- IV -
(September 2276)
He took a long drag of the cigarette and exhaled, rubbing his temple with two fingers as he watched the smoke billow out in front of him. Faint light streamed into the quiet hallway from the left corridor, and he welcomed the pitch black coming in from the right, the orange ash of his newest vice glowing in the darkness. He listened for Officer Kendall's heavy footfalls in case the nightly patrol route included this area, but his ears only picked up continuous silence.
Butch sat with his back against the wall, one knee pulled in to prop up the hand holding the cigarette while the other leg stretched out over the cold floor. He tried to tune out the residual echoes of his mother's intoxicated shrieking, where she denounced him for keeping his father's memory alive just through his looks. Faulted him for her ongoing misery. Blamed him for existing. Like he could help any of it. He knew—or hoped—she never meant anything she said during these tantrums, but he wasn't in the mood to deal with her tonight.
His mind wandered until it inevitably settled on the topic that plagued him day in and day out for two months. He wrestled with the knowledge that had been hoisted upon his shoulders, torn between ignoring it and investigating it. So far, he'd managed to do neither, choosing instead to mull over it and wonder if he had imagined the whole thing. Whatever he had witnessed that day appeared to be clandestine in nature and unknown to the rest of the Vault residents, including family members of the parties involved. He brought the cigarette back to his mouth as he stared at the opposite wall, seeing nothing but the faded luster of Ivy's once vibrant eyes.
She had all but vanished a month ago. Prior to that, he had caught glimpses of her in the halls, but never for more than a second, never long enough to flag her down. He often found himself drifting in her direction without meaning to, her name on his lips, before realization struck and had him biting his tongue. Her situation wasn't his business, and even if he interfered, he was probably the last person she'd want playing the hero. Not that he'd want to, anyway. He frequently justified his inaction by convincing himself that she was none of his concern. Yet, when she hadn't been sighted around the Vault for four weeks, his thoughts never strayed far from her.
Stevie seemed more aggravated than usual as of late. Butch deduced that Ivy hadn't been in his clutches, either, during this period. It was almost a relief to know that the corrupt security trainee wasn't shoving more drugs or his dick into her, at least for a while. But that nagging feeling at the base of Butch's skull suggested an agitated conscience that wouldn't let him drop the matter. Although he didn't like the idea, he might have to decide on something soon, be it bashing Stevie's face in or inflicting blunt trauma to his own head in an effort to cause amnesia. Anything that would stop Ivy's anguished sobs from infiltrating his dreams.
Butch jolted and stubbed out his cigarette on the sole of his boot when he heard footsteps pattering from the corridor on the left. He sat very still, willing himself invisible as someone entered the hallway and stopped at the first door near the corner. The light of the Pip-Boy in the distance illuminated the individual's face enough for him to make it out, and he drew in a breath as recognition hit him at once.
Well, damn… speak of the missing devil, he thought, watching Ivy glance around before darting into the cafeteria. Looks like the devil's back and up to no good.
Curiosity bid him to rise and led him down the hallway to peek into the dark interior. He heard the telltale clicking of a bobby pin at work farther inside, and he tiptoed closer as she broke into the community liquor stash with ease. He was familiar with the hidden cooler inside the stockroom from when his parents used to turn in their allotted alcohol tokens each week, but he never thought he'd see the straitlaced Ivy Ashburn stealing a handle of whiskey out of it in the middle of the night.
Then again, considering recent events, he couldn't blame the alteration in her behavior.
"Uh, you sure that's a good idea there?" he asked without thinking.
She jumped at the sound of his voice, managing to catch the glass bottle before it hit the floor but dropping a few other items she'd been holding under her arm. Her flashlight shook as she pointed it toward him. "Butch?" she whispered.
"Yeah," he whispered back. Awkwardness set in when he realized this was the first time they'd spoken in close to two years. "Saw ya come in while I was… hangin' around. What's the deal sneakin' in here and swipin' shit?"
Ivy blinked a few times when he turned on his flashlight and shined it back at her. Now that he was up close and able to get a better look, his lips parted at her frail appearance. Dark circles weighed down her eyes, accompanied by cheeks that had become gaunt, as if she'd lost an alarming amount of weight. Her hair hung in dull and uneven chunks over her shoulders; a bad hacking job she likely did herself. She gripped the handle of whiskey to her chest with one bony hand as she dismissed him with the turn of her head.
