felt amazing―

Her head bobbed under his hands, her tongue teasing him up, and her hands moved to his hips, where she anchored herself onto him. He didn't want to enjoy it―but she didn't give him much choice, sucking his dick like she was. It was over in a minute, embarrassing him as she pulled away from him and wiped her chin, her eyes closed and a tiny smile across her face.

"Emily―" he said, pushing himself back into his pants and pulling up the zipper. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

She sat back on the cot and leaned her head against the wall again, keeping her eyes closed and muttering something he couldn't hear. She went still, passed out on the cot. He was too relaxed to argue. God, it had been a long time since he'd had a blowjob like that. From Emily, too―she hadn't sucked him off since they were seventeen and she was the biggest slut in the Vault.

He'd been easy pickings then, too. Emily used to brag that she could get any man she wanted, except Butch, because she didn't have to try. He always gave into her. Probably why she'd come after him tonight.

Butch grumbled under his breath and laid her down onto the cot, a tangle of arms and legs. She was heavier than she looked, even with the bit of weight she had gained. He laid down behind her on the cot and tried to get comfortable enough to sleep, even if there wasn't enough room for the both of them.

Maybe she'd be sober enough in the morning, he could tell her to buzz off and leave him the hell alone. He doubted it, though.

Butch groaned to himself and closed his eyes.

It was seven fifty-eight when he opened his eyes again and found himself alone in the bed. She had moved out of the bed without him noticing and left behind a bottle of whiskey, tilted against the far wall. It wasn't much of an apology. Butch popped the cap and drank it, anyway.

When he made his way out into the Rudder, he saw her sitting with Trinnie, laughing and flipping her hand through her hair. Trinnie had a look of disgust on her face―that was normal, that bitch never seemed happy. Emily had three bottles of booze on the table in front of her and poured a shot out for Trinnie as he sauntered over.

"C'mon, nosebleed," he said, grabbing her shoulder. Emily grinned and winked at Trinnie, and followed him up to the top deck, without a word.

The air was cleaner up top; Butch shut the bulkhead door and watched Emily walk out to the edge, stretching. She took a deep breath and patted her stomach, then turned to face him. "What's up, Butch?" she asked, smiling innocently.

"What's up?" he repeated, incredulously. "You freakin' came into my room last night and tried to rape me!"

"You liked it just fine. Didn't hear you complaining." She put a hand on her hip and stared him down.

Yeah, he didn't complain, he knew it. Felt great, she'd been working on her skills since he saw her last. Didn't make it right for her to do that, though. "Look, nosebleed―"

"How many times did I tell you to stop calling me that!" Emily's hand clenched into a fist at her side.

"Whatever," Butch said. He shook his head at her. "You can't keep trying to get into my pants, not here. I got a reputation and all. People'll think―"

Emily laughed at him. "What!" she cried, holding her sides. "Oh, my God. Butch is putting on airs?"

He stared at her. Waited for her to stop laughing. Emily wiped her face and sighed in relief, and looked back at him with shining eyes. Jesus, she was still drunk? Had she even stopped drinking at all? He didn't think she had, since she showed up in the Muddy Rudder about a week ago. It wasn't like her to act the alcoholic, something was up.

"What the hell is going on with you, Emily?" he asked, a little softer, a little more sympathetic. "You know why I drink. Why are you?"

She narrowed her eyes a little, pressed her mouth together, and her hands shook. "Nothing," she answered, defensively. Her words came faster, more forceful. "Nothing at all. I'm bored. Don't got nothing to do."

"Yeah, right," he muttered. "What about all that shit your dad was doin'?"

"Pssh," she said, waving a hand at him. "That's been done for like, two years."

"So what the hell you been up to, since?" He caught her hand as she tilted a little too far with the motion, pushing her back up to a stand. "How come you always have money to drink?"

"I'm rich!" Emily yelled, laughing loudly. "I'm rich as fuck, Butch."

He groaned and rolled his eyes when she applied herself to his chest again, leaning her ear onto his shoulder and running a hand up and down his jacket. "Why you stealing my booze, then?" His hand stopped hers from going near his crotch again. "And why you attacking me, nosebleed―stop!"

"I'm lonely," she whined, quietly. "Ain't got no one to hang with, anymore."

Butch grunted and smacked her hand away again, grabbing her around the wrist and holding it up and away. "Go be lonely at home, stupid. Quit trying to get into my pants."

"I'm not going home," she mumbled, into his chest. "Ain't nothing for me, there. ...You're here."

She was all of a sudden a lot less gropey and a lot more sad, wrapping her arm around his back and hugging him to her, stifling a sob against his jacket. Butch sighed, released her wrist, and hugged her back. "Think you had some bad shit happen, nosebleed," he muttered. "Drinkin' prolly ain't gonna help."

"Won't," she agreed. "But..."

"Yeah, I know," he said. It would make the pain go away, for a little while. But never forever. Was better to be out of it, than into it, better to not feel the sting. He oughta know, he'd been drinking himself stupid since they was teenagers.

"Butch..." she moaned, squeezing him. "I don't know what to do―"

"Well, whatever happened hasn't killed you," he said. She was quiet for a while. "You should go home."

"Come with me," she whispered. "I can't―can't be alone, right now."

"Are you kiddin' me―" He tried to pry her off of him and failed. "Are you serious, nosebleed?"

"I've been trying to get you to notice me all week," she whined. Butch looked down as she looked up, tear-filled blues on him, her face flushed and drunkenly blinking at him.

"Dammit," he said, looking up and away. "You shoulda just asked, stupid."

"...Will you come with me, Butch?"

Butch sighed, and rubbed her shoulder. "Where we going?" he asked, staring out over the ruins, watching the sun slowly climbing into the sky. Didn't want to leave. Emily had always been good to him, though. Felt wrong to let her fall like this. He owed her a lot from back in the day, covering for his ass when he was caught out by Vault Security. Her reputation had kept him out of the cell too many times to let her down, now.

"Megaton," she said. "Real close to the Vault."

"Yeah, alright," he muttered. "...You'd better go find some clothes, though."

Bet her daddy was real proud to see her turn out like that, he thought, as she wiped her face and led him down to the Marketplace. Real fuckin' proud.