Hey guys! Thanks for the reviews. I want to thank Lemo for pointing out that I wrote varmint rifle instead of hunting rifle in Chapter One. I totally didn't even catch that. Also, to anonymous, there's a little bit of smut in this chapter (and some fluff, I guess you could call it).

Now, I changed Butch's personality a bit. I know, before you all grab the pitchforks- hear me out. I am going off the premise that he had matured some since LW left the vault. He's still his brash, rude, and rambunctious self. But with time and trauma comes growth, and I'd like to think that Butch isn't above some maturity. Enjoy the chapter! :)

Chapter Three:
"Anything Goes"

"It's Butch."

She froze.

"Hellooo? Can I come in? I got somethin' for ya," he said, his voice muffled.

She slowly rose from her crossed legged position on the floor and moved towards the window next to the door. She pulled up one of the blinds and peeked out, seeing Butch standing impatiently with boxes of something in either hand. What could he want to give her? With a bit of trepidation and a hint of nervousness, she pushed the button to allow the door to open. As those two gray walls of metal slid out of her line of sight, Butch's smiling face came into view. He held up, rather proudly, two boxes of BlamCo Mac n' Cheese and a six pack of Nuka-Cola. He gave a quick flash of his teeth as he grinned, before he squeezed by her into the small apartment.

"Surprise!" he said happily, making a b-line for the kitchen.

Once he was in there, she heard him opening cupboards and banging things around. Every now and then he'd mutter an expletive and the faucet would come on. It took her a few moments before she felt comfortable enough to get closer to his location. She peered around the corner of the doorway, staring at a wild looking Butch scrambling for various items. Her eyes squinted a fraction and she folded an arm across her stomach, stroking her chin inquisitively with the other. After a few moments, Butch settled down against the counter, staring at his pot of water on the stove with a satisfied smirk. Dolly stood quietly in the doorway, not quite sure if this was some figment of her sun-baked brain or if she had fallen asleep while trying to fix her gun.

"Butch... what are you doing?"

He gestured to the boxes perched idly upon the counter, "It's BlamCo! Don't tell me ya don't remember?" She gawked at him blankly. "Well, back when we were kids, you used to bring this shit to school for lunch every single fuckin' day. I used to tease ya, remember? I used to say that you would turn into a giant cheesy noodle if ya didn't eat something else for once. You told me to fuck off and-"

"Yeah, no, I remember all that. Trust me," she shuffled into the kitchen, flinching at the feel of the cold linoleum against her bare feet, "What I want to know is whatare you doing here?"

"Well I..." he looked at her and flashed another grin, "I thought ya might be hungry." Her suspicion only grew and she regarded him warily.

"Is this a trick?" She queried, taking a step backwards, "Are you going to sprinkle radroach shit into my food while I'm not looking, or something? Whats your angle?"

"Woah, woah, woah, nosebleed," he put his hands up defensively and pouted, "enough with the interrogation. It ain't like that."

"Then what's it like?"

"Look... I just, I dunno," he stared angrily at the linoleum, "I remember one day you came to school without your usual mac n' cheese. Ya said your dad didn't make any for ya that day, and you pouted and refused to eat any food from the diner. Said your dad made the best damn noodles," he smiled daftly, bringing piercing blue eyes to meet her jade ones. "It just stuck with me... so, shit, Doll. I though this might cheer ya up a bit. Eat some food with Butch-man for ol' times sake."

Dolly pinched herself to see if she was dreaming. Butch, her old bully, the same guy who punched her square in the face and broke her nose... was making her mac n' cheese. Not only did he go out of his way to steal it from their rations supply, but he was actually going to attempt to make it the same way her dad used to. She pursed her lips together and stared at her feet, placing her hand on the back of her neck. She was at a loss for words, really. When she tilted her head to get a look at him, he was leaning against the counter, his palms lying flat. His hair wasn't as disheveled as before, but one tendril of hair still whispered against his forehead. In the past two years, he had really grown into himself. His olive complexion was clear and pock mark free, with no remnants of a pimple-riddled adolescence. His jaw was chiseled and his features had become more refined. A light dusting of facial hair graced his jawline, highlighting his angled cheekbones. Who was this man and what had he done with Butch?