"Please leave me alone. This is none of your business," she told him in clipped tones.
Like I didn't already fuckin' know that.
The rising wave of irritation plummeted as soon as she bent over to shut the cooler door, and he saw how loosely her jumpsuit hung on her frame. What had happened to this girl in the past month? Suddenly, he needed to know. All that time spent mentally replaying and denying what he'd seen and heard in Stevie's room culminated into an unyielding wish for answers. He needed her to validate her persistent presence in his thoughts, needed her to prove there was nothing he could have done, nothing he could do. In the end it was all about freeing him from the burden of her situation, and he knew he was a selfish bastard for it, but he'd never claimed to be anything else.
In a desperate attempt to stop her from shutting him out, he blurted the first thing that came to mind. "Say, I ain't no doctor or anything, but isn't liquor like bad for knocked up broads?"
She froze, fingers tightening briefly on the neck of the bottle. Then, with slow, deliberate movements, she straightened and pinned him with the desolate gaze of someone long dead. "Yes. Good thing I'm not pregnant. Not anymore."
Her words—spoken so casually, so void of emotion—chilled him to the bone.
Butch struggled to maintain an air of apathy. "Oh. So, uh… are you good? Okay, I mean?"
"The better question," she said, picking up her things and exiting the stockroom, "is how did you find out?"
He fidgeted on the spot. "Well… it started with Stevie, see—"
"Stevie." His name came out like a sour taste on her mouth. "I don't know what he's been telling people—or bragging about—in my absence, but I can guarantee none of it is the full story."
He hasn't said squat, but I got a front seat view of the full story, thanks, Butch thought grimly. Still, he hesitated in telling her that he'd been there, hiding with his ears covered like a little bitch as Stevie violated her in front of him. It was bad enough when his conscience played the scene on repeat in his head; it would be downright impossible for him to look her in the eye and tell her he'd sat idly by and let it happen.
"Seriously, though. Where the hell have you been?" he demanded out loud, aware that he sounded somewhat anxious. Worried, even. Maybe he actually was. Maybe he didn't care if she caught onto it. "And what's up with…"
He trailed off when he stepped forward and noticed the multiple pill bottles she cradled in her left arm. His eyes flickered to the whiskey in her right hand, and while he was far from being the most astute man to walk the Vault, even he could put two and two together. He felt his stomach turn to lead, felt an unwarranted rush of anger—toward her, Stevie, or himself, he wasn't sure. But it seared its way up his spine and flowed out to his limbs as it took over the locomotion in his body.
"For fuck's sake, Ivy," he growled, seizing the collar of her jumpsuit and toting her protesting form along behind him toward the exit. "Come on. We gotta talk."
He half-dragged, half-carried her through the dark corridors when she continued to resist. Given her malnourished state, she didn't put up much of a fight, and she had the good sense to refrain from making too much noise. He avoided the areas he knew to be under patrol tonight, taking the long way around to the lower levels of the Vault until they reached the only place where they would be completely alone and unwatched: the generator room.
He deposited her on the cement blocks where they'd stood and practiced their BB gun shooting years ago, though the targets were now rusted over from neglect and a film of dust covered the floor. A broken wall fixture drew his attention for a brief moment as he went to shut the door, but once he marched back over to where she sat, his sight locked onto the line of pill bottles—five in all—next to the whiskey she had placed beside her on the blocks. She stared off to the side, expression blank.
"Are you fuckin' kidding me?" he asked in a pitch too shrill for his liking. "I know the whole goddamn jig, Ivy, but never thought suicide was your style."
She glanced up at him, something finally moving in those bleak hazel irises. "What, so you're using my real name now? No 'nosebleed,' no 'Poindexter' or anything?" The question intoned neither spite nor resentment, just a vague interest in the change in his attitude.
"Yeah, well…"
"And when you say you know the 'whole goddamn jig,' I'm guessing Stevie was the source of this information?"
He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, discomfort quickly overtaking his righteous fury not one minute ago. "That's right." It was technically the truth; had it not been for Stevie's confiscation of his Toothpick and serpent pendant, Butch would never have discovered their private affairs.
Ivy dropped her gaze and leaned forward to wrap her arms around herself. "And I assume you're not impressed by however way he worded it. So why are we here? What do you want?"