"Shit. I shouldn't have come here," he cursed, pulling her out of her mental reverie. He started to gather up his mess.

She reached her hand out and grabbed his arm, halting his movements. "No, Butch, stay. You just surprised me, is all," she said gently, bringing her arm back to her side. "It's just... so very unlike you."

"Two years of this fucking place can change a person," he glanced at her, his face falling a bit. After a few minutes, his eyes crinkled as he forced a smile,"So, what did your dad use that made this stuff so damn delicious, eh?"

"I..." she paused, racking her brain, "I don't know, actually. He usually had it made and packed away in my lunch before I was awake."

"Well..." Butch leaned against the stove, his head dangling between his shoulder blades, "...shit."

She couldn't help the laugh that bubbled out of her. Butch shot her a vexed look. "It's okay, I haven't had mac n' cheese for a long time. I'm sure it'll taste just fine without my dad's secret ingredient."

Butch watched the pot and stirred it occasionally as she planted herself on one of the bar stools near the breakfast nook. She transferred the fragments of her gun to the kitchen counter and was tinkering away. They sat in a comfortable silence. Every time she would glance up to her companion, he would be staring off into space, as if deep in thought. Butch deep in though, yeah right. Every now and then he would catch her staring at him, and she'd look away as quickly and nonchalantly as she could. And each time he would chuckle softly. This wasn't as bad as she was expecting it to be. After the noodles were done cooking, Butch mixed in the dehydrated cheese powder and stirred. After he had carried the bowl of delicious cheesy noodles to her, he proceeded to take the pot to the stove and wash it out.

"You don't have to do that," she suggested, shoving a spoonful of noodles into her mouth. "They're not my utensils."

"Eh, I'm just tryin' to be polite," he shrugged, glancing over his shoulder.

She was midway through shoving another spoonful into her mouth when she stopped, "You? Polite? Okay, who are you?"

"Hey," he said in a chiding tone, "my Ma may have been a drunkard but she taught me some manners, believe it or not."

She quickly caught onto his usage of past tense, "'May have?'"

He stopped scrubbing the pot for a split second before continuing, "She died last year. We don't know what happened," he paused, leaving the pot on a drying rack next to the sink, "I just found her in her bed one mornin' stiff and cold to the touch."

"Oh, Butch," Dolly said sympathetically, setting down her bowl, "I'm so sorry."

"It's alright," he shook his head with a dejected smile, "Ya know, it gets easier after a while." He turned to face her, and she sucked in a breath, trying to ignore how handsome he looked in fluorescent lighting. "How's your ol' man? I'm surprised he didn't come back with ya."

"He... uh," she frowned, idly pushing her noodles around with her spoon, "He was killed around this time last year." She swallowed hard, averting her eyes to the metallic counter. Butch went oddly still.

He approached her spot near the breakfast nook, placing a warm, comforting hand on the nape of her neck. He looked down to her with a frown, his cerulean eyes sparkling despondently, "I guess we're both alone in this world, huh, Doll?"

To her complete and utter horror, she found herself leaning into his touch. It was strong, and safe, and masculine. Since she had left the vault, she had, had her fair share of male attention. But her relationships were few and far between, and they rarely lasted more than a few months at a time. Although each man was willing to commit fully to her and were more than happy to submit themselves to a lifetime of weary work and travel, she just couldn't find it in her to stick around. They always lacked something. And it wasn't until she was discussing her relationship problems with Megaton's floozy, Nova, did she realize that what she was looking for couldn't be found in any man. She was looking for her father. A frown tugged at her lips and she closed her eyes with a barely audible sigh.