Butch worked to form an answer, but even he was uncertain what he expected now that he had brought them here. "I… don't know." At last, an honest response. And with that one wedge of honesty, most of the rest came pouring forth. "But I'm done keeping my mouth shut when I know what's been happening between you and that son of a bitch. You and me, we don't got the best history, but we go way back and what he's doing to you is fuckin' wrong."
She laughed then, a mirthless bark that slapped him in the face. "Oh, this is rich. My childhood bully spouting his sense of justice on my behalf. Please stop, you're sounding like you actually care, and it's creepy."
Well, at least she didn't seem so much like a living ghost now.
He still bristled, feeling vulnerable for even having this conversation. "Okay, look. I've dealt with knowing about it for two months, but I didn't think you were planning on killing yourself."
She shrugged as if waving off a minor inconvenience. "As… bewildering as this intervention is, it's not going to change a thing. Once you leave, I'm going to take these sleeping pills, tranquilizers, and pain killers and chug this liquor straight from the bottle. And," she added when his hand twitched, "even if you take them away, as a medical intern I have access to the clinic's entire pharmacy and an endless supply of bobby pins. You're wasting your time here, Butch."
Even if he was, he wouldn't turn back now. "I just gotta ask, though. You said you're not pregnant anymore. What happened?"
Sometimes, he wished his mother didn't begrudge him for being born. Often, he wished she hadn't kept on the bottle and knocked points off his IQ when he was a fetus. But never had he wished that she had terminated him in utero. As shitty as his life was, it was still a life, and he was glad for the chance to live it.
Ivy's features closed off again. "I miscarried. Spent the past month in a room in the clinic recuperating."
So that's where she's been. Butch tore his gaze away. "Uh… sorry to hear that."
"Don't be. Stevie was sorry enough for all of us. 'Accidentally' pushed me down the stairs after he found out I lost the baby. Bet he didn't pass that bit of info around. I didn't think he'd want the damn thing so bad, but the compiled injuries had me bedridden for weeks." Bitterness had crept in, restoring a sense of humanity to her soulless demeanor. "Last time he visited me, he said he even wanted to try for another one. Unbelievable, right?"
Butch's mouth dropped open in incredulity. He wondered if Wally and Susie were even aware of how much of a psychopath their brother really was. "Jesus. Well, what does your dad have to say about all this? The doc seems like a pretty level-headed guy, but considering…"
She lowered her head as her fingers dug into her arms. "He doesn't know the extent of it, but he found drugs in my system when he tested my blood after the miscarriage. He and I… aren't speaking right now. I'm such a disappointment and failure that he can't even look at me."
Butch didn't know what to say to that, but he could understand the pain of parental rejection. He almost snickered at himself, not quite believing that he was experiencing some sort of fellowship with the girl he'd always hated for having the ideal family life. Only now, she had fallen far from the pedestal he'd placed her on, and even he didn't delude himself into thinking that she had deserved any of it.
"Why don't you tell your old man the whole story? Show him that Stevie's one crazy motherfucker?"
"No. It would only complicate things, and I don't want to give my dad more trouble than I already have."
That's some cowardly bull right there, Butch seethed a bit hypocritically. But before he could verbalize his opinion, she continued speaking.
"I'm going to make it easier on everyone and just take myself out of the picture," Ivy declared, reaching for the bottles. "So if we're done here, I should go station myself next to the incinerator so they won't have to haul my corpse too far."
He sprang forward and knocked the pills and alcohol away from her. They all rolled over the dusty floor as he grabbed her by the shoulders and shook fiercely. "Fuck if I'll let you. I ain't the most decent guy and I don't care if you hate my guts, but right now I'm the closest thing you got to a voice of reason."
Fuck forgetting. Fuck pretending I didn't see nothin'. Damn, Ivy… this changes everything.
She studied him, calculation churning in the depths of her eyes. "You know, there's a twisted kind of irony to your enthusiasm in stopping this, Butch. And not just because you were my tormentor when we were kids," she stated with that steady resonance he knew so well. "But because you're the sole reason all of this even started."
x-x-x-x-x
A/N: Whew, I'm glad I was able to finish this chapter. The reason why Ivy holds Butch responsible will be revealed in the next update. Motivation for this story is still going strong, but I would love any feedback telling me how I'm doing. And to those who have been following this from the beginning, I just wanted to say thank you for your support!