She could feel his eyes on her face, but didn't dare to open hers. Whatever was transpiring between them was strange and unfamiliar territory. His finger brushed against the nape of her neck, coming down to cup her jaw softly. The coarse pad of his thumb ran up and down her cheek, sending odd tingles up her spine. She knew she should swat his hand away with a slew of insults, but she couldn't find the strength, or desire, to push him away. Butch muttered something under his breath and abruptly removed his hand, turning to plop down on one of the dingy couches. And just like that, the moment was over.

She blushed heavily and looked away, feeling guilty at the way his touch had made heat pool in her stomach. Ugh, what was she doing? This was Butch, for Christ's sake. She shouldn't enjoy his touch; she most certainly shouldn't like the smell of his stupid pomade, and most of all, he shouldn't be here making her dinner. Alone. A click sounded behind her and she swiveled her neck to address Butch, who had hastily lit up a cigarette.

The white stick hung loosely from his lips as he took a drag, slowly exhaling a tendril of smoke. "Ya gonna just stare at me, nosebleed, or do ya got somethin' to say?"

She rolled her eyes and rose to her feet, walking over to join him on the couch. "Where did you get cigarettes?"

"Ma had a stash packed away for a rainy day," he lolled his head, resting it against the back of the couch. He let out another drag, "I still don't know where she got 'em from. Seeing as cigarettes weren't allowed down here 'cause it fucks with the air filter."

She stared at his face for a long while, "Cut the shit Butch. What's the real reason you stopped by?"

He looked at her from the corner of his eye, offering her his cigarette. She obliged and inhaled, grimacing as the harsh smoke hit the back of her throat. "When you leave the vault, I want you to take me with ya."

"Butch..."

"Nah, Doll, don't give me that," he shook his head fiercely.

She inched closer to him and rolled her shoulder against his in a playful nudge. "So you thought if you buttered me up with mac n' cheese, I'd be more inclined to take you with me?"

He raised his eyebrows with a nod, and rolled his head so that he was looking at her, a cocky grin on his face. "Did it work?"

She let out a snort, "You have got to be kidding me. It'll take more than a box of century old, dehydrated noodles to butter me up, lover boy."

"Aw come on, sweetcheeks," he laughed, his smile lighting up his face, "Ain't no woman can resist the charms of the Butch-man!"

"Hate to break it to you, 'Butch-man', but you are not as charming as you think you are."

He threw his upper body dramatically onto her lap, his hand covering his heart, groaning in mock pain, "Ouch, that hurt me deep."

She felt the laughter erupt from her as she gave him a shove, removing him from her lap. A blush crept across her cheeks and she giggled bashfully. Butch gave her an arrogant smirk and sat upright, finishing what was left of his cigarette. She hated to say she was actually enjoying Butch's company. As the night went on, she tried to ignore the weird fluttering beneath her ribcage. Every time his hand would brush against hers, she could feel herself flush hotly. Every time he would let out a deep, husky laugh, she had to try not to turn to a pathetic puddle on the couch cushions.

What am I doing, she mentally chided herself, have I gone so long without affection that even Butch is starting to look good? If she had been drinking, she could blame her beer goggles. But she was very much sober. She shook her head. This was definitely Stockholm Syndrome. Every day up until their truce, Butch had made her life a living Hell. She had dreams about beating him up or getting him with her BB gun while no one was looking. And now here she was, sitting on a couch with him trying not to act like a giddy, hormonal teenager.

After a few hours, she found herself struggling to keep her eyes open. She wasn't quite sure what time it was, or how long he had been visiting, but at this point she really didn't care. Butch's silky voice began to lull her to sleep. She shuffled and positioned herself so that she was propped up against his shoulder, her head resting on the leather of his jacket. Beneath her jaw, she felt Butch's muscles tense up for a few seconds before relaxing, leaning more towards her so that she could get comfortable. His stories began to blur as she yawned, her head nodding with sleepiness.

Out of the buzzing of Butch's narration, she heard him mutter softly, "Just reconsider breaking me out of this rat trap, okay Doll?"

"Mmm," she muttered groggily, nuzzling into his warmth.

She heard him let out a soft laugh. With another yawn she dismissed how absolutely fucking weird it was to be using Butch as a pillow. But after a few moments she dismissed it, as the darkness of sleep overwhelmed her and she sank down into it's comforting embrace.

"Oh, Butch we can't do this... not here," she giggled, feeling the man above her nuzzle into her neck.

"Too bad," he growled.

"No, seriously, we-"

He crashed his lips into hers, silencing her opposition. At once she gave in, allowing his tongue to explore her mouth. Her fingers tangled into his thick, chestnut locks and she pulled him closer. Their kiss broke and he tipped her chin upwards, exposing the smooth, porcelain skin of her neck. She exhaled shakily as he planted his lips beneath her jaw, and she hummed in pleasure. His mouth began to explore her, his teeth nipping at the soft skin of her collar, trailing a line of needy kisses down her chest. Each kiss he planted left her skin burning, and she ached for him to bring those kisses lower.

Heat pooled in the pit of her stomach and she groaned, bucking her hips so that they were flush with his. A deep moan reverberated through his chest as he pressed himself against her, warning her of his urgency. She could feel his hardness through the flimsy material of his Vault suit. He was going to have her, and he was going to have her now.

He brought his mouth to her ear and whispered softly, "Wake up, Dolly."

She pulled back, addressing him, dizzy with desire, "What-?"

She let out a squeak. Butch's face was no longer his, but Amata's. Surprised, she tried pulling away, only to find her movements halted by Amata's hands. They held her wrists to the ground. Her jade eyes locked with Amata's honeyed ones. Her expression was stern and she opened her mouth and yelled-

"-Dolly! DOLLY! Wake up!" Amata banged on the door to the apartment.

Dolly awoke with a start. She placed a hand to her chest, urging her frantically beating heart to slow down. Woah, that was a weird dream. She brought her other hand to her face, feeling the warm, flushed skin of her cheeks. She squeezed her legs together, horrified by her very real and very apparent arousal. Then she remembered the night before... Butch, making her food. Butch, cupping her face into his hands. Butch, talking for hours... and how she- oh god! She had fallen asleep against him! Embarrassment prickled her skin and she jerked her head left and right, checking to see if her dream offender was still there. The apartment was empty. She slumped against the couch in relief before getting up to check the door. She pressed the button and the door slid open, revealing a flustered and aggravated Amata.

"I've been banging on your door for ten minutes Dolly, you've slept in a bit too-" she cut off, her eyes roaming Dolly's face, "Hey, why are your cheeks so red?"

She bristled, "What? I don't know what you're talking about," she muttered bitterly, hiding her face with her hands.

Amata shrugged with disinterest, "The Overseer agreed to meet with you in two hours."

Dolly turned and began to pick up her items from the floor and counters, Amata entering the room shortly behind her. "He actually agreed to see me? Doesn't that seem a little-"

"Suspicious?" Amata said bluntly, "Yeah. I'm going to be optimistic and assume that it's a good sign. Maybe he's taking a hiatus as a psycho."

Dolly snorted skeptically, "No. He thinks he has an advantage over me. He either has something up his sleeve to bargain with or," she looked Amata matter-of-factly, "he's going to try and kill me."

"Well, regardless," Amata said huffily, "I'll be waiting in your dad's office and we can discuss this further... after you get ready, of course."

Dolly yawned and shooed her friend away. Amata let out an indignant huff and left the apartment, muttering to herself about "stubborn redheads." Dolly rolled her eyes and packed away her broken rifle, walking to the kitchen for a drink. To her surprise, two bowls sat in the drying rack alongside the pot from the last night. She could faint at the idea of Butch actually cleaning up after himself. Just the thought of that grease ball made her blush and she shook her head, willing away the images from her dream. She opened the fridge to grab a Nuka-Cola, tossing the rest into her pack for later.

After chugging the refreshing liquid she headed to tidy herself up. She climbed into the cramped bathroom and turned on the shower, stepping under the warm water with a sigh. If anything, she was going to miss being this clean. Better to get in her bathing now before having to leave and going back to being a grimy, dirt-covered adventurer. She inhaled a breath of steam. If Butch really wanted to leave this place, he would have to prepare for a pretty foul-smelling future.

She exited the shower and stepped in front of the mirror, wiping away a thin layer of condensation. The woman staring back at her was a stranger. When she was younger, her eyes had been a light sea foam green, sparkling with the innocence and naivety of youth. The eyes staring back at her now were dark, turbulent pools of jade. Her hair had grown a good amount in the past two years. Where it was once just above her ear, it now reached her collar bones. Her soft auburn hair clung to her face. She normally liked her hair short, but finding a dependable barber in the wastes was harder than finding clean water. And despite being a rough and tough wastelander, she still cared a bit about how she looked and refused to chop it off herself. Regardless, the look was starting to grow on her.

She combed her wet hair into a high bun and exited the bathroom, climbing into a a pair of dingy black pants and a dark t-shirt. She climbed into her leather armor. It had been damaged in the scuffle she had with a Supermutant, but it was still holding together fairly well. She made a mental note to stop by Moira's once she got home for a quick fix me up. She grabbed her bags and walked to the door. She turned around and regarded the apartment, feeling a wave of sadness wash over her. It was only one night, but she had come to like this place. Nostalgia hit her as she remembered all her days of living down here, coming home to her father in an apartment much like this one. It hurt her to remember how happy she had been. She turned the lights off and left the room, heading towards the clinic.

She checked her pip-boy for the time and realized she was a bit ahead of schedule. As she approached the clinic, Susie Mack and Christine Kendall were standing by the doorway. Although they spoke softly, she could still hear their conversation. She slowed her pace and stepped lightly.

"So," Susie began, "how does it feel to be bunking with Ol' Lady Palmer?"

"Terrible! I can't believe I have to share a dorm with her. How creepy is that?" Christine blurted out in a high-pitched voice, swatting her hand in front of her face.

"Oh, don't you wish it was Butch?" Susie sighed, like a woman in love.

Dolly froze mid-step, listening intently.

"Ew, gross," Christine answered swiftly, "Oh god, no. What's wrong with you?"

Dolly continued walking, picking up her footing so that the two girls knew she was approaching. As she came closer the girls noticed her. Christine smiled and waved, while Susie gave her a dark, intimidating look. Well, as intimidating as the slight, blonde girl could be.

"Hey Dolly!" Christine beckoned her over with a wave, "I haven't had a chance to say hi to you since you came back."

Susie gave Christine a light smack on the arm, glowering at Dolly. Christine gave an odd look to her friend before shrugging and asking Dolly about how she had been since she left.

"Oh, you know," fighting for her life every day and struggling with the fact that she abandoned her dying father, "the usual."

"Come on," Christine combed her fingers through her raven hair, "it's the surface. It can't just be 'usual.' What's it like out there?"

"Dusty, dangerous, and hot," she grumbled. "There are bugs the size of cars and everyone you meet wants to shoot you. There's also these giant green mutant guys and man," she blew out a low whistle, placing her hands on her hips, "do they fuck shit up."

"Bugs the size of cars?" Christine repeated, her face losing color, "Giant green mutants?"

Dolly couldn't help but feel amused by the girls skittishness, "Yeah, giant green mutants. The other day I saw one rip a guy in half- you should've seen it! He exploded like a pinata but, instead of candy, there was... you know, viscera."

Christine blanched and she put a hand to her mouth, "I think... I think I'm going to walk away now. It was nice seeing you again, Dolly."

Dolly couldn't help but feel a bit guilty. It was just some teasing, it was all in good fun. But she really had seen a man get ripped in half. It was more fascinating than horrifying, since mutilated body parts were commonplace. It was a raider so she had a hard time feeling any sympathy when he was snatched up and torn to shreds, his intestines making a delicious snack for a lumbering green behemoth. The girl hobbled away with a low mutter, her head shaking back in forth in disbelief. Susie lingered behind. Dolly stared at the blonde woman before her, quirking a judgmental eyebrow. The woman reflected her gesture and popped her neck, avoiding eye contact. Dolly considered just walking away until Susie spoke up.

"I saw Butch leaving your room this morning," she said with an accusatory glare.

Fuck.

"Oh, for God's sake, Susie," Dolly rubbed the back of her neck, finding her allegation a bit childish... regardless of whether or not it had any truth to it. "It's not like that, so don't give me that bullshit. And since when do you care about Butch? I remember you absolutely despising the Tunnel Snakes."

Susie crossed her arms and, "I don't know if you've noticed, but it's not like there's an abundance of men for me to choose from. After a while, you just stop being picky."

Oh god, was that what was happening to her? Dolly shuddered at the thought.

"Well, good job on lowering your standards," she gave Susie a soft punch to the shoulder, "Have fun with the Butch-man. I have more important things to do."

Susie muttered an expletive under her breath and stomped away. Dolly watched the woman for a bit and turned to meet Amata. Her boots squelched against the metal floor, her bag jingling with an abundance of caps and other various goods. Her nerves began to grow as she grew closer to the clinic. Everyone was counting on her to be a hero and, God damn it, if she wasn't tired of everyone relying on her. But this was Amata, she had to remind herself. This wasn't just a stranger offering caps for a good deed. This was her friend for years. She entered the clinic, which was empty except for Freddie Gomez who seemed to be sulking near the back office. Amata sat in a chair adjacent from him, her elbows propped up on her knees. Her gaze was distant as she stared at the paper-littered floor.

"Hey," Dolly waved and Amata jumped, startled.

"Oh hey, you're earlier than I thought you'd be."

"Yeah, well, it doesn't take me long to get ready."

"Why are you wearing your armor? I thought you were going to resolve this peacefully."

Dolly stared down at her friend with an exasperated expression, "Amata, if he tries to hurt me, this is my best defense."

Amata shook her head in agreement, "I know, I'm sorry. I'm just... on edge."

"There's no reason to be," Dolly murmured, "I can handle this."

Her friend gazed up at her. Amata's wide, almond eyes were red and weary. They were watery pools of troubled thoughts and she wanted to hug her more than anything, "I don't want to send you off to your death. I don't know if I could live with myself if I-"

"Amata, I don't mean to be rude but I've been through worse than this. I can handle one crazy man with a gun."

Amata's gaze traveled back to the floor, crestfallen. She had taken so much on since the vault erupted into chaos. It was too much for a twenty one year old. Her shoulders were hunched forward, as if she was physically carrying the weight of the vault upon them. If disposing of the new Overseer could allay Amata's stress, then it's worth it. She smiled sadly and placed a hand upon Amata's shoulder. Amata's hand went to Dolly's, returning the gesture with an affectionate squeeze. Her thick lashes brushed against her cheekbones, wet from unshed tears.

"Thank you, Dolly," she stood up and walked to the entrance of the clinic. "I'm sure the Overseer wouldn't mind if you showed up a bit early. The guards have been notified and will not attack you."

"I won't fail you, captain," she saluted, straightening her posture.

Amata smiled for a brief second before it disappeared, "Wherever your Dad is, I'm sure he's proud of you."

Dolly felt something hard lodge itself in her throat, and she had to struggle to breath. Amata did not know how much that meant to her. She threw her pack to ground and grabbed her friend, embracing her as if this was the last time she would ever see her. Amata squeezed back, letting out a soft sigh. After a few moments, they broke off their hug. Dolly gave another salute before slinging her pack over her shoulder and setting off to Overseer's office. She followed the confusing tunnels and stairways until she came into an opening. The room was dimly lit, with abandoned barricades scatter about. It was the room she had walked through with Officer Gomez when she had arrived the day prior.

Her skin prickled and she felt as though she was being watched. Her jade eyes wandered up to the large, circular window to the Overseer's office. There, staring back at her, was Allen Mack.

Now or never.

A/N: So? How'd you guys like the cutesy face touching? How about the naughty dream? I was debating on whether or not this should be a slow burner but then I remembered... oh god, no, I hate those kind of fics. R&R!